Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

[ one ]

.

and there’s no remedy for memory
your face is like a melody

(it won’t leave my head)

.

“And Archie and Veronica remembered what it was like being with each other”

.

.

.

Getting his memories back is maddening—no point in dressing it up.

Archie doesn’t even know if he can consider getting those memories back, since they weren’t really his, but they were his, at the same time. So confusing.

There was a life, universe, or whatever that Jughead and Tabitha tried to explain, different from this one. Archie watched it like a movie: a life where he spent much more time with his dad than with his mom. A life where his dad actually watched him grow older than thirteen. And even so, that life seemed darker, and painful.

But now Archie only thinks he remembers that, because he, like everyone else, decided to erase most of the bad stuff. So, the things he recalls from that other life—or this same life?—are like a collage, a highlight reel, with parts missing that he knows are not there for a reason.

It’s weird. He doesn’t feel like someone else, like a twenty-seven-year-old man that had a vigilante vein, fought wars, started a group of firemen volunteers, got stuck in a palladium mine, ran a community center to help kids off the street.

He’s just… Archie. He writes some hopefully not terrible poems, fishes, likes sports. And even if simple, his life has been confusing as it is. And now it’s like there’s yet another riddle for him to decipher: should he honor the person that he’s figuring out to be, or should he try to go back to who he, maybe, is? Was? Or could be?

Perhaps that’s why he’s always felt like some sort of ghost, like someone who was faking his way through everything. Was he ever really himself?

The clarity he thought he found while rehearsing for the musical is gone again.

.

.

.

One thing, though, seems to have been decided for him by his other version.

He and Betty were together when the comet struck. So, it only makes sense, if they get together now.

He approaches her, right after they leave the Babylonium, and Betty asks for some time to process everything.

There’s no other way forward, Archie truly believes. He kisses her cheek, and says that they should start from the beginning, maybe going on a real date. The first one didn’t really count, all things considered.

Archie thinks that Now, being with Betty is something that’s been building up for a while, even before he knew about Then. She’s easy to navigate—they’ve known each other their entire lives. She’s straightforward, good-hearted, and honest. She’s not someone who plays games and chases after the best offer.

And the other Archie tried to be all in with her, had even proposed, though when or how that began is lost in the fog of his fragmented memories.

Just like Now, what stands out the most about them from Then is their childhood, their friendship. Listening to records sprawled in the garage, or the playful proposal when they were eight. He recalls kissing her in high school, too, fairy lights around them, but he can’t say where that moment led them.

Instead, his mind holds onto scattered, joyful moments with her from Then that mix up with what he’s felt in the Now: safety, familiarity, desire.

The thing is, Betty is not the centerpiece of his happiest recollections.

.

.

.

Veronica is in the corner of his eye, a constant presence. Both he and his other self seemed to share an innate sense of always knowing where she is. He’s watched, on that screen, moments with her that felt like a fantasy, one of those dreams he’s had when he first saw her, every single time. He almost couldn’t believe that he actually got to be with her for so long.

The catch—not really a problem, more of an observation—is that this Veronica is with Jughead. Archie doesn’t think they were anything Then, other than two people who nurtured a sort of fond annoyance for each other, yet their current versions seem so happy, somehow, as if the past-future had no power over them.

Plus, that Veronica, she wasn’t… She was different from the one Now. She loved Archie so fiercely, with a passion that was undeniable. She didn’t engage in the silly tricks this one does. And it’s strange that, even if Archie chose to remember only the best, with her nothing had been erased. The highest of highs, the lowest of lows, it was all still there. Like his mind, or his heart, wanted to hold on to every facet of their story.

Except for how it ended. From what he can piece together, one moment he was with Veronica, her laughing into his kiss in his kitchen, and the next, Betty was the only option ahead. As she still is.

.

.

.

Days after witnessing the tapestry of their other life, Betty says that she’s ready—she accepts going on a date with him, to start over.

At Pop’s, Archie sits across from her, and tries not to be distracted, this time. They tread carefully, discussing their rushed engagement from Then—a commitment that seems too abrupt, too intense for Now. If Archie is honest, he can’t remember when or how that unfolded. A lot of his Betty memories were just there, isolated islands, disconnected from the mainland.

She says they should take it slow. “There's just so much I want to do before even thinking of getting married,” she admits, letting out a timid laugh.

Archie smiles with tenderness, actually a little relieved. “Me too.”

“I'll be your girlfriend, though,” she says, and he’s back to being fifteen, dancing with her in a lit up gym. I have this fantasy of us as a power couple. “If that's what you want.”

“It is.”

She’s so happy when she smiles. This is nice, Archie thinks.

Holding hands over the table, they ease into other topics. Betty tells him about this book that she’s written, The Teenage Mystique, a compilation of thoughts from so many girls, and says that maybe she’s found what she’s meant to be doing. Archie, in turn, informs her about his plans to help Reggie’s parents on the farm during summer. His wanderlust will have to wait a little bit more.

It is nice. Comfortable.

Except, every time the diner’s door chimes with a new customer arriving, Archie’s mind wanders to one of his most vivid memories: Betty’s voice, a murmur from another time saying something about their friendship, and then there’s Veronica walking in, lowering the hood on her black cape, silencing the whole world around them.

Hi.

Hey.

How are the onion rings here?

“Arch?” Betty’s voice pulls him back.

“Sorry,” Archie apologizes, shaking his head. “Ever since… You know, these glimpses keep flashing back. I don’t know.”

Betty’s smile is gentle, her eyes drifting as if she, too, feels the pull of the other life. He forces his attention to the present, and kisses the back of her hand.

“What were we saying?”

Betty entwines her fingers to his. “We were talking about Reggie’s farm.”

.

.

.

They’re not interrupted, this time. Later, on her porch, Betty kisses him, tasting as sweet as cotton-candy, and that’s how they get together. Or back together.

.

.

.

“Well, that surprises absolutely no one,” Cheryl quips, snarky as always, when Archie and Betty enter the student lounge the following morning, holding hands. Betty’s blush is probably a mirror of his own.

“I’m surprised it took them a week,” Veronica adds. She’s perched next to Jughead, who’s reading a book, a soft chuckle escaping him when she says, “I owe you five bucks.”

Archie looks at Veronica, his heart skipping—does she truly not mind? What does she remember? Does their alternate reality haunt her as it does him, or has she dismissed it with her characteristic indifference?

“I guess now everything is just as it was meant to be,” Kevin says. He and Clay are sitting together, knees touching. Clay wasn’t present Then—Kevin was with someone named Moose, who isn’t present Now.

Archie feels a pang of guilt as he wraps an arm around Betty once they sit, knowing that Now Kevin isn’t able to do the same with Clay, like he would with Moose Then. It’s not fair. It’s one of the things the other world did better.

“Can we talk about this calculus test, now?” Toni asks, bringing them back to the mundane. “We’re in junior year again, after all.”

Veronica giggles. The sound makes Archie look up at her. She’s sitting across from him, legs crossed, and shoulders exposed. In their junior year, Then, he would watch her all the time when they were apart, each stolen look a small ache in his chest, like he would give anything up for another kiss upon her shoulder.

He has a sensory memory of how her skin felt under his lips.

Now, her eyes meet his briefly, flicking away fast. He notices her straightening her spine. “Two lifetimes weren’t enough for us to understand calculus, it seems.”

Betty laughs as she snuggles closer to him. Archie forces out a chuckle, his hand rubbing her arm gently, and tries to let go again.

.

.

.

The weeks blend into one another, warmth seeping into the cracks of Riverdale as the seasons change.

After the Spring Fling dance, Archie spends the night with Betty. He’s very careful with her when she confides that Then, she had lost her virginity to Jughead, but Now Archie would be the first.

Archie’s first encounter Now was Twyla Twyst, a debatable decision that he pretends never happened. His first Then was someone else that he can’t recall, erased from his mind, probably for good reason.

But it was Veronica, in the darkness of her lilac room, who truly awoke something within him. Peeling off her clothes, her voice and breath strumming through him like the strings of a guitar.

We had this date with each other from the very beginning, Archiekins.

The scent of her perfume, an intricate floral blend, sweet and intoxicating, wrapped around him like an addiction. Her touch was like electricity, fingertips tracing a path of fire across his skin, making his muscles tense with anticipation. Her kisses, a mix of what he wanted and what he knew he needed. Her body, an uncharted territory for him to explore and map out as if it was his life mission.

He had never felt like that before, Then or Now. And, as he lays with Betty under her pink duvet after it’s over, he wonders if he’s okay with never feeling like that again.

.

.

.

If Veronica also thinks about those moments, Archie wouldn’t know.

Archie thinks that Then, he used to know her so damn well, better than anyone even, but Now, it’s as hard to read her as it ever was. She’s not so vulnerable, not the way he remembers her. The mystery starlet that rolled into his life.

She’s so supportive of his relationship with Betty, a cheerleader almost, and that’s even before the double-dates start. She seems to be so content with Jughead, her eyes alive with the spark of their shared laughter. They’re always talking to each other. Archie watches them interact, normally when the four of them go to Pop’s, learns about all those interests the two of them have in common, trying hard not to be annoyed.

“Excuse us, boys. B and I are going to refresh,” Veronica says, planting a quick kiss on Jughead’s lips, a kiss that echoes in Archie’s own senses, the taste of chocolate milkshake and the silly, infatuated smile her display of affection brings to his friend’s face.

It stings, because that used to be him.

Play nice, boys, while I go powder my nose.

Archie’s eyes follow the girls as they leave the table with their arms linked, so different between them, so pretty. He can’t help but sigh, letting the air out of his lungs.

“Oh, boy.” Jughead’s voice is laced with amusement, bringing Archie back from his thoughts. “Are you really going to do that right in front of me?”

“Do what?” Archie knits his eyebrows.

“C’mon, Arch. The whole longing gaze, Did I Make The Right Choice, thing?” Jughead says, his words cutting through the pretense, even though there’s no anger in his tone, just a playful comment.

Archie shakes his head. He imagines being honest, imagines saying, sometimes I remember all these things, and it screws me up, but stops himself. He wouldn’t want to hear Jughead reminisce about Betty, would he? It used to be all so messy, between the four of them.

And that isn’t the question, anyway. He couldn’t have made a choice when there wasn’t one to be made.

“It’s okay,” Jughead reassures, his words triggering another memory for Archie: the two of them sitting on a bench by the road, the sun bright on their faces, a moment where all those bitter thoughts had no place.

We’re okay. Seriously. We always will be.

“I get it now.” Jughead nods, his tone shifting, more serious. “Way better than I did before.”

.

.

.

He does have a nice time with Betty, that’s undeniable. She’s lighter, more confident and carefree, in a way that he can’t remember her being before, Then or Now. There’s a comfort in her presence, a pleasant familiarity that wraps around him like a cowboy movie that you’ve watched a hundred times. Good defeats Evil, Boy gets Girl.

So, when he’s being logical—which he tries to be, most of the time—he recognizes that Betty is the girl for him, and that it makes no sense for him to be hung up on Veronica. Maybe they had been something huge, Then, but Now, Veronica is just a girl that he shared two kisses with and had no business falling for. Which, in the grand scheme of things, doesn’t mean a lot.

However, when it’s just him and his thoughts in the quiet of his room, all that’s logical slips away. Archie turns to his poetry notebook and tries to express what he can’t voice.

In my soul, you dwell,
A haunting echo, a hidden well,
In my heart, still a silent cry,
For all the love that’s passed me by

He stares at the lines, the way the ink contrasts with the paper, thinks about her raven hair framing her face. With harsh self-awareness, he mutters, “You suck,” to himself, tearing the page from his notebook.

.

.

.

Prom is their last school event before junior year is over.

Archie is obviously Betty’s date, and she looks nice in her baby blue, frilly dress that his mother tailored for her. He assures Mr. and Mrs. Cooper that they’ll respect curfew, and that he won’t drink any alcohol, and that they won't even think about going to Lover's Lane.

“Oh, Juggie isn’t wearing his beanie,” Betty remarks upon their arrival. Indeed, Jughead looks unusually polished without his signature hat, his black hair swept back. Beside him, Veronica is breathtaking, all dressed up in emerald-green, her hand hooked around his elbow, a pearl bracelet adorning her wrist, her lips a sultry, bold berry color.

“B!” Veronica calls out, dragging Jughead over with enthusiasm. “See what I managed to do?” She gestures at Jughead’s head with a triumphant grin.

“The impossible, as usual,” Jughead says, rolling his eyes in a way that’s full of deep fascination for his girlfriend. Archie consciously tries to relax his jaw.

“You look amazing, B. This is the perfect color, I told you. And you’re quite dapper yourself, Archie.”

He feels something on his throat, a little itch. “Thanks, Veronica.”

Archie doesn’t know how she manages it, to be honest. Sometimes, he thinks she might’ve erased their memories from her mind altogether.

She treats him like a peer, with the casual friendless one might give to an acquaintance, as if he’s nothing but her best friend’s boyfriend. And he envies that. He envies her ability to navigate through this with such ease, while he’s left with a stack of discarded poems, each ripped page a witness to the unresolved mess inside him.

“Reginald spiked the punch,” she leans in to tell Betty, her eyebrows wiggling with mischief. “It’s deadly.”

.

.

.

No matter what, Archie is committed to making the night special for Betty and being the best date he can be. They dance a few songs, laugh over cups of the infamous punch—well, just a sip—and do the rounds together. When the slow songs start to play, Archie pulls Betty by the hand to the dance floor. He remembers dancing like that with her once, during a wedding where everything else is a blur.

She leans her head on his shoulder, and his gaze wanders.

He spots Jughead and Veronica swaying together. They’re talking even in that moment, too, whispers and giggles. Jughead’s hand moves up Veronica’s arm very slowly, and she responds by leaning in, planting a kiss to his smiling lips.

“This is so weird, isn’t it?” Betty asks. She probably caught him watching their friends. Archie switches his attention to her face. “Jug and V, I mean. They couldn’t stand each other, in our different lives, and look at them now.”

The reflection in Betty’s voice is puzzling to Archie. Is she feeling the same pangs of nostalgia? Is she also longing for something? Is it jealousy? Does that mean she would understand, if he came clean about his turmoil?

“We talked about it the other day. Me and Jughead. How, sometimes, everything seems so…” Her sentence fades, and Archie's eyes drift back to where Jughead and Veronica are still kissing. “How much has changed.”

From the Back-to-School dance to the Junior Prom. How much has changed?

Some things are still the same.

Archie swallows, back in that moment for the quickest of seconds. The hope he’d felt, the way Veronica had looked up at him, the thought that reverberated in his head—tell me we’re not over, tell me you still love me. It’s all rushing back to him, all the time. He doesn’t know what to do.

“Did it help? When you talked to Jughead about it?” Archie inquires carefully, assuming Betty might share his burden. She smiles as if she knows, and leans in to kiss him softly.

“I guess I’m working on that.”

.

.

.

“Hi,” Archie calls, his fingers brushing against the cool pearls on her bracelet as he captures her wrist.

Veronica turns to him, all raven hair and berry lips, with a slight crease between her sharp eyebrows. “Hey.”

“Can we talk?”

Jughead, in that soft way of him, asks if it’s okay for him to dance a couple of songs with Ethel. It’s been a tough year for her, losing her parents in the most gruesome way, and he feels accountable, somehow.

“Why, but of course, Torombolo,” Veronica says, honestly, touching his face in a fleeting, sweet gesture. “You go do that. I’m gonna find Clay and ask him how his screenplay is coming together. Reconvene in a bit?”

Jughead's smile is warm, and he kisses her cheek before heading off to where Ethel Muggs stands. Veronica remembers Ethel from Then, some catty drama that ended up with a milkshake poured over her own head, but she can’t hold any grudges now. Especially because the poor girl has suffered enough already.

She scans the crowd looking for Clay, quickly finding him in a secluded corner, talking to Kevin. It’s a bizarre thought, Clay not existing in their other life. Was he there, only unnoticed, or was his connection with Kevin yet to be written, Then? Were they meant to be in every reality? Does she even believe in that possibility?

Veronica ponders whether to interrupt their conversation when her thoughts are cut short by the sensation of a hand holding on to her wrist, the touch light but charged, a jolt of electricity that goes up her arm and makes her heart jump.

“Hi,” it’s Archie. Archie Andrews and a blue carnation in his lapel, meant to match Betty’s blue dress.

Damn it, Veronica curses, eyebrows creasing. “Hey.”

His hesitation is clear as his fingers slide down her wrist before letting go. “Can we talk?”

Veronica draws in a breath. No, she thinks. What could they even talk about? She’s been so good at crafting the distance between them, so good at pretending whatever she’s seen in that past-future reel didn’t matter, since it’d all end up the same, anyway. She’s frustrated with the galloping in her chest, with the eager question in his eyes.

“Sure,” she says, pasting a smile on her face, a practiced mask, and resorts to what she knows how to do best: business. “What can Veronica Lodge do for you today?”

The tease in her words seems to catch him off guard. His hand moves to rub the back of his neck as a—sadly—adorable flush creeps up his cheekbones. “Can… can we go somewhere else?”

Veronica presses her lips together. She does not want to go somewhere else to have a talk with Archie Andrews and his red cheeks. But, with Betty dancing with Reggie, of all people, and Jughead catching up with Ethel, she’s really low on finding excuses as to why none of this should happen. And if she says no, it will ironically seem like she cares.

She can’t give herself away like that.

“Please?” Archie adds, probably sensing her reluctance.

And, with the agony in his eyes matching the tune of his voice, there’s nothing she can do to prevent it.

.

.

.

Veronica follows him outside. Despite summer being just around the corner, the cool air of the night raises goosebumps on her arms.

She wraps them around herself.

Archie notices her shiver and, like the gentleman he’s supposed to be, slips off his jacket to drape it over her shoulders.

She doesn’t dare look up at him while he does that, afraid that it would betray the effect of his proximity.

“Thank you,” she says, enveloped by the warmth of his body and the scent of him: clean clothes, sandalwood, skin. A fragrance she’s only felt from up close twice in this lifetime. But it’s a well-known fact that the nose is the keeper of the truest memoirs, and she knows that this is the same scent from his bed, the curve of his neck, his hair. She fights to keep her composure, forbidding her old self to have a say in her current mind. “What do you want to talk about?”

Archie pauses, but then plunges into the conversation. “Us.”

Veronica knew, as soon as she followed him outside, that this would come at some point. Still, she didn't think it'd be so fast. She bites her lip, now allowing their eyes to meet. “Us, us? Or… us?”

“I don’t know. I’m—” His voice falters, and he heaves out a breath. “I’m with Betty. And I know I was with Betty. But I don’t understand why I feel like—Should I be with her?”

His doubt is palpable, his eyes searching hers for an answer.

If the other Archie had presented the other Veronica with this question, she’s sure that she would have caved. That in spite of everything, she would have said, no. You should be with me. No one can possibly love you more than I do.

(I was with Archie, Veronica told Betty and Jughead, that night at Pop’s. It was just an acknowledgement, but in truth, she’s still reeling from the revelation. She’d felt an undeniable pull towards Archie from the very moment they’d met, and it’d come back to haunt her from time to time, but she could have never imagined that they once existed in a plane where her love for him was so immense she killed her husband, and her own father, in order to keep him safe. She didn't even know she had the power to love someone like that, and it scares her.)

She knows that Veronica would have Archie over anyone.

But this Veronica felt so much closer to Betty Now than she did Then, and it would be silly to throw that away over an echo, a phantom limb.

Not to mention, that Archie never had any of these doubts. He’d known exactly what he wanted.

“Yes, I think you should,” she replies, her voice softening, descending. “You chose her.”

“Did I? Because I don’t remember that, Veronica.” Archie takes a step further, thickening the air around them. “All I remember is being the happiest I’d ever been, with you, and then it’s like a huge chunk is missing, and I’m suddenly with her. I remember everything about us, except the way we ended. Do you remember?”

Veronica doesn’t, not everything. She decided not to. There are blanks, gaps, probably context missing, although she knows she also had been her happiest with him, laughing against his mouth, safe in his arms. Right now, though, all of this feels like a dream you have during a nap on a Friday afternoon, something that’s so real and raw until you forget about it.

However, she also knows she’d seen Betty and Archie together, Then. That she’d heard him say that a family life with Betty was everything he’d ever wanted. That he’d asked her for a ring so he could propose to Betty before the end of the world, and she obliged.

“I just know that we ended,” she says, holding his gaze. “And that you chose her.”

“I don’t think I did, Ronnie,” Archie confides, speaking so softly she could barely hear him.

Ronnie. The nickname tugs at her heart. Veronica feels the urge to reach out and touch his face, but she keeps it to herself, closing her eyes. “Oh, Archiekins.” She bites her lip. “You and I had something beautiful, but—”

His hands are suddenly on her face, and he silences her, drawing her into a kiss.

His lips are as soft as they were the last time. Veronica’s mouth parts slightly, her heart beating out of her chest. He inhales deeply, and ignites a fire on her skin, blooming in her lower abdomen. When he moves, she follows, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. The tip of his tongue traces her lip, sending a shiver down her spine, a soft gasp escaping her

His forehead rests against hers, their breaths ragged.

“We shouldn’t do this,” Veronica’s whisper resonates from another moment in time.

Archie’s lips curve into a knowing, tiny smirk, his hands still cradling her face.

“We definitely shouldn’t do this.”

“No, Archie. I mean it.” Veronica musters the strength to step back, despite the protests of her body. “Betty is my best friend. I love her. I could never, ever hurt her.”

Archie stands there, his expression a mix of surprise and confusion as she removes his jacket, returning it with a look that speaks volumes.

She and Betty share a bond, a promise, and Veronica knows she can't betray that, no matter how thrilling the “what ifs” might be.

.

.

.

Veronica walks into the decorated gym, her stomach in knots. Jughead finds her immediately, his smile warm and genuine, blue eyes lighting up in that way she’s come to anticipate with fondness.

“Hey. You okay?” He must realize something is wrong because he frowns, placing both his hands on her shoulders. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Or kissed one. The thought stabs her, but she shakes her head, taking his hands on hers before he steps any closer. She’s thankful that Jughead probably didn’t see her going outside with Archie, and even more so that Betty is still having fun with Reggie, because she couldn’t bear facing her right now. “I’m not feeling well. I’m going to ask Smithers to take me home, if that’s okay.”

His concern only grows. “Of course. Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, no, I’ll be fine. Maybe the punch was a little too spiked,” she tries to lighten the mood with a weak jest, and it works, because he responds with a small laugh. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” she promises, kissing him on the cheek, the act feeling like another betrayal.

“Okay. I’ll tell Betty and Archie.”

.

.

.

After shedding silent tears on the way home, she takes off her dress and jewelry, and wipes off mascara stains from under her eyes, wondering if there’s a reality where she won’t end her school dances sobbing.

She changes into her silk babydoll, and pours a glass of wine, hoping it will dull her emotions a little.

Veronica has always played grown up so well, Then and even Now, but it’s times like these that she feels like a stupid little girl, unable to escape from the weight of her feelings, to block her thoughts.

Archie’s kiss is still burning on her lips.

The first time they kissed, Now, it was just a bold statement. She shoved her tongue in his mouth in front of everyone, felt his body harden, and him pulling away before anything awkward happened. She felt powerful then, in control, giddy with how well they fitted.

The second time was so different. It wasn’t meant to happen, since he had been clear he didn’t think they were a good match and was definitely pursuing Betty, but his recitation of The Crucible in class had stirred something so deep inside her. She really just meant to thank him, the kiss she planted on his cheek nothing but a way to show him she cared about him, about his pain.

But when their eyes locked, they were all she could see.

They didn’t talk about it, and she chose Betty, pretty much like she did in the other life, and just now.

Betty, can we make a vow? That no matter what, no boy will ever come between us again?

(They promised each other, but then Archie kissed her on his couch, and she couldn’t resist—that promise melted away. He insisted that he wanted her, that he would stand by her, that he could be her soulmate if she allowed him, until she did and could never undo it. She could never escape it anymore. She’s tried to let it go, but it never let go of her.)

Veronica drinks more, trying to tether herself to the present.

She really does like Jughead.

He’s thoughtful, and funny. Intelligent, talented, and so easy to talk to. They actually could engage in conversation for hours without getting tired, and isn’t that something? She had never met a boy before that could hold her attention so much that physical attraction became a second thought. But even that attraction has blossomed. She finds him handsome now, the birthmarks on his face, his smile. And when they had sex, he made her feel good. She couldn’t ignore his role in her life, Now.

