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countdown: S.M

shawn’s team think that he and his touring manager are perfect for each other. they’re tired of listening to them bicker and argue (as entertaining as that might be), so they take matters into their own hands.

“here’s an intervention. for the next 24 hours, you two will be cuffed together. you can bicker to your heart’s content, fight it out for all we care, but maybe in that time you’ll realise how fucking perfect you two are for each other. now pull your shit together and let’s get on this flight.”

~18K words

“you absolutely don’t need another pack of those. i feel like i’m a sheepdog trying to herd you to where you need to be. fucking hurry up,” you whisper shout, trying your best not to draw the attention of other people in the airport who are trying to mind their own business.

shawn’s stood in front of you in the little newsagent store he bounded into a couple of minutes previously, gathering more candy and snacks in his large arms than he’s ever going to need on a three hour flight.

he grins childishly at your clear annoyance and purposely picks up another pack of the cheetos you told him he didn’t need and balances it precariously on top of the pile in his arms.

“shawn, i’m serious. get a fucking move on - you’re becoming a security risk. we need to get to the gate. andrew’s texted three times already to ask if i’ve lost you.”

“text back and tell him yes - see what he says. do you think he’d want peanut m&ms or chocolate? can you ask him?”

“no! i can’t ask him! you’ve got enough snacks for three days, let alone three hours so let’s move it along,” you huff, frantically texting andrew back to tell him, no you haven’t lost shawn but it could be arranged and yes, you’ll be there in the next five minutes. you’re pulled out of your distraction by shawn’s voice. he’s speaking into his phone, setting off again to walk up the tiny aisle of the newsagent.

“hey andrew, y/n was rude and wouldn’t ask you so do you want peanut or chocolate m&ms?” your nostrils flare in annoyance and you grasp your phone tightly in your hands. he’s the superstar – you would 100% be fired if you hurt him. he spins to walk towards you, reaching the m&ms next to you and saying into his phone, “hmm, let me see. yeah! they do have crispy ones!”

he turns to you, brown eyes wide and reminiscent of a puppy’s and says, “y/n, can you add crispy m&ms to my pile?”

your top lip curls and you take a deep breath. plastering a false grin on your face, you grab a packet of the candy and hurl them onto the top of the pile with a little more force than necessary. the slight oof noise that escapes shawn’s mouth gives you a small sense of victory.

“yeah, we’ve got them. i’ll just pay for these and then we’ll be at the gate.” he’s nodding into the phone, so large that he’s blocking the aisle so you can’t move past him. “yeah dude, she’s got that angry puppy look on her face. i’d better wrap this up before she bites,” he says, smirking as he sees you lick the front of your teeth, trying every trick in the book not to rise to his provoking. “alright man, see you soon.”

he pockets his phone into his tight black jeans and spins to move towards the cashier’s desk. flashing the young worker a devastating smile, he drops the pile of snacks onto the counter in front of him, apologising profusely for knocking one of them over the edge. the girl is clearly charmed by him - whether she recognises him as international superstar shawn mendes or just a boyishly handsome guy in her store – and she melts under his gaze.

she quickly begins ringing up his total, packing all of the snacks into plastic bags. he grins at you when she passes you rather than him one of the bags to hold while she continues packing. he’s waiting to see your reaction, wondering if this is the action that’s going to tip you over the edge but there’s no way you’re giving him the satisfaction. you send back a sweet but sarcastic smile and his grin widens, rolling his eyes dramatically with a sigh and taking the bag off you immediately. he might enjoy being an ass to you but he’s still a gentleman.

he quickly pays for his snacks – pointedly ignoring your eyeroll when you see the total – and generously poses for a quick selfie with the girl behind the counter. ah, international superstar shawn mendes it was. you send her a warm smile and hot foot it out of the store, pausing just outside the entrance for shawn to catch up.

“ok, so we’re looking for gate 42A. it should just be down here,” you say, mostly to yourself. your job is to be organised and talking to yourself is one strategy you use to get all of the shit you need to get done completed.

“hey, can you hold these for a sec? i need to pee,” shawn says from behind you. you hadn’t even noticed he’d stopped but you look up at the sign above his head that indicates there’s a bathroom. you sigh but hold your hands out to grab the bags from his hands. he mutters a quiet but grateful, “thanks,” and then dashes through the door to the men’s.

you squint further down the airport and you can just about make out a sign that indicates your gate and you instantly feel a little calmer. nearly there. one of the other crew members spots you and stands up to wave. you raise the lighter of the two bags in the air to signify i’ve seen you and i’ll be there soon and also can you believe this asshole? more of the team notice you and look your way and you can see clear signs of laughter despite them being right down the way. you spot the security team waving sheepishly at you and, with the bag still raised in the air, offer them a swift showing of your middle finger. you hear their laughter echo down to you.

you know they felt bad for you after they gave into shawn’s wishes for you to accompany him the store rather than them. he’d sweet talked them into it by telling them that they work so hard and he’s so grateful for them and the least he could was let them have a couple of minutes rest while he grabbed some snacks. they refused to let him go alone and just at that moment, you’d walked back up to the group from the information board to inform everyone of your gate number.

shawn had looked at you and announced, “y/n will come with me. right, y/n?”

“no, y/n will not go with you, wherever it is you’re wanting to go,” you stated, causing the other crew members to stifle laughs at your deadpan response. the dynamic between you and shawn never failed to entertain the other team members.

“i was just telling the guys that they deserve a little rest. i just want to grab a snack from the store down there. don’t you think they deserve a rest? please, y/n?” he whispered the last part, popping out his bottom lip as if he was pouting.

you looked around the group of people all looking in your direction and sighed, already having made your decision. “ok, fine, go rest!” you ordered the exhausted team before turning to shawn, pointing your finger at him so he knew you weren’t completely giving in to him. “you’ve got two minutes in this store, mendes,” you muttered, palming off your carry on bag to the security team and doing a quick head count to make sure everyone was there.

a hand grabs at the two bags you’re still holding outside of the bathroom and makes you jump at first before a familiar voice whispers, “woah, it’s only me,” before whipping the bags out of your hands. he holds them both in one hand and makes it look effortless.

“ready?” you ask him, setting off without waiting for his reply. he follows you without question, chattering in your ear about how dope the futuristic hand dryers were in the bathroom. you tune him out as you approach the rest of the team, shooting them telling looks of how your experience has been. you walk through them to plonk yourself on a seat on the outskirts of the group, grabbing your carry on from the floor on the way. you purposely leave the seat all the way in the centre of the group for shawn.

“we come in peace! we bring snacks!” shawn shouts, a little louder than he probably should have if he’s not wanting to draw attention to himself and he winces when most of the team shush him. “sorry. well, i bring snacks,” he says, showing off the two bags in his hand by holding them up by his head. “y/n was being a negative nancy and didn’t want to bring extra cheetos.” you roll your eyes at the dramatic gasps of the crew around you and pull your phone out to check the schedule of the day so far.

you could hear shawn doling out snacks like he was ellen degeneres offering up concert tickets so you used the time send off a quick email enquiring if the pyro technicians had fixed the fault from the night before, or if new strobes needed to be sourced before shawn’s next show in two nights. a body plonked down in the chair beside you, rustling a plastic bag that managed to distract you from your work. you huffed out a small sigh and placed your right arm on the arm rest between the chairs, resting your head on your hand to try and block out the incessant rustling noise.

“here,” shawn’s voice mutters at the side of you. from around the barrier of your arm, he launches a pack of candy at you. “they’re your favourite, right?” he asks, rooting in the bag again.

you nod silently at him before whispering, “yeah. thanks, shawn.”

“no worries. also got you this,” he adds, trailing an ice cold bottle of water up your arm to make you shriek with the freezing temperature before leaning it against his thigh on the chair. the crew around you howl with laughter and you can hear shawn’s giggles at the side of you. he screws the empty plastic bags up and pops them in his backpack, then settles back into the seat. you shove your arm onto the arm rest again before he can claim it for his own, and reassume your position of arm up, head resting on your hand, blocking out the little shit superstar at the side of you.

a crew member from in front of you asks how long it will be until you all board the flight and you answer, “should only be ten minutes now, bub,” quietly, just in case shawn gets any ideas about any other adventures he might want to go on.

without moving your head, you cast your gaze to your right and out of the corner of your eye, you see that shawn’s fully involved in a game on his phone. you mentally recheck your carry on packing list and breathe out a small sigh of relief when you remember packing your phone charger. you know for sure that shawn will have packed his in his checked luggage, and the last thing a stressed tour manager needs is a bored superstar who’s phone has died.

your phone vibrates in your hand to signify an email reply has come through, so you quickly open it up to read the reply. you feel shawn’s arm leaning against yours on the armrest and, focused more on the email rather than your incessant need to not let him win, you shuffle your arm closer to your body so you’ve both got room. you tap out a response with your left hand (your right hand is still occupied by holding up your head) and out of the corner of your eye again, you see that shawn’s in a mirror position to you on your right. head resting on his left hand that’s propped on the arm rest, phone grasped in his right hand.

you’re just finishing off your email when you notice whispered giggling around you. you glance your eyes up from your phone and frown when more than ten heads of the crew that were facing your way suddenly whip around to pretend they’re concentrating on the departure board. dismissing it as the crew just being their strange selves, you re-read the email thanking the pyro team for sorting the issue so promptly. you’re just about to hit send when a cold, metal feeling locks around your right wrist that’s propped on the arm rest. you jump a little in your seat, more than ready to give shawn a piece of your mind for messing with that water bottle again when you feel a tugging sensation.

guffaws of laughter echo out into the fairly quiet airport and you see crew members resting on each other to try and keep their cries of hilarity in. a very sheepish jake from security creeps back around from behind where you and shawn are sat and can’t quite hold in the giggles at the confused look on your face and the downright shocked look on shawn’s. you turn to him to find out what the fuck is going on but you see that his gaze is fixed onto your wrist. you follow the path of his eyeline and feel your own eyes almost bulge out of their sockets when you see silver handcuffs locked around your right wrist, connecting you to shawn’s left. you pull your arm away from the arm rest forcefully, wincing at shawn’s muffled ouch as his arm comes flying with it.

the tour manager, problem solving, how-do-i-get-us-out-of-this-shit part of your brain is in overdrive and the laughter around you seems to get louder as the crew who are so familiar with you know this. your eyes sprint around from your wrist, to shawn’s, to shawn’s frozen face, to the crew and then back.

you quickly consider who’s done this and why that might be, then formulate a plan. OK, play it cool. laugh it off, tell them how funny they are and then they’ll unlock you.

