a shawn mendes rpf fic
rating/warnings: can anyone tell I still find fandom really annoying
misc notes: so...hello again. literally so much has happened since the last time you saw me, so much that all I can really say at this point is that I hope you’re all safe and well, despite everything. I swore I wouldn’t abandon this fic and I haven’t! thank god for that. I wish I could’ve finished it for today as planned, but my job’s been nuts for the last few weeks and it totally ruined my writing mojo.
in any case, here’s the first last ~3k of we stumbled in the dark. happy second birthday, wsitd. I can’t believe how old you are, suddenly. thank you to everyone who’s messaged me over the last little while and especially in the last few months when this last part was only like 300 words deep and felt so vast and scary. I can’t tell you how much your support has meant to me.
(oh and pls just pretend for the sake of an upcoming scene not found here, Taylor’s Lover is already out in the world. just– just pretend. you’ll see.)
so without further ado:
(previously; start at part one here; find all parts here)
(toronto; now)
Shawn wants to FaceTime. Slide to answer.
His voice appears first. “Before you say anything, it’s not as bad as it looks.”
“What–” You straighten automatically. “Shawn? Are you okay?”
Bruises. On his beautiful face. Bruises and a tiny cut below his left eye, the beginnings of a scab along his jaw. Shawn’s rueful expression calms the start of your heart, like jumper cables jolting a battery into a steady rhythm. “I’m an idiot.”
“What happened?” you demand, trying not to sound shrill or hysterical. He’s not dying.
But his face.
“You’re going to laugh at me.”
“I won’t.”
You’re too glad to hear from him – it’s been two weeks of rain checks and brief goodnight calls. Shawn sighs. The soft light of whatever room he’s in makes his features hazy. It’s late in Nashville.
“I fell off a Bird.”
“A what now?”
“It’s a…” Shawn chuckles like he knows what he’s about to say sounds ridiculous. “Like a motorized scooter?”
“Is that even a thing?”
Your phone pings with messages: too-high, too-bright angles of him grinning, one hand on the handlebars of said motorized scooter, shots from behind of Parker and Geoff that are too blurry to be Kelsey’s work.
Your heart pangs.
“So totally worth it, huh?”
He laughs. “Yes. Absolutely. I just wanted to tell you first before I like, story it or whatever. Didn’t want you to worry.”
“Aren’t you performing? That country music thing?”
“Tomorrow,” Shawn nods. You’re too late to conceal your wince. “National television, I know.”
“Good thing you’re not just a pretty face?” He laughs so hard that he tips out of frame. Joy blooms inside your chest.
“Ow. I think I bruised a rib. Damn El, way to kill a guy’s ego.”
“Yeah,” you retort, “because your ego definitely needs taking down a peg.”
It’s so easy with him. Somehow you’d forgotten that, amidst everything. A strange kind of sadness sticks in your throat. It clearly shows on your face because Shawn tilts his head.
“What is it?”
You almost say, nothing.
“I miss you,” comes out instead. It feels like weakness, this honesty. You couldn’t really articulate why. “I’m sorry, I–”
“I miss you too.” Shawn cuts you off so rarely in conversation that you genuinely stop out of surprise. His smile softens, oddly serious, as though he can hear the lost words: I know I put us here. “Every day.”
There’s nothing accusatory in it, nothing reluctant or angry. Shawn says, I miss you, like he’d say, I love this song, with unequivocal certainty and ease. How can you feel better and worse at the same time?
“One day at a time, right?” Shawn says gently. You nod. It’s what you agreed, after all.
“You should get some rest,” you say. “Near death scooter experiences have to be exhausting.”
Shawn snorts, his laugh crinkling around his eyes. It settles you in a way that you have to hang onto, in the days to come.
“You sure you’re okay?” you ask, partly so he can’t pose the question himself.
“Totally fine, El. I promise.”
He’s giving you the out and you both know it. Shawn’s fingertips brush the edges of his camera, like he’s reaching for you through it.
(He’s probably just adjusting his grip, but it’s a nice thought nonetheless.)
“Call me tomorrow?” he asks. “We have the day off. Maybe we can watch a movie or something.”
“Sure. Sweet dreams.”
Shawn never hangs up first. He’s always still looking when you end the call, like he’ll never be able to stare for long enough.
*
(new york; then)
You
If you only had one day in NYC what would you guys do with it?
Parker
How much time are we talking actually?
You
As of right now?
Charlie
Precision is essential Sinclair.
You
37 hours. I’m on the red-eye out tomorrow.
You
Already packing.
No one asks why, though you’re sure there are questions. The band doesn’t voice them in the group chat, much to your relief.
Geoff
Sophie’s all over it. Have you guys eaten dinner?
Shawn
Nope, cancelled our reservation last minute.
Geoff
Be ready in 45. Coming to get you.
Brian
PIZZA. PIZZA. PIZZA.
Suddenly there’s like a hundred pizza emojis blowing up your phone. You’re still laughing when Ava comes to check on you.
The laughing might become crying but no one needs to know that.
*
(toronto; now)
“I’ve been thinking about getting another tattoo.”
“Oh yeah?”
You’d nearly forgotten how much you miss home. High Park in the spring may not be Hyde or Central, but it’s yours all year round – even if you missed cherry blossom season by a mere two weeks. You’ve been lamenting it for three minutes, Shawn mhmm-ing in your ear at appropropriate intervals.
He’s in a park too, a brief respite from rehearsal. It’s nice to trade photos of the view and pretend to be together. Tell me something new, you’d asked. This qualifies.
“Is this another impulsive itch?”
“I thought you liked my little meditative man!”
“Oh I love it,” you assure him. You can picture Shawn’s false offense so clearly, struggling not to grin like a loon in front of an eldery couple sitting on a bench as you walk past. “I’ll never forget how terrible you and Brian are at it, and I love that you now have matching tattoos as a permanent reminder.”
Shawn mhmm’s again, like he doesn’t believe you. Your cheeks hurt from trying not to laugh.
“I’ve thought about it, you know.”
“What, meditating?”
“No you goof.” You lose that fight against a giggle, a stupid smile. “I mean, nothing against meditating. I’m sure my therapist would recommend it.”
“Okay, so what have you thought about?”
It sounds just suggestive enough – even in broad daylight at two in the afternoon – that a shiver races up your spine. He doesn’t mean that. But now that the idea’s in your head, you’ve definitely thought about that.
“El? You still there?”
“Yes!” you say, a little too high pitched. You have to clear your throat. “Hi. I meant a tattoo. I’ve been thinking about a tattoo.”
Shawn mutters something too low to catch, your attention caught by laughing children chasing each other across the grass. “Sorry, what was that?”
“Nothing.” He’s a terrible liar, but you let it slide. “That’s awesome! Do you know what? Or where? How is this the first I’m hearing of this?”
Fondness for him swells like a wave. You shrug before you remember Shawn can’t see you. “I think I just wanted to put a lot of thought into my first one. Not...jinx it, or something? You have to be 18 right, so I figured if I still wanted it by my birthday that I’d just…”
“Just what?”
You swallow around a sudden knot. How the hell do people maintain long distance for years at a time? This feels like agony. “Get it when we came home from tour. I was gonna… I was gonna ask you to come with me.”
“I still could, if you want.”
“You’re only home a few days,” you object, half surprised even as the words leave your mouth. “You promised your parents you’d spend that time with them.”
“Are you planning on getting a massive sleeve or something, El?”
You snort. “No. I just...I know how precious your time at home is to you.”
Shawn doesn’t say anything for a moment. Anxiety drops like a stone in your stomach. “I mean, if you get it soon, it’ll be pretty much healed by the time I’m back in the city. Might be a good idea.”
You wish sometimes he wouldn’t let you off the hook so easily.
“And if you were really mean, you wouldn’t even tell me what it was and I’d have to wait forever to find out.”
“I haven’t completely decided yet,” you admit. “I know the artist I’d love though, down on Bathurst. I’ve been stalking her Instagram for like two years. I’ll send it to you.”
“Can’t wait. I gotta go, I’m back at the venue. But I’ll call you later?”
“See you Shawn. Have a great show.”
“And El?”
“Hmm?”
“Unless you’re planning on getting it like, down your spine or something, it doesn’t hurt as much as everyone says. I dunno how much that scares you, but...it shouldn’t. You’re like, one of the bravest people I know.”
A pause, in which you genuinely don’t know what to say.
“That’s kinda dramatic. It’s not like, war or something. God. You know what I mean right? It’s really not that bad, I promise.”
You haven’t cried in nineteen days. You’re not starting now.
“Yeah. Thank you.”
I love you. You’ve been swallowing those words for so long and you have no idea why.
*
@lightsshawn: she’s gone guys we did it
@cruelsummermp3: did what?
@dancingwithshawn: got rid of ellie - she hasn’t been seen in three weeks!
@afterglow: what the fuck is wrong with you guys?
*
Shawn
For the record I said “Fuck that’s hot.”
Shawn
And then I thought it might be
Shawn
Too much.
You
Not too much at all.
You
Definitely not.
*
(new york; then)
“Next!”
“I never thought I’d be so happy to line up for pizza.”
You’re shoulder to shoulder with other patrons in Prince Street Pizza, inhaling the delicious scents of dough and cheese with Kelsey, Kristin, and Ava. The boys have bee-lined for the first available table that’s definitely too small for all of you, while Ava points out all the famous faces that line the walls beneath fairy lights.
“I’m glad you’re here,” you tell her, barely loud enough over the din. Your sister just squeezes you gently. “Remind me to print some photos and buy some lights when I get home. I’m really digging this vibe.”
“Think you’d get some use out of this?”
Sometimes you could swear Ava’s purses are like Mary Poppins’.
“What the– when did you get that?”
“From your Amazon wishlist, silly.” Your sister presses an Instax camera into your bewildered hands. “They’re cheaper here. I thought it might…” Ava’s smile softens. “Ease the sting a little. Be a nice project for your room? And I didn’t want you to lose that photography spark.”
Not crying. “Did you put film in this already?”
Ava nods. “Have at ‘er. Tonight seems like a good night.”
You throw your arm around her neck, pointing the camera at your faces, twisting away from the people in line just behind you. The flash is so bright but it hurts in a way that’s almost sweet.
“Next!”
As predicted, there’s definitely not enough room at the table when you and the other women arrive with The Fancy Prince and a Spicy Spring pizzas. Shawn waves wordlessly towards him, sliding from the absurdly tall chair to offer it to you. As you clamber up, his arm snakes back around your chair and he steps back closer to you. On the outset it’s a space saving measure. But Shawn seems pretty comfortable eating with you essentially tucked against him.
You can’t say you mind either.
*
They sneak you into a bar.
(or more operatively, Kelsey slides a fake ID into your back pocket on the subway platform while you’re timing a shot of the train arriving. You gawk at it so long that you nearly trip through the doorway.
It’s identical to your Ontario license – so much so that you have to check your wallet to make sure you haven’t irresponsibly lost your ID – save your birth year. Ava pointedly avoids your eyes.
“Did you have something to do with the fact that I’m suddenly magically 21?” you ask Shawn.
Just as he was pleased to eat pizza in close proximity, Shawn seems delighted to wrap his fingers just a few inches above yours around the centre pole inside the subway car. Looking up at him now, you know with a striking certainty that you’ll never tire of it either: the sharing space, the strokes of intimacy that seem so carefully brushed when you touch – incidental seconds hiding more yearning that you thought yourself able to feel.
(You wonder if it’s mutual. You hope so.)
Shawn just raises his eyebrows, reaching for the card between your fingers, but you jerk it back. “Oh no way are you seeing my driver’s photo.”
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he says, reaching into his back pocket. Shawn tightens his grip against the pole, stepping even closer as the car shifts back and forth. Something in your gut wants to flush at his words but he’s already extending an identical card to you, unabashed.
The voice inside your head that used to see wanting whenever he looked at you now speaks in insistent imperatives:
want.
want.
want.
“Shawn Mendes.” You lower your voice in mock shock. “Are you telling you have–” you cast a furtive glance around the subway car, and he chuckles– “a fake ID?”
Shawn tips his chin down towards you so that his mouth nearly touches your temple. “Don’t tell, El.”
(You do flush this time, damn him.)
The youthfulness of his face on his license startles you in a strange way. You forget sometimes that despite the two-ish years (and entire career) between you that makes Shawn feel much older sometimes, twenty isn’t exactly ancient.
He can’t even legally drink tonight, for Pete’s sake.
“You’re so cute,” he says quietly, like a secret. Your cheeks are hot when he hands you the counterfeit back to you. “And no, nothing to do with me.”
“Will this even work? Don’t people get their licenses stolen by bars all the time because Americans don’t understand the concept of different countries?”
Shawn shrugs. “Guess we’ll find out.”)
You don’t end up needing the fake in a stroke of good luck, but it burns a hole in your pocket nonetheless. (Kristin hands you a red lipstick as you stand in line – “Just in case we gotta sell it.”; it makes Shawn double take in the reflection of the window.)
Sophie exchanges pleasantries with the doorman at Hollow Nickel and he waves the group inside to a modest weekday crowd.
“We got the first round,” says Geoff. Brian and Charlie blow a series of kisses. “Love you too, dorks.”
Sophia returns with two bottles of red and a question in her eyes, to which Ava says, “Fries for everyone?”
“Hear hear!” Parker tips his beer. “Got a toast in you, Sinclair?”
“A toast?”
All evening you’ve been thinking about Paris. And as everyone looks with warm expectancy, you finally have the words you didn’t then.
“My birthday was one of the most memorable nights of my life. And I think I was worried that it was the only night like that I’d ever have. But it wasn’t really the city that I loved.”
You can’t look right at Shawn.
“Thank you.” You lift your glass. “For making that night and every night of this amazing journey so wonderful. I know we’ll see each other again, but I guess – we have tonight, and we’ll always have Paris. I love you guys so much.”
Not crying.
“To you Sinclair!” Charlie tilts his bottle with a grin. “We’ll miss ya.”
The sound of everyone reaching forward and their glasses clinking hurts too, in that same sweet and painful way.
*
(toronto; now)
Hey, it’s me. I think you’re either asleep or in rehearsal so don’t even worry about not picking up. I know it’s just a volunteering thing at the humane society but I’m like, weirdly very nervous about it, like god what if all the dogs hate me Shawn? How the fuck would I go on after a blow like that? I’m kidding. But only mostly.
I just wanted to hear your voice before I went in. Even if it was just your answering machine. Is that lame? Probably. Anyway...god Ellie, wrap this up. I’ll let you know how it goes.
*
You
This is Earl and I love him with my whole heart
You
Sent an image
You
Look at those ears he’s like a bat I’m dying.
Shawn
Loved your photo
You
I’m considering him a good luck charm for my Sick Kids application.
You
How was the show?
Shawn
Good :)
It’s unlike him to be so monosyllabic, smiley notwithstanding. Especially about a show.
You
Where are you?
A crosswalk light turns in your favour. You’ve been walking just behind a couple with a giant white Samoyed, admiring his beautiful fluffiness as he sat at his owner’s heel.
“Appa, yip yip!”
The dog gets up immediately to walk.
Holy shit I’m gonna die.
You’re literally typing Shawn oh my god I just– when your phone rings in your hand.
“Hi.” You catch your reflection in the glass of a restaurant. Do you always look this happy when you talk to him?
“El.” Shawn hasn’t said your name like this in a long time – not since In My Blood’s release. It immediately deflates your The Last Airbender excitement and you stop in your tracks; Appa’s swinging tail disappears around the corner.
“Can you ask me again?”
You turn down a local greenspace next to your building. The bustle of Queen Street fades and you press your phone closer to your ear. “Where are you, Shawn?”
“Back in the hotel in Raleigh. You know that hammock thing by the window?”
