Imagines and Whatnot

not that any of yall are particularly concerned but i was looking through my drafts for the first time in ages and i FOUND that v day fic my last post is about. i have no idea how it got there but there it is and even though i should probably wait until v day to post, a lot of it is based on my personal hs experience and I’m graduating in a week and I think it would feel wrong to post it next year from a dorm room halfway across the country. anyway, this probably isn’t the beginning of a new era of writing, but I’m def going to post that later today and I mighy even go through and clean up & post some of my drafts over the next few months who knows we’ll see. anyway i j wanted to share in case anybody cares.

ft. me starting this before Thanksgiving and not finishing it until now

-----

“Come on Y/N! It’ll be fun!” Luke has been lying on your bed, begging you to come to some Christmas party for the past twenty minutes and he doesn’t appear to be giving up anytime soon.

“Luke. Thanksgiving wasn’t even a full week ago.”

“Exactly! So it’s time for Christmas now!”

“No! I mean, Jesus.”

“Yes! Jesus and Mary and Joseph! Because it’s Christmastime! Come on, we’re going.”

“You can’t make me.”

“I can fucking try.” He proceeds to grab your arm and literally drag you towards the door.

“Stop!” You’re a little irritated, but it doesn’t really show through the amusement. “Fine! I’ll go to your dumb party. Just, let me change.”

“Yes! You are so not going to regret this!” You just sigh, changing into a red dress.

-

And for the first half an hour, you don’t. The eggnog is spiked, Christmas pop (which apparently is a thing?) floats through the air and two different people have already complimented you on your outfit.

But at about the thirty minute mark, everything changes and the soft Christmas glow that had been emanating from the party suddenly feels a lot harsher and less inviting. You were heading out of the kitchen to find Luke when someone ran smack into you, spilling their drink all over your dress. You take a half-step back and look down to see how much damage has been done to your outfit.

“Dude, what the f-” Then you look up at the person who’s run into you. “Clifford? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I was invited same as you, Y/L/N.”

“Get the fuck out of my face.” You snarl.

“Calm down, no need to be a bitch. I guess that is your natural state of being though, regardless of yuletide cheer.” He smirks.

“Alright, well, you can fuck off.”

“Y/N!” Luke comes stumbling towards the door. “Oh.” He glances up, his face splitting into a grin. “I didn’t realize you were... occupied.”

“Wha-” You look up to see a green plant hanging from the door frame. “Wow, this just keeps getting better and better!”

Michael glances up and snorts. “Well I guess you’ve got to kiss me.”

“In your dreams, Clifford.”

“Aw, come on. You know you want to.”

“I really don’t.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, c’mon babe.” He puts a hand on your shoulder, leaning in so close you could count the hairs of his beard if you wanted.

“Don’t call me that, and don’t touch me.” You push his hand off of your shoulder and shove past him, towards Luke.

“Jeez, Y/N. Rough day much?” Luke asks.

“Shut up. I told you I didn’t want to come to this party and now it’s time to leave.”

“Okay, let’s cool down a little.” You turn on your heel, causing Luke to nearly run into you from where he had been trailing behind you.

“Do not tell me to cool down right now Luke Robert! I have a right to be angry and I am not in the mood for your bullshit.”

“Okay!” He holds up his hands in surrender. “But we are talking about this.”

Your mouth opens to protest, but he’s already pulling you to the patio.

“It’s freezing out here,” you grumble as soon as he closes the sliding glass door.

“Yea, well it’s November.”

“I want you to know I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Luke huffs, running a hand through his hair, “You hate Michael and I don’t understand why. Like, he’s pretty nice, he’s not like aggressive or anything and relatively unproblematic. So like, what’s your issue with him. I mean I’m friends with both of you and you seem like you would be compatible? Except for the part where you despise him. But like, aside from that.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It obviously is. You can’t hold a civil conversation with him. I mean, how did I miss this tea?”

“It’s from before you knew me.”

“We met it in Year 10?” You raise your eyebrows at him, asking ‘So what?’

“This is from before Year 10? Nothing important happens before Year 10! What, did he spill your chocolate milk at lunch one day in Kindergarten?”

“Shut up! It was a big deal.”

“You are so petulant!” You look him in the eye and grit your teeth.

“You. Weren’t. There. You don’t get a say in what is and isn’t important to me, especially when you don’t even know what you’re talking about!” You turn away from him, preparing to storm to the car before he grabs your wrist. For the, what, third time tonight?

“Y/N! You’re being unreasonable.”

“Let go of me. I am done with this party, I am done with your shit, and for the love of all things good in the world, I am done with Michael Gordon Clifford.”

“Gordon, huh?” He asks.

“You’re insufferable! I’m leaving.”

“Well,” He shrugs, “I drove you here and I’m staying.”

“Fine, I’ll just-”

“Good luck getting an Uber at this time of night in a residential area outside city limits.”

“Well I guess I’ll have to wait right here until your drunk, idiot self decides to leave this dumb Christmas party in fucking November.”

“If you’re not frozen solid by then. Come on. Come back to the party.”

“Luke, I just want to leave. I never wanted to come in the first place. Please.”

“C’mon...” He drags the word out, pouting a little, “I’ll keep Michael as far away from you as possible.”

“Fine, but if I so much as smell him-”

“You know what he smells like?” says Luke, as usual focusing on only the most crucial details.

“It’s an expression.”

“Pretty sure it isn’t.” Luke slides the door open, “What cologne does he use?”

“Honestly, fuck off.” You walk through the door he’s holding open anyway.

-

Naturally, because he’s Luke and because he’s the worst, in ten minutes flat, you’re sitting alone in the corner of a room somewhere in the back of the house. You don’t mind as much as you thought you would. You’ve got a cup of something in your hand, which is probably helping to take the edge off. The room isn’t very big, or very bright, and there are barely any people in it. You haven’t been able to discern a purpose for its existence. There’s a television on the wall and some beanbags on the floor, but not much else.

It’s all fine though, really. Sometimes Luke will pop his head in to see if you’re doing alright and you really, really are. Until the one and only Michael fucking Clifford stumbles into your room.

“Y/N!” He’s kind of giggling, drunker than he was before. He says your name way louder than he needs to, considering the low volume that everyone in the room is muttering at.

You just sort of sigh into your cup before looking up and trying to offer Michael some semblance of a smile, though it feels more like a grimace, “Hi, Michael.”