“ok, very funny, guys! i get it! attach me to this little shit for the day ha ha,” you joke, trying to keep your voice light hearted and ignoring the insulted hey from shawn at the name you called him. “truly, you’re all comedy geniuses. now unlock us so we can get on our flight in five minutes.”

“hmm, i’m not sure we can do that, y/n,” a crew member says, dissolving into laughter before his full sentence is even out.

“i agree with john,” a sound tech pipes up. “we’re nearly at the end of the american leg of this tour and we think it’s our duty to get you two to get along,” he explains.

“ahh yes, and the way to do that is to cuff us together,” mutters shawn from beside you. he keeps tugging on the cuffs as if he can jiggle them to unlock and it’s pulling on the bone that sticks out of your wrist.

“you see guys, we think that all of this bickering is a front,” andrew says calmly from a couple of seats across from you.

you blink at him a couple of times and you can feel shawn frozen next to you. you’re pretty sure the looks on your faces mirror each other judging from how hard the crew are trying to suppress their laughter.

“we think that you two are made for each other. we think that you’re complete asses to each other – and only each other – to avoid your true feelings. and as much as we enjoy watching it, we’re all a little tired of waiting for something to happen. the sweepstake on when you two will actually get together is coming to an end and i’ve already lost $100 because of you, so here’s an intervention. for the next 24 hours, you two will be cuffed together. you can bicker to your heart’s content, fight it out for all we care, but maybe in that time you’ll realise how fucking perfect you two are for each other. now pull your shit together and let’s get on this flight,” he commands and everyone stands immediately – the power of a manager, eh?

the crew are obnoxiously high fiving each other and patting each other on the back but you and shawn are stood in stunned silence. you automatically follow the rest of the group to the queue that’s formed to board the plane, picking up your carry on bag with your left hand.

you feel like your brain needs resetting to help you digest the honest words that andrew has just spoken to you both. made for each other? perfect? what the fuck are they seeing that you’re not?

andrew shouts your name from up front of the group and you realise you’ve got a job to do to get all of these people from one state to the next, so you pull your head out of your ass and remember to breathe again. you pull your carry on bag up to rest on the crook of your elbow after you’ve grabbed the group’s boarding passes from the front pocket.

you mutter a quiet yet stern, “stay here,” to shawn as you try to move your body past his to get to the front of the queue where andrew is standing. you can hear him shouting your name again so you shout, “here! coming!” and then the odd, “excuse me, sorry,” to the people who you’re having to move past. you can feel yourself getting frustrated that people aren’t moving out of the way quick enough and that must be why this process is taking far too long.

you can see the top of andrew’s head now and your entire focus is on getting there and handing over the crew’s boarding passes so you can get on this fucking plane. you feel a large body tumbling into your back as you finally reach the front and you spin around. shawn’s stood directly behind you, looking at you apologetically for accidentally stumbling into you. he’s always been a little clumsy.

“did i not tell you to stay there?” you hiss through your teeth. the last thing you need right now is him breathing down your neck as you try and do your job properly.

he raises his eyebrow at you in disbelief and then holds up your connected hands right in front of your face. your eyes widen and then shut in embarrassment.

“sorry, y/n, i must have forgotten to put on my super stretch arms today,” he replies sarcastically, jangling his wrist so yours moves too.

he sees that you’re getting a little overwhelmed – he knows how much this job means to you and how much of a perfectionist you are (it’s why they hired you for fuck’s sake) – so he pulls your connected hands down out of your face and whispers, “hey. it’s cool. just some stupid joke, right? come on, we’re up next,” before jostling your shoulder a little to turn you around to face the airline staff member.

as you deal with the twenty plus boarding passes that you’re responsible for, you can hear shawn and andrew whispering in hisses behind you. you’re too busy paying attention to the lady scanning all of your passes to hear exactly what they’re saying, but you catch shawn mutter, “too far, man. that was a private conversation and you’ve pushed it too far.”

the lady confirms you’re all ready to board and hands you back the passes. your heavy carry on bag drops from the crook of your left elbow down and you grab it with your left hand. you reach your right hand up to grab the awaiting passes but your hand is being tugged back on.

your turn around to look at shawn and see him locked in a glaring battle with his manager. the lady behind the desk is looking at you bizarrely, clearly wondering why you haven’t taken the passes from her yet, so you say shawn’s name, interrupting the unspoken disagreement that he and andrew are locked in on.

he’s a little startled when you speak, but he looks directly at you and says, “sorry. what’s up?”

“i need my hand,” you whisper awkwardly, tugging on it to finally reach and grab the passes.

“thanks,” you mutter to the lady, blatantly ignoring her locked gaze on the handcuffs joining you and shawn together.

he repeats, “thanks,” after you, offering her a flash of his smile before he gives you a gentle shove towards the jetway.

you’re both striding towards the plane when you hear him mumble, “jesus christ, i hope she doesn’t recognise me. she’s going to think i’m some sort of BDSM worshipper.”

for the first time that day, you feel an amused laugh bubble out of you. the following tug on your wrist as he trips against what appears to be only air wipes the smile clean off. only 23 hours and 30 minutes left.

you make shawn stand with you outside of the plane until you count every member of the crew you’re responsible for through the door. you lose count once but shawn helps you by reminding you what number you were on. you’re unsure whether to trust him immediately, but his small shrug when he notices that you’re looking at him unconvinced encourages you to believe him. when you’re happy that everyone is accounted for, you both step on board and make your way to your seats. he definitely eye rolls behind your back when you start to count everyone again on your way down the aisle, just to be sure.

you reach your seats and see one of the lighting technicians is stood in the aisle, looking pretty amused with the crew’s prank still. you plaster a smile on your face – don’t show them you’re bothered - and ask, “what’s up, pete?”

“uh, i need to swap seats with you, y/n.”

“what? why? what’s wrong with yours? let me go and find the –“

“um, no – nothing’s wrong. it’s just that you two have to sit together,” he smiles. no, no. that bastard is definitely smirking.

“oh.” you reply in defeat. why did that not occur to you? you’re meant to be running this shit. “yeah, ok. i’m in 15D,” you say and move into the side to let him pass. you definitely don’t almost trip him as he whispers, “have fun,” when he moves past you.

shawn crowds up against you to make you move into your seats – 19A and B – grabbing your carry on from you and shoving it into the over head compartment one handed. rationally, you know that shouldn’t irritate you but you definitely feel a spark of heat that you label as annoyance in your stomach. he pushes against your body with one of his gigantic legs to slot you both into the seats so you’re not blocking the aisle for any longer than you really need to.

he plonks himself down into the aisle seat and fiddles with the seatbelt buckle behind him that’s he’s managed to sit on.

when he sees that you’re still standing, he tugs gently at the cuffs to get your attention and says, “sit down,” with a puzzled look on his face.

“i have to sit on the aisle,” you say, voice monotone.

“ha! yeah, good luck with that!” he says, wiggling the cuff again. shit, he’s right. if you sit here, you’re stuck by the window because you’re on his left hand side.

“we need to switch with someone on the other side of the plane,” you say, just about to clamber over him and shout the name of the roadie who’s already fast asleep, despite sitting down on the plane a mere 5 minutes ago.

“y/n, sit down. please. it’s only a 3 hour flight. if you need to get up just let me know. it’s cool,” he says and strangely, you find yourself collapsing into your seat. it seems as though he’s a little taken aback as well, expecting you to put up much more of a fight.

you both buckle in and you stare resolutely out of the window, absolutely not making eye contact with any of this fucking crew. you know it’s totally ridiculous, but you feel tears pricking at your eyes as the plane begins to taxi backwards. you’re a control freak – you have to be in charge, you have to be able to do exactly what you want and you have to be able to plan every move. it’s how you battle your way through simple everyday life and it’s what makes you the fucking best at your job. in one simple prank, the team have completely removed that power from you. you feel as though all of your weaknesses are vulnerable and on show, and you turn your head further towards the window to subtly wipe away a stray tear.

your brain also takes this moment to acknowledge that you fucking hate flying, despite it being a massive part of this job. it also reminds you that one of the ways you cope with that fear is by sitting in the fucking aisle seat. you can feel your heart rate picking up and your breath becoming shallower as the plane pauses on the runway before take off. this and the landing is the worst part – the rest you can just about manage. that aisle seat makes you feel like you have the tiniest sense of control and that’s the opposite of how you feel right now. you feel the handcuff tugging on your wrist as you rest your right cuffed hand on your stomach to try and calm your breathing. you ignore it the first time, trying desperately to regain control of your breaths, but when it tugs again, you turn your head to face shawn and spit, “cut. it. out.” straight at him.

brown, doe eyes widen at your response – he was only trying to loosen his seatbelt a little – and he sees your eyes close as the plane sets off, picking up speed down the runway. he sits as still as he can, unsure what to do right now, but his eyes remain fixed on you. he sees your head lean back against the chair and your chest move up and down in fits of shallow breaths. when he sees a single tear escape your eye, he can’t sit back any longer.

as slowly as possible - trying his very best not to tug anymore on your wrist - he shuffles his body closer to the arm rest separating your seats. he leans his left arm over it, giving you enough slack on the cuffs to rest your hand against your stomach like you wanted to before. he sees your furrowed brow smooth slightly at the comforting contact of your own hand, but it quickly creases again as the plane lifts off the ground. your chest moves up and down even faster so he leans in – careful not to touch you – and rests his head on the seat near yours. he takes in a deep breath and exhales it loudly, making sure you can hear him over the noise of the plane’s engines. he repeats this – in, out, in, out – until he can see the rhythm of your chest mirror his breaths. you sniffle quietly after finally feeling like you can breathe a little more before opening your eyes slowly. you wince at the bright sunlight streaming through the window and turn your head away from it. you weren’t prepared for shawn to be quite so close to you, eyes locked on yours with concern written on his face.

