5SOS one shots (boys x Reader)


48. All Gone





“Come here. It’s a fucking emergency!”


Y/N goes, walking into the kitchen where the six-foot-two blond is sat… on the floor. Legs crossed Indian-style and a pout fixed on his face. She blinks at him. “Did you… fall or something…”


Luke scoffs, rolling his eyes, getting to his feet. “No. The emergency is that – ” he literally yanks open the freezer door. “– we have no more ice-cream.”


“Oh no. This is a tragedy. We are going to die.” She deadpans.


Luke manages to hold the unimpressed look on his face for about 0.2 seconds before he’s breaking out into a grin and giggling like a child, shutting the freezer door and wrapping his long and toned arms around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. Y/N breathes a laugh, wrapping her own arms around his waist and looking up at him, the corners of his lips curling up into a small smile.


“You’re an idiot,” she mumbles and she would say something about how she hates that she sounds so fond – but she doesn’t hate it. She quite loves it. Quite loves him.


“You’re in love with this idiot, anyway,” Luke mumbles back, a stupid grin still on his stupid face. “You’re also an idiot who moved in with this idiot so hah. Who’s the idiot now?”


“… Still you, babe. Like, me moving in with you didn’t change you being an idiot.”


“Oh my God.” Luke gasps suddenly, pulling away and then holding her by the shoulders, near-shaking her, blue eyes wide. Y/N actually worries, wondering if something’s terrible actually happened. (Luke’s involved, though, so it’s probably something stupid.) She blinks at him again, raising a brow. “We live on our own. We can literally go to the shops and get… get… cookie dough and no one can yell at us for leaving the house so late.”


(She’s not even surprised anymore, honestly.)


Y/N looks at him, almost as if she’s pondering something. Luke raises an eyebrow at her this time. Then she nods, “Definitely an idiot.”


Luke pouts again, “Mean.”


“Love you.”


“I know,” Luke’s beaming again. He leans down, kissing her on the lips, multiple times, before he’s finally pulling back, still grinning like a Cheshire cat. “C'mon. Let’s go get more ice-cream and some cookie dough and a lot of junk food.” Y/N shrugs, letting him tug her out the door even though they both look just about ready for bed. “Oh, I love you more, by the way.”


- - -


Y/N actually likes morning, really – she does. She likes knowing that she can get so much shit done and still have a few hours to just laze around and chill and do nothing and not have to feel guilty about it. She just doesn’t fancy the idea of waking up before noon, especially after she’s gone to bed at half four or some other time that honestly cannot be healthy for her body in the morning.


So when she wakes up, it’s at eleven a.m. – which isn’t too bad, she thinks – and she’s yawning and groggy and rubbing at her eyes. Luke’s side of the bed is cold – but it’s understandable because he might have gone out to the gym, maybe for a run, maybe even for writing sessions that he’d forgot to tell her about. So it’s nothing out of the ordinary, is what she’s saying.


The day begins for her, then, and it’s all normal. She goes to brush her teeth, wash her face, turning on the iPod that they have as a permanent fixture to speakers in the living room, preparing her coffee, and – there’s that.


Then she realises something.


Both Luke and Y/N had never had their own proper mugs, at their parents’ houses, so when they’d moved, they’d went shopping for mugs. Found the cheapest set – a knock-off Disney themed couple one – so it was one of Mickey and one of Minnie. Luke really liked the Minnie one, said it was cuter than the Mickey one and he had an affinity for cute things, so he’d claimed that as his.


But – it’s not there. His mug. The only mug there is the Mickey Mouse one and the Minnie one is gone. Y/N frowns, looks around the kitchen, see if he’s left it out somewhere, but it’s nowhere to be seen. It’s strange, but she chalks it to him deciding to bring his mug to the studio because that’s where she thinks he is.


So she carries on with her (few minutes remaining of) morning.


Then she realises something else. His acoustic, the older one that never usually leaves the house is almost always in that one spot in the corner of the living room, near the tele, is – gone. She’d understand if the newer one was gone, because that was newer and he brought it places, to write, to shows. But the older one never left the house because it was “fragile” and “will get upset and bullied by other guitars” (to which she’d responded with an: it’s a guitar, Luke. Guitars can’t fucking talk, let alone bully other guitars. Guitars are inanimate objects. And he’d gasped, cradling the instrument to his chest: shh, baby, she didn’t mean it.).


Y/N’s fairly confused by now. She sets down the mug she’d just filled up with coffee, and goes into their bedroom, just because.


When she steps into the bedroom, her eyes widen. Because now that she’s actually awake, she notices it. Notices that things are amiss – that things have been moved and things are missing. She walks over to the wardrobe, pulling the doors open and – half of it is empty. It was full last night – half with her stuff and half with Luke’s – but it’s half-empty now. Her eyebrows knot together tightly in the middle of her forehead as she goes around the house, noting that all of his things – all of them – are gone.


She’s near freaking out now, fingers running through her hair and tugging at it because she’s not sure if she’s in some messed up and freakishly realistic dream. She feels the pain of her hair being pulled so she knows she’s awake.


She goes to get her phone, turning it on – because it’s died overnight, of course it fucking has – and it takes it own bloody sweet time to reboot itself. When it finally does, some texts come in but the one that catches her eye is the one from Lukey because he’s the one making her so damn confused. It’s too fucking early for this shit, she wants to tell him.


But she never gets to. Because the text is of few words, but it’s got the power to flip her entire world upside down and jumble up her brain into a mess of an assortment box. Because the text says – I’m sorry. You deserve better than me. So I left. – and Y/N doesn’t know what to fucking say about that except for maybe I do deserve better, but I want you, for Christ’s sake. I will always fucking want you.


But she can’t – because when she dials his number, when she dials the number that she’s memorised a long time ago, there’s a phone operator telling her that the number’s no longer in use and – what the hell is Y/N supposed to do now?

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