me and my imagination | s.m.

i. always will be you

shawn leaves for tour and gets you a promise ring. 2,136 words.

xxxxx

"Make sure you save the date. March 5th."

"I will. I'll circle it on my calendar in red pen. Like they do in the movies."

"Who even owns an actual calendar anymore?"

"Not me," you snickered. "I was kidding, but I'll make a note on my phone."

Shawn shook his head at you, but he couldn't hide his smile. He tapped your nose. "You're cute."

"I'm aware," you replied with mock-hauteur, twisting around to lean back in his arms again. You were sequestered in the comfortable armchair at his house, legs lazily tangled together and the soft fabric of his sweatpants gently rubbing your bare calves. It was a Sunday around ten, morning light laying itself across Shawn's upper body in strips through the slats of the adjacent window and the early signs of spring beginning to pop up just beyond the reaches of the glass door that separated you from his backyard.

Everything about this moment was drenched in sleepy, syrupy fatigue of the most pleasant kind: his arms settled low around your waist, your hair in a floppy bun that rested against his shoulder, both of your stomachs rising and falling with breaths in slow, even sync. The chances of you getting up out of the chair to root around his kitchen for breakfast (a privilege now bestowed upon you with your official role as "the girlfriend" in the Mendes household) were dwindling with each passing minute.

"Y/N?" Shawn shifted beneath you, resting his head sideways on your shoulder so his lips met the spot just above your collarbone. You hummed happily in response, shamelessly tugging down the collar of your shirt a bit to get him access to more of your neckline.

"What is it?" you asked. He pressed a kiss to your skin, stalling. When you repeated his name, he looked up at you and fixed you with his doleful eyes. The crystallized mix of brown and green in them gave them both clarity and murkiness, like the earth right after rain.

"I'm gonna miss you." The confession was dropped out of his mouth in a guilty whisper, left to settle on your throat with a heavy weight.

"Oh, Shawn."

He didn't reply, and pulled away, reclining against the couch again. You twisted in his lap and rose up both of your hands to cradle his face.

"Baby," you said softly. You weren't usually one for pet names; you found them sort of patronizing, but this side of Shawn always struck a chord deep within the cavern of your chest. You rested your forehead against his, breathing in his warm scent. "I'm gonna miss you too, but this tour will be amazing. You get to travel the world, and meet so many of your fans, and do what you love. You'll see that once you get on the road."

"But I won't have you." Shawn tightened his hold on your waist, pulling you in so you were chest to chest. Belatedly, you hoped neither his parents nor Aaliyah walked in, but you were pretty sure they had left for brunch just half an hour ago.

"You will have me," you reminded him. "You can text me--"

"We'll be in different timezones."

"You're worth waking up at 4 AM for." He smiled despite himself, and you continued, "And we can Skype--"

"But what if I don't have service on the bus? Or Internet connection?"

You were pretty sure that Shawn Mendes, teen idol and pop sensation, could get a bus with Wi-Fi pretty easily, but you humored him. "Then we'll write love letters like they did in the 1800s. It'll be super romantic. And when you do have Wi-Fi, we can Tweet each other and be that annoying couple everyone is secretly jealous of."
"I'm pretty sure we're already that couple," he pointed out. You grinned wickedly.