“you good?” he whispers quietly, not wanting to make too loud of a noise to falter the rhythm of your breathing.

“think so,” you whisper back. “fucking hate take off,” you say, feeling like you have to offer some him sort of explanation.

“i didn’t know that. i’ve never seen you freak about it before,” he says honestly, still maintaining his quiet volume.

“i have my coping methods usually,” you shake your head, dropping it back onto the head rest and closing your eyes again. you can feel the plane levelling out and it makes you feel a little calmer instantly.

“aisle seat?” he questions after a few moments, your earlier conversation clearly coming back to him.

“hmm?”

“you like the aisle seat. it makes you feel more in control of the whole take off and landing shit,” he explains.

you open your eyes and look directly at him. his head is sideways to his body, looking right at you and waiting patiently for your response. his chin is almost resting on his shoulder and although it doesn’t look like the most comfortable of positions, he looks surprisingly relaxed. the golden rays of the sunlight gloss over him, making his porcelain skin glow with a filter instagrammers only wish they could replicate.

you nod slowly in response to what he analysed and respond, “exactly that. thanks for helping – y’know – get my shit back together.”

he smiles at that, “no problem. you help me get my shit together every minute on this tour. nice to return the favour once in a while,” he grins. he’s quiet for a few moments, before sensing your discomfort at how honest you’ve been with him for the first time since you started working with him. he hates knowing that you feel that way, so he asks suddenly, “hey, can i try one of those pieces of candy you like? connor said i’m eating it all wrong.”

you let out a surprised laugh at how random his question is and you roll your eyes before passing him the packet from your hoodie pocket. he tugs your wrist back over the arm rest as he attempts to open it with his teeth, mumbling a quick, “oops, sorry,” when he notices your glare, although he doesn’t comment on how it has much less intensity now.

with the rustling sound at the side of you that you never thought you would label as comforting, you allow your eyes to fall closed and sleep to encompass you. 23 hours left to go.

your eyes open slowly what feels like ten minutes later, but according to your phone when you pull it out of your pocket, it’s been a good hour and a half. you register that the plane is mostly quiet at your end, and you see pablo (one of the roadies) stood in the aisle, rummaging in the overhead locker for his carry on and throwing his headphones down onto his empty seat. he meets your eye as he moves to sit back down and he sends you a friendly wave. you lift your arm to return it but immediately feel an unfamiliar weight attached to it.

right. the cuffs. in your blissful state of sleep, you’d forgotten all about them. you’re quite impressed to see that shawn’s lifted up the arm rest separating you both so you can rest your cuffed hands comfortably on the edge of your seat. obviously you won’t tell him that, though. his head is facing the aisle, resting on his shoulder at a funny angle and you know his neck is going to have a serious kink in it when he wakes up. you consider giving him a shove now to wake him up so you don’t have to deal with his whining later on, but you decide against it.

you rest your head back on your headrest and close your eyes, trying your very best to aim for sleep again when your eyes ping open. shit. this must be what woke you up in the first place. you have to pee.

you grab for your phone again, counting down the exact minutes until you’re on the ground so you don’t have to pee in the tiny aeroplane bathroom but the urge burns stronger. you mentally curse your body out for not playing ball with you and then you beat yourself up for not going to the bathroom when shawn did earlier in the airport. you’re considering that this is your karma for not waking shawn up to protect him from the crick in his neck and you shake your head in despair.

you try to ignore the sensation but when you glance down in between you and shawn, you see the water bottle he gave you earlier propped up against your hip. it’s half full and the swishing of the water against your hip is making the feeling worse. you decide this is all shawn’s fault – if he hadn’t bought you that water, you definitely wouldn’t need to pee – and so you give his shoulder a quick shove.

clearly, you’re stronger than you think as he grips onto the armrest on the aisle for dear life and frantically he looks at his surroundings, alarmed. he glances at you immediately when he hears you huff out a laugh, and then settles back into his seat, closing his eyes again. you repeat your movement to his shoulder, a little softer this time.

“what is it?” he growls.

“shawn, i have to pee,” you state honestly. no point in beating around the bush about it.

he mumbles sleepily, “just climb over. i’m tired,” before snuffling his nose in a way that you are not allowing yourself to call cute.

“dude,” you state, waiting for him to realise. he cracks his left eye open to stare at you as understanding dawns when he too feels the movement on his wrist.

he huffs out a sigh, muttering, “fine, let’s go,” before hauling you up to your feet as he stands. he lets you step up the aisle first and you spend a minute or so whisper bickering about whether you’re closer to the front bathroom or the bathroom in the middle of the plane. the gazes of your crew are turning to look at you and they’re laughing - oh they’re laughing alright.

not wanting to give them anymore entertainment than they deserve, you mumble, “fine, middle bathroom it is. now go, before i pee myself,” and give him a shove down the plane.

when you reach the bathroom. he leans on the wall beside the door and says, “be quick, i wanna go back to sleep,” before ruffling his hair with his hand. it makes part of it stick out but you’re not going to tell him, karma be damned.

you step inside the small bathroom and turn to close the door, rolling your eyes at your own stupidity as you fling it back open.

“jesus, that was quick,” shawn says as he sees your face pop out.

you decide to ignore his unfunny joke and tug his wrist towards you. “can you stand there please? i obviously can’t close or lock the door.”

without argument, he steps forward to block the door with his large body, shielding you from the view of any poor passengers who happen to be witnessing this shambles.

as you step inside again, pleased that your dignity won’t be exposed to everyone and their mother, you step towards the toilet, frowning when your arm won’t quite extend as far as it needs to to allow you to sit on it.

“um,” you say out loud, as if it will help that problem solving part of your brain work a little quicker.

shawn obviously hears you, calling out over his shoulder, “what’s up?”

“dude, i can’t reach.”

“what? what do you mean you –“

you pull open the bathroom door and he peeks inside, face falling as he sees the problem.

“what the fuck? why is the toilet so far back?”

“i know, right? the world is fucking with us. shawn, i really have to pee,” you say, adding on the end part desperately. you grit your teeth together and bounce from one leg to the other to really convey your point.

“ok, ok. stop, i’m familiar with the ‘i need to pee’ dance – i’ve got a sister, remember?” he says as he steps into the bathroom with you. the top of his coiffed hair touches the ceiling and you can’t help but smile when you hear him mutter, “they could have compromised a little on the length for a little more ceiling height,” before he turns around to face the door, locking it in place. his left arm is extended so you can get the length that you need to actually reach the toilet this time.

before you sit down, you check he’s giving you your privacy, smiling to yourself again when you see he’s facing the door with his eyes closed. he shakes his wrist impatiently at you, mumbling, “come on! hurry up! this is weird.”

part of you wants to make him wait for a long time, just like he did to you in the store earlier, but the other parts of you a) really need to pee, and b) think this is just as weird as he does.

you try your best to be quick, letting out an involuntary sigh of relief when you finally begin to pee. you notice his face crumple into laughter when he hears this and he lets out a loud guffaw. his laugh is infectious and the awkwardness of the situation adds to the hilarity, leaving the two of you in stitches.

“come on! now i need to go!” he says when he hears you stand up, flushing the toilet.

“hang on, let me just wash my hands. move – i can’t reach – just. ok, stop! you move backwards, let me get around here,” you organise, trying your best to navigate his giant body in this tiny space. you wash and dry your hands quickly, before extending your right hand back so he can use the bathroom too.

he tugs your cuff back more than you did and when you make a noise of protest, he explains, “i have to turn the other way! i need more slack,” as you hear him unzip his jeans.

“shawn, i swear to god you better be using your other hand,” you threaten lowly as giggles burst out of him again. you hear the toilet flush and he holds both hands in the air as he tries to move around you to the sink.

you end up stood against the door as he dries off his hands, pouting when he sees that his hair isn’t perfect. it won’t quite merge back with the rest of his hair and, unwilling to spend any more time than necessary in this bathroom, you shove your free hand under the tap to wet it and then slick down the curl that’s not behaving. he glances at you in the mirror, nodding his thanks before turning and unlocking the door behind you. he doesn’t realise your full body weight is rested on it so he has to act quickly to stop you from falling fully into the gentleman waiting to use the bathroom behind you.

a puzzled look falls on the man’s face when he sees both you and shawn emerge from the bathroom, that quickly turns to a smirk.

alarm bells ring in your head and you feel the need to explain, “nope – absolutely not what you’re thinking.” you yank your adjoined wrists up into the air and continue, “we’ve been pranked. get your mind out of the gut-“ you can’t quite finish your sentence as shawn is shoving you up the aisle back to your seats, whispering at you to not cause a scene.

“he was looking at us like we were fucking in the bathroom, shawn! of course i had to put him straight,” you hiss at him as you fall back into your seats.

“i know, but you’re never going to see this man again in your life. it doesn’t matter what he thinks,” he tries to rationalise with you.

“but what if he recognised you? what if he spreads that across the internet? oh my god what if-“ you’re stopped by his free right hand coming over your left one.

