Demi Lovato Imagines

Party

"Y/N!"

"Yeah?"

"Is the food in?"

"Yeah."

Kitchen duty. Great. Matthew better not be expecting me to be in here all night while he enjoys the party that he organised for himself and his friends. 

Matthew is my flatmate, by the way. He's an actor. And no, it's not as cool as you think, seeing as all he does is go out to auditions, rehearsals, or bars. And when he is here, he brings all his actor friends round to drink until sunrise for an aftershow party. 

Not so great an arrangement when you have a 9 am start at college the next morning.  

Apparently, this night isn't actor friends though. Tonight's guests are 'friend' friends. Real friends. Whatever that means. You stopped caring a while back. You'll probably find them passed out over your midterm in the morning all the same. You'd better pick it up from the counter before you head upstairs in that case. 

Wiping your hands on the tea-towel, you take one last glance at the clock on the oven and meander through to the living room to see Matthew typing on his phone.

"All food will be ready to take out the oven in 45," you call, hoping he won't ask you to stay and stand around while his friends arrive. You've learned your lesson. Somehow you become the waitress that refills drinks for hours on end. Well not tonight, you've got papers to write. 

"Thanks, y/n, I owe you one," he called back.

Yeah, and you owe me for every other time, but you know...

Trudging back up the stairs, laptop and midterm in hand, you go over your schedule for the next few hours. Seeing as you won't be getting any sleep for ages, you may as well be productive. 

***

Music pulsed through the ceiling, making your feet vibrate as you sat at your desk, stumped on how to conclude this essay. It was 11:15. You had hoped Matthew would have taken his friends out to a club by now, but obviously not. Must have enjoyed your cooking so much, you jeered with yourself. Jokes...

As you typed the last few words and entered your final word count at the bottom of the page, you heard a knock from behind you. Turning round in your chair, you saw her. Demi Lovato. Standing at your door, arms folded across her torso.

"Hey," she spoke, in a calm tone.

"H-h-hey?" you question, wondering if she maybe got lost on the way to the bathroom or something. 

"Am I interrupting something?"

"Eh, n-no. No, you're fine, I was...I was just finished anyway," you chuckle, still glued to the chair as the famous popstar glanced around your room. You were just glad you had tidied up a bit that morning. 

"What are you writing? I write a bit myself," she smiled.

Yeah, no shit. Record charting songs. An essay for psychology is perhaps not so exciting.

"It's just an essay for class. It's not due for a few days but I had some free time so..." you looked to the floor, unsure of how to act, and unable to fully comprehend the absurdness of this situation. 

"Cool. I wish I had gone to college," she said, forcing you to make eye contact as she leant onto the door frame. 

"Hm," you breathed, hoping for one of those 'amused agreement' kind of sound. 

Silence. 

Well, apart from the heavy bass perforating your eardrums from downstairs. 

"Are you looking for the bathroom? It's just further down the hall."