Various Imagines [ Requests Open ]

Still Into You || Requested

Fandom: Shawn Mendes

Requested by a friend :))

Don't Wanna Think- Julia Michaels

Edited

The street was dark, the cement glistening from the earlier rain and the light of the dim street lamps that lined the road you were walking on. It was the middle of the night, 1 am, probably. You had just been on a long drinking spree, but since you were alone and lived pretty far, the bartender cut you off extra early. The sound of your heels clicking echoed around you; the only other sound being the swish of the remaining liquid in the bottle of Jack Daniels you kept clutched in your intoxicated fingers. You'd feel it in the morning, and you'd come to forget everything; barely making it through without a migraine.

But you decided to say fuck it, because heartbreak was annoying.

Your boyfriend and you had just decided to call it quits. You knew there was a valid reason, but in your drunken state, you couldn't care to remember. You felt so goddamn lonely that you decided to immediately turn to liquor, something you weren't usually one for. So, you drank, rather than spending time with any of your friends; you couldn't talk to any of them about love.

And anyways, who wants to talk about love?

You didn't want to think about him, not right now at least. You wanted to forget everything.

Him, you, the empty feeling you had.

Your head wobbled on your shoulders as you clumsily stumbled down the street and took one more hefty swig from the glass bottle, not looking where you were going.

You didn't want to think about him because you knew damn well that it'd end badly.

As you lowered both the bottle and your head, your eyes landed on the house directly in front of you. It was his. The light was on, and if you focused hard enough you could look in and see him. He sat there alone, looking down at pages in front of him on his coffee table, a guitar in hand. He was writing a song, and you couldn't help but wonder what it was about.

Steadying yourself, you tried your very hardest to make your way towards the house. Your pace was uneven and your steps landed every which way as you took another swig. You swallowed down the bitter liquid, your throat burning. But the bitter taste was better than the aching feeling in your chest.

As you approached, you shook your head with a dizzy spell. You caught sight of him one more time, focused keenly on his work. You took the time to observe him carefully. The way his messy hair fell into perfect place. The way his eyes squinted ever so slightly and part of his tongue stuck out in his concentration. He eyed the pages, his fingers plucking the guitar strings and placing themselves strategically over each fret to create a perfect chord. It reminded you of his gentle touch. His lips moved subtly, signalling he was absentmindedly humming out lyrics he had lazily drafted. The way he held the guitar had you letting your head fall to the side as you thought of how he'd sing to you when you were sad or frustrated.

When you needed him.

As you stared, you noticed your own reflection, and, unfortunately, it wasn't pretty. You didn't like it, and you were just standing still.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" You whispered the words to your reflection until you looked through yourself and caught glimpse of him once more. He had shifted to using his pencil to jot down notes. He dropped the pencil and continued his plucking, making you swoon at his every small movement.

You wanted him back, though you'd never admit it.

"Fuck it, here it goes," you muttered, walking up the two steps and lifted your knuckle to the door. But before you could knock, you paused. You began to think. You thought about breaking up, and how if it could happen once, couldn't it happen again? You wanted more than anything to be wrapped in his arms again, to talk with him endlessly without even the slightest lack of interest. You had always thought your relationship was amazing.

You thought you were good enough.

You thought that he needed love.

But he didn't.

And he didn't need you either.

You lowered both your gaze and your hand, stepping back from the door and releasing the breath you didn't know you were holding. As you finally turned around, you shakily puled your phone from your pocket and reached for the dial button of his remaining contact. You pressed the dimly lit device to your face as it rung, stepping in front of his window again. The call reached his voicemail, and he hadn't even flinched. You tried again. And again.

Not even a glance.

You opened your messages and found his name more recent in your texts than expected. Your twitching fingers unsteadily flew across the keyboard and sent a message you'd likely regret. Your eyes wandered back up, and you saw him still; his work all that he cared for.

Your eyes watered as you shook your head slowly, giving up on the face to face.

Well, face to window.

Once more, your back turned and you managed to leave his property without falling. Your legs eventually led you to the middle of the street, where you incoherently wandered. By the time you'd gotten home and passed out, you sent him 7 texts, as well as those 3 calls. When you woke up, you wouldn't know what to do; you'd make up some excuse about how they were meant for someone else.

But the truth is you weren't over him.