“breathe. calm down. the dude was like 70, he has no idea who i am. you need to relax,” he murmurs before settling himself back into his seat, rebuckling his seatbelt because shawn likes to follow all of the rules apart from the ones that you set him.

you huff and try and get more comfortable, ignoring the knowing grins of the crew members over the seats in front. you pull your phone from your hoodie pocket and check the time. only 21 hours and 42 minutes before you’re free.

shawn’s sprawled out on the seat at the side of you, wrist connected to yours and laid casually on the edge of your seat, long legs folded in a rather peculiar way and taking up most of your leg room. you’re just about to nudge his knee with yours to get him to move his legs out of your space when the seatbelt light pings on above you. he’s listening to music from his phone, frowning when he spots that his battery power is dropping by the minute. you watch his face fall deep in thought and you see the moment he realises his charger is packed in his hold luggage. ripping his headphones out of his ears with a huff, he swipes all of his apps up in a desperate effort to save battery. you’re weighing up whether to let him sweat about it a little longer or to tell him that your charger is in your carry on and he’s welcome to use it when you get off the plane when the pilot’s voice crackles through the speakers to signal you’re landing soon.

any thoughts you were going to verbalise slam to the back of your mind and you prop your head back on the headrest, taking note of how your breathing should sound and feel. if you take control of it now, it’s easier to retain it when your panic really sets in – coping strategies, you recognise.

your eyes aren’t closed yet but they are focused straight ahead on the furthest seatbelt sign you can see. the flight attendants are moving up and down the aisles preparing for the landing and you vaguely hear them speaking to shawn.

you feel him shuffle a little at the side of you, pulling in his mile long legs and sitting up a further in his seat, before reaching between the two of you to pull down the arm rest. he moves it slowly with his right hand, carefully gripping your wrist connected to his with his left, lifting it up and then placing it on the arm rest as he locks it in place. he shuffles in his seatbelt, loosening it to move closer to you as you still keep your gaze fixed on that glowing light at the front of the plane. he unceremoniously knocks your arm off the rest in between you to lay his arm on it – something you’re about to give him a pointed glare for until you realise what he’s doing.

his arm with the cuff on it is dangling over your lap, allowing you to manipulate the chain joining you together as much as you need. you lift your hand onto your stomach to feel your breaths, noting that you definitely feel calmer than earlier so you’re gifting yourself a win with that one. you feel shawn’s shoulder lean softly against yours and you subconsciously tilt your head towards him, listening carefully for his breathing pattern. still counting your breaths in and out, you hear him whisper, “do you want me to talk to you or do you need quiet?” “um, you can talk if you’d like. it sometimes distracts me from –“ you gesture wildly at the plane with your hand, wincing when shawn’s arm goes flying up with yours too. he laughs softly, waving off your apology.

he begins chatting quietly but incessantly in your ear about the album he was just listening to, the movie he watched in his hotel room last night after he was refused entry from the bar you all went to, mindless tales of his life that somehow make the half hour until landing speed by.

he’s mid way through explaining his opinion on why wolverine is the hands down the best superhero when the wheels of the plane hit the tarmac. you were so focused on listening to him talk, on hearing about his thoughts on random topics, you didn’t realise you were so close to the ground. the sudden jolt makes you grab the hand that’s dangling over the arm rest in panic, gripping it tightly as you snap your eyes shut.

he laughs softly at the side of you, turning his hand in yours to intertwine your fingers so you can get a proper grip of his hand. “keep breathing in, out, in, out. that’s it, there you go. hey, you’ve done it. we’re down.” he laughs to himself when you shake your head at him and then he replies, “look out of the window if you don’t believe me.”

you feel the plane physically come to a halt and you peel one eye open to peek out of the window. you blow out a relieved breath when you see tarmac, green fields and an airport parked in front of you. resting your head against the window and closing your eyes again, you say a silent thanks to whatever being has helped you land safely – one of your traditions each time you land.

you feel a tug on your hand rather than your wrist this time and you open your eyes to see your fingers intertwined with shawn’s in your lap. your face heats up immediately and you feel absolutely mortified that he’s seen you like this, at your most vulnerable, and you instantly loosen your grip and pull your hand away from his.

he stands up and steps into the aisle, reaching into the overhead locker to grab your carry on that he places in his empty seat. he sees you fussing with your phone and the arm rest and pretty much anything else you can to avoid his eye contact. the door opens and the crew begin to climb out of their seats and disembark the plane. when you stand up to grab your carry on, shawn whips it out from your grip and holds it in his right hand, left arm tugging at you to follow him. you make it out onto the plane jet way to the airport and he walks beside you, arm close but not touching.

“good job on there,” he says sincerely, not direct enough for anyone else to understand but specific enough to make your heart skip a beat. you send him a warm, appreciative smile, not knowing exactly what to say to him in response.

you show him your appreciation a little later when you’re all crashed in baggage claim. usually, you’re right up at the front, directing people to where their luggage is and yelling out names when you spot suitcases on the carousel. this time however, shawn collapses onto the floor, back resting on a wall in the middle of the crew. andrew takes pity on your weary glare at him and tells you that he’s got this and orders you to sit down.

feeling annoyed that you can’t complete your job properly, you begrudgingly slide down the wall and land ungracefully on the dirty airport floor. you see shawn pull his phone out of his pocket, sigh and slide it back into his jeans. you think of how great he was on that landing with you and feelings of gratefulness blossom in you. you reach into your carry on that’s been abandoned at the side of your feet and rummage around until you find the wire and plug that you’re searching for. pulling it swiftly out of your bag, you dump your charger into shawn’s lap, stifling a smile when he whispers, “yes! you’re the best, y/n,” quietly enough that the others can’t hear him.

you sneak a peek at his phone as he plugs it in and read the time quickly. after a fast bit of math, you realise that there’s about 20 hours left. maybe it won’t be as bad as you thought. you force yourself to turn away from him and check how the baggage claim is going, plastering a bored look onto your face. you wouldn’t want the crew to think their plan was working already.

ok, update? the plan was not fucking working and you were super naïve to think it was. you’re sat squashed up to shawn in the back of a blacked out car on the way to the hotel. he’s currently belting out the lyrics to an old 80s rock number, riffing his vocals up and down and air guitarring to his heart’s content. usually, this would have annoyed you, but when your wrist is strapped to an avid air guitar fanatic? that shit will drive you crazy.

the more you tell him to stop, the funnier he and the rest of the crew in the car find it, rocking out even harder and asking the driver to turn the music even louder.

you lift up your left hand that’s not connected to shawn and put it to your temple to rub at it, trying to diffuse the tension that’s built there.

dinner was an interesting experience to say the least. everyone had been so hungry that the group decision had been made to stop off at a restaurant en route to the hotel, despite your insistence that everyone checks into the hotel first, then gets dinner. you’d been outvoted, so, swallowing your pride, you’d called the restaurant that everyone had chosen to let them know you were on your way, an almost thirty strong team complete with sleepy tour crew and ravenous popstar.

you’d ordered a spaghetti dish, not really sure what else to choose and shawn had scoffed when he saw your dish come out from the kitchen.

you sent a warning glare at him, but you were unable to not react when he laughed as the waiter put down your dish. “is there a problem, shawn?”

“no problem at all,” he laughed. “you’re right handed, eh? can’t wait to see you eat that with these on,” he explained, wiggling his wrist so the cuffs made a metallic clanging sound.

you looked blankly at him, a little confused about what he meant but you weren’t going to tell him that. “thanks for the concern, but i’m sure i’ll manage,” you said, waiting for everyone to receive their meals before you dived in.

you picked up your fork with your left hand and passed it to your cuffed right one, just as shawn picked up his fork in his left. he made a move to cut his steak as you tried to twirl your fork in your pasta dish. ah, now you see what he meant. helplessly, you made eye contact with him and you both laughed before looking back at your dishes, trying to work out what to do.

“y/n, if you just give me two seconds, i’ll cut this up and then i won’t need that hand,” he suggested. exhausted from the day so far, you threw your fork onto the table and offered your arm to him so he could cut up his meal without stress. you refused to meet the eyes of the crew members around you and ate your meal as quickly as possible.

shawn seemed to forget that you were still joined together as he animatedly told a story to some of the crew and launched his hands widely, knocking over your drink in the process. you stood up quickly to avoid the steady stream dripping down the table and snatched the napkin he offered you out of his hand to try and blot the diet coke out of your pant leg.

dinner was wrapped up pretty quickly after that, so here you were, crushed into a van with a headache, a damp leg and a hyperactive superstar strapped to your wrist.

you check the time on your phone and you calculate that there’s only about 18 hours left in this nightmare. you try to comfort yourself in that you’ve all made it to the next city safely, there’s no more flights tomorrow and at least you’ve all eaten for the night. the worst has happened, right?

wrong. your forehead is pressed against the marble hotel check in desk in despair and the poor man who is trying to check the crew in is not quite sure what to do. he looks uncertainly to shawn who is stood beside you, looking just as confused at your dramatic reaction.

he prods you in the side once and he feels relieved when you lift up your head. you rest both hands on the top of the reception desk to bury your face in them, giving no thought to that fact poor shawn’s arm is hanging in mid air. you take three deep intakes of breath and force yourself to smile, accept the collection of room keys and thank the staff member for his prompt check in before andrew comes to check what’s going on.

“it’s not a big deal,” shawn mumbles at the side of you when you both turn to walk back to the group. he’s trying to be reassuring which you appreciate, but it’s just the worst end to the worst day.

you feel twenty plus pairs of eyes on you both as you round the corner into the reception room where the crew were waiting, giggling grins written all over their faces – it’s clear they’ve worked out what prompted your exaggerated reaction. they take one look at your murderous glare and not one of them dare say anything. cowards, you think yourself before you start handing out room keys, relaying the information about breakfast and housekeeping.

you pile into the elevators in groups, luggage already been taken to your rooms by the porters. you’re in the last group having made sure that everyone was happy with their room assignments and you plaster yourself against the mirrored wall of the elevator with a sigh as you all clamber in.

you hear one of the guitar techs ask, “hey, shawn, what number are you man?” and you can hear the teasing in his voice.

you silently plead with shawn not to tell him, not to give him what he wants, glaring at the back of his head when he answers, “221, dude,” straight away.

the guitar tech turns to you, not hiding his smirk very well at all when he asks, “what about you, y/n? what room at you in?”

the smirk on his face drops when you counter back, “wouldn’t you like to know, will,” shoving past him and walking down the corridor to find room 221 when the elevator doors slide open.

you hear the joking hooting calls of the crew behind you when you use the key to open the door and tug shawn by the wrist in the room, slamming the heavy door shut behind him.