But could she ignore the things that Archie said?

Should I be with her?

I was the happiest I’d ever been with you.

I remember everything about us.

I don’t think I did, Ronnie.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a sound so unexpected it feels like a shake in her system. A knock at her door, sharp and clear in the silence of her apartment. She sets down her glass, bracing herself with a deep breath. At this hour, it’s probably Smithers, checking on her.

She wraps her robe around herself and walks to the door, opening without a second thought. And instead of Smithers, finds her very own heartbeat: Archie, only in the white shirt and pants from his prom attire, his hair disheveled as if he’s run his hand through it way too many times.

There’s a flash in her mind—all the other times she’d opened this door, Then, and Archie was standing outside with this very same expression, the one that told her he was wrestling with himself not to come around.

“Archie?”

“Are you okay? Jughead said you felt sick.”

“You know why I said that, Archie,” she admits, biting the inside of her lip. The last time he stood there, Then, was right before the comet struck. She doesn’t know why she can remember that so clearly, especially when it brought her such sorrow.

“Ronnie,” Archie breathes out, his eyes desperate for some sort of absolution. “Tell me I’m being crazy.”

All those other times he’s knocked on that door are still rushing back, not as distant thoughts, but as lived moments.

She was with Reggie, telling a lie about who she wanted to be with, and watched as Archie walked away, devastated.

She was with Chad, allowing him to be a prick God knows why, and watched as Archie walked away, angry.

She was alone, but he was with Betty, the world was about to end, and she watched as Archie walked away, thankful, unaware of how much her heart was bleeding.

Veronica shakes her head. She’s suddenly someone who can’t bear to see him walking away again.

“No,” she mutters, her eyes brightening. “You’re not crazy.”

With a surge of emotion, she grabs his shirt, pulling him into a kiss that’s nothing like the one they shared earlier, a firestorm of feelings that burns away any façade.

Archie groans when their tongues meet, and Veronica pulls him inside, her fingers already unbuttoning his shirt. The door is kicked closed as she feels him walking her back, their mouths not once leaving each other’s.

She pushes his shirt off his torso, hands impatient.

Archie tugs at her robe, and when it joins his shirt on the floor, he slides his hands all over her curves in the babydoll, pushing the straps down her shoulders. Veronica’s eyes flutter close when he starts kissing down her jaw, and her neck, creating a wet trail down her collarbone. She moans, a hunger she never felt in this lifetime, and yet so many times Then.

She digs her nails into his shoulders, indentations on his warm skin. “Ronnie,” he hisses, and returns to kiss her mouth, his tongue against hers.

Archie tries to navigate her towards the couch but, in their rush, they miss their mark, tumbling down onto the rug in front of the fireplace. He cradles the back of her head to cushion the fall, a gesture that makes her melt inside. “I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice soft, a smile breaking through even if they’re still caught up in each other’s lips.

She giggles, touching his jaw as she adjusts herself under him, parting his lips with her tongue. Their kiss slows down, deepens, and she runs her hands over his chest, feeling his heat, his muscles reacting to her touch. He’s hard against her thigh, his hand going up her body, cupping her breast.

Her nipple peaks under the silk. Archie flicks his thumb over it, pulling away, his eyes glued on his hand as it slides her clothing even further down, revealing more of her body to the dim light of her living room.

Veronica pants, the air between them charged with anticipation. Archie licks his lips and moves them to her collarbone, and her chest, pausing at her breast. His breath is hot on her skin when he takes the uncovered one into his mouth, the moistness of his tongue making Veronica arch, pressing against his erection.

“Ronnie,” he says again, his voice a low, husky request. She wraps her legs around him, her nightgown sliding up her legs, pooling around her waist. She feels the bulge on his pants press against her lace-covered center, the friction sending waves of desire through her. “Oh, God.”

“Kiss me, Archie,” she demands, breathless. He meets her lips without hesitation, indulging her, each movement of their tongues echoing the rhythm they both crave.

Archie's hands freely roam down to her hips, gripping them as he grinds against her, making her ache for him even more. She wraps one of her hands around his neck, pulling him closer, as their combined moans vibrate against their mouths.

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of her underwear, teasing the lace, before he starts pulling them down. Veronica unbuckles his belt, her fingers almost trembling with need. She helps him take off his pants, freeing him, making him grunt..

Archie’s touch doesn’t stop there. He quickly finds his way to her clit, circling it with a knowing caress that leaves her short-winded, and oh, so wet. “Archiekins,” she moans.

“Tell me what you need, Ronnie,” he breathes, his fingertip teasing her entrance but not quite pushing it inside. He seems to know exactly what she needs, though. His other hand rolls her nipple between its fingers, and he starts nipping at her neck, sending waves of growing pleasure through her, and she wonders if it’ll leave a mark; explaining it to Jughead would be complicated.

Jughead. Oh Christ.

But with Archie all over her, his middle finger finally slipping inside her, his thumb still on her most sensitive part, she can’t think anymore. “You,” Veronica manages through her sighs, seeking his mouth once more, famished for his kisses.

He keeps torturing her with his hand. “How do you want me?”

Trying to regain a bit of control, Veronica pushes him to his back, sitting up on his thighs. He immediately grabs her backside with firm hands. She can see his face, his mouth all smudged with her berry lipstick. She’s sure her own face is a mess too.

She holds him in her hand, stroking a few times. Archie pushes his head back, his breath catching, and she lowers herself slowly onto him, moaning as he enters her, the sensation overwhelming, filling her in a different way.

“Just like that,” she breathes out.

He looks up at her, watching her move, his hands on her hips helping her set the pace. His eyes are so dark, almost black. He reaches out to touch her breast. She knows somehow that she’s always loved to see him like this, all undone by her.

He was thinking about her all night, wasn’t he? He put on that blue carnation that matched Betty’s dress, and he was thinking of her. He couldn’t stay away, just like she couldn’t help but give into him, across all these goddamn lifelines.

“Come here,” Archie asks, his voice hoarse, pulling her closer to him. She throws her hair to the side and leans in to kiss him passionately, her movements quickening. Archie matches her speed, their moans coming together in perfect harmony.

He manages to slide his hand between them, fingers finding her clit once more. Veronica lets out a little cry, her body responding, almost at the edge, almost tipping over. She wonders if it’s muscle memory, that he can make her feel this delirious. if their bodies remember even better than their minds, than their hearts.

Archie’s breath starts coming in short gasps, his body tensing beneath her. “Babe,” he begs, the word echoing through her as if it’s the other Archie saying it somehow. As if she’s been the other Veronica this entire time. “C’mon, Ronnie.”

She starts to tremble, her legs weakening under the waves crashing over her. She braces herself with her hand on his chest and loses it, shivers and shocks that keep coming because he’s still touching her, slowly, prolonging her sensations to an almost unbearable point.

“You’re so amazing,” he says, breathless, holding her when she falls limp on top of him.

Veronica feels him throbbing inside her, and realizes they didn’t use any protection. With a sigh, she moves off him, lying by his side and taking him in her hand, intent on finishing him off. He’s still slick from her, so it’s easy.

“Archiekins,” she moans, hot and low in his ear, kissing his neck, feeling the scent she’s missed so much, the taste of his sweat on her daring tongue. “Yes, lover.”

He covers her hand with his, guiding her to find the right rhythm, and turns his face towards her, brushing their lips together. It doesn’t take long at all for his breathing to become erratic. He shudders, coming over her hand and his own stomach, whimpering her name into a kiss.

.

.

.

Afterwards, their skins sticky and feverish, they lay together on the living room floor, the same place where he said he loved her for the first time. Where they shared their first night after seven years apart.

Then.

Where they were when they shared their first kiss.

Now.

Their date with destiny.

We had this date with each other from the very beginning, Archiekins.

“Ronnie?” Archie calls, softly, his hand going up and down the arm she has draped over his chest. “What are we going to do?”

.

.

.

tbc.

Chapter Text

[ two ]

.

and i’d be lying if i kept hiding
 the fact that i can’t deal

(and that i've been dying for something real)

.

“Remembering all that, took the pressure off us...”

.

.

.

“We,” Veronica says after a moment, determined, but so soft it barely cuts through the silence, “are going to clean up this mess.”

Archie doesn’t understand what she means, immediately. He wonders what mess she refers to, because right now it could be anything. The fact that he couldn’t stay away, or giving into each other when they knew damn well that they were committed to other people, or—

She gets up, removes the babydoll that was still around her waist. “Follow me.”

Archie does. Ronnie takes him by the hand. She doesn’t seem bothered to be completely naked. Archie is, as well, and all sticky from his release but despite how ironic that seems, considering what had just happened between them, he feels increasingly shy. His heart, that had just started calming down, picks its pace again.

The only time he’d been in Veronica’s house before was during her make-out party, and he hadn’t gotten anywhere close to the other rooms. Sometimes, he did wonder what would’ve happened in that party if he wasn’t trying to date Cheryl, if he had honored the game rules and paired off with who got his number.

He follows her into her room, which has an ensuite bathroom with a shower stall, like the ones in the gym’s locker room. He’s a bit surprised—they were so rare in households. He remembers his mom considering installing one to his own bathroom, but it was way too expensive for them to afford.

Veronica steps under the cascading hot water, and he does the same. As soon as their bodies meet, every thought seems to disappear from his mind. She starts washing him with a soap bar, his shoulders, his torso. Archie holds her, marveling at how big his hands feel compared to her tiny waist.

He remembers Then, having showers with her all the time. Sometimes it’d be some hot, passionate encounter where he’d push her against the tiles and pull her wet hair, but mostly it was just them connecting under the water, words replaced by gentle touches and deep kisses.

There’s one moment in particular that comes back to him as if he was reliving it: Veronica, asking if he wanted some company, her skin being the only good, clean thing in a day full of blood and grief.

Archie leans in to kiss her, parting her lips with his tongue. She responds, and he can’t stop his body from reacting, hardening against her stomach. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, that odd inhibition coming back. She wraps her sudsy hand around him, and he wants to tell her that she doesn’t have to do anything, but she kisses him again and starts moving her hand.

(There’s another moment from Then that he feels part of, suddenly. One of the last memories he has with Veronica before it cuts to being with Betty. He was in the shower, so worried about the talk they’d just had, and she pushed the curtains open, walking in with him, kissing him. He was so relieved that she joined him. He thought she wasn’t going to.

Babe, we’re okay, right? He asked her, almost pleading, holding her face in his hands, to which she answered, Shh, just kiss me.)

Archie comes with a shudder, exhaling sharply, the pleasure from Now and from Then mixed with a dull pain in his heart that he can’t understand. He opens his eyes, and Veronica touches his face, the droplets of water falling over down eyelashes, almost like tears.

.

.

.

Veronica offers him a towel. Back in her room, they dry off, the silence between them laden with the weight of their most recent choices. He watches as she pats her damp hair down, her bangs starting to curl up a little, her face unreadable.

“We need to pretend none of this ever happened,” she says suddenly, not looking at him.

Archie stops drying himself. “Pretend? Ronnie, how do we just—”

“We have to, Archie,” she turns to face him, her expression one of resolve mixed up with regret. “Jughead and I just started, and we got something good going on. I will not betray Betty again. And you don’t wanna break up with her to be with me.”

He wraps the towel around his waist, heaving out a breath. He doesn’t really like that she’s telling him what he wants or doesn’t—it frustrates him a little. Why is it that no one ever seems to believe that he’s able to decide things for himself?

And while he knows it was wrong, he can’t help but think that the only choice he’s been able to actually make ever since telling Uncle Frank he was writing poetry instead of being in the team, was showing up at Veronica’s door tonight.

“It’s not that simple,” he manages to say.

“It actually is very simple,” Veronica bites back, her words firm. “You should go.”

He clenches his jaw. There she goes again, this Veronica with all her antics. Kissing him, saying she needed him, showering with him, touching him, and now saying it’s simple for them to come back to a world where they’re just friends, or whatever they’re supposed to be.

“I will.” He gives up, swallowing hard. In the end, she’s probably right. He wouldn’t want to break up with a girl who actually cares about him to start something so unsure. “See you at school,” he says, words tasting like ash in his mouth.

She doesn’t look at him or says anything else.

Archie gathers his clothes in the living room, putting them back on like an armor that he took off during a death-wish haze, undoing what they had done. As he buttons up his shirt, he glances back towards the bedroom, half-expecting her to appear, to change her mind, to ask him to stay.

But of course, she’s not going to do that. He shakes his head, annoyed with himself, and leaves the Pembrooke, half-wishing he was never there.

.

.

.

Every Saturday morning, ever since they got together Now, Archie and Betty have a breakfast date at Pop’s. It's a little slice of normalcy in a world turned upside down by all their recent discoveries. They’re joined by Jughead and Veronica sometimes, but usually it’s just the two of them, talking or sharing quiet moments, like reading the paper together—Archie likes the sports session, Betty reads the political news, her brow furrowing over injustices.

Although he hasn’t slept at all, he makes sure to be there the morning after prom, sitting next to her and greeting her with a soft kiss on her cheek. “V didn’t answer the phone, so I’m guessing it’s just us, today,” Betty says.

Archie smiles briefly, looking at the menu only not to look at her. Betty’s hand is suddenly on his thigh, a familiar, silent signal of what she wants from him. “Why didn’t you climb up my window last night like you usually do?” she asks, her voice dropping a notch. “I waited…”

He shifts, uncomfortable, the guilt coiling in his stomach instead of the usual spark. He takes her hand, gently moving it away under the pretense of affection. “I’m sorry,” he says, intertwining their fingers. “I fell asleep early,” he lies.

She must believe him, because she smiles, and leans in to give him a quick kiss. Archie feels ashamed, not just of himself but also of who he used to be, Then: so honorable, so serious. He imagines that Archie would be mortified at this deception.

“I think I want oatmeal,” Betty changes the subject, her tone lightening, and then her face brightens as she spots someone walking into Pop’s. “Reggie! Join us!”

Archie clears his throat, quite literally saved by the diner’s bell. Betty perks up next to him when Reggie slides into the other side of the booth. Her enthusiasm for his arrival once would’ve annoyed Archie a little, but right now he’s just grateful for the distraction. “Good morning, love birds,” Reggie says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Morning, Reg,” Archie replies, his voice betraying none of his internal conflict as he lets go of Betty’s hand, his leg bouncing up and down under the table. With Uncle Frank gone, Reggie had moved into the guest room, severing the once-close knowledge of each other’s schedules, but he does wonder if Reggie knows anything about his escape last night.

“So, tell me,” Betty giggles, unaware of his unease. “Did you manage to take Cricket O’Dell to Lover’s Lane?”

“Wow, Cooper, you need to learn how to ease a guy into this type of question,” Reggie responds with a grin, his eyes twinkling.

The conversation shifts to the lighter, playful banter between Betty and Reggie, giving Archie a moment to catch his breath. He watches them, their easy laughter and teasing, feeling like an outsider in his own life. His mind drifts back to the night before, his actions sitting heavy like a stone in his chest.

.

.

.

They still have two weeks until junior year is over; two weeks until Archie leaves for Duck Creek. Fourteen days. Like a prisoner, he marks them off in his notebook, a countdown leading to his liberty.

Archie thinks he must be going insane.

Every time he sees Veronica, during classes, in the hallways, he’s not only flooded with moments shared Then; he’s also overflowing with what happened Now. Her body against his, her nails on his back. The way she kissed and talked to him through the sensations.

He tries to focus on his textbooks, the teacher’s voice, but it’s like swimming against the current. During science class, when Dr. Bicker discusses the intricacies of the human heart, all he can think about is how his own heart was pounding in his chest when Veronica moved on top of him. During English, Mrs. Thornton wants to know why he’s not showing her his recent poems, and he says he has nothing to write about so far, but that’s because he couldn’t begin to imagine sharing that torment with anyone else, when it doesn't even rhyme.

You opened the door,
Did it shut the window?
I don’t want to want more,
I want freedom.

Betty seems to be preoccupied with her own matters these days, which offers Archie a small reprieve. Alice agreed to let her visit Polly in New York this summer, and help with her sister’s wedding preparations. Polly would show her the campus of Columbia, but Betty also wants to take the train and visit Brown. Studying there would be like a dream.

“I must admit that Providence sounds a little boring,” Veronica remarks during lunch in the student’s lounge. She’s sitting next to Jughead, opposite him and Betty. “But Columbia? Love the idea. In fact, maybe Juggie and I can join you. We decided to spend some of our summer vacation in Manhattan.”

“You did?” Archie’s voice betrays him, a frown creasing his brow. It’s the first direct thing he says to her ever since that night, and it’s probably out of character, because Jughead seems a bit suspicious.

“Got any problem with that?” he asks. Archie looks at Veronica, the way her posture is suddenly rigid, her eyes warning him to thread carefully.

Betty, probably misreading his discomfort, cuddles closer to him. “Maybe if you can escape Duck Creek for a weekend, you could visit the three of us there, Arch. It would be so much fun.”

“Nah. The sweetcorn needs me,” he replies, trying to dissolve the awkwardness with a quick joke.

It works, because Jughead snorts, breaking the tension. “Wow, and he made that sound so natural.”

.

.

.

The weekend rolls around and Archie, finding a way to spend time with Betty without delving too deep into conversation or intimacy, decides on taking her to the movies. He specifically asks Clay if it’s his shift at the Babylonium, this Saturday night—hoping to dodge any potential mishaps—but his carefully laid plans fall apart the moment he gets there.

Veronica is behind the cashier, wearing her red suit uniform, her hair tied back in a ponytail for a change. Her lips match the exact shade of the uniform. Archie recalls how his kisses smudged the lipstick across her jaw, that night.

“V!” Betty exclaims, letting go of his hand to embrace Veronica. “I thought you weren’t working tonight.”

Me too, Archie thinks, grinding his teeth. She glances at him, her smile brightening as she holds Betty’s hands. “Clay and Kevin called in a favor,” she winks, suggestive. “What are you guys watching? Well, let me guess, A Kiss Before Dying?”

“You know I’m not a Catered Affair kind of girl,” Betty winks back, playing along. Veronica laughs, but to Archie, it seems hollow, not reaching her eyes. Or, perhaps, he just wants it not to.

“Well, two tickets, please,” he says, placing a dollar on the counter, his voice measured.

Veronica shakes a dismissive hand. “My bestie and her beau don’t have to pay in my establishment,” she declares.

“No, actually, I think I’ll pay,” Archie insists, not quite sure why this saltiness flares up, since it fills the air with nonsense strain. He catches the questioning expression Betty makes, his face heating up.

“Arch?” Betty probably senses the unusual reaction.

“Don't let your summer job get to your head,” Veronica counters swiftly, her chin tilting up as she takes the dollar from him. “Enjoy the movie,” she says with a practiced smile, handing him the tickets.

Archie doesn’t enjoy the movie. The film plays on the big screen, one of those mysteries Betty loved so much even Then, but the storyline fades into the background. All he can think about is that Veronica is somewhere outside, and that she might be thinking of him too.

In fact, he comes to realize he hasn’t truly enjoyed anything since prom. Her presence has become a shadow over his time at school, his relationship with Betty, his friendship with Jughead. He can’t sleep, he can’t write anything that isn’t about her. All he can do is count the days until he’s away from this torture.

.

.

.

On Monday, five days before the sweet release of summer vacation, Veronica seeks him out. He’s in the music room, right after the last session of the literary workshop, where Mrs. Thornton assigned their reading list for the summer. One minute he’s still chuckling about a joke Toni told him before leaving, and the other his laughter dies in his throat as he looks up to watch her walk in, closing the door behind her.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Veronica asks, her voice a low rumble. “That whole scene at the Babylonium was tragic. Do you want Betty to find out?”

Archie chews the inside of his cheek. At some other point in time, she’s standing in the hallway Then, during an argument that he doesn’t know why happened.

We’re gonna pretend. It’s our only option.

Yeah, for you, maybe.

“I just can’t pretend, Veronica,” he admits, shaking his head. “Not the way you do.”

“Look, I know that things got messy after we remembered, but this isn’t who we are anymore,” Veronica’s words are sharp, slicing through the air. “That life is over, and you were going to end up with Betty in it.”

“We don’t know if that’s true,” he says, the words escaping him before he can think about them. It seemed pretty obvious for everyone, including himself, that this is where their paths would lead, Then. He just hates that she keeps talking about it as if it had been his fault.

Veronica exhales, frustration written all over her face. “Look, I’m confused, here, okay? Because before we knew about all of this stuff, you didn’t even want to be with me that way. You said you were 'fond' of me," she air-quotes. "So, what’s really changed?”

That question makes Archie knit his eyebrows. “I did want you. Did you forget?” he defies, his voice rising before he can help it. “I thought you were the girl for me the minute you showed up in this town, and you did nothing but play me like a puppet with your stupid games.”

“Yeah, and when I changed my mind, you were all over Cheryl, Betty, Mrs. Grundy, and who else?” Veronica narrows her dark eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think I had to be waiting for you when you were going on dates with Reggie, or holding Jughead’s hand, or dancing with Julian Blossom at the Sock-Hop,” Archie shoots back, fueled by the pent-up resentment from those moments.

“I recall perfectly that I asked to dance with you first, and you rejected me,” Veronica points out, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“So I could dance with my mother!” Archie exclaims, still hurt about it even if he never admitted to it. “When the song was over, I looked for you and you were all wrapped up on the dance floor with him, when you knew what he’d said to me the night before. Do you think I’m a clown?”

Veronica presses her fingers to her forehead. “Okay, Archie.” She holds back. “We both screwed up. But what matters now, is that we can’t keep doing this. Junior year is about to be over, and I want to enjoy my summer without thinking about you all the freaking time.”

“That’s exactly what I am trying to do here!” Archie persists, the irony of their situation not lost in him.

“Then stop acting like we have a secret!” She throws her hands up, exasperated. “We can’t blow up our lives because of a moment that didn’t mean anything.”

That stings, but Archie knows that she’s said it just to hurt him, and looks deep into her eyes.

“You’re a goddamn liar.”

Veronica holds his gaze. “Archie,” she says, full of breath, sounding like a warning and an invitation all at once.

In one big step, his heart racing with the inevitability, Archie closes the distance between them, and he thinks she might meet him halfway, because she holds his face when he kisses her. His mouth opens under hers and he melts into it, holding her hips—and then Veronica places her hands on his chest, pushing him away.

“Enough,” she says, breathless. “We need to stay away from each other.”

.

.

.

That’s what they do.

They don’t speak at all in the following days, and Archie resigns to the fact that they probably won’t for the whole summer; perhaps for the rest of their school time.

Determined to at least try to forget how that last kiss felt, he spends his last night in town with Betty, getting lost in all her sweetness. She sits up on his bed afterwards, putting her pink bra back on. He touches her back, and feels way too guilty to let it go.

“Betty. I need to be honest with you,” he starts.

I still have feelings for Veronica. I shouldn’t, but I do.

‘Shouldn’t.’

“If this is about you and V, I already know,” Betty says, turning around, reaching out to touch his face, gentle, and unexpected. “Julian saw you guys at prom, and told me. The pest.”

“What?” Archie blinks, his heart sinking with the realization that she’s known the whole time.

“It’s okay, Arch.” She smiles softly, still caressing his cheek. “It’s not like we didn’t do the same in our senior year, and you guys broke up.”

Confusion clouds up his face. What does he remember from senior year, Then? Spending mornings all wrapped up with Veronica in her purple sheets, the scent of her perfume. Catching a trout with his dad on his eighteenth birthday, the first of July. Football matches. Starting the community center and hosting Thanksgiving for the kids. House parties, laughing with Jughead, their easy camaraderie. Dancing with Veronica in a nightclub, the world narrowing down to just the two of them. The car wash fundraiser. Playing a song for graduation, Jughead saying, not Green Day! Throwing his hat up in the air.

Veronica at his door, wearing yellow, asking to be with him one last time, her eyes a storm of emotions.

“She and I broke up because she was going to college, and I was going to the army,” Archie affirms.

That seems to surprise Betty a little. “Yeah, but we kissing was part of the problem, don’t you remember?” She asks, her voice small. Archie does remember the kiss: his garage, the fairy lights, the first time he’s felt something for Betty that could mean something more. But that wasn’t the reason—or was it? Was it even in senior year? “I get it, it’s all been so confusing lately. But I love you, and we’re going to be alright.”

She leans in to kiss him in reassurance, but Archie’s mind is a whirlwind. He thought that his other self was so much better, so much more heroic, but it turns out that he was just as flawed and confused.