“In your story, sure. What time is it?”
You know the answer, of course. Same time zone.
“Eleven something.”
Nerves pinch at the base of your spine. “And how do you feel in that hammock thing in Raleigh at eleven something at night?”
Shawn sighs. “A little better now that I’m talking to you.”
Your stomach jumps. “But? What is it?”
The line is quiet for a moment, though you can still hear Shawn’s even breath.
“I feel like I’m not doing enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“Remember what you said when you were filling in your application for Sick Kids? You have all this time and energy so you may as well use it to help other people?”
“Yeah…I mean I spent a good portion of my day cuddling cats, but–” He huffs a gentle laugh in your ear and it feels like a victory. “Yes. I remember.”
“I just feel like… like I could be doing more to help. What’s the point of having all these followers or this like, platform, if I can’t do good with it?”
It seems important to choose your next words carefully. “You know your music really helps people, right? Like Morgan, from London? Like me?”
Shawn sighs again. “Yeah. You know how much that means to me.”
“I’m not saying you can’t or you shouldn’t look to do more – I dunno, fundraising or educating, or whatever. You’re right, you can and do reach so many people. But it’s not like Instagram is gonna solve every single major social issue in the world, or that you or any single person has all the answers or right opinions.”
“I feel like an idiot sometimes,” he says, like a shameful admission. “I literally only have a high school diploma and I feel like, out of my depth all the time.”
“It’s not fair that people expect you to speak about every trending topic of the day,” you insist. You can feel yourself on the edge of getting worked up, a surge of overprotectiveness you haven’t felt in a long time. “That’s not your job. What happens when you say something well-intentioned and it blows up in your face?”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Shawn…” It takes a second to straighten out all the thoughts now whirling around in your head. “I understand what you’re getting at. And I admire you for it, more than you know. I’m sure there’s a way to help people and use your platform in a productive way without all the...noise.”
He’s quiet for a long time.
“God, I miss you.”
It’s ridiculous how he can still make you blush, even from hundreds of miles away.
“I miss you too.”
“Are you home yet?”
“Just about to get in the elevator. Can I call you back?”
“Yeah. Wanna watch something?”
“You’re not tired?”
“No. Just wanna be with you for a bit, if that’s okay.”
There’s no one around but you bit back another stupid smile anyway. “Always okay.”
we stumbled in the dark; i knew we’d be alright by @marlahey
When you decided forever ago that it would be near impossible to ‘catch feelings’ for Shawn in the fleeting moments between and within tour stops, as you slowly but surely amassed what feels like an enormous secret box of knowledge about him, a somewhat foolish part of you had never accounted on him knowing you, too.
we stumbled in the dark; I knew we’d be alright (part fourteen)
a shawn mendes rpf
ratings/warnings: language, a few moments to get you warm under the collar, some general fandom roasting.
notes: here it is, finally. official word count is just under 20k, so buckle up. grab some snacks. taking all questions and comments for this and any other parts forever in my ask, so don’t be shy! sorry for saying this would go up at 7 – editing took way longer than expected and I was dragged out for family bubble tea. shout out to that anon waiting to read at work.
thank you for never giving up on me.
(previously; start at part one here; find all parts here)
new york; now
“I don’t–I don’t understand.”
In another dark backseat, Shawn slides his hand into yours.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Call me when you can.” Ava had just waved goodbye as the driver reversed out of the alley. Taylor had pulled her hood up, and you were suddenly hyper-aware of the scuffs on your boots.
For the next several minutes, New York blurred past out the dark tinted windows.
“Shawn told me you guys were gonna be in town,” Taylor says now, turning around to smile at you as if all of this were perfectly normal. “We wanted to surprise you with a dinner out or something, and then I…” She fixes Shawn with a soft look, full of understanding. “I heard about all that stuff going down at your hotel. Thought I’d call and see if you guys needed a place to crash tonight.”
For the first time since you landed, you can see the veneers of both angry and comforting peel back, leaving someone almost shaken behind. He swallows.
“Taylor…”
“You already thanked me,” she interrupts gently. “It’s what friends do, okay? We help each other out. No questions asked.” Her piercing gaze turns back to you. “I’m really happy to see you, Ellie.”
“Me too,” you manage, at least half an octave too high. ”Um, thank you.”
Apparently satisfied, Taylor turns back in her seat. “You guys hungry? We can stop at Shake Shack or something if you want?” She glances at her driver. “Eric, do you remember if I got that frozen pizza last time I went grocery shopping?”
“Think you ended up with two, Taylor.”
Shawn exhales a laugh next to you.
“Oh god, sorry guys. Eric, you’ve met Shawn right?”
“Hey man,” Shawn says politely. “Good to see you again. Thanks for coming to get us.”
“Of course,” Eric replies, glancing back in his blind spot to change lanes.
“And this is Ellie.”
Warm, dark eyes find yours; you’re reminded of Paul. He nods at you. You smile back tentatively.
“Miss.”
You have to swallow before you can speak. “Hi.” Shawn squeezes your hand.
“Pizza or burgers, Ellie?” The older woman prompts. “Or anything else you want, really. We can order whatever.”
“Um.” Now doesn’t seem like a good time to bring up the fact that you were throwing up twenty minutes ago. You glance at your companion, who just tilts his head in a whatever you want sort of gesture. That’s helpful. “Pizza, I guess?” you say finally, wincing at the sound of your own uncertainty.
It has nothing to do with the fact that the last thing you want is to go back out in a public space, but if anyone in the car can read that thought, no one gives it voice.
“Great.” Taylor smiles at you in the rearview, so sincerely it crinkles around her eyes. “Bet you guys are either exhausted or keyed up, huh?”
“Bit of both,” Shawn admits.
“Well, you’ll have the place to yourselves for the rest of the night so you can relax and sleep. I’m supposed to be at a birthday party later and who knows how late I’ll be out.” She pauses. “Not that late, Eric.”
Her driver just clears his throat. “It’s no problem.”
“You’re not allergic to cats, are you Ellie?”
You shake your head. “Nope.”
“Perfect.”
Silence descends over the car. You exhale slowly, shifting to lean against Shawn. He slouches to meet you, turning so his mouth touches your temple. It’s not a kiss so much as it is a grounding, a reminder. I’m here. Your knotted, tense shoulders finally relax a little.
“We’re okay,” he murmurs softly. “It’s alright.”
You don’t trust yourself to say anymore without crying so you just squeeze his hand. No one else speaks. You just keep breathing.
*
“So these are the guest rooms. Feel free to drop your stuff in whichever ones and the bathroom is just back there, bath and shower. Or both, if you want. There are spare toothbrushes in top drawer and all the towels are clean, too!” Taylor points down the hall. “There’s security and someone at the front desk all night if you need to pop out…”
You hope Shawn’s listening because you can’t focus on anything besides the fact that you’re standing in Taylor Swift’s house. Well, one of her houses, at least. Or is this still an apartment? In any case, it was hard not to gawk at everything from the enormous kitchen to the sleek grand piano in the living room as you walked up the stairs and followed her to the left; now you’re just standing between two rooms as if your body is not your own.
Shawn, as if he can sense your momentary paralysis, gently pries your backpack from your grip and heads into the one on the right. You wonder fleetingly if his bag and guitar are in there too, if Taylor’s noticed one way or the other, or if it even matters. By the time you turn your head, she’s already on the far side of the stairs, pointing at another set of doors. I’ll be here, she mouths, and you nod as Shawn reappears.
“D’you wanna take a shower?” he asks, leaning on the doorframe. “Get all the airplane off?”
“You go first.” You fish your phone from your pocket, awash with texts from Ava, Parker, and Kristin. “I’m just gonna text Ava quick. You take fast showers anyway.”
And because there’s no one around to judge or photograph you, you lean up on your toes to kiss Shawn at the corner of his mouth. Before you can pull away, he winds himself around you and presses his face into your neck. Shawn sighs. The angle’s sharp in such a way that you have to lean into him so you don’t fall. Not that he’s ever let you.
“It’s okay,” you murmur, curling your fingers into the back of his sweater. If you pretend long enough it might become true; if you use his words you might start to believe them. “We’re okay.”
Shawn just holds you tighter.
“It’s not your fault.” Pulling back means letting go, but you have to see his face. You reach out to cup Shawn’s cheek. “Hear me?”
He nods against your palm, folding over your knuckles with his own hand. Shawn swallows and blinks rapidly, his eyes suddenly very bright. He turns his mouth towards your wrist before clearing his throat and looking down at his feet.
Shawn pulls away. Your hand falls; your heart squeezes.
“You should go meet Meredith and Olivia,” he says, not quite keeping your gaze. “They’re great.”
“Shawn–” you start, then stop as he smiles briefly, leaning down to kiss your forehead before disappearing back into the guest room. Shawn doesn’t close the door, but you don’t move.
The sound of bags shuffling is just loud enough that you pull yourself out of your stupor and turn right as fast as you can; something irrational in you hates the thought of Shawn seeing you walk away from him.
You
We’re okay, we’re at Taylor’s. She has like seven spare bedrooms.
Ava
Good. Try to get some rest okay? I know it’s hard but try not to worry. Honestly, enjoy a night off together. Neither of you have anywhere to be in the morning either.
Ava
Pretend I didn’t just accidentally encourage you to have sex.
You
Oh very much pretending. Let’s never talk about it ever again. I love you.
Ava
I love you.
Taylor’s door is ajar. Through the crack you can see her sitting in front of a beautiful vanity, frowning just slightly at her reflection. She meets your stare in the mirror and you flush, caught.
“Hey!” Taylor makes a come in gesture with her chin. “C’mon, hang with me a bit. How’s Shawn?”
I don’t know. “He’s taking a shower.” You step slowly into the room. Her bedspread is visible now, plush and inviting, on which perch two cats. You pause at the long bench at the foot of the bed; they both eye you. Can cats look suspicious?
“Don’t mind Meredith,” Taylor says with a rueful roll of her eyes as the cat closest to you rises abruptly and leaps down, stalking past your feet without so much as a backwards glance. “She’s not always one for new people.”
The remaining cat (Olivia you presume) just flicks her tail when you sit down gingerly on the bench, careful not to spread yourself out too much and risk disturbing her space at the edge of the bed frame. You extend your hand in offering; Olivia’s whiskers tickle your palm. When she turns to stroke her soft cheek against your fingers, it feels like a blessing.
“I know it probably doesn’t feel like it…” Taylor holds up two different earrings to her ear and turns so you can see them better – you point at the delicate golden spiral, which she twists in without having to look. Her whole body opens up to yours; it seems imperative that you meet her eye. “But what happened out there, it won’t always be like that, with you two.”
You open your mouth, but suddenly you have no idea how to respond. If anyone knows the truth of a situation like this it would be her. But admitting that you take comfort in Taylor’s words means admitting – well, admitting that what everyone already suspects is true.
“I feel like such a kid,” you say instead. “Like I couldn’t even handle a few photographers. That’s pretty pathetic.”
“Not at all,” Taylor replies firmly. “No one’s equipped to handle that the first time it happens.”
Your stomach lurches unpleasantly at the idea of a next time.
“I didn’t overstep, did I?” When you look up again, her head is tilted in a sort of serious curiosity. “I didn’t want to assume you guys would share a room or–”
“No.” It comes out an almost shout of sudden horror. “No, you’re wonderful and two rooms is fine.” You almost say, we’ll probably end up sharing anyway, but manage to pull the truth back.
Taylor’s lips twitch, just a little. “Good.”
Blushing this much in front of anyone besides Shawn always makes you feel like a child. It certainly gives you away. But Taylor doesn’t say anything else, just offers you that same warm, understanding look she’d given him in the car.
She wanders into her closet next, extending tops for consideration as a disembodied arm sticking out the door. Taylor talks comfortably as if she’s not really concerned whether you’re actually listening or not, perhaps under the guise of getting to you just relax a little Ellie, geez.
(Though that’s your own inner admonishment, not hers.)
She doesn’t mention Shawn again, only to say on the topic of your newfound hobby, “He’s been telling me which photos are yours! They’re amazing,” as she emerges with a boot in one hand and the other on her foot. “Have you thought about pursuing it professionally?”
Olivia hops down from the bed and steps into your lap, purring gently as you mull over the question. “I mean it’s just a few amateur photos. Kelsey does most of the work in editing.”
Taylor raises her eyebrows. You just shrug at her. “I don’t know. I guess I have no idea what I want to do, or be. Is that bad?” Not all of us can be Shawn, you think with a small twist of envy. Or you. She smiles as if she can read your mind; maybe the thought had crossed your face a little too visibly. And as if he’d also heard you–
“El?” Shawn’s voice floats down the hall; both cat and owner’s heads swivel in almost eerie unison. “Taylor?”
“In here!” Taylor calls with a wink at you. Shawn appears moments later in sweats and a t shirt, cradling Meredith in his arms. Of course she loves him. “Feel better?”
He nods with a smile; Shawn’s hair is a little damp still, half-curling over his forehead already. “All yours, El. Did you get ahold of Ava?”
Don’t blush. “Yeah,” you reply evenly. “We’re all good.”
“Why don’t I show you how the oven works before I go?” Taylor is already steering Shawn out the door by the shoulders, casting you one last smile. “See you later Ellie!” You’re so grateful to her suddenly, for allowing you one last opportunity to gather yourself before you and Shawn are left alone – genuinely entirely alone – for what feels like the first time ever, actually. You can only lift a hand goodbye.
As their steps recede down the stairs, you duck into the room where he’d left your backpack, which contains an emergency set of pjs to ward off Ava’s constant fear that an airline would eventually lose all your luggage. Does this qualify as an emergency, you wonder, being chased from our hotel by rabid stalker fans?
Just as you close the bathroom door, you hear the tinkling of piano keys, Taylor’s murmuring voice and Shawn’s laughter.
*
You’ve never heard him play this on anything but guitar, but thanks to Charlie you’d know it anywhere, the melodic phrases familiar even though the key isn’t, even though Shawn’s not playing every note or singing every line, the way he does sometimes when he thinks no one’s watching him and his mind is elsewhere.
Well Meredith is, lounging regally on top of the piano, but you’re not sure she counts.
“I don’t care what they say about you baby. They don’t know what you’ve been through.”
It’s like someone’s punched the air from your lungs.
He probably doesn’t even notice you from your perch halfway down the stairs, leaning with your forehead pressed between the bannisters. But then Shawn turns his head and you have to purposefully unfurl your grip covering a handful of the cities he’d written out so carefully on your tour sweats.
“Hey,” he says gently, even though his hands keep moving. You think, nobody knows her the way I know her and wonder exactly when that became true. Shawn abandons the bridge for a different song that you can’t place right away, while you tiptoe down the rest of the stairs.
“I want to live in Taylor’s bathroom,” you announce as he slides over on the bench to offer you space. Shawn chuckles; you give yourself several seconds to admire the strength of his hands moving across ivory and ebony keys. “I’m serious! Remind me to ask her what kind of shower head she has.”
He just hums.
“What?”
“Nothing!” Shawn flashes a vaguely teasing smile, a familiar I’m trying not to laugh at you.
You make a face and get up just to spite him, crossing the living room to look curiously at the bookshelf laid into the wall. As varied and interesting as the books are and as stylish as the decor is, Taylor’s grand piano is definitely the focal point of the room. Musical instruments are hardly your forte, but you know instinctively that it’s far from average; every note seems to be calling to somewhere deep inside you.
It feels like you figure it out too late.
“I didn’t know you played this on piano.”
“I don’t, really.” He stumbles a little as if to prove his point. Meredith casts a seemingly judgemental look from beside the music stand. “Not since Instagram years ago. I don’t think I’ve ever performed it, like this.”