“this is the worst day of my life,” you say into the room, to nobody in particular.

“what? why? this room is awesome,” shawn says from directly behind you, looking over the top of your head at the modern, glossy white furnishings of the room, king sized bed facing an enormous tv. giant, floor-to-ceiling length windows are directly next to the bed, the glow of the night time city lights blurring through the thin curtains pressed against the glass.

“no, shawn, i’m not saying this is the worst day of my life because of the room.”

“oh, i was gonna say; i knew you had high standards but woah,” he says as he kicks off his shoes and shoves them to the side of the little hallway so you don’t trip. he moves further into the room which means so do you and he turns on the tv, flicking through channels before settling on an old re-run of law and order. he’s perched on the end of the bed, bouncing a little to test its comfort as you stand in front of it, rubbing your forehead vigorously to try and release the tension.

“headache?” he asks, turning the volume on the tv right down when you answer with a small nod.

“just wanna go to sleep, to be honest with you,” you say and then look at the bed.

he turns around from where he’s sat to stare at it too, as if its going to start speaking to you both and tell you how to get out of this mess.

shawn rubs his hand on the back of his neck and mumbles softly, “i mean, we’re going to have to share,” as he shakes the cuffs, just in case you’d forgotten. you hadn’t. “we can build a little wall with the pillows and i’m sure i can find a blanket if you don’t want to share th-“

you hold the hand that was rubbing your forehead up to stop him and you shake your head. “it’s fine, shawn. thanks, i appreciate you trying to make me feel comfortable – i really do – but even though you’re an ass to me most of the time, i trust you. we’re both pretty much going to pass out anyway, right?”

“right,” he agrees, looking a little relieved that you obviously feel comfortable around him, pointedly ignoring the comment about him being an ass.

he lets the room go quiet for a moment, obediently following you to the two suitcases propped up on small tables in the hallway. you unlock his first and then yours, unzipping it to find your underwear, pjs and toiletry bag right on top where you’d left them. perfect planning, you smile to yourself, trying to hold in an unsurprised giggle as shawn unzips his luggage to uncover utter chaos. he rifles through unfolded clothes to grab a shirt and sweatpants to sleep in, then his bag full of toiletries.

“yeah, yeah – we can’t all be as organised as you,” he says in response to your giggles but his tone is light and teasing, clearly unoffended by your laughter. the light atmosphere between the two of you is refreshing, and it makes you feel a little less bad about the situation you’ve been pushed into.

“so, can i make the worst day of your life even worse?” he asks, grinning at you as you groan.

“sure, go ahead; have at it; do your worst!” you joke, racking your brain to consider what he could say.

he pauses, considering whether to be tactful or direct, then states, “i need to shower.”

he guffaws out a laugh as you dramatically lean against your suitcase and pretend to sob. “fucking hell,” you mutter, before trying to reason with him. “ok, we’ve literally got less than 18 hours left; you can wait that long, surely.”

“i can’t! i stink!” he replies.

“you really don’t!” you say, sniffing the air around him to prove your point which makes him laugh again.

“ok, but i will. i have to!” he whines. “i shower every night before i sleep. please, y/n? we’ll figure out a way just like the bathroom on the plane,” he pleads, puppy dog eyes and childish pout in full effect.

you reason in your head your possible options; he’s probably right – you’ll both need to shower either tonight or in the morning. you’re probably better getting it out of the way tonight and then forgetting about it for the rest of your life. you sigh again, pushing up off the luggage and striding towards the bathroom with your pile of clothes. you tug at his wrist that’s connected to yours and say, “fine. but put that bottom lip away, it works on no-one.”

you pointedly ignore him when you hear him petulantly whisper, “clearly works on you,” as he walks past you and closes the bathroom door behind you. less than 18 hours, you remind yourself.

“that’s perfect! we are a bunch of geniuses!” he triumphantly yells, high fiving both of your hands in the air and then wincing at the metal string connecting you both clinks against his wrist bone.

you’d fashioned a privacy screen on the glass shower with rows of towels and steamed the bathroom up enough that all of the mirrored surfaces had turned translucent. you’d shook hands to create a deal that showers would be quick, a towel would be waiting and eyes would remained closed at all time.

“let’s get this shit done,” you mumble, unable to help your laugh at his sarcastic reply of, “that’s the spirit!” before he shucks off his tight jeans.

“shawn!” you screech, whipping yourself around to face the door and squeezing your eyes closed. “you have to give me some warning!”

“oops, sorry,” he states sincerely, apologising again when he almost loses his balance peeling off his socks and drags you down with him. “although i’m sure a glimpse of my leg won’t lead you to having to burn your eyes out.”

“you never know…” you mutter, smiling when his laugh echoes around the tiled walls of the bathroom. he realises that he can’t actualy take his shirt off – the cuff is blocking it – so he slides his shirt over his head, over the cuffs and rests it on your shoulder so it doesn’t get wet whilst he’s in the shower.

“ok, clothes are sort of off. task one was a success! we make a great team,” he says and you ignore the sudden heat that’s covered the back of your neck at the thought of a naked shawn behind you.

“if you take like, three steps back you should be at the edge of the shower – woah, that’s it. if you stop there, i should probably be able to reach. ah, perfect!” he narrates his thoughts like this a lot, you notice, and you smile at how similar to yourself that is.

he’s still going, telling you every precise move he’s about to make when your voice cuts through the bathroom to say, “shawn, man. i trust you. now get a fucking move on, my arm’s at a funny angle here.”

you hear him laugh again as you jiggle your arm around the shower screen to prove your point, and then reply with a short, “yes ma’am.” you absolutely know he’s saluting you with his free hand right now and you hate that you’re so confident in that. you also hate that that visual has lead to another one of him in the shower that you absolutely cannot let happen.

shawn’s apparently the type of guy that even when he’s trying to be quick in the shower, is still very thorough. he hums to every song that pops into his head and you think that if you weren’t stood in here, awkwardly waiting for him to hurry, he’d be singing his heart out. you feel a little sad that you’re missing that, but then the shower switches off suddenly.

“ok, i’m done,” he updates you. “can i have the –“ he’s interrupted as you lean as far back as you can and grab a towel from where two of them are resting on the sink, thrusting it through to him without turning around. he wraps the towel around his waist and then carefully climbs out of the shower, smiling when he sees your eyes are still firmly closed.

“woah, your arm is soaked,” he says from beside you, looking at the arm that’s connected to him. you open your eyes slowly as he tuts at the water droplets on the handcuffs and lifts the bottom of his towel up to pat it dry. “don’t want any rust,” he explains when he sees you staring at him blankly. “your turn,” he says without making any effort to dry himself off.

“do you not want to –“ you begin, gesturing at his wet body instead of finishing your sentence.

“and get all wet again? nah, i’ll wait. ok, let me turn around,” he says as he does just that. you peek around at him and see that he’s slapped his free hand over his eyes as double protection – you know he’s done that so you feel comfortable which makes you smile to yourself. you slide his t-shirt back onto his arm, ignoring the fact it’s probably going to be damp by the time he puts it on properly.

the red flush just above his jaw is present already from the heat of the shower, but you can’t help but notice how it grows when he hears you unzip your jeans and pull them down. you lift off your hoodie and shirt and repeat his earlier movement, sliding it over the cuffs and up his arm, using his already slightly damp t-shirt to ensure your clothes don’t get wet. you’re left in your underwear and you feel awkward about which to take off first. you take a deep breath and slide your free hand around your back to try and unclip your bra one handed, grinning in triumph as it unhooks. oh shit, you’re going to have to slide this onto his arm, too.

“uh, shawn?”

“yeah?”

“um, i have to put my bra on your shoulder, too. is that ok?”

you’re not expecting the burst of laughter that bubbles out of his mouth but it’s infectious, and really works wonders to rid the situation of awkwardness.

“up next on sentences i never thought i’d hear!” he jokes, before adding, “yeah, sure. i mean, how much weirder can this day get?” before falling silent as the lace item is hung on his shoulder. you kick your matching underwear off quickly to the side.

“thanks. ok, i’m ready. three normal people steps backwards, or two shawn steps, and then we’re there. awesome. i’ll be quick!” you say, powering up the shower before shawn can respond.

you almost throw yourself under the hot spray just so you can blame the heated flush covering your body on that scalding water, rather than the intimate situation you’ve unwillingly found yourself in. you wash quickly, wincing when the complementary shampoo bottle from the hotel slips through your hands and shawn forgets that he’s meant to have his eyes closed as he spins around at the loud noise. fortunately, he catches himself before he can see anything, and the steamy bathroom helps obscure his view, but you still can’t help the giggles that escape your lips at the mortified look on his face afterwards, free hand slapped over his eyes and head shaking in embarrassment.

you quickly rinse off the remainder of your shampoo and skip the conditioner, knowing full well that you’ll regret it in the morning but your one arm aches from working overtime to do the job of two of them. maybe you need to start joining shawn and the boys in the gym for arm day? that thought disappears almost as quickly as it came when you switch the shower off, met with the silence of the bathroom. the final drips of the shower head sound like a heartbeat in the room, speeding up as the last few droplets fall.

“i’m done,” you whisper, smiling gratefully at shawn even though his head is still facing the door as he immediately hands you a large, white bath towel, right hand covering his eyes. you wrap it around yourself, securing it by tucking in the front just above your chest and you step out of the shower.

“uh, i guess we should get dressed?” you say as you notice shawn stood there like a statue, towel wrapped a little looser than looks secure on his waist.

