One Direction imagines(mostly weird ones)

Sorry, but fûck if I know

Seeing as it was Friday you and your friends decided to throw a house party. Your parents were out of town for the weekend anyway, and they had said it was fine that you did. Walking around school between classes you guys spread the word, collecting large masses of people.

Just as you are getting your things from your locker you see the boy Marcel walking the empty hall, arms filled with papers, books, and notepads. Seeing as you quite liked the boy your mind suggests that you invite him as well. The two of you don't really hang out that much, but you are one of the few he talks to, that talks to him.

"Hey, Marcel." You shout, causing him to look up from the floor. Walking up to him you take most of his things from his hands. "Here."

"Thanks." He looks back down at the ground. You walk to his locker in silence, Marcel's gaze flying over the floor every time you reach a corner.

Mean people was a normal day's chore he always had to get through. You felt bad for seeing him like this, but you had no power among them, nor did they listen to when you told them to stop. Some days you wished you could just beat them up, but that would have meant being expelled. You reach his locker, and he starts loading his books in. Leaning back against the lockers next to his you wonder how you should bring it up.

"What's your occupation tonight, Marcel?" Wow, your brain asks. Really? You still don't look at him, your eyes are rather glued to the students passing to get their things. "Like are you busy?" You uncross your arms, turning to him.

His green eyes are confused as they search yours.

"I suppose not. I was just going to study or read."

"Oh, 'cause me and a few friends were throwing a party tonight at my place if you wanna come around." You say causally. He frowns.

"I don't know..."

"Well, it's just if you want to. Thought I'd might as well invite you, in case you wanted to." You smile friendly. Thoughtfully he nods, closing the locker and throwing his bag over his shoulder. "Here."

You take up a pen from your back pocket and take one of his hands, that just hangs by his side. As clearly as possible you write the address, along with your number and the time on the back of it.

"Thanks." He says again, reading the writing, other hand readjusting the strap of his book bag. With that you turn and leave, making your way home as soon as possible.

****

The door bell has been ringing on a constant lately, so the door is standing wide open, guests holding it up for each other. Music from a band your friend swore were amazing blast throughout the house, and you beg that the neighbors won't call the cops. Swiftly you move between bodies to get to the kitchen.

Opening a cabinet you take a glass and fill it with water. Sweat is heavy in the air and people only started arriving twenty minutes ago. You chug down the glass and place it in the sink.

As you turn around you see Marcel, in the other empty and half lit room, sitting by the table. His hands plays with the cap of a plastic bottle, turning it and twisting it, like watching it from a different angle will reveal some kind of secret.

Your heel clicks as you walk to stand in front of him. He's wearing a white t-shirt, instead of the button up and vest he wears in school. His brown hair falls forward as his eyes grazes over your body to meet your eyes.

"Have I ever told you I'm not good at socializing?" His tone is dull, his bright eyes filled with boredom. You laugh, making the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. Leaning backwards against the refrigerator you cross your arms over your chest.

"Didn't think you'd show." You make a gesture against the people still pushing to get in. "Not your kinda crowd." A laugh falls from his lips and he stands, pushing his hands in the pockets of his blue jeans.

"Well, I wasn't going to." He steps closer to you. "But you did invite me."

Somewhere you think you hear your name being called, but you ignore it.

"Let's get out of here." The usually so shy boy, holds out his hand, pushing up his thick framed glasses with the other. "I don't like it here, but I want you to come with me."

Your eyes go to the steady stream of teens pushing in.

"What the hell." You connect your hand with his, letting him pull you with him out to the door. "Let me just get other shoes." Throwing off your black heels you take a pair of sneakers in your hand. Now you are sure someone is calling your name.

Before you have a chance to change your mind Marcel's hand takes your and pulls you out in the cold night. Running barefoot you get to his car, parked on the other side of the street. He starts up the engine, a genuine laughter falling from his lips.

"Buckle up." You put your shoes on the floor and do as you are told. With a hell of a sound the car drives out from the area, and gets out on the bigger road.

Marcel turns on the radio, music playing softly through the car. You look out the window, trying to ignore the fact that you just escaped a party you co-created and left your house unattended. The car is pretty quiet, just the radio, Marcel humming, tires against the ground, and your breaths.

After a while he pulls over to the side.

"Come." He gets out of the car and you follow him.

A breeze flows over the field where he stopped and you shudder. Walking after the suddenly confident boy you walk to a hill. He sits down on the ground, laying back down, looking up at the dark sky. Laying down beside him you feel the wetness of the grass go through your dress.

"Are you cold?" Marcel sits back up taking off his jacket, handing it to you.

"Thanks." You pull it on, and lay back down with him. You hear him take a breath to speak, but then let it go. He takes another breath.

"Why did you come with me?" You don't look at him, just continue to look at the tiny spots of light that covers the sky.

"Because I like you." The confession effortlessly leaves you. Shrugging your shoulders you continue. "I don't know."

"I like you too." A smile slips through his voice. You laugh.

"You know I'll go home to a crashed house tomorrow?"

"Don't." He simply states. "I'll help you clean before your parents come back, but until then...stay with me."

"Okey."

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A/N: Tired girl makes for one crappy attempt of a story. Well, I tried.