5SOS Preferences/Imagines

He's Your Ex, and You Run Into Him

Michael:

It had been eight months since you two had broken up. Things were difficult for you two. The hate had driven you to apart. One thing led to another and then Michael ended up calling you names after false accusations of cheating. You two really did love each other, but after Michael had assumed you cheated, called you names and even involved the boys after he had woken them from their sleep, you had broken up with him, and haven't heard from him since that day. But even after eight months, you still wonder about how he's doing and if he's happy. You missed him.

Your best friend noticed how depressed you had become. Always moping around with a distraught look on your face. She got tired of seeing you in pain. Eight months were too much to be mourning the end of your relationship, so one night, she decided to take you out.

And as you sat in one of the bar stools in a pub not so far from your friend's apartment, you just took a swig of your drink. Thinking where you had forgotten to have fun. Wasting the last eight months being sad about a boy who broke your heart wasn't exactly how you would spend quality time. From that moment one, you realized you had to move on with your life. Michael wasn't worth it if he didn't trust you. You were not going to let him control your life even after he's not involved in it. But then it happened.

You turned around, taking in the surroundings of the pub. The sweaty bodies moving together and a couple of people by the bar, where you were. At the front of the pub, were two boys. Both which you recognized. You locked eyes with the shorter, curly-haired one and turn on your heel, sitting on the stool once again, hoping he didn't know it was indeed you.

"Michael, I think I just saw Y/N." You heard Ashton's voice. you shut your eyes, hoping this wasn't happening.

"You're delusional Ashton." Michael answered. His sweet raspy voice ringing in your ears, bringing back unwanted memories, both good and bad. But you came back to the reality where you weren't in a relationship with him anymore. "I'm getting a drink." he said, making his way over to the bar.

You began to panic as he came closer to where you were sitting. You finally found the courage to stand and walk away, taking your glass with you, but just as you tried you move away, his chest collided with yours, making the drink spill on your clothing.

"Oh shit. I'm so so-Y/N?" He said, taking in the features of your face. "I'm so sorry." He said, but somehow, it felt like he wasn't just apologizing for staining your shirt with liquor.

"It's fine." You said, tears welling up in your eyes and not finding it easy to form words. "I should go." You said.

"Wait-Y/N. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry about everything. I was a dick and i should have believed you when you said you didn't go near any other guy." He said.

You swallowed back the lump that was in your throat. "Michael stop." You started, "I rather not start anything here, but I need you to understand that you hurt me. Okay, I spent the last eight months feeling like nothing but shit because my boyfriend didn't believe a word that i said."

"I love you Y/N. I still love you. I was a jerk and I'm sorry. Please, just give me another chance."

You looked down, not wanting to give in to him. "I'm sorry too, Michael. I really am, but you didn't trust me, and that's why we broke you. I don't think I can ever trust you again." You said, grabbing your jacket from the counter. "It was nice seeing you." You whispered, trying to hide the tears that were bound to fall anytime now. Michael just stood there, knowing too well that you were indeed crying, because he always knows.

Luke:

You sat on your leather chair, trying to type away on your laptop screen, but nothing came to mind. You were a writer, still are actually. You just had a lack of inspiration. Not being able to publish anything, let alone write anything. It's been that way for six months, after your ex-boyfriend broke up with you. You haven't been able to write anything after that. You had written a book, before the break-up. A book you were proud of, but you couldn't publish it. You wouldn't. Luke Hemmings, that was his name. The name of the boy who broke your heart. You couldn't risk publishing the book and answering the rising questions about what and who the book was based on. That's not even the worst part. You still loved him. But you couldn't do anything about it other than stare at the bank screen, the little mouse blinking over and over again, in the same place, because no writing had been done. You have writer's block all because you had lost your muse.