“i think that’s a good idea,” he responds, spreading his right hand so he can peek through his fingers at you, removing it completely when he sees that you’re decently covered. he turns to look at the two piles of clothes resting on either side of the large sink and then asks, “so, uh, how do you want to do this?”

you take in his pile of sweat shorts, shirt and underwear, and then yours of a sleep shirt, underwear and bed shorts and smile again at how similar you are. you make a mental note to put your folded shirt back in your suitcase as it’s clearly of no use to you while you’re still connected to shawn.

“um, how about one by one? eyes closed, facing away, quick as we can?” you suggest and he quickly agrees, both too tired to argue. you go first at his insistence, blushing furiously as you slip the bra off his shoulder and fasten it back on, mumbling about how much it’s going to suck sleeping in it.

“we could cut it off?” he mumbles, genuinely trying to be a help, and then lets out a startled laugh as you shove him lightly on the back, muttering about how expensive that thing was. you slip your shirt and then hoodie back over the cuff, up your arm and then over your head, skin feeling sticky with the warmth of the towel you’ve still not taken off yet and the two layers of clothes.

you pick the clean black panties off the sink and clasp them firmly in your left hand, trying to work out the logistics of putting them on one handed. shawn seems to sense your pause and turns to the side so his arm is closer to you, on an easier angle to manipulate, keeping his head firmly tilted towards the door to give you your privacy.

“uh, could you sort of bend down with me –“ you request, shocked when he immediately acquiesces without bickering. “thanks – ok, then back up?” finally dropping the towel now you were covered, you politely ask him to repeat it again for your sleep shorts, letting out a sigh of relief when you were fully clothed.

“ok, your turn,” you say, shuffling around him to take his place in facing the door, squeezing your eyes closed and desperately playing that scene with the singing from step brothers in your mind to distract you from the naked rockstar who’s getting dressed behind you.

a couple of minutes later, a flustered yet fully clothed shawn stood in front of you, giving you the all clear to open your eyes. he’s clad in his old t-shirt that he’s had on all day, and sweat shorts, kicking his towel into the shower to get it out of his way and apologising with a laugh for when he got his underwear a bit twisted when he was trying to get them on.

“that was the most pressured getting dressed for bed i’ve ever encountered,” he says, turning towards the sink and grabbing the toothbrush from his toiletry bag.

“i agree!” you say, grabbing yours from the case you keep it in. “i will never take having two hands for granted ever again.”

he offers you a squidge of his toothpaste and you take it, too exhausted to put in the effort to get yours from your toiletry bag. side by side, both of you silently brush your teeth, making eye contact in the mirror when shawn wipes the steam away with the palm of his hand.

it’s intimate, you realise, getting ready for bed with someone next to you. this is a side to you that no-one’s ever seen before, you think to yourself. you’re good at one nights, not committed relationships where domesticity comes as a given. to give yourself to one person like that? it takes away that control that you desperately need to function. it’s just not made for someone like you.

you continue your routine, smiling involuntarily each time you catch his eye in the mirror and he sends you a grin or a funny face. it’s easy, you note, this part. it’s like you’re working together towards the same goal and a strange feeling settles in your stomach when you realise shit, we make a pretty good team when we want to.

you both spit into the sink, sending him another shove along with an exaggerated eye roll when he almost accidentally spits onto your hand that’s reaching for the tap. it hits you suddenly when he passes you the towel he’s just used so you can wipe the wet from your mouth that the feeling of domestic calmness is actually kind of nice.

another awkward bathroom break later, you’re padding out of the bathroom, switching off the lights and pulling the door closed, sighing at the feeling of ice cold air conditioning dancing over your exposed skin. you pause to relish the feeling of being stood right under the fan, stumbling forward when shawn keeps walking, clearly forgetting that you’re still connected to him. he’s heading straight for the bed, wanting nothing more right now than to be cradled by snuggly white sheets as he drifts into sleep. it jolts him from his focus when you slam ungracefully into his side, but when he pieces together what’s just happened he simply smiles dorkily as if to say whoops!

you right yourself and stand beside him, arm tilted crookedly at a strange angle as shawn stands with his hands on his hips, looking intently at the bed in front of you. it’s large – a king, definitely – and looks plush and cosy. you feel your eyes close in anticipation of what it’s going to feel like to finally sleep in when shawn’s quiet voice interrupts.

“you’re gonna have to be on the left side. is that ok?” he asks, eyes locked on you now, scanning your face for your true reaction. you wonder if there’s any point in answering verbally, because with the way his forehead relaxes after he assesses your face, he seems to know your answer.

you figure he probably needs verbal confirmation, so you say, “that’s fine. it’s my regular side anyway.”

his face blossoms into a grin at your response and you assume that he’s probably just happy you’re not going to have a fit about it like the aisle seat incident on the plane. he starts to clamber onto the bed and shuffle over to his side of the bed on his knees, and when he drops down on his back – your arm pulled awkwardly as you carefully climb on – he says, “what a team we’re turning out to be.”

you smile in reply, not really sure what to say to that, and he understands that he needs to clarify. “i’m a right side of the bed type of guy. we’re like yin and yang,” he explains as he snuggles himself down into the fluffy pillows.

you shove at his side to get him to lift up his hips so you can pull the covers over you both, purely so you don’t need to reply to him. he’s tired, he’s no idea of the weight of what he’s saying, you tell yourself, andrew’s honest words still echoing around the back of your mind from earlier.

you begin to lay down in the bed and he bats one of your plump pillows down for you with your joined hands when it puffs up at the side of your head, almost suffocating you. you sigh in relief at the thought that you’ve made it this far and it’s finally time to sleep when your eyes jolt open.

“shawn.”

“hmm?” he says, dozing already and not opening his eyes as he speaks.

“dude, the tv’s still on.”

“ok,” he replies, smacks his lips together and then makes no move to do anything about it.

you lift the wrist that’s joined to his and give it a violent shake to disturb him, smiling to yourself when you see his eyes open reluctantly and glare at the ceiling.

“the remote is on your side,” you explain. he blinks once, then twice, before huffing out a breath and reaching blindly for where he threw it earlier onto the nightstand. it takes him a few fumbles to reach it because he’s refusing to lift his head from the pillow, but he eventually succeeds. he lets out a silent cheer for himself, raising both hands in the air in celebration – along with your joined wrist - before throwing the remote to the end of the bed. his eyes close again immediately and you admire his devotion to sleep for a second before mirroring his position.

a couple of minutes pass, the only sound flooding the room is the air conditioning filter blowing and deep breaths from the two of you when you hear shawn fidgeting at the side of you. he turns onto his left side, joined arms laying in the gap between you on the mattress and sighs. you blatantly ignore him and continue trying to fall asleep until he sighs again, purposely moving your wrist to wake you.

“what?” you ask as you turn your head on your pillow to face him with a glare.

he at least has the decency to look sheepish and his flushed cheeks glow pink next to the crisp, white bed linen. you look at the ceiling as you await his reply so you don’t have the chance to think about how objectively beautiful this man is.

“the lights,” he says, offering no further explanation.

“they’re amazing, aren’t they? if it wasn’t for thomas edison, we’d still be rocking the candles,” you say sarcastically.

he smiles into his pillow so you can’t see but then whines, “no! the lights are still on.”

“ok,” you say, purposefully repeating his earlier reply but not able to keep a straight face.

“i turned off the tv, it’s your turn to get the lights,” he tries to reason.

you lift your head to look to your side of the bed and see there are no switches, so you lay your head back down before delivering the news. “it’s on you dude, the switches are at your side.” you can’t hide the roar of laughter that comes after shawn’s groan, as if you’ve just told him he needs to walk barefoot over hot lava.

he flings himself backwards with another groan, and then tugs on your arm so he can roll onto his right hand side. you end up pulled half way across the bed so he can reach the controls, grin spread fully across your lips as you hear him smash every switch, lights around the room flickering on and off. eventually, he flops himself down face first into the pillow after he’s pressed every switch but the main lights in the room still remain on.

your eyes hone in on a main panel of light switches near the bathroom door and you tug on his handcuffed wrist. he groans in response.

“shawn. it’s over there,” you say quietly. you feel his pain – you’re both so tired.

“you do it,” he grumbles, refused to move his head from the pillow.

“ha! nice try. we come as a pair,” you explain and give the chain between you both a loud jangle. he flips onto his back, turning his head to look at you with a defeated look. you stare at each other for more than thirty seconds before you direct your gaze to the light switches and then back to him. he nods wordlessly and both of you sit up, quietly climbing off the bed and you wait for him to step down before setting off to the light switch. the sleeves of your hoodie have slipped over your free hand and make a dull noise as your palm hits against each light switch until the room plunges into darkness.

you’re just about to turn back towards where you think the bed is when shawn sleepily mumbles right next to you, “i’m lifting my hand for a high five right now but you can’t see me.”

you’re happy he can’t see your grin in the darkness and reply, “well i’m high fiving you back. don’t fall over anything on our way back,” you warn.

“aw, you care about me,” he retorts, obediently following you, warm against your back as you feel about for the bed close by.

“no, just don’t want you to injure me as you drag me down,” you joke.

