Luke: "Um…" Luke clears his throat. You glance over at him as you slip on your heels. "Isn’t your dress a bit… short?” Huffing, you look down to inspect your outfit, where the fabric ends an inch above your knees, and shrug. “I think it’s fine.” “But we’re going to an award show,” he quips, eyebrows knitting together in irritation. “People are going to be dressed nice." You glare daggers in his direction, folding your arms across your chest. "What are you suggesting, Lucas? That I’m not classy enough for you?” He frowns, knowing you only use his full name when you’re mad. “No, I’m just saying maybe you should change.” “And I’m just saying,” you snarl, kicking your shoes off, “that you should go alone.”
Michael: You’re woken up from a light sleep by the front door slamming against the wall, and you groan when you hear Michael stumble inside. He laughs to himself when he crashes into the coffee table, and you drag yourself out of bed, stomping into the living room. “Look who’s finally home,” you growl, leaning against the doorway that leads into the back hall. “It’s me,” Michael says, throwing his hands up in defeat. “It’s me, yeah.” “And you’re drunk. Again.” “Yup,” he agrees, plopping onto the couch. “I sure fuckin’ am.” Marching over to the sofa, you loom over him, anger blazing in your eyes. “All you ever do anymore is drink, Michael.” “Maybe because I fucking hate coming home because you nag me constantly!” he roars, leaping up to get in your face. Your noses bump, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath. “Then get the fuck out,” you bark, pointing toward the door.
Ashton: "I’m home!" Ashton yells, slamming the door behind him. It’s the first time you’ve heard from him all day, much less seen him, and you sigh as he ambles into the kitchen. He’s surprised to see you in the pink dress you usually wear on your dates. "Did you go out tonight?" he asks. "Yes," you reply, hoping he notices the iciness in your tone. "Where?" "My favorite restaurant. With my brother, best friend, and mom." "Oh, fun," he says, his voice turning up on the last word so that it sounds like a question. Heavy tension thickens between you before you slam your fist against the counter. "It’s my birthday, Ashton," you hiss, glaring at him. "And you fucking forgot."
Calum: He stands in the doorway of the bathroom, huffing as he watches you apply crimson lipstick. “We’re just going to get lunch, (Y/N). You don’t have to put so much makeup on.” Dropping the tube back into the bag with your other lipsticks, you turn to him, eyebrow raised. “I like wearing makeup, Calum.” “Okay, but the fake lashes and eyeshadow and red lips? Is all that necessary?” You scowl at him, crossing your arms. “The day a boy, even one like you, tells me how to wear my makeup is the day hell freezes over,” you sneer. He sighs. “I didn’t mean to make you mad, (Y/N), it’s just a bit much.” “You know what, Calum?” You smile sweetly and usher him out of the bathroom. “How about you get out of my apartment, and I’ll get lunch by myself.”
A/N: Fav song atm? Mine is Amneisa & BO$$ & Bang Bang :-)