It occurs to you that while you’ve heard Shawn rehearse, practice, and meticulously train his voice, there’s never quite been a moment of, I’m alone in a room with Shawn Mendes and he’s really, actually singing. Until now.
“Do you, do you think about me?” You can’t decide whether to keep his gaze or look away but it’s too late. His eyes flick down to the keys and back up. The reprieve doesn’t help; you stopped breathing two measures ago. “And do you, do you feel the same way?”
There’s a true, genuine question in the tender curve of his smile. You couldn’t even answer if you wanted to, struck by a sudden urge to flee that you haven’t felt in a long time.
But you stay, because he’s still looking at you as if he really wants to know, “Do you, do you remember how it felt?” slower and softer than you’ve ever heard him sing, which makes your stomach drop to your feet. “Cause I do, so listen to me now.”
Shawn draws you in like he did months ago with Dive, as if the room, the apartment, and the city have all narrowed all the way down to the four feet between you. You don’t have Charlie – or anyone – as a buffer this time.
You’re too afraid of what you might be admitting by looking away. So you have to look Shawn right in the eye when he alters the way you feel about this song for the rest of your life.
“I’m not trying to ruin your happiness, but darling don’t you know that I’m the only one, for ‘ya?”
You’d be mad if you weren’t already so stupidly in love with him.
To your surprise, Shawn skips forward to the bridge.
“Do I ever cross your mind?” he half-sings, half-asks, then waits. Oh. It feels like a joke and a challenge both at once. When you just look at him, that teasing smile tugs up one side of Shawn’s mouth. “C’mon, I know you love this part.”
Finally, an excuse to get yourself together. “You also know I can’t sing.”
He’s not deterred. “Everyone can sing. Some are just better than others.” He says it so casually you snort.
“Okay popstar, you know I don’t sing.”
Shawn rolls his eyes. “It’s just me, El. And you know you sing under your breath when you’re studying, right?”
“I–” you start, gaping like a fish, your face hot. “I do not.”
“Where do you think I got In The Heights from?”
“From Lin-Manuel Miranda’s genius brain, obviously?”
He laughs again, shaking his head. “It is amazing though, eh? We’ll have to try to see it for real sometime.”
Just when you think you’ve gotten away scot-free, Ruin’s bridge begins again and Shawn beckons you closer with a tilt of his chin. Your traitorous feet move without permission. You sit back down, gingerly, as though you’re in danger of blurting the truth out at any moment.
“Just me,” he says again, so gently you shiver. He’s right, after all. That’s the scariest part. “Do I ever cross your mind?”
It’s your turn to roll your eyes – for show if nothing else. Something flutters in your stomach when you finally give in, although with not nearly as much confidence. “Do I ever cross your mind?”
Shawn’s smile is wider than you’ve seen in days. Back and forth you go, until the timer beeps on the oven like a blessing from the universe. You leap to your feet so fast that he trips up on the final chorus; Shawn seems momentarily disappointed that your little karaoke session is over.
“I got it,” you say as he moves to rise with you, leaning down to drop a kiss above the scar on his cheek in silent apology. “Don’t get up just yet, it’ll have to cool down a minute anyway.”
He doesn’t protest – maybe he can see the sudden, frantic need for distance in your face – but you can feel Shawn’s gaze tracking your progress across the living room and through to the open plan kitchen.
He keeps playing – a bit of Frank Ocean here, a bit of Coldplay there – settling on Like To Be You which makes your heart skip. You pick up the cat oven mitts that Taylor left for you alongside two plates and glasses. The heat warming your face is a welcome reminder that all of this is real and you haven’t in fact been stuck in a dream all evening.
Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself when you sit back down at the piano. It’s actually incredibly soothing when you take it in properly, the warmth of him and the gentle melody of your favourite new tour arrangement, especially when Shawn abandons proper posture to press against you from hip to shoulder. He turns to prop his chin on top of your head, and even more quietly than just a minute ago, half sings, half says, “I’m so sorry, that we’re still stuck in the middle. I’m so sorry, cause in the moment I–”
Shawn’s voice breaks off; the note fades; your breath catches.
“Sorry,” he says, clearing his throat. It’s like a bubble’s popped. “Lost it.” He drops a kiss into your hair. “Wanna eat?”
It takes effort to sound normal after that. “Yeah, sure.” You have to reach for Shawn before he can get up, before you can lose your nerve.
“Just…” He looks at you, something raw and vulnerable in his eyes, and you haul the words out. “Tell me what’s inside of your head.” If you were braver you’d finish the line. Shawn smiles, but it fades quickly. Your gut instinct was right. “What’s wrong?”
Shawn pauses a long time; roots of dread curl up from the pit of your stomach. You wrap your hand around the meditative man that reminds him how to be still. “If this is about the paparazzi, you know that wasn’t–”
“It’s not.” He scrubs his free hand through his hair, a shadow of frustration hollowing his face as he replaces the cover for the keys, as if he can’t be angry while looking right at you. “I mean, sort of? And it’s not you, it’s…”
Shawn trails off. His jaw sets and your grip on his wrist tightens almost involuntarily.
“It’s okay,” you say, going for soothing and ignoring the part of you that wants to insist that he explain himself immediately. “Why don’t we talk about it after? Let’s eat some real food first.”
Once again, Shawn doesn’t object and you’re grateful. He lets you pull him from the piano to the kitchen. The dining room was way too intimidating, so you left the plates in a breakfast nook so cosy that your legs have no choice but to slot together beneath the tabletop. Shawn presses his knee into your thigh, between your legs, and the way he smiles when you blush only makes you face hotter.
In a flash of brazen courage, you push back in your seat and slide the inside of your foot up his calf; Shawn stops chewing immediately and his smug look disappears. His Adam’s apple bobs and you can’t help but stare, too slow to react when Shawn reaches under the table with his free hand to grab at your foot, easing it into his lap.
You could pull away if you wanted to.
You don’t pull away.
Shawn finishes his crust with his left hand wrapped around your ankle, stroking his thumb up and down the stretch of bare skin between your low cut socks and the rolled up cuff of your jeans. For a minute his gaze seems far away, and you wonder if he can see Oslo in his mind’s eye, just as you do.
Afterwards, Shawn insists on doing all the cleaning,
(“You cooked.”
“I took it out of the oven and put it on plates, Shawn. That’s hardly cooking.”
“Still. House rules.”)
which leaves you perched on the centre island, swinging your legs back and forth while you nurse a glass of apple juice. Shawn finishes drying and turns back to you with a conspiratorial smile.
“Taylor bought me a really nice tequila for the end of tour.”
“Even though you’re still underage here?” Shawn shrugs, a boyish, excited gleam in his eye. “What were you gonna do with it?”
“Give it to Andrew to hang onto,” he says, as though it’s obvious. “Or Ava, even. Till we got back.”
But we’re not going back, you want to protest suddenly, feeling petulant and childish. “What about now?”
Shawn tilts his head. “Do a shot with me? I missed out the other night.”
“Shawn Mendes,” you start, fighting back a smile. “Are you trying to corrupt me with illegal behaviour?”
“Only if you’re up for being corrupted, El.” He reaches into a cabinet for the bottle, glimmering faintly in the warm kitchen light. You know even less about alcohol than musical instruments, but it seems fancy, special, like it belongs on the top shelf of a high end bar. You jokingly offer him your glass before you take your next sip, which he accepts with a smile. “No pressure.”
Shawn looks as though he’d happily drink apple juice with you forever, which is why you say, “Okay. I’ll do a shot with you.”
His eyes light up. “Yeah?”
You can’t stop an affectionate laugh. “Yeah. Show me those bartending skills, rockstar.”
Shawn snorts, but his concentration while he procures two shot glasses, digs a lime out of Taylor’s fridge, and offers you the salt shaker is adorable nonetheless. You lick the divot beside your thumb and pour a copious amount of salt; loose grains sprinkle onto the countertop like snow, or sand.
Could you do this, you wonder, on a mountainside or a beach at the edge of the world? Would the tang of salt, tequila and lime feel the same without the way Shawn’s looking at you right now, sparking a flame in your stomach that you’re desperate to keep alive?
“Ready?” he asks, stepping closer once you have the lime in one hand and the shot glass held precariously in the other, so close that your knee brushes his hip.
“To you,” you say. “It really was an amazing first leg.” Shawn opens his mouth as if he wants to object. “Nope, too late. I already made the toast.”
“Fine,” he replies, rolling his eyes, but you can see the humble pride in his smile. “Just don’t forget to look.”
Challenge accepted.
So you’re staring at him when you drag your tongue over your hand, when you tap your glass on the marble and lift it to your lips, and by the time your chin tilts back down in time with his, Shawn’s eyes are there, watching as you wince around the wedge of lime.
He’s still holding his piece when you drop the rind into your glass.
“What, you don’t like lime anymore?” His gaze flicks from your eyes to your lips. “Shawn?”
Shawn barely has to take a step forward before he’s sealing your mouth with his own. He kisses you and it tastes heady and bitter and sour all at once. He kisses you and tilts your head back with fingertips that are tacky with tequila and lime. He kisses you and heat that has nothing to do with the alcohol blooms inside you, that flame stoked higher and higher.
Before you’ve even finished winding your arms around his neck, Shawn’s hands slide down your sides, familiarly huge and warm; he drags you forward on the island until your hips bang together, so only the firm strength of him keeps you from slipping off the edge.
You should get off the counter, you think. The kitchen is hardly the best place to make out. But as you pull back to say this out loud, Shawn just tightens his hold.
“Shawn–”
“Trust me,” he says, breathing the words into your mouth. “Don’t let go.”
And then his hands slip under your knees, your thighs, and he’s lifting you up off the island. You hear yourself squeak in surprise; Shawn laughs into the next kiss and you wrap your legs instinctively around him. He turns and suddenly you’re being carried, weightless. His mouth finds the juncture between your neck and shoulder and keeps you from twisting to see where he’s going.
You didn’t know it was possible to feel like you were burning, even with all these clothes still between you; you didn’t know Shawn could make a noise like that until you rock your hips a little into him to keep leverage.
“D’you know where–” The rest of your question drops off in a sharp breath as he drops backwards onto a couch, sitting upright and still gripping you tight against him so you fall forward into his smile. ”Oh.”
You’re not in the piano room anymore, but a second living room; it’s cozy and warm even without the fireplace burning, and the tv is bigger than both yours and Ava’s combined.
“Taylor’s birthday,” Shawn murmurs. “God, I was so scared I’d make an idiot of myself.”
I know the feeling.
Even though your knees landed on either side of his hips, your foot is caught awkwardly beneath you. Wiggling yourself into a more comfortable position would require effectively sitting in Shawn’s lap; in your hesitation, the fingers twisting around your hair pause.
“Okay?” he asks, leaning back to catch your eye. Shawn’s pupils are wide and dark. Even his lazy eye seems more eager tonight, like there was a little something extra in that tequila that’s making both of you want more than usual. It’s there, in his face. But there’s care too, and caution. You take a breath. It’s just Shawn.
“Yeah,” you reply, “Just–” With a little leverage on his shoulder you manage to free your foot, your hips slotting together again like puzzle pieces snapping into place. Shawn makes that noise again, a barely-there groan. Your stomach flips. “Is this...okay? Like this?”
“Very okay, El.” Shawn says it like he’s trying not to laugh. He sits up, bringing his hand to your cheek and cradling your neck. Your foreheads touch and it strikes you, how safe you feel underneath the blood roaring in your ears. “Amazing, actually.”
To your surprise, Shawn kisses you soft and slow, like some of the urgency from just a minute ago has faded; he barely pulls back, tipping his forehead into yours again like he can’t bear to be further away. For a minute you just breathe together, your fingers going lax against his neck, and for once it doesn’t feel like you’re just stealing time. Then:
“Would you believe me if I told you I was being selfish?”
“Selfish?” you echo. “What do you mean?”
“With us. About us.” Though you’re finally at eye level, Shawn drops his gaze and looks up through his eyelashes. “And you.” Your stomach jumps. “I normally tell my fans that I’m super open with them all the time, but when we– I just..” He shrugs, almost helplessly. “I dunno, I guess I just wanted to keep it between us. I wanted to keep it ours.”
There’s definitely a Taylor joke in there, but before you can think about lightening the mood, he’s looking away, as though he’s ashamed.
Oh. “Is that why you bought that photo off of Scott?” He still won’t look at you, despite your perch against him, despite the way his other hand anchors you warm and low on your back. You’d had a thought about rocking into him again, to see if you could produce that little groan on command, but now the heat has settled into an ember. You slide your hand up Shawn’s neck, taking his chin gently to coax him into meeting your eye.
“Hey.” It’ll always feel strange to be the sure one. “It’s just me, Shawn.”
His jaw tightens, just a fraction, but you don’t move and wait for him to speak.
“It was irresponsible of me to want to just...like, pretend that all that other stuff wasn’t happening. That people weren’t saying stupid shit online–” you try not to flinch but you know he can feel it– “or getting in your face just because they started to see us together. It was naive of me to think by not like, acknowledging it, we wouldn’t have to deal with it.”
“I don’t think not being able to talk and not acknowledging it are the same thing,” you protest.
“Still.”
“Shawn, I–”
“I should’ve known better,” he says, cutting you off in a rare moment of real anger. Not at you, it’s clear, but himself. “We should’ve talked about it, I should’ve prepared you. I–”
“Shawn. Shawn.”
You reach for his face with both hands, taking advantage of the fact that you’re literally on top of him and therefore, momentarily inescapable. Shawn’s own hand on your back fists in your shirt, but otherwise he doesn’t move.
Part of you wants to say, we’ve talked about this, but as Shawn’s body shifts beneath you, solid, present, here, you realize that it’s not just one conversation. It’s not that you have to talk, but that you want to. It’s not that you’ve talked, but that you have to keep talking. If any of this is going to work, you have to keep having this conversation – if for no other reason than to remind Shawn that you understand what you’re getting into. Because that’s a relationship.
“You had no way of knowing there was gonna be a crazy horde tonight.” His jaw flexes. Surprising, slumbering desire stirs unhelpfully in the pit of your stomach. “You can’t prepare for something you have no idea’s coming, right? But now we know that it’s…”
You stroke your thumb over a little sparse gap in his eyebrow as you try to find the right word; Shawn’s grip on your back loosens a little. “A thing that can happen now, we can…you know, be more ready next time. And the one after that.”
“I should’ve held your hand,” Shawn says softly. “I’m glad Parker was there, but I–” Regret is equally so rare in his face that it’s unmistakable. “I wanted to.”
“Me too.” It feels less daunting to admit it to each other, like something shared rather than something shameful.
“I just didn’t want to put you in a situation that…that you didn’t choose yourself. That you weren’t ready for.” His fingers find yours, against his cheek. You wonder if it will ever stop making your heart flutter. “I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“I understand, okay? You don’t have to be sorry about that.” You also wonder who would win in a bet of ‘Most Canadian.’ “Thank you for wanting to protect me, as probably impossible as that is.”
Shawn sighs, turning his face so he can brush his lips across your fingers. “Thank you for wanting me at all.”
I always want you. You nearly blurt it out right then and there. You just kiss him instead, and pour the thought in. “As if that’s hard,” you murmur, pretend annoyed. Shawn breathes his laugh into you and winds his arm tighter around your back. You’re very tempted to let that spark flare back to life, but before you give in, you pull back to look at Shawn carefully.
“Is there anything else you wanna talk about? I mean, paparazzi lesson learned for sure, but besides that?”
He swallows. “I think I’m gonna take a social media break for a bit.” As you nod, Shawn brushes your hair back with warm fingers. “And I need you to know that it’s not just about you. I need the distance, and it’s probably better that neither of us is actively looking for…whatever the fuck they’re gonna say.” He pauses. “And–”
You brace yourself instinctively.