“i’m offended,” he gasps, before adding, “we won’t fall. we’re a great team, remember.”

you’re finally about to reply with an agreement – its something that you can’t deny – when he spoils it by whispering, “hashtag teamwork makes the dream work,” and you’re glad you’ve found the bed so you can safely shove him onto it. his laughter sounds even more sweet in the darkness. you’re too tired to work out how many more hours you’ve got joined to him, and to be really honest, it doesn’t really matter to you right there and then.

you awake with a start to sunlight filtering through the curtains, trying desperately to jolt your brain into readiness. you’re hot in your hoodie and it’s twisted around to be under your neck, leaving it on an angle that you’re sure is going to be stiff when you finally move. ok, karma, we get it. i should’ve woken him up on the plane. let me live my life, you think to yourself.

a leg is touching yours when you shuffle slightly as you come around and your eyes open quickly when you remember who you’re sharing the bed with and - more importantly – why. he’s still fast asleep, face shoved far enough into his pillow that his mouth is slightly open. he’s breathing deeply and looks completely relaxed. you realise that it’s rare to see him so calm and you feel a little sorry for him that his life is so full of hustle and bustle. it makes you want to let him sleep a little longer, keep him safe and content like he is. it also makes you wish you’d get to see him like this again.

that thought lasts for a good fifteen seconds more until the sound that must have woken you up in the first place blares out again. you jolt in shock which appears to wake shawn up. his arm that isn’t connected to yours flails a little in the air and you find yourself dodging it as he fumbles around to try and stop the noise. it’s totally useless as the sound is coming from his phone ringing on the desk across the room but you watch him frustrated thrash for another couple of seconds.

“shawn, your phone is ringing,” you state the obvious.

“gee, thanks sherlock. where the fuck is it?” he growls, hair ruffled from where it’s dried overnight.

you sit up and rest on your elbows, eventually pointing your hand connected to him towards the desk. the movement pulls his arm out from under him where he was holding himself up and he flattens out onto the bed with very little grace, bouncing you up and down a little as the mattress ricochets with his weight.

“fucking hell,” he curses and makes a move to get up out of his side of the bed, covers thrown back in a fit of its-too-early-for-this-shit temper. he takes a step towards the ringing phone (which seems to get louder and more persistent by the second) and looks behind him confusedly when he feels a weight pulling him back.

you see the moment of recognition flash across his face when he sees the handcuffs joining you both together and you raise an eyebrow dismissively at him as he glances at you with a did we? expression. part of you is amazed by his ability to forget something that happened literally the day before and the other part of you is desperately trying to avoid the fact that this doesn’t seem to be the first time shawn’s woken up with a girl in handcuffs in his bed.

before your brain can start doing what it does best and overthink this, the phone rings out again. shawn seems to have pieced all of the previous day’s events back together as he’s woken up a little more and he glances across the room at the phone then back at you.

“team work?” he pleads, for once not pulling out the puppy dog eyes but looking desperate, like right now, you working together with him is the only way he can make it through the day.

you find yourself nodding your agreement and climbing out of the bed on his side, taking his hand as he helps you get down and allowing yourself to be pulled across the room so he can finally answer that fucking phone. you’re putting how easily you gave into him down to not being fully awake yet - that’s the only reason, honestly.

“what?” shawn greets into the phone - you hadn’t realised how grumpy he was on a morning which makes you smile; perfect pop star has his flaws too. you start to wonder just how many people get to see this side to him when he points at the digital clock next to where he’s leaning on the desk. the time reads 7:18 and your first thought is to plot a way to murder the person on the other end of the phone. your second thought is that shawn’s mouthing “only 8 hours left!” at you.

you give him an overly enthusiastic thumbs up which makes him grin, then he starts talking back into the phone. your heart feels a little duller at that realisation but you’re unsure whether that’s at the thought of not being joined to him again, or that he’s counting down the hours until he can get rid of you.

“ok man, yeah. see you soon, bye,” shawn ends his phone call, throwing his phone back onto the table with very little care which makes you wince. you turn the phone screen side up to check there’s no damage, and then pop it back down where it had landed before.

“that was andrew,” he explains, “wanted to check we hadn’t killed each other overnight.” you smile because he does. “i told him no and that we are a team now. unsurprisingly, he says he doesn’t believe me so whatever. he also said breakfast is at 8. are you down?”

“breakfast sounds incredible,” you reply, mouth already salivating over the thought of pancakes doused in syrup. maybe even a double stack after the day you’d had yesterday.

“cool. uh, we can’t go like this,” he laughs, gesturing between him and yourself still clad in sleep clothes.

“oh god, we’d better start getting ready now!” you groan defeatedly, pulling him over by your joined wrists to your suitcases still propped open in the hallway.

you’re pulling out clean jeans to wear - perfectly folded of course - as shawn rummages for his, all the while moaning that he’s going to smell disgusting all day because he has to wear the same shirt. he has the audacity to ask if you’d consider letting him shower again just to ward off the smell a little longer but the withering glare you send him is the only answer he needs.

after completing your pee ritual - one of you peeing, the other standing eyes closed, facing away, not listening - you turn away from each other and let the other person get dressed, sharing your can of deodorant with him and moving up and down, left to right to help clothes slide on easily. you brush your teeth in the mirror, shawn squeezing out his toothpaste for you again and smile warmly when you meet each other’s gaze. it’s funny how in such a short amount of time, you’ve already made such an easy routine. the thought that you wish you could experience more of this with him shocks you and you frantically lean over to spit out your toothpaste, just so you don’t have to meet his eyes again in the mirror. you have a moment of panic over this realisation and you worry that he’ll be able to see straight through you, he’ll laugh and tell everyone, then get andrew to fire you immediately. objectively, you know shawn is too good of a guy to do that, but your racing brain doesn’t pause to think of that.

desperate to distract yourself before shawn notices you’re acting weirdly, you check the time on your phone as shawn finishes up brushing his teeth and are surprised that the whole process of getting dressed has only taken you 15 minutes. you announce this to shawn and he high fives you with toothpaste dribble on his hand, wailing dramatically when you pretend to wipe it on his shirt.

“not the shirt! it’s the only one i have today! we are a team!” he yells, making you burst into laughter. he tries to make you join him in another high five but you refuse, dragging him back out the suitcases to grab your make up bag as he continues telling you why it is so important for teams to have good high fiving skills.

you sit down on the edge of the bed and unzip your make up bag between the two of you. shawn seems to realise you’re not listening to his impassioned team speech anymore and redirects his attention to the products laying in the bag. he picks up each product and reads the packaging out loud, helpfully passing them to you when you’re looking for certain items. you feel his intense eyes staring at you a couple of times, but when you look at him with a puzzled expression, he just smiles and keeps on looking anyway. you force yourself to carry on with your new audience watching, careful to keep your face neutral so he can’t read your thoughts from your facial expressions.

you shove the final product and compact mirror back into the bag, zip it up and throw it backwards on to the bed to deal with later.

“that was so sick to watch,” shawn says from beside you. he’s leaned back on his elbows and he looks almost as relaxed as he did when he was asleep this morning. your heart swells a little to know that he feels comfortable enough to be this calm around you.

“what was?”

“that make up application. i’ve never really sat and watched that before. i’m usually too busy. it’s like art. you’re really good at it,” he comments.

you shuffle uncomfortably and say, “stop being so nice. you’re weirding me out - i’m not used to it!” you joke, saying the first thing to come to mind to distract yourself from your quickening pulse rate.

“i’m always nice!” he retorts.

“to me?” you raise an eyebrow at him.

“ok, fair point. but you’re not nice back! it’s our thing!” he argues, sat up off his elbows now. his knee is touching yours and he keeps tapping it as he speaks.

“it is our thing,” you agree. “why did that become our thing?” you wonder aloud.

he hums at the side of you to let you know he’s thinking about what you’ve said, and when you turn to look at him he’s considering you. he’s got a look you’ve never really seen before on his face - a half smile, cheeks beginning to peak with that red flush but a concerned tilt etched on his eyebrows. you blink at him, giving him the time he needs to answer. you weren’t really expecting an true answer anyway, but you might as well hear what he’s got to say.

“i think there’s two reasons,” he states slowly, as if he’s picking his words very carefully.

“well do tell,” you say, turning your body to face him fully. your joined wrists clink in a reminder of why you’re sat here so close to him as you try to move your hand away.

“i think it’s because it’s fun. sure, there are lots of people i can tease, have banter with on this tour. but none of them give it back to me as good as you do.” he pauses, wondering whether to add this next part on. he looks up at your eyes and then goes for it. “i mean, don’t tell anyone because it would ruin my reputation, but i look forward to seeing you because i know you’re going to keep me on my toes. i’m so used to people giving into me but you hardly ever do. i love that,” he says honestly, adding, “but don’t ever tell any one!” jokingly onto the end.

“your secret’s safe with me,” you laugh with a wink.

he looks unsure then. ”what do you think?”

you exhale a breath, giving yourself time to gather your thoughts. you like the way he’s giving you control to agree or disagree here. he knows it’s important to you and he’s making sure you’re comfortable. it makes you feel calm and you decide you owe him an honest answer, rather than a bullshit one to stop the conversation.

“i agree with you,” you start, smiling when you see his shoulders relax. “i think it adds enjoyment to long days that can be pretty monotonous when you’re not performing. i like that we’re on a level playing field with each other and you don’t often find that. we’re pretty lucky to be able to piss each other off so royally on a daily basis, huh?”

he nods his head in agreement, devastating grin fixed onto his face. he opens his mouth to speak a few times but closes it again. he takes one look at you though and then starts to speak. it makes you smile when it looks like his mouth has started moving before his brain has had the chance to catch up.

“i think there’s another part to it, though,” he says.

“you do?”

“i do.” he pauses again, looking at you intently before swallowing twice. you watch his adam’s apple bob and he catches you watching. it seems to give him whatever signal he needed to be brave enough to speak. “i think i try my best to piss you off all the time because i think if i was nice to you, i’d never be able to stop.”

that you weren’t expecting. you sit frozen in your position, only noise in the room from the AC still blowing and from the fancy clock ticking on the wall that’s numbers are too difficult to read. he looks up at your silence and blinks at you, giving you time to respond. you look down at your joined wrists and wonder what you would do - what you would say - if you weren’t joined to him. you know you’d have run out of that door before the conversation had even begun.

shawn appears to be tapped into your thoughts and for a second you think you must have said all of that out loud when he says, “i’m so pleased you’re chained to me right now so you can’t escape and then avoid me for the rest of the tour,” he pauses again and you’re grateful he’s giving you the chance to digest all of this in these tiny breaks. a smile begins to tug at your mouth at how accurate his statement was and it seems to relax him that he hasn’t broken you. you’re shocked when you realise how you’re pleased you can’t run away too.