“Hi Y/N!” He’s still standing in the door, and although you have no particular desire to beckon him over, you don’t want him standing in the doorway drawing literally everyone in the room’s attention to your conversation.

You grit your teeth. “Come over here.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to, uh, bother you.” His eyebrows knit together.

“Yea,” you sigh, waving him over, “Yea, it’s fine.”

“Okay!” He smiles goofily. He walk/stumble/skips over to where you’re sitting.

And you don’t want him to share your beanbag, really, you don’t, but he looks awkward standing there, and every other beanbag in the room is taken. He could sit on the floor. But then that would be weird! That would be weird, right? Because like, you would be at a slightly higher level than him, and he would be sitting on the floor which is just awkward anyway and before you can really stop yourself- “Do you want to sit down?”

“Yea! Yea, good idea.” And he’s going to sit on the floor, and you should let him, but dammnit what have you been drinking because-

“If you want, you can share my beanbag.”

“Y/N...” He’s staring at his hands and playing with his fingers.

“What?”

“I shouldn’t be here, I don’t want to get in the way or- or be annoying, I’ll-” and he’s gesturing over his shoulder back towards the door, and for the sake of your sanity, of your pride, you should let him go you should tell him to leave, but you don’t. You’re not even surprised this time.

“No, it’s fine. You’re fine.”

“You said not to touch you.” The words kind of fall out of his mouth, like he hadn’t meant to say them. “I’m not gonna share your beanbag because you said not to touch you.”

“What? I- When did I say- ?”

“Earlier. You seemed pretty upset.” And you’re honestly shocked he had paid that much attention to what you were saying. You weren’t even paying attention to what you were saying.

“Just sit down. It’s okay. I don’t bite, promise.”

“Okay.” He still looks nervous. You feel sort of bad. You never meant to hurt his feelings. To be honest, it never occurred to you he had them.

“I’m, er, sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to, like-”

“No, don’t apologize, Y/N. I shouldn’t have insulted you. Or come on to you. I just- I was just, I don’t know?”

“It’s okay Michael.” You find a smile creeping onto your face despite yourself. He’s just being so sweet? And he seems rather genuine? You’ve never seen anything like this from him before. “I was rude, too. I mean, the swearing. The shoving. General verbal abuse.”

“Um. I don’t think I’ve ever said it before and now seems like a good time: I’m sorry for third grade. I was a jerk. And it took 10 years, spiked eggnog and direct confrontation to get my head out of my ass.”

“Michael, it’s fine. It’s my fault anyway I held a grudge about you pushing me on the playground for a literal decade and based almost everything I knew about you on that one incident. So I’m sorry too. For being an asswipe.” He kind of hums in response.

“Water under the bridge?” You nod, smiling.

“I’ll drink to that.” You tap your cups together in what would’ve made a nice clinking sound if you were drinking out of actual glasses instead of shitty red solo cups.

The two of you sit in silence for a couple of minutes, basking in Christmas music and your newfound... friendship? companionship? acquaintanceship? before Michael interrupts your thoughts. “Hey Y/N?”

“Hey Michael.”

“Say we’d had this conversation two hours ago, before we ran into each other in that doorway. Would you have kissed me?”

“Nah.”

“Oh.” He looks a little startled, disappointed even. Emotions are a lot easier to read on an inebriated face than a sober one. “I was just asking, like, I’m not-”

“See, I’ve got this thing about mistletoe," you interrupt, "I don’t like it conceptually, because you’re kissing the person out of a sort of social pressure and the actual emotional purpose of the kiss is lost.”

“I think I’m tracking?”

“Basically, mistletoe kisses are bullshit, and I don’t like them.”

“Okay.” You watch him process the information for a moment before continuing, “So, say we weren’t under mistletoe. Say we were both a little drunk, sitting on a beanbag in some tucked-away room at a Christmas party in November. What then?”

“Well, in that case...” And you lean in and kiss him. It’s slow, and sweet and something you never thought you would do. It’s funny how you spent ten years thinking you hated Michael Clifford but all it took was ten minutes for you to realize maybe you liked him after all.

College sucks. Everyone says that but like, college really fucking sucks. The university you’re at is great, no really, it is, but it only guarantees housing for freshmen and sophomores. So you’ve been forced to move into an overpriced apartment that’s overcrowded with college kids, way too many of whom like to party when you’re trying to write because, like the idiot you are, you decided to major in English. Yes, you love to write, and read, and study the English language, but trying to go through the creative process is really hard when all you can focus on is trying to figure out whether the pounding in your skull is the bass from the floor above you or your headache.

One upside of living around college students, though, is that everyone in your building is in your age range, meaning cute people aren’t always so hard to come by. And there was this one guy... Calum.

Maybe two weeks after you moved in, your next door neighbor moved out, which was a relief. The guy was a creep and an ass. He would come over early in the morning and ask for the randomest crap, just to see you in your pajamas. The other reason his departure was so nice was that the newest denizen was Calum. And well, Calum was something else. By something else, you mean a god. (And he’s a music major. How hot is that?) If only could get your head out of your ass long enough to form a coherent sentence around him.

-

It’s around seven in the evening and you’re working on your latest Creative Writing assignment. A song. You’re not exactly a rhyming genius. To be honest, you hated creative writing until someone told you not every poem has to rhyme. But songs, songs do. Songs rhyme. You sit at your computer, staring at the word document in front of you. So far you’ve got six lines:

‘I once saw a cat Eating its scat It was nast -Y and blast That Nasty cat’

Not your best work. At all. Ever. If you could burn your computer without being out nearly a thousand dollars, you would be poking a burning log with a stick.

You’re having trouble with rhyming, right? Okay, what’s a word that has a lot of rhymes. Blue. Pew. Ew. New. Glue. Shoe. Cue. Queue. ‘Queue’ is such a dumb word. Why are there so many ‘ue’s. You only need one. You don’t even need one. Just the letter works. Both are pronounced “Q”. It’s like the ‘ay’ in ‘okay’. Useless.

Like your brain, apparently.

You just, you need a nap. A long nap. Or a break. You could go for a 3 month nap. That’s why summer vacation exists, though. Oh, vacation. How you love vacation. No frustrations, just rest. Hey, wait. Vacation, frustration. Um, motivation. Elation. Imitation. Corporation. Migration. Collectivization. Oh hell yeah, this is it.

