5SOS one shots (boys x Reader)


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11. Life Goes On pt 2

“God. Would you stop being such a fucking insecure bitch? All you’re doing is making yourself look so fucking stupid.”

 

 

 

 

Michael snaps his eyes open, staring straight at the ceiling above him. Another city, a different hotel room, but— ceilings always stay the same. They’re all white and plain and sometimes they’ve got mystery stains of things that Michael doesn’t want to even think about splattered on them.

 

Ceilings are something constant. Something that hasn’t left Michael, when everything and everyone else has.

 

Michael wants to be angry, but he can’t. He has no right to be angry, not at Y/N. He knows that. It’s his fault that she’d left him. It was purely him being stupid and insecure and downright terrified about how much Y/N actually meant to him that led to him saying— that. Saying those words that he never thought would actually end the most important relationship he’s ever had with one of the most amazing people that he’s ever had the privilege of meeting.

 

They were good, though. Him and Y/N. They were still going strong— despite him being on tour and rarely ever getting to spend time with her in person, only ever through Skype video calls and FaceTimes and text messages throughout the day.

 

Then it was like a switch flipped. The angel and demon on his shoulders making an appearance. That sort of thing.

 

He just woke up one day and wondered— what the fuck was someone as wonderful as Y/N doing with someone like Michael? Adding fuel to the fire was how sometimes he’d get photos tweeted at him— of Y/N with some random guy that he knew to be a friend from school or something. But he’d go and think more of it, when he really shouldn’t have.

 

That’s when the fights started. About every little and large thing. He hurt her, over and over again. And she forgave him, every single time. And the one fight that cut the thin thread that their relationship was hanging onto was when a photo of Michael and some girl at a random club was circulated on the internet, and Y/N had asked about it.

 

Just fucking asked. A simple question.

 

And Michael said the things that he’d really been saying to himself this whole time.

 

And Y/N looked right at him—her eyes still beautiful and shimmering, even through a shitty webcam—and shook her head, lips curling to form a tight smile. No happiness. Just— bitter.

 

“I’m done,” she’d said. “I’m tired of this shit. And I am… done. With you. With us.”

 

And then the call was cut, and Michael was left staring at himself in his blackened laptop screen.

 

 

 

 

He’s always been good at hiding his emotions, what he’s feeling, that sort of thing. He could be falling apart, seconds from having a mental breakdown, but no one would be able to tell— because all they’d see is Michael smiling and laughing, like he hasn’t a care in the world when it’s so fucking far from that.

 

Which is why, that night, when he breaks— even he’s surprised. He thought he was better at faking it. He didn’t think that one glance at a couple in the crowd—the guy standing behind the girl with his arms around her and her hands on his forearms, the two of them looking perfectly content in each other’s arms with the girl singing along to their songs and the boy just looking at her like she’s the only thing that has ever mattered in his universe—that one couple could flick at the walls he’d built and make him fall apart.

 

Michael doesn’t mean to stare at them. But he does. They’re mid-song, and the way his fingers move against the fret board is reflex, so he doesn’t stop playing. But— he doesn’t move around, not like he usually does.

 

He just— stops. And he stares at the couple, and his heart thumps in his chest and his insides twist painfully and his ears finally register the song that they’re playing and he just— breaks.

 

It’s like a dam breaks and then he’s looking at them through bleary eyes because he’s crying but he’s still not entirely sure that it’s actually happening. The girl turns her head to look over her shoulder and the boy leans forward, a smile still on his lips, and she’s got that same soft smile on her lips and they kiss, gently, and—

 

Michael physically stumbles back, blinking multiple times and darting his eyes around. He lifts a hand to rub at his eyes roughly, but— there are still tears.

 

He turns, and Calum’s looking at him, slowly walking towards him under the pretence of doing that thing where they just play in front of each other. But Michael can see that Calum’s eyes are wide and his brows are furrowed and his mouth is downturned and he’s upset now because Michael’s upset and fuck it’s so co-dependant and other shit like that but that’s just them.

 

Michael turns away, looking away from Calum and ducking his head, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand before turning back to look at the crowd with a smile on his face— pretending like he’d just been too caught up in the music and this reality that is his life now, that he’s living his dream with people singing his song back to him.

 

But then he doesn’t see the crowd of girls and (few) boys who are singing the lyrics. What he does see— is all the couples. And there aren’t that many, but his eyes seem to focus right at them.

 

Michael falls apart, and there isn’t anything he can do to piece himself back together.

 

 

 

 

Y/N hears about it the day after it happens. She’s been avoiding social media for obvious reasons, but something just told her to check it today. And what she sees are links to videos, thirty second clips, fifteen second clips— all of one thing.