He wonders, briefly, if that’s what happened. If he and Veronica ended for good later in life because he cheated on her with Betty, again, and if that’s why she’s so guarded. It makes sense, if so. He feels gross with his actions across both lives.

.

.

.

The next morning, Betty blows him a kiss from her window. Jughead shows up for breakfast, and to give him a goodbye hug.

“Have a good time moving bales of hay,” he teases.

“And you have fun in the city,” Archie replies as he holds his friend back, his stomach still churning from last night’s revelations, and all the hurt he’s caused everyone. “Take care of Veronica, alright?”

Jughead gives him that look again, the one that’s curious and tinged with suspicion, but keeps any questions to himself. “I will,” he says, simply.

Archie’s mom and Reggie drive him to the train station, Reggie thanking him a thousand times for helping him and making his dream possible. When they leave, Archie finds himself alone on the platform, checking the time on his ticket, until he spots Kevin there.

“Oh, hey, Kev.”

“Hey, Arch.” Kevin comes closer, his hands in his pockets. “I was just seeing Clay off. He’s going to this summer writing program in Pennsylvania.”

“That’s nice.” Archie adjusts the strap of his duffel bag that’s slung around his shoulder. “What about you?”

“Probably will just be bored out of my mind waiting for him to come back,” Kevin chuckles.

Archie laughs too, and it turns into something softer, as he remembers all the hardships Kevin’s been through this year. “I’m so glad for you, Kev. Finding Clay and all that.” He swallows, thoughtful. “It must be nice to be so sure of something.”

“Well,” Kevin tilts his head, his smile fading a little. “It hasn’t been an all-smooth ride.”

“What do you mean?”

“I love Clay so much. I really do. But now I remember those other moments, you know?” Kevin’s eyes drift, as if he’s lost in the labyrinth of his past life. “All the other boyfriends I had, other people that I loved, and that I cannot have in this life. I mean, I almost had a son. Fangs and I were basically married, and then…Moose and I finally had another shot after so much time apart, and that’s all gone. I don’t even know if he exists here. I have to mourn these things that I never got to have with him, and now never will.”

Archie looks at him, waiting for the conclusion.

“But if I didn’t lose any of that, I wouldn’t be with Clay, so.”

“It’s like the choice has been made for you,” Archie reflects.

“Yeah. I guess,” Kevin nods, his gaze returning to Archie, and a shared understanding passes between them. “Well, have a nice summer, Archie. Get some writing down.” He pats Archie’s arm.

“Thanks, Kev. See you soon.”

As Archie watches him go, his thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the train approaching the station. Heaving out a deep breath, he prepares to step aboard. 

Summer in Duck Creek is exactly what he needs, a chance to untangle the chaos of his heart and mind.

Betty asks her to come over, and help her choose what she’s packing for her summer trip.

Veronica sits on her best friend’s bed and watches her twirl in different dresses, turning the room into their own private runway. There’s a song playing on the radio, from this new singer named Elvis Presley—since my baby left me, I found a new place to dwell, it’s down at the end of Lonely Street in the Heartbreak Hotel.

Veronica cheers and laughs, sipping on the rosé wine that she stole from her parents’ cabinet, and that she prays Alice won’t find out about.

Being around Betty used to be the easiest thing that she ever experienced, something as effortless as breathing. Everything had clicked once they became friends, somehow, like they were meant to be. And Veronica wants that to still be true Now, no matter what has happened Then.

However, between outfits changes, she finds her gaze drifting to Betty’s window, across from Archie’s. The curtains are closed, reminding her he’s left this morning. Jughead told her he had breakfast there to say goodbye.

“Hello? Is Veronica Lodge there?” Betty’s voice pulls her back.

Veronica shakes her head, her eyes momentarily lingering on the window before she focuses. Betty seems to follow her interest, and sits on the bed with her, her voice a whisper over the music.

“You should’ve come to say goodbye to him,” she says.

Veronica’s eyes drop, then meet Betty’s, her heart aching with everything she’s done in the past weeks. “Betty,” she begins. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“You and Archie kissed,” Betty states, calm, steady.

Veronica blinks her surprise away. “He told you?”

“No. Someone saw you guys at prom,” she reveals. Veronica presses her lips together. That means Betty doesn’t know everything else that’s happened. She should tell Betty about it, but she’s not sure if telling that to someone, about how easily they’ve lost control, would make it even more real. “I’m gonna tell you the same thing I told him, V. It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I’m—” Veronica’s breath hitches, her eyes welling up with tears she didn’t expect. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, but I was suddenly possessed by the…ghost of the other Veronica, you know? The one from before.” Her voice cracks in a confession to herself as much as to Betty. “The one that still loved Archie even if you guys were together.”

Betty’s expression is one of a soft shock. “I…I didn’t know you felt like that for him, V,” she murmurs. “The whole time?”

Veronica nods, closing her eyes, the tears escaping from her eyelashes. She wipes them away quickly. “It’s not like that anymore. That life is gone, and even if it weren’t…” She swallows hard, not able to let the words out. He chose you. “Archie said so himself, B. He and I aren’t a good match.”

“Can I tell you something?” Betty’s voice is gentle, almost hesitant.

“Yeah. Anything.”

“When I heard about you and Archie kissing, I did feel jealous, but—I don’t know if it was because of him.”

“Oh.” Veronica’s heart skips a beat when she realizes.

“Before Angel Tabitha visited us, I kind of had the impression that something was happening between you and me.” Betty looks down, as shy as she’d been the first time they talked about sharing a kiss. Veronica bites her lip. “Then I saw you with Jughead, and then you remembered being with Archie, and… I guess your feelings have changed.”

“Betty.”

She’s coy, shrugging, tones of pink on her cheeks. “It’s okay if they did. I just thought you should know that mine are still here.”

Veronica comes closer, places a hand on Betty’s warm cheek. She loves her so much. She doesn’t want to lose her over this, over some boy, and she doesn’t know how to explain that her memories from Then are so full of intense feelings about Archie that everything else pales in comparison, so she leans in, and captures Betty’s lips with hers.

Don’t freak out, just trust me.

The kiss starts with a soft touch, but then Betty’s breath catches, a soft sigh escaping her, and she moves against her lips with an eagerness that Veronica wasn’t really expecting. Betty’s hand is on the back of her head, pulling her closer, her tongue finding its way into her mouth. She tastes like rosé wine and smells like vanilla.

The song on the radio changes abruptly to some guy narrating an advertisement, and Betty pulls away quickly, almost as if they had gotten caught. She laughs, touching her lips that are painted with Veronica’s lipstick, and Veronica ends up laughing too.

.

.

.

Betty kisses Veronica again, later that day, without any preamble. They’re in the kitchen, the scent of baking cookies filling the air, the timer on the oven ticking down to afternoon tea, and Alice is just outside in the living room. Suddenly, Betty presses Veronica against the fridge and, with a little moan, nips at her mouth.

Betty’s tongue slides against hers, hands gripping Veronica’s ass, fingernails stinging through her dress. Veronica’s head spins: she doesn’t have it in her to ask Betty not to do that, unsure if she wants this to stop or continue. She’s kissed girls before, Then and Now, and that’s probably something she likes doing, kissing girls, but none of them kissed her with the intensity she feels from Betty.

And it’s a bizarre place to be, especially now that they’ve all reclaimed their memories. Betty and Archie are dating, and Betty and Archie are endgame. Neither Betty nor Archie are supposed to want her while they’re together.

(We’re in this together, the moment flickers in her mind. Did that really happen? Why on Earth would Betty want Archie to kiss her while she sat there, watching?)

Her heart races. There's a part of her that feels heady with Betty’s advances, her body responding, but another part recoils, thinking of Archie, of their last kiss in the music room, a thunderstorm crashing over a once-safe harbor, every nerve in her body electrified by him.

Alice asks, “Girls, are you sure these cookies aren’t burning?” from the living room. Betty bites her own lower lip to suppress a wicked smile.

Veronica’s almost glad when Polly comes to take Betty away the following day. She has enough going on inside her not to be bored for an eternity, and she needs some time away from all those physical...entanglements.

.

.

.

Spending time with Jughead is the perfect counterpoint. Of course, he did enjoy that kind of art, but he also seemed content just being in her proximity, which is exactly what she needs to put her mind in place.

Besides, with everything that’s happened with Archie (and now, with Betty), she feels like she owes him extra attention.

“Maybe I do have a future as an interior designer,” Veronica says, sitting on Jughead’s bed in his car train that she decorated to her liking. “I really did a great job with this place.”

(I really did a great job with this place, she said Then, but to Archie. They were at the Pembrooke, in her recently renovated bedroom that still smelled like fresh paint, and she was sitting on the brand-new, uncovered mattress as Archie was hanging pictures on her wall, shirtless.

You did a great job, huh? He said, hammering the nail, a smile on his face that hadn’t gone away for weeks, if she could say anything about it.

Of course. I’m the mind and the heart of this project, Archiekins.

And I’m what, exactly? He asked, setting the tools down to come closer to her.

The muscle. With very, very talented hands, she said, running her hands over his chest, and Archie pressed her into the mattress, kissing her.)

“I think you only renovated my place because you didn’t want to feel like you were slumming it with me,” Jughead remarks, bringing her back from the past-future into the present. She’s trying very hard to stay in it. Most of the time, she manages to forget about Archie, but it comes back to her at the most unexpected hours.

She knows he’s joking, so she just rolls her eyes. He looks at his watch, “If we leave now, we can catch the ten-thirty train.”

“Isn’t Smithers driving us?” She pouts. Jughead makes a face, a whole we talked about this in the kick of his eyebrow. “Okaaay, Caulfield. Let’s take over that island.”

.

.

.

She compromised on riding with the train and not with her private chauffeur, as long as he agreed to stay in an actual hotel room and not some pension or, worse, a hostel. That’s how they ended up in a suite in The Plaza, right at Fifth Ave, Veronica’s last name opening doors that would otherwise be closed—like, for instance, two seventeen-year-old’s renting a hotel room.

“The Babylonium can, and will, pay for some perks,” Veronica says, victorious as she opens the curtains to take a look at their room view. The hotel has just installed air conditioning in every room, which feels luxurious in comparison to the summer heat outside. “And women are now allowed in the Oak Bar.”

Jughead holds her from behind, a tender gesture, so he can also admire the street from over her shoulder. “I heard they reopened The Strand in a new address. Do you wanna check it out?”

Veronica leans back into his embrace as she watches the bustling avenue, her thoughts wandering. She remembers being the She-Wolf of Wall Street, relishing the power and success that she earned on her own. She knows she had longed to come back to the city, Then, and wonders what stopped her from doing so.

(It’s probably hidden in all the blurry parts that include her husband, Chad, the one that she ended up shooting in the chest. There are no good memories there. In fact, the main one is him bleeding on her carpet, and her towering above him, stunned that she felt such relief seeing him dead.)

“Yeah,” she finally says, something bitter lodging in her throat. “Let’s check it out.”

.

.

.

They lay on bed lazily, that evening. It’s the first time they’re together like that since before prom; the first time anyone touches her for real after Archie. And it’s good, satiating. It doesn’t feel like completely losing her mind and wasting away, which she supposes is the healthy way to go about those things.

“I wish I’d gotten to know you like this before,” Jughead confesses quietly, running his hand up and down her naked back. And then, with a slight bicker in his tone, “Maybe it would’ve saved us a whole lot of headache.”

Veronica doesn’t know exactly what that’s supposed to mean. She doesn’t want to be the one saying that they got to know each other pretty well Then, actually. They just didn’t like each other a lot. Not to mention, her heart was so utterly claimed by Archie, there had been no room for anyone else. She’d tried, with Reggie, how many boyfriends, some girlfriends, Chad, Reggie again, but that Jughead? There was only one disastrous kiss that didn’t really count to recall, and she doesn’t think she’d even take him seriously, if he had tried anything more.

But this is Now, and she wants to honor this moment, this bond they’re forming. She wants to bask in the joy of the city with him, so she turns and says, “I’m just glad we're here now. I don’t wanna think about the past,” kissing him again.

However, no matter where they are—in the MoMa, lost in conversation about the new Renoir exhibition (“If I say the impressionists don’t impress me so much, will you call me a fraud?”), or at Broadway, enjoying the My Fair Lady groove (“I’m actually your very own male Eliza Doolittle, if we think about it.”), or even just walking down the streets, waiting for him to buy yet another hot dog (“You do know that Torombolo means pot belly, which is what you’re aiming for here, right?”)—any minute of silence brings a question back, like a phantom whisper in her ear.

In your ideal world, who’s with you in New York? Me or Archie?

The answer was always the same, Then. Veronica really is trying to change that, Now.

.

.

.

They manage to meet up with Betty on a cloudy, stuffy afternoon—a prelude for rain. Her presence brightens Veronica’s day like a ray of sunshine peeking through. Hugging Betty feels like a return to something fundamental. She breathes in Betty's scent, and it's like coming home, even if they're far from Riverdale.

Jughead also seems thrilled to see her. They walk through Central Park together—Betty and Veronica with their arms linked, Jughead munching on popcorn beside them—listening intently as Betty recounts her time spent with Polly, the wedding, and all the things they got to do. She loved both Columbia and Brown, and she just hopes that she can be admitted to one of them.

“How’s Archie doing?” Jughead asks, bruising Veronica’s newfound peace.

“Oh, we’ve been writing here and there, and we called a couple of times,” Betty says. “He’s busy with the harvesting and reading The Age of Innocence. Hasn’t shown me any poems so far, but I bet he’s writing them.”

Veronica worries her bottom lip between her teeth. She’s genuinely happy that Archie and Betty are still together, but there’s a sting of envy, a jealousy she’s reluctant to admit to. How could Archie spend the night with her, kiss her, and then go back to Betty as if nothing happened? Granted, she did ask him to do so, several times, but him being able to is just another testament that she’s nothing but a bump in their road Now, just like she'd been Then.

“We sent a postcard for his birthday,” Jughead says. We. Veronica did nothing, only walked with him to the mailbox. “But I’m not even sure if it got to him.”

“Oh, talking about that, Jug—I saw a postcard the other day with this art, and did you know that comic books are inspiring a whole new movement? Polly told me about this guy, Andy Warhol, and this whole thing surrounding prints and advertising, it’s so interesting.”

Betty grips her hand as she speaks to Jughead with the same enthusiasm they used to talk about, well, murder, back Then. And despite having just now questioned if what happened between them had been even real, Veronica feels Archie’s absence so acutely, a void that seems to grow with every minute they spend together, just the three of them, without him.

.

.

.

Betty and Veronica buy brand new dresses at Bloomingdale’s, which they wear that evening to a speakeasy that Polly gets them into. The crowd is mostly older than them, but the atmosphere is alluring to Veronica—sultry, with a band playing jazz live, the air thick with the scent of bitter cocktails and smoke. 

Jughead seems to fall into place, wearing his suspenders. He’s left his hat in the hotel, and Betty jokes about finally seeing him without this stupid hat on, like a little inside joke from the past-future. Jughead smiles at Betty in that special way, a smile this Veronica has only seen directed at herself until now, and she ponders what it could mean.

But Betty doesn’t give her much time to dwell on it. At one point, when Jughead is fetching more drinks, she grabs Veronica by the wrist, pulling her into the ladies’ room. There, against the door, Betty kisses her hard.

“I’ve missed you, V,” she whispers, hands exploring the contours of the dress that she helped her pick.

Veronica kisses Betty back. She’s missed her too, so much that maybe kissing her is the only way to show her, even though she’s not sure she wanted to be doing this here, with Jughead outside, with Archie still wandering in her thoughts. Or if she wanted to be doing it at all.

Betty’s hand squeezes her breast, her teeth grazing her lip. Veronica holds in a sigh. Someone knocks at the door, jolting them apart, and they move to the mirror to pretend to fix their makeup. Their eyes meet in the reflection, a silent conversation about what just happened.

They come back to the table without saying anything. Veronica sits next to Jughead, who leans in for a quick kiss. She wonders if he can taste Betty on her lips. Would Archie be able to tell, were he there?

Veronica wonders if she’s cheating on all of them, at once.

.

.

.

Betty says goodbye that very same night. Her kiss and the alcohol did stir something in Veronica’s core, so when they’re back to the hotel, she kisses Jughead, and lets him peel away her new dress.

“Juggie,” Veronica says afterwards, looking up at the ceiling. She normally would rest on his chest, but her head is spinning too much for that. “I…I need to tell you something.” She sits on the bed, clutching the sheet against her chest.

The room is only lit up by the city outside, and Jughead’s eyes are very blue. “Okay.”

She opens her mouth to confess about Betty kissing her tonight, but decides that’s not the heart of the problem. “I still care about Archie. In ways that I shouldn’t.”

He exhales slowly, looking away for a moment. Veronica wonders what’s crossing his mind, if the memory of Archie and Betty’s kiss from Then still hurts him. She never really cared about it, other things having upset her more, but for Jughead it seemed like a significant wound.

“I know,” he finally says, serious. “You’ve been different, ever since we got our memories back.”

Have I? Veronica wants to ask. She’s been trying so hard to separate herself from the Veronica she was, Then, but wonders if it’s outrunning her. Do they exist in different planes, or have they always been the same? “I’m sorry.”

“Archie wants you back?” Jughead asks, probing but gentle.

Veronica shakes her head, a silent no, and then adds, quietly, “He’s with Betty.”

“That wasn’t the question.” Jughead reaches out, placing a hand over hers. Tears begin to pool in Veronica’s eyes. “I know. It doesn’t matter if he wants you or not, right? Because he’s always gonna change his mind, and it’s always gonna be them in the end, anyway.”

Veronica releases a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Jughead wipes away a tear that escapes her.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re a consolation prize,” Veronica says, honestly.

Jughead sits up, joining her. “I’m very happy with you. I did mean it, when I said I wanted us to get to know each other like this before. But there are times when I wonder how it would’ve been if I had given Betty and I another shot, and I’m pretty sure she feels that as well. We actually have talked about it a few times.”

Veronica nods. She isn't sure if Jughead means they talked, or talked, but it’s nice not to feel so alone with all this burden.

“What I think is that it’s not really fair that you and Archie believe you shouldn’t connect or care for each other. What really stops you?”

.

.

.

tbc.

Chapter Text

[ three ]

.

(oh, turn your light on)

look at us, you and me
 back at it again

.

“…of having to make a single choice.”

.

.

The sun is still hidden when Archie wakes up. He stretches, does some push-ups to get his muscles going, and quietly walks into the kitchen after getting dressed. There’s a silent agreement that whoever gets up first is responsible for burning the wood under the stove to brew black coffee, and Mr. Mantle is already there this morning, along with his thirteen-year-old son Oliver.

“Morning, Archie,” Mr. Mantle greets, his voice stern as his usual demeanor, handing him a fresh cup. “It’s the last week of the harvest, so let’s make it count.”

“Thank God.” Oliver sighs, making Archie smile a little. It’s the first time Oliver has to help his family during the season, a sign of maturity, according to his father, but Archie knows that he resents his big brother not being around.

“Morning, Mr. Mantle,” Archie replies with a nod of respect. “I’m ready.”

.

.

.

Every day is the same in Duck Creek, but Archie appreciates that.

The sweetcorn needs to be yielded when the air is still cool outside, to preserve its sweetness. He and the Mantle boys leave in a truck before the sun rises, and are joined by the other team hired for the harvesting on the fields. Working on the crops is a bit of a hard, physical job, but Archie has fun with it. Especially after he’s befriended Frankie Valdez, a curly-haired guy who’s his age, owner of a good voice and an easy smile.

Valdez plays guitar, which he sometimes takes with him, making their breaks more fun as he strums re-editions of the latest success on the radio. Archie knows that, Then, he loved playing the guitar; music had been such a big part of his other life, though the reasons for why he stopped playing are blurry, like so many other things.

So don’t be cruel, do-do-do, to a heart that’s true, Valdez sings. Archie feels a strange something towards him, a feeling that doesn’t fit into the usual boxes. Deep down, Archie thinks he might be developing a crush on Valdez and his curls falling over his eyes, the dimple on his chin.

Of course, he’s not going to act on it, but it’s nice to have an uncomplicated feeling for once. He has enough complicated ones, and he’s promised to leave those in Riverdale for the moment and navigate simpler waters (even if that meant, apparently, crushing on a boy. Well. If James Dean used to like both boys and girls, who’s Archie Andrews to do it differently?)

.

.

.

Reggie’s room has been his, this summer, and Archie sees his friend’s presence all over it. There are basketball posters hanging on the wall, a pin-up calendar under his bed that Archie looked at a couple of times (he’s only eighteen, after all), and a number of checked shirts in his wardrobe.

On the desk, Archie put some of his own belongings: the books from his summer reading list, the small stack of letters that Betty had sent him, a postcard Jughead sent for his birthday, and a black and white picture that came with the latest letter from Betty—the three of them in some sort of nightclub or bar, the girls wearing pretty dresses, Jughead in suspenders.

Dear Archie, she wrote, this week I finally got to meet up with Jughead and Veronica in New York. They looked very happy, lost in their little world, but I’m sure they miss you, just like I do. We walked through Central Park, did some shopping at Bloomingdale’s (the hats are quite something this season. V swears it’s the height of fashion) and Polly managed to sneak us into a speakeasy. The atmosphere was something out of a novel. They took our picture, and I’m sending it so you can see for yourself.

How do you like The Age of Innocence so far? Have you managed to write any poems by now? I bet the quiet in Duck Creek has inspired you in ways the big city never would.

Love always, Betty

PS: summer is going by so fast! It feels like just yesterday we were saying goodbye.

The picture has a crease that separates Veronica from the other two, but Archie pretends that he didn’t fold it himself so he could look at her without also staring at the two people his heart was constantly trying to betray, Now.

.

.

.

Normally, they come back from the field when the sun is high and bright in the sky. The morning labor leaves everybody famished. In the Mantle house, Archie tries to greet Mrs. Mantle in Korean.

“Annyeonghaseyo,” Archie bows his head with respect as she stands over the stove, preparing breakfast for them.

“Good morning, Archie. You’re getting better each day,” she offers him a warm smile.

Valdez doesn’t always join them for breakfast—his crew is camped on the outskirts of the farm, where they normally cook for themselves, but often when he rides back with them to help put away the crop, Mrs. Mantle invites him in.

“Look at Mr. Ladies Man,” Valdez whispers to Archie with a teasing grin that gets his cheeks warm, “charming the locals with his skills.”

Archie snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, right.”

They gather around the table and say prayers before the hearty meal. After breakfast, he’s normally back to work, going through chores one by one. He washes himself in the makeshift bathtub outside the barn, pouring cold water over his head, and joins the family for dinner around five.

Maybe this kind of life is the best kind, Archie wonders from time to time. Feeling whole, grateful, working the earth, each task a way to sow something new.

In the evening, he sometimes joins the crew in their camp, sitting around a bonfire and singing along. On occasion, Valdez hands him the guitar, shows him how to play chords he’s forgotten from another life. “You’re a natural, tío.”

But most nights, Archie is alone in Reggie’s room, reading under the dim light bulb, or writing poems that he’ll never share with anyone.

Here I stand, my heart confined
Feelings locked in time
Not yours, not mine

Learning that he’s betrayed Veronica in the senior year, Then, got Archie feeling so ashamed of both versions of himself. He still doesn’t remember it as Betty explained it to be—as the reason for their long breakup—but he knows it must be true, since Veronica keeps insisting that he’d made a choice.

It’s just so bizarre for him to think about having cheated on Veronica in a period where they’d been, mostly, so happy, so united, after almost a whole year spent apart, loving her from a distance, and finally getting back together.

Archie remembers having solid plans: go to summer school, solidify the community center, apply for colleges closer to wherever she was—plans that changed for some reason that he can’t make sense of. He joined the army, instead, and came back home with the heaviest of hearts.

It’s even more bizarre to imagine that maybe he did it again, later in life, after waiting for seven years.

How disloyal, how treacherous could he have been? To her, to himself?

He takes the picture Betty’s sent, folding where it’s creased, and looks at Veronica’s black and white figure, running the pad of his thumb over it. There’s a huge chunk missing from his memory, and he’s not even sure if he wants to find out what a fuck-up he really was, but maybe she’s right to keep herself at a safe distance from him.

.

.

.

Archie’s set to return to Riverdale in two days, when his well-established routine changes. He’s back from the fields already, sitting down to have breakfast with the Mantle family, when a car honks outside of the house, right before they say their prayers.