‘Collectivization In our nation Isn’t good for Future generations

No corporations Just calculations One advantage Is no inflation

Emigration Deportation Were the same ‘Cos of Stalin’s regulations

Imitation In other nations The reason for the USSR’s creation’

That is simultaneously the worst and best thing you have ever written. You also have literally no tune for it, but the cadence didn’t suck and it rhymed, so you were going to print it out. If you didn’t come up with anything better, you were going to turn it in too. You print the document, but, as per usual, it doesn’t fucking print. Why does your printer never work? You think it might be the connection between the printer and the computer. You knew you shouldn’t have gotten a wireless one but the stupid salesman convinced you it would ‘work better in the long run’ and ‘all the biggest corporations use them’. You sigh and try printing again, to no avail. You figure you’ll just go to bed and try again in the morning.

The next morning you wake, feeling much better. Until you remember your Creative Writing assignment. Well, those thirty seconds were quite possibly the best thirty seconds of your life. You rummage around your kitchen, looking for some eggs or something to cook up. You quickly come across some old boxed pancake mix, and figure, why the hell not? As you finish cooking and realize that goddamit you’re out of paper plates again, you hear strumming from next door. You sigh quietly, listening to Calum hum a tune.

After a couple of minutes, he strums the guitar again. He pauses, and then begins to strum in earnest.

“Collectivization In our nation”

Your eyes widen and you nearly drop your pancakes as you sprint across the room, faster than someone in slippery socks ought to on a tile floor. Your hands grapple with the lock for a second before you’re standing in the hall pounding a nervous beat into Calum’s door.

He opens the door, and for just a second you’re taken aback by the fact that he looks absolutely gorgeous in a t-shirt and basketball shorts.

“Um, Y/N? Did you need something?” He prompts, eyeing your pancakes suspiciously.

“What? Oh, er, yea.” Blood makes its way to your cheeks in an embarrassing beet-red blush. “Yea, about that. Where did you get that?”

“Get what?”

“That, well, song, for lack of a better word.”

“Oh! The one about Stalin. Can you hear my music through the wall? I’m sorry about that. I didn’t disturb you, did I?”

“No, no. I was cooking.” You hold up the four pancakes your’re holding. Without a plate. Buddha, Mary, and Allah, you look like a fool. Oh well. “But, uh, the song.”

“Right. Is it yours? My printer printed it.”

“Oh my god.” You groan. “I’m so sorry you had to read that.”

“It’s really not that bad.”

“You don’t have to say that. It really is.”

He bites his lip before conceding, “Yea, it’s not the greatest. So, wait, is all that random shit that’s been printing to my printer been yours?”

“Like what?”

“Lots of short stories.”

“You haven’t been reading those, have you?”

“Maybe just a few?”

“God.”

“They’re good!”

“You said that about my, er, song.”

“But those are actually good!” You just sigh deeply. “Do you want to come in?” He asks.

“Yea. Yea, sure.”

“So why are you even writing songs?”

“Creative Writing class.”

“Right. Do you want a plate?”

“Yea, that would be nice. I’m out.” You follow him to the kitchen.

He rummages through the cabinet before pulling out a (not paper! wow, classy) plate and handing it to you. “So... Stalin.”

“Always a conversation starter.” Calum laughs at your comment, and you look down, hiding your blush under the ruse of putting your pancakes on your plate. Your heart flutters, knowing you made this adorable boy laugh like that. “But yea. I can’t really, like, rhyme? And then I started thinking about how I just want to go on like, a fucking vacation, you know? Sorry, don’t mind my language. But, yea, I was just rhyming with the word vacation, and uh, collectivization popped into my head, and apparently I don’t actually care about my Creative Writing grade.”

“It’s unique, undoubtedly.”

“I’m just going to pretend that’s a compliment.”

“No, I’m not insulting you, I swear. Do you want me to help you, maybe? I’m a music major.” (which you definitely didn’t already know that from stalking all of his social media)

“I think I could use the help.”

The two of you spend the morning hunched over various notebooks, music sheets, and his guitar trying to find something that doesn’t suck.

“Okay, are you ready?” He looks up at you from one of the many lyric sheets sprawled about his table.

“Frustration, desperation They say I need some sort of medication Situation, no motivation Destination, permanent vacation”

“Holy shit, I think I love you.” You stare at him in awe, before your mind catches up with your mouth. “In a totally platonic, neighbor kind of way.” You mumble to your chest.

“Hey, they were your ideas, I just put them to music.” He’s not wrong, per se, the pair of you had spent the majority of the morning discussing where the idea had stemmed from - how you wanted a vacation. Still...

“No, my idea was talking about Stalin and the creation of the USSR.”

“Hey! Don’t discount educational music.” You just kind of raise your eyebrows at him and he concedes, “Okay, so it wasn’t great. But this is as much your work as mine!”

“Thanks Calum. I appreciate it. I was thinking though - not that I don’t love it as it is - but what if we changed a couple of the lyrics, just for fluidity.”

“Please.” Calum hands you the lyric sheet he’s been reading off of, and you shouldn’t care half as much as you do when your hands brush.

“Um, what about ‘They say I need some kind of medication’?” You bring your upper lip into your mouth, thinking. “Er- this is an idea.” You look up at him. “If I’ve learned nothing in my Creative Writing class, I’ve learned that people are more engaged when you address them directly. ‘You say I need some kind of medication / Situation, no motivation / Destination, permanent vacation.” You smile up at him.

“I like that, yea. It gives it a rebellious edge, sort of. What if we, like, almost counter-argued that for the next bit?”

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“Keep the rebellion but sort of go with the classic, ‘I feel like I’m dying, but I’m fine.’”

“Alright, hit me.” You nod. Calum cocks his head, thinking.

“What if we just... go for it.

Hey, I’m doin’ fine”

“Okay, and the rebellion, a sort of ‘I-know-I’m-pissing-you-off-and-I-couldn’t-care-less.” You prompt.

“And, I’m out of line?” He says it more like a question than a statement.

“That has a bit of an awkward cadence...” You trail off.

“Hey, I’m doin’ fine And I know I’m out of line”

“Yes, perfect!” He exclaims.

“And, okay, a call to action is good in like an essay so, why not?

Let’s sing this one more time”

“It goes Destination, permanent vacation”

“Yes, oh my god, I could kiss you.” You grin.

He pauses a second, and then, “Why don’t you?”

“What?”

