synopsis: you meet shawn through tom then he proceeds to talk you down but you’re just as feisty as he is.
1.5k words of ~hOpEFully~ good n merry content [ here's other content as well ]
You straighten the tight white dress you wore after watching Clueless and realizing that you should wear the article of clothing more often. It was a mistake. Your thighs and the fabric were slightly sticking together from all the warm sweat accumulating caused by the humid apartment packed with people.
“Y/N, c'mere and have another drink!” Tom yells from the kitchen situated on the other side of the crowded apartment.
It was Tom's birthday party and you could never pass up anything he invites you to. You could have a sprained ankle and he can still convince you to come. Currently, you are honestly unaware of how many tequila shots you've downed since you got there but you've been saying 3 since then.
It's 12:30 now and you've talked to more people than you have in your entire life mainly because all of them where pretty chatty and drunk, rambling aimlessly and disappearing after a minute or so.
You catch a glimpse of Shawn Mendes, who's having a conversation with Tom as of the moment. They were by the marble counter in the kitchen, pouring drinks and chatting simultaneously.
The two of you haven't met yet but you kinda wish you would tonight—or maybe it's just the alcohol that sparks a false sense of confidence in you.
“Who's the pretty girl?” Shawn asks his friend, vaguely pointing your direction discreetly.
“White dress?” Tom asks, eyebrows raising briefly.
“Oh, alright, so you agree that she's pretty, eh?” he teases, smiling to himself. He adjusts his polo, pulling it down to expose more of his skin.
“Well, she is. I mean, she's really great. I met her way back... like 2–3 years, I think.”
“Damn man. You're late 3 years then on not telling me about her, sheesh,” he replies, getting lost in your movements and the way you steal a few quick glances his way.
“Go talk to her,“ he says, playfully pushing him forward. “Oh, by the way, her name's Y/N.”
“Fuck man, not too loud!” he screams back, embarrassed of you hearing that he'd been talking about you to Tom. The numerous beers he drank earlier are now hitting him and it's not a cute sight with him fumbling around the flat.
He quickly unbuttons the fourth button on his polo, adorned with pink flamingos, as he nears the girl he had his eyes on since the night began.
Patiently tapping his leather boot-clad foot on the wooden flooring a few inches away from you, he waits for your conversation with his friend's girlfriend to die off.
But he couldn't wait. A good 30 seconds had passed and he just had to hear your voice. He taps your shoulder two times, lost in the way your hair falls to the side as you turn your head to face him. You mumble a soft 'excuse me' to end your former chat, followed by a 'see you around' to close it off.
“May I help you?”
Fuck. Your voice is as hot as he expected—well, maybe a little deeper but dear god was it better.
Taking a moment to bring himself back to life, he stutters, “I'm Shawn,” looking like a damn fool in front of the prettiest girl in the room.
“I know who you are,” you laugh, giving him a name he could call you by.
He says your name again to himself and you couldn't help but blush at how he says it. With your name rolling off his tongue and how his lips move slowly to make sure he pronounced it correctly, you were surely as lost in him as he is with you. The only difference being you mastering the art of keeping a straight face, leaving him completely clueless to what you're thinking.
“You're very beautiful, not being creepy.”
“Oh wow, why thank you,” you blush, shifting your weight to your left. You wish you had another drink so you could sip forever and avoid conversation. “You're not so bad yourself,” you add, noticing his dark chocolate curls that bounce ever-so-slightly with every movement.
“How come we haven't met before? You knew Tom way back, right?”
“Damn, how'd you know that? Been talking about me, eh?” you tease. You specifically made sure that you squint your eyes slightly and tip your head to the side a bit just to push some of his buttons.
“Hmm, yeah, I was. How could I not? With you burning your eyes through me a few times, I gotta know your name in case you start a fire 'round here,” he smirks, diverting his gaze.
“Wow, I'm that hot, huh?”
“No, 'cause you look like someone to commit arson,” he jokes, laughing before taking a sip from his cup.
“You'd be my first victim,” you joke back.
“Because I'm the only person here who's hotter than you and you don't like competition?”
“No, 'cause I fucking hate you.”
“Shit, feisty, eh?”
You hated him. He knew how to play it well and he was getting you good—not that you're complaining or anything. And with that good sense of humour? Two can play this game and you're not someone who loses.
Moving your hair to side, you expose your neck briefly, seeing him make a quick glance, giving you a sense of satisfaction. You start walking away from him to fetch another drink, hips swaying softly, hoping he'd come after you. You reach the kitchen and look for a bottle of beer inside the oak cabinets.
“I got it,” he speaks up as you bend over and reach your hand down to grab the bottle below the counter. He slides his hand down your back, stopping just below the small of it before pushing you to the side. He grabs two bottles, opening one and handing it to you.
”Thanks, but I could very well do it myself,” you mumble, letting him hold you and lead you towards the balcony.
“Yeah, but I wouldn't want you bending over like that any longer,” he whispers, his back leaning against the metal railing.
“Couldn't handle it?” you tease, mimicking his position but with your body facing the opposite way.
You take a moment to just appreciate the view, with all the tiny orbs of light decorating the skyline and the stars dotting across the dark sky. You face him briefly, finding some kind of reaction.
“Toronto's beautiful,” you spark up a chat once again, taking a sip of your drink and observing his features. You couldn't help but observe every curve of his face, noticing little freckles on his neck as well.
“Nah,” he says back, tucking a twirl of hair behind your ear. “You are,” he adds.
You laugh in response, unable to construct something witty to say back. “Really?”
“Yes, I'm dead serious,” he says, looking at you in the eye, and inching forward. “Hot too, if I may add—god, bending over for me and shit.”
“Ugh—cut the shit, man,” you reply, sick of the little flirt game you had going on. “Okay, you got me 'ight. I've completely fallen for you tonight so stop talking me down like that.”
“Too far?” he now sounds concerned, moving his drink to his right hand to scratch the back of his neck with his left.
“No!” you voice rises, leaning forward towards him. “Just stop sweet talking. You got me already—god, just—talk to me,” you persist, looking into his eyes, that reflected the lights from the party.
“Okay, um—”
“Tell me about what you love to do, or your family, what music you listen to, or just you,“ you ramble on, looking up and inhaling deeply.
You were so gone. Searching his eyes for depth—anything—something. You were sure as hell that there was something beyond his cocky aura, a soft side perhaps.
And so his composure broke. The night falling deeper as you both share stories from your childhood, forgetting about maybe scoring a one night stand with someone from the party.
It's all a blur; one drink turning into four. His features were softer and gloomier now, making you check the time. 2 AM. You look around, scanning your eyes through the sheer glass of the vast apartment and seeing less people since the last time you checked. Tom passed out on the couch, while Brian roamed around the TV, struggling to find the button that turns the device on.
“Wanna come back to my place?” Shawn suggests, tapping his thumb on the back of your hand whilst he holds it tighter.
You didn't seem to notice that at some point throughout the night, he managed to hold your hand without your protest.
“After all that talking, you're still looking to get into my pants, huh?” you reply, trying to hide the fact that his words slightly offended you.
Fuck. Can't believe you fell for it—his little act—looking like he's trying to get to you know better but he's just looking for a hook-up.
He shakes his head and adjusts his posture, dismissing your suspicion. “No, no. I just—You need to rest 'cause you look so fucking tired and I want to see you tomorrow and have breakfast with you so, you know, we could talk more about our favorite movies.”
