5SOS Preference # 4: Amnesia
A/N:Its not that great but I hope you enjoy it love!
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The pictures that you sent me, they’re still living in my phone
Ash: He spends his nights lone, staring at his phone. He falls asleep with your smiling face looking at him, the brightness of his splashing back on his tear soaked face. It had been a month since you left, and he was falling to pieces. He can’t sleep, because if he fell asleep, he’d remember the way your finger felt running through his hair, or how your voice sounded singing to him, or how your lips would move against his own and fill his entire body with love and fondness and just something. He can’t live without your warm touch and soothing hugs, or the way you’d make him feel a combination of comfort and adrenaline. And he has to now, but he can’t, not really. He’s breaking, the light just decimated away from his eyes, and they never stray from his phone. His wallpaper is still you two, smiling as he held you tightly to his chest, cheeks smiling so wide that his eyes were tiny beads of joy. It is the happiest he’s ever been. And it’s soul crushing and heart wrenching now, breaking and burning him down because he remembers all the little things, like how your lips would curve just the tiniest bit when you were mad and he told a joke. Like how you would sneak into his bed when he was up songwriting and say “Darling, please, get some sleep” in that tired tone that was so intoxicating to him, so lulling and hypnotizing that he had no choice but to obey. Now you’re sleeping in another bed and you’re fine, as your friends tell him, but he’s breaking like a glass thrown on the ground. He needs your warmth more than he needs air, but right now he is breathless and freezing.
The memories I never can escape
Luke:“Luke?” you ask into his blue eyes. Your head laid up in his lap, the stars igniting the night as you lay in the park. It was so pretentious and stupid, but you didn’t mind because he was so warm and had draped his blanket over the two of you, snuggling sweetly. He doesn’t reply, but leans down and presses his lips to yours, feeling the comfort and feels the familiar burst of love in his chest, and he smiled down at you.
“What, love?” he said, kissing your forehead.
“You make me so happy, Lukey.” you said, staring into his eyes. And that was it. Because you have no idea how happy you make him, how he checks his phone every minute to see your reply, how your lips taste, how your hands fit with his, how when he’s so stressed he could cry, your fingers running through his hair. He felt so honored that he did the same for you, because you were this insane combination of unique and flawless thatdrove him mad.
“God, babe, I love you.” he said, kissing you wholey
All he knows is that to have love and lost isn’t better than not having love at all. It burns and kills and destroys and breaks, but he couldn’t ever give up the memories that keep him wholer than he could be.
I’m not fine at all
Mikey: He misses you. His whole body is aching for your touch, aching to hear your laughter and aching to tuck you into his chest. It has been far too long and far too hard, and he can’t stand it. He feels like every limb is being stretched apart and he is at his breaking point. Touring is awful, because all he can think about is you, and your smile and your lips, god, your lips. You’ve ensnared him with vexatious thoughts that teeter him over the ledge. He is breaking and raw, sobs always at the cusp of his sore throat. He can’t do this, he needs his lifeline. He needs to feel your arms wrap around his waist and he needs to be held by you,kissed by you, loved by only the angel that has graced his life so far. He can’t, cantcantcantcant take it when you cry in the phone because it builds this awful pain within him, burning and scorching his heart because he isn’t there and you’re suffering for it. He isn’t what you need, but you are what he needs to breathe and to live. And the fact that you are there, sitting at home waiting for home grinds his heart into a barrel of nothingness. It takes his soul apart and rips him to shreds and when someone asks if he’s okay; he’s not. He won’t ever be until he lets out these torturous thoughts and you kiss his tears off his face. But he gives a single lying nod, and says I’m fine.
I thought about our last kiss, how it felt the way you tasted.
Cal: It was slow and sweet. You left for a school trip days before he left for tour, and the kiss at the airport was so odd for him, because you were boarding and leaving him. But he knew that he would miss you, just the thought of being away from you warm hugs and sarcastic humor and your sweet tea made him sick. He wanted you there always. He wanted to wrap you up and keep you forever by his side, but he couldn’t. So he clung to you every step because if he let go, you’d be away. And that moment is now, when you board and leave his lanky arms. It bothers him, and he’s almost convinced some buff idiot who doesn’t leave to tour all the time and isn’t as fucked up as him will sweep you off your feet and you won’t be his to love anymore.. He plants a firm kiss on your lips, hand on your waist and other on your neck, fingers urging you closer. It showed his fear, and it would have to last him, so he inhaled the scent of your perfume, that inked in your skin and how you tasted like mint and some addictive carving crazy taste he only wants more of. He doesn’t mind PDA (“Flaunt it baby, Flaunt it!”), but you do and he lets out a whine of protest when your wet lips leave his.
“Bye,” you said, looking sadly at your gate then back at his puppy eyes,
He says nothing, but just pecks the side of your mouth.