“And I’m meeting Andrew, tomorrow morning for coffee. To talk. He texted while you were in the shower.”
The thought doesn’t scare you as much as it once did. “Okay. That’s good, right?”
Shawn nods, as if he’s reassured by your calm. “Yeah. Should be fine.”
“So I get to sleep in tomorrow?” you ask. He rolls his eyes. “Amazing.”
“Yeah yeah, rub it in El.”
“Nothing saying we can’t go to bed early,” you retort, only half joking. You’re suddenly very aware again of how you’re sitting. Shawn tilts his head, reminding you of a curious puppy, and smiles up at you as you realize your slip and blush hot. “You know what I mean.”
“We could,” he agrees slowly. He brings his hand down to your knee, up your leg, over your hip.“If you want.”
You pretend to mull it over, before leaning down to brace your arms on either side of Shawn’s head. His smile fades into wanting, lighting his eyes like a sunrise. You hover over him and tease a little deliberately, but your stomach jumps all the same when he strains his neck trying to reach you.
“Is that what you want?” you murmur, threading your fingers up into the hair curling behind his ears. Shawn’s head tilts back even further; you can feel his long exhale against your face. “To sleep?”
His jaw flexes. You don’t think about pressing a little harder into him, a gentle grind of the place where your hips meet. It just happens, and then before you can say or do anything else, Shawn surges upward, so fast that you gasp, kissing you so hard that your teeth nearly clack together.
The arm around you holds you fast, pulling you in even tighter. Shawn’s other hand snakes beneath your thigh, hooking your knee over his hip; your stomach pitfalls as he twists to press you onto your back, all the air in your lungs coming out in a gasping rush that he just swallows in another kiss.
“Okay?” he asks, his voice low and rough. You just tug him down.
*
You lay on that couch until your lips feel tingly and numb. You discover that tracing gentle S’s over his bare skin produces an interesting reaction – S for shudder, S for shiver, S for shake – and that the tiny groan you’d heard earlier can, in fact, be heard almost perfectly on command.
Time moves so strangely when you don’t have to cobble minutes together and listen for the sound of someone outside the door; the weight of Shawn on top of you is now as thrilling as it is grounding, the press of his arousal something real instead of an almost, a maybe.
(You agree not to have sex under Taylor Swift’s roof, but the desire nearly drags you under.)
*
“Shawn?”
“Hmm?”
“Did you– did you give me a hickey?”
“…Maybe. Yes. Sorry.”
“No you’re not.”
“No. I’m not.”
*
It’s 2:24 am.
You’re wide awake.
Shawn, of course, is fast asleep. His fingers are still curled into the edges of your t-shirt and the part of you that isn’t annoyed at his peaceful slumber aches a little at the innocence of the gesture. Just a boy. You toy with the idea of just laying here a while longer, but now that you’ve thought about it a trip to the bathroom is in order and it’s not as if you’re going to fall back asleep anytime soon.
Stupid jetlag.
So you get up. You reach for Shawn’s Harvard hoodie tossed to the end of the bed (because it’s closer than yours, obviously, not because it smells like him) and pad as softly as you can to the door. From the bathroom you head down the stairs, following a wash of light into the kitchen.
Taylor whirls around from the open freezer, holding a pint of ice cream and looking guilty. “Oh god, I woke you up, didn’t I? I’m so sorry.”
“No,” you reply quickly. “I was already up, you’re fine.”
Her shoulders relax and Taylor grins a little sheepishly, as though this isn’t her house and she’d be caught doing something illicit. “Can’t sleep?”
You shake your head. “I don’t get how he’s just...out like a light. So annoying.”
The unspoken intimacy is already out before you can even think to take it back, but she just laughs lightly. “His body’s used to it.” Taylor reaches into a drawer for a spoon. “Want some? Mint chocolate chip.”
It’s probably a bad idea, but you shrug and accept the utensil as Taylor gathers another spoon, two shallow bowls and an ice cream scoop. “How was your party?”
Taylor scoops you just enough for a couple bites and you smile gratefully. “It was fine. I mean, good. But I haven’t been out in a while and it’s kinda draining being really social for a long time, you know?”
You think of all the times Shawn’s opted to sit in companionable silence with you instead of a last round or a second after party. “Yeah, sure.”
“I’ll make you a warm turmeric milk,” Taylor offers. Even the way she twists her wrist to pick up ice cream seems graceful. “Worse case, I have melatonin somewhere.”
“You’re not tired?”
“Not yet. Takes me a while to wind down. How was your night? You guys have fun?”
It’s an innocent question, but a flush crawls up your neck all the same. You shove a spoonful of ice cream in your mouth and “Mhmm!” Taylor’s smile crinkles around her eyes; she doesn’t press you.
“Tell me about tour,” she says instead. “What’s been your favourite place? Your favourite show?”
It takes a moment of consideration. You tell her about Paris and its glittering lights and birthday sparklers and candles. You tell her about Manchester and Youth. You tell her about Morgan on the barricade in London. You hardly mention Shawn by name and yet he’s there, lingering at the edges of all your sentences and inside your pauses.
Taylor makes you a warm golden milk with turmeric and you drink while you talk. When you yawn, surprising somehow like you’d forgotten how, she presses melatonin into your hand. “Get some sleep,” she says. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
So up you go.
Equally surprising is the strip of light at the bottom of Taylor’s guest bedroom door. Shawn’s slouched against the headboard, the blue light of his phone illuminating his face while the bedside lamp casts a long, warm veil over the rest of the room.
“Hey,” you say softly, closing the door behind you. “Did I wake you?”
He shakes his head. “Woke up and you were gone.” Something about the edge of sleep still in his voice makes it sound oddly vulnerable. “You okay? Is Taylor back? I thought I could hear you talking.”
“Yeah, I am. And she is. I couldn’t sleep and she was getting ice cream.” He’s staring a little as you put down the mug of warm milk on the bedside table. “What?”
Shawn blinks. “Nothing.” His eyes linger on the place where his hoodie meets your shorts and you flush.
“Sorry,” you blurt, suddenly self-conscious. “It was just closer, I–”
“El.” He drags your gaze back up. “I don’t mind. It looks good on you.”
Shawn’s smile is tilted in that familiar, teasing way; you roll your eyes, but you let him reach across the bed and pull you closer to him until you sit up facing each other. You let him help you tug the sweater over your head and you let his eyes catch on your stomach, your ribs, the shadowed curve of your breast before your t-shirt falls back down.
Shawn effectively encircles you with his legs when presses his face into the slope of your neck and breathes deeply.
“Loonie for your thoughts,” you murmur, carding your fingers through his hair, kneading gently over his neck with your fingertips until he groans. Shawn’s so quiet at first that you think he may have fallen back asleep sitting up.
“Can I ask you something?” In the moonlight he’s more pale than ever. You hum in reply. The hand pressing tiny circles against the small of your back goes still. “About Hannah?”
You don’t mean to flinch; Shawn’s grip tightens, just a little. You swallow and speak before he can take it back. “What about her?”
Shawn straightens to look you in the eye, equal parts calm and unsure. “You get this look on your face when you talk to her, or about her. Even way back in Ottawa.”
The realization that Shawn’s apparently been looking at you since the night you met is disarming, to put it mildly. It’s suddenly hard to focus on the conversation.
“I know you guys haven’t–” he pauses– “talked in a while, but...” Shawn reaches forward with his free hand and thumbs gently at an unconscious furrow between your eyebrows. “I still see that look.”
Something like shame burns in your throat. You look down at the bedspread. Shawn waits patiently as you reach for his swallow, tracing its wings.
“I don’t have that big of an ego to think this is all about me,” he continues wryly. “And if you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to. I just...” You’re expecting him to tilt your chin up, to force you to look at him, but Shawn ducks his head a little and doesn’t look hurt when you can barely meet his gaze. “I was just wondering where you go when you look so far away.”
You’re genuinely stunned into silence. Shawn seems to be able to see the blank panic in your expression, because he just leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead. “Never mind,” he says gently. “Just forget I asked.”
You can feel him about to lean back, to give you space, to seek silent permission before he tugs you back beneath the covers so you can actually try to sleep. No disappointment, no malice, no distrust.
You think, I am truly and deeply in love with you.
You say, “She gave me a marker.”
Shawn doesn’t say anything. He just curls his fingers a little closer to yours.
“When my parents died the therapist said that routines were good, so I went back to school but everyone was like, weird, you know? And then one day we were supposed to make Mother’s Day gifts but I didn’t know what to do. My teacher said I could make something for my sister, but I’d left my colours at home.”
You haven’t thought about that day in a long time. Shawn’s left hand touches your wrist; you follow the lines of his right palm. Comfort; comforted.
“Hannah gave me her purple marker. And then everyone just stopped looking at me and we all coloured flowers. The next day I helped her learn long division and we’ve been best friends ever since.”
You try to smile but you’re fairly certain the curve isn’t quite right. Shawn brushes your hair back as it falls forward. The gesture is so familiar now that it feels strange to remember he hasn’t always been doing it, that his touch hasn’t always been a tender, thrilling reminder: you’re here. this is real. you’re alive. His own smile is a little better formed, encouraging instead of patronizing.
“Sometimes she’s awful,” you continue. “She can get petty and jealous.” You don’t mean to say what comes out next. “The week before Ava brought me to Ottawa, we’d gone to a party and she made out with my one and only real ex-boyfriend.”
Shawn’s eyes widen, but still he stays quiet. It’s the only way you’re able to keep talking. “She was drunk, and she says she doesn’t even remember. He says she tried to take his clothes off, but he’s also a piece of shit, so…”
You let out a tiny, bitter laugh. “And I forgave her, because what else was I supposed to do? And then Ava sent those tickets and you–“
Shawn’s fingers freeze, just for a breath, behind your ear. You try to smile again and it’s like lifting a weight you can only just barely get off the floor.
“You were so wonderful and part of me was still so mad at her.” That earlier shame presses a knot in your throat. “And I knew I had to keep the secret but part of me was awful, too. I wanted to. It was something that was just mine, that I never had to share or have her judge or want for herself.”
“I don’t think that’s awful,” he says softly. You shrug. Tears slide past your nose. He thumbs them away but doesn’t otherwise move.
“I know she didn’t leak the news about us.” Now that you’ve gotten this far you’re determined to finish. “But I don’t know if I can forgive her for the way she made me feel about it. Or if I can forgive myself for letting her make me feel that way.”
Shawn’s edges are a little blurry when you finally lift your chin. “I still love her, isn’t that fucked up? What kind of person does that make me?”
He doesn’t speak for a long time. You have no idea how one drags themselves out of the emotional hole you’ve dug. Before you can let Shawn off the hook, or apologize for dumping seven years of emotional baggage onto him, he pulls you forward and folds you into his arms.
“Do you want me to say something,” he asks, pressing his chin against the top of your head. “Or do you just want this?”
The weight of this confession is so heavy that no longer having to carry it alone pulls you off balance. You slip your hand underneath his collar to pull Saint Christopher out. When you can speak without a sob swallowing your words, you let go of the chain.
“You can say something.”
Shawn kisses the crown of your hair. “You can feel however you want, whenever you want. You shouldn’t have to hide it. And you don’t have to, not from me. Okay?” You can’t reply. You just sniff into the collar of his t-shirt. His hand smooths up and down your spine. “I don’t think that forgiveness is a bad thing, El. Especially for yourself.”
You’re shuddering with the effort of breathing normally instead of hiccuping. Shawn just gathers you closer. He doesn’t shush you, but just murmurs softly in your ear, “It’s okay. I’m here. I got you.”
You’re still clinging to him when you fall asleep.
*
There’s an honest to god note on the pillow the next morning instead of a boy.
Hey El,
I’m headed out to meet Andrew. And before you say anything about last night, don’t say sorry. I’m not. I’m glad you told me. Taylor has just about every breakfast drink you could ever want and she says she wants to take us to lunch later.
Don’t eat anything, okay? I’ll bring you bagels for breakfast.
S
*
maybemaisy: Can you believe Shawn’s been in NYC since yesterday and we haven’t gotten a single post about it? I thought he loved it there!
perfectlymendes13: Maybe people should not create screaming mobs everywhere he goes?
shawwnmendess: How do you know that?? He loves meeting his fans – who do you think you are? They waited forever to see him.
jess_: How would you feel if like 400 people just showed up where you’re staying after a long haul flight and screamed at you? Why does choosing to wait meant they should get to see him?
pwlive2k19: I bet this is about Ellie. She’s probably manipulating him into not posting to she can have him for herself.
jess_: …I wonder if people can hear themselves talking sometimes or if it’s just that noise adults make in Charlie Brown.
*
“I thought you played an instrument, Sinclair.”
“Yeah, the trumpet.” You cast Parker a somewhat affronted look. “In middle school. How exactly is that supposed to help me now?”
“It’s in the bones,” he insists, undeterred. Parker taps your knee. “The beat’s here. And relax, would you? You’re not using these to poke someone’s eye out.”
“That’s what you think.” But you relax your grip on the fake drumsticks anyway. The real drummer carries on fixing your awful form, swiveling your hips in the small stool and lifting your elbows with sure hands.
You know you should probably be paying attention – for the sake of your friendship and respect for Parker’s instrument – but your eyes keep wandering across the living room where Shawn sits with Matty and the plastic Band Hero guitar. Shawn’s essentially holding the guitar aloft for his godson, the strap wound around one hand so it doesn’t swing into Matty’s face, who insisted on wearing it over his shoulder “like Daddy and Uncle Shawn.”
Ava had admitted to you once that while she’s never been sure about wanting kids herself, but there was something deeply attractive – practically primal, Lenny (which had made you wrinkle your nose) – about a man who was good with children.
You’d nodded, before. Now though, you truly get it. Sophie, sitting just beside Shawn with her legs drawn up beneath her, winks at you over her wine glass. You nearly drop your sticks, mortified.
“Everybody ready?” Geoff asks. “Ready Matty?”
“Ready Daddy!” the boy chirps. Shawn nods too. He catches your eye and it’s all you can do to just smile at him, as if the axis of your life isn’t currently tilting drastically – again. Thankfully, the game pulls your focus; after fumbling through the initial bars, you settle into your seat and manage not to miss every other note.
“Not bad!” Parker exclaims. You exhale a nervous laugh. You can still see Shawn in the corner of your eye, helping Matty press down on the bar with his thumb while the boy’s tiny fingers are wrapped around his.
It’s just a game of course, but when the song ends and you’re predictably caught staring, Shawn’s gaze seems deeper somehow – as if this one activity matters more than any other you’ve shared so far.
He glances down at his godson with truly naked love and you realize with a lurch that it just might be. This is Shawn’s family.
“You’re up, Jones.” Parker grins widely when Kristin just looks at him over the rim of her glass. “Let’s see what you got.”
“Not if you paid me.”
“Pretty sure I don’t need money to convince you.” The drummer winks; the adults in the room groan collectively.
“Keep it PG in front of my kid,” Geoff orders. Shawn snorts. Neither Parker nor Kristin even blush, but she relents with a roll of her eyes so you give up your seat.
“Again, Daddy!” Matty’s obliviously bright smile shows off two incomplete rows of tiny teeth. “Can we do colours too?” He points to the five buttons on the neck of the plastic guitar that are meant to replace its strings.
“Why don’t you ask Aunty Ellie to help you guys?” Sophie suggests, casting you another wink.
“Please, Aunty Ellie?” Matty seems a little shy, but emboldened by his mother. You resist a sudden urge to coo at him.
“Let’s do it!” His unbridled enthusiasm isn’t easy to turn down. Matty bounces a little in his seat and Shawn just grins at you over his head when you settle on the child’s other side, accepting Shawn’s careful redistribution of the guitar so you’re responsible for the middle bar while he and Matty assume command over the coloured strings.
