𝐞𝐜𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲, shawn mendes

v | 'how drunk are you?'

We're arm in arm by the time we're halfway across the bridge, my heart completely thumping out of my chest at the sheer concept that this is reality. I'm actually here, right now, with him, tonight. And who knows, maybe I'd still be with him after tonight.

"What are you humming?" He asks after a long silence, only them making me realise I was doing so in the first place. "It sounds good, whatever it is."

"That was," I pause for a few moments, humming the same tune again, this time consciously, "Oh, that was just one of my own songs."

"Just one of your own songs?" He repeats, "You really need to believe in yourself a little more, Venus."

"Eh, maybe." I shrug. "I don't know, I just figured if it was meant to be, the whole fame thing, it would've been by now, y'know?"

"Like I was saying, I'll make it happen for you." He restates his words from earlier, still sounding so crazy. "You just gotta let me."

"What's in it for you, though?" I ask, "What do you get out of helping me achieve my dreams or whatever?"

"I get everything." He sighs, smiling at me. "So this song, the one you were just humming..."

"What about it?"

"Sing it for me?" He smirks.

"Like, now?" I chuckle, not thinking he's serious. His expression doesn't change. "Like right here, in the middle of the golden gate bridge in the middle of the night, you want me to start singing?"

"Uh, yeah." He laughs, stopping in his tracks and perching himself on the edge of the bridge precariously, "I need to here that voice of yours again."

"Don't judge me." I smile, taking a step backwards.

"Why the hell would I judge you?" He chuckles, "I've already heard you sing tonight, why is this any different?"

"Because it's just the two of us." I reply, feeling myself blush, "And I can't imagine the acoustics on this bridge are any good either."

"You'll find a way to make it work." He assures me, gesturing for me to begin, "There's your stage, honey."

I begin to sing, but I'm unable to look at him as I do so. This kind of intimacy was something I'd never really experienced before, just me and this practical stranger on one of the world's most famous bridges in the middle of the night, singing one of the most personal songs i've ever written before. About someone else.

I sing the parts of the song I'm completely confident on, still internally afraid of his judgement. He sits and watches me, his lips parted and eyes wide the entire time. And when I've finished, he doesn't speak. He sits in silence, eyes flickering as if he's processing something. I leave him to do so, taking a seat next to him. Everything seems to fall quiet; I can hear his unsteady breathing over the murmuring traffic and distant wind.

Minutes pass before he speaks, his voice mellow and awestruck. It takes a while for me to process that I'm the reason. "Wow. You wrote that?" He says, turning to me with a curious look across his features.

I nod, "Yeah, I did."

"What's it called?" He asks.