Classic Rock Imagines And One Shots

Mike Nesmith #3 (The Monkees)

how do i even start this? i feel like there have been so many passings lately and i'm heartbroken over every single one. however, hearing about mike's passing is really so upsetting, since he was my favorite monkee and i watch him every year around this time, the christmas special being one of my main forms of entertainment. he will be so missed. rest in peace, mike <3

When she first met him, all she could notice was his wedding ring.

The way it shined with the light of the dim restaurant as well as the way it darkened when he'd lifted it up to adjust his hair. It went back and forth, floating in and out of her sight as he constantly fiddled with the brown strands, a habit that she could tell was out of nervousness.

On his head he had some sort of green, wool beanie, which she thought seemed a little bit bizarre for a cocktail party, that he couldn't seem to stop pulling off his head and fiddling with. It left his hair to be in ruins, stuck up in some places and flat in others. He didn't seem to notice though. Or care.

She repeatedly kept glancing over his way, figuring he'd sooner or later have to get the message, his eyes making contact with hers. But failure was all she was met with, as it seemed he was much too anxious to really take in his surroundings.

Her eyes flickered to his ring even more, wondering how he could be tied down when he looked that young. Especially in Los Angeles.

She figured he had to be new, not only with his awkward body language, but with the way he still wore his ring, confident the marriage was going to last.

She thought to herself how much of a joke that could be.

After he continued to stand there for what felt like forever, not interacting with anyone, the girl decided to count the seconds before she decided to go over to him. Maybe someone would swoop in and lead him to a place filled with extravagant people, talkative people.

No one ever did. She guessed she would have to be the person.

She drank the very last bit of her champagne, swallowing and then setting her glass down gently on the table of the bar, flattening out her dress and fluffing her hair before she began to walk over to the boy. She tried to look over-confident to match his insecurity.

"Hi," Once having reached her destination, it seemed that her voice managed to radiate this same energy.

"Hi," He smiled back, and it instantly seemed like his walls were taken down, and his fidgeting stopped. The lack of anxiety illuminated more than the ring on his finger.

"That's quite the different tone compared to your body language,"

"Oh really? I didn't know my nervousness had been that bad,"

With this full sentence the girl took notice of his thick, southern accent. It became even more obvious that he wasn't from here, and the taking off of his wool hat made it shine the most.

Except this time the hat remained in his hands, his firm, non-shaky hands, and didn't even go back to touch his head.

"Well with the way you kept fiddling that hat and your fingers, it was anybody's guess," She spoke whatever fell out of her mind and landed on her tongue.

"I'm sorry," He replied, but she didn't see the need to feel sorry. He'd done nothing wrong. "I just feel a little out of place."

"Understandable," And she'd really understood.

She thought back to her first night in the city, remembering how anxiety-inducing the party she'd ended up at had been. She had felt like such a fish out of water, so shy compared to the current socialness she emitted.