“Green’s all yours,” Shawn says. He helps Matty position three fingers over the button. “I’ll help you with the rest.”
“Okay!”
It’s hard to tell if Kristin’s seemingly entire lack of energy is for Matty’s benefit or to annoy Parker – probably both – but your, Shawn, and the boy’s combined efforts manage the high score. Geoff gamely celebrates his son’s victory, lifting him high and swinging him around.
“Alright?” Shawn murmurs, leaning over the space Matty had just occupied and touching the small of your back. You just nod, smiling faintly. You feel oddly fragile right now, even in the company of your closest friends.
He ducks his head to meet your eye; it’s hard to tell if he’s satisfied, but Shawn just turns and puts his mouth against your temple. It’s the same, grounding, not-quite-kiss from the backseat of Taylor’s car.
“Okay little man,” Sophie says, rising from her seat. “Time for a bath, then bedtime. Say goodnight to everyone, okay?”
To your surprise and delight, Matty proceeds to toddle around the room and offer everyone hugs and kisses. Kristin looks like this might be the one thing to tip her over into drunk tears. Shawn wraps up his godson with both arms, hugging tight.
“I’ll come tuck you in,” Geoff adds, last to have his turn. He gives his son a smacking kiss on the cheek for good measure. “Go with Mommy now.”
As Sophie and Matty disappear up the stairs, Kelsey lets out a long, audible breath.
“I need more alcohol to deal with how cute that just was.”
*
Ten minutes into a particularly vicious final round of Super Smash later, Sophie reappears.
“Shawn?” He looks up from a sad attempt at knocking Kristin’s Kirby off the ledge of Hyrule. “You’ve been specially requested for the song portion of bedtime.”
“Oooh,” Parker laughs. “Geoff you’ve been replaced, man!”
“I have never been more offended in my life,” Geoff says, mock wounded. “Remind me to hold this over our child forever.”
“You better let me take over.” You reach for the controller in Shawn’s hand, but he drops it and offers you his palm instead.
“Come with me?”
“Oh Shawn, I shouldn’t–”
“Please.”
You can only look at Sophie, who just smiles.
“He’d love it if you read to him, Ellie.”
Shawn’s giving you that trust me look, the one you saw months ago when he hauled you up onstage in an empty Lisbon arena. You take his hand and offer Kelsey the controller. “I guess we’ll be right back.”
He doesn’t let go as he leads you across the basement and up the stairs. You give in to a strange urge to look back, only to find all your tour mates already newly engrossed in the video game. It feels strangely as though you’ve passed some sort of test, although you have no idea what the rules are or who’s judging: them or yourself.
Matty’s room is painted in soft shades of green. He looks delighted and adorable in Pokémon themed pyjamas patterned with the three original starters and Pikachu. You attempt to linger in the doorway with Sophie, but Shawn tugs you gently into the room, lit softly with a bedside lamp and a night light that throws constellations onto the ceiling.
“Why don’t you show Auntie Ellie what you want to read tonight, sweetie?” Sophie gestures at a knee-high bookcase full to bursting. The one Matty pulls out features a very dapper bunny, which he offers to you before crawling into your lap at the edge of his bed.
Matty curls up against you, his cheek warm on your collarbone and his skin smelling of lavender. Shawn, already holding an acoustic guitar from the corner of the room, sits down on the floor and leans against your legs. Your eyes get momentarily stuck on the curls at the nape of his neck.
"Hello, my name is Marlon Bundo,” you begin. “I live with Mom, Grandma and Grampa in old, stuffy house on the grounds of the U.S Naval Observatory. That’s because my Grampa is the Vice President. His name is Mike Pence. But this story isn’t going to be about him, because he isn’t very fun. This story is about me, because I’m very, very fun."
Everyone is quiet as you read, though Matty likes to touch his hand to the pictures before you turn the page, tracing the shape of Marlon’s bowtie and the watercolour detail as he hops through his special day. When the story is over, Matty snuggles into your neck and you feel inexplicably like crying.
Maybe you’ve also had enough to drink tonight.
Geoff appears in the doorframe. “C’mere little monster,” he says, lifting his son out of your lap. You slide off the bed while the guitarist tucks Matty in, murmuring softly to him.
“Song, Daddy. Can Uncle Shawn?”
“I’m right here,” Shawn says. He puts one hand over the boy’s tiny feet. “What song do you want, Matty?”
“The dance song!”
“Dance song?” You both turn to Sophie and Geoff, sharing a private smile.
“We showed him our wedding video last week,” she explains. “He saw you and now he’s obsessed with our first dance song.”
“Did you…” Okay maybe you’re a little drunk because now you’re grinning like an idiot. “Did you perform at their wedding?”
Shawn hasn’t blushed like this in front of you in a while. “Sort of. Just the one song. It was their wedding present.”
“Sing the dance song, please Uncle Shawn!”
That particular soft expression passed over Shawn’s face, the one that’s usually accompanied by I’m melting when he meets young kids on tour. He clears his throat, strums experimentally on the guitar, and a familiar melody fills the room.
“Wise men say only fools rush in.”
The room is suddenly extremely small.
“But I can’t help falling in love with you.”
Oh no. Abort abort abort.
You have no idea where to look; Matty blinks sleepily while his parents lean against each other in the doorway. Orion and the Big Dipper offer little comfort to one of the most popular love songs ever, sung in close quarters by a boy who insists on looking at you.
Somehow it’s too much and not enough at the same time.
“Won’t you please just take my hand. Take my whole life too. Cause I can’t help falling in love, in love with you.” For the first time in a long time, you can’t quite read Shawn’s expression. “Cause I can’t help falling in love with you.”
His voice fades out. You survived the flood of feeling, if only just.
Shawn leans over the bed to kiss Matty’s forehead. “Love you, buddy.”
“Love you Uncle Shawn,” comes the sleepy, soft reply. Two tiny hands wind around Shawn’s neck. He presses his face into the boy’s dark hair and looks almost pained, before you blink and it’s gone.
You can’t ask because Matty’s eyes are closed and you’re already tiptoeing out of the room. You also can’t ask because you have no idea how to articulate such a question.
“How d’you feel about Netflix and some facemasks?” Sophie asks at the top of the stairs. “Give the boys a chance to hang out.”
“I’d love that.” The universe seems to know when you’re about to lose it.
“I’ll grab the girls.”
She and Geoff leave you there. Shawn is already a few steps ahead when you reach for his shoulder. “Hey.”
He turns back – is that nerves? – expectantly. You find yourself momentarily speechless, so you just lean forward and kiss him. The stairs give you equal height for once, which is nice. It’s just one press of your mouth against his, but you draw it out long enough that Shawn seems a little stunned when you pull back.
“Hi,” he says around a small, breathless laugh. Shawn tips his forehead into yours. “What was that for?”
You manage to unstick your voice. “Thanks for sharing that with me.”
Shawn cups your face in both hands, kissing you so tenderly that your throat tightens. He looks so certain, suddenly. “I wanna share everything with you, El.”
Your stomach drops all the way to your feet; Shawn’s turning away before you can pick it back up. You can only watch him turn the corner of the landing and vanish with a smile.
“Ellie?” Kelsey’s voice rises from the first floor. “Where’d you go?”
It’s hard to tell how long you’ve been standing there.
“I’m here.” You drag your feet down the stairs, to the kitchen where Sophie and Kristin are pulling another bottle of wine from the fridge while Kelsey considers the fine print of a mask. “I’m here.”
*
A mask, a movie, and a lot of water later, it’s time to call it a night.
“We better collect the boys,” Kristin says. “No telling what state they’re in since we have nowhere to be in the morning.”
“We were gonna take Matty to Central Park tomorrow.” Sophie shoos your attempts to help her tidy up the living room. “Maybe the Met. It’s supposed to be nice out. Want me to text you guys?”
There’s collective agreement. You troop down the stairs only to find Shawn, Geoff, and Parker sprawled across the couches while the title screen for FIFA 19 plays endlessly on the tv.
“How many consoles do you have?” Kelsey asks.
“More than my parents understand how to turn on,” Sophie replies, rolling her eyes. “My brother’s a bit of a collector.”
Shawn’s leaning on his arm stretched alongside the back of the couch, head lolling just a bit. He blinks awake when you touch his cheek; his eyes are a little unfocused.
“Hi,” you say, failing to contain a teasing laugh. “Ready to go?”
“Yep.” It sounds more like Yeeeep. Shawn picks up your hand and kisses the centre of your palm. “Have I told you how much I love your hands?”
“Once or twice.” Even inebriated, he’s annoyingly agile, standing with apparently no effort. He hugs you tight, breathing into your hair. “We a bit drunk, Shawn?”
“A bit,” comes the mumbled reply. “You’re the best, you know that? You’re like, so chill.”
You tug him forward. “You’re very sweet. C’mon, Kels is calling an Uber for us.”
“Night,” he says to Geoff, apparently unwilling to let go of you and waving instead of the usually clasp, hug that the boys usually do. “This was super fun.”
“Goodnight sweetie.” Sophie kisses his cheek at the door. “We might see each other tomorrow, yeah?”
“Isn’t Ellie amazing?” he asks, so earnestly that you have to press your lips together to keep from laughing. “And like, the prettiest?”
“The most amazing and the prettiest,” she agrees seriously. Sophie pulls you into a one-armed hug. “I’ll text you, alright? Let me know when you guys are awake.”
“Thank you for tonight.” You squeeze her back as tightly as you can. “See you tomorrow!”
Outside, with your hand still firmly grasped in his, Shawn tilts his face towards the sky like he’s waiting for rain. You’ve never seen him this drunk before. He’s usually also annoyingly articulate as well as dexterous; though there’s no issue getting in the car, he’s oddly quiet.
“Okay?” you ask gently. Shawn nods, slouching down to lean his head on your shoulder.
“Have you ever been so happy that you like, can’t handle it? Like you don’t wanna close your eyes unless you wake up and it’s all a dream?”
Parker catches your eye in the rearview mirror. You feel strangely exposed in the backseat of the dark van, with Shawn tucked against the window with you in the last row and Kelsey and Kristin sitting just ahead.
“Of course,” you reply. He’s gone quiet again. “Are you happy, Shawn?”
His smile blooms over your collar.
*
You take a stupid amount of pictures of Balto’s statue while Shawn laughs. At the Central Park carousel, Matty insists on rides with his parents then his godfather, which predictably evolves into a series of silly photos of seven adults on a children’s attraction with only one child between them.
“I’m gonna call Scott,” Shawn announces afterwards as you stroll. “Better to get ahead of paps if we can – I don’t wanna scare Matty.” He glances at Sophie and Geoff as if asking for permission.
They exchange a look; Geoff just shrugs, like they’ve had this conversation before.
“One is better than twelve,” she admits, though your stomach is in knots already. “I’ll ask him if he’s okay with it. Worse case, we can just meet you guys inside the Met.”
“What’s a pap, Mommy?”
As Sophie picks up her son to explain, Shawn looks over to you. By some small miracle no one’s stopped you yet this morning, but the moment any photos of him surface in the park, all bets are off.
“You don’t have to–” Shawn starts, and then starts again. “You can walk with the girls, if you want.”
His hand brushes yours in a way that could just be incidental. It’s not. You want him to take it but you know he won’t unless you reach first. “Nothing’s happening here if you don’t want it to.”
It’s that same, deeply serious look from so many weeks ago. You’ve stopped at the Alice in Wonderland statues and you’re grateful for something to focus on besides this burst of anxiety.
“I wanna be in pictures!”
Shawn suddenly finds himself with armfuls of toddler, saving you from having to reply. He hauls Matty up onto his shoulders and it’s a little more adorable than you can handle right now. Shawn’s hands are now both occupied, but you stay there at his side. It feels like a silent compromise; his smile dimples around his mouth.
“That was surprisingly easy,” Geoff comments. “I’ve never met a kid as vain as mine.”
“You say vain,” Sophie counters, “I say so easy going that all the other preschool parents are jealous of us.”
“I’ll take that.” The guitarist slings his arm over her shoulders. “He definitely gets that from me.”
“Give me your phone,” Kelsey says to Shawn. “I’ll text your pap. You’re sure he’s just gonna take a few pics and leave us alone?”
“He did yesterday.” Shawn re-adjusts his grip on Matt’s ankles. “Outside a meeting with Andrew. There and gone in ten minutes, and by the time anyone saw them I was already halfway back to Taylor’s.”
Everyone exchanges looks. There’s no arguing with that.
Kristin takes her sister’s camera and pretends to be paparazzi, which makes Matty laugh. You wish you could be so cheerful at the thought of your photo being taken.
“Okay, so he’ll meet us by the Met,” Kelsey reports. “We’re walking towards the back of it right now. We can get these done and we’ll be in the museum while all your fans are trying to stalk the green.”
“Alright, Sinclair?” Parker asks, falling into step on your other side.
You tear your eyes away from Matty touching the White Rabbit’s ears at Shawn’s gentle encouragement. “Yeah.” You loop your arm around Parker’s elbow, pulling yourself closer to him; the drummer just squeezes you gently. He doesn’t say anything, but you’re comforted anyway.
Sooner than you’d like, the long shadow of the Met cools your feet and a familiar blonde head is turning towards you on the path ahead.
Shawn makes rocket ship noises as he pulls Matty from around his neck. “D’you wanna walk with your mum, buddy?” he asks once the boy’s safely on the ground again. “Or stay with us?”
“One two three?”
Geoff’s son touches your hand. “Hmm?”
Matty tugs a little. “Can we one two three, Aunty Ellie?”
Shawn catches your eye. He mimes walking and a swinging motion with two fingers – a childhood memory tugs.
“Sure Matty,” you reply, “But I’m gonna need help! Who do you think can help us?” The boy giggles as he looks up at his godfather, who turns away in exaggerated confusion, staring around the park.
“Uncle Shawn!” Matty calls, barely able to speak over his laughter at Shawn’s silly pantomime. “Can you one two three, please Uncle Shawn?”
“Who, me?”
You can tell that Shawn’s doing this for you just as much as his godson; it’s something welcome to focus on. He takes Matty’s other hand; you tighten your grip.
“Ready?”
“Ready!”
He nods at you. “One...two…”
“Three!”
The hole in your heart where your parents used to be gapes open. Matty’s laughter drowns out a ringing panic in your ears as you and Shawn swing him up once and twice more.
“There’s my friend Scott,” Shawn says once the boy is back on his feet, pointing. “He’s here to take my picture.”
“Me too?” Matty asks.
“If you want. Mommy said it was okay?”
The boy nods, peering up. Before you can say anything reassuring or even smile, he reaches for you. “I’ll hold your hand, Aunty Ellie.”
Do not break down in front of the four year old.
You fold Matty’s fingers in your own.
Shawn tucks his own hands into his pockets, but his smile could light the sun. As you approach, Scott’s eyes consider you, the toddler, and the group in a quick, calculating sweep. He’s paid to observe, you remind yourself. Shawn reaches forward to shake Scott’s hand; you look anywhere but at the enormous camera.
“Hey buddy,” Scott says, crouching down to meet Matty’s eye. “I’m Scott. What’s your name?”
“Matty!”
“Are your mom and dad okay with me taking some pictures of you with–” he glances up, but Matty supplies, “Uncle Shawn!” helpfully, which makes Geoff huff with laughter. Scott straightens and reaches out his hand. “Hi. Geoff, right?”
Introductions are quick and perfunctory; Kelsey shakes, Kristin doesn’t – Parker nods his head. Your ears are ringing again. Scott smiles at you. It’s probably meant to be friendly or reassuring. You drag the corners of your mouth up. Your hand wants to tighten around Matty’s but you’re afraid to hurt him.
“I’ll be quick,” Scott says, like a promise. “You don’t have to do– just you know, act natural yeah? Try and pretend I’m not even here.”
