For Him - Shawn Mendes

YELLOW

SHAWN

18th of March, 2016

Cherry blossom hangs above us and Hannah lets go of my hand, pulling her camera from around her neck to snap a picture. Paris in the heart of Spring, she tells me brightly, is the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.

I hum, my voice a whisper as I take in the scenery. "The most beautiful girl in the world in the most beautiful city."

Hannah crinkles her nose, a smile hidden behind her camera as she takes a photo of me, and I laugh silently at how nervous she becomes.

"You don't mean that," She says, her voice shy as she continues walking through the park beside me.

I raise an eyebrow at her, spying the Eiffel tower in the distance. "Oh, you'd be surprised."

Beside us, Andrew and Geoff laugh as John dances along to a busker with an accordion - and I welcome the familiar sensation of the curve. I close my eyes momentarily, allowing the European sun to beat through my eyelids as I smile.

We meet our new tutor for lunch, who greets Hannah and I with heartwarming eyes. It surprises me how young he looks.

"It's nice to meet you two," He says, taking Hannah's hand in his. I take in his British accent, and I try to ignore how scarily similar it is to my mums. "I'm Mr Ford, but just call me Quentin."

Over a meal of barigoule and watered-down wine (lemonade for Hannah and I) Quentin tells us he studied in France for a while, before moving back to England to support his younger brother after the death of both his parents. He talks about it lightly, as if the past is the past and it bears no burden on him now. Part of me envies it.

"What was it like studying here?" Hannah asks, intrigued.

Quentin's eyes light up and he flashes his impeccable white teeth. "Like a dream," He says simply, "the people are lovely here, and the food is brilliant. It's a shame we're only here for two days."

I watch him carefully, searching for flaws in the way he talks and the way he acts. He's so polite, so good-looking and so educated that I find myself believing he's too good to be true.

"I honestly can't wait to begin teaching you two," He smiles, nodding towards Hannah and I, "we'll make it fun. Especially English."

The girl beside me jumps in her seat, her eyes widening with joy, "English is my favourite subject!"

"We'll make an effort to make that one extra fun then, eh." Quentin muses with a smile.

Hannah nods at this, and I suddenly feel like a monster in my own skin. Quentin isn't a bad person, and I feel guilty for spending the entirety of lunch looking for something to hate. He pays for our meals and thanks Andrew once again for hiring him, and I vow to give him a chance.

SHAWN

19th of March, 2016

It's 6:15 in the morning and the sun is burning yellow. Her hair is yellow. Her dress is yellow. The waiter that brings her yellow pineapple juice is wearing a a yellow sunflower apron.

I breathe yellow, and until it consumes my final breath I'll continue to love every damn thing about it.

HANNAH

"Ciao Italia!" Shawn yelled from the stage, his guitar held in his hands like an extension of his arms. The crowd cheered, and I found myself smiling at how the screams became louder with each show.

We were half-way through the European leg of the tour, and already I had decided that taking up the photography job was one of the best decisions of my life. I snapped a quick picture of Shawn, his grey shirt clinging to his body as he reached out to the crowd, waving, smiling.