 

That one thing being Michael with tears running down his face just before he turns so that his back is to the crowd and his shoulder shudder and shake and he hunches forward, one hand over his mouth and the other gripping the neck of his guitar like it’s the only thing keeping him on his feet.

 

Calum comes up to him and tries to duck his head down to look at Michael, but Michael turns away, pushing Calum away— and Michael never does that. Because Michael and Calum are brothers, through and through, and if there’s one person that Michael would never hide from— it’s Calum. Whilst Y/N and Michael were together (during the good months), she was one of the two people that he wouldn’t hide from. But now that they’re not— all he’s got left is Calum.

 

And she’s just seen a video of him pushing Calum away, shaking his head and digging the ball of his palms into his eyes like that’ll properly stop him from crying.

 

It hurts to watch. She’s still in love with him. Of fucking course she is. But he’d hurt her, over and over, and the worse part was that he probably wasn’t even aware of doing it.

 

It was the offhand comments at first. Things that were supposed to be jokes but ended up coming out so mean and harsh, that even when paired with the laugh that was like music to her ears, it did nothing to ease the blow she felt from his words. And then it was him getting angry at her for things that she thought he had no right, really, getting angry over.

 

But she forgave him, time and time again. Because she’s been taught since she was young that when someone is angry, it’s because they care. When a boy picks on her, it’s because he likes her. So the more they’re angry, the more he’s mean to her… it just means that he really loves her. Right? If she put that logic she’d grown up by to the test. That’s what it means.

 

But it’s not. Because what she’d done was let herself get pushed aside, get hurt so many times, just because she thought this was what love was.

 

It wasn’t. It isn’t.

 

Y/N inhales sharply, then she’s dialling a number she’s memorised by heart, waiting as they dial tone rings in her ear. The call’s picked up after two rings, and there’s no hello greeting her on the other end of the line. It’s just— static and the sounds of someone breathing a little harshly.

 

Y/N opens her mouth to say something, but ends up coming up with nothing. She exhales softly, letting her eyes fall shut before she’s leaning back on her bed and staring at her ceiling. “What happened?” She asks, soft, no context to the question.

 

But there’s a sigh on the other end of the line, a breathy laugh that’s more harsh than anything. “You saw?”

 

“I saw,” she nods, even though he can’t see her.

 

“I just—” Michael starts, cutting himself off with another harsh laugh. “I saw what could’ve been. What we were. What we should have been.”

 

“Bullshit,” Y/N immediately spits out, pulling herself into an upright position. She laughs, void of happiness, gritting her teeth together. “Bull-fucking-shit. I never fuckin’ mattered, not to you. Not anymore. What we were? We weren’t anything. I— All we were was a month or two of happiness and then it was just you hurting me, over and over again. I forgave you, because I loved you. But I was so stupid. I should’ve never forgiven you, but I did, because I loved you, Michael. And all I ever was to you was someone you abused without even properly realising that you were doing it. Do you even realise how fucked up that is?”

 

“It’s fucked up as hell,” Michael answers, tone even, but thick— like he’s about to start crying. “I know it’s fucked up, alright. I’m fucked up. I know that. And I’m sorry. I know I will never be able to apologise enough for treating you how I did, for not realising that I should’ve never done those things. That I should’ve— should’ve loved you better, treated you better. Because you were the only other good thing in my life and I was so fucking insecure and scared that it was going to end because that’s what always happens.”

 

Y/N doesn’t say anything, even though all she wants to do is yell at him that his words doesn’t justify jack shit.

 

Michael inhales sharply again. “I was scared. Fucking terrified— because I was just starting to realise what you’d meant to me. What you mean to me. The fact is that you are in my fucking veins, in my blood and my entire fucking system. I love you so fucking much that it’s probably unhealthy and I’m still so goddamn terrified because we’re not even together anymore but I still depend on you so much even though we don’t talk anymore and—” his breath hitches.

 

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry. God. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to apologise enough, but I’m going to keep at it. You don’t have to forgive me— hell, I wouldn’t forgive me. I just— I need to apologise. For being a fucking shitty boyfriend— a shitty fucking person in general. And I am sorry that— that I said those things to you, that I— fuck. I’m sorry, for everything I’ve ever done, for what I didn’t do— I am sorry.”

 

Y/N inhales slowly, deep and drawn out. Michael’s nearly heaving on the other end of the line, like he’s trying to catch his breath and try to not cry, at the same time.

 

Eventually, she speaks. “… You know this doesn’t change anything.” Her voice is a low whisper that she knows Michael still hears as loudly as he would if she’d been speaking normally, because it’s dead silence in the background of both of their locations.

 

“I know,” Michael whispers back, voice thick. “I just—” he stops, swallowing loudly. “I’m sorry.”

 

The dial tone echoes in her ear louder than she’s ever heard it go.

 
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