RAINY DAZE: in which the rainfall isn't the only thing accumulating between two clueless friends
PAIRING: Jughead Jones x Y/n L/n
. . .
It was finally Autumn, the best time of the year in Riverdale. It was time to kick off those flip flops and exchange them for fleece-lined boots. With the exit of Summer came apple festivals and pumpkin patches, and Riverdale's very own Maple Harvest Festival. The season gave the town buzz and excitement. But it also gave the town rain and storms.
That was the case today; color-filled leaves littered the ground, soaking wet from the quick thunderstorm that just passed by, leaving muddy puddles for cars to splash onto the sidewalks on their way through town. The fabric of Jughead's sneakers were soaked and squished noisily as he trudged up the long pathway that led to Y/n's front door. Before he made it to the door, Y/n swung the front door open while simultaneously opening her dark blue umbrella with her other hand. She lifted it above her head and sped down her front steps, meeting the boy halfway.
"You're soaking wet! Why didn't you bring an umbrella?" She sighed, feeling his more-than-damp jean jacket. He sighed an equally loud sigh, matching the faux exasperation in her tone. He shook the wet strands of hair that poked out from underneath his hat, splashing the secondhand rain onto Y/n's cheek.
"Y/n, I don't own an umbrella." They were at the end of her driveway as she was about to form her rebuttal, but before she could, he asked her absolute favorite question; "Do you wanna grab coffee?"
The answer was yes. The answer was always yes. He never had to ask where, nor did he have to ask what she was gonna get. It was always the same. They would go to the small coffee shop that had popped up next to The Register a little less than two months ago. She'd order the sweetest iced coffee on the menu. He'd order his plain, and hot.
Her face lit up with a smile as she linked her arm with his, soaking up the warmth that radiated through his layers of clothing. They walked on the side of the busy street, Y/n on the side furthest from the oncoming traffic per Jughead's demand. The walk was quiet, not many words shared between the two. It was a comfortable silence, an enjoyable understanding that they could listen to the cars whoosh-ing by and the stones being kicked from under their feet, and they didn't have to fill the air with needless words. They could just exist within each other's company.
The umbrella shielded them from most of the rain water, but occasionally the wind would blow a few drops in their direction. So it was a relief when they were finally able to step out of the rain and into the slightly warmer shop. The smell of lemon cleaning wipes and bitter coffee hit right as the glass door was pushed open by Jughead, who held it for Y/n as she fell behind trying to close her umbrella.
The shop was relatively small. Miniature black tile lined the floor, creating a dark contrast to the smooth, light brown painted walls. It was a local store, so they never had more than 3 baristas working at a time, and Y/n was on a first name basis with most of them, seeing as the majority of them went to Riverdale High.
There were usually dozens of people coming and going, grabbing their to-go orders because nobody in Riverdale seemed to have time to order their own coffee anymore. However, that wasn't the case today. The coffee pots were over halfway full still, even though it was almost noon, and there wasn't a caffeine-craving soul in sight. Only a blonde barista, sitting on a stool behind the counter, doom scrolling on her phone when the 4th (and 5th) customers, Jughead and Y/n, walked in noisily.
Jughead quickly scooted up to the counter and chatted up the barista as he ordered their coffee, offering a snide remark about the unfortunate weather to the girl behind the counter. Y/n was busy fixing her hair in the mirror that hung above one of the circular tables. The rain had completely ruined her freshly blow-dryed hair, and she was left with heavy, sopping wet strands.
Within what seemed like only a minute, Jughead was back next to Y/n with two coffees and newfound optimism. "You look fine, stop worrying" He assured her, walking out of the shop with both coffees still in his hand. Y/n, wanting her coffee, trailed after him, back out into the pouring rain.
The rain had picked up since they had last been in it, and it seemed as though the temperature took a dive right along with it. Y/n rushed to open her umbrella, trying to keep herself from getting any wetter. She had gone with style over comfort on this day, and she was now fully regretting the jean skirt that was barely covering her legs.
There was no time for the girl to even shiver, for next thing she knew, Jughead had thrown his denim jacket over her shoulders. When she turned to shoot him a confused look, he was sipping on his coffee in an impatient manner. He took her confusion of his dexterity as a look of annoyance, for he shot her a smirk and shrugged.
"What can I say? I'm a gentleman." She didn't reply. She gladly slid her arms into the fleece lined material, feeling a mixture of both warmth and comfort. The fabric smelled like a mixture of incense and whatever aftershave brand he used. He began to walk away from the shop and towards their next destination, still holding her coffee hostage in his lanky arms. She stood in place, still dazed and confused over the heavy jacket that was heaved onto her body unexpectedly.
"Hurry up, I'm getting drenched over here!"
. . .
They finally arrived at today's main destination; the best, and only, vintage shop in town. They spent a lot of their free time there, since the contents of the store were forever changing. But today they had come with a purpose. That purpose was an old-school chain pocket watch for Jughead. He was convinced it was so much cooler and more efficient than telling time on your phone. Nobody could convince him otherwise. And Y/n really, really tried.
