5SOS Imagines

Michael // he doesnt share your feelings

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He didn't know.
He didn't notice how your eyes always lingered at his figure for a few moments longer than normal friends should; how your fingers always found an excuse to graze his skin; how you laughed a little louder at his jokes than any of the other's.
He never noticed how you always had time for him - he didn't know that you shifted your schedule around to meet his, how you blew off other friends and family just for him - and how you always showed up a few minutes early and left a few minutes late just to have a few extra moments with him.
Of course he didn't noticed.
He was Michael Clifford, the famous guitarist whose smallest smirk drove thousands of girls wild and hair colour change was the talk for weeks. Who could get any beautiful girl he wanted with a casual mention of his band name and a confident, smug grin - the one you loved so much.
And you?
You were nothing special - sure, you had your highlights and your talents, but they were nothing in comparison to Michael's. In comparison to the boy who travelled the world and played shows in more countries than you can name; whose name was known to hundreds of thousands, whose every moment is one dipped in glamour and fame.
You were just you; a girl who happened to know Michael when his hair was still its natural dark brown, who knew him when his fingers still tripped over his large guitar, whose smile was still hidden and shy behind his large sweaters.
But things have changed now.
You think you've always loved Michael - you loved him from when his swears from gaming woke you up when you slept over at his place, when he still needed help reading notes, when he still refused to show his pale, thin arms to the world and kept it hidden in his sleeves.
But now, you're not the only one.
Now, thousands upon thousands loved Michael - your Michael - except, you don't think he's yours anymore.
Not this Michael, whose texts are shorter and shorter with every passing month, whose hair is a different colour every season, whose arms are marked with ink and shown to the world, whose fingers play his guitar with the confidence of a professional.
This wasn't the Michael you first knew.
But you love him all the same.
He's not your Michael who you'd have to drag out of the house for some sunlight, who wore mismatched socks in public without a care.
He's a star now, and you have to remember that.
You also have to remember that maybe Michael never was yours in the first place.
-
But he knew.
The person who introduced you to Michael in the first place - the person who invited you to the very first band practice, back when Michael was all stutters and shy smiles when he first met you, back before you fell for Michael Clifford.
Ashton.
He was your best friend, and it was his idea to have you listen to the band play first; to have your opinion before anyone else's.
It was Ashton who introduced you to the rest of the band, Ashton who knew your secret.
How could he not? He was your best friend.
But how could Michael not know? You had made it so obvious.
Ashton knew from the start; from the very moment you started falling for Michael Clifford. He could see it in your eyes, from how you always seemed to smile when you looked at him or how you paid a little more attention when his name was mentioned.
He knew and he teased you about it - from when Michael left the garage practice for a break, seizing the chance to nudge you on the shoulder and wink at you cheekily to make a move - to when they had their first tour and Ashton would Skype you, telling you Michael was missing you while they were away and that you should say something to him.
But you denied it even though the both of you knew it was a lie, and Ashton would merely sigh loudly and drop not-so-subtle hints, whispering in your ears that you should make a move before someone else did.
But the years went by and the band exploded in a way that none of you dreamed they would and suddenly both your best friend and the boy you loved were whisked away from you for a life of fame and fans and music, leaving you behind in the dust.
And while Ashton would frequently update you with texts and videos and calls, you heard less and less from Michael with every new tour, every new event that you couldn't attend.
And you noticed how Ashton's teasing for you and Michael to get together became less and less frequent as well, until they completely halted to a stop.
Until Ashton came up to you one day on his spare days back and told you I think you should let go of Michael.
And you're standing there in shock, eyes wide and mouth hanging open because Ashton was the one who always nudged you to go for him with a playful smile on his lips and a mischievous glint in his eyes, but this boy with the long curly hair and bulky arms and hazel eyes that wouldn't meet yours is a different boy from the one you said goodbye to at the airport.
...What? W-why?
Just - please, just forget about all those feelings. It's for the better.
I won't until you give me one good reason why.
Ashton's hazel eyes finally meet yours and they're filled with regret and sorry for having to be the one to do this to you - the girl at home who always waited for her best friend, the girl that used to tape back his broken drumsticks for him when he snapped them in practice.