“Kiss me. Why don’t you?”

“Um... I guess...” You look down, fiddling with your hands, “I could?” When you look back up, he’s feet closer than he was a moment ago.

“Would you?”

“Yea. Yea, I would.” And you press your lips to his, but you can’t get a proper kiss in because the both of you are grinning like fools.

“You’re really cute, you know?” He smiles at you. 

You hum in response, and then, before you can stop it, “I’ve wanted to do this since I saw you move in.” And you put a hand on his cheek and lock your lips with his.

(Oh, and you got an A.)

1. this is based off a post on this website but idk where it is 2. so fucikgn fluffy 3. also kinda long im sorry 4. (my grammar is good in my writing, this is the lazy part)

-----

The busboy is really cute. Like. Fuckign. Okay. It’s fine, really. Luke isn’t even staring. (Except he totally is.) Deep breaths. A baseball cap sits backwards on his head and the tips of his hair are bleached, but his roots have grown out and his natural brown color shows. His green eyes have glazed over a bit as he wipes the same table for the fifth time.

“Hi! It’s nice to meet you, my name is Ashton. I’m your best friend and am not anywhere near that table in the corner. If you could maybe listen to me complain about my History lecture, that would be awesome.”

“Fuck off. Besides, I’ve heard you complain about your lecture a million times. I’ve never seen him before. Though, I wouldn’t mind seeing him again.”

“Thirsty much? Maybe chill a little.”

“Can I get you all anything to drink?” A waiter with brown eyes and a name tag reading ‘Hello! My name is none of your business’ asks.

“Um-I, um, yes, we’d, er-” Ashton stutters continuously while trying to take his eyes off the waiter long enough to look at the menu.

“Ashton, you look a little flushed, are you feeling okay?” Luke asks Ashton, his laughter barely contained by mock-concern. “Why don’t you get an iced coffee, to help you cool off. And for me,” Luke grins at the waiter, and then looks back at Ashton, “tea.”

“Alrighty then. I’ll be back with your drinks in just a minute.” The waiter beams at the two.

Once the waiter’s ass has disappeared behind the doors to the kitchen, Ashton reverts his attention to Luke’s shit-eating grin. A quirk of Luke’s eyebrow has the contented smile on Ashton’s lips contorted into a grimace. “Fight me.” Luke’s grin only grows.

“Shut up.”

“Leave.”

“Let me live.”

“I’m bored of this conversation.” Luke sighs dramatically.

“I’m bored of you.”

Luke ignores Ashton’s weak attempt at an insult. “Entertain me.”

Ashton groans but concedes, inevitably. “Fine. Let’s play a game.”

“Okay, what game.”

“I don’t know! Do I have to do everything around here?” Ashton throws up his hands.

“Well… I don’t know how to put this. But, uh, yes. Remember? In the car on the way over here you said it yourself. ‘Luke, you are so useless. I swear, I have to do everything myself.’”

“Okay, okay, shut up.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that to me in half as many minutes.”

“Shut up.” Luke glares, but lets him continue. “What about Truth or Dare?”

“Are we 13 and at a sleepover?” Luke questions, unimpressed.

“In terms of maturity? Yes, yes we are.”

“We are not playing Truth or Dare in the middle of a restaurant.”

“Never Have I Ever?”

“We know literally everything about each other.”

“Fuck, Marry, Kill?” Luke ponders this for a second, attempting to come up with a legitimate reason not to play.

“We really are as mature as 13-year-olds, aren’t we?” He murmurs, shaking his head in exasperation.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Okay, let’s start easy. The Chrises: Hemsworth, Evans, Pratt.”

“This is easy?” Luke mutters, eyes wide. Ashton cackles in a way that’s a lot scarier than it should be. “Fuck, um. Fuck, uh…”

“I can’t tell if you’re trying to decide who to fuck, or you’re just generally stressed.”

“Okay, um. Marry Evans, fuck Hemsworth, and, oh god, no! I guess kill Pratt. I don’t want to do that! This sucks, this is the worst.”

“I would fuck Evans, marry Pratt, kill Hemsworth.”

“I couldn’t kill Hemsworth! I wouldn’t.” Luke puts hand on his forehead, in a somewhat ridiculous fashion. “Okay, how about Hayley Williams, Selena Gomez, Shailene Woodley.”

“Wow, okay. Um…” Ashton pauses, scrunching up his face in thought. “Yea, fuck Selena, marry Hayley, kill Shailene.”

Luke tsks. “Marry Shailene, fuck Hayley, kill Selena.”

“I’ve got one! Lucy, Franklin, and Peppermint Patty from Peanuts.”

“You are sick-minded.” Luke says, glaring across the table. Ashton’s lips spread into a wide grin, and he lets out a slight chuckle. “Fuck Peppermint Patty, marry Franklin, kill Lucy.” Luke says with a decisive nod.

“That was an awful quick decision for such a,” Ashton makes air quotes with his fingers, “‘sick’ group.”

“What about you?”

“Easy. Fuck Lucy, marry Franklin, kill Patty.”

“Franklin just seems like husband material, right?”

“Oh yea, definitely.”

“Um, here are your drinks.” The waiter interjects, as he returns with the drinks. It’s as if someone’s painted a pink stripe across Ashton’s cheeks, his blush is so bright.

“Thanks.” Ashton mutters into his lap.

“Yea, thanks so much, None of Your Business.” The waiter looks somewhat offended before he realizes Luke is just reading his name tag.

“Right. Would you all like to order?” Luke looks to Ashton to see if he’s chosen what he’s going to eat. He’s still gawping at the waiter like he’s Jesus Reincarnate.

“You know, we haven’t even looked at our menus. Could you come back in a few?” The waiter smiles graciously before making his way back to the kitchen.

“Get your shit together, Ashton.” Luke leans across the table to (not-so) lightly hit him with the menu that has yet to be opened.

“Leave me alone? What did I do to deserve this? I am so nice and kind all the time?” Luke frowns at him, completely unconvinced. “Shut up.” Ashton says, sticking his tongue out.

“I didn’t even say anything!” Luke throws up his hands, entirely too done with his best friend.

“Whatever. What do you want to eat?”

“Um. Um, I think, uh…” Luke trails off, not even looking at his menu.

“What are you-” Ashton turns to see what Luke is staring at and finds the same busboy from earlier, now helping their waiter with a big order at another table. “Oh.”

