For Him - Shawn Mendes

the diary IS for lyrics

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PART ONE
15 - 16 yrs
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SHAWN

23rd of October, 2013.

I can't seem to think. Every last fibre in my body is paralysed, my focus glued to the deep depths of my brain that dig for lyrics.
So far, I have nothing.

It's frustrating, sitting here in the tight confinements of the plane seat with nothing to do for the next 6 hours. I want to be able to think, to create, to write; but my brain is completely and utterly blank.

I have countless stories in my head. Stories of people, (not necessarily me) and their journeys of extreme happiness, sadness and heartache. I have melodies, loops of chords and phone recordings of late night improv jams. But not for the life of me can I string together a song.

My mum didn't want me leaving this morning. She wasn't keen on the idea of her son missing weeks of school just to sing covers of songs to girls (and the odd boy) all for the sake of, well, meeting them. I don't think she really understood why I was invited to Magcon, and to be honest, neither really do I.

But I insisted on going, for fear of missing out on great opportunities. Also, between me and you, I'm quite excited to meet everyone that comments on my covers. It makes my journey more real.

Dad isn't too keen on the idea either, but he wanted to make sure I take every opportunity I'm given. He wants the best for me, he knows what I love to do and he knows what I hate.

I told him about the void in my head as we ambled through the terminal earlier today. I tried my best to explain to him how my head feels like an empty shell of something it should be but it's just not. I should be artistic and musical and, considering how much time I pour into the subject, at least half decent at coming up with lyrics. But, no.

Dad nodded as I told him this, his lips forming a straight line as he took a moment to think. I wondered if he thought I was stupid for thinking this. Overthinking things has always been a talent of mine. But instead, he glanced at me, pointed to a stationary store across the terminal and smiled, "Choose something you like."

Which is how I ended up with an impulse-airport-bought notepad and pen, with instructions from him to practise writing my experiences. To broaden my vocabulary, to broaden my thoughts; and to record as many of them down as possible, handwritten.

SHAWN
14th of November, 2013.

Shawn's Guide To Enjoying Magcon - Volume One:

• Try (regardless of how sleepy or hungry you are) to meet everyone. Some of the girls possess enough happiness to carry anyone out of a grim mood.

• Get to know the guys well, spending afternoons with them just laughing about anything for so long that your laughter turns into gasps for air (this is is my favourite type of laughter).

• Sleep on the flight! Nothing worse than jetlag.

Shawn's Guide To Not Missing Home (also Volume One):

• As much as any 15-year-old boy would love to deny it, whilst stuffing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie in a fit of teen-rebellion... it's okay to miss Mum and Dad. I miss my sister too, and although she annoys the shit out of me like you'd never believe, I'm not accustomed to a life without her.

• Allow laughter to distract you.

HANNAH

Shadows danced across the field as Nico ducked under the barbed wire fence. He grinned at me, flashing his perfect teeth for a split second before joining me beside the fence where the long, dead grass met rusting wood. He threw me an orange.

On any other day I'd throw the orange back to Nico and insist on having nothing to do with his fruit stealing habits, but this time, I held it.

He had no clue why I did it, because he didn't know I was leaving the next day. Adjusting his beanie over his blonde hair, he shot me a questionable smile before hesitating at the noise of a door being slammed beside him. A man, tall, thin and blind in his left eye raised a finger in the air, his eye running the length of Nico's face before landing flatly where he held a bag of stolen fruit.

We ran, and I remember leading the way, having no idea where my feet were taking us until we were hurrying through the broken gate to Nico's farm. The gasps for air between laughter burned my throat. "10 oranges, 2 apples and a-" he paused, searching through the plastic bag, "-a pear. Not too bad."

He smiled again, the dimples beside his lips making me melt at the core as he took my hand and continued through the back paddock to his house.

"You took one," he glanced down at the orange in my palm, "why?"

"I was hungry, I guess." I lied. I hated lying to Nico, but I'd made my mind up a while ago that I couldn't tell him. I couldn't bring myself to face the pain of having to tell my best friend that I was moving halfway across the world. I guess part of me believed that if I didn't tell him; it wouldn't happen.

I was Nicolas Evan's childhood neighbour, best friend, and well, sometimes it felt like I was his partner in crime. Nico stole fruit from my neighbour, Oliver, who owned the fruit farm to the left of mine that he'd been stealing crops from for as long as my parents had owned their catering business.

"Mrs Collins," Nico would coo cutely, "I brought you a plum for your bus-i-nessss! You can make jam, or a pie, or that sorbet you made for my birthday that one time..."

My mum would look down at little six year old Nico as if he was a child of her own, and her eyes would soften at his kindness. "Where'd you get that plum, dear?"

And then little Nico would drop a bombshell on my very conservative mother. "I stole it."

For months my mum would stand beside him as he marched his fruit back to my neighbour, but he'd always come back with more. He knew the consequences stealing would entail if he got caught, but he didn't seem to care.

Which, funnily enough, is why I loved him- sometimes more than I believed was okay.

"Come in then, we can make lunch?" Nico offered, leaning one hand against his letterbox, "Dad even bought lemonade."

"I'd love to," I replied honestly, "but I, uh, might just head home. Mum's expecting me." And then I was lying to him.

"She always knows you come here, H. What's up?" His voice was calm and concerned. My head felt heavy. I shook my head and pulled him closer to me, ignoring the scorching heat as I wrapped my arms around him. He smelt of fabric softener and orange peel. "H, tell me." He pressed.

"I'm fine," I whispered, closing my eyes briefly before leaning my head closer to his, waiting until he placed his hand on my cheek before laying a small, delicate kiss on his top lip.

I held my breath afterwards, the buzz of confusion and the wanting to do it again hitting me like a brick to the stomach. I'd never done that before. I was only just 15, and Nico had always been my best friend and nothing ever more. Never. And I think the action surprised me just as much as him. "See you tomorrow," I mumbled quickly, "thanks for the lunch offer, Nic."

And my lips stung as I turned my head to leave, the reason as to why still unapparent. Was it desire or regret? I wanted to believe that it was desire, the tingling sensation a wanting to do it again; but the sensible side of me knew that it was regret. I turned back to him, my eyes grazing, for what I thought would be the last time, the figure of Nico Evans. And I expected him to be watching as I walked away, but instead, his eyes were glued to his shoes, his face a light shade of rose as he touched his left hand lightly to his bottom lip.

And I swear I found it the most beautiful thing in the world.

- A/N -

15 yr old Shawn hits me with the feels.

What do you guys think of Hannah so far?

Don't forget to vote if you liked it :)

- N -