In My Blood

Two - Can't Imagine

A/N: So the timing of this definitely doesn't match up, but what can you do? This is basically summer of 2021, but we all know Monster was released in 2020, but hey, I'm making so many things up at this point it doesn't matter

Shawn stuffed his hands in his pockets, whistling a gentle tune which he had no idea how to name. "Then am I the monster?" he whispered softly, watching the cars whip by, as his own black limo rode down the highway. His chauffeur, a middle aged guy with pepper and salt hair, and a creamed skin tone, was switching stations, clearly unhappy with the music being played that Tuesday morning.

"Just let me know_" Shawn leaned against the window pane as the sun shone in his eyes.

The man stopped on a station, and Shawn stifled a groan as he heard the first little bit. Of course he'd land on a station with his song.

"I thought that I'd been hurt before, but no one's ever left me quite this sore... your words cut deeper than the knives, now I need someone to breathe me back to life..."

Shawn rolled his eyes, and glanced at the driver, who seemed to pretend he had no idea that the song was his. 

"Gotta feeling that I'm going under, but I know that I'll make it out alive, if I quit calling you my lover, move on_, you watch me bleed until I can't breathe, shaking, falling onto my knees, and now that I'm without your kisses, I'll be needing stitches..."

He pressed his forehead harder against the glass as the car turned off the highway. People whipped by, blurs in against the white sidewalks, apartments and condos, stores, cars, all passing. All gone in the blink of an eye. All with lives that contrasted with his. They'd say he was lucky. They'd say he should be proud of what he'd accomplished. And yet part of him was trapped in that teenager state, where emotions cut him off from the rest of the world like a blizzard.

He stepped out of the car as it slowed to a stop, the door of the black car behind him also opening, revealing a burly-chested bodyguard with a mouthpiece and suit. The bodyguard, Phil, nodded, before walking up behind him, standing intimidatingly close like a shadow. 

Shawn walked up to the huge glass building, pulling open the door and entering, glancing at the receptionist, who wore slim, narrow glasses, and her dark hair in a bun. She pointed to the third elevator. "Fifteenth floor," she said, continuing to type on her computer. Her voice had the tinge of a clipped accent, and her fingers tapping against the keyboard filled the entire lobby with the sharp clacking.

He walked over, pressing the smooth, round button, the metal so shiny his face reflected in it. It had probably been cleaned and shined time and time and time again. Rolling his eyes at the absurdity, he stepped in as a small ding! filled the almost-silent room, and pressed the 15. They made it to the third floor when his bodyguard finally spoke.

"I'm surprised how there were so little people who recognized you. Makes my job a whole lot easier," he harrumphed.

"Eh, don't get to used to it," Shawn said, looking up at the ceiling, which had a mirror... of course. Everything in the building pretty much showed your reflection. Which was... kind of creepy. He glanced over at his bodyguard. The elevator slowly reached the fifteenth floor, and they both stepped out. Walking down the hall, Shawn pushed open the door labeled 1509, Michael Lake, and peered inside. 

Michael was sitting behind his desk, going through a stack of papers, and stamping something on each of them. His office held a wall of reflective windows, and a mahogany desk. On the two walls perpendicular to the wall of windows, there were floor to ceiling bookshelves, and the desk was covered in papers. In front of the desk there were two very uncomfortable looking chairs, and behind, an armchair, holding none other than Shawn's boss and friend. 

His shiny raven black hair was, as usual, slicked back with so much hair gel he could be in a hair ad, and glasses towards the tip of his nose. His suit was prim and each fold was perfect, his skin a creamy colour, with freckles on his cheeks. 

Michael glanced up as Shawn entered the room, standing to greet him. "I've invited Justin Bieber, did you write down the lyrics?"

Shawn's heart nervously jumped, and he could feel it banging around in his rib cage. "I remember them, but I didn't write them down."

Michael's narrowed eyes might've been boring into his brain, and Shawn sat to avoid the awkwardness. 

A soft knock at the door had Phil, opening the door, hand hovering dangerously near his hidden constraining weapons. 

Justin Bieber walked through the door, nodding curtly - business-style-like - and glancing over at Shawn, who promptly held out a hand for a handshake.

"Nice to see you again. Didn't expect to see you here, in Toronto."

Justin's hand was rough, fingers calloused from playing the guitar. Just like his. Shawn smiled, running a hand through his hair.

"So, what were your ideas?" Justin asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Shawn flinched a tiny bit. He knew he'd have to tell them sometime, but he was still iffy about just, like, singing, in front of people who'd never heard the song before. "Okay." He settled his thoughts, going through the lyrics slowly. "Hear me out, this is just a chorus, maybe?

"Tear me down 'till I'm gone, and there's nothing left_,"

"What if I, what if I trip, oh,"

"What if I, what if I fall,"

"Then am I the monster?"

"Just let me know_,"

"And what if I, what if I sin?"

"And what if I, what if I break? Yeah"

"Then am I the monster?"

"Just let me know."

Justin's eyebrows scrunched up. "I've got an idea with your song, if I can match the rhythm." Humming a few beats, he glanced to Shawn for confirmation. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah. Verse one?"

"Verse one." Justin said it with absolute certainty. 

Shawn grinned at him, heart filled, for that one second, with happiness, and Justin grinned back. "Are you ready?"

"Definitely."