this is not written by me, it's written by TrappedInATextbox as she won the contest! please, follow her and check out her books! [replacement for an imagine that got messed up, but it's a really good imagine!]
I'm in a vague conversation with a few of my friends and a few of their friends. I don't know what they're talking about. I'm not really sure I care.
"What do you think, Chandler?"
Well. Now I care.
I look up. It's Chandler Riggs. The kid I'm in love with. That's great. Just fucking great.
But then I look down. Because I don't have a chance. Simple math: Chandler a) has a girlfriend b) has a legion of fangirls and c) I'm ugly. Not to mention the ever-present d) I'm not friends with him.
"Just start with a hi!" says the internet. "Just be yourself!" says the internet. Well, internet, I don't like people and myself is someone who's not very attractive. So that's a problem.
"Y/N!" my friend says. "Hey! Y/N!"
I blink. "What. What?"
"I said, what do you think of League Of Legends?"
Oh god. Oh mother of Jesus Christ and that hobo named Jesus who lives on the bench in the park.
"..."
"Y/N!"
"...I play Sims...?"
They sigh, turning back to the current conversation. Fuck. I blew it. I have no chance. Way to go, me.
"I play Sims too, actually," I hear. When I look, my eyes widen when it's Chandler actually making fucking eye contact with me.
"Oh, uh, cool! What version?" Four. Four's way better than three.
"Newest. Four."
I start to ask him what crazy Sims experiences he's had (left mine alone for five minutes, they literally all died in a fire) but I get cut off by one of his friends. That's okay. Staring at the desk is way more fun, anyway.
"God, you look so depressed," someone -- Chandler -- says to me.
"I do?"
"Yeah. You're just sitting there. Staring at your desk. Like your goldfish just died."
"Actually, my goldfish did just die. Yesterday."
"Oh...um...sorry for your loss..."
"It was a tragic tank heater accident. Bubbles will be missed."
He laughs. It's so fucking beautiful. "Bubbles? You seriously named your fish Bubbles?"
"I'm mentally seven and have no imagination. Of course I named him Bubbles."
"Chan! You coming?"
Apparently, in my brief mental absence in heaven with Chandler Riggs, the bell rang. And class is over. And I should really be leaving by now.
"Yeah, just a sec!" He turns to me. He turns to me. "You're...you're...what's your name?"
As if I'm surprised. "Y/N. I tend to stick to the shadows. Well, that's not true. I tend to stare at my desk."
He laughs again, and it's like the sound of the refrigerator door opening when you're watching a movie and know there's a box of Junior Mints in there. "Have fun with that, Y/N."
"Thank you. I will." I then tuck my books under my arm and walk out. Or at least try to walk out. I'm so focused on Chandler that I walk into the doorframe.
My hands fly up to my head, causing my books to fall to the ground, and Jesus Christ, I'm a mess. Chandler turns around, startled, to see a very angry me trying not to say any actual swear words under my breath ("Fu- green! Green bananas!"), my hands clutching my forehead somehow, and my books scattered around me.
"...do you need help?"
"What the hell does it look like?!" I jump a bit. This is Chandler we're talking about. "I mean. Uh. Yeah. If you don't mind. Actually, I can just...uh...get this..."
Taking my hands away from my head and trying to gather up everything and grinning awkwardly is way more effort than I actually want to put in, but I do it for the sake of trying not to embarrass myself more than I already have.
"It's really okay, Y/N. Here." He tries to hand me some of my books but realizes my hands are full, trying to juggle pens and pencils and binders all at once. "I'll just carry these for you."
"It's really o-"
"No, no, I've got-"
"Seriously, I can do it mys-"
"It's fine, trust me-"
All the way to my locker. It's a full on polite-fight. And Chandler's winning, by the looks of it, him carrying my books and all.
"Combination?" he asks.
"Ew, you're a stranger-"
"How many people know that Bubbles died yesterday?"
"All of my friends..." Ergo, three people.
"Well, there you have it. I'm your friend."
I smile. Ain't no use holding it back anymore. "I am okay with this."
"I'm glad, because there's no getting out of it. Now, combination?"
"55-23-89."
He puts it in, and opens it with a flourish. "M'lady."
"I think you meant memelord." What the hell did I just say? He's not gonna get the joke. Because to get that joke, you have to spend way too much time on the internet. Like me and my friends. But Chandler Riggs is too busy being cool and sexy and famous to appreciate memes.
I almost drop my books that I'm putting away when he says, "Fair enough, memelord."
Oh my god. He actually got the reference. "Wow, you're the first person who hasn't looked at me like I was a sewer monster for saying that."
"That's because I already knew you were a sewer monster."
"You make me blush."
"I seem to have that effect."
"Yeah, you're a cutie."
Wait. Back up a bit.
Did I really just say that out loud?
"I mean, in a platonic way, totally platonic-"
"Nah. It's cool. I mean, I know I'm cute. I look in the mirror every morning." Then, the unspeakable happens. Chandler Riggs winks at me.
He winks at me.
"Did you just...? Did you just...?"
"Just what?"
"Let's get this straight -- this is like, friendly flirting, right?"
"Who said it had to be friendly?"
"Will you throw me in the trashcan where I belong if I hug you right now?"
"I'll only do it after."
I go full-bear hug on him, which I don't regret, since I've been lonely since seventh grade when I dumped my first and only "boyfriend".
"Y/N. Can't breathe."
"That's been my plan all along." But I loosen up. A Y/N hug is not for the faint of heart, after all.
"So, memelord, doing anything tomorrow night?"
"Besides making memes and crushing dreams, no...what did you have in mind, friend-boy?"
"I was thinking Sims."
"I think you right."
"That's not grammatically correct."
"I know."
yayy, an extra update for y'all!
