surrender. | michael clifford

chapter nine.

A/N: hi so i'm writing this at like 5 am cause i'm an awful person and haven't updated in forever so sorry if there are any typos. just let me know if you find any and i'll fix them asap. ily guys hope you like the chapter!

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Calum knocked on the door, keeping his hand on the small of my back. Jess and Luke were standing by my right on the large steps of the frat house. A boy I didn't recognize answered the door, as I let out a breath I hadn't realized I had been holding. I was more than ecstatic by the fact that Michael wasn't the one who answered.

We walked inside, taking in the sights in front of us. Girls were clinging onto boys for a chance to get their attention, boys were playing beer pong, and everyone was just a hot mess. I sighed as I came to the realization that I had to hang around here for god knows how long.

Calum took my hand, practically dragging me over to a spot where his I assumed friends were while Luke and Jess followed.

Little did I know that he would be dragging me over to Michael and Ashton.

They had their backs facing us, making the scene a little more awkward considering Calum had to get their attention.

"Hey guys," he somewhat shouted, assuring that they would hear him over the loud music and party-goers.

Michael was taking a sip of his beer as he was turning around. Once his eyes landed on me, his eyes widened as he basically spit his beer all over me.

"Really, Clifford?" I asked. Not only did he have to ruin my life, but now my dress?

"Shit Chloe, I'm sorry I just-"

"Don't worry about it," I said, cutting him off and running to find the bathroom.

There was one thing I was sure of: A headache and the fact that I wreaked of beer did not mix well. I got inside the bathroom, slamming the door shut. I looked at myself in the mirror, fixing my hair and the bit of makeup that had smudged.

While I was using a wet towel to try and clean up my dress a bit, someone knocked on the door.

"Go away," I said, rudely. At this point, I didn't even care. I was on edge.

Someone opened the door and walked in, and just as I was about to say something, Michael Clifford was standing in front of me.

"How do you know I wasn't pissing?" I asked him, obviously annoyed.

"I didn't," he said. "Just a lucky guess, I suppose."

I rolled my eyes, not interested in keeping this conversation going.

"Whatever you say, Clifford."

"Everyone calls me that, yet I only seem to love it when you say it," he said, smiling.

"So you don't talk to me for six months, and then when I see you, you spit beer at me? Seems logical to me," I snapped at him, turning to him and raising one of my eyebrows.

"Hey, the beer thing was a legitimate accident. I didn't expect to see you here. And I definitely didn't expect to see you look as good as you do right now," he replied, looking me up and down.

"You're right, the beer really brings out my eyes, doesn't it?" I said, rolling my eyes at him, "Oh, and you're not gonna say anything about the fact that you haven't spoken a single word to me since that night at the lake?"

He paused for a moment. It seemed as though he was replaying our last moments that we shared in his mind. He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but closed it just as quickly.