Imagines

Fights (Michael Clifford)

You were at home, resting on the couch watching a movie when he stumbled in. He had a hoodie on and the hood up, covering his whole head.

From the corner of your eye you thought he looked different, but you didn't want to ask questions in case he was in a bad mood. You turned your head and saw a slight limp, and then you grew concerned and began asking questions.

"Michael?" You called as he turned into the downstairs bathroom.

"Yeah babe?" He called back weakly. You got up, walking into the bathroom.

"Y/N! What if I was peeing?" He spoke with a small laugh.

"It's not like I haven't seen it before, Mikey. Now, what's wrong? Why were you limping?"

"It's nothing, sweetie. I'm fine," he spoke as he held onto his stomach. You raised an eyebrow, slowly grabbing them hem of his shirt. You lifted the shirt and your eyes widened and you mouth gaped open.

His stomach was black and purple and you could see some bruises on his arms through the shirt. He just stared at you and you finally muttered, "Michael, what happened?"

You sat him on the toilet and he took his shirt off, along with the hoodie on top of it. He had a bruised cheek, along with a slightly bleeding busted lip. He stared at the floor, not wanting to meet your face.

"An old friend of mine ran into me earlier," he sighed, looking up at you, "he was saying really bad shit, Y/N. I couldn't handle it, so I beat the shit out of him."

You leaned down to the bathroom cabinet, grabbing the aid kit. You were straightening back up to take care of Michael and you pressed your lips to his forehead, him relaxing into your touch. You leaned back up and grabbed the ace bandage, making Michael straighten his posture so you can wrap the bandage around his bruised stomach.

"Michael, was your friend okay too? Like, did he have to go to the hospital?" You asked.

"No, but I won. He needed help getting up and I didn't," he boasted. You quietly laughed, rolling your eyes.

You finished wrapping his stomach and grabbed some alcohol wipes, finding a few open cuts on his shoulder. He looks at me, then the wipe, then speaks, "Hell to the no."

You rolled your eyes, wiping the cuts anyway. He hissed in pain as you applied a bandaid for each cut. You helped him up, him wrapping his arms around you waist.

"Thank you," he whispered as he made you look up at him. You gently hugged him, trying to be as gentle as possible.

"That's what I'm here for, to take care of my big baby," you spoke as he scoffed.

"I'm not a baby."

"You're my baby," you spoke as you got on you tip toes and kissed him, grabbing his hand and leading him to the bedroom to go to bed.