The two boys sit in silence, each trapped in their own minds. The waiter and the busboy are returning to the kitchen far too quickly, and Ashton has turned his attention back to deciding what to eat. He looks up to ask Luke if maybe they ought to split a pizza? But Luke is still staring at the doors to the kitchen, lost in thought.

“I’m not saying you can’t talk but…” Ashton grabs Luke’s tea and takes a sip.

“Oh, fuck off.” Luke grumbles. Ashton laughs, but gives Luke his drink back.

“Do you want to split a pizza?”

“Only if there are banana peppers on it.”

“Deal.”

“Fuck, marry, kill, Elmo, Cookie Monster, Oscar the Grouch.”

“Luke, what the fuck.”

“Says Mr Peanuts Characters.”

“At least they’re human!” Ashton exclaims.

“Pick.”

“Fuck Cookie Monster, marry Elmo, kill Oscar.” Ashton sighs, dejected.

“Really? Cookie Monster?” Luke looks genuinely surprised.

“I mean, yea, I’d fuck Cookie Monster.” Ashton shrugs.

A cough prevents Luke from further probing. “Um… Are you all ready to er, order?”

Luke breaks eye contact with Ashton to look at their waiter, who’s nervously fiddling with his pen. Ashton sits stock still. The only way Luke knows he’s alive is the way his face pales when their waiter first speaks, and then reverts back to the bright pink that Ashton seems to usually flush when their waiter comes around.

“Yea, yes we do. We’ll have a medium pizza with banana peppers and…” Luke glances at Ashton to see if there are any more toppings he’d like, “and that’ll be all.” Luke smiles at the waiter before handing him their two menus.

“Alright, it’ll be out in about fifteen minutes.” The waiter starts to turn back to the kitchen, but rotates back quickly, “I would fuck Cookie Monster too, by the way.” He then quickly returns to the kitchen.

“Well that was the worst thing that’s ever happened in the world, ever.”

“Maybe you’re exaggerating a tiny bit?”

“No, most definitely not.”

“Fuck, marry, kill-”

“No.”

“Why not?” Luke pouts, jutting out his bottom lip.

“Because, Luke. Stop being like this.”

“No, I don’t understand, Ash.” Ashton glares at Luke, but fails to respond. “Can you please explain?”

“Luke, I swear…” Ashton sighs, dropping his head into his hands.

“Fuck, marry, kill, our waiter, the busboy, and, um…" Luke pauses, unsure of who to add to his list. He searches the restaurant for someone attractive enough to make Ashton squirm. He glances past Ashton and catches a glimpse of his reflection in the window. “And me.”

“Hmm, okay.”

“If you say kill me, we’re going to have to fight.”

“That’s not much of a threat, we both know you would lose.”

“Shut up. Answer.”

“That’s a bit contradictory, isn’t it?”

“Whatever. Shut up. Fuck off. Answer.”

Ashton chuckles, but answers all the same. “Kill the busboy, fuck the waiter, and marry you.”

“You would kill the busboy?” Luke gasps. “Wait." Luke holds up a hand, as if physically asking to Ashton to stop. “You would marry me?” Luke puts his hands over his heart. “I’m flattered.”

“I change my mind, I’m marrying the waiter, fucking the busboy, and murdering you with a blunt instrument, so it’s extremely painful.”

“Honestly, I can’t blame you. The busboy is beautiful. I want him to have my children.” Luke nods in earnest. Ashton smirks.

“What?” Luke’s eyebrows knit together. “Is there tea on my face?”

“No, no.” Ashton’s smile only seems to grow, “You’re just so whipped for someone you’ve never met.”

“I’m not whipped!” Luke flushes.

“Mhmm. Your blush disagrees.”

“Shut up.”

“Nah.” Ashton shakes his head. “Fuck, marry, kill: Busboy, Waiter, me.”

“Fuck the busboy, marry you, kill the waiter.” Luke replies after a breath. Ashton quirks an eyebrow.

“Oh? You aren’t going to marry the busboy.”

“Well, it’s like you said... I barely know him. He could just be a really hot serial killer. You and I, our marriage would be loveless, but I wouldn’t be dead. And I would just have multiple sidechicks.”

“Or sidedicks.”

“Or sidedicks.” Luke agrees.

Ashton reaches across the table to reach the salt and spills Luke’s drink everywhere. “Ashton! What the fuck! What the hell were you even going to salt?!”

“My, um, coffee?”

“Why are you being so wei-”

“Excuse me,” Ashton raises his hand, waving someone over, “would you mind helping us clean this up?” 

Within seconds, the blondish brunette is standing at the pair’s table, a towel in hand and a rosy tint on his cheekbones.

“I would love to help, but I need to use the bathroom.” Ashton beams, a glint in his eye.

“Ashton.” Luke spits, gritting his teeth.

“I really have to pee, Luke.” Ashton offers Luke a very fake pout and leaves the booth.

“Ashton Fletcher Irwin!” Luke all but shouts after him. The busboy rocks back and forth on his heels.

“My company really isn’t that bad, y’know. And I’m not a serial killer.” He shrugs, starting to mop up the mess on the table.

“I-I didn’t think, I just- um, sorry, I’m-” Luke stammers, unable to string words together in a sensible order.

“Shh...” The busboy puts a finger to Luke’s lips.

“Er...” Luke sits there, listless. The busboy moves around dishes and continues to soak up the tea. All Luke can do is sit there like a dumbass, staring at the sharp angle of the boy’s jawline and thinking about how warm the boy’s hand was.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have- I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I just- You were stammering, and I- well, I-” Luke interrupts to busboy, putting a finger to his lips.

“Shh.” The busboy’s lips curve into a (really cute, oh my god) smile. Luke pulls his hand back to his lap. His cheeks are pink again.

“Have you got a name?”

“Y-yea. I’m Luke.”

“Luke,” The boy pulls his eyebrows together, “Suits you. I’ll tell your waiter to bring you a new tea.” And then the mysterious busboy turns tail and walks back to the kitchen.

“So.” Ashton says, sliding back into his seat.

“So.” Luke stares across the table at Ashton. “How was your piss?”

“Jesus, you’re petty.”

“And you’re a little bitch, but what else is new?”

“I’m not saying I hate you, but...”

“I change my mind. I’m marrying the busboy and killing you.”

“What’s his name?”

“Who?”

“The busboy. What’s his name.”

