Bughead Oneshots

"It's great to see you again."

This story is kind of told in article format, and kind of not, you'll see what I mean.

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The strong lights shine onto her skin and she fixes the strap of her tank top. Her fingers tremble, just a little bit, and she looks like she's a bit dizzy. I ask her if she wants something to drink, something to cool the nerves, but she politely declines.

Before we start, she mentions that she hasn't thought about Jughead in a long time.

I clear my throat and asks if she's ready. She says she is.

"I'm Betty, I'm an editor and aspiring journalist."

-

He enters the studio, and from what I see on him, he's been sat up burning the midnight oil (later, when I ask him if he has, he chuckles and tells me yes). His forehead is shiny, and he tugs on the sleeves of his sweater.

When he eventually sits down, he's calm and breathes in deeply before he starts talking, without any prompting from me.

"I'm Jughead, and I'm a private investigator slash author."

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"Can you tell me why you're here?"

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"I'm here to tell you about my love story, if you can call it that. With my high school boyfriend, actually."

She starts stroking her wrist and the hair tie that sits around it, and when I ask about it, she tells me that she used to put up her hair in dangerously tight ponytails. Back in high school, she says, and I can tell that me asking about Jughead prompted that thought in her.

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"See, I've been told that I'm here to talk about my iconic, so to speak, love story, but I personally think I'm just here to talk about my first love."

He reminds me of an old poet, in the way he sits. Legs crossed, hands moving as he speaks.

"So, I guess I'm here to talk about Betty."

He throws me a smile, but it's almost like it isn't directed at me, but more to someone behind me. Maybe he's just nervous.

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"Tell me about when you first met."

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Scratching her nose, she looks straight into my eyes. I can only assume that she senses my curiosity, and therefore really tries to find the answer somewhere in her mind.

"Gosh, I barely remember. We were maybe three or four years old? At least that's my first memory of him. See, he was best friends with my neighbor, soon turned best friend, and we met through him."

The memory brings a smile to her lips, and an absent look into her eyes. She's having a trip down memory lane, and I can't help but to wonder what she sees when she thinks back.

-

"We were both three years old, and her mother had let her come over to play with Archie and I." He's straightened out in his seat, and his whole demeanor perks up.

"Archie's an old friend," he clarifies, before he moves on. "And I remember how she walked out on that wooden deck and waved so gracefully at me. And I guess that's where it started." Just like Betty did, he starts smiling and looking out into space absently. What he does differently though, is to continue talking about it.