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aussiexlovexaffair · 1 day ago

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reader surprises classmate!michael with concert tickets and an arcade night words: 3.1k! request fill: anon ask! tags: fluff, classmate!michael tw: none! author’s note: clearing out my old requests so i can start the new ones! listen to: “end up here” by 5 seconds of summer

The ringing of the school bell blares behind you and Michael as you exit the building with your bags slung over your shoulders. “Jesus Christ, a chem quiz on my birthday? What a dick…” Your green-haired classmate grumbles under his breath, looking back at the school with a glare.

Today is Michael’s birthday and unfortunately for him, it’s been less than satisfactory.

His alarm didn’t wake him up on time, so he was late to his first class. Because of the rush getting ready, he failed to notice that his uniform was badly wrinkled and he felt like a total idiot all throughout the day. For lunch was his least favorite food, ham and cheese sandwiches, and to top it off, he had a surprise quiz in chemistry.

“It could have been worse— it could’ve been a test.” You remind him as you cross the street. “Then your grade would’ve been tanked.”

A dry huff emits from his slightly-chapped lips. “It’s going down regardless, you know how bad I am at that stuff. Some birthday…” Michael has a tendency to be pessimistic even when the smallest thing goes wrong. You can’t blame him, he’s had a rough day, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t get under your skin a little.

“Welllll… I think I can make your birthday a little better.” The both of you reach your car, a silver BMW that your parents bought you a couple of months ago. With Michael in the passenger seat and you behind the wheel, you turn the engine over.

“Yeah? What do you got planned?” He doesn’t think much of your words. Tossing his bag and yours into the backseat of the car, he settles into his seat with his feet on the dashboard.

His actions earn an unamused side glance from you. “Are you grounded?”

Michael furrows his brows and he shakes his head. “No..?”

“Got a family dinner to attend?”

Again, he shakes his head. “No, I’ve got nothing to do.”

You slowly peel out of your parking spot and down the road, driving the opposite way of both of your houses. “Good, because you won’t be home until midnight.”

Michael didn’t know what you meant until now, as he’s standing in front of the flashing lights and mechanical beeping and whistling tones of an arcade, ruffling his shaggy, lime-colored hair. Kids much younger than him are bounding across the colorfully-carpeted floor with sugary drinks and candy in hand, trying to beat each other to the next game they’d be playing. A few teens his age are stuck at one game trying to solidify their high score. A man in his thirties who looked bored out of his mind stands behind the counter dealing out prizes to the many arcade-goers crowding around it. “I thought you hated these kinds of places.” His hand rubs at the back of his neck, looking down at you to his left.

You force a smile as some grimy kid with snot narrowly brushes your leg as he passes by you. “Hate? No! No, no, no, no, no.. I don’t hate arcades— I mean, sure… they’re a little… dirty… but that doesn’t mean I won’t come to one.” With a deep breath, you try to settle into the overstimulating environment. “Plus, I know you haven’t been to one in awhile and you love them. I figured you might want to come here for your birthday.”

Michael can sense your discomfort, and he doesn’t blame you. This isn’t the type of arcade you’d find at the mall that’s been sanitized extensively every night. The building’s been around since the early 80s and is probably a health hazard, but it’s stood the test of time. A crooked smile slowly forms on his lips and he nods, trying to act oblivious to you. “This.. this is really great.”

His shoulder bumps yours in an affectionate gesture. “I mean, really, thank you.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to be sweet to you because of the gesture, but that wouldn’t be very Michael-like. His eyes flicker over to the pizzeria area of the arcade.

“You know, maybe afterwards we can go get pizza.” He sees your face contort. Both of you are well aware that the sanitation in the kitchen likely isn’t the best. He’s willing to bet they’re using the same sauce from the nineties and the oven probably has asbestos in it. “I’m sure it's delicious, and maybe we can go in the ballpit afterward.”

You smack the back of his head lightly in response to his mocking smile plastered on his face. “No way in hell. We’ll eat anywhere but there.”

“What’s wrong with the pizza? It’ll be so cool, we can pretend like we’re in the Five Nights at Freddy’s pizzeria.”

A childish snort escapes your lips. “You’re a dork. I am not eating some greasy, week old pizza to fulfill your LARPing fantasy.”

“That’s not even what LARPing is! You don’t even know what you’re saying!” Thankfully, you can tell that his shitty day at school is slowly being erased from his mind. His geeky grin is proof of it.

“Do you want to play the stupid games or not, Michael?” With your hands on your hips, you stand your ground. There was no way you were ingesting a biohazard, even if it was his birthday. His tongue pokes at the inner corner of his cheek and he smiles before dragging you to the first of many arcade games.

After several rounds of Pac-Man, a few games of Street Fighter, and half an hour of Mario Kart, the two of you leave the arcade. When you get behind the wheel and begin driving towards the shopping center instead of the direction of home, Michael speaks up. “....Where else are we going?”

You shrug, nodding at the time on the dash. “It’s not midnight yet. I told you, you won’t be getting home until then. I meant it.”