“I, er, don’t know.”

“You didn’t ask for his name. You talked to him for like five minutes and you didn’t get his name.”

“I was busy!”

“Doing what?” Ashton all but screeches, “Daydreaming?!”

“Maybe.” Luke mutters.

“Honestly.” Ashton shakes his head.

“Here’s your pizza guys.” The waiter puts the pizza down, “Your tea,” He puts Luke’s tea on the table in front of him, “and, Ashton, do you want a refill?” He starts chewing on his pen, looking intently at Ashton.

“You, um, you know my- er, um... no. Thank you. No thank you. But, a water would be nice?”

“Sure thing!” The waiter is a little too excited to bring a customer water in Luke’s opinion, but Ashton is also far too nervous to order one. They just might be a match made in heaven. The waiter heads back towards the kitchen.

“You didn’t get his name?! What were you doing? Daydreaming!”

“Shut up.” Ashton groans.

“Let’s just eat, yea?”

“Whatever.” Ashton grumbles, taking two slices. Luke rolls his eyes, grabbing a few slices of his own.

“Here’s your water!” 

“Thank you, um, thanks so much.” The waiter stands there a few seconds too long, just looking at Ashton.

“Right.” He straightens his back, as if knocking himself out of stupor, “If you need anything, I’ll be over there.” He points to the kitchen. “So... yea.”

“Wait! Who should I ask for? If I need something.”

“Calum. I’m Calum.” And he turns around and doesn’t quite sprint back to the kitchen.

“You two are sickening.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“You got his name though. I envy you that.”

“Chill. Eat your pizza.” Ashton grabs a third piece.

“God, you’re annoying when you’re hungry. And when you’re not. You’re actually just always annoying.”

“Wow, thanks. Remind me to never ask you to be my wingman ever.”

“I have a feeling you won’t need a wingman after today.”

“What’s that meant to mean?”

“That was redundant.”

“And that was irrelevant. Are you going to really going to kill me? Is that why I won’t need a wingman? Because, it’s just a game. You’re not actually supposed to fuck, marry, and kill the people you say you will in the game.”

“Shut up. I was just trying to say I think you and Calum,” Luke does a little dance with his eyebrows that just makes Ashton uncomfortable, “might be thE START OF SOMETHING NEW!” Ashton puts his head in his hands because why, of all people, is this idiot his best friend? “No, but seriously,” Luke pokes him, “I think he likes you.” Luke says, finishing his third piece of pizza.

“Yea?”

“Yea.”

“What if he’s straight.”

“I think he’s about as straight as a shape with a 2πr perimeter.”

“Did you just fucking say that.” Luke shrugs at Ashton’s appalled expression. “I hate you.”

“The feeling is mutual.” Luke finishes his fourth slice.

“Dessert?” Calum asks, coming over to their table. Luke glances at Ashton. No response. If he plans on asking this boy out anytime soon, he needs to work on his voice box functionality when their waiter comes around.

“I think the check will do. Should we bring it back there, or...?” Luke asks as Calum hands him the check.

“I’ll come grab it.”

“Thanks, Calum.” Luke smiles. “You know,” he says turning to Ashton, “if you ever intend to make a move, you need to actually speak. As of current, I’m pretty sure he thinks I like him, which couldn’t be farther from the truth.”

“Hell no, Luke. Get your hands off my man!”

“Okay, a) calm down, b) people are staring, so c) calm down more. D) I don’t like him, e) he isn’t your man,” Luke puts his pointer finger up at Ashton’s indignant expression, “f) yet, and g) my hands aren’t anywhere near him.”

“Jesus this isn’t kindergarten, you and your alphabet need to chill. Also, he will be my man, and your hands better never be anywhere near him.”

“Thank you all for coming to eat with us!” Calum beams as Luke hands back the check and two twenties.

“You owe me twenty bucks Ashton. And I believe you owe this gentleman a thank you.” Luke stands up to leave. “I’ll be in the car, if you ever manage to open your mouth.”

“Fuc-”

“Ashton Fletcher! Language! Please do not use expletives in public, there could be children about!” Ashton just glares as Luke exits the restaurant.

“Ashton, I am so sorry,” Calum wrings his hands together, “I’ll be right back, I just have to take of something real quick. Please wait?” Calum asks, a worried expression plaguing his chiseled features.

“Of course.” A smile graces Ashton’s lips, and it’s bright in the way that reminds Calum of the sun, but soft in the way that reminds him of it setting on the ocean.

Calum rushes back to the kitchen, and less than a minute later, he and the busboy are walking back out at Olympic speed. The busboy continues towards the exit and Calum makes his way back to Ashton.

“Sorry, I kind of...” Calum trails off when his gaze switches from the door to Ashton.

“No, yea. Of course.” Ashton breaks himself out of the trance he seems to fall into every time Calum is around.

“Fletcher, huh?”

“Do we have to talk about that? I’d really rather not.”

“Aw, c’mon! It’s cute.” Calum pauses as if he’s about to say something else, but he isn’t quite sure he should. “You’re cute.”

“I-” Ashton almost says he isn’t, but Luke’s been telling him he needs to learn to accept compliments, “Thank you.” The silence hangs in the air for a minute. “So, what’s your middle name.”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would. Very much.”

“Maybe I’ll tell you later.”

“Oh? How much later?”

“A couple days, maybe. Over french bread and cheese that tastes expensive, but I got for free from my sister who works at a cheese shop.”

“Maybe at an overlook where we can watch the sunset. It’s a bit of a hike but,” Ashton looks Calum up and down, “I don’t think that’ll be a problem for you.” (And if Ashton is disproportionately proud of himself for not fainting, no one needs to know.)

“How’s Friday sound?” Calum grins.

“How’s I’ll pick you up at 7 sound?” Ashton grins back.

“Perfect.” Calum hands Ashton his phone and Ashton inputs his number.

“Text me.” Ashton turns around to leave, and congratulate himself on what may have been the most successful flirting of his life.

“Oi!” Ashton looks over his shoulder at Calum. “Thanks for the tip.”

“Luke paid?”

Calum lets his eyes drift down to Ashton’s butt, “Yea, but your tip was better.” He winks cheekily, and Ashton thinks he could get used to this.

-

5 minutes ago

Michael bursts through the doors to the parking lot. “Where, where, where!” He mutters, tugging at the short hair sticking out from his baseball cap. He spots broad shoulders and blond hair a couple of rows over. “Luke!”