“ok, so, even though i’m glad that you can’t run away from me right now, i still want you to know that we don’t have to talk about this right now if you don’t want to. or ever, if that’s what you want. you’re totally in control and you can decide-“ he speaks softly, free hand making a calming motion that you’re fixated on as he talks.

that last part makes you look up at him properly - at those kind, brown eyes, red cheeks blotched with uncertainty and panic, perfect pink lips saying the exact words you need to hear - and you stop him with a hand that happens to be joined to his to his chest. he looks down at the contact and you both smile when you see his wrist dangling awkwardly at the side of yours. you slide your hand down and rest it on your thigh instead, his hand slipping down back to the mattress.

“i want to talk about it -” you assure him and you almost want to kiss him right there and then when you see a look of pure hope flood his face, followed by a boyish grin of happiness. “- but not right now, shawn.”

“that’s ok, that’s absolutely ok. that’s fine. we could maybe talk about it when we get these things off,” he suggests, wiggling the handcuffs as he mentions them and he’s talking faster with every word he says.

“shawn,” you stop him.

“sorry, sorry. god, ive been hiding this for so long and i’ve sprung this on you and i can’t stop talking please stop me from talking,” he says, eyes growing wider with each word.

“shawn, i can’t-“ you begin and his face falls. your heart falls right with it. “i - look, shawn. my job requires me to be in total control. it’s what i’m good at. i assess every situation, i plan ahead and i make sensible decisions. i’ve wanted to be a tour manager for my entire life and i struck so lucky when i landed this gig. i guess i didn’t know how lucky though.” he smiles at that, look of despair fading slightly which spurs you to carry on. “to stay good at my job and to stay true to myself, i can’t do this with you right now.” he nods, looking at his knees rather than you. his jaw moves as if he’s trying to hold in emotions. how did this morning turn into this? “i bicker with you and give as good as you give me because that’s the only way i can keep you at a distance; it’s the only way i can stay focused on my job and what i’m here to do. i owe it to you and to andrew and to myself to stay focused on that right til the end. does that make sense, shawn?” you ask him.

he’s nodding again, turning his head to look at you with a soft smile on his face. “perfect sense,” he reassures you. “so, not right now, but maybe?” he clarifies with hope in his voice.

you laugh softly, “not right now, but definitely.”

his grin returns and he lifts his hand softly to caress yours joined to his for a moment, before pulling away and rubbing both hands over his face. you lean into his shoulder so your arm doesn’t whack him in the face where it’s joined.

“so, for now? we’re normal?” he asks.

“absolutely. but i kind of like the team thing,” you confide.

“ok, so squabbling mixed with team work. that sounds fucking perfect to me,” he laughs, before adding on, “the guys won’t know what to make of that.”

“exactly - so we mess with their heads a little. just adds to the fun, no?” he’s nodding at you and he can’t seem to wipe the grin off his face. your cheeks ache a little so you know your face is mirroring his. you both feel like you’re floating, relieved that the elephant in the room has finally been discussed. you feel light, airy, full of hope. his phone pings from the desk across the room to signal a text, and he rolls his eyes when he hears it, annoyed that it’s interrupted this moment with you that’s he’s been waiting for since the second week of tour.

“why didn’t i put it in my fucking pocket?” he swears, standing up and pulling you with him to read the text. “andrew says he’s going to grab us for breakfast in 5,” he reads before tapping a quick message back. he turns to you when he’s placed his phone back down and his eyes dart around your face, taking in his view. you’re worried he’s about to say something about not being able to wait for you, so you’re more than a little confused when he says, “hey so, know how you like control so much?”

you frown at him and nod slowly, not quite sure where this is going.

“how about we put a little of that new found teamwork of ours into controlling that hair of yours?” he quips, moving out of the way of he mirror behind the desk. it was quite clear you didn’t use conditioner last night.

you guffaw with laughter. “how dare you! look at yours! looks like you’ve been dragged through a fucking hedge backwards!” you tease, shoving him playfully when he mumbles, “fucking feels like i have after being connected to you for 12 hours,” before guffawing in laughter.

when andrew knocks on the door a few minutes later, your hair is tied in a bun on the top of your head and shawn’s has a little product in it. you answer the door together and andrew looks a little surprised to see that a) you’re both ready and presentable, and b) you’re both still alive. he glances over shawn’s shoulder into the room to see if there’s any carnage and chaos to be seen in there and seems a little disappointed when it all looks normal.

“so, anything interesting happen last night?” he asks, looking you both up and down with a smirk.

shawn turns to you, shaking his head. “um, last night? hmm no, not that i can think of. nothing last night, right, y/n?”

“no, nothing last night,” you say, playing along perfectly with shawn’s game. andrew looks down right disturbed at the two of you speaking civilly to each other and two thoughts pop into your head: 1) you both really do make a fucking great team and 2) this might be even more fun than messing with shawn. from the look on shawns face as andrew turns around to stalk down the corridor towards breakfast, he’s thinking the same thing.

you forget to check the time on your phone - how long you’ve got left connected to him. thoughts of anything other than the conversation you’ve just had with shawn are shoved firmly to the back of your mind.

breakfast passes without incident, and it’s worth the inconvenience you’ve been through in the last 24 hours to see the looks of shock on the crew’s face as you and shawn help each other out at the breakfast buffet, working seamlessly together and sitting down politely at the side of each other, not a single bickering comment passed between the two of you.

“so how was last night?” one of the sound techs ask from the other side of the table, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and gaining laughs from the others.

shawn shrugs his shoulders as he shovels in more eggs into his mouth, pausing his movements to lean further towards you so you can cut your pancakes. he wordlessly passes you more syrup when he sees that you’re running a little low for your liking. “good, slept like a baby. you?”

“oh we bet you both slept like babies,” a roadie heckles from beside you, table bursting into childish laughter at his insinuation.

your sharp glare stops them pretty quickly as shawn seems oblivious, chomping loudly on his eggs still. the noise of his chewing grates on you fast and your eyes widen in annoyance as you stare at your plate, trying your best not to tell him to stop - the crew would love that. he leans in closer to you to ask you to pass the ketchup, still chewing in your ear. you send him a glare as you pass the bottle because he knows you hate it. the cheeky grin he sends you in return with a minute raise of his eyebrows tells you that he’s doing it on purpose to get a reaction from you. your heart races now you know why he loves your banter so much.

“fucking stop it,” you growl at him, tone more for show than you being truly angry.

“stop what?” he asks, obnoxiously chewing louder.

“that. it’s like having a fucking horse chewing in my ear.”

“if you don’t like it, move,” he suggests.

“oh believe me,” you retort, “if i could, i fucking would,” as you shake your adjoined wrists, knocking the egg that he’s balanced on his fork back onto his plate with the momentum. he’s about to retort as he locks eyes with you, and you hear the guys on the table around you groan, “ah, here we go again.”

your glaring contest is interrupted by andrew scraping back his chair, rooting in his pocket and walking his way around the table to stand behind you both.

“ok, enough! we were wrong, we get it. it’s not sexual tension that’s causing this bickering, you just fucking hate each other. the sweepstake of when they get together is off, guys! it’s not happening!” he announces to the table. “give me your hands, i’ve had enough!” he commands as he grabs a hold of your wrists and fishes the key to the handcuffs out of his pocket.

just like that, you’re no longer joined. you’re unsure how you feel but the only thing that comes to mind is you didn’t even give us the full 24 hours. you smack your lips together to stop yourself from saying that out loud. you’d never hear the end of it.

you look at your now free wrist and hold it in your left hand, soothing the skin where the cuff had rubbed slightly. shawn’s doing the same thing with his wrist and you both look up at each other at the same time. andrew is still hovering over you both, awaiting some sort of reaction - probably a torrent of verbal abuse if he had to bet - but nothing comes.

you shrug, mumbling a “thanks, boss,” as you turn back to your breakfast, shawn doing the same.

“what? is that it?” andrew asks, hands on his hips, looking wildly around the table to gain the support of the other crew members.

“um, yes? thank you for detaching us. please don’t do it again,” you offer when it’s clear he wanted more of a reaction.

“what the fuck? i was expecting you both to curse me out! i was definitely expecting you to run the fuck away from each other. shit, this was the worst idea we’ve ever had,” he says, addressing the others around the table.

“the rest of this tour will suck without that entertainment!” one of the sound technicians cries, apologising silently to shawn when he sends him a geez, thanks look across the table.

“maybe it will! but you’ve only got yourselves to blame. we’ve decided that we’re going to be a team, right, y/n?” shawn says, sitting back in his chair and swallowing his last mouthful of orange juice. you nod enthusiastically, relishing in the reactions of the crew around you.

conversations restart around you, leaving only you and shawn to start your own. he leans in closely and whispers, “hey, y/n? when does the tour end again?”

you look at him with a puzzled expression but his eyes lock on yours, and your brain immediately gets to working out the answer. “um, we’ve got about 8 more weeks in total, give or take a couple of days,” you reply.

“cool. ok, 8 weeks.” he says, devilish grin taking over his face as he stares intently at you. you can’t help but mirror his grin, but you still send him a warning look – don’t say anything stupid in front of these guys. he leans further in to you under the guise of reaching for a napkin and whispers, “do you think they’d let me in on a new sweepstake? i think i could win us some cash, don’t you?”

your heart beat races and you feel your cheeks flush with warmth at the thought of what might happen after these 8 weeks of tour. anticipation thrums through your body and you hide your face from the rest of the table by putting your head down and pretending to fiddle with your bun. shawn loves the effect that he’s had on you and you can see him thinking the same as you – these eight weeks better fucking fly by.

the countdown might have restarted, but oh, it’s still on.

so it turns out, you write one fic about shawn and then you just can’t stop :)

#heywritersblock

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