This time he didn't wait for her to close her umbrella before he scurried in the door, not turning back to see whether or not she was behind him, which she wasn't. But a few moments later she had caught up with her beanie-clad friend, entering the shop and heading to her respective section, as he was already at his. Y/n's was the book section. This shop had 3 huge cases of books. Paperbacks, hardcovers, romance, horror, anything you could imagine, was right there in front of her.
She grazed her fingertips along the paperback section, across dozens of books with authors names she couldn't pronounce even if she tried. She picked up the few that caught her eye, flipping through the pages and reading the summaries on the back cover.
The shop owner had a tall, brown stool behind the front counter. On that stool was a large, clunky vinyl player, that was never heard not playing music. The genre would change from day to day. Classical on cloudy days, r&b on sunny days, jazz on rainy days. Once, Y/n swore she heard him playing Taylor Swift, but that was in the morning before all the customers usually started pouring in, and once he heard the giggles from Jughead and Y/n, he changed it right back to classical music.
But even with the repetitive jazz song blaring from a few feet away, Y/n could hear a faint sound of voices laughing. Shifting her gaze from the beaten up novel in her hands, her eyes fell upon a girl with dark, brunette braids and the whitest teeth she'd ever seen. Both rows of them were on display as she laughed at the boy in front of her. The boy that Y/n had come with.
Her grip tightened around the book she was holding, as she watched them talk. There was a heat rising up from her stomach as she tried to avert her eyes from the pair. She couldn't help but stare. It was similar to the feeling she got when watching horror movies. Blood made her queasy, but she just couldn't help but glue her eyes to the screen when someone got stabbed.
She was not jealous. That's what she repeated to herself over and over as she watched the two teens speak. How could she be jealous? Jughead had a huge glow-up over the summer. His acne was completely cleared up, he grew at least two inches, and he practically had abs now. Of course there were gonna be girls finally realizing what had been there all along.
She tore her eyes away from them and tried to focus on the items in front of her, reading the same four book titles over and over again until she heard the bell chime on the door. She hoped this meant that the girl with the braids had left the store. She got her answer when Jughead appeared beside her, leaning against the shelf to her left.
"Look. What. I. Got." He said, pausing between each word for dramatic effect. He dangled a rusty chain in front of her face. Surely enough, just like he'd hoped, there was a ticking watch on the end of it. She smiled meekly in return, trying her hardest not to think about the girl or her braids, or her long legs, or the way her skirt fell over her long legs effortlessly. God damn she was so jealous.
"Who were you talking to over there?" Y/n asked. She hadn't meant for it to come out so coldly, but unfortunately for her, nobody with a set of ears could hear her question as anything except what it was.
Filled with regret, she turned her body away from him and began stacking the book back on the shelf.
"Oh that was Anikka," He started, crossing his arms against his chest. "I had chem with her last year. Y'know, it's funny actually. She asked for my number." Y/n hadn't seen it with her back turned. She didn't get to witness the way his eyes flashed to her as he added in the last part. He yearned for her to do so much as blink in response. He needed to know that the feeling in his chest wasn't just him falling victim to another pretty girl.
But she didn't. She didn't blink, or flinch, or even breathe in a way that told him what he wanted to know. What he needed to know. Instead, she turned to him after putting all the books she had back on the shelf, and with a smile on her face, she told him;
"That's great! She's really pretty. Are you ready to go?" He nodded as she began to walk towards the exit.
. . .
They walked home in silence. But this silence wasn't comfortable anymore. This silence was cold wind blowing down their spines, creating a matching line of goosebumps down the backs of their necks. Their hands swung like pendulums by their sides as they walked, just missing each other each time. It felt as though a slight breeze could cause them to touch, and the thought made the ache that Jughead was already feeling, so much worse.
He felt as though he should say something. He wanted to fix the awkward silence between them. Maybe he was the reason why. Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned Anikka, or the phone number. Maybe he shouldn't have asked Y/n to go with him at all.
They approached the white fence that ran along the edge of Y/n's property. It was both a symbol of relief and failure on his part. With every step they took closer to her property, he felt his yearning for the girl next to him grow. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he needed to tell her. But as they reached the gate, he knew it was too late, that he'd struck out once again.
"Bye Jug." She said sheepishly. She turned without another word, opening the gate and rushing up the driveway to her house. As she turned, the water pouring down from the sky began soaking Jughead's shivering frame. He wanted her to turn back, to hand him her umbrella or invite him in for hot chocolate. He wanted her to at least look at him. But the more he stood and wished, the colder and wetter he became. So he began his path home, disappearing behind a bushel of trees at the end of Y/n's street.
But what he didn't see was Y/n, waiting in the front window. She studied him as he stood by the entrance of her driveway. She waited for him to push open the gate, to knock on her door and ask to stay a while. She longed for his presence just as much as he did hers.
But the days went on, it rained, then stopped, then it rained some more. He didn't call, and she hated him for it. She didn't know the way his fingers inched for the phone. She couldn't have known the way he was driving himself mad trying to detach himself from the fiery feeling he got in the pit of his stomach when she would ask to read what he was writing. He hated himself for the way his eyes glued to her every time there was a book in her hands. He would do anything to have her, but he couldn't express that. The hurt didn't fade as they distanced, and it was quite possible that it would never fade completely. But that was another problem, for another rainy day.