Mr. Mantle gets up to check who could be and comes back only a minute later. “Archie, there’s a young lady here to see you,” he announces.

Oh, Archie blinks. He assumes it’s Betty, a little thrill setting in his stomach, but as he goes outside, he stops dead in his tracks. It’s Veronica, in front of a town car, wearing a sleeveless, purple dress that does not belong to a farm, heels, lace gloves, pearls around her neck, on her ears.

She’s carrying a flower bouquet. Smithers is in the car. Did he drive her all the way from Riverdale to Delaware?

Absolutely none of this makes sense.

“Veronica.” Archie blinks slowly, half-expecting her to disappear.

“Hi.”

“What—how—”

“Despite everything that’s happened between us, I thought we could spend some time together,” she says, biting her lower lip. “Am I crazy?”

None, not that all. In fact, I can’t think of anything I want more in this moment.

“I don’t know,” Archie manages, Now, his heart doing somersaults inside his chest, pulsing on the base of his throat.

“Archie, be a good chap and invite your friend to join us for breakfast,” Mr. Mantle’s voice cuts through the tension. Archie didn’t even realize he was standing beside him the entire time. “Him too,” he nods at Smithers with his chin.

.

.

.

The flowers are for Mrs. Mantle, Archie realizes, once Veronica hands them to her. He feels like he’s in some sort of uncanny dream or experience, sitting down to have breakfast with the Mantles, Veronica and Smithers. He barely eats, besides the usual hunger from the labor work.

What the hell?

“This omelet is delicious, Mrs. Mantle,” Veronica says.

“It’s gyeran-marí,” Reggie’s mom replies. Apparently, she knew all about the Lodges from Oh Mija, and was a big fan. Veronica presented herself as Archie and Reggie’s friend from school, which wasn’t really a lie, and said she’d been in Rehoboth Beach visiting relatives, and wondered why not extend the trip to see a place her friends had so much to say about, which was probably a lie.

“I’ll make sure to add that to the list of things I’ll eat if I ever visit Seoul,” she bats her eyelashes, all charm.

“I assume you’re planning to stay for the night. We’ll fix up a bed for you in the living room, sir,” Mr. Mantle tells Smithers, who’s been quietly eating the whole time. “Veronica, you can take Oliver’s room. He’ll stay with us.”

Oliver starts to protest, but is met with a glaring stare from his father, and resigns.

It’s so surreal. She’s there, and now she’s spending the night in Oliver’s room, which is right next to Reggie’s, which is where he is sleeping and keeping that photograph and all his dumb poems.

“We don’t mean to be a burden.”

“Nonsense, dear,” Mrs. Mantle says. “Any friend of Reginald and Archie’s is our friend. A star like you, right here in our land! You can show her around the farm, Archie. I’ll get you something simpler to wear. This dress is way too beautiful to be ruined.”

.

.

.

When Archie finds Veronica outside, she’s wearing a simple, floral cotton dress that probably belongs to Mrs. Mantle. She’s sitting on the bench, trying to tie up a pair of work boots, her fingers fumbling with the unfamiliar task. Without thinking a lot, Archie kneels down so he can help.

“Thanks,” she says, when he takes over. Archie looks up at her. She took the pearls off her neck, but not off her ears. Their eyes meet for a moment, and her gaze is sincere, vulnerable. It gives Archie the courage to ask.

“Veronica, why are you really here? Do you really have family in Delaware?”

She shrugs one shoulder. “You know I don’t. I—” she starts, and then looks away. “When we were in New York, Jughead and I talked about…everything. Well, almost everything.” Her eyes search for him again. “He made me realize that it’s kind of idiotic, trying to pretend that you and I weren’t a vital part of each other’s life and act like we’re forbidden to connect. So, I thought that maybe we could at least try to be friends?”

“But we are friends.”

Veronica tilts her head. “C’mon, Archie. We didn’t exchange two words with each other since the red scare was in town.”

Archie’s lip curls up involuntarily. When Veronica notices where his mind is going, she lets her mouth hang, scoffing. “We exchanged a little more than two words,” he can’t help but laugh, and she follows, shaking her head in disbelief. It’s so weird how Veronica can be a heavy weight in his heart and, at the same time, make him feel light like a feather sometimes. “Friends can start over, right? I mean—”

Veronica’s smile softens, genuine. “I’d like that,” she says. “I guess the only thing I’m sure of right now, is that I miss you, Archie. I miss…knowing you.”

He’s washed over a rush of affection for her, suddenly, something beyond the intense desire he struggled with on the days leading up to prom and the ones that followed. “I miss you too, Ronnie,” he says, feeling that absence in the depth of him. “More than I should, probably.”

She bites her lower lip. Archie gets up, patting the dirt off his jeans.

“Okay. Let me show you what I’ve been up to for the past two months,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. Then, he squints one eye. “How do you feel about worms?” Veronica makes a face, her nose crinkling in disgust, and Archie can’t help but laugh again. “I’m kidding. Come on, let’s take the truck.”

.

.

.

The landscape unfolds like a painting in motion as they drive out to mostly empty fields.

“It’s so different from when I got here, already,” he tells her, proud and nostalgic at the same time. “The crops could get even taller than me. I’ve actually learned so much about the whole thing. Did you know that you can’t use sweetcorn to make popcorn?”

“Oh, that’s too bad. The Babylonium could have partnered up with the Mantles.” Archie smiles. Even Then, she was always finding a way to turn anything into a business venture, her own Midas touch. It’s good to know that hasn’t really changed, Now. “Is this land all theirs?” Veronica asks as she scans the vast expanse.

“No, actually. They share with other families and sell all the produce to a co-op. It’s mostly American Korean families. Some of them have been here for fifty years, others have just gotten the land after the war was over,” Archie explains. Before spending time in the community, he didn’t understand so much about the country and the war that had taken his father away from him, but now he’s full of respect for it.

“What else do they have around here?”

“Peaches, apples, watermelon. Oh. My favorite part,” Archie says, making a turn on the road. A huge sunflower field comes into view, a sea of yellow against August’s blue skies. “They’re in full bloom now.”

“This is so beautiful,” Veronica says, her voice softening almost to a whisper. Her manicured hand reaches out the window, fingertips extended as if she could touch the flowers from afar, her eyes wide with wonder. A warmth spreads through Archie, like the sunflowers had somehow grown into his chest.

“Not a bad view, right?” he says, although when he looks at her side profile, he’s not sure if he means the flowers.

.

.

.

They drive around a little bit more, passing by the farmer’s camp and coming back closer to the house. He parks at the barn—his chores for the day mostly involve the animals. “Wanna help me feed the chickens?” he asks, stepping out of the truck. “No worms involved.”

She shrugs. “Why the hell not.”

He grabs a bucket of corn. Veronica follows him, her steps hesitating on the uneven ground, Mrs. Mantle’s boots crunching on the gravel in a way that’s both out of place and endearing. It’s funny, considering he’s seen her walking in high heels anywhere with the grace of a dancer. “I guess there’s always a first time for everything,” she says, voice playful and resigned as she takes a handful of corn to scatter.

The chickens rush forward, their clucks and pecks filling the air. Veronica jumps back when they start pecking at her shoes, her laughter mingling with surprise and a bit of fear.

“Why are you attacking me?!” she yelps, amused. “I’m giving you food, ungrateful little bitches!”

Archie laughs. Veronica seizes another handful of corn and throws it at him. Expectedly, the birds’ attention shifts, and it’s her turn to laugh out loud as he runs away from their eager beaks, exaggerating his movements on purpose.

The calves are next, with their big, curious eyes. They gather around Veronica, drawn by her unfamiliar scent. "Aw, look at this good girl," she coos gently as she strokes the head of a brown one. The calf nuzzles into her, seeking more attention. Archie smiles at the scene, his heart swelling at the sight.

He’s always been amazed by her, doing things no one would expect her to.

Veronica Lodge, spreading plaster.

“Veronica Lodge, mother of animals. Who would’ve thought,” he teases, the words light but filled with warmth.

She turns to him, small pieces of hay clinging to her black hair. “I admit that they’re cute. They do smell, though.” Her nose wrinkles.

“Kinda like me at the end of the day,” he says, making her roll her eyes again.

.

.

.

She’s back in her pretty purple dress for dinner, smelling so nice that Archie is sure Mrs. Mantle heated up some water for her to bathe in.

“Gamsahaeyo,” Archie thanks once Mr. Mantle is finished with the prayers. He knows that Veronica looks at him, intrigued, and feels his cheek burning. Valdez would’ve said he’s showing off—and maybe he is, just a little bit.

Mrs. Mantle serves them rice, kimchi, and grilled meat. As they eat, Veronica charmingly answers questions about Hollywood, her stories captivating the family. “So, you’ve met Princess Grace Kelly?” Oliver asks, his eyes wide with wonder.

“Oh, she used to be good friends with my mother. In fact, my parents were invited to the wedding in Monaco, but the studio didn’t allow them free time. They did send her the most wonderful Glamergé egg as a gift, right, Smithers?”

“Indeed, Miss Veronica,” Smithers agrees. It’s funny, and nice, to see him not wearing his uniform for a change. “It was an exquisite piece.”

Once dinner is over, and Archie can hear the distant sound of music and laughter, he asks Veronica if she wants to join the crew’s bonfire—they’re celebrating the last day of the harvesting, tonight. “Sounds fun,” she says, patting her lips with a napkin. “Let me just reapply my lipstick.”

.

.

.

Since Veronica refuses to put the working boots back on, they drive to the camp instead of walking. He honks excitedly as he moves towards the bonfire with the truck. Some of the guys clap and cheer when they realize he’s joining them.

“Look who the cat brought in,” Valdez approaches him immediately, once he steps out of the truck.

“Wouldn’t miss celebrating with you guys,” Archie says, moving to open Veronica’s door, holding her lace-clad hand. “Have room for one more?” he asks Valdez, smiling at the stunned look on his face once he sees Veronica.

“Más por favor. We saved the best seat for you, bonita.”

She laughs, slightly flirtatious as she usually is, when Valdez has her hooking her arm around his elbow and walks her to the bonfire. Archie follows, shaking his head with a smile on his face, watching as Frankie leads her to a group of girls who are handling a rum bottle.

Valdez comes closer to him after that, a mischievous look on his face. “Who the hell is that?” he asks, patting Archie’s arm.

It’s my girl.

He catches himself, biting his lower lip. “It’s my friend.”

It doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t even feel right, like a jacket that barely fits, but that you try to put on anyway, because it’s the only one you own.

“Well, thank God for friendship.” Valdez wiggles his eyebrows. The bonfire glow hides the sudden flush on Archie’s face.

.

.

.

The bonfire crackles, the scent of burning wood mixing up with the crisp night air. Archie sits between Veronica and Frankie, and for the first time the entire summer, his attention isn’t completely taken by the boy strumming his guitar.

They all drink some rum, Veronica laughter mingling with the crew’s, her voice and claps joining when Valdez plays something she knows, her voice like a nightingale’s.

Love is a losing game
Love can be a shame
I know of a fool, you see
For that fool is me

Archie watches her moving her shoulders, unable to look away. Her face glows in the firelight, her eyes reflecting the flames. She's so familiar and endlessly surprising, at the same time. He remembers loving her next to a bonfire, Then, tracing his lips down her neck, taking off her bra slowly, her pulse quickening under his fingertips, trying to show her how much he loved her, even if it was the last time—

“Archie? Are you okay?” Veronica asks, Now, bringing him back. He runs a hand over his face, feeling it warm, his breathing uneven.

“Too much rum,” he jokes, swallowing hard.

.

.

.

When the night winds down, Archie drives them back to the house. They walk in stifling their laughs, trying not to wake up Smithers, who’s sleeping in the living room. They go up the stairs and, at his door, Veronica places her gloved hand on his arm.

“Today was fun,” she whispers. Archie feels his heart thumping on his chest. “Goodnight, Archiekins,” she tiptoes, planting a kiss on his cheek.

She moves before it lingers too much, and disappears into Oliver’s room.

The feeling of her lips on his cheeks sobers and wakes him up. He changes, lying on the bed with his heart still racing, and tries to distract himself with his book. The story is a little slow, but not bad—it’s about this man, Newland Archer, who is deeply in love with his wife’s cousin, Ellen Olenska, and all that the emotional affair ensues—how unhappy everyone ends up being because of him, himself included.

Archie stops at one passage, though. They’re in a carriage, and Newland takes off Ellen’s glove, kissing her wrist. Their talk is one he reads again and again.

“I hardly remembered you.”

“Hardly remembered me?”

“I mean, how shall I explain? I—it’s always so. Each time, you happen to me all over again.”

He thinks about seeing her at Pop’s for the first time, and then again seven years later, with a ring on her finger, and then at school in her polka-dot dress, removing her sunglasses.

He remembers being intrigued, captivated, interested, time and time again. Veronica was from New York, from Los Angeles, from places a guy like Archie could only imagine ever going. She was seventeen and already running a business, she didn’t shy away from hard work like one would expect her to. She was a woman who never let anyone tell her what to do. She knew what she wanted, her determination all wrapped up in a very pretty girl.

It never ceased to amaze him, Then or Now.

Each time, you happen to me all over again.

When Archie finally manages to sleep, he dreams. He’s back in the bonfire, and Veronica is wearing her lace gloves. He unbuttons it, peeling it off slowly, and leans in to kiss her wrist, just like Newland did in the book.

.

.

.

The morning sun streams through the window. It’s the first time in months that Archie wakes up after it rises—a testimony that the harvesting is over, and soon his life in Duck Creek will be left behind. This leaves him with a heavy heart, a sadness he can’t quite shake off.

At breakfast, the farmhouse kitchen is alive with the usual clatter of dishes and the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Veronica is already up, helping Mrs. Mantle set the table, today in a maroon dress with tiny pearls as buttons.

Their eyes meet across the room, and Archie feels that melancholy deepen. Somehow, spending the day with her yesterday in an effort to rekindle their friendship, only made him miss her more. They’ll be back in Riverdale soon, where they’re dating other people, and the past twenty-four hours will be nothing but yet another memory.

When they sit down to eat, Veronica announces she’s leaving in a couple of hours. “We might get to Riverdale before sunset. Are you sure you don’t want a ride up, Archie?”

“I have my train ticket already, Ronnie. And I don’t want to say goodbye before I have to.”

“We don’t want to say goodbye before we have to either, Archie,” Mr. Mantle says, in his usual serious demeanor, which makes it even more meaningful. “Reggie doesn’t understand the treasure of a friend he has in you.”

Archie presses his lips together, feeling his eyes prickle for a bit. His father has been gone for years, now, and it means so much to have another father say those things to him. He glances at Veronica, and she has pride written all over face.

“In that case, I take back my offer,” she says, with a little wink.

.

.

.

They sit under an oak tree that overviews the farmhouse, Veronica on an old swing, her legs pushing off the ground now and then, making it creak on a soothing rhythm. Archie settles on the ground, his back against the rough bark, his fingers idly pulling at the grass. They’ve been in silence for the past five minutes when she speaks.

“You had a great time here this summer, didn’t you?”

Archie’s lips pull up, realizing that she was thinking of him as she took in the view. “Yeah. There’s something about this kind of life…” he trails off, his voice lost to the sounds of nature. “I could definitely see myself settling down in a place like this, someday.”

She exaggerates a shudder. “Ugh, I could never. As much as I can handle the baby cows, I’m too much of a city girl.”

Archie knows it’s meant to be a joke, even if a veiled one, but that anguish he’s been feeling ever since he woke up comes back, a dull pain behind his eyes. It’s weird. He’s not sure if this agony is his or if it’s the other Archie’s, or if there's even a difference. He’s not even sure what this agony is.

“Yeah. I know,” he mutters with a small smile, looking away.

“It does suit you, though. The whole…dashing cowboy vibe.”

Her tone is a little flirtier now, making Archie look up at her again with warm cheeks, chuckling. She laughs too, and he wonders if the ache that he’s feeling is because of everything he’s learned about Then, and that has been haunting him ever since junior year ended.

“Ronnie, I—I know I did you wrong, in our other life,” he confesses, biting the inside of his cheek. “Betty told me what happened between her and me.”

Veronica creases her eyebrows. “What, in high school?”

“Yeah.” Archie sits up taller, bracing himself for the conversation. “You remember?”

“I do, but—” she stops, and looks like she’s thinking back on it, “that was such a non-issue for me, Archie.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. The details are foggy, but I know I forgave you, and forgave Betty…I…I guess it didn’t matter that you guys did that, because at the end of the day, you—” She swallows, looking away again. “You came back to me.”

He did. He came back to her, didn’t he? With his bleeding heart in his hands. He can feel the dull ache growing bigger now. They were kissing and laughing in his kitchen.

Archie’s mind echoes his heart beats, asking the same question, over and over: then why? Why did we end? If it wasn’t that, what was it that drove them apart? Did he really betray her again? Why did neither of them remember it? Why did he think Betty was the only option ahead? Why did Veronica think he’d chosen Betty, when he couldn't remember making that choice? Why did he ask Betty to marry him? Why wasn't it them together when the comet hit?

“Look, Archie, we said we're starting over, right?” Veronica’s eyes search his eyes, perhaps sensing his doubts, the questions in his mind, and trying to anchor him in the present. “So, if we want this to work, none of the bad thing of our past can be important anymore.”

The way I see it, the past is in the past.

Archie’s heart beats even faster when they look into each other’s eyes.

I’m only interested in what we want.

He reaches for her hand, bringing her wrist to his lips, just like in his dream. He looks up, a silent conversation passing between them.

Now, in the present.

"Archie..." Veronica's voice is merely a whisper.

He wets his suddenly dry lips. "Do you want to?"

She only breathes out, and her silent consent ignites something within him. He pulls her gently from the swing until she’s sitting on top of him, their bodies aligning. Their lips meet in the middle, and they kiss deeply, their mouths opening to each other, tongues invading. He feels the warmth of her breath, the taste of the sweet tea she drank at breakfast, and his hand finds the back of her head as he breathes in, wanting more.

Veronica traces the lines of his jaw, pulling him even deeper into the kiss. Archie tangles her silky hair between his fingers, his other arm encircling her waist, pulling her flush against him.

He kisses down her neck, his lips pressing against the sensitive skin where her pulse is beating like crazy, feeling the taste of her expensive perfume, drawing out a soft moan from her that sends a small shock down to his core.

“This isn't a very friendly situation,” she manages to say, her breath hot against his ear.

"I know. I just…" Archie starts but can’t finish, his mouth on hers again, diving back into another desperate kiss.

For a glorious moment, there’s no Then or Now, no other version of reality. There’s just Archie, kissing Veronica, feeling her lips, her breath, her taste, the heat increasing between them. His hand travels lower, to her hips, and when he grabs at her flesh over the dress, Veronica pulls away.

But it’s not abrupt. It’s not another warning for them to stay away. Her forehead lingers against his as she pants, both her hands on his chest. Archie slightly opens his eyes to see hers closed, her thick, black eyelashes so near to him, her lips swollen from his kiss.

“I should go. We’ll see each other soon, in Riverdale, and we’ll…figure this out.”

“Okay,” Archie agrees, resigned and full of anticipation, all at once. She kisses him again, lingering way more than just a peck, and gets up, smoothing the lines on her dress.

Archie watches her walk back to the house, the swing still swaying gently, a silent witness to their moment. He runs a hand over his warm face, and lets himself fall back on the grass, exhaling. They failed at everything they’d tried: they couldn’t pretend, they couldn’t stay away, and they lasted less than twenty-four hours as friends.

What could possibly happen next?

.

.

.

It’s not easy, saying goodbye to Duck Creek.

He packs his things and puts them in the back of Mr. Mantle’s truck, breathing in deeply. The air is crisper now, a precursor of change.

“Hey, man.” Archie turns around to see Frankie Valdez approaching him, the morning sun casting long shadows around them. He offers him an easy smile. “Leaving without saying goodbye?”

“Nah, I was gonna stop by the camp to find you,” Archie replies, biting his lip. “But yeah. Home awaits.”

And it does, indeed. Home, where Archie doesn’t have a father figure to say prayers, like Mr. Mantle. Where Archie doesn’t have a little brother in Oliver, or the traditions of the Korean culture ingrained into his all-American household.

Home, where it’s just him, his mom, two very different girls, and a whole mess of feelings that he thought he could avoid, but that came knocking at his door. Quite literally.

“What about you, where are you going next?” he asks, trying to steer his thoughts from the things he’d probably have to deal with once back in Upstate New York.

“Back to New Mexico, see my folks. Then, who knows. We’ll see where the song takes me.” Valdez smiles in that disarming way that captivated Archie for the past couple of months. It captivates him still, a little, even now.

“It was nice meeting you, Frankie,” he says, sincere, a little sad about their parting ways.

There’s a pause, the kind where words seem to hang in the air, waiting for someone to catch them. Frankie shuffles his feet, his eyes meeting Archie's with a playful yet sincere look.

“You know, I—if I’m wrong, you can punch me, but I kinda thought—I don’t know. I’ve felt a vibe off you. But then, your girl came visit, and—”

“Oh.” Archie feels a flush of warmth spread through him, like he’s gotten caught doing something wrong, but not really, at the same time. He runs a hand through his hair, nervous. “She’s not—” my girl. He stops, unable to say that. How could she not be his girl, Now, when she kissed him like that, just yesterday? “It’s complicated. But, yeah,” he admits, referring to the vibe Frankie felt from him, his face fully red now. “I guess.”

Frankie smiles again, squinting one of his dark eyes, as if he understood more than Archie could articulate at the moment. “Nice. So, here’s the deal.” He takes a small notebook that he always keeps in his pocket, scribbles something down, and tears the page out. “That’s my number. You can keep it for a rainy day, if the complicated situation gets worse. How does that sound?”

Archie presses his lips together, wondering if he’s even allowed to take Frankie’s number. Not only he and Veronica are definitely entangled, he also very much has a girlfriend in Betty, and Valdez is a…boy. Archie never thought about actually pursuing that, even if he’s been curious.

But he does pocket the piece of paper, in the end, because what's one more problem to haunt him?

“Sounds good.”

“See you, tío. Keep practicing the guitar.” Frankie claps Archie on the shoulder, a gesture of camaraderie and farewell, before turning to walk away. Archie watches him go and heaves out a breath.

Summer, and the simplicity of it, really had come to an end.

.

.

.

tbc.

Chapter Text

[ four ]

.

you’re part of the past
but now you’re the future

(signal crossings can be so confusing)

.

“So, the four of us realized that we could, and maybe should, all be together.”

.

.

The train ride to Riverdale is long and shaky, the landscape outside a blur of greens and browns, each jolting a reminder of the growing distance between his summer sanctuary and the tangled web waiting for him back home.

Veronica had spoken of figuring things out once they were back. But what did she even mean by that?

Was she hinting at them both breaking up with Betty and Jughead, to openly pursue what they still felt for each other? Even imagining Betty’s green eyes full of tears makes him feel sick.

Or was she suggesting they should indulge in an affair behind their backs? Archie doesn’t really want that either, not after learning about what his other self did. Maybe Veronica forgave him, but that doesn’t mean he forgives himself. He doesn’t want to do that again, and he’s been teetering on the edge of unfaithfulness for too long now.

Or, worse, was she going to tell him again to pretend it never happened? That she never spent that day with him in Duck Creek, that they didn’t laugh together, and that their last kiss meant nothing?

Just the thought of it feels like a punch in the gut.

Archie tries to keep on reading The Age of Innocence, the piece of paper with Frankie’s number now a makeshift bookmark. However, Newland Archer’s musings on escaping to a place where he could be with Ellen Olenska without hurting anyone start to grate on Archie.

How naive, he thinks, to believe in a world where there are no consequences, where you can have your heart’s desire without a ripple of pain spreading through those around you.

Archie sighs, closing the book, and his eyes, trying to focus on the rhythmic clatter of the train wheels against the tracks, the last predictable thing lying ahead.

.

.

.

It takes eight hours and a few trains for him to arrive. His mom is waiting for him at the platform, and she waves when she sees him, her face lighting up. Archie steps out of the cart directly into her embrace, feeling the warmth of home seeping back into his bones.

“Thank goodness you’re here, honey. The house was way too quiet without you.”

He smiles. Maybe he’s gotten even taller, because his mother feels tinier in his arms. “It’s good to see you, Mom. I’ve got so much to tell you.”

