Hey :)
I decided to do a little series of sad imagines, these actually really made me upset aha.
Hope you like them, or well, not like them.
Michael's Imagine:
The last light of the concert died quickly like a broken bulb, and Michael's ears rang with the deafening sound of screaming fans as he briskly walked off the stage, a great deal earlier and ahead of the other boys. The others didn't think anything of it, it was normal for Michael to get tired early and be the first to get some sleep, but they didn't know the adrenaline building up in him as he walked away from the stage as quick as if his life depended on it.
Tears were streaming down his face faster than they ever had before, as he struggled to keep quiet so the boys behind him didn't know he was crying.
"Night" he barely managed to say without his voice cracking, as he fumbled quickly with his key in his shaky hand, attempting to open his hotel door.
"Goodnight Michael"
"Nightt"
"..Speak in a bit, Mikey." Ashton seemed to be the only one who could tell that something was wrong with the boy who was trying so hard to seem normal. "You sure you don't wanna chill with us for a bit?" He asked, trying to convince Michael to join them.
"Nah, I'm too tired" Ashton heard him say from behind his closed door.
"Suit yourself" Said Luke, walking and laughing with Calum, dragging Ashton along with him. Ashton decided he'd check on him in 10 minutes.
Michael slumped down, his back against the door, and buried his face in his hands. Everything was too much for him. He hated himself, and always compared himself to the other boys. Thoughts rushed through his head that he couldn't block out.
"You're the ugly one in the band."
"You can't sing."
"You don't deserve to be famous."
"Why are you even alive."
"Nobody even likes you, they just pretend to."
His mind ran over all of the negative things that had ever happened in his life and distraught tears burst from his worn eyes, as he ran his hand over his eyes and then through his hair, standing up and walking around his hotel room. His eyes laid focused on the window as he remembered the signs and screams he'd seen and heard when looking around the audience.
"YOU CAN'T SING, MICHAEL"
"GO DIE."
"YOU KNOW YOU SHOULDN'T BE HERE."
"YOU RUIN 5SOS."
Michael screamed into his pillow and attempted to rip his beautiful hair out, stomping on the floor and thumping his hand onto his pillow. He walked into the ensuite bathroom and shakily opened up his toiletries bag, pulling out a small blue plastic box. He opened it up and pulled out a shiny, silver razor.
He practically fell onto his bed and aggressively tore his skin open with it, crying onto his wrist, the blood dripping down onto the pristine white bedcovers. He cut all down his left arm, the pain was immense and he threw the bloody razor onto the floor, and once again hid his face in his palms.
The door unexpectedly opened, and Ashton took a step in, and his face turned a sickening white, and tears bulged in his eyes as Michael looked up at him with a distraught face that Ashton could never erase from his mind.
"Michael..." Ashton said, his voice breaking. He rushed over and took the small blue box and fitted it into his pocket so that Michael could never use it again. He threw his arms round him and Michael buried his face into his chest and cried even louder. Ashton hugged him tightly and turned away slightly, trying desperately not to cry, as he had to stay strong for Michael. Ashton rubbed Michael's back with one hand and his hair with the other. "It's okay, Mikey" He said, his voice soft and comforting. "You're okay." He said, holding him tighter than he'd ever held anyone before. "I love you, we all do, you know that." He said soothingly.
