This is Jughead we’re talking about, right? The whoopee-capped gourmand of the Archie universe, the cynic who’s blind to every female’s Dan DeCarlo charms? I had my adenoids out when I was five. My dad bought me an Archie Digest to keep me company in the children’s ward. Most of what I remember about that book is that Reggie played that prank on Archie where looking through binoculars left a black ring around one eye. The sudden deformity of that practical joke scared me so much my dad had to rip out the offending page. I still liked Archie Comics. Mr. Weatherbee was funny, and Veronica was a banged brunette like me. But Jughead was my favorite. Even at five I respected how he was above the bullshit. Let everyone else get lathered up about who’s in love with whom this week. Jughead knew what he liked—his dog, burgers, and being left the hell alone—and saw no reason to let the world’s petty half-passions unseat what he knew to be worth defending. He was the Spock of the gang—and don’t forget how women loved Spock, too. He just hasn’t found the right woman yet, the pining goes.

But on “Riverdale,” Jughead has. That big dope Archie (K.J. Apa) can’t see how his childhood best friend Betty Cooper (Lili Reinhardt) has a dark and sharp intelligence burning beneath those Dresden doll eyes. Not seeing, however, is different than not noticing. To Jughead (Cole Sprouse), Betty’s as invisible to him as all women are in the show’s first three episodes. Then in episode four, while he’s in the middle of a sputtering tirade about how the town dares to tear down the drive-in that’s his spiritual home, Betty slyly suggests the last movie should be “Rebel Without a Cause.” The jibe makes him pause and shoot her the slightest of “got me” smiles, and, in that moment, he falls for her wit, her movie knowledge, and her dry sympathy. His passion flowers quietly as she recruits him to write for the school newspaper and uncover the murder of a classmate, and his yearning for her culminates in a kiss so intimate you can almost smell his skin through your TV.

I’m not saying that if I saw Cole Sprouse in my backyard, I would call Animal Control to remove him. But he is an unconventional heartthrob, with off-kilter features: scowl-browed, slightly rabbit-toothed, sharp-nosed, with thick dark hair and narrow ice-pale eyes that pierce like Cupid’s arrow. (I didn’t watch “The Suite Life of Zack & Cody,” so I am a perfect scientific control for Jughead’s appeal: there is no tween crush bleeding through my besottment.) I’m impressed by Sprouse. He is a canny and capable actor who found Jughead’s rhythms quickly and knows the character well enough to shed him in season three’s “The Breakfast Club” homage episode, where he plays his father FP (Skeet Ulrich) as a teen. FP is all darted glances and too-cool bad-boy smirks, devoid of Jughead’s steady, scowling, cogitating stare. FP’s just another heartbreaking life-ruiner: those smirks have no Jughead-sais-quoi. As a critic, I’d be happy to see Sprouse (and Lili Reinhardt, who is also one of the most capable members of the cast) in indie dramas after this good run is over. But I’m sorry, Cole: I truly wish you all the happiness this life and your talent can offer, but I only have eyes for Jughead.