She holds onto his arm, “Let’s get you home, then. Reggie’s still at Camp Evans. He’s coming back next week.”

Archie is excited to drive his jalopy home, sharing snippets of his life on the farm with his mom, the friends he’s made, and all the culture experiences that fascinated him. Occasionally, his eyes dart to her, and he sees her face full of pride and curiosity.

“Are you gonna see Betty tonight?” Mary asks, once they arrive on Elm Street. “She was excited about your return.”

Archie lets out a deep breath, knowing he won’t be able to postpone the inevitable. “I’ll call her first thing tomorrow. Want to spend some time with you, first.”

That seems to satisfy his mom, who says she’s prepared one of his favorite dishes for dinner, making the evening a little celebration of his return.

The next morning, sunlight streams through Archie’s house, casting a golden glow over his bed as he opens the curtains. His gaze immediately lands on Betty’s window—and there she is, framed perfectly by it, her hair catching the light, scribbling something in her diary. The familiarity of the scene eases the tension he’s felt about seeing her again.

Archie heads downstairs and knocks on the Coopers’ door. Trying to sneak into Betty’s bedroom in broad daylight would be scandalous. Plus, they’ve been officially dating for months now, making the front door approach the respectful choice.

“Oh. You are back.” Mrs. Cooper doesn’t seem exactly thrilled to see him, her lips pursed, but maybe she appreciates his decorum. “Come in, then. I’ll let Betty know you’re here.”

He steps inside. Betty’s house is very clean and organized, almost like it’s featured in a magazine. He stands in the living room with his hands in his pockets as Mrs. Cooper’s heels click up the stairs, her voice echoing, Elizabeth!

Footsteps patter down soon after. Betty appears, her energy filling the room as she rushes into his arms for a tight hug. “Arch! You’re here!”

“Hey, Betty.” He hugs her back. Her scent, normally something sweet like vanilla, seems to have shifted, now a blend of lavender and something leafy. It doesn’t really matter, because holding her feels just right. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too. I was about to call you.” She steps back but holds both his hands. Maybe she’s a bit taller too, her curls perfectly laid on her shoulders. Her face is very fresh and young. She looks like she’s had a really good summer. “V invited us for breakfast at Pop’s. I know you might wanna see her and Jug.”

Oh, boy, he thinks, his heart doing a small flip at the mention of Veronica, the complexities of their last encounter coming back to the forefront of his mind. He breathes out, looking into Betty’s green eyes, and nods. It’s better to face things head-on.

“Sounds good. I’ll drive us.”

“I’ll convince my mom.” She kisses his cheek, darting upstairs again.

.

.

.

The bell jingles as they enter Pop’s, the familiar smell of pancakes and coffee greeting them like an old friend. Archie spots Jughead and Veronica already in their usual booth, her head on his shoulder, a sight so common Now, yet one that would’ve been so weird Then.

Jughead looks up first, his grin spreading wide when he sees Archie. “And the sweetcorn master returns,” he quips, standing to give Archie a hug. “Welcome back, Arch.”

Archie claps Jughead’s back, his eyes quickly finding Veronica over his shoulder. Betty has already settled across from her, and Veronica extends her hand to touch Betty’s, a smile on her red lips. “Thanks, bro,” Archie says, steadying his voice. “Hey,” he only acknowledges Veronica, as if he wasn’t with his mouth on her neck just three days ago.

Sitting across from Jughead, Archie notices how he and Betty exchange a look, how Betty’s hand grips Veronica’s firmer, how Veronica directs her smile at him now, her hand on Jughead’s leg. Archie wonders if he’s the only one who can feel the pressure that seems to vibrate between the four of them.

“Two strawberry milkshakes, Pop,” he calls out, trying to break the tension.

Betty rolls her eyes, amused. “You know vanilla is my favorite.”

“But you’re wrong,” he teases back, aiming for an inside joke.

Jughead chuckles. “How was the farm, Archie? Were the scarecrows interesting?”

Between sips of their milkshakes, they delve into their summer stories. Betty is the one who talks the most, detailing Polly’s wedding, “so dreamy, although, I don’t know if I ever wanna go through that. It looked so stressful,” and her confusion between Brown and Columbia, “I think I’m applying to both.”

“I can’t believe this is actually our last senior year ever,” Jughead comments, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial tone. “Hopefully.”

This draws a laugh from Betty, and Archie joins in, though his eyes keep darting to Veronica, noticing her quietness, her sad smiles as she sips on her chocolate milkshake, barely contributing to the conversation, just nodding or agreeing to Jughead’s tales of their time in Manhattan.

“Hey,” Jughead nudges Veronica with the hand he’s got wrapped around her, apparently also noticing her demeanor. “You okay?”

“Yeah, V. You’re so quiet this morning,” Betty adds, her concern evident.

Veronica takes a deep breath, her eyes meeting each of theirs in turn.

“Okay. I’ve called you guys here for a reason.”

Archie feels his heartbeat pick up. The pull of his unresolved feelings for Veronica, the comfort he finds with Betty, the friendship that he’s cultivated for years with Jughead, it’s all intertwined in this diner booth, and Archie knows that whatever she’s about to say, it can change these dynamics forever.

“Yes?” Betty straightens her spine, as if bracing herself for what Veronica has to say.

“We all know that things have…shifted, after we learned about our past-future…whatever,” she starts, her words measured. “We don’t have to pretend we don’t know that.”

Archie suspends his breath. He sees Betty bite her lip, while Jughead removes his arm from around Veronica, realizing the gravity of the moment.

“You guys already know that Archie and I kissed at prom,” she says, her gaze avoiding Archie’s. His cheeks feel like fire suddenly. “And we kissed again. Three days ago.”

“What?” Jughead’s confusion is palpable. “But—”

Veronica doesn’t shy away from the confession. “I went to Duck Creek to try and spend time with him, as friends, and—”

“You said you were visiting your auntie and uncle,” Betty interjects, also confused.

“Yeah. I lied. Apparently, I’m very good at that,” she finally looks at Archie, her eyes holding an apology. He presses his lips together, the memory of accusing her of being a liar echoing in his mind.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jughead asks, looking at Veronica, betrayed.

“I don’t know, Juggie. And that’s the thing. I should’ve told you I was going to visit him. You were the one who encouraged me to connect, and—I should’ve told you too, Betty. And it got me thinking why is it so hard for us to talk about these things.”

“Ronnie—” Archie starts, even though he’s not sure what he’s going to say.

“No, Archie. Listen, you kissed Betty while we were together, in our other life. And now, I’m apparently going across state lines to kiss you, while I’m with Jughead, and you’re with Betty, and—” she looks at Betty keenly, as if there’s a silent conversation between the two of them.

“Why are you telling us this?” Betty asks.

“Because I feel like we should move on with honesty. We all have or had all kinds of feelings for each other, in some way, and if we try to deny or hide all that, I think we’re only going to keep hurting each other in a way that maybe will ruin us for good.”

“Veronica, are you proposing that the four of us…?” Archie’s voice is cautious, his heart racing even faster at this crazy implication.

“I’m not sure what I’m proposing. I just think we don’t have to be four dummies screwing each other forever, if we’re just honest, and stop holding back on what we want. All of us.”

The booth falls silent, the weight of Veronica’s words and revelation hanging in the air between them.

“The alternative is either lying all the time or breaking up, or avoiding each other,” she goes on, reaching out to hold Betty’s hand again. “I don’t want that. It’s our last senior year. Hopefully,” she echoes what Jughead said.

Betty’s eyes seem to melt at that. “I don’t want that either,” she covers Veronica’s hand with her own. Archie’s eyes shift from Betty to Veronica, and he feels like a big fucking idiot, his face still warm. He dares to look at Jughead, who’s serious, and lost in his own thoughts.

“We’ll think about it,” Jughead finally says. “How does that sound?” he asks, looking at Veronica with doting eyes.

Archie thinks it sounds nuts, but is it really any crazier than the alternatives? Breaking up with Betty would feel like betraying their history, and maintaining an affair behind her back made him shudder at thought, the ghost of his past actions whispering warnings in his ear.

But it’s not like he can let Veronica go, not after the night they spent together, or their time Duck Creek. She’s like gravity for him now, inescapable and undeniable.

He knows that choosing to be with her, only her, would shatter their group. The idea of losing Betty or Jughead makes his stomach churn. And is it even what she really wanted from him, from them? Is it even what he really wanted?

“Okay. To thinking about it.” Betty raises her strawberry milkshake in a mock toast, just like the many other times Then that the four of them did the same, normally a vow that Archie himself would start.

“To thinking about it.”

They clink their milkshakes.

.

.

.

The next few days are weird.

Veronica doesn’t seek him out, maintaining a distance that feels both respectful of their friends and alienating of him. Jughead doesn’t talk to him at all, not even on their first day of school, when he sits beside him in class. Even Betty seems to keep herself away, just acknowledging him from her window every now and then. His mom asks if they’ve broken up.

“I don’t think so,” he says, frowning, as he wonders if everyone is really thinking about it or just avoiding the inevitable upheaval.

Because, despite agreeing to do so, Archie has no idea what to think about. How would that even work? They could just do whatever they wanted to, and tell each other about it? Logistics, emotions, it all feels like an impossible puzzle.

Something that’s really, really bothering Archie, is how Betty and Veronica seem to navigate this with ease. He’s seen them walk down the hallways with her arms linked, their bond apparently strong enough to weather these waters, while he and Jughead can’t even say good morning, as if their lifelong friendship has hit an iceberg.

So, about a week after their meeting at Pop’s, Archie buys pizza and waits for Jughead inside his train cart, playing with Hot Dog’s ears. He found the keys under the gnome by the door, as usual.

It’s clear that Veronica left her mark all over Jughead’s house, and Archie doesn’t really know how he feels about that. The last time he was there, he was watching his other life unfold like a movie on Jughead’s television, and didn’t pay a lot of attention to his surroundings.

Hot Dog jumps and barks, announcing Jughead’s arrival. Archie stands as Jughead walks in, his expression guarded. “Hey.”

“Archie. What are you doing here?”

“Uh…peace offering?” He holds out the pizza like it’s a flag of truce.

Jughead sighs, resigned, sitting in front of Archie and removing his hat. Archie sets down the pizza again. He knows he’s the one who has to start speaking.

“So, Veronica told you what happened?” he asks. Jughead nods, without looking at him. Archie isn’t sure what exactly that entails, but if Jughead knows about the prom kiss and her visit to Duck Creek, he probably must’ve pieced it all together by now. “I’m sorry, Jug. I just kept…keep feeling these things, and I’m not sure if it’s an echo from our past or what, but it’s like I can’t stay away from her.”

Jughead snorts, a bitter edge to his laughter. “Did you ever kiss Tabitha?”

Archie blinks, a little confused. “Angel Tabitha?”

“Never mind. At this point, I’m just wondering if you’ve made a move on every girl I dared to call my girlfriend.”

Archie’s face heats up again, his mistakes, past and current, flooding back. He has the impression that he’s never done right by Jughead before, but he remembers Jughead always being understanding, always saying they’d be okay.

“I didn’t—” he starts, and lets out a breath. “I’ve tried to make it go away, but then she showed up in Duck Creek, and it just…happened again. I’m sorry.”

Jughead just looks at him, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Look, man,” Archie’s voice is earnest, in the face of Jughead’s silence. “You and I have known each other our whole lives. And I know that if there’s one person that will treat Veronica right in this world, it’s you. So, if you really want me to step aside, I—”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Jughead rolls his eyes. “You know what, maybe Veronica is right. Maybe we need to start being honest.” He points a finger at Archie. “You think you’re entitled to her, just like you thought you were entitled to Betty.”

“Entitled?”

“You know what that means, don’t you?”

Archie swallows hard, looking away. He’s in the wrong here, he knows, so he refrains from arguing, even if Jughead’s words are purposefully condescending.

“And I get that you think your feelings are so special and that you can’t ever run from them, but do you ever consider anyone else’s?”

He sounds upset in a way that takes Archie aback.

“Jug.”

“Well, Veronica isn’t mine, Archie. She’ll do whatever she wants. But she also isn’t yours, and neither is Betty.”

Jughead opens the door, a silent signal for him to leave. “I need more time,” he says with finality.

Archie feels the sting of rejection and the pull of the fragile threads holding their friendship together, right now. He walks out, leaving the pizza behind along with their unresolved issues.

.

.

.

Archie barely sleeps. He wishes Reggie was back already—maybe, talking to someone else about everything would make him feel better. But Reggie’s return is still days away, and after they remembered, he’s got some skin in the game too. Confiding in him about his tangled feelings for Veronica might be a dick move, complicating things further for everyone.

Betty’s curtains remain drawn. He tries to read his book, but Newland Archer is actually frustrating him endlessly now, not going after he wants, so he just gives up.

He goes through the following day like a ghost wandering the halls of Riverdale High with a sense of disconnection. On his way to the vending machine where he intends to buy a Coca-Cola, he passes by the Blue and Gold office, and glances inside out of habit.

He expects to find Betty or Toni hunched over the next issue, but what he actually finds gets him dumbfounded.

Betty is there, but she isn’t working on anything.

She’s actually on her desk, face flushed, kissing Jughead. Really kissing Jughead; not a fleeting peck in a moment of comfort, not something that could be seen as a mistake. It’s intense, passionate, their bodies pressed close, her hands entangled in his hair, his hat discarded, her legs wrapped around him, his hands on her waist.

Archie’s heart catches in his throat, a sharp, painful intake of breath. He feels, suddenly, like he’s been pushed to the sidelines of his own life, watching a scene where he thought he was the protagonist unfold without him.

They’re each other’s soulmates, Veronica’s voice comes from another time. Good for them, don’t you think?

Veronica is home after school, nestled on her couch with a bowl of berries and meticulously reading Clay’s script for The Comet. Her pencil moves over the pages, and she adds notes whenever she thinks the dialogue could be sharper, or the scene more vivid.

It’s mid-afternoon when a knock on her door interrupts her focus. Frowning, she sets the script aside and rises to answer it, finding Betty standing outside her door, looking unusually shy.

“B?”

“Hi,” Betty’s voice is small, hesitant, her eyes bright. Veronica frowns even more.

(The boys left them alone at Pop’s, the other day. Looking at Betty across from her, Veronica said, “I’m sorry for lying to you about Duck Creek. I didn’t want to admit that I failed on letting Archie go.”

“You still like me more?” she asked. Veronica smiled, and nodded. No matter what, that would always be the truth. “Do you remember our vow from the other life?”

“That no boy would ever come between us?”

“I think regardless of what they decide, we should keep that promise, and have our own honesty club. What do you think?”

Veronica raised her chocolate milkshake. “I think we have a deal, Betty Cooper.”)

“Are you okay? Come in,” she says, concerned, taking Betty’s hand and leading her to the couch.

Betty nods, and then shakes her head, which gets Veronica even more confused. “Something happened today, and I’m a little…scared to tell you.”

“B. C’mon. It’s our honesty club, remember?” Veronica smiles, searching her eyes, trying to ease the tension. “Besides, it can’t be worse than what has already happened,” she adds with a self-deprecating laugh.

“Jughead stopped by the Blue and Gold today. We were talking about…Archie.” Betty exhales deeply. “He went to see Jug yesterday, to tell him that he couldn’t stay away from you.”

Despite herself, Veronica feels a little thrill at that, the small flame quickly doused by guilt. “Oh,” she tries to keep a neutral expression.

“And then it escalated to be about Archie and you,” Betty goes on, her gaze dropping. “How you guys just can’t resist each other and how it’s always been like that, even in our other life. You must’ve broken up tenths of times, and you’d still…try again. Try to go back, like nothing has made you guys happier than your time as high school sweethearts.”

Her voice is delicate, and her cheeks are a bit pink. Veronica thinks it might be hard for Betty to voice those things.

“It’s just stubbornness.” Veronica presses her lips together, a hint of sadness in her tone. “We probably should’ve quit after the second time around, but—”

“No. That’s not what is. Actually, it’s kind of beautiful that you guys can’t really let go. And Jughead and I talked about it, and about how he and I never did that. We never gave each other a real chance again after senior year. And we were so close, once, and now it’s like—”

“Like you don’t even know him anymore?”

“Yeah.” Betty meets her eyes.

Veronica knows the feeling. That’s exactly how she felt when she decided, on a whim, to go after Archie in Duck Creek. Once, they were so close, almost a unit, partners in so many senses, and suddenly Veronica couldn’t even tell you about his favorite color anymore. She knew that he’d often laugh with his whole body, that he could sing, that he was a gentleman, that he had some quiet knowledge about so many things, but she didn’t experience any of that, not as herself, Now. And that felt like a tragedy of epic proportions.

“You can get to know him again, B. It’s what I was trying to do when I went to—”

“We made out,” Betty cuts in. “Today.”

Veronica’s surprise is brief, replaced by an understanding tilt of her head. Ever since Jughead confessed that he and Betty had discussed their past before, Veronica anticipated this to happen. Or maybe she just willed it into happening, so her own actions would be seen in a less harsh light.

“Do you want to keep making out with him?” she asks carefully.

“Maybe,” Betty admits. “But I also want you close to me. And Archie and I, we were…engaged in our other lives. Did you know that?”

Veronica couldn’t forget even if she tried, the memory of that fact still clear despite the haze of other painful details.

I’m gonna ask Betty to marry me.

“I did. He told me, back then.” She swallows. “Asked for a ring and all.”

Betty barely acknowledges this, her mind elsewhere, “But what does that even mean for our life here and now, you know? I miss Jughead, and I love you, and I don’t wanna end things with Archie either, but is it because I feel like the other Betty would hate me if I let him go after everything? It’s so complicated.”

“It is complicated, B. I think we’ve been trying to fit into boxes that don’t even exist anymore, you know? We are those people, but we also aren’t. And this whole thing is so…surreal. So maybe, we should stop trying to understand and just live it.” She shrugs one shoulder. “In Hollywood, it happens all the time,” Veronica says, trying to make Betty smile.

“I just don’t wanna lose you,” Betty’s eyes suddenly fill with tears. “To Archie, or to myself, or—”

“You won’t,” Veronica promises, feeling a strange peace settle over her. She reaches out, tugging a strand of Betty’s hair behind her ear. With a tender motion, she leans in, kissing her softly on the lips, sealing that promise.

This kiss is different from the other they’d shared before, not driven by desire or confusion, but just a testimony of their unbreakable bond.

Betty finally smiles back. “You won’t lose me either, V. Never.”

.

.

.

They spend the rest of their afternoon together, reading Clay’s script, and gushing about how handsome Sydney Poitier will look like the main character if the movie ever gets picked up by a studio. Betty goes home a while before her curfew, and Veronica is left alone again, her heart beating in a different way.

She debates calling Jughead, Betty’s revelation lingering in her mind. Did it sting, knowing that they’d kissed? Perhaps a tiny bit, more from history than actual jealousy, but she’s already forgiven them, her own actions considered. Besides, things with Jughead are…simple. Not in a boring way, just very uncomplicated, different from the storm of emotions Archie brings forth.

What happened between Betty and Jughead only serves to stir a restless, almost desperate desire to act on what she knows is what she really wants.

Learning that Archie sought Jughead to confess that he couldn’t stay away from her, despite how out of line it sounds, sends her skin prickling with unease until she can’t really help herself.

She takes out her phone book, and finds Archie’s number, the one she jotted down on her second day in Riverdale, after he drove her home following their first—and only—date, Now.

Archiekins, it reads, a couple of hearts around the name.

Her hand trembles as she dials. It’s the first time she calls him like this, so she’s not sure what to expect. Her heart pounds with each ring, the anticipation almost a living thing within her.

“Hello?” his voice comes through the line. Veronica heaves out a breath, relieved it wasn’t Mary who answered.

“Hey. It’s…me,” she says, hoping it’s enough explanation. “Can you come over?”

There’s a pause, filled with unspoken understanding of what this invitation could mean.

“Now?”

“I know it’s late, but I—I wanted to talk to you.”

“Yeah,” he agrees after a moment that feels like an eternity. “I’ll be there.”

As soon as she hangs up, doubt floods her, urging her to call back and cancel. She’s suddenly not even sure what exactly she wants to tell him. Only this afternoon Betty reminded her of how the other life had gone. Veronica feels extremely foolish for even entertaining the idea that things wouldn’t be the same way, Now.

Is she trying to rewrite a story that has already been told? And if so, why does it feel so different this time?

It’s a riptide she can’t swim against. The past life is the past life, she’s reminded herself countless times in the last months, and in the present, she has a chance to have him again, even if for a moment, which makes her heart race with fear and longing. She perhaps owes that to the other Veronica just as much as Betty felt like she owes something to their engagement.

.

.

.

It takes almost an hour for him to knock on the door. She smooths down her skirt, and opens it, her heart on her throat. Archie looks tired, and maybe even a little older. The expression on his face changes when he sees her. Something curious, expectant, and guilty, all at once.

“I’m sorry for taking so long,” he says, clutching his letterman jacket. “I had to dodge my mom.”

Veronica shakes her head. “It’s okay. I’m sorry for summoning you here like this.” She steps aside, leading him in. Archie stands in her living room, looking around. Veronica wonders if he’s thinking about the last time he’d been here, how they gave themselves away to each other on this very same floor. “You wanna sit?”

Archie nods, heading to the couch, and Veronica settles next to him. He fiddles with the jacket between his hands, definitely as nervous as she feels.

“Betty and Jughead kissed,” she says, diving right into it. She feels bad for ratting them out, but they’re working with honesty now, and no one said it would be easy.

“I know. I saw them.”

“Oh.” Veronica didn’t expect that. She tries to read the look on his face. “How did you feel?”

He shrugs.

“Jealous, I guess,” Archie confesses, “and a goddamn hypocrite, because who am I to say anything, or even feel anything like that, when all I’ve been thinking about since this craziness started is…you.”

Veronica feels the intensity of his gaze on hers. It’s just like when they were under that tree in Duck Creek, and he looked at her like his eyes could tell her everything, could answer every doubt she’s ever had about them doing this, Now.

“Part of me is glad that they kissed,” she admits. “That they’re in the same boat as we are right now. Is that awful?”

“Maybe.” Archie slowly reaches out to touch the hand she’s got resting on her lap. “But it’s also how I feel.”

Veronica curls her hand around his fingers, feeling the roughness of his skin. His thumb runs over her knuckles slowly, and just that gets her entire arm electrified.

Your romantic future is up for grabs, someone told her, Then. She wishes she could remember who, or when. What did they mean? Why did she remember that right now? Why is making her heart beat even faster?

“Archie. when I went to Duck Creek to visit you, I—I really thought that maybe we could try to be friends.” She looks down at their joined hands, and then back at him again. “But that’s not really what I want.”

“What are you saying, Ronnie?”

She lets out a deep breath. “It felt so right to be around you, just you and me. And it reminded me of how much…fun you and I used to have together.”

Archie’s brows crease, just the tiniest doubt. In the face of his silence, she decides to carry on, to lay her bare heart in his hands.

“I want to feel like that again,” she says. “To be like that again.”

He looks at her like he understands exactly what she means, and the seriousness fades, the corner of his lips pulling up in a shy, quick smile. “How?”

“We tell the truth. No secrets. No strings attached. No one gets hurt.” Her eyes plead with him to join her in this fragile new beginning. “We tell Betty and Jughead, we let them…explore whatever they have to, as well. We get to know each other again, and we…have fun.”

Can we do that, Archie? Can we just have fun?

Archie’s smile grows, and it’s like he’s the sun breaking through the clouds. Veronica’s heart blooms with a warmth that she can’t even recognize from Now, only from Then. That same smile, the light streaming through the windows of a music room, his hands on her face, when it still didn’t matter where the future would take them, because they’d always find each other again.

That’s music to my ears.

“Can we start now?” he asks.

She chuckles, nodding. That’s her Archiekins.

He leans in. She notices the clench on his jaw before she closes her eyes, waiting. She lets him kiss her first, savors the moment, feeling the soft pressure of his lips, the warmth of his breath. His hand that’s been holding hers, let’s go to cradle her face against his, his thumb gently brushing her cheek.

Archie parts his mouth, moving his tongue against hers, slowly, and Veronica breathes in deeply, tasting him. His other hand finds the small of her back, pulling her closer, the fabric of her shirt bunched under his grip.

She kisses him and kisses him, their chests rising and falling together, her fingernails on his shoulders, feeling his muscles tense and relaxing under the indentations. One of her hands runs up his neck and into his hair, feeling its texture escaping from her fingers, the heat on his body increasing.