“Okayyy… but where else are we going to go? Are we going to dinner?” He adjusts his position in the seat and looks out of the windows.

“There’s food where we’re going. That’s not what we’re going for, though.”

After a moment of silence, Michael lets out a dramatic groan and tosses his head back. “This is killing me, where are we going?!”

“Shopping!” “You better be kidding.”

You were not in fact kidding. A few minutes later, you’re dragging Michael into the large complex. Stores line the walkway, most of which blaring pop music from inside and brandishing the latest in fashion on their mannequins on display. “So, which one do you like?”

His teeth catch on his lower lip as he looks around. Michael sticks out like a sore thumb compared to the other boys walking around the shopping center. He’s practically drowning in a sea of quiffs and white t-shirts while he’s dressed in a baggy black shirt, black skinny jeans, and his arms are stacked with studded bracelets. “What’s the point of this?”

“The point,” you groan out as you tug him along, “is that you get to pick any outfit— any one that makes you feel super cool, and I’ll get it for you.”

He eyes you suspiciously. “Any outfit?”

“Any one.” You nod in agreement. “Accessories too. And shoes, it doesn’t matter.”

“What are you planning?” His eyebrow lifts ever so slightly, head tilted down so that he can look at you.

It’s difficult to conceal the smile fighting to form on your lips. Michael still didn’t know what you were planning. It cost you an incredible amount of money and sneaking back into your house after midnight was going to be a headache, but the result was absolutely going to be worth it.

“You’ll see.” You distract yourself by pointing to a store in the corner of the complex. “How about that one? Shibuya?”

He thinks it over for a moment. There aren’t many places that sell clothes that he likes to wear. He’s settled on thrifting for the most part, but the store looks dingy enough to be something he’d enjoy. Michael nods once. “Sure, why not?”

Once the two of you enter the store, you’re greeted by a woman who is much more friendly than she looks. She’s got a few body modifications— gauges, a split tongue, and a sleeve of tattoos that must have cost a fortune. After ushering Michael into a small dressing room, he begins to try on a few different options.

First, he comes out with a wool sweater-like shirt with ribbons along the sleeve and baggy shorts only held up by his hands.

With a giggle, you open your purse to find your phone, hoping to catch a picture of the disaster. “Wait, wait— stay still!”

He bats your hand away and runs back behind the curtain stifling his laughter. “No way! Absolutely not!”

The second outfit that he comes out in is a bright neon shirt with holes in it and a pair of red, leather pants.

“I must’ve been high when I picked this out.” He stands in front of you with slouched posture, the shirt practically hanging off of him and the pants hugging him so tightly you don’t know how he’ll get out of them.

You don’t even get a minute to look at the outfit before Michael is shoving himself back into the cramped dressing room and tossing the clothes off of his body.

Finally, Michael finds the outfit that fits him the most.

It doesn’t look any different from the ones he always wears outside of school. In fact, if you didn’t know any better, you’d think they were the same old ones he’d been sporting since sophomore year. But that’s his taste and you can’t complain if it truly makes him comfortable.

He exits the dressing room in a shirt with Kurt Cobain on it, black except for the lettering on the back. The black jeans he wears are ripped and skin tight, ending with black Doc Martins on his feet. A red flannel is thrown over his shoulders. He takes a minute to look into the mirror, clearly feeling himself.

“This is it.” He decides, turning around to show you the full outfit.

With an exhale of resignation, you accept that no matter how much money you offered him, Michael would always circle back to his dark style. “Alright, let’s go check out.”

“Wait a sec.” You stop in your tracks, turning around in confusion. “You need an outfit.”

“Michael, it’s your birthday.”

“I know,” he begins, dragging his hand along one of the racks beside him. The clothing ruffles against each other. “But I want to match.”

The boyish grin on his face tells you all you need to know. He doesn’t really want you to match, but he does seem interested in getting to dress up his pretty girl best friend. Your eyes drift around the store. There are quite a few risque outfits lying around and even though he’s respectful, any boy would want to see a girl in them. But it’s his birthday, after all. Why not give him the reins and choose for once?

“Fine, but if you hand me lingerie and expect me to leave the store wearing it, you’re dead.”

In the end, the two of you check out with your clothing and change in the bathroom, carrying your old outfits in the bag given to you by the cashier. While he did give you a few outfits to try on that were more for his eyes, he eventually settled on something that bore a passing resemblance to his own clothing.

Wearing a pair of small, black denim shorts, a white Nirvana tunic tank top, and a grey and black flannel, you and Michael make your way back to the car. In Michael’s hands are tacos that you bought for the two of you inside the shopping center. The green-haired boy has already eaten half of his by the time both of you settle into your seats in the car.

“Okay, seriously, where are we going?” He mumbles before sinking his teeth into his taco again, biting a chunk off of it and chewing slowly.

“The city.” You say without further explanation. You grab your food out of the bag and begin to eat. As Michael finishes his, you nod towards the center console. “Grab the wristbands out of there.”

