heartbeats ; bughead

42

elizabeth;

Okay, I said I was going to walk to his house, but was I really going to walk to his house? I felt nerves cripple me, and I sat down on my bed. I looked back into the mirror, and I was horrified.

It'd been a minute since I'd looked in the mirror, but I regretted that I even did, because I was a mess. There were bags under my eyes, a forlorn look in the pupils themselves. I'd lost at least five or six pounds by doing absolutely nothing (yay me!), and my hair was in mats. Like a dog. 

Are you just gonna walk into Jughead's house looking like that, Betty?  I mean, I was going to. 

I quickly change into a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. Laced on my Converse, ran out the door. As I ran, not caring as the rain started to pour, as the puddles of mud sopped my shoes, I felt a blush creeping in.

My heart was thumping, and even if the cold was making me numb, my heart was pounding as heavy as ever. As heavy as the first time I met him.  My stomach curled a little, but my wholehearted love for Jughead Jones made the run worthwile.

I ended up at his door, panting at the sheer weight of my heart in my chest. But I contained myself. I wouldn't screw things up. Oh, the pain I've caused him. I knock the door lightly, once, twice. Even thrice. He would understand. 

As I waited in the rain, my heart started to slow down with each passing minute. Would he come? After what felt like an eternity, I heard a creak of the door, and my eyes expectantly looked forward.

It was FP. He gave me a suspicious look, a why-the-hell-are-you-tormenting-my-son-after-breakup look, and I pressed my lips together. After a while, I managed to croak out, "Is...is he here?" FP took another long look into my eyes, to see if I had an ulterior motive, but I was see-through.

He gestured in, and while I was coming through the door, he whispered, grabbing my shoulder, "Careful." I still don't know what he meant. Careful with his heart? Careful on the steps? Careful with the rain? 

The mysteries of FP Jones. Shoving those thoughts out of my mind, I looked around. It had been forever, a month or two, since I'd entered the house. It smelled like him. It smelled like that woody, pine smell I'd buried my face in plenty of times. It smelled like the pasta recipe he made on New Years. 

It smelled like the forgotten memories of our relationship. Heading through the corridor to the room in the corner I knew so well, my stomach did flips in my gut. I pressed my fingers to the cool handle, and opened the door. 

And there was Jughead Jones, in the flesh. His eyes met mine in a heartbeat.

forsythe;

I wasn't expecting visitors. I was basically confined to my room after that horrible episode at Pop's. I was on a bunch of pills. Basically just Valium and more Valium. The past month's been pretty great! Lost my friends, lost my family, lost my girlfriend! 

As you can tell, I'm great at parties. If I ever went to any--

The silence shut me up. She looked at me. I looked at her. Who was I? I don't know. She looked right through me, so I stood up. I met her eyes with a piercing glance. That's how it was. For the next minute.

No words. Her eyes filled up with tears, and I glanced at her body. She'd lost weight. She was wearing--

"My sweater," I whispered. Eyebrows raised, and she looked down. Eyes widened the tiniest bit. She licked her lips. She did that when she was nervous. I was nervous. My heart thumped. Her hair was tied up, in a long braid.