Roommates

Part 11**

Things with Shawn had become tense to say the least. It's not that you were on bad terms, because you really weren't—it was just the whole romance-y thing. It was nonexistent.

As much as you wanted to be with him that way, you knew you couldn't and you were pretty sure he did, too, because he hadn't tried anything on you since the night you put the tree up.

What pained you the most was the way he seemed to go on as if nothing had even happened so effortlessly.

In reality, however, it was killing him.

"I don't know what to do, man," Shawn spoke into his phone, poking his head out into the living room to make sure you weren't home. "Things were good. They're always so good until someone starts feeling shit, then one of us pulls away," he breathed, tossing his head back a bit in frustration.

"Well, you did agree to no feelings," Tyler spoke back, causing Shawn to nod as if he could see him.

"Mm," Shawn bit his lip, "m'sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I didn't want to make it a thing and freak her out, but who the fuck am I kidding?" he snapped, growing frustrated. "It was a thing. A big fucking thing."

"I know," Tyler muttered. There was nothing he could say to make Shawn feel better and both of them knew that; it was more important for him to just listen. Shawn needed to be heard. Heard by you. "Just try to talk to her, man."

"That's the problem."

And that was the problem. Every time Shawn made that face—you knew the one—you ran for the hills. All it took were some sad eyes and his mouth in a firm line to let you know he was dying to bring it up, to talk about it, and you just couldn't.

Because how could you sort things out with him when you hadn't even sorted them out with yourself?

You were so back and forth with it all. Countless nights you found yourself brushing him off, only to later be standing in the hall with your hand hovering over his doorknob, dying to barge into his room and curl up with him. It was like fucking Patience all over again.

And little to your knowledge, Shawn was feeling the same way. Only he was more delicate about it, knowing he had to be gentle with you.

You'd come to what you thought was your final decision, though, when he was away on his final press tour of the year.

While living without him was dreary, it was doable, and you really came to your senses when you turned the television on one night to discover Shawn staring right back at you.

It was an interview for God-knows-what-for, and he was glowing. Fans were lined up outside the glass windows of whatever studio he was in, and he was going on about never refusing selfies and his Rolling Stone article and absolutely everything-else-under-the-sun.

This boy had way too much going on.

And that was why you could never love him.

And he knew it, too. With his luck, you'd just turned the goddamn TV on and missed the whole part about loving being at home and winding down and living a normal life. Of course.

It hurt both of you—knowing you were so close, but really, truly out of reach. And that's why when Shawn arrived home a few days later, you pulled him into the tightest, longest hug he'd ever received before retreating back to your bedroom and shutting the door.

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"Almost ready?" Shawn popped his head into your room, watching as you zipped up your Longchamp.