“Ronnie,” he murmurs against her lips, bringing her leg over him, encouraging her to straddle him. Their eyes meet for the briefest of moments and she kisses him again, needing more.

This is what she wants, she thinks when his lips go down her neck, right where they stopped under the oak tree, and past that, towards her collarbone. This is what she’s been wanting the entire time.

.

.

.

Before the first light of dawn, Veronica gently shakes Archie awake, their bodies still intertwined in the warm cocoon of her bed. He hums, snuggling closer, his eyes still closed, and she leans in to kiss him, lips brushing in what’s a prelude to a goodbye.

“You have to go, before your mom finds out,” she murmurs, her hand on his face, tracing his jaw.

Archie’s response is a series of soft, lingering, sleepy kisses, each one a silent promise of more to come. Then, with a reluctant groan, he rises, slipping out of her bed.

Veronica watches him getting dressed in the soft, grey light and bites her lip to stop her smile from getting bigger. Two pink spots appear across his cheekbones, along with a sheepish grin. “I’ll see you at school?”

“Yeah,” she replies, her smile broadening when he kisses her one more, final time. It stays on her lips as she drifts back to sleep, enveloped by his presence, by the points of her body where she can still feel his touch.

Later, at Riverdale High, she moves through the halls with a lightness that she hasn’t felt ever since Angel Tabitha visited, and it lasts until she finds Jughead in the student lounge, his head bent over a sketch, his pencil dancing across the white paper.

The sight of him so engrossed in his art grounds her. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself and approaches with her head held up high, holding out Clay’s script. “Buenos días. This is Clay’s first draft. Do you wanna check my notes?”

Jughead looks up, his blue eyes meeting hers, and there’s that little twitch under his eye, a telltale of his intense focus. “Yeah,” he finally agrees, his voice dropping into a more serious tone. “Veronica, we should—”

“You and Betty. I know,” she affirms, not wanting to dance around the truth anymore. “She told me. Archie knows as well. He spent the night at the Pembrooke.”

This seems to surprise and intrigue Jughead even more. “Wow.” He shakes his head slightly. “I guess we are being honest, then.”

“We are.” Veronica sits next to him, reaching out to touch his cheek, a gesture filled with warmth. “And it’s a good thing, Juggie,” she says, genuinely believing their new approach.

Jughead tilts his head, maybe taking a moment to process her words. Then, heaving out a slow breath, he lifts his arm in an invitation for her to come closer. Veronica accepts, nestling into his side, into the coziness of his embrace. They don’t need any more words; the silence speaks volumes of their understanding.

After a moment of this comfortable quiet, as the weight of their confessions settles between them, Jughead asks, “What did you think of the script?”

Veronica flips through it, showing him her meticulous notes. “It has a lot of potential,” she says, resting her head on his shoulder. “But there are a few parts where the dialogue could be tighter, like, you see here?”

Jughead nods, his arm securely around her, planting a kiss on the side of her head. Veronica knows, deep in her soul, that the four of them will be alright, just like in the movies.

.

.

.

tbc

Chapter Text

[ five ]

.

wanted you to be the last thing on my mind
wanted you to be the reason i close my eyes
(but i can’t sleep)

.

“At the same time.”

.

.

The first month of Archie Andrews’ (hopefully last ever) senior year at Riverdale High is nothing Archie ever thought he’d experience, in this life or in the other.

His grades aren’t all bad, which feels like a small victory in itself. He’s back on the basketball team, but there’s no pressure—the game is just a game again, not a defining measure of his worth. He’s working part-time for Vic, one of the guys in his dad’s old construction crew, hauling material and cleaning out old foundations. He’s reading books and writing poems more often than not.

And he’s dating two girls.

Well. That’s not entirely accurate. Officially, he’s dating one girl. 

He and Betty Cooper are still the all-American couple that everyone expects to see together. They walk hand-in-hand, and have breakfast dates at Pop’s every Saturday. He drives her to school almost every day, kissing her by the lockers. At the Back-to-School dance, they sway together to slow songs under crepe paper streamers, her golden head resting on his shoulder. Their relationship is a constant in the eyes of their peers.

Being with Betty is nice. He's content. It fits seamlessly into his routine life, like a role they were always meant to play, and it feels right.

But Archie’s nights—and sometimes days—often take a different turn, a path that leads him straight to the Pembrooke, where he finds himself pressing Veronica Lodge against some piece of furniture—or a wall, a door, a marble countertop—his hands in her raven hair, lost in her intoxicating kisses, her breath hot against his skin,  her pulse racing under his fingertips as they rediscover each other with an urgency that feels both new and ancient.

Veronica, who, to everyone else, is officially Jughead Jones’s girlfriend, and is always seen with him, their smiles and banter a public testament to their connection.

There’s no real pattern to how things happen, which is part of the thrill.

Sometimes, at school, Veronica throws him a look that makes his stomach flip, an invitation for him to find her somewhere secluded and kiss her until she has to reapply her lipstick, her breath ragged. Then, he’s back next to Betty, with his arm around her shoulder. She probably tastes Veronica’s kiss on his lips and doesn’t seem to mind.

Other times, the girls orchestrate double dates—Pop’s, a movie night at the Babylonium, a picnic by Sweetwater River—and at some point, a silent change takes place, a choreography no one taught them how to dance. Fluid, practiced, as if they’ve been doing this forever rather than just a few weeks. Betty casually asks Jughead to lend her a book, Archie offers to drive Veronica home, and the night takes its inevitable course.

He particularly enjoys it when it’s Veronica who makes the move, like the time he’s picking a song in the jukebox, fingers skimming the selection, and she leaves their respective partners in the booth to stand by him. She watches as he flips through the options, her shoulder brushing his, her perfume filling his senses.

“Are you coming over tonight?” she asks, her voice low, and Archie’s heart skips, doing that thing it does whenever she’s around him.

“If you want me to,” he replies, trying to keep his voice steady.

She just looks at him, a glint in her dark eyes, a smirk on her red lips, a quiet answer that sends a shiver down his spine. “I like this one,” she says, pointing at a song, I Almost Lost My Mindby Pat Boone, and Archie obviously presses play.

He’s aware that Betty and Jughead are likely having sex too, but the fact doesn’t stir jealousy in him anymore. Instead, it feels like a balance in their dynamics, the playing field leveled. 

Even though intimate moments with Betty have slowed down, replaced by sweet familiarity, it doesn’t matter, because he and Veronica seem to be at an all-time high, passionate and intense.

He just…loves the way she makes him feel. The taste of her kisses, the warmth of her skin, how she fits in his arms. How they know to touch each other Now like it’s an instrument they’ve mastered, Then.

There’s a particular spot on his neck that makes him laugh every time she kisses it, a ticklish vulnerability she exploits with a mischievous grin. She has three little moles on her collarbone that make her shiver when he runs his fingertips over them. She knows how to pull a sigh from within him, biting gently on his lower lip, her nails leaving trails of fire down his back. He knows exactly what to do with his tongue to make her come undone.

He lets himself feel how much Veronica seems to want him, as if he owes that to the other Archie—the one who loved her so goddamn much and somehow lost her.

Sometimes, he does wonder what any of it means—for their future, for their past—but those thoughts are mostly muffled by the present. He doesn’t know how they got here—not really. There’s no plan, no real rules. Just…whatever this is between them.

And it works. Ronnie’s happy. Betty's happy. Jug's probably happy too. And Archie gets to not feel guilty for getting what he wants, although he is weirded out by the dynamics sometimes.

But whatever. If everyone's happy, what could go wrong?

.

.

.

September comes to an end too fast. Archie and Betty spend most afternoons sprawled on her bedroom floor, working on school projects. Her door stays open—house rules. Alice is always around, her footsteps a steady rhythm in the hallway below.

The air smells like Betty’s new perfume, the lavender one he’s still getting used to. Sometimes, he catches himself missing the vanilla from before. 

The radio hums softly in the background, a new Platters song weaving into the quietness.

Betty’s blonde curls fall forward as she scribbles down on her notebook, occasionally glancing up to catch his eye. It’s grounding. It feels a bit like their childhood, only their playbooks have been replaced by textbooks.

Sometimes, she leans forward to kiss him, soft and lingering, tasting like her buttery pink lipstick. He places his hand under her chin, a familiar touch, and she smiles against his lips before pulling away. It’s nothing like the storm that Veronica awakens inside him, but it’s all really easy. 

Archie recalls snippets of that easiness, Then. He knows that their adult relationship was…uncomplicated. Peaceful. How he cherished that peace, that quietness.

“It’s almost Jug’s birthday,” she notes, flipping her kitten calendar, and smiles, nostalgic. “Remember when I tried to throw him a surprise party?”

Archie chuckles, but his memory of that night is hazy. All that’s really etched in his brain is holding Veronica in the kitchen because she was crying God knows why, and then sitting next to her on his couch after everyone left. He looked into her eyes and thought fuck it before leaning in to kiss her.

“Kind of.”

Betty tilts her head, studying him, and there’s something in her gaze. “There’s a lot you don’t remember, right?”

He exhales, scratching the back of his head with the pencil. “I know it wasn’t an all-happy life,” he says. “But I guess I remember the parts my heart wanted to keep.”

Betty pauses. “Like…you and V?”

His stomach twists and, for a second, he considers lying, and giving her an answer she would probably prefer. But the four of them vouched for being honest, so he settles for half-truths.

“Yeah,” he admits. His heart does remember Veronica, vivid memories that seem to only get clearer with every time they’re together. “But you guys too. I mean, you and Jug. And us, of course.”

He doesn’t want to explain that his past with her feels like a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing. Whole chunks erased, gaps that should be filled with important moments but instead hold nothing. He doesn’t see the moments the way he should. Not in a way that makes sense. 

He can’t even recall the first time he told her he loved her as something other than a friend—not really. And it’s odd, because it should be there, right?

“Me and Josie McCoy,” Archie adds, trying to shake off any weight that settled between them. “I remember that too.” He laughs, blushing a little. “Crazy. She’s so famous.”

Betty smiles, but there’s something contemplative in her expression. “And Reggie and Veronica?”

Archie flips a page in his notebook, staring idly at his notes. 

And Reggie and Veronica. 

What he does remember: wanting Reggie to make Veronica happy, wanting her to be okay, but also secretly hoping they’d fail miserably. Watching them together and feeling like the air had been knocked out of his lungs. Thinking that maybe it was supposed to happen that way—Betty was the only option ahead for him. 

She stayed.

Veronica was supposed to leave, right? Go back to New York.

The thought flickers through him like static on a radio—unclear, distorted. He tries to tune in, to remember, but the memory slips away. He doesn't think she ever did leave. Did she?

“Yeah, I guess,” he finally says. “They were together when the comet hit, right?”

Why aren’t they a thing too, Now?

“I think so,” Betty says, looking out the window toward his house. The sun is setting a little earlier these days, streaking the glass with fading light. “Just like we were.”

“It makes sense.” Archie says, wetting his lips. He looks at her. “You know, a little part of me always thought it’d be you and me at the end of the road.”

Betty doesn’t answer right away. The radio crackles, the song shifts, the golden light of sunset stretches across the wooden floorboards.

Then, finally—

“Do you still feel like that?” Her smile turns soft, perhaps even a little sad.

Archie watches her for a moment, studying her green eyes, carrying the burden of a history that should feel more like his own than it does. He knows what she wants to hear. He knows what the other Archie would’ve said— Yeah. I’m all in.

He kisses her instead.

“Yeah.” He smiles back. Another half-truth.

.

.

.

The basketball bounces off the rim with a sharp clang, echoing through the empty Riverdale High gym. Archie grabs the rebound and passes it back to Reggie, who’s been shooting free throws for the past twenty minutes with mechanical precision.

“Fifteen for twenty,” Reggie mutters, catching the ball and lining up again. “That’s not good.”

Archie watches him shoot—perfect form, the ball swishing through the net. Everything about Reggie these days is focused, disciplined, stoic. It’s been like this since he got back from his summer program. 

It’s weird. There’s a wall between them that Archie doesn’t know how to cross. 

There was a time when he felt like he could talk to Reggie about anything—like Reggie saw and understood parts of him that he hadn’t shown anyone else, not even to his oldest friends. Last year, Archie would already have told him about Betty and Veronica, about Frankie and that slip of paper with his number still tucked in Archie’s notes, about the poems and books and everything. 

But even though Archie broke bread with The Mantles all summer and spent time in Reggie’s childhood bedroom, somehow he feels more distant from his friend than ever.

“It’s not bad either,” Archie offers, handing Reggie the ball. “I’m glad Uncle Frank is not on my ass anymore about being the next basketball star—no offense.”

“None taken,” he shoots again and misses. “Shit.”

Archie catches the ball and bounces it as Reggie takes a breather. He looks at him and tries to work up the nerves to ask what’s been in his mind ever since yesterday with Betty. Every time he opens his mouth, though, the words feel too complicated in his brain to untangle.

“What do you wanna talk about?” Reggie asks for the ball again.

“Huh?”

“You’re never up to help me practice anymore, so I know you want to talk about something.”

“Oh.” He clears his throat. “Yeah, hm, I was just wondering. You and Veronica…” Archie hesitates, not sure how to phrase it without sounding like he’s prying. Which he is, but still. “Why didn’t you guys give each other another shot? Now, I mean.”

Reggie's shot goes in clean. Sixteen for twenty-one. “Veronica’s with Juggalo.”

Archie feels a pang of jealousy at that—sharp and unexpected. Yeah, right, that’s what everyone thinks. That’s what Reggie is supposed to think too. But the reminder of their public lives sits wrong in his chest, like a pill that he can’t swallow.

“I know, but—”

“I just don’t like her like that.”

The ball swishes through the net. Seventeen for twenty-two.

“You liked her when you first got into town.”

“She’s pretty. One boring date changed my mind, though.”

Archie frowns. Veronica, boring? He’s called her a lot of things in his head—maddening, complicated, impossible to read—but boring has never been one of them.

“But you guys were together when the comet hit,” he insists.

“Not everything that happened before needs to happen now,” Reggie cuts him off. “Besides, I’m pretty sure she friendzoned me that night.”

“Oh.” Archie blinks, surprised. The revelation hits him like a curveball he wasn’t expecting. All this time, he’d assumed that Reggie and Veronica were on their way to be endgame in their other life. That while he was with Betty, she was with Reggie, and that was just how things were supposed to be. “I thought—”

“Yeah, I know what you thought. Everyone thought that.” Reggie lines up again. “Veronica made it pretty clear we were just friends.”

The ball goes in clean. Nineteen for twenty-four.

Archie processes this, his mind racing. If Veronica didn’t want to be with Reggie, and she wasn’t with him either, then what had she been doing? Who had she been waiting for? The questions multiply in his head, each one making less sense than the last.

“Honestly, I don't like thinking about this. It was too dark. And I was mostly a loser, if I’m being honest. What I want from this life is not to feel like I’m playing second-fiddle in my own story,” Reggie says, a reflection Archie knows nothing about, as he tries his final shot.

Twenty for twenty-five.

“I guess I just don't get why she stayed,” Archie says quietly, the words coming out before he can stop them. “In Riverdale, I mean. I remember her wanting to go back to  Manhattan, but then she didn’t, and I don’t know why.”

“Why do you care anyway? You were with Betty, weren't you? You arewith Betty.” 

Reggie grabs his towel, looking at him with just a hint of bitterness. 

He can’t tell Reggie the truth of his entanglement with the girls, so he lets out a breath, dismissing it. “I’m just curious, that’s all." 

“Sorry, Arch. I don’t remember a lot.” Reggie says, drinking some water. “I’m gonna hit the shower. You good here?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. Thanks, bro.”

But as Reggie heads toward the locker room, Archie stays on the court, bouncing the ball absently. More questions crowd his mind: If Veronica didn’t want Reggie, and she wasn’t with him either when everything ended, then who had she been waiting for? What made her stay in Riverdale when she wanted to leave? Why can’t he remember?

And why does any of it matter when he was supposed to marry Betty? 

.

.

.

The next time Archie is with Veronica, in the dark of her room, the streetlights slipping through the curtains, he can’t stop thinking about that talk he and Reggie had in the court. Which is stupid, because the last thing that should be in his mind when Veronica is resting her head on his back, her body warm and bare against his, is all the unanswered questions from another life.

“Tuesday is Jughead’s birthday, so I’m throwing something small for him at The Dark Room,” Veronica says, absently, her voice soft into the quiet night, pulling him back from his thoughts.

Archie hums, and she plants gentle kisses across his shoulders, her burgundy nails trace light circles on his back.

“Something tasteful. Just a few of us. What do you think?”

He chuckles, throat dry. “Hopefully it’s not a surprise party.”

“Oh God.” Veronica’s breath is warm against his neck, and Archie feels her body tremble on top of his with her soft giggle. “You remember that?”

He gently turns under her to face her, his hands sliding up the warm skin of her back. Her skin is so soft. It’s the kind of softness that still surprises him sometimes, smoother than the expensive cotton sheets tangled around them, and sometimes he still can’t believe he gets to touch her again.

“Yeah. I do. It was the second time we ever kissed.”

Veronica leans in, her lips brushing his, and Archie knows she feels the same, tastes the same in his mouth, just like she did Then. He kisses her back, gently.

“On your couch,” she says, smiling. “You got chips all over my hair.”

Archie laughs easily, brushing her hair away from her face. “I’d been holding back for a long time.”

“I think it was like a month, actually.” She rests her chin on his chest, looking at him with a smirk. “But it did feel like an eternity, didn’t it? All that waiting and pretending we didn’t want each other.”

“Yeah, you wanted me so bad that you fell asleep on me while we were making out,” he laughs.

She giggles, shrugging one shoulder. “But when I woke up, in your bed, you were sleeping on the floor like a true gentleman. I couldn’t resist and kissed your cheek.”

Archie smiles, nudging her nose with his. “Pervert.”

Veronica grins and bites her lower lip, her expression softening, a flicker of longing passing through her eyes.

“It was good, right?” Her smile falters slowly, and for a moment she looks uncertain. “You and me?”

He frowns a little. “It is good, Ronnie.”

She nods, and kisses him again—slow and deep now, like they have all the time in the world. Archie sighs into her mouth. He wants to think they do. Even if a part of him believes what he told Betty about their endgame, there’s another part that still wishes it could’ve been—that it could be, that it will be—Veronica.

When he’s with her like that, skin to skin in the soft light, he doesn’t feel like he’s lived through two different lives, and it’s unfathomable that they ended, whatever the reason was.

.

.

.

The second of October arrives. His mother is washing dishes at the sink when Archie walks into the kitchen to ask her permission to go to Jughead’s party. He promises not to drink, not to drive fast, not to come back too late.

Mary asks if Reggie’s going with him, but Reggie shuts it down fast—says he wasn’t invited, and that he has practice in the morning. Then, he asks if Betty’s going to be Archie’s date.

“Nope. She headed there with Veronica, hours ago.”

Archie does wonder, sometimes, if Reggie still likes Betty—and if the quiet shift in their friendship actually happened when he went steady with her Now , not because anything Then. But that’s another question he’s not going to ask.

He heads to the Dark Room alone.

The place is dressed in black, green, and gold, soft jazz music humming in the background, folded into the quiet laughter and the clink of glassware. Everyone—from the bartenders to the guests—is wearing a paper crown hat.

This was all Veronica’s doing. Of course it was.

He spots her before she sees him, standing by the piano in a black cocktail dress, a rhinestone pin in her hair catching the light. She’s talking to Betty, who’s all soft curls and subtle makeup, sipping from a pink drink. They’re wearing matching heels.

Jughead looks happy. Genuinely so. He’s smiling without twitching, letting Kevin toss an arm around him for a photo, sitting at a table playing cards with Fangs and a couple other Serpents.

Archie hovers near the bar, ordering a Gin Fizzhead from the custom menu. He’s just about to take his first sip when Clay walks by, dropping a paper crown on his head.

“House rules,” Clay says with a wink. Archie chuckles, and adjusts it.

The lights dim suddenly, followed by two taps on the microphone. Archie looks up to see Veronica under the spotlight, her voice cutting through the room—clear, smooth, used to be the center of attention.

“Jughead hates his birthday,” she says, smiling. “So, we’re calling this a small gathering with no expectations of celebrating his nascency in this cruel world.”

Laughter rises around the room, Jughead’s included. Archie feels his own lips twitch. Veronica glances over her shoulder and nods for Betty to step forward. Kevin takes his place at the piano.

“Juggie, this is for you,” Veronica announces.

The girls start singing, their voices blending well as they lean into the mic, their shoulders brushing. I could have danced all night, I could have danced all night…!

Archie tilts his head. He doesn’t recognize the song. Clay, still standing beside him, offers quietly, “It’s from My Fair Lady .”

Archie hums, taking another sip. “What is it—new?”

“Yeah. Big debut over the summer. Jughead and Veronica went to see it in New York, together.”

Oh.

He tries not to be a dick and feel jealous. His friendship with Jughead has only now started to smooth out again, after that argument in his train cart. But it’s hard not to picture it: Jughead and Veronica sitting together in a dark theater, paper programs folded in their laps, debating the first act as they hold hands, her head on his shoulder during romantic parts.

Another scene unfolding without him.

The girls sing and dance together, twirling each other during the bridge, making the most of it. The room is laughing now, cheering along.

Once it ends, Kevin bows theatrically from the piano bench and Clay whistles. Archie claps with the rest of them—Betty and Veronica did knock it out of the park.

Jughead is chuckling, and shaking his head, but Archie knows him well enough to tell that he secretly loved it. Archie looks at Veronica again, wondering if she’s going to leap into Jug’s arms or something. She must feel his gaze, because their eyes meet for the briefest second—

And then Betty is there, breathless and flushed from the performance, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Arch! You made it!” she says, smiling up at him. “I thought maybe you weren’t coming.”

He squeezes her sides. “Couldn’t miss it,” he says. She leans in to kiss him. He returns it, but his eyes drift back toward the stage, where Jughead is now holding Veronica, whispering something that makes her laugh. The sound cuts through him in a weird way.

“Come see the cake,” Betty says, tugging his hand. “It’s so funny.”

.

.

.

The cake is a triple-layered thing shaped vaguely like a typewriter, complete with a paper crown on top. Betty says something about how Veronica ordered it from a pastry shop in New York, and Smithers had to drive all the way to the city to get it.

Then, Cheryl appears in a blur of red—as she usually does—saying something about someone Betty simply needed to meet for the next Teenage Mystique, and Archie’s left alone by the cake when Jughead approaches, lifting his chin in greeting.

“Hey,” Archie says, stepping forward, the grip on his Fizzhead tightening. “Happy birthday, man.”

Jughead raises his eyebrows. “You came.”

“Of course, I did.” Archie smiles. Despite everything, Jughead’s still his best friend.

They do the briefest of bro-hugs—awkward shoulder clap and all—before Jughead turns to steal a handful of chocolate-covered almonds from a bowl on the cake table.

“Having a good time?” Archie asks.

Jughead shrugs, munching. “Yeah, yeah. It’s a little too much, but what isn’t, with Veronica Lodge in your life?” He snickers. “She does know me well, though.”

Archie nods. “Guess you don’t hate birthday parties anymore, then.”

Jughead winces, just slightly. “If you’re talking about that surprise party, it wasn’t my best moment—in either of our lifetimes,” he confesses. “I’ll say, though, the singing was a little extreme.”

Archie looks at the stage, now empty again. He can’t see Veronica anywhere. She’s probably making sure everything is going down perfectly.

“But not surprising.” Jughead goes on. “She used to do that kind of thing for you all the time, remember?”

Archie blinks. “Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

His last memory of Veronica singing to him isn’t the best, though—senior year, Then . She was wearing a blue, velvet dress, and Archie knew deep in his heart that their time was running out. She was going to college, to the world where she belonged, and he couldn’t be the idiot holding her back.

“You took a lot of it for granted,” Jughead adds, offhand, popping another almond. “So, I’m trying to do better.”

Jug looks across the room. Archie follows his blue eyes, and there she is, Veronica, joining Betty, Cheryl, and the other girls, the rhinestone in her hair glowing like a star.

Archie wants to argue. That’s not how he remembers—he did appreciate Veronica. He loved Veronica. Hell, he probably still does, even if he still hasn’t dared unpack any of it yet.

But what if Jughead is right? Because if he really didn’t take her for granted, if he really loved her the way she deserved, then why did they end? Why did she want to move back to New York? Why couldn’t he make her stay?

