Bughead Oneshots

Counting Stars

Thunder cracked loudly and the rain came down even harder, hitting the window quickly. It echoed through Betty and Jughead's small flat and she was clutching to him out of nerves—but they weren't because of the rain.

"What if the ratings are horrible?" she whispered into the dark, staring out the window. She sat up with a sharp gasp a moment later, looking over her shoulder at Jughead with wide, scared eyes. "What if they hate me because I'm so bad?"

"Love," he sighed, laying her back down on the bed. His arm wrapped around her waist and he held her into him, her hands squeezing his arm in a tight grip. "You are going to blow those critics out of their seats. And if they think you're bad, fuck them. They couldn't become real Broadway stars so they criticize and hate on the ones who did what they couldn't." She whimpered, squeezing his arm tighter.

He wanted to take all of her nerves away and wanted to flash forward to her praises and good reviews. He hated to see her worry, he hated to see her afraid, but she had been working on Wicked for months now and she had waltzed around the apartment for weeks, reciting her lines and doing her dances.

~

Jughead hated it at first. He wasn't a singer, he wasn't a dancer. He liked to write, he liked silence—he envied the quiet. The last place he wanted to spend his nights were in a theatre, belting out lyrics to songs he didn't understand the meaning behind.

He had watched one play in high school (Betty had forced him to come) and seeing her excited, happy, gleaming up on stage as she danced around and sang with her friends was enough to convince him. Enough to convince him that he was her biggest fan and that he would dance and sing with her whenever she asked. And enough to convince him to be at every play no matter how far he had to drive, walk, bike, or fly and he would buy every ticket no matter how much they cost.

When she had applied to Juilliard and had gotten accepted, the look on her face was priceless—he wished he could have taken a picture.

She bounced around with the letter clutched tightly in her hand, tears wetting her cheeks as she jumped into his arms, squealing. She celebrated like it was the best thing in the world (which to her in that moment, it was) and she hadn't fallen asleep that night out of a pure adrenaline high from excitement.

He had applied to NYU for a writing degree (even if he wasn't very fond of college) and had gotten in easily—how, he wasn't so sure. So they moved to New York together to pursue two very different things.

Being so young, they clashed heads often—they had even broken up twice. They had lived in separate apartments for two years, needing time apart and needing to navigate a relationship in a more traditional way.

After college, they had moved in together and shortly after, Betty had started to audition for a wide variety of musicals. He was always right there with her, cheering her on and smiling proudly with whatever role she got. Even if it was small or she was just a part of the ensemble, he still clapped and cheered the loudest, grinning when he saw her bright, thankful smile.

The auditions for Wicked had appeared when she wasn't feeling the best with her plan. Jughead had been walking home from work one day when the sign caught his eye. He took a picture, not knowing if it'd interest her or not. He had hurried home to show her and she had just shook her head, not feeling like she could do any of the roles.

She had told him, "They need someone experienced, someone better than me. I can't do it, even if I really do want to." The words had snapped his heart into a billion pieces and he wanted to hurt whoever made her feel like she wasn't worthy of her dream.

It took loads of convincing and lots more breath than Jughead thought he had, but he had managed to convince her to at least try out for an ensemble role. And he promised her she would get what she wanted when she least expected it.