Why Don't We // Imagines

♡ 37.c.m.b ♡

"You ready to go, babes?" Corbyn calls softly from the hallway.

You're still upstairs, taking a deep breath to inhale the sweet, homely scent of yours and Corbyn 's bedroom for the last time in 3 months. You try to notice the plush feeling of your grey carpet between your toes, and you force your brain to remember the exact position of certain trinkets, such as framed photographs of you and Corbyn , or ornaments with sentimental meaning to you. Corbyn, a confident Sagittarius, didn't seem bothered by constantly leaving for tours - if anything, he preferred to be on the road. But you, a shy *your zodiac sign*, were a homemaker, treasuring sentimental values, and needing a comfortable nest to retreat back into whenever your comfort zone felt under threat. It seemed cliché to blame it on zodiac signs, but fuck it, you believed in that shit.

You dust the heart-shaped photo frame containing a photo of you and Corbyn when you first started dating. You look at your 16-year-old self. You were short and slightly tubby, but, in Corbyn's words, "in a cute kind of way". You wore denim shorts, with fishnet tights underneath, and a pair of Timberlands. Most importantly, however, you wore a slightly too big t-shirt with "Why Don't We" printed on the front.

The first t-shirt Corbyn ever sold was to you.

In your left hand, a lit cigarette smoldered, and on your right, a lanky, 18-year-old Corbyn stood leaning against you. Clad in a black, cold-shoulder jumper and black skinny jeans, his cigarette hung out of his mouth lazily, as both of his arms were wrapped tightly around your waist. A moment of pure love, captured sneakily by your local undercover photographer (Zach). You remember how your parents hated Corbyn, believing he was a bad influence. Well, to be fair, he bought you cigarettes and vodka when you were clearly underage. However, after getting to know him, your family quickly fell under Corbyn's spell of charm, and his clear adoration towards you. Who couldn't love him?

You go to replace the photo back onto your nightstand, but change your mind, hastily shoving it into your handbag. You take one last look at your bedroom before shutting the door and walking downstairs.

"Yep, I'm all ready." you say, meeting Corbyn's cheek with a kiss as you pull the handle of your suitcase up.

"You're gonna miss the place, aren't you?" Corbyn asks, almost sympathetically. He couldn't understand your need for home comforts and security, but the boy tried, and you loved him for that.

"A little," you reply, "But I'm ready for the American adventure!"

"We'll be back in no time." Corbyn reassures you, not quite believing in your optimistic tone.

You follow him out of the front door, and shiver in the cold night's air as you drag your suitcase towards the cab. As if out of instinct, Corbyn places his grey trench coat over your shoulders like a cape. Jack was already loading his bags of both clothes and guitar gear into the boot of the taxi. Corbyn loads two guitars and a big suitcase, leaving just enough room for your little bag of clothes. Fuck gender stereotypes, you, the only woman, had the least luggage of all.

"Christ, yous two took your time!" Jack teases, cheerfully, "What were you doing?"

"Y/N was just making sure she'd said goodbye to the house." Corbyn laughs.

"Gotta make sure he knows we're not leaving forever!" you giggle, "Was just telling him we'd be back soon and all that shit!"

"You've got serious attachment issues, Y/N," Jack laughs.

"Oi, at least I make my bed and do my own washing!" you joke back at him. Jack was notoriously bad at housekeeping, and was probably the messiest person you'd ever lived with. You and Corbyn made sure he could confine his mess to one room and his own en-suite when you bought the house. There was no question that Jack would move in with you both - he was a right laugh and kept the mood jolly even when everything seemed to be going wrong.