Parker has to touch your back to remind you to walk. Matty’s Miles Morales shoes light up in red as he sings something softly to himself. It sounds like a Blue’s Clues song, though you’re pretty certain email comes up at one point and well – that’s a trip. Your head won’t turn to look at Shawn, despite the way his gaze passes over you like a lighthouse beam.
“That’s great,” Scott says. He drops his camera and it feels like you can finally exhale. Matty turns around to reach for his father, who calls, “Great job, bud!” as he lifts him off his feet. Now that there’s no longer a child dividing you, Shawn’s hand brushes yours again – incidental. “I’m all good if you are, dude.”
“Yeah, thanks. Have a good one.”
Scott waves. Your feet don’t sway until he’s turned the corner of the Met, out of sight, but suddenly Parker’s grabbing at your elbow.
“Woah, Sinclair. You good?”
“Um.” You can’t say anything else.
“Let’s go into the Met, huh?” Kelsey suggests quickly. She takes Shawn’s arm and all but drags him along. Inside the museum, Kristin makes a beeline for the nearest security guard, who points somewhere, before she grabs your hand and leads you through the crowd.
“We’ll be right back!”
Bodies, stairway, hall, door. The bathroom is shockingly quiet. Perhaps this is what she’d asked of the guard. You stumble up to the sink, gripping the edges with both hands. You think about Shawn and your knees shake harder.
“I’m okay,” you blurt. The Jones sisters exchange a look in the mirror. “I just...need a second.”
“Take a hundred, if you need them,” Kristin replies. “No rush. It’s fine. You’re fine.”
You close your eyes and lean your head down, breathing deeply. It’s fine. It’s over. You did it.
Your body stills. Your heart slows. “Can we–” Shame coats the request in acid. “Can we not tell them that I…”
“Lady issues,” Kelsey says easily. “Of course.”?
It’s doubtful Shawn would buy that, but you nod anyway.
(He doesn’t. But he doesn’t say so.
In the third gallery, somehow completely empty, you let your hands brush.
Shawn hangs on.)
*
@SMUpdates: Shawn, Ellie, and the crew were spotted in Central Park! We’ll never be over how cute Geoff’s son is! [retweets: 325; likes: 1350]
@shawnruin: omg can you believe her? We’re supposed to believe they’re in a relationship??
@lunamendes: it’s PR I know it there’s a whole timeline thread that doesn’t add up.
@_bananahhannah: he deserves better.
@stylesshawwn: does he think we’re blind or something? She’s so fake.
@tpwkbieber: imagine being next to Shawn Mendes and not looking at him the entire time.
@fallinallinruin: she’s so ugly like we been knew sis you’re just using him.
*
In an event that would seem like the end of the world given how profusely she apologizes to you, Ava is out of Advil.
“God calm down, there’s a CVS like three minutes away.” You show her your maps app just to make your point. “I’m not a Psyduck, my head isn’t going to explode before I get there.”
“I literally have no idea what that means.”
You just wave your keycard at her from the doorway. The evening has cooled the temperature, but the pace of New York City is just as manic as you’ve ever experienced. It’s a little daunting without the safe bubble of Taylor’s car or the gang, but there’s something equally comforting about just being a faceless girl in a crowded street.
CVS’ harsh fluorescent light isn’t exactly kind to the bags beneath your eyes; you wince a little as you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the concave mirror at the end of the aisle. Something else flashes there: a blur of colour – pink and orange – and a hushed whisper that sounds a bit like, “Ohmygod!” But when you turn around there’s no one else seemingly in search of painkillers.
It’s probably just your headache.
You snag a bottle on sale and make you way up to the register. Ava objects to self-checkout so you get in line behind a man who frowns down at the package of tampons in his basket. The lady currently paying waves a flurry of coupons in the face of the harried looking cashier; you let your eyes wander across the candy offerings and magazines.
A chorus of giggles raises the hair on the back of your neck. Pink and orange appear again in the corner of your eye – you chance a glance backwards – it’s a tour hoodie. It’s two girls, clutching a magazine as though they’d just grabbed it to cover their faces. But it’s not their foreheads, or even Shawn’s merch that really grabs your attention.
It’s you, there in the top corner. Holding Matty’s hand.
On the cover of the magazine.
Your Advil clatters to the ground.
You’re almost too slow to catch it with your foot as it rolls towards the candy stand, nearly lost to the gap between the stand and the floor forever. Your heart slams up into your throat. You don’t dare look at the girls again, facing forward even when more hushed giggles rise.
“Have a nice day,” the cashier says, in such a way you can tell he hasn’t had one. You can only offer him a fleeting smile.
Don’t freak out, you tell yourself sternly, turning back the way you came outside the store. But when you arrive at the corner, there they are again. Trailing behind you.
Your hand shakes; you misdial.
“El, hey. What’s up?”
Fuck.
You cross the opposite way. “Hey!” You’ve pitched your voice a little too high. “Wanna hear something crazy?”
“Sure,” Shawn says slowly.
“Remember that dog at the corner by our house that used to follow me home all the time? I just saw one that looked just like him. Like, exactly. Isn’t that funny? I almost called it Arthur.”
The pause on the line is so deep that you’re terrified the call’s dropped. “El.” Your stomach jumps at his tone. “Is someone following you?”
You can only “Mhmm!” as you dodge a man in a suit power-walking in your direction.
“Where are you? I’ll–”
“No you’re not! Oh my god, stop that.” You force yourself to laugh and drag your eyes up to at least look where you’ve ended up. “You know I’d spot you from a mile away. Oh shit, I almost forgot I wanted to look for that top at the Gap. Good thing I literally just walked past it.”
“Hang on–” There’s a rustle, and the way Shawn shouts, “Ava!” steals your breath. The door to the Gap sticks when you try to open it. Calm down. Air conditioning blasts; goosebumps ripple up and down your arms. The city roars in your ears before the door swings shut.
“Mel’s coming,” Shawn says, like he’s repeating himself. “El? Are you still there?”
“Yeah.” You haven’t seen Shawn’s publicist since before her new baby was born. Mel has a step-daughter close to your age, though you’ve only met briefly once or twice back in Toronto.
For just a second you squeeze your eyes closed and take yourself back home, to that first call, when your fear was just for feelings you were afraid to face and not for whatever these girls – or anyone else – might do if they actually approached and thrust that cover in your face.
“Are they?”
Laugh? Accost you? Take a selfie?
You’re never going to be able to look at that tour hoodie the same way.
“Yes.”
There’s a rack of soft, warm cardigans in the centre of the store. You have this wild urge to hurtle yourself between them, a cozy place to hide like you’re Matty’s age.
“Mel was on her way back here to see us,” Shawn’s saying now. He sounds calm and reassuring, but you can feel it somehow – the edge of panic. You may be projecting a little. “She’ll be there in like, three minutes tops. She said she’s wearing her running shoes, you know how much of a power-walker Mel is.”
A faint laugh wheezes out. If you had your head, you’d ask Shawn what Mel was doing in New York. She’s supposed to be off for this entire tour.
“Are you okay?” More rustling reaches your ears, as though he’s pacing. “Tell me you’re okay.”
He’d normally never ask something like that of you; sometimes Shawn’s more protective of your feelings than you are. Maybe you’re not projecting. You shrug automatically, already prepared to lie. “I’m not even sure it was actually him. I didn’t like, go up to them or anything. It should be fine, I think.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Maybe.” Zipper detailing on the shoulder of a jacket is cold against your fingertips. The girls who followed you into the store are thankfully keeping a respectable distance, half-pretending to browse just as you are, but you can feel their eyes on you. “I’m not sure.”
“Just don’t let me go. Please.”
“I won’t.” You pick up a top that you’re supposedly buying. Just be normal. “How’s your day so far?”
“Well I just did a press interview, had breakfast with this beautiful girl this morning, you might know her. Name’s Eleanor.”
Shawn’s never said your full first name before. It gives you genuine butterflies. “Oh yeah?”
“Yep. People should write songs about her.”
He disarms you so easily.
“I think they already have. Beatles ring a bell? I hear it’s a classic.”
“Remind me I want to take you to that movie where everyone forgets them. It looks so good.”
“Okay.”
A beat. “Is this helping?”
I love you. “Yeah. Very much.”
“So they haven’t come up to you? You can’t tell if they know it’s you for sure?”
“Yeah.” Your anxiety jumps back to life like a shot of adrenaline. Thank god he’s paying attention. “Something about a magazine.”
Shawn says, “Fuck,” very quietly, like he doesn’t want you to hear. But you’re clinging to even his steady breathing on the line to keep you grounded. You’d know the sound of his voice anywhere, like a beacon through the fog.
“El?”
“Hmm?”
Shawn’s quiet for what seems like a long time. “I’m sorry this is happening. I know what you’re going to say, but I’m still sorry.”
You don’t say it. You say, “I know. I know you are. It’s okay.”
“I know it’s not my fault.”
“Cause it isn’t.”
“I know. I just...still.”
You can feel yourself starting to say, Shawn. You swallow his name back at the last second. When had it started to feel like something dangerous in your mouth?
“I’ll be home soon,” you say instead. “We can talk about it more when I get back.”
Shawn starts to say something else, but you’re distracted by a familiar voice.
“Hey there, sweet pea!”
Your knees nearly buckle when you turn to find Mel making a beeline for you. “Hey, can I call you back?”
“She’s there?”
“Yeah.”
Shawn exhales audibly over the line. “Good. Text me when you get back okay? Or just come straight up to my room. I’ll be here.”
You say, “Okay,” and hang up before he can hear your breath catching. Mel’s hands smooth up your arms, squeezing as she leans in and kisses you gently on the forehead. It’s such a motherly gesture that you have to swallow a sudden lump in your throat.
“Ready to go?” she asks, loping an arm around your shoulders to steer you out. Mel squeezes again gently, as though she can feel you shaking. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
You just shake your head.
Mel guides you right past the two girls, half shielding you and not even sparing them a glance while you keep your eyes trained on the door. You’re fine. Nothing happened.
“I’m gonna hail a cab, okay?” she says once you’re outside. Her arm is already raised. You should protest, probably. The hotel is maybe ten minutes walk away at the very most. But there’s no way you’ll be followed in a yellow cab in a sea of other yellow cabs, so you just nod, relieved.
In the backseat, you have no idea what to say other than, “Thank you.”
Mel shakes her head. “Oh you don’t need to thank me, sweetie.”
You almost forget to ask until the hotel rises up from behind the rows of perfect trees along the street. “Not that I’m not super happy to see you Mel, but what are you doing here?”
Your sister’s closest confidante smiles thinly. Nerves pinch suddenly at the base of your spine. “Anna and I are here for a little girl’s trip. I wanted to see how you and Ava and Shawn were doing. And she has something to tell you.”
*
@SMendesUpdates: Our King of avoiding!
[The interviewer leans forward conspiratorially. “So Shawn. I’d probably be fired if I didn’t ask you the one question that everyone’s been dying to ask for weeks now.”
His smile creases, just a little. “Well I’d never want you to lose your job, so go ahead.”
“Could you tell me about Ellie?” Her voice is kind. “She’s your assistant’s sister, right? She’s on tour with you?”
“She’s currently interning with our tour photographer, yes. She’s great.”
“Rumour has it that you two are very close.”
“It’s really nice having someone on tour close to my age.” Shawn’s jaw flexes almost imperceptibly. “I love Ava to death and getting to meet Ellie a few years ago was really special. I’m super close with my little sister too so their bond is definitely something I understand. Everyone on the team gets along really well and we hang out together a lot. That feeling of family is really special when I don’t get to see mine that often while I’m away.”
The interviewer just looks at him for a moment, before she seems to admit defeat. “That sounds wonderful. I’m really happy for you.”]
[likes: 640; retweets: 353]
*
Anna can’t look at either of you when she says, “It was me.”
Shawn’s clearly just as confused as you are. “What do you mean?” he asks gently. “What was you?”
The teen – she’s only fourteen, you remember now – looks at her mother, the only person over the age of twenty in the room. Mel had requested they speak to you and Shawn privately, and now you can see why. The memory of meeting Shawn and Andrew for the first time almost feels like it happened to another person, but you’d never been more nervous in your life. And that was just a hello.
“Go on, Anna,” Mel says firmly, though not unkind. “This is what being grown up is all about. I’m not going to do the hard part for you.”
Dawning pricks up the back of your neck. Shawn glances at you again, the same lightning strike of understanding in his face, but neither of you speak. Anna’s shoulders tremble as she takes a deep breath and lifts her chin. Her gaze darts to Shawn first and then away, like she can’t bear to look at him.
So she looks right in your eyes when she confesses. “I told everyone who you were. It was me.”
Hearing it out loud still makes you feel as though someone’s pushed you from a ledge. The silence seems to suck the air from the room, until you realize everyone is waiting for you to speak.
“Oh.”
“I didn’t mean–” Anna begins, and seems to catch herself. Her eyes are beseeching. “I wasn’t thinking. I was so mad at my mom for not taking me on this tour like she promised and you–”
You flinch.
“I was so jealous. Everyone at school was just talking about who this amazing girl who’d...who’d gotten Shawn because she was on his tour and hung out with him all the time…”
Something inside you feels undone.
“I told my friends I knew you and then it just…” Anna’s face crumples into misery. “God Ellie, I’m so sorry. I had no idea any of this would happen.”
You have to ease yourself down onto Ava’s hotel bed. Shawn doesn’t move but you can tell he wants to. The set of his jaw betrays his anger but he doesn’t say anything, either. You can’t decide what you’d rather him do.
Anna still can’t look at him, but says, “I’m so sorry,” again before covering her mouth and fleeing from the room. Shawn has a question in his eyes, but Mel just holds up a hotel key identical to yours. It’s quiet for a long time.
“We…” You have to wrap your head around the rest of the sentence. “We barely even know each other.”
“I can’t tell you two how sorry I am,” Mel says finally. “Andrew asked us to try and figure out where the leak came from. She left her phone open one night in the living room and I saw all these texts she’d been sending. I normally don’t snoop, but I opened her twitter and it was just…”
The woman shrugs helplessly. “She must have been eavesdropping on me talking to your sister while you guys have been gone. I had no idea Anna was that upset about missing out on tour, since I told her we’d still go to a few shows. She’s grounded until she gets grey hair, but I know that can’t make up for everything she’s put you both through because she was so thoughtless.”
Mel turns to Shawn, her eyes shining with tears. “I’m going to tell Andrew that I’m resigning as your publicist, effective immediately.”
You lurch back up to your feet. “Mel, no! You can’t–”
“I don’t accept.”
Shawn doesn’t use his ‘big boss voice’ – as Brian calls it – very often. At least, not in front of you, when he’s so mindful of keeping an even footing in your relationship. It’s always a jarring thrill to hear Shawn exert his power and authority with such confidence.
“I don’t accept your resignation,” he says. “You’re an amazing publicist and none of this is your fault. Anna...” Shawn lets out a long breath and drags his hand through his hair. “She made a mistake. That’s not on you.”
“But Andrew–“
“Doesn’t make the final decision,” Shawn cuts in gently. “I do. If you want to quit because of something your step-daughter did and owned up to, I don’t accept. But if you want to go for any other reason, well I love you and I only want you to be happy.”
You watch Mel take one deep, steadying breath.
“Please reconsider,” you say, imploring. “We can’t do this without you.”
Mel smiles in a familiar, you kids are crazy but I love you sort of way. “At least let’s have a real meeting, huh? Say Friday before the show?”
“Done.”
Shawn pulls his publicist into a hug and you have to look away when Mel blinks rapidly over his shoulder.
“Can I talk to her?” you ask, mustering your courage. Anna’s step-mother seems surprised, but covers quickly. “I feel like one of us should.”
