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Shawn Mendes imagines...
short chapters about our beautiful talented Canadian singer,
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"I'm just so tired of this," Shawn groaned, slumping back on the couch. "She won't stop texting me. I saw her at the store the other day, and she kept trying to get close. A fan even asked if we were dating after she left. It needs to stop."
"She cheated on you," you said flatly. "Why does she suddenly care now?"
"I don't know. Maybe she realized every other guy's an asshole. Maybe she just got bored. I really don't know." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "But I know things would be worse if I ever tried again. I couldn't trust her. I even told her, when we first started dating, that cheating was the one thing that could break me. And then she did it anyway."
He stared down at his phone, his jaw tightening.
"Do you... still want to be with her?" you asked carefully.
"No. She— no. I can't. Just knowing how much it destroyed me—" he paused, voice cracking slightly. "And she didn't even tell me. If they'd just kissed and she told me right away, I probably could've forgiven her. I'd have needed time, but I could've tried. But they slept together. In our room. And I had to find out from her friend, not even from her."
His words came out sharper this time, frustration seeping through.
You'd seen him broken before — but never like this. When he found out she cheated, he'd stayed at your place for a week. He was a complete mess.
"I don't know what made it worse," Shawn said quietly. "The fact that she didn't tell me... or that she tried to blame me for it when I confronted her."
"Wait— what?" you whispered.
He laughed bitterly. "Yeah. She said I was practically cheating on her because I spent so much time with you. That something between us could 'easily happen.' So, according to her, she just... acted first."
Your hands clenched before you even realized. "That's such bullshit. Why didn't you tell me she blamed our friendship?"
"Because I knew you'd get mad."
"Oh, I'm not mad."
"You're standing up and clenching your fists," he pointed out.
"Oh," you said, sitting back down.
He chuckled softly, but the sound faded fast. "I hate this so much," he whispered.
He dropped his face into his hands, shoulders tense as he exhaled shakily. You hated seeing him like this — so small, so unsure. You leaned in and rested your head on his shoulder, not saying anything. Just being there. It was what always helped him most.
"I'm sorry, Shawn," you murmured.
He lifted his head slightly. "You didn't do anything wrong. Why are you apologizing?"
"Someone has to."
He gave a small laugh — tired, but real. "Yeah... and that someone isn't you."
"I just want to help."
"I know."
This time, Shawn rested his head against your shoulder. For a long while, neither of you spoke. His breathing slowed, and the tension in his shoulders eased.
Finally, he whispered, "I don't know what to do."
"Take it day by day," you said softly. "Don't answer her texts. Pretend you don't even know who she is. Just... someone you used to know."
He nodded. "I'll try."
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