He's sorry he has to be the one to break your heart, but he tells himself it's better than having Michael do it first.
He's breaking your heart before someone else can simply out of care for you, but somehow that doesn't sound quite right in Ashton's head.
He's... he's just not the Michael you fell in love with.
What do you mean? Don't be silly, Ash - he's the same Michael just like you're the same Ash.
But that's the thing - I'm not the same Ash. And he's not the same Michael. But the difference between the two of us is that while we're different now, I'm still your best friend despite the changes while - while Michael was never yours to begin with.
That doesn't change what I feel for him.
You know he's not the same hesitant Michael who nearly spilled soda over you during the first practice. He's... he's got other people - lots of other people - who catch his eye now.
What's that supposed to mean? About me? Are you saying I'm not good enough for him, Ash?
No! I'm just - I don't want you to be hurt. That's all.
Ashton's staring at you helplessly, his warning still hanging in the air.
But you're stubborn and you refuse to let go of the feelings you had harboured for Michael for so long - he might've changed, but there's still a chance, right?
Perhaps it's just your aching heart speaking.
There's no denying the pangs that spike your heart when you think of Michael and all the texts he saw but never replied to; of all the calls that were quick and forced; of all his brief smiles and wandering eyes.
I... I know you mean the best for me, Ash. I - I just need some time.
He nods and he holds you close, strong arms wrapped around you as if he could hold you up before your heart went crashing to the ground.
I'm sorry.
You were sorry too.
For being a foolish girl who fell in love with a shooting star.
-
You almost think it's just a mistake.
Because you're certain Michael must've forgotten about you - you sure have hell have been trying to do the same with him - but when he comes up to you on that warm summer night and presses his lips to yours, you think it must be a mistake or a dream.
Because there's no way Michael would leave for six months without a word and return in the middle of the night, appearing like a prince out of a fantasy you relived in your head so many times just to speak a few rushed sentences before meeting his lips with yours.
You're taken aback and tensing up in his arms but his grip on you is strong - you don't recall him having so much muscle in his arms, but a part of you is thankful for them holding you in your place - until he pulls away from you, smirking lightly, staring down at you, his eyes a dark charcoal grey that you had forgotten you missed.
I heard you've missed me.
His tone is playful, teasing, almost.
A bit.
Your voice is high and squeaky and you're glad it's dark enough to hide the flushing red that begins to creep onto your cheeks.
I heard from a little bird that you've also thought of me quite a lot.
... Y-yeah.
His smirk grows wider and you're caught under his spell, lost in his familiar scent and warm arms.
Did you think of me as something else? As something...more?
Your eyes widen and you don't know how to reply to him - you've spent so long pining over Michael and dreaming of the moment he'd return the feelings back to you, but now that you're faced with the words you imagined hearing, you're frozen in your spot.
I... I - maybe.
Would you give me an answer if I said I thought of you that way, too?
His breath is low and husky in your ears and you think you might've misheard him if it weren't for the flutters in your stomach that tells you otherwise.
There's something blooming in your chest and you think it feels an awful lot like hope - hope for a chance with Michael - something you haven't felt ever since Ashton confronted you about Michael's sudden change.
Well, that seemed to have changed now.
Do you really think of me that way?
Your words are barely above a whisper, and you're tempted to pinch yourself to see if it was all just a dream.
Months and months of waiting - and now, now you're faced with a possibility that you've dreamed of, a chance that was just moments away.
You don't stop to think about how strange it was that Michael was suddenly paying attention to you again after months of forgetting you; you don't stop to consider that the only person who should've known about your little secret was Ashton.
You don't consider the possibility that Ashton might've told Michael about leaving your heart alone, in hopes of letting you mend yourself again.
You don't consider the possibility that Ashton's warning to Michael was nothing but a challenge to him, a game.
Because all you're anticipating for is the next word that could mean all your waiting and wishing and hoping wasn't for nothing, that you could have something despite all your months of waiting with nothing.
You almost forget to breathe as you wait for Michael's answer.
Yes.
You don't consider the possibility that it was just a lie.