He studies you for a moment before opening the hatch and pulling out two neon yellow paper wristbands. “What are these for?” He watches you take another bite of your taco and shrug. Rolling his eyes, he peels off the paper end and connects the sticker to the other end, making a bracelet around his wrist. After you’re finished, he does the same for you.

It doesn’t take long for the car to pull up at some venue in the middle of the city with a cue down the block. The hum of neon lights inside is familiar to both of you, who frequent underground shows in places like this. Instead of heading to the back of the line, you lead him to the front and flash the bracelets to the bouncer. He nods wordlessly and opens the steel door for the both of you. Inside is a crowd gathering at the front of the auditorium. A bar is towards the back of the room with a bunch of people flocking to get cheap beer in flimsy plastic cups. The floor lets out an audible shhlick sound, akin to the sound of velcro, with every step of your boots.

“Is this..” Michael looks around, then to the familiar logo of his favorite band, Good Charlotte.

“You’ve been saying how much you want to see them live, I figured you might want to see them sooner rather than later. The bracelets give you backstage access, by the way, and free drinks. Barricade too— but I know you might want to be in the mosh pit, so I’ll let you choose.”

You swear you can see the boy’s heart beating in his throat as he takes it all in. Inhaling the stuffy smell of sweat, leather, and cigarette smoke, he lets out a laugh of disbelief. “I cannot believe this, you’re incredible!” His voice peaks at the end, getting increasingly louder to accommodate the surroundings and his excitement.

You attempt to brush off the compliment, but you’re cut off by him grappling you into a crushing hug.

“I’m gonna go get us drinks— you go to the barricade, okay?” With an enthusiastic nod, you watch him rush off to secure beers for both of you.

The concert feels like it’s over in a flash. Maybe it was the blaring music, the energy from the crowd, the copious amounts of beer, or the lights flickering over the room like lazerbeams— but sooner or later, you find yourself stumbling out under his arm with comedically large smiles painted on your lips.

“That was awesome!” He exclaims, his tongue flicking over the cut on his lip. A few songs into the set, a mosh pit had formed and Michael was more than eager to jump in. He came out, miraculously, with only a few minor injuries: a bruise on his cheek, a cut lip, redness under his eye which was sure to darken in a few days, and a few more marks on his arms and legs. “And did you hear that guitar? That was nuts!”

You shush him with a giggle. Michael is never quiet, whether he’s sober or drunk, but he’s especially boisterous with beer in his system. You’re sure that if you had to guess, your blood alcohol content would be 100%, even if that was impossible to achieve. “I know!.. You looked so cool in the mosh pit, Mikey, I wish I got pictures!”

The doors of the car slam behind you as you shuffle in and start the car. “Okay, okay, shhhh.. I need to focus.” You press a finger to his lips and he grins, licking the tip of it and making you scream. “Ew!!! What is wrong with you?!”

“Y/N, drive!” Rolling your eyes, you pull out of the parking lot at an alarming speed, rushing back to his house to drop him off.

“So, did you enjoy your birthday, Michael Clifford?” You try to put on your best sober voice, attempting to sound put together. The facade only lasts a minute before you both burst into a fit of laughter.

Once you quiet down, he leans back into the passenger seat and sighs. “I did, Y/N L/N.” He leans over the center console and drags his index finger down your cheek. “I can’t believe you did all this for me. You must really love me.” He pokes your face and you swat his hand away with a smile.

“Uhuh, loads.” You sit up in your seat and turn onto his road. “But you love me too, idiot.”

He gasps in fake surprise and turns away from you. “You’re SO MEAN!”

When the car pulls up to his house, you step out of the driver’s seat to help him out. His face is smushed against the glass and his breath fogged up the window ever so slightly. Gently opening the door, you help him unbuckle his seatbelt and exit the vehicle. The feat isn’t easy considering you aren’t any more sober than he is. With a groan, he leans against the car and looks down at you.

“Thank you…” He mumbles into the night air. The streetlights lining the road had extinguished a few hours earlier. By now, it’s a little past one. “This was a really good birthday.”

Delirious and tired, you rub your eyes and nod. A yawn slips past your lips. “No problem…”

His head tilts back and he glances up at the deep blue sky before glancing back down. “No, I mean.. A really, really good birthday.”

“M’ glad I could make it so good.” You respond with a smile.

“Y’know…” He lowers his head a little to be just above yours, stooping down over you as you stand on the curb. “I know a way that you can make it even better..”

Even drunk, you roll your eyes and shove him to the side, urging him to advance towards his house. “No way in hell, you idiot.”

He steps around you and heads up the concrete walkway towards his house. “Can’t blame me for trying!” He calls out over his shoulder. He fumbles under the doormat to find the house key and slowly inserts it into the doorlock, opening his door.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Michael.”

“Get home safe.”

“I will, Michael.”

“And if you rethink what I said just—”

“Go inside, Michael. Goodnight.”

“Okay, fine. Goodnight.”