#one that is almost halfway a HRA sub AU???

[onceuponamirror]

Bughead, 9

9. meeting online au

(also had an anon send me this one so y’all really wanted it!) (also, this one got long, whoops)

.

.

.

He never set out to be a Reddit guy. The connotations there were just too fraught—maybe five years ago, the description could just bring to mind shitposts and recycled memes, but it’s 2017 and he’s trying his actual, genuine hardest to not be an edgelord. 

Unfortunately, he thinks he has the predisposition for it, so he has to be careful. Especially considering what a snowflake standard he held himself to in high school. But in the same way undergrad taught him he’d never fully be a woke white dude and to fight his instincts to alt-control-delete his emotions, he’s avoided being an Internet Guy. 

There’s a sense of irony with the fact that most of his interests lie in the nostalgic, anyway. He likes Kubrick films. He dresses like he personally raided Kurt Cobain’s closet. He listens to a lot of David Byrne. 

But he still came of age in the aughts, so there’s a level of inevitability about his dependency to technology—particularly during the month he inherits his father’s motorcycle. 

“I’m getting to old for this thing, Jug, and you’ve gotta get around town,” his father had said, tugging a plastic blue tarp off. He supposes what was underneath it could be construed as a motorcycle, but only in that it had two wheels. 

“I think I’m better off with the bus,” Jughead said gloomily, his eyebrows knotted in the general direction of the bike. 

“Come on, son. It just needs a little elbow grease. I’ll help you fix it up,” his father had offered, though Jughead knew better than to rely on that. 

His dad has come a long way with his rehabilitation and was there when he really needed to be, but it was the times that things weren’t a life-or-death necessity that he didn’t always show up. 

Still, while Providence, Rhode Island is technically a city, it’s also got a bus system designed by a four year old with a crayon. 

And he’s far too principled for ride-shares, so it might not be so bad to have an alternate form of transportation. So he says fine, Dad and he takes the bike, and on second thought, takes another helmet too, though he has no idea why. What, is he going to wear one on top of the other? 

Still. The thing looks like it’ll dismantle itself at a slight breeze.

However, a couple hours into the manual he’s checked out from the Brown University Library, he realizes he’s in way over his head. The only part of the book he understands is the chapter that makes him realize they’re not even describing the type of motorcycle he has. Great.

From across the living room, Archie says he should google it, to which he replies, golly, no one’s ever suggested that before, and in response gets a pencil thrown at his head, followed by a request to throw the pencil back so he can finish his work. 

Rolling his eyes and tossing the pencil back—he doesn’t aim for it to land a foot away from Archie, but is pleased when it does—Jughead pulls his computer forward. His fingers hesitate over the keys, realizing he actually has no idea what kind of bike it is. It’s small, that’s all he knows. 

He shoots his dad a text asking him, but a glance at the time tells him his father is halfway through a shift at the construction site, and he’ll be lucky to hear back by nightfall. 

He peruses the internet with a half-hearted attempt to figure it out, but unsurprisingly, google searches titled small motorcycle and small bike with one headlight and what the fuck is this thing do not help. 

He has a few photos on his phone of the motorcycle, so the only things he knows about it is that it’s got a slight build and the brand is Honda.

Eventually, he finds himself on a Reddit thread for mechanics and classic car enthusiasts, and decides that’s a good place to start, because the only other thing he knows about the bike is that it’s old. 

Jughead makes an account and uploads his photos with the caption - uh, i know this sounds pretty stupid, but i inherited this bike and i’m trying to get it up and running but realized i have no idea what it is or where to start. any tips would be greatly appreciated. 

He closes his laptop, deciding he’ll use the interim time to work on this thesis. Between his work as a TA, the overall sufferings of being a grad student, now this stupid motorcycle which was supposed to help more than hinder, and the fact that he’s caught himself spacing out over the pretty blonde in his writing seminar twice—which is just—he isn’t thirteen, he should be beyond this—well, he’s a bit behind. 

After a couple hours, he checks the thread. There’s a response underneath his post, from a one MiniCoop59, informing him that they’re not totally sure, but thinks he owns a Honda GB500 cafe racer. 

He googles it, and that appears to be exactly the one sitting in the garage, so he goes back to the Reddit tab. 

yeah, this is it! thanks! now i just need to find the right manual this time lol, he comments back. 

And he expects that to be the end of it. But when he checks his email fifteen minutes later, there’s a notification from Reddit, and MiniCoop59. 

No problem! They’ve typed back. I wasn’t sure, my area of interest is more old cars. But glad I could help. 

He clicks on their username, curious to see what else they’ve posted, for no real reason other than utter and complete procrastination from his thesis. 

As he expected, Jughead finds a couple posts about engines, advice about fixing up an old Volkswagen van with a wry additional comment asking if they’re planning on following around the Grateful Dead for a while. It makes him snort. There’s also, more surprisingly, a post on a thread about anxiety where they talk about the pressures of deciding if graduate school is worth it or a waste of money. 

He raises his eyebrows, not only because he admires their response to dealing with anxiety and being frank about the way it manifests so that it doesn’t control you—and also because of the part about grad school. That’s definitely a question he’s asked himself, even halfway through his own second degree. 

Jughead returns to the original thread. 

it was, he writes. thanks again. also, hey, i’m bored and procrastinating, so i looked at your profile. ever figure out if grad school was a waste of money? been asking myself that and have no real answer. 

