Hey!

I know... where the fuck are the chapters for my stories? They're lost somewhere in my mind. I like one shots more *shrugs* they're super fun do write and I love reading them too. So I'm dedicating to one shots from now on (I think). I'll finish the stories... eventually...

Anyway this one shot is inspired by 102, a song by Matty Healy, from the most awesome, talented band I know The 1975. Is there any crazy fan too? Cuz I love love love those four guys and respect their music so much! But none of my friends like them so I'm alone... I just have the awesome fans from tumblr... But yeah, does anyone else share this crazy love for them? Let me know! What's your favourite song, favourite bad member (if you have, cuz I don't, I love them equally) and shit like that.

On the with te one shot.

Disclaimer: I don't own Austin&Ally or the beautiful song102 by Matthew Healy from The 1975

Enjoy :)

"Here"
The blonde handed the money to the man who sent him a small smile he didn't return and turned around to walk into the dark night not hearing the same man thanking him. He sighed and opened the small package he had bought and took one of the ten cigarettes out, putting it between his teeth before grabbing a lighter from his pocket and while his left hand covered the cigarette from the cold wind, the other one lit it up. He slowly sucked the light smoke and after putting the pack of cigarettes and the lighter in his right pocket of his black leather jacket, his fingers grabbed the cigarette and pulled it out of his mouth and he blew the grey smoke he had inhaled just seconds before. His eyes found the calm ocean in front of him and he stared at it for a moment. He just breathed.
In
Out
In
Out
Smoke
In
Out
In
Out
Smoke
And he smoked.

Well we're here
We're at the common again
Smoked six of the ten fags that
I only bought an hour ago

How did they end up there? How did he end up there? He remembered that place. Their place. His heart was beating fast. Too fast. He wiped his sweaty hands on his black jeans and felt the almost empty pack of cigarettes he had bought just an hour before inside the right pocket of his jacket that brushed his fingers lightly and he gripped the pack tightly while his eyes were on her beautiful face illuminated by the soft light of the flavoring candles around the room. She had always preferred candles over artificial light and loved the scent of them. He remembered spending his nights there with her, smelling her flavor candles and talking with her and kissing her without getting a little bit tired. It was their common place. But he still wanted to smoke the seventh cigarette and not those candles.

Said well I
I like the look of your shoes
I like the way that your face looks when
I'm arguing with you

His eyes moved from her moving with anger face and rested on her feet. She wasn't wearing her old shabby black converse shoes he used to always see on her feet. Those which had stepped in so many places along with his perfectly cleaned red ones, those which had witnessed so many moments the two best friends had shared. He now strangely missed those shoes. Or maybe he missed the days when she had worn them, (or specially the day when their hearts had finally become one together… yes, she was wearing those shoes). Anywise he still missed them. But he didn't recognize the dark pink high heels on her feet this time. And he knew he had to remember those shoes as the shoes who were stepping the place where that night was happening.
"I like the look of your shoes."
"What?"
But he didn't repeat it. He only watched her yelling, challenging him to argue back. And he did. And as her red lips moved fast and her eyes filled with anger and betrayed glared at him with all her strength and all the courage she had, he could only think how beautiful she looked.

And so when, when we all grow old
I hope this song will remind you that
I'm not half has bad as what
You've been told

"I should have listen to them" he heard her say "I should have known you would just play games with me! I should have believed them when they told me you were bad news! But no! No! I had to be stupidly blinded by love and didn't see who you really were, who you always were! I knew it!"
And somehow he knew this was coming. He knew his bad behaviour would end up being selfish to his own self and would end up hurting the only person he actually cared about. But he wasn't like that. They didn't know him. She did. She was just confused at the moment. But they didn't. The drugs, alcohol and cigarettes didn't define him. His love for her did. And then he could see himself sitting there again with her, brushing her old grey hair out of her old beautiful features and playing to her, just hoping she would know and remember he wasn't that bad, he wasn't like they made him be.

And when I knock
At one hundred and two
And I see your pyjamas
I can't stop smiling at you

He stood up from the send and made his way to that door. The door he dreaded. He stared at it. How could he be afraid of a door, a simple number. How do you do that thing again? I mean, breath? How do you breath? His hand that once was inside his warm pocket contacted with the wooden door that hid the memorial place and he finally gained the courage to knock at 102. It was cold and he waited outside. Waited. Maybe there was nobody there. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. No one. He threw his head back and shut his eyes tightly for a second and opened them to watch the night sky. He waited. Sighing he put his hand back in the pocket and turned around with his head now looking down. This was a bad idea. He shouldn't have come. Suddenly the dark ground was illuminated and his eyes widened. He slowly lifted his head and his feet carried him to the door again. And there she was. In her pyjamas. Looking so innocent but broken. Looking up at him shocked. And he smiled. Breathing.

