Michael Clifford Imagines

You Don't Know What Love Is

You sat on Michael's couch, snuggled into his chest. Your eyes were red and puffy, from crying for over an hour now while your tears damped his shirt. A few hours ago you'd shown up on his doorstep, eyes brimming with tears. Your all familiar look had him opening his arms before you could say a word, and beckoning you to the couch to tell him the familiar tale of what happened with this boyfriend. Over the years, Michael had done this countless times. You show up, cry into his chest while you told him your boyfriend had cheated on you, broken up with you over text, used the classic line, "It's not you. It's me." or even when you had gotten into a terrible argument with your current boyfriend at the time. Every time he'd let you cry into his chest, and tell you everything was going to be alright, then he'd always tell a joke about your terrible luck with guys that would bring a smile to your face. He always knew how to cheer you up when you felt your world crumbling around you.

Even when he was away on tour, he'd pick up your call. If it was 2 AM, he'd answer it. He knew that if you were calling so late, that you needed him. He refused to let you go through it alone.

This time was different. Yes, he'd welcomed you with broken arms, but he hadn't been his reassuring self. You'd gone way past your limit of explaining the situation, and he hadn't said a word. No, "You're better off without him," or "You'll get through this." Not a single one. He just stayed silent.

Michael had warned you about this particular guy though. Mason Daniels. Before Michael quit school to tour with the boys, he had gone to school with Mason. Captian of the football team, and according to Michael, the schools biggest man-whore. But, you were in college now. The days of being a high school womanizer were surely over, or so you thought.

"You're actually going to go out with him, Y/N?" He asked in disbelief, running a hand through his lilac locks.

"Yes, Michael."

"But-but why?"

"I ran into him at the coffee shop the other day. He bought my drink, and was really sweet on me Michael. He's changed." You said in an attempt to get Michael to see reason.

"Guys like Mason don't change."

"You haven't seen him for years. You don't know that."

"He ditched me for the next best friend. He'll do the same to you the second another pretty face walks by." You knew Michael's hatred for Mason extended far past his front as a womanizer. Before Michael had become best friends with Calum and Luke, he used to best mates with Mason. They had been next door neighbors all their lives, and best friends since they both could walk. However, once the high school years hit, Mason distanced himself from the guitarist to pursue a friendship with the jocks and the cheerleaders.

"This isn't high school anymore, Mikey. He's a better guy."

Michael was still sold on the fact that Mason was still the dick of a friend he used to have, but for your sake, he stepped back didn't fight you on your choice. It was after all you're choice. He couldn't stop you from seeing Mason. He knew how headstrong you were. You didn't need his permission.

Before he left for tour, you introduced him to the 'New Mason.' At your little meeting, he sat across the table, arms folded while you gushed about how sweet Mason had been on your date the night before. He'd taken you to the beach, and attempted to teach you how to surf. But when you failed, you went for a walk and had a picnic on the sand at sunset.

"It was so romantic." You cooed, and kissed Mason's cheek.

"It was sooo romantic." Michael mocked, under his breath. You quickly kicked him under the table, and scowled in his direction when he winced in pain.