“I’m trying to do better too,” he says.

“No, I know, and you are. But it’s different, right? You and her. Less serious this time. More… I don’t know. It’s not like you’re trying to pretend you’re gonna be together forever.”

Archie feels something cold settling on his chest. Less serious. Not forever. Where is Jughead even getting this from? He looks across the room at Veronica again, laughing with the other girls, and suddenly wonders if that’s all she sees him as too—a distraction from her serious , real relationship with Jughead.

“Yeah,” he manages, his voice sounding strange to his own ears. “It is different.”

Jughead nods, seemingly satisfied, and wanders off toward the card table. Archie stays by the cake, his drink growing warm in his hand.

Well, Jughead knows Veronica better than anyone Now, right? Archie’s seen them together, heads bent close, sharing inside jokes. He knows that they talk about everything, not just books and movies. If Jug is this sure that what Archie and Veronica have isn’t serious, it’s probably because she told him it wasn’t.

What did she say? Did she tell Jughead how easy Archie is, how he shows up like a trained dog whenever she calls, how they sleep together without him expecting anything real in return? How this is just a convenient arrangement, scratching an itch while she builds her actual life with someone who can match her intellect, her ambitions, her future.

The thought makes him feel sick. He sets down his drink, his hand shaking slightly, and realizes he needs water.

.

.

.

The party is winding down, the music dropped to barely above a whisper, though Ethel and Ben are still slow dancing near the stage. Kevin, Clay, and Dilton are deep in conversation about something Archie can’t follow.

Archie’s been nursing the same glass of water for twenty minutes, trying to make sense of what Jughead said earlier. Less serious. Not forever. It's not like you're trying to pretend.

He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t notice Veronica approaching until she’s right there, stepping into his space with that charming way she has of claiming attention.

“Hey, you,” she says, and despite everything churning in his head, heat creeps up his neck. She reaches for his water glass, takes a sip, and looks at him through those long eyelashes. “Enjoying the soirée?”

He never knows what she means when she speaks French, but something about the way she says it always makes him want to smile. There’s a tug at the corner of his lips, but it dies quickly.

Jughead probably understands every word she says in French.

“Sure,” he says, more carefully than usual. “You guys really killed it up there.”

“Well, thank you, Archiekins. Make sure to catch us on Broadway next summer,” she jokes, but Archie can't find the humor in it.

Broadway. Another one of her interests that he knows nothing about.

He chuckles anyway, though there’s no real humor in it.

“Are you okay?” Concern flickers across her face. “You seem off tonight.”

For a moment, he almost tells her everything. They vowed for honesty, didn’t they? So he almost asks if what Jughead said is true—if she really sees this as less serious than it was Then, temporary; if she thinks he took her for granted before, if he's just convenient. If the way they touch each other when they’re alone is just that, touch.

But the words stick in his throat. This isn’t the time or place.

“I'm fine,” he lies.

She giggles—that sound that usually makes his chest tight with want—and reaches up to remove his crooked paper crown. Her fingers brush through his hair as she smooths it back, and the simple touch sends electricity through him.

“I want to kiss you,” she whispers, leaning closer.

His throat works around a swallow. Christ, he wants that too, and maybe that’s the problem—he always wants that. But across the room, Betty is doing a poor job pretending not to be watching them, and this isn't how it works between them. 

They don’t belong to each other. Not in public, anyway.

“I promised to drive Betty home,” he says, the words feeling heavy.

“Yeah, of course.” She nods quickly, fidgeting with the paper crown. “I'm staying with Juggie tonight.”

Right. Of course she is. Her real boyfriend, the one she threw this whole party for, the one she sang to in front of everyone. The one she actually talks to about things, and who’s trying to be a better man to her than Archie ever was.

“It is his birthday,” Archie says, jaw clenching.

“Exactly.” 

But then she reaches for his hand, curling just her index finger around his. "But maybe you and I will have some time later this week?"

Archie feels his heartbeat picking up. When she looks at him like that, hope flickers stupidly in his chest. Maybe he's wrong. Maybe he's overthinking this, just letting his mind work in an endless loop.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I'd like that.”

She squeezes his finger once, and he thinks perhaps—

“Is it too rude if we tell them to turn on the lights so people leave?” Jughead appears beside her, wrapping his arm around her waist, making her drop his hand quickly.

Veronica turns toward Jughead immediately, and Archie watches her face transform. The piercing, flirty expression she wore with him melts into something warmer, softer. Her hand comes up to rest against Jughead’s chest.

She laughs, her shoulders trembling. “Yes, Forsythe. But I’ll do the rounds thanking everyone for coming and start sending them away,” she says, and there’s genuine tenderness in her voice.

Jughead nods to Archie with a small smile. “Thanks for coming, man. Means a lot.”

“Happy birthday again, Jug,” Archie manages.

Veronica glances back at him, her expression shifting back to something sharper, like she’s trying to carry on their previous conversation about stealing time with her eyes. “Drive safely, Archiekins.”

And then she's walking away with Jughead, their bodies naturally in sync, his hand guiding her through the crowd. Archie watches as Jughead leans down to murmur something in her ear, watches her laugh in response, watches the easy intimacy between them that comes from being actually together, not just hooking up in secret.

Archie stands there alone, still holding his water, and Jughead’s words slam back into him with brutal clarity.

Less serious. Not forever.

Overall, Veronica feels good about Jughead’s birthday.

Another box in her to-do list checked, thankfully. The decorations looked perfect, the cake was a hit, and so was the custom drink menu. God knows how many people she had to bribe to make that—alcohol, in a party for minors—happen.

And, most importantly, Jughead looked happy once they got to his train cart, his dimples showing when he smiled. Success.

She’d gone home with Jughead like they planned, and fell asleep beside him still wearing her earrings. He didn’t even try anything, just thanked her with a sweet kiss on the forehead, and collapsed face-first into the pillow.

When Veronica wakes up, the sun’s creeping through the blinds, and Hot Dog is lying between her and Jughead, sprawled out like a third body in the bed. His paw is draped dramatically over her arm.

It’s a bit much.

She nudges the sheepdog gently, wrinkling her nose.

“Way too early for a ménage à dog,” she mutters, slipping out from under the covers. As she heads to the bathroom, she hears Juggie’s soft laugh.

.

.

.

She tries to find a moment in the next couple of weeks to get Archie to come over.

Nothing dramatic. Just a quiet night, just the two of them. Between Babylonium scheduling, helping Jughead sort through his latest batch of comic strips, co-presidency meetings with Betty, running inventory on the projection equipment, and trying to get someone from Columbia Pictures to return her calls, all she wants is a couple of hours of peace—and his hands all over her.

But Archie’s acting…weird.

He’s not avoiding her, exactly. He’s just vague. Hesitant. His answers come too slow, or too quick. When she mentions coming by the Pembrooke, he says he’s helping his mom with something. When she suggests a trip to Lover’s Lane, at least, he says he’s tired.

It’s not hostile. It’s not even cold. But it’s still off , and she feels it like a sore spot.

She doesn’t understand what’s wrong. It couldn’t be the party—she went home with Jughead, sure, but he went home with Betty. That’s what they agreed on. That was the plan. Besides, it’s not like it’s been a problem before.

She knows full well he and Betty are also having sex. It’s all part of the deal—of the strange, interesting, working system they built between the four of them. But Betty has the quite terrible habit of kissing and telling, so Veronica knows it’s not like they’ve been doing it so much lately that he can’t find the stamina for her. In fact, Betty said nothing happened when he drove her home that day, and that she spent the following weekend at Jughead’s .

By the time Veronica knocks on the Andrews’ door, mid-afternoon on the other Thursday, she has half a speech about all that rehearsed in her head. Something clear, rational. Lightly accusatory, but not unkind. A handful of questions, a few well-placed remarks, and then—hopefully—a kiss that fixes everything.

No one answers.

She sighs—then hears the clink coming from his garage.

Veronica pivots, heels tapping against the concrete, following the sound. The side door to the garage is slightly ajar. Warm light spills through the sliver, along with the scent of oil and something faintly burnt, but not alarming.

She pushes it open slowly.

Archie’s under the car. All she can see are his boots, his jeans, the curve of his hip. A record is playing somewhere in the background, scratchy, brass-heavy. Something twists low in her abdomen as she leans against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she says.

There’s a soft clang of metal.

“I’m not,” his voice comes from beneath, muffled but clear.

Veronica steps inside, letting the door swing shut behind her. “Yes, you are.” She almost laughs at his stubbornness. “What’s going on?”

She hears the scrape of the creeper sliding back. Slowly, Archie rolls out from under the car, one gloved hand gripping the floor to guide himself. He blinks into the light when he sees her.

His hair is messy. There’s a smudge of grease on his cheek. His white t-shirt clings to his chest in a way that feels unreasonably unfair. He pushes himself to sit up, pulling off his gloves. He looks like he's been working with his hands all afternoon—capable and strong. Heat spreads through her like wildfire.

“It’s just senior year,” she thinks he lies. He stands up, avoiding her eyes as he grabs for a rag on the workbench. She watches his forearms flex as he does it, the way his shoulders move under cotton. “It’s been a lot.”

Veronica sets her purse on a chair, taking a step towards him. Yes, senior year is a lot, but that’s not the problem.

“That's not what this is,” she says.

“Ronnie—”

“C’mon, Archiekins. No secrets , remember?” She reaches for him, turns his chin gently until he has to look at her. His eyes are guarded, but she can see the want there too—the way his pupils dilate when she touches him, how his gaze drops to her mouth and lingers. “Did I do something wrong?”

He shakes his head, and she notices the way his throat works when he swallows. She wants to put her mouth there.

"You don’t want me anymore?"

His eyes widen. “What? No . No, of course I want you, Ronnie. I just—I’m stupid, that’s what it is,” he says, his chest heaving. Whatever’s happening in that beautiful, complicated head of his, his body knows exactly what it wants.

So, she steps forward, hands on his face—and kisses him.

He melts into her immediately, a soft groan escaping as their mouths meet. His hand finds her hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands, and the other arm snakes around her waist, pulling her flush against him with enough force that she gasps.

She can taste his tongue, feel the way his hands shake slightly as they roam her body. When she nips at his bottom lip, he makes this desperate little sound that goes straight to her core.

“I miss you,” she whispers against his mouth, her hands already working at the hem of his t-shirt. She needs skin, needs to touch him, needs to feel all that warm muscle under her palms.

He’s walking her backwards, step by step, until she hits the workbench. Then his hands are on her thighs, lifting her up to sit on the edge, and she's wrapping her legs around his waist to pull him closer.

She doesn’t care about the grease on his face or the calluses on his palms or the way the edge of the bench digs into her thighs. She just needs him—needs this quiet he gives her, this perfect moment where her mind finally, blissfully shuts up and everything is burning.

.

.

.

Honestly, senior year is relentless—Babylonium employee meetings every Tuesday, co-presidency duties with Betty that seem to multiply by the week, supporting Jughead, and Clay, and Kevin, and calling Columbia Pictures twice a week about their internship program, only to get the same secretary who promises someone will call her back. They never do.

Her parents call every few days with the same lecture about college applications. Her dad from Miami, her mom from New York. “Vassar has an excellent reputation, mija,” her mother says over a crackling long distance. “And you know the Astors—they could write you a letter of recommendation.”

“I don't want to go to Vassar, Mami. You know I want to work in pictures.”

There’s a long pause, the kind that always precedes her mother’s disappointed sighs. “Veronica, Hollywood is no place for a young lady. I learned that the hard way.”

“But you loved it when you were—”

“And I was naive,” her mother cuts her off, voice sharp with old bitterness. “The business destroys people, especially women. You think we left Los Angeles by choice? We barely escaped with our reputation intact. Besides, you’re latina . This makes it even more complicated.”

“You were an actress, Mom. I want to make movies. I want to be behind the camera—”

“It’s all the same machine. The same men making the same decisions about our lives.” Her mother’s voice softens, but only slightly. “I just want better for you. You’re so smart, you can’t waste your life away on silly dreams.”

Silly dreams? As if running the most successful teen business in Riverdale isn’t proof she can succeed in any industry she chooses.

But somewhere between inventory reports and parental disappointment calls, she finds her sanctuary.

Sometimes, it’s in the music room, and her mind is still buzzing from the last chat she’s had with her father. “Hey,” she says, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Archie looks up from the piano bench, surprised. “Ronnie. I thought you had—”

“Student council meeting. I know.” She crosses to him, already feeling that familiar loosening in her chest just from being near him. The knot of anxiety that's been sitting between her shoulder blades all day starts to ease. “Betty can handle it on her own for fifteen minutes.”

His hands find her waist automatically as she straddles the bench, facing him. She loves how he does that—how his body knows hers so perfectly, how he reaches for her like it’s instinct.

“Everything okay?”

She silences him with a kiss, deep and desperate. When she pulls back, his eyes are dark and slightly unfocused, the way they always get when she touches him.

“Just need this,” she murmurs against his lips, which is the absolute truth. She needs this peace he gives her, this moment where her mind finally stops spinning.

“I’ve been thinking we should talk about—”

"Less talking," she whispers, sliding her hand down his chest, feeling his heart race under her palm. "More touching, Andrews.”

She’ll spend hours with her mind racing—calculating profit margins, mediating between the Vixens latest drama, listening to Betty’s complaints about her family, writing English essays with Juggie while trying not to think about the stack of college brochures her mother keeps mailing, or that her dad is shacking up with Kelly . The voices in her head get louder and louder until she feels like she might scream.

But there's a place where everything goes quiet.

In the empty chemistry lab during lunch, where she pushes Archie against the blackboard. In her car after basketball practice, when she climbs into his lap and he grabs her hips. In her apartment when she's supposed to be writing her application essays, where she pulls him straight to her bedroom without even offering him a drink first.

The rest of the world disappears when he touches her. All those demanding voices fade away until there’s nothing but heat and want and Archie's hands making it all irrelevant.

.

.

.

“Veronica,” he says one afternoon in late November, catching her wrist as she reaches for his belt. They're in his bedroom, and she's been thinking about this moment all through History class. “Can we just... talk for a minute? Please?”

There's something different in his voice—more urgent, almost pleading.

“About what?” she asks, but she's already pressing closer, already finding that spot on his neck that makes his breath hitch.

“I don’t know. Us. This. What we—” His voice breaks off in a groan when she nips at his pulse point. “What we’re actually doing here.”

“You and me, or the four of us?” She murmurs against his skin, feeling the scent of his soap.

“Ronnie—”

She pulls back just enough to look at him, sees the conflict in his eyes, the way he's trying so hard to be serious when his body is already responding to her touch. She doesn't want to be serious. She has everything else for that.

"Do you want me to stop?" she asks softly, her hand moving lower.

His eyes flutter closed. “No,” he breathes. “God, no.”

When he surrenders and pulls her against him, she sighs. This is what they both need. She’s found her quiet place, and he’s getting all of her, all that he always craved—what more could either of them want?

.

.

.

Her father flies to New York for Thanksgiving. He has business in town and wants her and Hermione to join him for dinner as if nothing had changed since last year.

“You’ve got this,” Jughead says, aware of her woes, kissing her softly before she slides into the backseat of Smithers car, pouting a little. She kissed Archie last night, and Betty this morning. They all taste different. “Say hello to our Plaza suite for me.”

Delmonico’s is the kind of place where even the waiters seem to whisper. Veronica sits between her divorced parents, feeling eight instead of eighteen, watching them perform civility like it’s a scene they’ve rehearsed but never quite mastered.

“The turkey is lovely,” her mother says, cutting precise, small bites. She’s wearing the same pearls Hiram gave her for Christmas two years ago.

“It’s a bit dry,” her father responds, not looking up from his plate. “Overcooked.”

Veronica takes a sip of her water wishing it was wine, and tries to think of something to say. Something safe. Something that won’t set either of them off.

“How’s the show going, Mami?” she asks, because her mother’s been doing some radio work lately, a female-oriented program that reaches all the East Coast with fashion and etiquette tips.

“If you can call that a show,” Hiram bites.

“Daddy.”

“At least one of us is properly working. You’ve been lounging around in Miami with that woman—”

“I’m in a new business venture. I’m gonna make rum.”

“Oh,” Hermione scoffs. “You’re gonna make rum?”

“At least I'm trying to build something for our daughter’s future instead of wallowing in—”

“Don’t you ever forget that you’re the one who destroyed your daughter’s family and everything we built together, and for what? To make rum? To take more trips to Cuba?”

“That’s enough, Hermione.”

“No, it’s not enough. You wanted to do Thanksgiving? Well, I’m thankful I found out what kind of man you really are before I wasted any more of my life.”

“Stop,” Veronica says, setting her fork down with a loud noise, turning the heads of everyone around them. “Both of you, just stop.”

They look at her as if they’ve forgotten she exists. Her father’s face is flushed with wine and anger. Her mother’s eyes are bright with unshed tears.

“I need a cigarette,” Hiram says, getting up and leaving the table with an angry toss of his napkin.

“This is exactly why I don't want you in Hollywood,” her mother says suddenly, her voice shaking. “It destroys everything it touches. Your father and I—we used to love each other. And look what that business did to us.”

.

.

.

She crashes at her mother’s apartment that night. Hermione retreats early, and Veronica is left alone with her chest tight. She reaches for the phone and calls Betty, needing to hear her voice more than anything.

“Hey, B,” she whispers.

“V!” Betty sounds warm, content. It brings tears to Veronica’s eyes. “How was dinner?”

“It was fine,” she lies, curling up in a corner of the sofa. “How was yours?”

“It was actually pretty nice, even though my dad didn’t come. Polly and her husband are still here. The Andrews joined us, Reggie too. Archie carved the turkey like he’d been doing it his whole life. Mary got all emotional, saying he reminded her of Fred. Mom actually managed to smile genuinely.”

Veronica closes her eyes, trying not to picture it: Archie in the Coopers’ dining room, flannel sleeves rolled up, carving turkey like he’s already Betty’s husband, with those hands she knows so well. Betty beside him, in pink, perfect for him. Reminiscing a time where she didn’t even exist in their lives. Reggie there too, because everything that belonged to Veronica Then, needs to belong to Betty Now.

“That sounds wonderful, B,” she manages.

“But I missed you,” Betty adds quickly. “It’s not the same without you.”

They talk for a couple more minutes, sharing I love yous before hanging up. Veronica feels even worse, and wonders if she could call Archie, talk to him. But what for? He’s probably still with Betty, or at least waiting to find a way to spend the night next-door.

She hovers over the dial, about to ring Jughead, but there’s a chance even him would disappoint her tonight, so she doesn’t do anything, setting the phone down and trying to list the things she’s thankful for other than being fireproof.

.

.

.

She pushes it all down for the last week before the holidays, which she commands herself to enjoy thoroughly despite her family falling apart and the studios not calling back. She decorates the Babylonium, adds a list of Christmas movies to the program, sends one last letter to Silver Shield Studios about an internship before she has to cave and apply for colleges.

And in the meantime, she steals a couple of hours with Archie in his room when Reggie is out at practice and his mom is at work.

She’s putting her bra back on, hooking the clasp and reaching for her sweater. “What do you want for Christmas?”

Archie’s lying against his pillows, hair messy from her hands, watching her get dressed with that soft look he always gets after they have sex. For a moment, she thinks he might say something sweet, like just you or more moments like this . Something her Archiekins, Then, would’ve said.

Instead, he goes very still.

“I don't know,” he says, his voice careful. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, pulling the sweater over her head. “Christmas is coming soon. I already have something picked out for Juggie—this Flash Gordon first edition I’ve found in New York, but you can't tell him. And B’s getting these beautiful earrings from Tiffany’s, because she deserves it.” She smooths her hair down, not looking at him, suddenly feeling a little nervous. “I just don't know what to give you.”

He snorts, sitting up and covering himself with the sheet a little higher. “Of course, you don’t.”

Veronica looks at him, confused. His jaw is tight, and he’s looking to some random point on his side instead of her, his eyes hard in a way she hasn’t seen directed to her since that unfortunate Sock Hop mishap last year.

Veronica blinks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Forget it.” He shakes his head, still not looking at her, sounding flat and bitter.

“No, I don’t think I’ll forget it.”

He sighs. Frustrated with God knows what. She realizes that whatever had been bothering him back in October after Juggie’s birthday is about to come out. “Why do we even bother, Ronnie?”

“Bother with what?”

“This.” He gestures between them. “Pretending like this is anything more than... than what it is.”

Her heart starts pounding. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Don’t you?” He finally shrugs his t-shirt on and gets up, reaching for his jeans. “I know what you told Jughead about us. I know you come to me when you want to fuck, and that’s it. That’s all this is to you.”

“What? Archie—”

“Isn’t it? When was the last time we talked about anything? Why do you know what to give Jughead and Betty for Christmas, but not me? That’s because you don’t care, Veronica. You don’t know what I’ve been reading, or what I’m gonna do after high school, or the music I like. You just—”

“Wanna fuck. I’ve heard it, the first time.”

She shoots him an icy look, and zips up her skirt, still feeling the burn of him inside her from minutes ago as they have this conversation.

“Good,” he says. That salty tone that annoys her so much.

“You know, that’s not fair,” she starts, her voice trembling along with her hands as she gathers her stuff through the room. She could probably try to explain that he quiets her head, that those moments with him were like finding peace, but what comes out is some ugly truth hidden somewhere, and now she can’t stop. “Because I’ve got to know you once, Archie. In that goddamn life, I learned the lyrics to your stupid songs, and how you took your coffee, and the face you made when you were trying not to cry, and all it got me was you choosing to spend your whole life with someone else.”

Archie's face is suddenly pale.

“So forgive me if I’m not eager to make that mistake again,” she continues, her voice breaking, and turns around to leave his room.

“Veronica!” he calls, but she doesn't stay, already wiping at her eyes angrily, hating that she’s crying, and that he's breaking her heart.

Again.

.

.

.

tbc.

Chapter Text

[ six ]

.

but come december,
come the storm
fall back into my arms

.

.

.

Veronica bolts down the stairs and into the December cold, the distance between the Andrews’ and the Coopers’ houses feeling infinite and too short all at once. The winter air bites at her exposed arms, and she realizes she’s left her coat in Archie’s room, still on the floor where it fell when he shrugged it off earlier.

Betty opens after a second knock, still wearing the same sweater and plaid skirt she had on at school. One look at Veronica’s tear-streaked face and she’s pulling her inside, wrapping her in the kind of hug that makes everything else disappear.

“V! What happened?”

Veronica can’t form words yet. She just curls into Betty’s warmth and lets herself fall apart, finally releasing all the weight she’s been carrying lately.

Betty strokes her hair with practiced tenderness. They’ve always been good at comforting each other, Then and Now. They end up on the Cooper’s couch, Betty holding both of Veronica’s hands like they’re something precious.

“What’s going on?” Betty asks softly, her green eyes shining with sympathy.

Veronica thinks about their honesty club, their vow. But how can she explain she’s crying because Archie thinks she only wants him for sex? Because she threw their past life in his face like a weapon? Because he chose her when the world was ending, and Betty will always have a piece of him that will never belong to Veronica?

“I lied. Thanksgiving was a disaster,” she says instead, and there’s that, too. “My parents had a fight, Daddy left in the middle of dinner, and I’m just... I’m so tired, B. And I don’t know what I’m doing. Half of the time, I’m just—”

She lets out another sob, and Betty pulls her closer. “Hey, it’s okay. Shh…”

Veronica cries in Betty’s arms for a moment, all the stress and anxiety from the past couple of months coming up full force. It’s not just Archie. It’s everything, and he was supposed to be her quiet place. He was supposed to make her forget about all of it.

“Listen, stay here tonight,” Betty says when Veronica calms down, kissing her knuckles in a tender way. “Mom’s flown to Poughkeepsie for her stewardess training, she won’t be back until the twenty-third. We’ll have the whole house for ourselves. What do you say, hm?”

Veronica nods. “Yeah,” she says with a small voice. It’s better than staying all alone in that penthouse that never really felt like her home unless Betty or Jughead or Archie were spending the night. “Okay.”

.

.

.

They spend a blissful frozen stretch together, a little reminder of how it was when Betty was staying at the Pembrooke last year. Veronica wraps herself up in Betty's robe after showering that first night—Archie's scent from their afternoon together going down the drain, replaced by Betty's soap bar. He left a small mark on her inner thigh. She tries not to feel miserable looking at it.

