Michael Clifford Imagines

Well Played

Well Played (Michael)

By: amipunkr0ckyet

The sun beats down as you enter the gates of your local zoo. It's packed with people, but at least you won't lose Michael in the crowd with his purple colored hair. It took a lot of convincing to get him to agree to take you ("Zoos aren't punk rock!"), but you finally managed to get him to agree.

As you walk down the paved path, you know exactly what you want to see first. "Come on, Mikey!" You say, grabbing his hand and dragging him through the crowd of people. You lead him past dozens of cages, finally stopping in front of your favorite animal: the giraffes.

"Wow, they're so tall," Michael says, his head back at he stares up at the huge animals.

"You fit right in," you reply, joking about his extreme height.

"Ha. Ha. Let's go!" He races off towards the next exhibit, and you laugh, following.

* * *

Forty five minutes later, the two of you had seen nearly all the animals. You got to see the tiger cubs, feed the goats, and watch Michael attempt to stand on one leg like the flamingos, his tall and gangly frame making it hilariously difficult. Now, he's guiding you through the crowds towards a large building. "Saved the best for last," he says, winking as he holds the door open for you.

You walk through the doors, Michael rushing down the corridor ahead of you. "The best animals: the birds!" He laughs, pushing open another door on your right.

You walk inside and gasp; the entire room is set up like a rainforest, complete with trees, mini waterfalls, excessive humidity, and of course, birds. Mikey takes your hand, dragging you along and pointing out all the colorful birds he can find among the branches.

"I see where you get the inspiration for your hair," you joke, pointing to a parrot whose color matches Michael's previous shade of bright green.

"Maybe I'll go with that one next," he says, smirking as he gestures to a vibrant blue bird on the tree above you. You continue down the path, admiring the amazing plants and birds. As you reach the end, you see several cockatoos sitting on a large branch in a tree a few yards away. People were crowding against the railing, shouting all kinds of phrases that the birds would then repeat.

"Michael is cooler than y/n!" Mikey calls, grinning at you.

"Michael is cooler than y/n!" A bird repeats, squaking. Michael smirks smugly.

"Michael's a loser!" You shout. He looks over at you, smacking you playfully.

"Michael's a loser!"

"Y/n loves Michael," he winks.

"Y/n loves Michael,"

"As if!"

"As if!"

"Y/n loves Michael's big c-" you quickly clamp your hand over his mouth. He just laughs hysterically.

"Mikey, there's kids here!" You scold, but you can't help but giggle along with him. Knowing he'll probably try to pull something else if you stay any longer, you garb his arm and lead him towards the exit.

Just as you're about to leave, you notice a bird staring down at Michael, head cocked. "Look," you point it out to him, "I think it likes your hair." And you're right: suddenly the bird hops off the branch, squaking as it dives straight towards Michael's head.

"Fuck!" He yells, ducking to try and escape the bird, who is hell bent on attacking his bright purple hair. You start to scold him on his language, but you can't as you fall into a fit of laughter. Tears run down your face as you watch him struggle, while a crowd forms around the 6'3" boy running and screaming like a little girl. Finally, Michael is able to escape, sprinting out of the exit doors. You follow him, still gasping for breath.

Outside, you find Michael leaning against the building, catching his breath. He looks up, seeing you still cracking up. "Hey, it's not funny!" He whines. You just shake your head out of laughter.

"'Ahhhhhhh!'" You imitate between giggles. Michael blushes bright red. "You, Michael Clifford, are definitely NOT punk rock."

"Shut up," he replies, throwing his arm around your shoulders. You smile, leaning into him. The two of you being walking back down the path. On the way, you spot one of those boards with a cutout for your face, putting your head on some animal's body. This one was of a huge orangoutang.

Michael runs behind it, sticking his face into the spot for the monkey's. He makes his best primate face, puffing out his cheeks and crossing his eyes. You smile and laugh, snapping a picture. Michael comes back around, looking at the pic.

"Wow, I make a pretty sexy monkey," he says, wiggling his eyebrows. You roll your eyes, but a smile plays at the corner of your mouth. Michael laughs, the two of you continuing to walk side by side.

"Hey Mikey, can we get some ice cream?" You ask, looking up at him with puppy dog eyes.

"Okay. Here," he bends down in front of you, allowing you to hop on his back. You giggle has he stands up, carrying you through the crowd. All around you, people stare at the tall punk boy giving you a piggy back ride while giggling like a three-year-old. Definitely not your average scene.

You guys get your ice cream, finding a picnic table in the shade to sit on. The ice cream is melting in the hot sun, dripping all over the table, and Michael's hands.

"You're a mess," you say with a laugh, as he licks the ice cream off his hands and attempts to stop the oncoming drips. He takes a bite of the ice cream, half of it ending up just dribbling down is chin. "You got a little something," you tease, grinning as he frantically tries to wipe the sticky mess off his face.

"Hey, you've got some too," Michael counters. You reach up to clean off your face with a napkin, but nothing's there.

"Where is it?"

"By your mouth,"

You dab at your face again, but the napkin comes off clean. "Nuh-uh,"

"Yeah huh," he says, mocking your tone. "Right here," suddenly he leans in, placing his mouth on yours. The melting ice cream is forgotten as you wrap your arms around his neck, his falling to rest on your waist. You can taste the ice cream on his lips, and you can feel it's stickiness on his hands. Finally you break apart, both of you smiling.

"Well played, Clifford, well played."