Demi Lovato Imagines

I'll be

"What the hell did you put in this bottle, John?" you yell across the gym, trying not to gag into the bin behind you.

"What?!" he laughs, holding his hands up innocently as he backs away, "It's just the usual flavour!"

"Um, no, it's definitely not. My drink doesn't usually taste like piss so..."

"Don't look at me!"

"I am looking at you! You went to fill up my bottle!"

"Well, maybe you shouldn't ask me next time," he shrugs, still holding that annoyingly-smug grin on his face. 

"Go fuck yourself, John," you growl, following him over to the rows of treadmills and slapping him playfully on the arm, "If I hurl all over you during cardio, you only have yourself to blame."

You catch him roll his eyes before he presses start, then quickly increases the speed before you've even untangled your headphones. Doesn't matter, though. You kind of wrecked yourself with the dead-lifts so you're not planning on doing the full run. Taking your time, you avoid John's cocky smile in the mirrors that line the wall, keeping up the facade that you're really mad at him. 

Twenty minutes later, you hit the 'cool down' button, bringing the treadmill down to a slower pace and gulping the disgusting juice heavily. At this point, you don't care how bad it tastes. You just need to cure your lightheadedness before you end up falling off. John does the same, wiping the sweat from his face with his shirt. 

"Good run?"

"Yeah," you breathe, "It was fine. Yours?"

"Hell," is all he replies, his red face glowing. 

"Serves you right. Anyways, stretching?"

"For sure," he nods.

You and John have sort of become partners at the gym for a few weeks now. It's fun. You get on well. And it's nice to have some more friends in LA considering you only moved back a couple of months ago. Don't get me wrong, you love your college friends. And Sophmore year is going to be ace! But, just sometimes, you want to hang out with people who aren't at school with you. John's the perfect fit. Even if he does wind you up. 

"Have you phoned home recently?" he asks as you hobble over to the water fountain. Your bottle is empty now - thank God - and you're not going to trust John with it again. Holding it under the stream, you think carefully about your answer.

"Uh, not really, no. There's the time difference and everything so it makes it kind of tricky."

John nods like he understands. But you know he doesn't believe that for a second. You haven't spoken to your family since you left the UK in August. Two months later, you still don't feel ready to pick up the phone. Maybe it's because you are just enjoying the independence you have in the US. Or maybe it's because the last thing your mum said to you was that she's glad she doesn't have to deal with you again for a whole year. 

"So, like, you haven't even spoken to your--"

"Who is that?" you cut John off hastily, pointing your eyes towards the woman at the door of the changing rooms. He swivels his head to see, then gives you a look which tells you - you've got to be joking, right?

"You're not serious, Y/n?"

"Serious about what?"

"That's Demi Lovato," he whispers through clenched teeth.

"That's what?!" you start, screwing the top back on your over-flowing bottle.

"Yeah. You know, the singer?"