For Him - Shawn Mendes

thoughts OF us

SHAWN

31st of October, 2015

Hannah runs circles across my palm and opens her mouth, her unspoken words sucked back by a sharp breath.

"Penny for your thoughts?" I ask, taking a sip from my milkshake. From across the table, Hannah pulls her hand away softly.

"I was crying that night at Nico's because they offered me an internship." She says, scrunching her nose as if what was once good news is now bad, and that it will change everything. And perhaps it does. I gesture for her to go on. "With Penguin," She confirms, "from March until May." She doesn't look at me, and her eyes wander to the Halloween decorations dotted across the airport windows. Eventually, her eyes fall back to mine. "It's just bad timing, S, because I realise T.P.I might be the only thing capable of saving us."

I nod, because her realising the truth behind us seems to set it in indestructible stone. It makes things real. "Yes." I say, weakly.

Hannah shifts in her seat, speaking only when the waiter takes our empty glasses. She pays for all four of us. "I don't want to give up on my dream, Shawn."

And I know what she means, I really do, but it pulls at a string in my heart that makes me want to cry. I want to tell her to think about it more, that she'll get to travel if she comes with me, that she can always return to writing afterwards; but I'm just being selfish.

And I know I'm being selfish but my heart then sinks as I remember how much work I've put into this. I've missed four shows. Andrew will be furious. I clench my hands, teeth pressed to my bottom lip as I stare at the floor as we reach gate 7.

"Shawn," Hannah pulls at my shirt, and I bite the inside of my jaw. "I didn't mean it like that. Gorgeous, look at me."

And she's calling me that name again, and I find myself confused by the fact that for the first time ever, it's making me mad. I don't want her to call me that if she chooses Penguin over us.

I force my eyes to hold themselves among hers, though I let them hover lazily. "I love photography," Hannah says, her hand holding my cheek delicately, "and I'm extremely grateful for the opportunity you've given me."

I wait for her to go on, but she doesn't. "But?" I urge, my tone sour.

"But I was born to write."

I open my mouth to tell her that nobody was born to do anything, and that there's no such thing as fate, but my mouth is dry and I can't keep looking at her face. I pull her hand away from my face and turn to Noah, who offers me a sympathetic smile as we board the plane.

Perhaps it does change everything.

SHAWN

20th of November, 2015

Maroon leaves crunch beneath my feet and I hold my breath, collecting oxygen in my lungs before exhaling, hard, drawing large amounts of carbon dioxide. I watch as it clouds in a haze around me.

I never usually walk to school, but halfway down the street this morning, the chain fell off my bike. I dumped it, the frame crashing messily into a bush on the edge of the park. I left it there.

It's only seven thirty in the morning, but I can already tell that today is going to be completely and utterly shit. I pull the neck of my hoodie closer to me, the cold air seeping into my skin.

"Did you study for the Chem exam?" Ian asks as I reach the table beneath the tree. I didn't. I spent last night finalising Handwritten Revisited, which comes out tonight.