Professional Publicity Stunt » Shawn Mendes✔️

ten: a one-night stand says a lot about a person.

A/N: I feel like this is poorly written. But I'm having fun. And this was inspired by me retaking the Sorting Hat quiz on Pottermore! I've been a Gryffindor for as long as I can remember, but I retook it and was sorted into Ravenclaw. I'm kind of happy with it. Enjoy!

When I suggest that I should stay at my apartment – because I do have my own place to live – Shawn immediately begins protesting.

"But...Harry Potter marathon."

I cross my arms over my chest. "That's the weakest excuse I've ever heard."

"Fine," he sighs. "What if I just...don't want you to go?"

"Shawn..." I wouldn't be protesting it so much in the first place if I wasn't the one who felt like some space would be good. At least for a night. "I miss my own bed. And while we're stopped here, I want to sleep in it."

"But it's already nighttime."

"It's barely nine o'clock."

"You'll have time to sleep in your own bed when I'm in Toronto."

He makes a valid point. And the fact that he's not asking me to go with him to Toronto eases my nerves. I didn't think he would, but I knew if he did I would have to explain to him how bad of an idea that would be. Meeting his family? Not only would that immediately raise suspicion to this being a fake relationship (just because it is, doesn't mean it needs to be that obvious to the untrained eye), but I also don't want to be introduced to his family if this isn't real. That's mixing the job with people in his personal life and much like his fans, I don't want to hurt his family either.

So, I compromise with him now, mainly to get him to put his puppy-dog eyes away.

Seriously. They're distracting.

"But you have to sing to me," I press. I'm weak. I love it when he sings to me. "Or we have to listen to your music."

He pulls a face. "I think I'll just sing."

"Good answer," I nod, then a smirk creeps onto my lips. "What about that song you told Zach about?"

He furrows his eyebrows, but I know he's feigning innocence. "We talked about a lot."

Fine. I'll spell it out. "'Where Were You In The Morning?'"

Immediately, his cheeks are painted red, his eyes avoiding mine and studying the pattern in the wooden floors. Busted.

"Come on," I laugh, reaching across the couch to tug on the sleeve of his hoodie. "I need details!"

His eyes widen. "You want details?"

I can see what he means from the look in his eyes. "Ew. Gross. I meant what happened. I can gather you had sex. I don't need the run-down. I know how that goes."

"Have you ever had a one-night stand?"

I give him a look. "Nearly every job I've been on is an essential one-night stand. Just a month-long one."

"No, I mean like a real—"

"Yeah," I nod. "Once."

"Same," he replies, still staring at his hands. "What happened?"

"I was the one who left," I answer, propping my elbow on the back of the couch, my fingers cradling the back of my head. "We were both coherent and all so it was consensual. I just left before the sun rose." I pause, looking over to find him studying my face. "What about you?"

But he doesn't give me a straight answer. He stands from the couch and leaves the room, coming back with his acoustic guitar. And when he sits back down next to me, facing me with his guitar on his knee, he begins playing his answer.