One Direction and 5SOS Preferences and Imagines

Michael Clifford

Half-naked people crowded the dance floor, grinding and moving along to the beat, the fluorescent paint covering their bodies glowed brightly amongst the strobe lights and dark walls of the club. The atmosphere was heavy, the air thick and hot with sweat. The bass was shaking the walls with each song. It was loud, so loud that I couldn't hear myself think. Even the confines of the washroom couldn't block out the blaring music.

I propped myself up on the sink, fiddling with the lighter in my hands. I wasn't in a mood to party; I just needed to get away from everything for a while. The club was too crowded for my tastes anyway. I'd much rather prefer sitting around a fire with some friends while some random indie band plays in the background but no, we had to go to a rave. "It'll be fun!" They said. Bullshit. Normally, I'd be all up for getting wasted and going home with some guy but I just wasn't feeling it tonight.

All I wanted to do was run outside of the venue and light up a cig but my cigarettes were taken away from me in an attempt to 'stop feeding my addiction'. I suppose it's for my own good, I've been trying to quit. I was never a heavy smoker, more of a social smoker or a stress smoker but lately the number of cigarettes smoked a day has drastically increased. Too much stress in my life that I can't cope with. I know smoking is one of the worst things a person could do for their health, but honestly, I'm going to end up in a casket one day so why does it matter. I was born to die, so why not enjoy my days on earth.I shoved the tiny lighter back into my pocket and hop off the sink. I take one last look around the beaten up, gratified washroom before re-entering the world of the wasted youth. The scent of alcohol and sweat hung low in the air, leading me towards the bar. I down whatever drink was put in front of me in a matter of seconds, the alcohol exciting every nerve in my body, making me feel alive for the first time in a while.

I scout the crowd for a suitable hookup, my eyes settling on a fluorescent giraffe. It wasn't a real giraffe obviously, but a freakishly tall dude with neon green hair so in my eyes, it was a fluorescent giraffe. He was wearing black skinny jeans that clung to his legs like plastic wrap and a cut up Metallica shirt, a worn out leather jacket completing the look. There was something about him that ignited sparks throughout my body and from that point on, my goal was to befriend the giraffe.

As quickly as I found him, he disappears into the crowd. You'd think he'd be easy to spot but with everyone glowing and moving around it's nearly impossible. In no mood to search for the mystery man, I trek outside into the cool autumn air. Instinctively my hand dives into my pockets for my pack of Marlboro, completely forgetting about my being banned from smoking. "Fuck." I mutter, stomping at the ground like a two year old who isn't allowed to have dessert. I slouch down against the wall of the club, fiddling with my lighter once again.

I focus my attention on the tiny flame flickering out of the lighter. It shoots up, dancing around with the wind before it slinks back into the container. Today was just great, I lost giraffe boy, I can't smoke and my friend is probably hammered as fuck somewhere.

"Your lighter looks a bit lonely." A pack of cigs is thrusted into my line of sight. My eyes trail up the strangers arm, meeting a bright pair of green eyes to match the mop on his head-giraffe boy.

"I really shouldn't. I'm not supposed to be smoking."

"What's one more going to do? Come on." He urges, waving the pack around, taunting me.

"Fuck it." I mumble, pulling a cigarette out of the pack and immediately lighting it, bringing the rolled up death trap to my lips, I take a long drag. The smoke leaves my lips in whirls, flying off with the breeze.

"You from around here?" He situates himself beside me, lighting one of his own.

"Relatively. You?"