Why Don't We Imagines

Big Plans (Z)

Y/N's P.O.V.

The bright lights pierce through the curtains and enlightens the dark room. I squint as I shield my eyes from the sudden light and groggily get up from my slouching position on the couch. The room's a mess, but this time, I don't bother cleaning up.

I stand up and drag my feet towards the windows, kicking pieces of used paper towels and receipts out of my way. I stumble and trip over the pile of pizza boxes stacked beside the coffee table, and nearly spill the can of soda next to it. It's almost empty anyway. It wouldn't matter.

I grasp onto the kitchen counter tightly as my head starts to spin— this is the third headache in the last two hours, and its probably the strongest one yet. My legs wobble and I groan out loud, cussing even though no one can hear me. I inch my way towards the window as I grapple onto the edge of the counters to keep myself upright.

When I finally manage to stop massaging my head and pull the curtains back ever so slightly, the lights from outside turn off, and I'm plunged back into darkness. My eyes adjust much easier now— the familiar jet black car sits in the driveway and I see someone step out and walk round to the front door. My eyes widen as I look down at my pizza-grease-stained shirt, with drips of red wine on my sweatpants, smelling like absolute crap. I don't even remember the last time I properly washed up...

I hear his footsteps approach the front door. Anxiously, I stumble towards the coffee table and try to grab as much trash into my hands, and dump it into the trash bin. Of course, several paper plates fall from my hand and create even more mess on the floor. I down the remainder of the bottle of wine on the table and try to put in the sink, but the door opens before I can and, startled, I drop it on the floor.

"Shit!" I whisper harshly as it lands on my foot, shards of glass littering the floor around my feet and cutting me on my hand as well. Usually, I wince at the sight of blood, but this time, I'm more concerned by the silhouette standing in the doorway.

"F*ck y/n, what the hell happened in here?"

Sometimes I see the old him, but this wasn't one of those times. His hair is messier than usual, and he's grown taller since I've last saw him, but his eyes are still those beautiful, dark brown eyes, and gentle, warm hands that pull my away from the glass pile.

He switches on the light and dims them immediately so that I'm not blinded again. He pulls back my hoodie and his face is lined with worry as he examines my bloodshot eyes. Of course, when he's looking at me closely, my nose gets all runny, and I pull away to wipe the snot off.

"Y/n, what happened here?" He repeats. This time, I don't care-- I limp towards the living room and slump down on the couch, ignoring him. He groans; but he doesn't ask me twice. Instead, he moves to clean up the shattered wine bottle, and the mess on the coffee table. He disappears into the hallway, returning with a first aid kit. My foot and hand burns, so I don't object when he starts to wipe antiseptic over my wounds and wraps them up. The alcohol numbs the sting, mental and physical.

"Now that you're... somewhat, okay, will you talk to me?" My blurry vision shows me a handsome young lad, his eyes laced with concern, his hands placed gently on my leg, his attention focused solely on me. For now.

Oh Zachary! You don't know what you do to me, at all! You act like you care, like you love me so much, so dearly, but then I see you out there, in all those cities, with all those girls, having the time of your life! You have people falling for you, falling at your feet, willing to do whatever you want them to do, while I'm stuck here, in our sad little house in L.A, where you don't seem to come to anymore, swimming in student debt and feeling too pathetic to finish off university.

I keep these thoughts to myself-- and instead, I only let out a low groan. And then a small chuckle. A laugh. I can't seem to control myself-- tears fall out of my eyes one by one, then all in a stream-- but I still laugh. I can feel him move onto the couch beside me, and I push him away. I hear his soft pleas-- "Please, y/n, please talk to me,"-- and my laughter fades away, replaced only by sobbing. I curl up into a ball and cry-- he doesn't try to talk to me until I calm down.

"You never talk to me anymore, y/n."

I laugh-- the sound is foreign to me; it sounds harsh, hurt, angry. "I never talk to you anymore? Maybe that's true-- maybe I gave up trying to send unanswered texts to a seemingly faulty phone number, calling someone who doesn't care jack shit about me anymore!" I say, almost too calmly, with too steady a voice. He seems shocked to hear me speak, so I continue. "You go to all these cities, with all these girls, and you have fun, doing whatever you want, without giving a damn about me. I'm miserable here! Why is it that all the other boys are kind enough to bring their girlfriends along, but you can't even be bothered to respond to a text yours sends you?"

"Y/n," he says. "I thought you wanted to focus on your studies, so--"

"Did you ask?" I croak. "Did you ever once, asked me, if I wanted to? Because I don't remember you asking at all. You're just such a silly boy, Zach-- you live a wonderful life, but do you ever stop to think that I don't? Sorry, but being with you isn't as glamorous as it is-- do I look like a celebrity's girlfriend? No, I look like a depressed college kid! And I am! I'm swimming in student debt, while you're living the free life, and I'm struggling so much to keep up in university. But you don't seem to care!"

Zach grabs my wrist, trying to pull me to face him, but I struggle out of his grasp. I keep to myself, biting my lip and try not to let the tears fall again, but it's just too hard...

"Y/n, I've been a terrible boyfriend. But would you please listen to me?"

I give him silence as permission to continue. Besides, it might be the last words I ever hear from him in a long time. Or maybe forever. Who knows? Certainly not I.

"Y/n, I've been the worst boyfriend. I know it. I look at Corbyn and Christina, and Jonah and Tate, and I hate myself. I hate myself for leaving you behind, for being apart from you, especially at a time where you're struggling, and need my support the most. I've spent nights alone in hotel rooms, regretting the decisions I've made, wishing you were there with me... I feel terrible, y/n."

I shrug in response. Because what use is the truth, when the harm's already been done? He did abandon me, make me feel like nothing, but what use is telling all of this to me?

"Did you... did you spend any nights with... with--"

"No." He shakes his head, and I can see the seriousness in his eyes. "No," he repeats, much firmer this time, and I know he's telling the truth. I release a breath I didn't realise I was holding. A small part of me feels better, but a large part of me is still not reassured.

He seems to sense this, because he continues to speak to me, in his beautiful, gentle voice. "Y/n, I've decided that I need to be here for you more-- no, I'm going to be here for you more, guaranteed, because it's what you deserve. You've let me live my dreams with the band for a good few years, and there's nothing I can do to give you the same gesture. So let's start by opening the mailbox."

I frown-- mailbox? Wow, haven't opened that in forever. Haven't been outside the house in forever. It's just been UberEats and caring best friends for a long time for me. Zach gets up and takes the keys to the mailbox outside. He doesn't take long, and soon enough, he's seated back next to me. He sorts out the mail, and passes me two envelopes. I open the first of the two that he gave me.

My jaw drops. My student debt-- or lack thereof-- has been paid for! I look at Zach, and he gives me a small smile-- I always refused to let him pay for my school fees, which meant I had to work at a side job. But now... Now I didn't need it at all. I didn't need to dread spending my weekends working. I move to give him a big hug, but he stops me. "Open the other one," is all he says.

I tear it open-- a pair of keys fall softly onto my lap. I look at them in surprise, and then back at Zach. This time, his smile stretches from ear to ear. "Y/n, I've decided this house isn't good enough for us, because it's only filled with memories of you, by yourself. So why don't we move to a new place, where all the memories are ours?"

~