Imagines and One-Shots (Book Two)

Nothing Less (Michael Clifford)

Your 11-year-old brother had been practicing for this day since the moment the announcement came out that America's Got Talent would be holding auditions in your state's capital. You two always watched the show with your parents whenever new episodes aired, and to think that your brother could be a contestant made your heart ache. Shane was an incredibly good magician – especially for being so young – so you had no doubt that he would wow everyone who watched him perform.

However, it wasn't until Shane was moved to a separate room with other performers who were about to go on that you got distracted. You'd kept your eyes a boy sitting up against the wall underneath a window on the other side of the room since the moment you sat down, and you didn't know what it was about him, but you just wouldn't be able to forgive yourself if you didn't check on him.

You told your mom this as one of the crew members for the show was leading your family into the other room, and she promised she would come get you when it was your brother's turn on stage. She hurried after everyone while you took a deep breath and walked over to the boy.

"Hey... Are you okay?" you asked softly. You weren't sure if he heard it due to the business of the room, but when he jumped and his head snapped up to look at you, it was obvious he did.

"Huh?" he asked thickly, having heard your voice but not what you actually said.

"Um... I noticed you earlier and you look... Well, you look like you're about to have a panic attack, to be honest, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay..." you said shyly, thinking he probably thought you were weird.

"You noticed?" he all but whispered.

"Well, you certainly don't look like the most comfortable person in the room," you pointed out. The blonde boy couldn't help but chuckle dryly, looking back down at his lap.

"M'fine," he replied.

"You're also lying," you stated bluntly, plopping down on the floor beside him. "What's your name?" you asked. He looked back up skeptically.

"M-Michael," he murmured.

"Michael," you repeated, making his heart flutter, "I'm Y/N. I know I may not have panic attacks myself, but I have friends who do, so I know what they look like before they start. And I know that everyone is different and some people don't like having someone near them when they're going through one, but I couldn't just walk right by without knowing if you needed help."

"I-I'm not one of those people who likes t-to be alone, b-but..." he trailed off.

"But...?" you coaxed.

"S'embarrassing," he sighed.

"Michael, if it's going to help you-"

"It helps whe-when people hold my hand..." he mumbled, "Makes me feel better..."

Without hesitating, you held your hand up – and without any second thoughts, Michael grabbed it, holding it tightly. Your fingers laced with his and you squeezed him as hard as he was squeezing you. You listened to him take deep, slow breaths, trying to calm his racing heart.

It took a few minutes, but he finally seemed to go back to normal – neither of you released your grips though.

"Thank you," he said softly. You smiled at him, deciding that you didn't want to leave him just yet.

"So," you chirped, "What are you gonna be doing for the show?"

"Singing, I hope," he chuckled lightheartedly, "If I even make it to the stage that is. What about you?"