Ansel Elgort Imagines

"Friends"

I watched this Japanese movie (好きっていいなよ。 - Say "I love you") last night, and this is inspired by that.

You're at work...

You're walking up the steps when you feel someone tug on your hair.
"Hey hey hey." It's him again. He's always fucking with you like this. You've told him time and time again to stop, but he's incessant.
You stiffen as he gives your hair a sharp tug.
"Man, just—" a different voice says, but you cut him off.
"Can you just fuck off?" you yell, your voice louder than you'd meant it to be. You spin around and smack him. Well, that's who you thought you hit, anyway.
"Fuck," he says, pain laced in his voice. He falls back, his hand flying to his cheek.
You blink. You just slapped Ansel fucking Elgort in the face. The bitch ass that's always been bugging you is just standing there. Like a fucker.
Ansel is just looking at you, his brown eyes filled with shock and awe.
"I'm sorry," you stammer before spinning around and running up the stairs. You're mortified.
You run into your office and slam the door. You can't believe you just slapped him in the face. You can't believe that just happened. You can't believe the first real interaction that you've had with him is you literally slapping him across the face. Hard, to add to that.
You groan as you lower your head into your hands. You wish you could turn back time. You remain like that for a few minutes, trying to calm your rapidly beating heart.
Eventually, you manage to calm yourself, and you get back to work. You spend the rest of the day in your office, only leaving to go to the bathroom or to grab something to drink. Luckily, you don't run into Ansel or that prick.
You're about to finish for the day, and you're gathering your things when suddenly, you hear someone knock on the door. You look toward the door and straighten.
"Come in," you say, and that's when Ansel walks in.
"Hey," he says, and your heart starts to beat faster.
"Hey," you reply. His cheek is slightly red, but luckily there's no visible bruising.
He chuckles lightly as his eyes travel across your office. "I wanted to apologize on behalf of my...coworker today," he says, and you look at him curiously.
"It's fine," you reply. "Sorry for the whole...slapping you," you tell him, and he laughs.
"It was pretty badass."
You feel your cheeks flush. There's no denying he's attractive. His messy brown hair is always stylish and gorgeous. His brown eyes shine in the light, and a smile is playing on his full lips.
"Thanks? I guess." You look down and lace your fingers together before unlacing them again. You're acutely aware of your body and how everything feels awkward in this moment.
"Do you want to like...be friends?" he questions, and you blink.
"Friends?"
"Yes."
"Friends?" you repeat, and he laughs.
"Come on," he says, moving closer. He reaches for a paper on your desk, and you watch as he scribbles something on the paper. "Here," he says, handing you the paper. You can see a series of numbers on it—his number.
"I don't want your phone number," you tell him, and he laughs again.
"Well you're going to have it anyway," he says, putting the paper on your desk. "I'll see you around."
And with that, he walks out of your office. You stare after him, even after he closes the door. You let out a breath and look to the paper on your desk. You're not going to call him.
You won't.

————

Two days later, you're calling him. Of course you are. You didn't want to—he's this popular guy. You know his type—at least you think you do, anyway. You don't want to be another notch on his belt. "Friends". Yeah right.
But you're left with no choice but to call him. At least that'll shut him up. He's been incessant at work. You're not used to having someone's attention like this. It's almost exhausting. Not to mention your body feels like it's on fire when he's near. That doesn't help either.
He picks up on the second ring.
"Hey," he says.
"Hey," you reply. "It's y/n. The one who slapped you?"
"Which one?"
"Fuck you," you groan.
"Maybe later. So you finally decided to call me, I see," he says. "I'll now call you every five minutes."
"What do you want?"
"You called me. You tell me."
"I'm not going to be your "friend"," you tell him, your voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Why do you think I want you to be my "friend" and not my friend," he says. Even over the phone, you can tell that he put air-quotes around that first "friend".
"Oh I don't know," you respond, digging your nails into your palm. You shouldn't have called him. You feel so jittery when you talk to him.
"You have time tomorrow?"
"It's my day off."
"Perfect. Meet me at the station."
"I said it's my day off; that doesn't mean I have time."
"But you're going to meet me at the station," he replies, and he hangs up on you. He fucking hangs up on you. You look at your phone screen. You can't believe him.
You're going to stand him up. You're not going to meet him tomorrow.
You keep telling yourself that, but you know you're going. You can't resist.

A/N
I didn't plan for this to become a series, but looks like it will be
I kinda like Ansel in this sort of role