“Of course, sweetie. I’ll take you down to our room and leave you guys alone.”
Shawn’s asking, do you want me to come? with the tilt of his head, but you just shake yours. It had taken a lot of talking to convince him you were alright after this morning – as it stands now, you’re barely holding it together. Any longer in his company and he’ll be able to see that. If you break down in front of the girl who’s at least responsible for starting all this, that’ll make things even worse.
“I’ll come find you later, okay?” you say. Shawn just nods. “I’m sure she’d rather you not see her crying and upset.”
“Is it bad that I’m still mad?” he asks quietly. “I can’t help it.”
You shake your head and lean up to kiss him gently at the corner of his mouth before you can overthink the gesture too much. Mel presses her lips together like she’s trying not to smile as you follow her out.
“How’s Elliot?” you ask in the elevator, desperate for a change of subject. Mel beams and immediately pulls out her phone. The elephant onesie nearly does you in.
“He’s the best baby ever. It’s been agony being away from him, but Max and I agreed that a bit of father son bonding while he’s this young is going to be good in the long run. Lucas is being a very precious big brother, too. We were dreading what would happen when Luke wasn’t the baby of the house anymore, but it’s going a lot better than we thought.”
“Plus I’m sure it’s nice getting some girl time in,” you say. “With Anna.”
“Well now that the hard part’s over, I hope you’re right.” She sighs as you stop on the 5th floor. “I’m just worried she’ll never really understand the consequences of what she did.”
“If it wasn’t Anna, it could’ve been anyone else I know.” The truth of that is hard to face. “It was bound to happen eventually. I guess I’m just glad it was now and not after tour when I was alone back home.”
Mel frowns deeply, but doesn’t disagree. You finally stop in front of another hotel room door and she sighs. “Here we are. I’ll be back in half an hour, is that enough time?”
“Yeah, that’s great.”
She reaches forward and gives your arm a squeeze. “I’m really happy for you sweetheart, have I said? I’ve been secretly hoping you guys might figure out your feelings for ages.”
You don’t mind blushing in front of the woman who helped raise you after you lost your parents. “Thanks.”
It takes a moment of psyching yourself up, but you knock and let Mel open the door.
“Anna?” you call into the room. “It’s Ellie.”
You hear sniffling. She’s curled up on her bed in a Taylor Swift sweater that all but swallows her frame. Anna drags her sleeve over her eyes, smearing her mascara. When you smile gently at her, her expression doesn’t change. But she doesn’t turn away or scream at you to leave, so that’s probably a good sign.
“Hey,” you start gently. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I’m not here to like, yell at you or anything, I promise.”
It’s quiet as Anna just stares at some nondescript point across the room. “You must hate me.”
“I really don’t.” You’re a little surprised by how true it is. “Honestly, it took a minute to get over the like, shock of it but…” What are you supposed to say? “I don’t hate you. You said you’re sorry and I know you meant it.”
Anna sniffs again. “What about Shawn?”
“He doesn’t hate you either. I didn’t want you to feel weird in front of him. I know how intimidating he can be, sometimes.”
“He looked mad,” she protests. “I’ve never seen him look like that before.”
Because you don’t actually know him. It’s a petty thought but you have it anyway. “He’s upset. But we both knew this was going to happen sooner or later. Shawn just…” You try to smile but shrug instead.
“He just wants to protect me. And, you know, us. That’s all. He has a lot more experience with this sort of thing and didn’t want me to get hurt. I think it just made him crazy that he couldn’t stop this from happening.”
This is a lot of sharing for someone you don’t really know, but Anna seems so miserable that it just comes flooding out. She digs around a backpack for a tiny packet of tissues; you look away when she blows her nose and tosses the kleenex.
“What now?” Anna asks, her voice cracking just a little.
Good question. “I guess we...try to move on? I mean, assuming you’re not going to keep posting about me?” She shakes her head so vigorously you’re afraid her braid will come undone. “Okay. Thank you.” A sort of ridiculous laugh almost bursts out but you swallow it.
“I just don’t want you to carry this around forever,” you continue. Shawn’s words from Taylor’s apartment echo in your ears. “It’s too much. It’s too heavy. And it’s not like my life is ruined, okay? Whatever happens between Shawn and me…” Anna’s face betrays her, a strange mix of curiosity and awe you don’t know what to do with. “I forgive you. So it’s okay to forgive yourself.”
She’s crying again.
You nearly start.
You just pull her into a hug and hope it’s enough.
Is this supposed to be closure?
It doesn’t feel quite right.
*
“Sinclair? Hey, Earth to Sinclair? Ellie.”
You start when Parker has to shake your elbow a little to get your attention. “I’m sorry what?”
“I said, ready to go? You said you and Shawn have dinner plans, right?” The drummer casts you a bemused look just in front of the gigantic moose inside the Natural History Museum, where you’d insisted on going after the Jones sisters denied you in London. It’s your last free night; tour resumes officially tomorrow.
“Yeah.” You let him steer you out of the Canadian mammals exhibit, the weight of his arm warm and familiar around your shoulders.
“You alright, kid?” It’s almost closing time, so it takes ages for you to make it out of the throng of other tourists and you can’t escape Parker’s gentle probing.
“I’m okay.” It’s not a lie, exactly.
“Okay like you’re fine and nothing particularly exciting going’s on, or okay like you’re not good and it’s is the easiest answer that doesn’t involve you having to explain yourself?”
You just look at him.
“Fine, fair enough. I know it’s been a rough stretch for you lately, but you know that we’re all here for you, right? No matter what happens between you or what you two say or do to–” Parker makes an expansive gesture at the bustling street outside the museum– “Deal with the masses.”
You lean against his neck; Parker drops a surprisingly tender kiss into your hair. “I know. Thank you.”
“And you know he can handle it, right? Shawn.”
“Handle what?”
The drummer returns your silent, long look. “Whatever it is that’s eating at you.”
You’re struck with the fear that it’s written all over your face, but you just breathe deeply instead of replying.
Parker wraps his arm around your waist and squeezes.
*
Parker
Hey, it’s Ellie from Parker’s phone cause mine’s dead again. Typical. We’re on our way back to the hotel. Traffic’s a bit nuts but according to Google I should be back in time to make our reservation. Can’t wait to hear about the fancy pop up.
Parker
And I need to talk to you about something. But it can wait till tonight.
Parker
I’m sorry to be that cryptic text person. I told myself I never would. I just had to get it out before I chickened out.
Shawn
It’s okay! You’re fine. I’ll see you soon. We should definitely talk. I always want to talk to you.
*
Shawn’s waiting for you in the hotel lobby. It would be sweet considering you haven’t seen each other all day, but you’re out of breath from a mad dash across the street and there’s no telling what state your hair is in since your ‘Honey’ cap with a bee on the back was knocked off by a tall elbow and you almost lost it.
Not to mention the group of girls loitering across the street who you refused to acknowledge even when they shouted your name.
“Hi,” you gasp, careening to a halt. “I’m sorry I’m basically late. I should not be surprised that rush hour in New York is like, fifty times any normal city...”
You trail off at the look on Shawn’s face. “What?”
“If you hate me forever after this,” he begins, “I understand. I understand if you never want to see or talk to me again.”
“You’re freaking me out. What’s going–”
“Hannah’s here.”
You can feel the blood drain from your face. The question – or many questions, actually – won’t form, which is clear when Shawn just forges ahead, pulling you gently into an alcove by the hand. “She DM’d me. Well, Ava first. I guess her mom had called Ava saying she’d surprised Hannah with tickets to tomorrow, and wouldn’t this be a great chance for you to patch things up–”
Shawn rolls his eyes, which is arguably one of the meanest things you’ve ever seen him do; he’s never made his feelings towards Hannah plain, but you see it now – the anger that’s apparently been simmering for weeks now.
“And Ava was going to talk to you about it, but because of the surprise pop up thing and your phone–”
“She DM’d you?”
Seemingly unsurprised that you’re stuck on that detail, Shawn just unlocks his phone and hands it to you.
_hannahbananah: hi Shawn, it’s Hannah. Ellie’s friend. I’m sure she’s probably said really horrible things about me so I understand if you never reply to this message, but my mom just told me we’re going to NYC this morning instead of school for my 18th birthday, to see you.
_hannahbananah: I just want to talk to Ellie. I tried Ava but I’m worried she won’t see it in time. She won’t answer my calls which I can’t really blame her for but I just need to talk to her.
The timestamps are indeed from this morning, but as you know Shawn’s inundated with DMs from all over the world every day. It’s not unbelievable that these would get lost in the shuffle, nor that Shawn would go looking for them if Ava had mentioned it to him while you were gone with your dead phone.
And his response, from an hour ago:
shawnmendes: She’s out for the day. I’ll ask her.
shawnmendes: If you post this conversation online, I will ban you from all my future shows.
“You threatened her,” you say, stunned.
He winces.
“I did. I’m not proud of it. I didn’t want to ruin your day,” Shawn goes on. “I figured we could talk about it tonight, and we’d set the meeting for tomorrow, if you wanted to see her. I wanted you to feel like you had a choice.”
“But you talked to her without telling me about it.”
His face falls. “I did. I’m sorry. I guess…I was just hoping you’d be ready to like, deal with this, and that you just needed the opportunity, or something.”
It’s a fair assessment, and more true than you’re willing to admit right now. It stings a little – an inexplicable yet terrifying feeling – that he knows you this well. Or that he’d do this to you anyway.
“El…” You can tell when Shawn’s steeling himself, and then he spits it out. “She’s already here. In the lobby. She–” There’s that flash of deep anger again– “She found out where we’re staying and told her mom that Ava told her.”
He points over your shoulder to the lounge area across the lobby; the dread you’ve been carrying since you left the museum earlier morphs into something that lifts the hair from the back of your neck. Your body turns and there she is, sitting awkwardly on a loveseat in front of the bar and staring at you.
Some part of your brain had tried to forget what she looks like. But of course that’s ridiculous – her enormous curls, her layers of mascara, her triple pierced ears, the beauty mark on her cheek that she hates – Hannah’s as familiar as your own reflection.
“If you don’t want to talk to her, I’ll tell her to leave.”
Shawn tightens his grip on your hand, swinging your gaze back to him with that ever-present magnetism. “But for the record, I think you should talk to her. Even if it’s just to tell her to go to hell.”
Something like a laugh leaps from your mouth.
“Well,” you concede, “I’d really be a bitch if I left her over there now.”
Shawn’s lips twitch – he doesn’t hear you swear very often – before that deep seriousness that always thrills somewhere low in your stomach takes over. “I can stay down here, if you want. Or I can go.”
“She’ll just stare at you the whole time, you know that right?”
“Good.” Shawn’s expression darkens. “She can really take in how much I really don’t like her.”
You struggle to contain another laugh, which eases the tension around his eyes.
“I’ll text you when I’m done?” you offer.
He plucks his hotel key card from his wallet and hands it to you. “I’ll meet you upstairs.”
Now you’d never peg Shawn as a particularly petty or vindictive person, but there’s a distinctly gleeful edge in his otherwise soft eyes when he lifts your still joined hands and brushes his mouth over your knuckles.
“She’s still watching us, isn’t she?”
One side of his smile lifts a little higher. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
You feel a bit like Chihiro from Spirited Away when you turn to head towards Hannah; Shawn’s fingers cling to yours until the last possible moment, and you can tell as you approach your childhood friend that he’s still standing there, her eyes caught on him instead of you. You sink down into an opposite chair.
“Hi, Hannah.”
She gives you a sort of half-smile. “Hey.”
“I heard you wanted to talk to me?”
“You’d know if you ever answered your phone.”
You take a deep breath. Don’t bother. At your silence, Hannah’s lips purse briefly before she continues, “So you know it wasn’t me, right? Who ratted you out?”
Her oddly demanding tone is jarring. “Yeah,” you reply slowly. “I do.”
“So you can stop like, bad-mouthing me to Shawn now?”
You just stare at her. “What?”
“Like, I’m sorry if you were mad that I found out about you guys. But I didn’t tell anyone who you were, so you should really be apologizing to me if you think about it.”
“Han,” you say, trying to reign in your confusion that’s quickly being replaced with anger, “What exactly do you want from me here? I am sorry again for lying and that I didn’t pick up the phone, but it honestly didn’t really feel like we had much to say to each other after the last time. I mean, you basically just accused me of sleeping with Shawn all over the world.”
She sneers a little. That’s familiar, too. “Well, aren’t you?”
Heat rushes your cheeks despite your best efforts. “No, I’m not. Look, I really am thankful to you for not...exposing us, or whatever, but it doesn’t sound like–”
“Is it even real then?”
You had half a mind to just get up and leave, but that half of your mind is now too stunned to move. Hannah leans forward and you think about all the times in your life she’s done it just to tell you something strange or cruel about another person that you could never judge to be true at first glance.
It’s honestly hard to decide what’s a worse accusation: clout chaser or PR stunt. Perhaps being labeled as Shawn’s beard, but that at least is the one rumour you know Hannah’s always ignored. Apparently the thought of another gender having any chance with him better than her own is just unthinkable.
“Did you really come all this way just to ask me that?” you demand. “Because if you did then you’ve clearly made up your mind about it. I don’t know what I could possibly tell you that would convince you.”
“It looks pretty suspicious from the outside,” Hannah insists. You roll your eyes.
“Yeah because Twitter and Tumblr are just a wealth of rational people who can’t imagine him being remotely happy with a real person instead of a fictional girl with no real identity.” Your legs work this time and you push to your feet. “I’m sorry, Hannah but–”
“My mom bought me Gold VIP,” Hannah interjects. She looks momentarily like the same girl who’d desperately tried to convince you that making out with Aaron had been a complete misunderstanding. “And she won’t let me have the tickets until I talk to you.”
You’d thought for sure this conversation would be longer. You thought there would be tears and forgiveness and that maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to put that mint chocolate chip cone back on your keychain.
But clearly you were wrong.
“You’ve talked to me,” you say. “You can tell her that I’m not mad at you anymore. And you can tell her that we’re just not really friends anymore, either. Or you can lie, I don’t really care.”
Hannah’s mouth falls open.
“But Shawn–”
“He’s not going to throw you out of meet and greet.” Though the idea is hilarious. “Just go, take your photo with him. He’ll smile, if that’s what worries you.” You double check you have Shawn’s room key in your pocket. “Happy Birthday, Hannah. Enjoy the city.”
You don’t look back. At least, not until the elevator doors are closing. Hannah is still sitting where you left her. She looks smaller than you’ve ever seen before.
Maybe you’re just not afraid of her anymore.
You didn’t know you’d ever been scared until just now.
*
You’re just staring at a black tv screen when Shawn opens the door.
“She gone?” he asks quietly. You nod. “Did you guys…”
You shake your head. You’ve never seen Shawn look quite so stricken, before. But he covers quickly, sitting down on the edge of the bed and touching the bend of your knee where you’ve pulled your legs up on the covers.
“I’m sorry.”
You’re not even sure you can speak to him right now, so you just shrug.
“Do you want me to go?” Shawn asks, so gently it’s a little heartbreaking.
You shake your head again. “I just remembered our reservation.”
“Oh god don’t worry about that, I called them. It’s fine. I’m still really sorry about tonight,” he continues. “It was unfair of me to assume to know what you needed. And I shouldn’t have threatened her like that. It was mean and I was just being an asshole.”
“She deserved it.” It comes out a little more forcefully than you’d intended, but you don’t care. You feel oddly liberated. “She only cared about trying to make up with me because her mom is holding VIP tickets over her head. She doesn’t really care what’s happening or that what she said was hurtful…” A bitter laugh escapes. “She said I should have apologized to her.”
“Holy fuck,” Shawn says. “Okay, I take that part back.”