The routine over the next days becomes comforting—Veronica leaves for the Babylonium after breakfast, managing holiday crowds and special screenings of Ten Commandments and White Christmas, then returns to Betty’s house each evening, exhausted but grateful for the warmth waiting for her.

When she’s back from work on the second night, the air smells like the sugar cookies Betty baked. They sit together in the living room with blankets, watching It's a Wonderful Life broadcast on TV.

“Daddy used to play baseball with Jimmy Stewart some weekends,” Veronica comments, cuddling against Betty. She misses L.A. sometimes, the thrill of being around all these people, of breathing the art every night and day. Of having a family that wasn’t fragmented. “He’s shooting a movie with Doris, I’ve heard. She was always at the Max Factor.”

Betty giggles, and hearing it makes Veronica a little happier.

On the third night, they wrap Christmas presents for Betty’s relatives, sprawled on Betty’s living floor, paper scattered everywhere like festive shrapnel. Veronica finds herself studying Betty’s face in the fireplace light.

“When do you think we can call Jug?” Betty asks, absentmindedly, as she cuts ribbon. “I want to know how’s it going with his parents.”

“He didn’t give me a number. Said he’d call me once he could,” Veronica undoes a curl on Betty’s shoulder.

“He was brave, going to see his family after all this time,” Betty says softly. “Don’t you think?”

“So are you and your Mom, having your dad over for Christmas after everything,” Veronica offers. “Polly is coming too?”

“Yeah, and her husband. And we invited Ethel too, so it’ll be a full house,” she smiles softly. “I guess Christmas is about making amends, isn’t it?”

“After Thanksgiving, I’m not sure if I want to see my parents so soon.”

“I would invite you to spend Christmas here, but I don’t think it’ll be the right time, you know,” Betty says, pointed. “Maybe Archie and his mom can host you? Reggie might go to Duck Creek, but Arch will surely be around.”

“Yeah,” Veronica breathes out. “We’ll see.”

“Have you decided on his Christmas gift?” Betty asks. She doesn’t mean any harm, but it comes back to her—the fight, his bruising words, and how she’d run rather than stay and try to hash it out.

“I don’t know yet,” Veronica admits, and the words taste like failure.

Betty shifts, tucking her legs under herself. “I got him a globe for his room. You know how he’s always talking about wanting to see the world? This way he can dream about all the places he wants to go. Maybe mark them with little pins or something.”

The thoughtfulness of it makes Veronica’s chest ache. Betty really listens to him, pays attention to his dreams in a way that Veronica realizes she hasn’t really been doing. And why? Was she really so wounded by the past-future, a time she can barely pierce together, that she closed herself off to learning who he is Now?

Going to Duck Creek that summer had been exactly about that, leaving the past behind, getting to know him again. What happened to that?

“That’s so sweet, B,” she finally answers. “He’s gonna love it.”

They’re quiet for a while, and Veronica watches the flames dance. Then Betty speaks again, her voice turns thoughtful, almost wistful.

“Do you ever think about how different things would’ve been if Mr. Andrews hadn’t passed away when he did? In our other life, I mean.”

“Different how?”

“I think,” Betty starts slowly, folding wrapping paper, “if Fred had lived longer, Archie wouldn’t feel so tied to Riverdale. He might’ve actually followed you to New York instead of…” she trails off.

Veronica frowns, wondering what Betty means—senior year, when they broke up? Or later, when—

“I don’t know. It’s just something I think about sometimes.” Betty’s voice grows smaller. “How one thing changes everything else. Like dominoes.”

Veronica’s chest tightens. She doesn’t remember exactly when Fred died Then, just fragments of him alive—the kindest eyes, his quiet chuckles, the way he made Archie smile. And the way she tried to make Archie smile like that again, after Fred was gone. And sometimes he did, and it felt like God truly existed.

The silence stretches between them, heavy with unspoken things. But then Betty takes a sharp breath, sets down the scissors with deliberate finality. “You know what? No.” She shakes her head, almost disappointed at herself. “We only have a couple of nights left to ourselves, we’re not gonna spend this time dissecting our other life.”

The shift is so sudden Veronica blinks. “B—"

“What do you think we should do with our freedom?”

“Well, in that case,” Veronica kinks an eyebrow. “I heard they’re running Baby Doll at the Twilight Drive-In. I couldn’t get the rights for it in the Babylonium since I’m still in high school, so.”

Betty grins. “Oh, the one that got flagged by the National Legion of Decency? I’m game.”

.

.

.

The night before Alice returns, Cheryl invites them to one of her infamous sleepovers. With Nana Rose and Julian knocked down by sleeping pills Cheryl accidentally slipped into their tea, they’d have Thornhill at their disposal.

“Lingerie required, ladies,” Cheryl said on the phone. “We’re having a contest.”

Betty and Veronica slip their best pieces under winter coats—Veronica in black silk and lace she’d bought in Manhattan, Betty in rose-colored satin that makes her skin glow. They apply each other’s lipstick with focused intensity, Carl Perkins belting Blue Suede Shoes from Betty’s record player.

“Ready for battle?” Betty asks, blotting her lips.

“Always,” Veronica says. She glances out Betty’s window, into Archie’s bedroom, before leaving, but his curtains are closed. Well.

Thornhill glows with too many candles and too much liquor. Cheryl, in crimson lace that matches her lips perfectly, reassures them that the sleeping pills won’t do Julian and Nana any harm, and orchestrates increasingly risqué party games. The lingerie contest goes to her, naturally (“The fix was in,” Veronica mutters into her glass, making Toni snort). Truth or dare has Midge oversharing about Fangs, Ethel blushing crimson over Ben’s 'gentlemanly hands'.

“Look, not that boys can’t be good, but there’s simply no comparison," Toni declares from Cheryl's lap, tipsy and bold in her little blue slip. “Girls simply know what other girls want better.”

“Amen,” Cheryl says.

The room erupts in scandalized giggles. Veronica takes another sip of whatever crimson concoction Cheryl’s been pouring—something with gin and pomegranate that tastes like bad decisions.

“What about Jughead?” Ethel asks her. “I’ve really always wondered—”

Veronica swallows her drink. “Well, let’s just say he’s very good with his words,” she says, eliciting squeals from the group, especially from Betty, who secretly shares that knowledge.

“Archie?” Cheryl asks Betty.

Veronica drinks more, trying to drown the discomfort she feels when a flushed Betty says, “He’s as sweet and considerate as you’d think he’d be.”

She tries not to think about how Archie is with her—sweet and considerate, yes, but also a little desperate, consuming, like he’s trying to merge their souls through feverish skin. He wonders if he’s like that with Betty too. She doesn’t want him to be, and it sucks.

“That sounds really boring,” Cheryl rolls her eyes, eating a cherry from her drink, and everyone laughs.

.

.

.

They stumble back to the Cooper house well past midnight, breath visible in the December air, giggling at nothing.

“What in Sam Hill did Cheryl put in that punch?” Veronica laughs, fumbling with her coat buttons. Her fingers feel clumsy, disconnected.

When she looks up, Betty’s watching her with an expression that stops her cold. Not the soft, caring look from the past three days. Something hungrier, more intent.

Betty suddenly crosses the space between them, her hands framing Veronica’s face, and she kisses her like she did in that speakeasy in New York. Except there’s nothing to interrupt them now.

Their mouths taste like pomegranate. Betty finishes shrugging off Veronica’s coat, and they stumble aimlessly through the living room. Veronica manages to untie the knot in Betty’s jacket too, and suddenly they’re only on their lingerie, and her back hits the back of the couch.

“Is this okay?” Betty kisses her neck, hungrily. The room is spinning, and Betty’s mouth is the only focal point.

“Yes,” Veronica breathes, though part of her knows this is just another complication. Another variant of their already crazy arrangement. But Betty’s mouth is on her collarbone, her hands mapping silk and skin, and she just wants to stop thinking.

Betty’s different from the boys in every way. Softer, more tentative even in her boldness. Her fingers trace the edge of Veronica’s bra like she’s memorizing the texture. When she finally pushes the cup down, revealing her breast, they both inhale sharply.

“V,” Betty murmurs, and then her mouth is there, pink lips against sensitive skin, and Veronica arches.

Betty’s hand slides down, finding the edge of her panties, fingers hesitant. Veronica’s thigh is between hers, and she can feel the wetness peeking through. She wonders if this is how Archie feels when he’s touched by Betty.

“Tell me if—”

Veronica pulls Betty to another kiss, deeper this time, which is enough answer. She can feel Betty trembling—nerves or desire or both.

When Betty’s fingers finally slip beneath the lace, they both gasp. It’s clumsy at first, unsure, but then Betty finds a rhythm, and Veronica’s hands tangle in golden hair.

“Betty,” Veronica breathes, and Betty kisses her name away, swallows it like a secret, and there it is: a line they cannot un-cross.

(But they don’t stop until it’s over).

.

.

.

Veronica wakes to sunlight stabbing through Betty’s window and a headache that feels like divine punishment. Her mouth tastes like pomegranate and something bitter. Betty’s arm is draped across her bare stomach, skin against skin, the covers tangled around their thighs. The memory of last night floods back—hands, mouths, the way Betty trembled.

Veronica carefully extracts herself, wrapping the sheet around her body as she pads to the window for no reason. She seems to have forgotten that Archie lives right across, because there he is when she looks out, pulling on a sweater.

For a moment she freezes, terrified he’ll look up and see her standing naked in Betty’s window, wrapped in nothing but a sheet. But he just moves away from view, and Veronica presses her palms against her temples.

Jesus, what a mess they’re all making.

She finds Betty’s robe on a chair and makes her way downstairs to make some much needed coffee. Her and Betty’s coats, shoes, and lingerie from the night before is all scattered on the living room floor. Veronica ignores that for a second and heads to the kitchen.

When she returns upstairs with two mugs of steaming coffee, Betty’s already awake, holding the duvet against her chest, blonde hair a mess.

“Morning,” Veronica says, offering her a mug.

“Hi.” Betty accepts it gratefully, her cheeks turning immediately pink. “We...should probably talk about last night. Right?”

“We don’t have to, but—”

“I don’t regret it,” Betty says, blowing steam from her coffee. “Do you?”

Veronica sits on the edge of the bed. Betty looks really nice with her floral duvet against her chest, her eyes very green in the morning light. “I don’t,” she says. “It was different, but I don’t regret it at all.”

“Good,” Betty smiles, relieved, and then sips on her coffee. “We…we’re not going to be weird about this, are we?”

Veronica drinks too, and her free hand finds Betty’s. “We won’t be. Besides, I guess it would’ve happened, sooner or later.”

Betty’s quiet for a moment, her thumbnail scratching the back of Veronica’s hand lightly. Then, softer, and with a teasing smile: “Toni was right. Girls do know what girls want better.”

They both laugh a little. The comment hangs between them, an acknowledgment of how good it had been, how well they’d fit together. Veronica sets down her empty mug and leans over to kiss Betty gently, just a quick peck.

“I should go home,” she says. “You’ve been an amazing host, but your mom is coming back soon, and I bet you guys have a lot to do for Christmas Eve tomorrow.”

“V,” Betty catches her hand as she stands to gather her clothes. “Whatever happens with...the boys. This doesn’t change us, right? You and me?”

Veronica smiles. “Nothing changes us, B. We’re constants, remember?”

.

.

.

Since Smithers is off for the holidays, The Pembrooke is empty when she gets home. When she went to see Betty after the fight with Archie, three days ago, she didn’t want to be alone but now, Veronica thinks she needs to. At least for a moment, to collect her own thoughts.

She drops her coat (Betty’s coat, actually—hers is still with Archie) and heads straight for the shower, turning the water as hot as possible.

Steam fills the bathroom as she scrubs away the remnants of last night—Cheryl's perfumed candles, pomegranate punch, Betty's lavender perfume. By the time she’s wrapped in a silk robe, and her hair is twisted in a towel, the headache has finally slipped behind her eyes and faded.

She doesn’t exactly feel immoral for having sex with Betty, or with a girl for all that matters—that happens all the time in Hollywood, and Veronica refuses to believe it’s anything other than natural. But she does feel a little weird about doing it just three days after being with Archie. In fact, she feels a little weird because she did think about Archie last night, more than she should have. About how he must’ve felt when he touched Betty’s body the way she did, or when Betty’s hands touched him. If he noticed she changed perfumes after summer.

Tired, Veronica makes herself some tea, and settles on the couch with her own mind when the phone rings.

“Veronica Lodge,” she answers automatically.

“Hey, Nora.”

Oh, God. Her actual boyfriend. She didn’t think about him once since talking about him at Thornhill.

“Nick!” Her voice is a little more high-pitched than usual. “I was wondering when you’d call.”

“Yeah, sorry. Train took me an eternity, I had to exchange three times, and then I couldn’t find a working payphone to save my life.”

“Welcome to the Midwest,” she jokes. “How are things?”

“They’re good. A little strange, but good.” He pauses. “I haven’t seen my parents in a long time, so. There’s that.”

“How are they doing?”

“Apparently, Dad’s sober for the past year or so. Got a badge from AA and all,” he sounds skeptical and hopeful at the same time. “Mom’s working in a carshop, which is pretty swell. And Jellybean’s almost as tall as me now. It’s nice to see things are working out, I guess.”

“Yeah, Juggie, that sounds amazing,” she smiles, genuinely. “I’m happy for you. Hope I get to meet them eventually. In this life, I mean.”

“I’ll see if they’ll attend graduation. How are things there? You sound a little tired.”

Veronica sighs, thinking about the last few days—her fight with Archie, crying in Betty’s arms, what happened in the living room. She doesn’t want to tell Jughead any of it. It’s the first thing she doesn’t want to talk to him about.

“I’m alright. Had some girl time with Betty,” she says, and winces. That’s an understatement. “She wants you to call her, by the way.”

“Oh, of course. I’m calling her right after.” There’s warmth in his voice. “I miss you, by the way. I’m glad to be here, but I’ll be glad to come home too.”

“When do you get back?”

“Few days after Christmas, for New Year’s Eve. Maybe we could spend it together?”

“Yeah, I’m staying in Riverdale, anyway. The Babylonium needs me, and I won’t make anyone else work during the holiday season.”

“Are your parents coming to town tomorrow?” he asks. Veronica sighs. She didn’t tell Jughead about the Thanksgiving disaster, and that she told her mother she was going to spend Christmas with him in goddamn Ohio.

“Yeah, I guess so. Well, your present’s waiting, Torombolo. Wrapped with a bow and everything.”

He chuckles. “Yours too. I’ll try to call soon.”

“Okay. Bye, Juggie.”

.

.

.

The last reel of White Christmas runs out at eleven. Veronica locks up the Babylonium, her feet aching from wearing heels all evening, the smell of popcorn clinging to her hair. The streets are basically empty at this time.

The Pembrooke feels cavernous when she walks in. She pours herself a little bit of absinthe, changes into comfortable pajamas, but she’s still too wired to sleep.

She starts tidying aimlessly—straightening perfume bottles, refolding scarves. When she opens her jewelry box to put away different pairs of earrings that have been sitting for days on her dresser, something catches her eye.

A folded piece of crumpled paper, tucked beneath her grandmother’s brooch.

She remembers that evening before the Sock Hop, when Smithers brought it to her. Sighing, she unfolds it, smoothing it out.

A stolen look across the hall
I hope she hears my silent call
Dreams of walks through moonlit nights
With the girl more beautiful
Than all the cosmic sights

Veronica runs her fingertips over his handwriting, her eyes filling up. He’d written this before they got their memories back. As if somehow, maybe, their hearts knew of Then when they first locked eyes in the classroom.

She thinks about his poetry, wonders if he’s still writing.

She never asked him about it anymore. Mrs. Thornton often reads something from him in class, but it’s been a while since she did that. Or had Veronica just not been paying attention?

.

.

.

The Andrews house glows with the silver hue of every Christmas morning when she arrives. It’s early, eight still. Mary answers the door in a festive apron that’s dusted with flour, as if she’s been making something nice for breakfast.

“Veronica! Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Andrews. I just wanted to drop off Archie’s gift.”

“He’s still asleep—teenage boys on Christmas morning, can you believe it?" Mary’s smile is warm. “Would you like to come in for breakfast? I’m about to wake him up anyway.”

“No, I should go home,” she smiles, softly. “Hope you have a nice time.”

Walking back, Veronica notices families through the windows, having breakfast and exchanging gifts still in their pajamas. At the Pembrooke, she sits by the Christmas Tree that Smithers had decorated before leaving, insisting the apartment needed some holiday cheer, and starts unwrapping her presents.

Her mother sent her an Estee Lauder makeup kit. In the box from her father, she expected something pearly as usual, but there’s only a check. She doesn’t know if she feels sad or liberated by that.

Toni gifted her with a book by Ann Petry. Clay sent a box of cookies that his mom baked. Josie McCoy surprisingly sends her a leopard print silk scarf with a note, Waiting for you in L.A.!

Betty’s gift she opens last, smiling to herself when she finds a framed photograph of them both, when they were living together. Veronica traces their faces in the photo.

She puts it on the fireplace and contemplates calling her parents, when there’s a knock on her door. Her heart jumps. Somehow, she knows instantly.

“Hey.”

It’s Archie. Of course it’s Archie, wearing a green sweater that catches the tiny green freckles in his hazel eyes, his lips pressed together on a thin line. He looks nervous, uncertain, like he used to be when they first met Now, when he wrote that poem for her.

“Hi,” she holds on to the door frame, steadying herself against the rush of seeing him after the last few days of complete silence.

“Merry Christmas,” he smiles a little, like it’s ingrained in his good boy ways to say it, even if the last time they’d seen each other was nothing but messy. “I’ve—I’ve brought your jacket,” he says, hesitantly, handing it out for her like a peace offering.

“Oh,” Veronica takes it, folding it over her forearm. “Thanks.”

“And…I got your gift.” His throat moves when he swallows. “The Blackwing pencils. ‘To all the words you haven’t written yet’,” he quotes her card, his voice soft with something like marvel.

“It’s what all the Hollywood screenwriters use,” she says, feeling suddenly a little shy. She found them last night in the study, a whole unopened box that her father kept so he could write scripts himself once, aided by Hermione. Now, he’s making rum with Kelly. “And, well, Steinbeck. Truman Capote. Leornard Bernstein, Quincy Jones. Among others.”

“Thank you,” he gives her a small smile, the corner of his lip tugging up. “I never thought about writing with a pencil. But it makes sense, you know? We can fix our mistakes. Change our minds.”

The weight of what he’s really saying hangs between them.

“Archie…”

“I’ve got something for you too,” he says, letting out a breath. “Look up.”

It comes back to her like a rush of blood to her head.

Mistletoe alert, hung by moi.

She looks at him, lips parting, heart thumping loud on the base of her throat.

Their first breakup. He almost died, she knows that—she doesn’t know why, but she knows she was so scared—and it was Christmas, and he gave her a necklace, and hanging a mistletoe at his door, that simple but romantic gesture that she’d never would’ve done if it wasn’t for him, was the simplest way of conveying the truth she’d been fighting against: she was in love with Archie Andrews, and that would be truth for the rest of her life.

Her other life.

And maybe—

“Now we have no choice but to kiss,” he says, taking a quick step ahead, echoing the memory.

She looks up at him, and for a moment they’re both seniors in high school and ancient at once, carrying the weight of two lifetimes of wanting each other. A flash of the other night intrudes—Betty’s mouth warm against her skin—and something like guilt twists briefly in her stomach. But then Archie’s hand comes up slowly, giving her time to pull away, and she knows she won’t. Can't.

His fingers trace her jaw with reverent hesitation, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. She rises on her tiptoes, one hand finding the soft wool of his sweater, the other sliding up to rest against his chest where she can feel his heart racing as fast as hers.

The first touch of their lips is barely there—a ghost of contact, testing if this is still allowed after everything.

Then he makes this small sound in his throat, and suddenly his arm is around her waist, pulling her against him as her mouth opens under his. The kiss is slow, deep, saying all the things they couldn’t figure out how to say out loud. He tastes like candy cane peppermint.

The hand on her face comes up to cradle the back of her head, fingers tangling gently in her hair, and she melts into him completely, letting herself have this.

When they finally break apart, they’re both breathing unsteadily.

He keeps her close, forehead pressed to hers.

“I’m sorry for being such a louse,” he says, resting his forehead against hers. His lips are smudged with her lipstick.

“You weren’t,” she whispers, her hands on his lapels, pulling him closer. “When I went to Duck Creek I wanted to get to know you again and somehow along the way I forgot about doing that. It’s not just…physical, to me.” Her voice cracks slightly. “It could never be. Not with you.”

“I’ve still been trying to remember why we ended, but I guess…I think maybe it doesn’t matter. What matters is that we have a second chance at this, to do things better. Right?”

She kisses him again, wiping lipstick from the corner of his mouth with her thumb when they part. He’s looking at her with those earnest eyes that have undone her in every timeline.

“There’s somewhere I go every Christmas morning,” he says. “Come with me?”

.

.

.

The Riverdale Cemetery is pristine with fresh snow, their footsteps the only marks disturbing the white blanket. The iron gates had creaked when they entered, and now the silence feels complete except for the distant call of winter birds. Archie leads her through rows of headstones—some grand with angels and crosses, others simple like the one they stop at:

Frederick Arthur Andrews, 1917 - 1951. Wonderful Father and Husband, loved and remembered always.

There’s a small American flag next to it, stiff with frost, and someone—Mary, probably—has left fresh holly at the base.

“Normally I’m here alone,” Archie says quietly, brushing snow from the top of the stone with bare fingers that must be freezing. Riverdale is so cold during winter, so different from Los Angeles. “But I guess…he’d like to meet you. This version of you. He was always a Oh Mija fan.”

Veronica chuckles, her breath forming clouds in the cold air. It's surreal to think that she once used to star in that. The perfect family on screen, that fell completely apart behind the cameras.

“I wish I had met him here. I—I remember him. From our other life.” She breathes, watching Archie’s face soften. “I remember once I stayed over at your place and you went for a run early on, and he made me pancakes shaped as a V for breakfast. With so much syrup. I wasn’t used to that.”

Archie laughs too, the sound warming something in her chest. “I remember that too. You told me, learn from a real man, Archiekins.” His smile turns wistful. “I wish that I’d had more time with him in this life. It’s all so confusing.”

“How was he? Here?”

“He taught me everything. How to swim at Sweetwater River, how to fish, how to ride a bike, how to do math at the kitchen table. Not that I’m very good at it."

She laughs when he does, the lines around his eyes always mesmerizing to her, especially with snowflakes catching on his lashes.

“But it’s also so different. He was…adventurous. Full of life. When I was ten, he took this trip to California with my Uncle Oscar, and he used to send me all these postcards. He wrote about how one day he wanted us to go together, just the two of us. Drive all the way there in a convertible, see the country. Then—"

He stops, his voice catching.

She reaches for his hand, intertwining her gloved fingers with his cold ones.

“You can still go, Archie. You can still do everything you wanted to do before he parted.”

“I know.” He squeezes her hand, looking down at where his father lies. “And it’s kind of morbid,” he says, “but when I die, I want to be buried here. Right next to him. So he’ll know that no matter where I went, I came back to him. Is that weird?”

“That’s not weird at all.”

They stand there in the quiet morning, snow beginning to fall again in lazy spirals that dust their shoulders and hair. The cemetery feels holy somehow, like all the unspoken things between them can exist here without judgment. His thumb traces circles on her palm, a silent conversation in touch. She can feel him trembling slightly—from cold or emotion, she’s not sure.

After a moment, he turns to face her fully, his free hand coming up to cup her cheek. His palm is warm despite the weather, thumb brushing away a snowflake that landed on her cheekbone.

“It’s all different, this life and the other. We are too.”

“It’s like you said. Maybe we can be better.”

“We will be,” he says with quiet certainty.

Archie pulls her against him, and she rests her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat through the wool sweater. She can smell his soap, that same clean scent that clings to his pillowcases. He plants a soft kiss on the top of her head, his lips lingering against her hair, and she feels him exhale—like he's been holding his breath for days.

“Merry Christmas, Ronnie,” he murmurs into her hair.

“Merry Christmas, Archiekins.”

The snow is falling harder now, blanketing Fred's grave in fresh white, covering their footprints like a clean slate. Veronica thinks maybe this is what grace feels like—standing under the snow on a Christmas morning, held by the boy she’s loved across lifetimes, ready to stop running from all the things that she feels.

Things would definitely be different from now on.

.

.

.

tbc.