Luke spins around, not knowing quite what to look for. “Busboy?” Luke looks confused, concerned, maybe a tinge hopeful, but Michael’s probably imagining that.

Michael maneuvers around the shoddy parking jobs towards Luke. “Hey. Hi.” He smiles, a tad shyer than before.

“Um, hi. Is everything okay?” Luke’s face pales for a second. “Ashton- Ashton isn’t hurt is he, because I-”

“No, he’s alright.” Michael puts his hand on Luke’s shoulder to calm him down, “I just wanted to- to talk to you.” Luke smiles, just a little.

“Yea? About what?”

“I know you’re a tea guy, but, I know this hole-in-the-wall coffee shop where they sometimes have music. I’ve heard it’s a pretty good place for first dates.”

“Were you going to ask someone out?” Luke asks. Michael honestly isn’t sure whether he’s kidding, or if he honestly doesn’t know Michael is trying to ask him out. “Tinder date?”

“No, Luke, I-”

“Not a Tinder date? Who then?”

“Luke, please.” Luke lifts an eyebrow (A single eyebrow! How does he do that? Michael’s eyebrows do not work independent of each other.) “You, Luke. Would you like to go to this kind of lame coffee shop I know, where the lighting is low but the music is good, and the people are quiet. Would you go on a date with me?”

“I might, maybe. Probably. Normally. But I can’t.” And Michael’s face falls, and Luke might cry, but goddammit, he’s going to stay strong, because this is only fair.

“I understand. I didn’t mean to bother you. I really need to be getting back anyway, um-”

“I can’t, because my mum always told me not to go places with strange men you don’t know. And a certain busboy I find awful cute never told me his name.”

“You dick. I was about to go cry into my dish towel, you know.”

“Oh you were not, you are so over-dramatic.”

“I was! It’s not every day a really cute guy comes into your workplace and tries to flirt with you but is too nervous, but in being nervous only gets cuter! I was very upset!”

“You think I’m cute?”

“I thought that was very obvious. Was it not? Let me clarify: I think you are probably both the cutest and the hottest guy I have ever seen, simultaneously. And I look in the mirror every morning.”

Luke hums, biting his lip to keep from splitting his cheeks, “That’s pretty hard to compete with.”

“Lunch then? On Saturday? I’ll pick you up?”

“You haven’t given me your number, told me where we’re going, given me a specific time, or told me your fucking name.”

“I’m sorry! You’re just- really distracting, you know that? I can’t get my mind off of you long enough to remember how to hold a conversation.”

Luke looks at his beat up Converse. “Thank you. You’re pretty cute yourself.”

“It’s Michael,” He can’t keep the grin off his face, “Before I forget. Michael Clifford.” Luke looks up, and his smile must be a thousand watts, in Michael’s estimation. Luke hands the busboy - Michael - his phone. “I’ll text you my address.”

“Yea. You do that, Luke. I’ll come pick you up. We’ll go on a date. I’ll go on a date with you. ‘Cos you said yes. Sounds like a plan.”

“Shh.” Luke puts his finger to Michael’s lips. “We can talk on Saturday. Now, get back to work.”

MASTERLIST

it’s only been something like a year since i got this ask

this one is really sad & this is the other part which is also good. actually this author is just really good (calum)

this is an au meme but it’s cute (luke)

this is the first part of an ongoing series im excited about (ashton)

there’s also a bunch of these but this is the first one i read and it’s close to my heart (luke)

i just love this (calum)

this one is funny and i hate it ohmygoD (michael)

this isn’t even kind of an imagine but i adore it (calum)

this one’s good too tbh i’m a photography ho (michael)

this is a text au but it makes me smile every time (ashton)

this one’s cute too (michael)

the amount of time light takes to get from the sun to Earth and the amount of time it took for me to fall in love with you

inspired by this playlist —–

One.

He walked in the room, his glance sweeping across all of his new classmates. Your breath caught in your throat because, god, he was beautiful. He was beautiful in a way you had never seen before. You never wanted to stop looking at him. He offered the twentysome students watching him a nervous smile before turning towards the teacher’s desk. And even though you knew it was just infatuation, you couldn’t help but hope he’d seen you. You couldn’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, he wanted to talk to you as much as you wanted to talk to him.

You rested your head on your hand, studying him as he rummaged though his bag to get something for the teacher.

“Y/N? Earth to Y/N!” Your friend called from across the aisle. She poked your shoulder, causing your trance to break.

“Hmm? Yea? What?” You rambled.

“I know he’s cute, but not that cute.”

“I’m going to have to disagree with you on that one.” Your friend just sighed and went back to copying her lab partner’s homework.

Two.

“Hi. I’m-uh, I’m Ashton.” He was a nervous, stuttering mess, but as fast as his fingers were tapping his leg, your heart was beating faster.

“I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.” And the fact that you got a comprehensive sentence out was quite possibly the most impressive thing you’d done in your whole life.

“The teacher, she said I could sit here. Is that, um, is that okay with you?” Your eyes had gone a bit wide, and your heart was so far up your throat it was blocking your airway, but you nodded anyway.

“Yea, of course.” You choked out, with bright pink cheeks. He dropped his books on the floor before toeing them under the desk. He sat in the seat next to you, offering a warm smile. You grinned back in a way that you were sure made you look a little insane, but in your defense, it isn’t every day a cute guy becomes your new lab partner.

“I’m Ashton.” He said.

“We already did that part,” you murmured into your lap, in hopes he wouldn’t see the colour of your cheeks.

Three.

The teacher asked Ashton to stand up, so she could introduce him to the class, and as he stood, he somehow managed to trip over his long legs, causing him to stumble and you to laugh. He hit your head in a playful way, and all of a sudden you noticed just how huge his hands were. And how tall he was. And how long his legs were. And yea, you definitely wanted to kiss him.

“I’m Ashton.” He said happily.

“And where are you from, Ashton?” Mrs. Watkins asked.

“Oh, I’m from Sydney.”

“Wonderful. We’re so glad to have you.” Ashton nodded at the teacher’s words, still smiling. “You can sit down now.” Ashton’s eyes widened a little, as he realized his mistake.

“Right.” He hastily took his seat again. “Sorry about hitting you. I usually only hit my close friends.” He whispered as the teacher began her lecture.

“Then maybe I shouldn’t try to make friends with you.”

