Ashton Irwin Imagines

BGM - He Loves Me (Not)

I'm winging this

Yes I'm back in school, yes it's been a while, I've been doing my summer hw 😅😅

Ashton:  
A single red rose, sitting in a glass coke bottle on your table. It was a colorful centerpiece in your otherwise bland apartment. When the curtains were drawn in the late afternoon, the low light would make the bottle reflect and sparkle like a diamond, and the soft, delicate petals seemed to glow.

Sometimes you caught yourself staring. Your eyes seemed to be drawn to that beautiful flower, magnetically pulled in its direction. Looking at it made your heart skip a beat, and your lips twitch upwards.

You couldn't help it.

It was from him.

...

"Y/N? Y/N, are you even listening to me?" His words were sharp but his tone was soft, teasing.

Fresh, green grass tickled the back of your calves as you shifted, turning more toward him, squinting to see his backlit face.

"I'm listening," you replied honestly. How couldn't you? How could anyone not listen to his honeyed voice? How could they not watch the way his full, pink lips twisted and curled around every syllable? Even suggesting it seemed like sacrilege.

You saw the shadow of his smile as the sun burned his profile into your eyes. His dimples were just barely visible to you as he shifted, taking a step closer to you.

Both of his hands were behind his back, but you were unsure of what he had until he moved to show you.

You couldn't help the massive, awestruck grim that accompanied the appearance of the rose. It looked so perfect in his hand, the petals were softly swaying in the breeze, even the thorns had their own fatal beauty as they curled around into sharp points.

It was a most beautiful gift, and it was all for you.

"A pretty flower for my pretty girl," he promised.

...

It didn't take long, only a few days, until it started to shrivel and die even as you changed the water and made sure it had sun. A cut rose never lasts, you knew it was true but it didn't save you from sighing when the first curling petal broke off and drifted down, laying on the table near the flared base of the bottle.

You picked it up, gingerly cradling it in your palm and carrying it to your room. You found a heavy book, and placed the petal against the back cover. You closed the book and set it back on your shelf.

"He loves me..." you hummed and turned around.

...

He'd broken his promise. He'd told you he'd call but his number never flashed across your screen.

You'd been waiting, ready and eager to go with him. He'd promised a drive, a long one through the hills so you could see the wildflowers bloom. You'd been looking forward to rolling down your window and letting the war, perfumed air fill the car and surround the both of you.

You could've stopped near a shady tree, pulled the car over to the side, and just gone out to enjoy the sights of the warm spring. He'd sit down and you'd rest your head on his chest so you could listen to his heart and the birds sing all at once.

It was what you wanted from him, no more, no less.

But your phone stayed silent, and you couldn't will it to ring. Your new sundress was left on the hanger, and the birds never sung in your ear.