The response doesn’t take long. 

Haha! No, never figured it out. But too late now, I’m already enrolled. 

same. guess that’s how they get us.

Big time. Especially the Ivies, they trick you into thinking it’s so worth it! Like, if you got in *there*, you have to take that opportunity!

same again. Brown should be called Green for all the cash they’ve sapped from me. 

After that, MiniCoop59 stops answering. Jughead considers this reasonable, given that it’s almost dinner time, and if they’re at an Ivy league school like him, they’re somewhere on the east coast and thus in the same time zone.

However, they also don’t reply the next day, or the day after. It doesn’t matter, because his dad has gotten back to him, with a voicemail that confirms MiniCoop59′s answer. (His dad is still terrible at texting.)

Eventually, Jughead forgets all about Reddit, including the bike in the garage, especially the deeper into the semester he gets. He’s too busy, and he’s not going to ride the thing around in the dead of New England winter, anyway, so he stops trying to rush it. 

However, as leaves start to appear on trees and he’s no longer wearing all five of his layers at once to stave off the cold, Jughead thinks about the motorcycle again, and decides it’s finally time to fix up the thing. 

He checks the thread once more for the brand MiniCoop59 has given him, and heads to the campus library, his eyes flicking over the snow drop flowers peeking out of the soil. Spring is almost here. 

He recognizes the woman behind the circulation desk as the pretty blonde from his fall semester writing seminar, and his throat runs a little dry. He’s done his best not to create a fantasy around someone he doesn’t know, but he hasn’t been able to get past the one time they were in a group together and she critiqued his essay so perfectly that he actually almost got turned on. 

He’s pretty sure he remembers her name is Betty, because it’s such an odd name for a millennial he doubts he’d make that up. But the class was so big and they were only in the same group that one time, that he can’t be positive. 

But. Well, he’s always had a thing for nostalgia, so it’s just the kind of name he’d accidentally think was the name of his crush.  

“Hey,” he says, his fingers around the edge of the circulation counter. “Looking for some help finding a book.” 

She glances up from her novel, her big green eyes roving over him. “Sure,” she says, her neck tilted slightly, as if perhaps trying to decide if she remembers him too, or if that’s just his imagination. She closes the book and pushes it aside, rolling slightly in her chair to face the library computer. “Do you know the author?”

“Uh, I’m actually looking for a manual,” he says, scratching behind his ear. “On motorcycles? I have the model and make, if that helps.”

She smiles, though her head is fully angled now, looking at him curiously. “It will. Let’s head over to the section and see if we can find what you’re looking for. I’m Betty, by the way.”

“I know,” he says, and immediately squeezes his eyes shut with a cringe. “I mean, we were in a writing seminar together.”

“Oh!” Betty says, standing from her chair. “I thought that was you! You’re…Jughead, right? Hard to forget that name.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah. I get that a lot. It’s still better than the alternative, though.”

As she leads him across the library, the look she passes him is a little wry. They pull to a stop in front of a shelf that has been categorized by the label MANUALS and the further sublabel of MOTORCYCLES. 

Jughead pulls out his phone and finds MiniCoop59′s description. “So I was told I have a Honda GB500. Oh, cafe racer,” he says, and when he lowers his phone from his face, Betty is gaping at him.

“Oh my god, wait, are you HotDogHotDogHotDog?” 

His face burns bright red as the gears turn in his head, and he stares at her right back. “I…what? You’re MiniCoop?” 

She giggles, hiding her snickering behind a polite hand. “Don’t give me that look, when your username had the word hot dog in it three times.”

“That was…my dog’s name,” he says lamely, still too shocked and embarrassed to say anything else. He huffs. “Look, okay, I was not planning on using that profile ever again. It was the first thing that came to mind.”

“Obviously,” she replies, still giggling. 

He groans, scrubbing a hand down his face. When he looks at her again, her expression has turned slightly rueful as she nibbles on her lip. “Um—listen, I didn’t reply because when you said you went to Brown too, and you’d read my post about anxiety, I just…I didn’t want you to be someone who knew me. Didn’t want to be judged.”

He’d honestly forgotten she’d stopped replying, and is surprised that she has any guilt over it. But at the wide look in her eye, he’s realizing that just might be her personality; perennially worried she’s upset anyone. 

“It’s really okay,” he says. “I get that. I mean, I didn’t know who you were. But even if I did, I definitely wouldn’t judge you. I actually…admired it. What you talked about.”

It’s true; if anything, this just endears her to him more, her honesty and the self-care she talked about. Her lips press together thoughtfully, but she pivots quickly, her attention moving to scan the bookshelf. “Well. I think this is what you’re looking for,” she says, offering him a weathered manual. 

“Thanks,” he says, after a moment. He swallows, trying to gather his courage, because this is the girl he’s been thinking about since October, and she looks especially beautiful against the light filtered through the stacks. “Uh, listen. “Would you want to…um. Hang out sometime? I mean, like, while I work on the bike?” He rushes to add. “Since I know you have an interest in mechanics, and, well—”

“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?” She interrupts, her lips tipped up in amusement. 

He blows out a breath, not sure if she means about his haphazard attempt to ask her out, or the motorcycle. “No. None.” 

Betty’s grin is nearly shy as she nods. “In that case, I would love to,” she replies, and Jughead decides he’ll have to thank his dad for the motorcycle one more time.

.

.

.