Request: "My first request ever! Would you write a JugheadxReader where the reader worked at the drive-in with him and they got really close, she knew about his family and living situation, she falls in love with him and when she's gonna tell him she sees him with Betty at Pop's? If so, thank you very much, you are awesome and I love your writing!" –Anonymous

It all started with a summer job.

Your grandfather had special ties with the mayor, and just gushed over how you would be the perfect fit for the Twilight Drive-In summer team. You traded in your summer arsenal of journals and tire swings for popcorn and Red Vines, becoming the sweet face who served the snacks during every showing. Customer service was always a drag and serving theater food made you feel sticky in a way you've never felt before, but it made you feel less lonely. It kept you busy.

And you had to admit, you loved the movies.

You were serving during a showing of Casablanca when you saw him.

A boy with dark hair and an interesting beanie sauntered up to the booth.

"A popcorn and large coke, please," the boy said.

You tapped the numbers deftly into the cash register. "That'll be $5.00, please."

The boy chuckled. "Not for me. I work here."

You raised an eyebrow. Other than the teens who cleaned up the grounds following the showings, you didn't know there were any other employees.

He noticed your skepticism. "I run the film reels from the projection booth."

"Oh." They let a kid do that?

You went to work preparing his food.

"I've never seen you around here," you said thoughtfully.

"I've seen you," the boy said. "I'm here every night, showing movies I've seen hundreds of times. I notice when things change around here. What's your name?"

You handed him his food, smiling your customer service smile. "(Y/N) (L/N). And you?"

He took the food, returning your smile. His was deeper. Meaningful. Even unnerving.

"Jughead Jones."

He didn't leave the counter, leaning against it as he picked around the popcorn in his bucket.

"Don't you have to run the reel or something?" You asked.

He laughed. "It's a wheel with film on it. Once you stick it in it runs itself." He turned to you. "Besides, it looked like you could use some company."

You shrug, smiling in a bemused way. "Just as long as you don't disturb the movie." You opened the door to your concession stand, letting him inside and pulling up a chair.

You became engrossed in Casablanca, even though you'd seen it a few times already since you'd started working there. You found the movie so simplistic, yet so raw. You loved that you had the opportunity to see it so many times on the big screen, thanks to your job.

"Let's see, the last time we met–" Ilsa started, awkwardness underlying her cool tone.

"–It was "La Belle Aurore," Rick offered.

"How nice," Ilsa said, her discomfort growing, "You remembered."

You found yourself mouthing along to the lines, a detail that did not go unnoticed by Jughead. He found himself only pretending to watch the movie, his peripheral vision trained on your expressions.

You held your breath. You favorite line in the whole movie.

"I remember every detail," Rick admitted, his eyes full of something he can't name or bring himself to show. The other people sitting at the table had obviously been forgotten and only Ilsa existed for him in that moment, "The Germans wore gray, you wore blue." You felt a pang in your heart, as if you were Rick himself. Your fists were clenched in your lap, knuckles white.

The scene changed, and you found yourself able to breathe again.

You let out an embarrassed laugh. "I love this movie."

"Yeah," Jughead said, still reveling in the depth and emotion you brought to a film that had become white noise to his ears. "I love this movie, too."

And so it became a tradition. You would serve the snacks. Twenty minutes into the film, Jughead would walk by, ordering the same popcorn and soda. He would sit with you in the booth, and watch the movie but not really be watching it because he was watching you. It was a nice arrangement. He found your opinions on the films charming; untouched by modern film criticisms, you approached each narrative with an enthusiasm and innocence and light he hadn't seen in anyone in a while. You truly loved the movies, and it made him love them even more.

One day, you decided it was time to visit Jughead's place of employment for a change. You'd arrived to the showing early and had prepared the popcorn for the oncoming crowd. You knew Jughead set up the reels early, so you walked over to the projection booth, tapping on the door lightly.

The door was cracked as to allow for ventilation in the summer heat, so your knock pushed the door open just enough so you could see inside.

A mattress sat on the floor, along with clothes and personal belongings you could only guess were Jughead's. The boy himself sat in a swivel chair, eyes widening upon seeing you.

Unable to figure out what to say, he slammed the door in your face.

Small talk with customers later that night revealed to you that Jughead was the son of FP Jones, a member of the South Side Serpents who claimed the drive-in as their gang territory. His mother and sister skipped town a long time ago, and he lived in the drive-in to escape his drunk dad.

When Jughead came to the concession booth that night, he seemed hesitant, guilty he had shut you out.

You didn't say anything, sitting next to him as normal. But you scooted a little bit closer to him, leaning your head on his shoulder. He stiffened, as if any movement could break the illusion of your closeness.

"I love this movie," you whispered. Casablanca, again.

Slowly, he moved such that his arm was wrapped around your shoulders. You put your hand in his and gave it a squeeze.

"Yeah," Jughead said. "I love this movie, too."

Every night that summer Jughead would watch movies with you, arm curled around you like a question mark that had yet to be answered. With the summer turning to fall and your summer job reaching its end, you asked Jughead if he would meet you at Pop's. You wanted that question answered.

It was strange prettying yourself up for the first time in a while. You wore your nicest casual dress and made sure you smelled like perfume, not popcorn. You hesitated outside the diner. While you wanted the question answered, there was a fear it wouldn't be the answer you wanted.

You walked in to see Jughead standing on the opposite side of the diner, facing away from you. In front of him, stood a beautiful girl with blonde hair. She stepped closer and he wrapped his arms around her, breathing in the scent of her hair.

Backing away silently, you left the restaurant. You walked home, the lines to Casablanca playing in your mind with their own personal resonance.

Let's see, last time we met....

It was the Twilight Drive-In.

How nice. You remembered.

I remember every detail. I wore a beanie, you wore a concession stand apron and visor.

...did you love me, too?

The next line was one left unwritten.