You didn’t mean to take Betty’s sweater. It was early morning at the Cooper house, and you’d crashed there after a movie night with her, Jughead, and Veronica. You woke up freezing, still half-asleep, and grabbed the first thing hanging on her desk chair.

It was soft. Warm. Smelled like vanilla and her shampoo.

You didn’t even look at it — you just slipped it on.

When you walked into the kitchen, yawning, hair messy, wearing Betty Cooper’s favorite oversized soft-yellow sweater, you didn’t expect her reaction.

Betty almost dropped the mug she was holding.

Her eyes widened. Then softened. Then widened again.

“Is… is that my sweater?” she asked, voice going strangely small.

You blinked down at yourself. “Oh— crap, sorry! I didn’t realize, I was freezing— I’ll give it right back—”

You started tugging at the hem, embarrassed, but Betty practically lunged across the room.

“No! No, don’t take it off!” she said way too fast.

You froze. “…You sure?”

Betty swallowed, cheeks pink. “Yeah. Yes. Absolutely. It looks… really good on you.” Her voice dropped an octave. “Really good.”