“No! No, I won’t hit you again, I swear!” You laughed at his nerves and wide-eyed expression.

“It’s okay, I’m kidding.” You said, shoving his shoulder lightly.

“I just feel like I already know you.” You hum in agreement.

“Maybe we met in a past life.”

“Ms. Y/L/N, are you really already corrupting our new student?” The teacher narrowed her eyes at you.

“My apologies Mrs. Watkins.”

Four.

Mrs. Watkins could’ve threatened you with detention, you wouldn’t have stopped talking to Ashton. She turned back to the board to draw some graphic, and Ashton turned to you, his mouth open to ask a question, probably. You put a finger to his lips, and damn his skin was soft. You shook your head, pulling out a notebook. Ashton sighed, pulling out his own notebook and starting to take notes. You pulled out a pencil, writing a note down and poking Ashton’s elbow with the end of your pencil.

you didn’t think I was actually going to take notes did you?

And even if he had tried, Ashton couldn’t have stopped the grin forming on his face. He quickly turned the page in his notebook, writing a response.

and here I was thinking you were a good student.

excuse you, ill have you know I get straight As in this class

bullshit

LANGUAGE

‘corrupting new students’ huh?

oh she doesn’t much like me. says I talk too much

which is true

you barely know me??

I know enough

what’s my last name

Y/L/N

what the fuck

she said it earlier

oh yeah. well whats yours

Irwin.

Five.

Maybe you were crazy. No, you were definitely crazy. Was that a bad thing though? Probably. But if insanity felt that good, you should’ve gone bat shit crazy sooner.

Ashton interrupted your inner monologue with a poke to your elbow. You glanced at him, but his pencil was pointed at his notebook.

You ok?

You nodded, but stood to go to the bathroom. Ashton’s gaze was fixated on you as you signed out of class and exited the class room. A few seconds later he was following you out of the classroom. He looked left and then right, before seeing you turn the corner at the end of the hall. His footsteps echoed around the building as he ran down the hall. As he turned the corner he saw your figure duck into a room. He headed towards the room, calling your name.

“Ashton?” You responded.

“Y/N!”

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” He retorted.

“I had to use the bathroom.” Ashton approached the doorway you were standing in and looked over your head.

“This doesn’t look like the bathroom.”

“Well I heard someone following me! What was I supposed to do!”

“Y/N, why are you really here?”

“Why did you follow me?”

“Because I was worried about you. You seemed a bit off.”

“It’s nothing, I just…” You glanced around the room, looking for a way out of this situation, “Hey, you wanna see something cool?”

Six.

“Y/N, don’t avoid my questions.” You grabbed his hand dragging him towards another door in the room. “Y/N, what’s bothering you.” You pulled him into the closet and turned the lights off. “What are you doing?” He heard another door open and you pulled him through yet another doorway. He heard you flick a switch and the room was bathed in a dim red light. “What is this place?” He asked, his voice filled with awe.

“It’s a dark room.”

“No shit.” You laughed at him, realizing he didn’t understand.

“No, you like, develop pictures in here.”

“That’s so cool. Wait! No, stop distracting me.” He grabbed your shoulders and looked you directly in the eye. “What’s wrong.” You broke eye contact to stare at your shoes. They weren’t as attractive as Ashton, but they were less intimidating.

“It’s nothing, really. I just… We just met, you know?”

“Yea, I know. So what?” Ashton retracted his touch, choosing instead to cross his arms.

“So I barely know you! And I’m- I’m, I don’t know, ‘catching feelings’ or whatever.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I don’t know, that depends on exactly which feelings you’re catching.”

“Why?”

“Because I really want to kiss you right now.”

Seven.

And then you were pushing him against the door you had just closed and your lips were on his in less than a second. You had just met him, but it felt like you had been waiting years for this moment. Your hands threaded through his golden locks as you bit his bottom lip. His hands wandered all over your body. He grinned into the messy kiss. He pulled back a little, and you rested your forehead against his.

“What?”

“You’re amazing, Y/N.”

“Kiss me again.” All you wanted was his lips back on yours and his tongue in your mouth and his hands on your body.

But instead he put his thumbs just in front of your ears, and the rest of his hands gripped your skull. It felt more like he was holding your brain. The things that boy did to you…

You watched as his lips inched closer at a painfully slow pace. “Hurry up.” You breathed.

“You can’t rush perfection.” He smirked, mere centimeters from your face. And then his lips kissed the corner of your mouth, more on your cheek than your lips. And then they kissed the other corner.

“Fucking tease.”

“You act like you don’t love it.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, and as you went to kiss him, he put his hand up, stopping your lips with his finger. “Ah-ah. We’ve got to get back to class.” You grimaced, but he just laughed, opening the door.

Eight.

“How nice of you two to join us!” Mrs. Watkins welcomed you back to class. You smiled sheepishly, as your friend caught your eye, raising an eyebrow so high it was starting to approach her hairline.

“Sorry Mrs. Watkins. I ran into Ashton on the way back from the bathroom and he had some questions about the photography room. Who am I to deny a new student help?” You questioned as you headed back to your seat.

“Yea, I’m sure you helped him a whole lot.” Your friend muttered just loud enough for you and probably her lab partner to hear. You just flipped her the bird as discreetly as possible as you took your seat.

“I’m sorry Mrs. Watkins,” Ashton apologized, “Y/N was just showing me the dark room. I’d never seen one before. Did you know they have red lights?” The teacher shook her head dismissively, but returned to her lecture all the same.

You couldn’t hep but smile as you watched Ashton make his way back to his seat, carefully stepping over the bookbags other students had haphazardly thrown in the aisle. As he took his seat, you bit your lip and nervously fiddled with a pencil on your desk.

“What? You’re not upset about… the dark room, are you?”

“No, no… I was just wondering… Would it be crazy to say I think I might love you?”

“Yes.”

“Is crazy bad?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I think I might love you.” You whispered.

“Ms. Y/L/N, have you been listening to anything I’ve said this whole lecture? I’ve taught you for many a class, but I have never seen you act up this much or this blatantly!”

“Mrs. Watkins, of course I’ve been listening.”

“Oh, is that so? So if I asked you a question from today’s lesson right now, you would know the answer.”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Alright.” Mrs. Watkins scanned her notes carefully. “Ah, here we are. How long does it take light from the sun to reach Earth?”

You smiled.

“Eight minutes.”

–