Jughead had been typing away on his laptop for hours now. What had started as a quiet night in watching Netflix and eating popcorn had turned into you watching Netflix and eating popcorn alone whilst Jughead's long fingers tapped away at the keys because, as he so eloquently put it, 'when inspiration hits, you feed it'.
Of course, you were used to this by now. Your father was an artist and your mother had always told you that when you fall in love with an artist you always come second as their art, their passion, always took priority. And, for the most part, that was okay with you. You were never one to start a fight when inspiration struck Juggy – why would you? He was happiest when his fingers were tapping away at those keys and if he was happy, so were you.
With a contented sigh, you reached for your drink and downed the last of it before glancing at Jughead. His brow was furled as he seemingly read over the latest section of his novel and you couldn't help but smile at how zoned in he was. A bomb could have gone off beside you and he wouldn't have blinked.
"I'm gonna get another coke, you want one?" You asked politely as you got up to your full height. When all you got was a quiet hum of agreeance, you smirked and ruffled the beanie on his head. "Be right back."
Another hum rumbled through his chest but no words bothered to tumble out of his lips. He was zoned in – maybe too zoned in.
Slowly, you padded towards your kitchen and opened the fridge to take out two cokes when your stomach let out a low grumble. "You want any food? I'm kind of hungry." You called out as you searched through the fridge for any of last night's leftovers. "I have some lasagna, some sort of salad and..." you pushed the mustard bottle over and wrinkled your nose. "My sister's tofu."
No answer.
Now, in any other situation, that would have been normal for Jughead not to answer when he was focused in on his work but where food was concerned? That was a rarity. Wrinkling your brow, you covered up the tofu yet again and pulled out the lasagna. "Did you hear me, Jug?" You asked as you threw a slab on a plate. "You love my mom's lasagna."
No answer.
With a frustrated sigh, you shut the microwave door and walked towards the living room where Jughead sat quietly illuminated by the TV and his laptop. His brow was still puckered, his forehead still creased – he hadn't heard a damn thing you had said.
"Jughead, did you hear anything I said?" You asked, bitterness stinging your tone.
Whether it was your tone or your proximity, Jughead's head lulled over towards you before he let out an exasperated sigh. "A coke is fine, Y/N." He muttered, but there was frustration in his tone that did not go unnoticed by you.
Anger bubbled in your chest the second his head went back to his laptop. Keeping him company as he wrote his novel was one thing but being blatantly ignored and disrespected in your own home by your boyfriend nonetheless was a whole other story. You were mad – no, you were raging.
"Are you kidding me, Jug?" You finally snapped, your anger getting the better of you. Seemingly, your tone was enough to snap him out of his reverie once again as his head immediately snapped towards you. "I don't ask for a lot, Jug. I don't ask for anything. I'm completely fine playing second fiddle to your novel and the school paper and even the damn research that goes into both – but I'm not about to be talked down to solely because I care about spending time with you. A sentiment, might I add, that doesn't seem to be mutual. At least not lately it doesn't."
You turned on your heel and walked back to the kitchen. Your chest was heaving as you were trying to get a control of your emotions and your jaw was clenched in outrage. How dare he.
The microwave beeped as the smell of lasagna wafted through the kitchen but your appetite was gone as you stood there fuming.
"Y/N." His voice came from the doorway of the kitchen but you didn't bother turning around to face him. When you heard him sigh, you could almost see him leaning against the wall shaking his head at your crazy antics. Only they weren't crazy – not at all. "You know, contrary to popular belief, I would like to see my girlfriend's face. Even if she'd mad at me." Biting the side of your cheek, you frowned and slowly turned to face Jughead. Much like you imagined, he was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. Any iota of frustration he had only moments before were gone. "There she is."