And that's why when
We're at the common again
I've been pouring my heart out
Towards your optimistic grin

She was sitting on her brown couch that he once called theirs and he was walking around the so familiar room and it pained him that he used to spend his time there with her. He thought he would never go back there. But there he was. The walls were still painted red and yellow and the piano was still behind the door, being hit every time someone opened it, because they never found a better place for such a big instrument. And his collection of music CD'S from the 80's was still on the shelf, organized by the date of release. And even the bottle of his favourite red wine was still on the floor next to the piano, exactly where he had left it months before, still half empty. And he almost knocked the bottle down while pacing back and forth in the apparently untouched room as words flew out of his mouth like a machine.
How do you say you're sorry? How do you tell someone you loved them? What if you had already loved them before?
"I need you!"
How do you tell them?
But she was grinning. She still managed to make her lips quirk up forming the most forced but widen and beautiful smile he had ever seen.

Said well I, I
I like the cut of your jib
I like the way that your face looks
When you're yapping on about him

"I have Gavin now."
And he forgot how to breathe again. He forgot how to live. She had someone now. Of course she had. He wasn't actually hoping she would wait for him forever until he finally knocked some self sense on his head and actually be the person she needed and deserved. But he hoped so. Even knowing she was too perfect, he still hoped she would wait for him. Maybe he was wrong. He stopped yelling. And her eyes were to hurtful to stare so he decided to stare at her dark pink high heels covered with her long white pyjama pants.
"I..." he tried, not taking his eyes off the odd outfit "I like the cut of you jib."
And she still manage to giggle after that.
And he let her.
He let her yell, he let her argue, he let her grin, giggle and talk. And he let her be gorgeous has she did.
And he heard her say that Gavin was an excellent guy. He took her to her favourite museums, he gave her flowers, he smiled at her, he was back home before midnight, he didn't lie, he didn't smoke, drink or get high every time he had a chance. And he loved her. And she was happy. She learned how to be happy with him. But she still missed the fights, the lies and the rare sober nights in that room. But she was happy. She had learned to love that new guy. But he didn't pay attention because de only thing in his mind was her face as she talked and talked about him.

But on this shirt
I found your smell
And I just sat there for ages
Contemplating what to do with myself

He sat down on the cold wet sand. His eyes followed every wave crashing and travelling up to his bare feet and he lit up another cigarette. He listened to the sound of the sea and closed his eyes breathing heavily. He rested his head on his knees and breathed. But a familiar smell filled him completely, making him forget almost everything. He grabbed the plain white shirt he was wearing and gripped it tightly in his hand, bringing it to his nose. It smelled like her. He wanted to cry. He threw the barely smoked cigarette into the wild deep sea and screamed. At the world, for being so selfish and taking her away from him. At them, for filling her head with wrong thoughts about him. At his fame, for changing him into the horrible monster he was now. At her, for letting him leave. But mostly at himself, for everything. Because he was a stupid self centred jerk who only cared about fame and fortune and alcohol and cigarettes and drugs. Who was he? How had he became this monster? How? What was he going to do? He missed her, he wanted her, he needed her. He stared at the sea again. What was he going to do?

Called you up
At one hundred and two
We just sat there for ages
Talking about that boy
What was getting onto you
You

He watched her and listened to her. And eventually he understood why he had knocked at 102, why she was strangely wearing those unknown dark pink high heels and a pyjama, why he wasn't with her anymore, why that boy was with her. Because he was what she needed. And he let her talk.

"I love you" he whispered into the sea as the night sky full of stars consumed him and he lit up the third cigarette before getting up and heading to 102.

Not every story has a happy ending. Deal. With. It. And it's kinda short... And it doesn't mention any names beside Gavin, mostly because I wanted it to be "universal", but yeah, it's Austin and Ally. meh

And I don't know if it's good or not... I liked it.

Also, I spent the night writing this and went to bed really late because of this and I don't know why I'm telling you guys this but fuck Nutella.

Don't forget to share your love with me, people!

Kisses^-^