You want to laugh again but knowing your luck it would come out like a sob. Shawn strokes his thumb around your knee, over and over again until you shiver.
“You know, I think about the night we met a lot.” He tilts his head and smiles and you can see it too, that moment you first laid eyes on each other. “I was really nervous, can you believe that?”
“Shut up, you were not.”
“I really was.” Shawn coaxes a disbelieving smile from your lips. “The more Ava talked about you, the more I knew that if I wasn’t careful, I’d definitely make an absolute idiot of myself and ruin any chance I had of actually getting to know you properly.”
“You were so hot,” you complain. “It was annoying. How the hell was I supposed to talk like a normal person when you looked like that?”
Shawn just laughs and pulls his own legs up so you sit half inside the open circle of his body.
“You’re beautiful, El. Fair’s fair.” You shake your head. “You are. You’re funny and smart and you’re the nicest person ever. All I wanted was to make you feel safe around me, like you could be yourself.”
Shawn turns away, like he’s ashamed. “You don’t deserve any of the things that happened to you, and especially any of the things that’ve happened since you met me. I should have done a better job protecting you from that and I’m sorry.”
“But why’s that your job?” you demand. “Shawn, that’s not your responsibility.”
“But it should be,” he insists. “Because I love you and you deserve to– to be...” Whatever Shawn was about to say seems to vanish when he looks at you. You wonder if he sees more joy or terror in your face. “What?”
“What was that?” You can barely get the words out.
“You deserve to be happy,” he says firmly.
“No, please. God Shawn, I can’t deal with you sometimes.” He’s laughing silently, his shoulders shaking; you have to press your palms into your eyes. You can’t even say anymore, forced to wait until Shawn stops and pulls your hands away from your face.
“I love you, El.” He shakes his head, like he’s laughing at himself. “God, I’ve been wanting to say that to you forever.” Shawn’s cheeks and ears are pink, despite his confidence. It’s painfully endearing. “Dunno why I waited so long–”
You snuff out his next words in a kiss so fierce you nearly push him over, like you might actually die if you don’t pass this feeling on. You kiss and kiss and Shawn’s hands drag you forward into his lap. You rock your hips; he groans, unselfconscious and deep. A familiar ache between your legs pulses.
Your ears roar and roar and your fingers tremble as they work the buttons of his shirt – one, two three (Shawn’s teeth scrape the curve of you neck and you falter) – you’ve never felt the heat of his body as keenly as you do when the garment’s finally gone.
“Can I–” he mutters, his thumb hooked along your ribs. You just lean back and drag your own sweater and shirt up with both arms, dropping them behind you. Shawn goes entirely silent; you freeze. He looks even more wild-eyed than he had at Taylor’s, his gaze tracing every curve of you all the way up to your face.
It’s like reading a neon sign: his desire is so bright that you have to look away. When you lift your eyes again, Shawn’s still staring. You want to ask him what’s wrong, but he reaches for your hand, holding it against his thundering heart while his other tangles in your hair to pull your lips back together.
“Not to sound like a creep, but I’ve dreamed about you a couple times,” he says against your mouth. You shiver all the way down to your toes. Shawn tightens his grip. “But fuck, El. My brain doesn’t know shit.”
You laugh and then kiss him until your lungs and your eyes burn.
“Hey.” Shawn leans back to thumb at your suddenly spilling tears. “Shh, it’s okay. Do you want to stop?”
You try to shake your head, but more tears splash down. He tries to pull away, but you tighten your grip on his hand until he stops. Shawn keeps his forehead against yours, his other hand sliding up and down your bare spine.
“Just don’t say sorry,” he murmurs. “Cause that was like, stupidly hot and you should never feel bad about it.”
“I don’t…” Talking around a sob is annoyingly difficult. “It’s not this. I want this.” Calm down. You force your voice to be level and clear and your gaze to be steady. “I want you. It’s important to me that you know that.”
Shawn nods. “I do.” He pauses. “It’s not cause of what I said, is it? Because you don’t have to–”
“Shawn. No!”
You’re red, you can tell. His lips twitch with a faint smile, but then his brow furrows as though he’s weighing the cost of whatever is about to come next. “You wanted to talk to me about something today, before. Right?”
You can’t even nod.
“You can tell me, El.” His eyes are so soft that they feel like they could break you. “It’s okay.”
“I…” Just don’t look away. You owe him that, at least. Your voice finally cracks. “I think I should go home.”
Shawn doesn’t seem surprised, which is somehow the worst reaction of all. You want to apologize. You want to kiss him again. You want to go back in time to any other hotel bed than this. He smiles very gently and twists your hair back in his fingers.
“Okay.”
Hey!! I know it hasn’t been posted in a while and I’m not here to ask you how long or anything until the finale (bc honestly whenever the writer is feeling motivation to write, the work turns out better!!) but I just wanted to say I haven’t been on tumblr for ages but came in just to check on everything and I re read the 14 parts of wsitd and honestly I have fallen in love with it again. Your writing is honestly some of the best on this platform. Anyway I hope you are doing well 💖
Anon, I don’t even know if you even use tumblr anymore at this point but you should know that I’ve reopened this message like a hundred times in the last few months whenever I felt like I’d just...totally lost that writing spark. I honestly thought for a while I couldn’t write anymore. It was weird and scary. But then I’d read this. It’s helped me more than I could express. Thank you so much for your kindness, especially now that the world’s a mess.
so I know it’s been about 84 years, but the good news is that part 14 of wsitd is still going (slowly but surely) and the last scene of this chapter is still as vivid in my head as it was last year when I first envisioned the fic. it’s coming, I promise. it was my ride or die shawn bff @bluerroses‘ birthday on the 30th and I gifted her an extra scene from wstid, one that isn’t included in the original fic. @mendesftoakley also asked for a jetlag!shawn thing the other week which I’d wanted to write and then got totally distracted – all that’s to say, here’s a deleted scene that ended up being so massive it’ll probably stay, set in the middle of the night post-part 13.
to everyone who reached out to me after my minor rage freak out re: shawn and the state of his fandom and wsitd, much love. every time I think my love for this boy’s faded to something reasonable, he comes out with tour videos that make my chest ache cause he moves me so damn much. happy belated, to both grace and my darling one. I love you.
new york; now
It’s 2:24 am.
You’re wide awake.
Shawn, of course, is fast asleep. His fingers are still curled into the edges of your t-shirt and the part of you that isn’t annoyed at his peaceful slumber aches a little at the innocence of the gesture. Just a boy. You toy with the idea of just laying here a while longer, but now that you’ve thought about it a trip to the bathroom is in order and it’s not as if you’re going to fall back asleep anytime soon.
Stupid jetlag.
So you get up. You reach for Shawn’s Harvard hoodie tossed to the end of the bed (because it’s closer than yours, obviously, not because it smells like him) and pad as softly as you can to the door. From the bathroom you head down the stairs, following a wash of light into the kitchen.
Taylor whirls around from the open freezer, holding a pint of ice cream and looking guilty. “Oh god, I woke you up, didn’t I? I’m so sorry.”
“No,” you reply quickly. “I was already up, you’re fine.” Her shoulders relax and Taylor grins a little sheepishly, as though this isn’t her house and she’d be caught doing something illicit.
“Can’t sleep?”
You shake your head. “I don’t get how he’s just...out like a light. So annoying.”The unspoken intimacy is already out before you can even think to take it back, but she just laughs lightly. “His body’s used to it.” Taylor reaches into a drawer for a spoon. “Want some? Mint chocolate chip.”
It’s probably a bad idea, but you shrug and accept the utensil as Taylor gathers another spoon, two shallow bowls and an ice cream scoop. “How was your party?”
Taylor scoops you just enough for a couple bites and you smile gratefully. “It was fine. I mean, good. But I haven’t been out in a while and it’s kinda draining being really social for a long time, you know?”
You think of all the times Shawn’s opted to sit in companionable silence with you instead of a last round or a second after party. “Yeah, sure.”
“I’ll make you a warm turmeric milk,” Taylor offers. Even the way she twists her wrist to pick up ice cream seems graceful. “Worse case, I have melatonin somewhere.”
“You’re not tired?”
“Not yet. Takes me a while to wind down. How was your night? You guys have fun?”
It’s an innocent question, but a flush crawls up your neck all the same. You shove a spoonful of ice cream in your mouth and “Mhmm!”
Taylor’s smille crinkles around her eyes; she doesn’t press you. “Tell me about tour,” she says instead. “What’s been your favourite place? Your favourite show?”
It takes a moment of consideration. You tell her about Paris and its glittering lights and birthday sparklers and candles. You tell her about Manchester and Youth. You tell her about Morgan on the barricade in London. You hardly mention Shawn by name and yet he’s there, lingering at the edges of all your sentences and inside your pauses.
Taylor makes you a warm golden milk with turmeric and you drink while you talk. When you yawn, surprising somehow like you’d forgotten how, she presses melatonin into your hand. “Get some sleep,” she says. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
So up you go.
Equally surprising is the strip of light at the bottom of Taylor’s guest bedroom door. Shawn’s slouched against the headboard, the blue light of his phone illuminating his face while the bedside lamp casts a long, warm veil over the rest of the room.
“Hey,” you say softly, closing the door behind you. “Did I wake you?”
He shakes his head. “Woke up and you were gone.” Something about the edge of sleep still in his voice makes it sound oddly vulnerable. “You okay? Is Taylor back? I thought I could hear you talking.”
“Yeah, I am. And she is. I couldn’t sleep and she was getting ice cream.” He’s staring a little as you put down the mug of warm milk on the bedside table. “What?”
Shawn blinks. “Nothing.” His eyes linger on the place where his hoodie meets your shorts and you flush.
“Sorry,” you blurt, suddenly self-conscious. “It was just closer, I–”
“El.” He drags your gaze back up. “I don’t mind. It looks good on you.”
Shawn’s smile is tilted in that familiar, teasing way; you roll your eyes, but you let him reach across the bed and pull you closer to him until you sit up facing each other. You let him help you tug the sweater over your head and you let his eyes catch on your stomach, your ribs, the shadowed curve of your breast before your t-shirt falls back down. You turn out the light. Shawn presses his face into the slope of your neck and breathes deeply.
“Loonie for your thoughts,” you murmur, carding your fingers through his hair, kneading gently over his neck with your fingertips until he groans. Shawn’s so quiet at first that you think he may have fallen back asleep sitting up.
“Can I ask you something?” In the moonlight he’s more pale than ever. You hum in reply. The hand pressing tiny circles against the small of your back goes still. “About Hannah?”
You don’t mean to flinch; Shawn’s grip tightens, just a little. You swallow and speak before he can take it back. “What about her?”
Shawn straightens to look you in the eye, equal parts calm and unsure. “You get this look on your face when you talk to her, or about her. Even way back in Ottawa.”
The realization that Shawn’s apparently been looking at you since the night you met is disarming, to put it mildly. It’s suddenly hard to focus on the conversation.
“I know you guys haven’t–” he pauses– “talked in a while, but...” Shawn reaches forward with his free hand and thumbs gently at an unconscious furrow between your eyebrows. “I still see that look.”
Something like shame burns in your throat. You look down at the bedspread. Shawn waits patiently as you pick up his swallow hand, tracing the lines of its wings.
“I don’t have that big of an ego to think this is all about me,” he continues wryly. “And if you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to. I just...” You’re expecting him to tilt your chin up, to force you to look at him, but Shawn ducks his head a little and doesn’t look hurt when you can barely meet his gaze. “I was just wondering where you go when you look so far away.”
You’re genuinely stunned into silence. A response, as much as you want to give him one, refuses to surface. And Shawn seems to be able to see the blank panic in your expression, because he just leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead. “Never mind,” he says gently. “Just forget I asked.”
You can feel him about to lean back, to give you space, to seek silent permission before he tugs you back beneath the covers so you can actually try to sleep. No disappoint, no malice, no distrust.
You think, I am truly and deeply in love with you.
You say, “She gave me a marker.”
Shawn doesn’t say anything. He folds his hand around yours.
“When my parents died the therapist said that routines were good, so I went back to school but everyone was like, weird, you know? And then one day we were supposed to make Mother’s Day gifts but I didn’t know what to do. My teacher said I could make something for my sister, but I’d left my colours at home.”
You haven’t thought about that day in a long time. Shawn’s left hand touches your wrist; you follow the lines of his right palm. Comfort; comforted.
“Hannah gave me her marker. And then everyone just stopped looking at me and we all coloured flowers. The next day I helped her learn long division and we’ve been best friends ever since.”
You try to smile but you’re fairly certain the curve isn’t quite right. Shawn brushes your hair back as it falls forward. The gesture is so familiar now that it feels strange to remember he hasn’t always been doing it, that his touch hasn’t always been a tender, thrilling reminder: you’re here. this is real. you’re alive. His own smile is a little better formed, encouraging instead of patronizing.
“Sometimes she’s awful,” you continue. “She can get petty and jealous.” You don’t mean to say what comes out next. “The week before Ava brought me to Ottawa we’d gone to a party and she made out with my one and only real ex boyfriend.”
Shawn’s eyes widen, but still he stays quiet. It’s the only way you’re able to keep talking. “She was drunk, and she says she doesn’t even remember. He says she tried to take his clothes off, but he’s also a piece of shit, so…” You let out a tiny, bitter laugh. “And I forgave her, because what else was I supposed to do? And then Ava sent those tickets and you–“
Shawn’s fingers freeze, just for a breath, behind your ear.
You try to smile again and it’s like lifting a weight you can only just barely get off the floor. “You were so wonderful and part of me was still so mad at her.” That earlier shame presses a knot in your throat. “And I knew I had to keep the secret but part of me was awful, too. I wanted to. It was something that was just mine, that I never had to share or have her judge or want for herself.”
“I don’t think that’s awful,” he says softly. You shrug. Tears slide past your nose. He thumbs them away but doesn’t otherwise move.
“I know she didn’t leak the news about us.” Now that you’ve gotten this far you’re determined to finish. “But I don’t know if I can forgive her for the way she made me feel about it. Or if I can forgive myself for letting her make me feel that way.”
Shawn’s edges are a little blurry when you finally lift your chin. “I still love her, isn’t that fucked up? What kind of person does that make me?”
He doesn’t speak for a long time. You have no idea how one drags themselves out of the emotional hole you’ve dug. Before you can let Shawn off the hook, or apologize for dumping seven years of emotional baggage onto him, he pulls you forward and folds you into his arms.
“Do you want me to say something,” he asks, pressing his chin against the top of your head. “Or do you just want this?”
The weight of this confession is so heavy that no longer having to carry it alone pulls you off balance. You slip your hand underneath his collar to pull Saint Christopher out. When you can speak without a sob swallowing your words, you let go of the chain.
“You can say something.”
Shawn kisses the crown of your hair. “You can feel however you want, whenever you want. You shouldn’t have to hide it. And you don’t have to, not from me. Okay?” You can’t reply. You just sniff into the collar of his t-shirt. His hand smooths up and down your spine. “I don’t think that forgiveness is a bad thing, El. Especially for yourself.”
You’re shuddering with the effort of breathing normally instead of hiccuping. Shawn just gathers you closer. He doesn’t shush you, but just murmurs softly in your ear, “It’s okay. I’m here. I got you.”
You’re still clinging to him when you fall asleep.
can i ask why you took the link to wsitd out of your bio? are you not gonna update it anymore?
Hi anon!
I’m still working on the last part – having the link in my bio and getting a lot of asks about updating just started to feel like a lot of pressure so I took it out for my own sanity lol. It’s going to be completed I promise! It’s just taking a lot longer than I thought and I still want to enjoy writing rather than putting that pressure of time on myself and putting out something bad just for the sake of it. I haven’t done any personal writing in quite a while so I’m just trying to ease back into it.
