As soon as Shawn had arrived at the studio, he had called you. He had asked you to -- get this -- coffee! Yeah, sure, he called the first time meeting you a date. It was honestly very cocky, yet hot. Such confidence that man has.
You agreed to get coffee, tomorrow. You were here for another three days. It couldn't hurt. I mean, you needed some excitement in your life, and Shawn seems like he's that type of excitement.
You pack up your laptop and papers after hours to finish your essay and head back to your aunt's house.
You get in an uber back to the house, and on the radio, you hear some music playing. In a way, the singer sounded familiar, yet you couldn't put your finger on it. The song changes before you can figure it out.
You get to the house, and you toss your bag on the sofa.
"Ma, are you here?" You call out.
Your aunt peers around the corner from the kitchen. "Sorry, Y/N, they're at the beach."
A bit relieved to get the guest bedroom to yourself, you crash onto the bed for a nap.
Feeling a little drugged up, you check to see what time it was.
"Oh my god!" You look at your phone to see two missed calls from Shawn. It was 10 am the next morning, and Shawn was at the coffee shop right now.
You change into some lousy summer dress from your suitcase. You do the necessities like brushing your hair and teeth.
You text Shawn after saying you'll be there in a little, which you knew was a lie. You just didn't want him to think you were flaking on him like some jerk.
You hippity hop down the stairs to grab your purse that your aunt had hung conveniently by the door and slip on a random pair of sandals that seemed like your size. Was it your sister's? Aunt's? Mom's? You didn't care. They were a little big, but you rush out the door anyway.You basically run to the coffee shop where Shawn was.
Down the street from the coffee house, you see Shawn leaving the shop.
"Shawn! Hey, Shawn!" Shawn looks at you but rolls his eyes. His hands in his pockets, he strolls with you with his brows furrowed.
"What?" His voice was deep and hoarse. "You stood me up. It's been an hour. I have to get to the studio."
Your heart drops. "I'm so sorry but I swear the Sandman hit me with a tornado of sleeping dust. I put on this lousy dress and sandals that I almost lost running here. Then I almost got hit by some crazy LA driver who should really belong in New York with how impatient and people hitting mad he is." You suck in air after rambling. "I didn't mean to stand you up. I pinkie swear."
Shawn laughs. "Okay. Okay. Walk me to the studio? It's far, but it gives us time to talk. I'll text my manager something more important came up." Shawn softly elbows your side. "Plus why wouldn't I forgive someone who almost got hit by a car for me."
You guys walk to the studio. It was a thirty-minute walk, and your legs were wobbly from running here.
"So where are you from, Y/N? You seem like you don't belong here. You know, acting like LA drivers don't try to hit people too."
You laugh as you roll your eyes. "Why should I tell you? You could be some weirdo that is secretly a serial killer or something."
Shawn lets out a chuckle. "Oh, honey, you don't know me at all, do you?" He glances at you, revealing a perfect smile. The smile only celebrities and rich people have. The kind in movies that make your heart flutter. That's what his smile did: made your heart race. " Well, fine. I'm from Pickering, Canada, but recently I moved to Toronto."
"Canadian, eh?" You do your best to do a stereotypical Canadian accent. Shawn laughs and runs his large hand through his curls. "So why are you here?"
"Making music. Living life to the fullest." Shawn says so nonchalantly.
You look over at Shawn, studying his curls, his posture, and his perfect complexion. Man, you need that skin care routine.
"See anything you like, Hun?" Shawn teases.
You softly punch his arm which actually hurt your hand more than it probably hurt him.
"No," you blush. "It's just that you're so cocky, calling me honey and such." You fix your hair to where it covers your flushed cheeks. You didn't want to spike his confidence if he sees that he gets you all flustered and nervous.
"Well, if it helps. I'm never this comfortable with just anyone. When I'm meeting fans, I feel this -- insecurity -- but I know they love me. And I just try to build up my confidence and give them a memory that they'll never forget. I know, you're probably thinking, 'Shawn? Nervous? Never!' But honestly, it's so hard to be this perfect image they believe you are." Shawn stares up to the sky and takes a deep breath.
You look over at him. You can see his emotional affect: vulnerability, fear, and sincerity. You remember what your psychology professor had told you: you make think it's easy to read people, but human emotions are so complex, that sometimes, what you think they're feeling, it could be more underneath. You wanted to know more about his complexity.
"Fans? How many--" you stop, "No, nevermind. I should ask that. Well, I say, don't be scared. If they are real fans then they'll support you and love you no matter what."
Shawn smiles. "Well, this is my stop. You want to come in to see where the magic happens?"You look to where Shawn was looking to see this very appealing and enormous building.
"Here? I thought it'd be some very -- small place."
Shawn chuckles. "Well, Y/N, you have a lot to learn. C'mon. They won't mind." Shawn takes your hand and leads you inside.
You feel like you just unlocked this huge secret about Shawn you didn't know.
You follow him inside and --