𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒. shawn mendes

v. anniversary

soft one!
words count: 1,5k

"You're really trying to lie with your face all red like that?"

"But I swear I'm not lying!" Is what Shawn claims, but the way he's biting down on his lip to hide his painfully obvious smile tells you something completely different. Your boyfriend's cheeks are stained red — and by stained, you don't mean the soft, rosy blush he gets after a cold day out or a heated makeout session. You're talking tomato, crimson, I-look-like-I-took-a-snowball-to-the-face red. The kind of blush you've only seen on him when he's a) lying, or b) ecstatic.

Something — more specifically, the twinkle in his tired eyes — tells you that the current reason for his expression is a mix between the two.

You hum, a lame attempt to humour him. Placing your bag on the counter, you hold your hand out, "Can I at least see?"

It takes a little convincing and a lot of pecks for him to finally place his hand in yours, an angry gash cutting across his palm. Wincing, you immediately twist towards the shelf that holds your first aid box, but Shawn's grip on your waist anchors you there.

"I've cleaned it already. I'm stupid, but not that stupid, you know?"

"What about a bandage?"

"We're all out. Shouldn't have used them to wrap me a birthday present, don't you think?" His grin is wide, and voice teasing, so you can't help but join in on his mirth. Giggling softly, you tuck your hair behind your ear, bringing his hand up to your palm to press soft, butterfly kisses against his wound. He sighs, contended, and pulls you in by his other hand. Dropping a kiss to the top of your head, Shawn lets his fingers tangle into your hair. You hum against his chest, the warmth from his knitted sweater pressing into your cheek.

"I just don't get it, though..," Belatedly, you pull away, "So you're saying you got that while washing dishes?"

"Yes, hunny. I've told you like ten times already."

"But Shawn... we have a dishwasher."

"And?" Shawn presses impatiently, hurriedly trying to pull you back in. You resist, however, leaning away from his touch.

"And you hate doing the dishes."

"I just wanted to do something nice for you!"

"Are you sure?" You purse your lips, gaze falling to his cut hand, "You sure you're good?"

"Yes, yes, yes," Shawn places his hands on your face, pulling your face upwards to press a sweet kiss against your lips, "How can I not be good when my second favourite girl in the world is here with me?"

Your eyes narrow in suspicion, "Second favourite, huh?"

"First is Beyoncé. Always. Sorry, babe, you're gonna have to do a little more than be cute to top Queen B."

"Queen B doesn't take care of your annoying morning wood every morning, does she?"

"I mean, yeah," Shawn tilts his head to the side, a little smirk gracing his features, "But she's not the one who causes it either, soo.."

You chuckle, swatting his chest with the back of your hand before moving underneath his arms and out of his grip. A soft whine of protest follows you as you pad around the kitchen, Shawn's doe-like eyes watching your every moment. You breathe a sigh of relief once your hair cascades down your shoulders, placing your scrunchie on the island. Proceeding to take off your heels, you chuck them towards the living room, telling yourself you'd bother with those later. Coming home to the sight of your boyfriend tumbling around clumsily in the kitchen had been contending, but you can now slowly feel the tiredness of the day weighing in your shoulders. Making your way back to him, you place your hand on Shawn's face, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth.