@mcntlethemagnificent liked this for a drummer babe starter !!
There’s a particularly potent combination of anxiety and heavy lifting that leaves Jughead just about useless following a show. Even now that he doesn’t have to be the one handling his kit, loading, unloading, setting it up on stage, he doesn’t really trust anyone else with it and so it’s something he hasn’t given up --- various journalists who’ve done pieces on them over the years seem to think it’s charming while just about everyone else thinks he’s ridiculous for it. Especially when it means he can barely hold a pen without his arms and hands shaking so much it’s rendered useless as a tool, after a show. There’s a lot about what they do that puts him out of commission directly following a concert that he still wouldn’t trade for the world, even when it means heading back up to a hotel room alone so he can wrap and ice, pop some ibuprofen, properly inspect any cuts on his knuckles, order food from whatever late night place he’s discovered, and wind down.
It’s a ritual that’s gotten him in trouble before, has started lots of rumors about how he’s obviously feuding with his band, but then someone will snap a picture of him with Archie at a coffee shop going over a setlist or making last minute adjustments to some sheets of music and things are ‘on the mend’ again, so it doesn’t bother him much when people take his choosing documentaries and fries over after parties and tequila.
Before he can do any of that, though, he stuffs his sticks into his pocket and navigates his way through the post-show, post-disappearing to get his drumkit safely loaded back with the rest of the equipment, chaos to find Reggie. “Hey,” Jughead starts, knocking his boyfriend’s shoulder gently with his own. “I’m headed back. You hanging out or nah?”
