Yee Haw Imagines

One Beer - Michael Hardy

requested

You grin to yourself as you watch your boyfriend sing a few songs in the neighborhood hangout spot. Michael's been working his ass off on his music and you feel blessed to support him the way you are.

He gives you a nervous smile as he sits on the barstool at the mic, using his shirt to wipe the sweat beading off his forehead. He wipes his hands on his jeans then gets in position on the guitar's neck.

"Hey y'all." He clears his throat. "My name's Michael Hardy and I'm gonna sing a few songs for y'all."

His eyes find you and never move away throughout his entire set.

He's so nervous but he does great. By the end of his set, he's so much more comfortable.

You're suddenly pulled up front your seat and into a small circle before your face is smushed against a chest.

Michael.

"You did great, babe." You beam up at him, hugging him tightly.

"Only 'cause you was here." He replies, kissing your forehead cutely. "Wanna grab a drink?"

Before you can answer, he's tugging you to the bar where you're both over served.

+++

There's no way.

No.

It's gotta be like, some kind of weird calendar situation like a full moon or- or maybe we sprung forward or fell backwards! There's no way that you could be pregnant.

There's gotta be some time glitch.

Maybe- maybe you're just dreaming-

What kind of dream-

It's a nightmare!

Maybe it's not a nightmare.

Maybe you want to be pregnant. Maybe, this is your subconscious telling you that it'll be okay if you're knocked up.

You're pacing around the bathroom of the corner drugstore, your heart in your stomach and your stomach in your shoes.

Fuck.

You slide down the wall with the pregnancy test in your shaky hands and your eyes squeezed shut.

You're too scared to look.

You don't want the bad to be true- possibly true.

You clench your jaw as you force yourself to look at the test.

Fuck.

You're now sitting on the floor with your head on your knees and the test on your lap.

Positive.

Maybe it's just a false positive.

Yeah.

Take another one.

There's an annoyed knock on the door. "Fuck off." You sniffle, standing to take the second test.

Your father is going to kill you. Your mother- oh my god, what is she gonna think!? Her baby knocked up with a bastard baby-

"Babe, where are you?"

You furrow your brows at the voice that fills your ears. When did you answer your phone? How long was it ringing?

"Nowhere." You manage out, swallowing hard.

"You said you'd be over an hour ago. Seriously, where are you?"

"Harrison's." You pant, pressing yourself into the corner of the bathroom. There's a jingle of the keys on his end and your heart leaps. "What're you doin'?"

"I'm comin' to get you."

"I'm fine."

"No you ain't. I'm on my way."

You don't know how much time has passed but a knock on the door brings you back to the present time.

"Fuck off." You repeat, tears in your eyes at the test in your hands.

"Babe, it's me. Open the door."

You reach up and unlock the door.

Michael crouches next to you, his arm around your shoulders. "I been worried as hell 'bout you, (Y/N). What's goin' on?"

"I'm pregnant." You whimper, handing him the test in your hand. "I'm so sorry. I don't- I don't know what-"

"Hey, stop." He says softly, his hand on your knee. "It ain't your fault, okay?"

You choke on a sob and nod, your head dropping on his shoulder. He immediately pulls you closer, letting you cry it out against his chest and you're grateful.

"Hey, look at me." He whispers, nudging your chin. You meet his eyes. "We're gonna get through this. If you wanna have this kid or not, we'll get though this together."

His words makes your heart swell.

Michael isn't going anywhere.

He's staying with you no matter what.