A/N: This was written in 2017. Riverdale S1 timeline. Unbeta'd.

There was something different about her as he observed from his seat. They were seated in their usual booth, eating their usual orders with the usual gang, but there was something different that he could not put a finger on.

Perusing her made him want to write. As he grabbed napkins from their booth and the booth beside them, he placed a several of it on the table—absentmindedly cursing himself for not bringing his laptop with him of all days—quite messily as he struggled to keep the words flying out of his mouth at bay.

The ink in his hand wrote about her usual order of one classic vanilla shake, half of a cheeseburger, and a side of fries. He notes only a half because she habitually gives him the other half.

He wrote about her fingers that are spindly long and extremely smooth as if she had never broken a sweat. Of course, he knows that isn't true because Betty has got to be one of the most hardworking people in the world. Okay, he has no basis for that one, so he crosses out the words 'the world' and replaces it with Riverdale. He has basis for her smooth hands as well since he has held her hands before.

He pondered for a while since she was the one who did the handholding and he stood there rigid as he thought of what she's thinking of his hands. Were they sweaty? Hard-calloused? Too ungraceful to hold a pristine being such as herself? But he ignored anyway and clutched her hand like a lifeline.

He wrote about her long, long hair, the color of a field of barley at the end of summer. She reminds him of Sif, and he doesn't mind for as long as he walks the bounds of Earth, she will always be there, right? He scratched the words for it didn't give her crowning glory the justice it deserves. Besides, he wasn't a Thor.

Her hair reminded him of the sun and the stars and the light it emitted. She was the light for him in the darkness that constantly dwelled in his heart. Of course, it wasn't her hair per se—silly of him to think so—for it was her personality that tugged his heart in ways that he had never thought of. It was only with Betty, whom he had considered a future with.

A wave of realization hit him like a truck and he had to hold on to the table to catch his breath.

"Juggie?"

"Yeah?" he absentmindedly answered as he returned the unused ones from its dispenser and stuffed the ones with dangerous words inside his pocket.

"Are...are you okay? You haven't eaten your burger."

He looked up at her in shock as soon as her words hit him. "I...I guess, yeah, I'll eat it now. I suddenly had a burst of inspiration for a while there."

Veronica's interest peaked as she leaned closer to him. "Will we ever get the chance to read your work?"

"No," he answered bluntly.

He felt Betty's eager expression directed towards him. No matter how unsure he was of his work, he had always made sure Betty would have a copy of it. He liked how she colour-coded her various comments: pink for personal comments, blue for a better phrasing, and green for grammatical errors—hers, his, and Jellybean's favourite colours respectively.

This time, he averted his gaze to escape her overeager ones. He couldn't let anyone read this, most especially her. He knew Betty was smitten with Archie, and frankly he doesn't stand a chance. Archie probably knew her better than him.

His eyes fell on the paper napkins again and he itched to write as another familiar feeling blossomed into his mind. His heart drenched in sorrow as he forced himself to think of anything but Betty, Betty, Betty. His being was longing, yearning for something that he never even had. Heck, he had never even aspired to have a partner in life. When had it all become like this?

Ah, right, Betty.

Betty was his muse—his inspiration for writing. There it was again. His hand picked up the forgotten pen and grabbed another set of paper napkins, this time a little fewer, and wrote. He wrote how he felt whenever he was around her, and he wrote how he felt whenever he was beside her.

She was like a vortex that he could never get out.

Sighing, he crumpled the napkin in front of him and felt frustrated with himself. Why was he being so melodramatic? Was there something different today?

Right. It was him.

He was in love with Betty Cooper.

And only these paper napkins knew it.