5SOS one shots (boys x Reader)


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53. Get Even

There’s this thing he’s seen once — something about how facts are stubborn things; and whatever may be our wishes, our inclinations, they cannot alter the state of facts and evidence. Probably seen in from some fancy-schmancy author about whatever the hell his/her book was about. Anyway: case in point, the evidence all points to it.

 

Luke refuses to believe it — instead believes that Y/N wouldn’t do that to him. It’s all just stupid rumours cooked up by stupid people who obviously lead terribly bitter lives that they’ve to come up with shite like this.

 

But. But.

 

There are pictures. There are videos. There are motherfucking GIFs. And they all point to one thing — that Y/N’s gone and hooked up with someone else; gone and cheated on him like he’s nothing and doesn’t even exist just because he’s on tour and she’s back home.

 

And Luke feels like — like, he doesn’t know what to feel.

 

So he drinks. He goes to where the boys are huddled in Michael’s room, for some reason, tells them he’s going to go out clubbing because he’s feeling shitty (and Calum quickly volunteers to join him because Michael can’t be arsed to go out and socialise and Ashton doesn’t want to accidentally drink too much and do something stupid, especially whilst he’s kind of in a thing with someone), and then he’s off to the nearest club, mind set on drinking and drinking and drinking some more and maybe even possibly doing something that’s equivalent to the “something stupid” that Ashton had been worried of doing.

 

 

 

 

Luke groans when he awakens, wincing at the sunlight that’s infiltrated his eyesight the moment he cracked his eyes open just the slightest bit. He wrecks his mind for a moment — trying to remember what had happened the night before, and he comes up blank, mostly because it feels like the whole room is spinning and why the fuck is the bed on the ceiling. (Spoiler alert: it’s not on the ceiling. Would’ve been cool, though — if it was.)

 

Luke sits up slowly, eyes blinking slowly as he wills his vision to focus properly, so that he can figure out what the bloody fuck happened the night before. Bits and pieces come back to him — getting tweets and DMs left and right about Y/N cheating on him, feeling like someone had punched him in the gut afterwards, then going out to drink, then — nothing. It’s a mess of blurry images and fluorescent lights and sweaty bodies.

 

There’s this sound from the doorway of his hotel room. Sounds a bit distressed, but Luke’s too muddled to register it properly — so he looks that way, thinking that it’s just one of the boys ready to make fun of him for being hungover as hell before (hopefully) taking pity on him and getting him painkillers and breakfast.

 

But when he glances in that direction and properly looks — his voice gets caught in his throat. And he smiles the biggest damn smile he’s smiled in the past couple of weeks.

 

Because she’s there. Y/N’s there. She’s standing in the doorway, looking at him. But then his smile grows smaller, and smaller, with every millisecond that he notices that the only thing that’s changing about her facial expression is how her eyes looks glassy and she’s biting down on her bottom lip and she’s swallowing like her throat’s far too dry even after doing so.

 

Then there’s movement on his other side. And he freezes. Because — no. No. That — it can’t. He knew he hoped he would do something “stupid” but he’s never actually done said stupid thing before. He turns his head ever-so-slightly, so slowly, and — there’s someone next to him. Someone with Y/N’s exact hair colour and length and type, but it’s not Y/N.

 

Y/N herself doesn’t spare another look at them, just turns on her heel and walks away, shoulders squared like she’s forcing everything in herself to not collapse right then and there.

 

Luke’s out of bed before he even realises moving. He’s stark naked, so he pulls on the first thing he sees on the ground, which (unfortunately) happen to be his skinny jeans. He pulls them on anyway, staggering towards her retreating figure even though — even though she did this first.

 

“Y/N, wait.” Luke calls out. She falters in her step, but she only barely stops walking. He almost jogs towards her. “Y/N, look, it’s — it’s not what it looks like.” She turns then; not saying a thing but rather, eyeing him with distaste and arching an eyebrow. Luke clears his throat, “I — I understand, okay, that it looks bad, but. It’s not. I mean — I — We — Y/N.” He ends up sighing.

 

She still doesn’t say anything, but she’s stopped walking. She’s an arms’ length away from him, chin tilted up in defiance and in silent challenge, almost. Luke loses it, then. “The fuck are you looking at me like that for?” He near hisses out, throwing an arm out at his side. “You did it first. You — I saw it. I saw the pictures. You were with that — that — you were with someone else and I saw the fucking pictures! You don’t get to — to look at me like that when you cheated on me fir—”

 

“Fuck you,” she finally speaks, cutting him off. Her voice is soft, but it sounds like what venom would if venom had a sound. It’s sharp and harsh and devoid of any other emotion except for anger.

 

Luke straightens his back, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s the one with his chin tilted up in defiance now — he’s the one challenging her to whatever the fuck they’re challenging each other to, now.

 

“You think I cheated on you — just based on some stupid photos?” Y/N spits out, eyes narrowing. “Just because I, what? Had an arm around him? That he had an arm around me? Did you ever stop to use that fucking brain of yours and think that maybe we were friends? Or, hey, maybe I was being a nice person and helping his drunk arse out of the club and into a cab. Because his friends were twats who ditched him when he didn’t even want to go out in the first place, ‘cause he was in the exact same situation I was in? Because, like. God forbid I empathise with some random bloke I met in a club, right? God forbid I make friends with guys I’ve met in a club.

 

Luke’s arms have loosened across his chest, and he’s taken to just staring at her because — fuck.

 

“Y/N, I —”

 

“You know,” she cuts him off again. “If I made the assumption that you cheated on me every time I see a photo with you and some other girl, we would’ve been over before we even were official.” She looks right at him, then, and suddenly it’s like all the fight’s left her bones as she shakes her head slowly. With disappointment. “I thought you trusted me.

 

Luke gulps. “I do. I swear, I do — ‘s just —”

 

“Save it.” She shakes her head again. “Just.” She takes in a deep breath, looking him in the eye again before shutting her eyes and turning away. “Just leave me alone, and never speak to me again.”

 

And then she walks away, right into the lift. She turns so that her back’s against the side of the inside of the lift, and when the door slowly shuts, she brings her hands up to her mouth, knees slowly bending like she’s going to slide all the way down to the floor — but the doors cut his view away. And Luke’s left standing there, without a shirt on, without fucking underwear, and — he’s pretty sure — without a way to breathe properly ever again.

 
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