5SOS Imagines

Michael Song Preference - "Mrs. All American" by 5sos

Author: Rhine

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No one understands the chemistry we have
And it came out of nowhere

How does he even begin to explain you?

Beautiful girl with the bright eyes that must've been a part of the stars in the sky when his plane landed in the town you called your home; beautiful girl that caught his eye with a smile to write symphonies about; beautiful girl that was surely the reason for the settled feeling in his bones that told him it was going to be a good trip when he bought the last plane ticket just before takeoff.

There's no harm in a little adventure.

It's what he said to himself when he leapt onboard that last-minute plane that took him to you, it's what you said to him when you laced your fingers with his and felt his whole body tense up at your touch.

It's what he whispered to you, lips just a millimeter away from your neck as his eyes travelled up your own before his mouth met yours in a kiss that never should've happened.

But how does science explain the fate that brought him to you, how does science explain the gravity that pulled him down to earth, down to you?

It only takes one day.

One day and he knows, Michael knows – this girl is something else – and he knows he shouldn't keep the girl made of sunlight in his hollowed world, but he can't help himself from basking in your beauty anyways.

He lets your radiance wash over his pale skin and perhaps this is what living feels like; last-minute trips and strangers with a kiss so sweet, slow-dancing on the town line and never remembering last names but never forgetting his travels over your landscaped skin.

And the love, the infatuation – it comes out of nowhere but it surrounds him until it's the only thing he breathes.

It's in the air, he supposes. Something about the foreign land of a place that'll never be his home.

It's in your lips, he knows. Something about the way it tastes like chapstick with the most innocent sins.

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You're secret's mine, close your eyes
And I'll make you melt

"Michael?"

"Hm?"

Your head on his chest, your hair splayed out for his fingers to twist around and his hands wrapped around your hip; sun tanning at two in the morning on the deck of the outdoor community pool that the two of you snuck into.

"I know you'll forget me – a month, a year – hell, maybe the second you see a prettier girl – and I know I was only ever meant to be a shooting star in the grand scheme of your life that you'll never remember the name of, but....but don't forget about this moment. How it felt like, this brief and momentary girl that lit up your night somehow – that you maybe wished on, that you maybe wished for – and hold on to it."

You're half asleep and admittedly a little less than sober, judging by the empty bottles littered around the two of you – your eyes are turned away from him as you talk into his chest, drawing roadmaps on his skin that he'll never be able to read to find his way back to you – and he hears the wistfulness in your voice, he feels just the smallest hint of heartbreak in your touch.

Shining stars like him were meant to stay in place – up in the sky, only ever out at night for an audience who'll always be able to spot him in the darkest of their times.

And shooting stars like you were always meant to fall back down – crash-land into earth and fizzle out one day, captured for a moment and retold in stories that always mixed wonder and fantasy with the truth.

And this is the truth – he leaves tomorrow morning – or today, if you want to be more accurate – and soon he'll be back up with the stars like he belongs, and you'll be looking for him down from earth in between the plane lights and constellations and city smog.

"I won't forget you."

He kisses the top of your head in a way that's more of an apology than a promise.

"But you won't remember me, either."

And you both know that's true.

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I'll show you why
You're not gonna walk away

You don't see him off.

It's midnight when the two of you climb over the fences to the pool, two in the morning when you realize the truth, four when you dip your legs into the water and wait for the chlorine to eat away at what little the two of you had, six when the sun rises and reminds you of all the promises daytime can't keep, seven when he tries to kiss you and you turn away, never one for goodbyes.

It's ten 'o'clock now, and he should be settling into the same plane that brought him here, now ready to take him away.

He never told you when his flight was, but you found his boarding pass in his jacket when he draped it over you that night; a cruel reminder that airplane lights weren't meant to be romantic, a cruel reminder that beautiful boys with the brightest green eyes are never meant to stay.

It's twelve 'o'clock now, and your skin still smells like chlorine.

One in the afternoon and your favourite chocolate is bland in comparison to the memory of his lips.

Five and his plane should've landed back home – his home, far away from you – but for some reason, you're still mistaking every tall, broad-shouldered boy for him.

Seven and you're waiting for the stars to come out.

Eight and he's not there, he never was; he'll never be there, at least not from your side of the world.

And you know, you know that if he had asked – if he had wanted to – you would've gone with him.

But he just walked away.

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