Hi! I don't know if you requests but can you do something a little angsty? Maybe set after the Miami stuff with Shawn and his real girlfriend?
I don’t even know if I can do angst, but I’ll give the old college try.
When she got in the car, she didn’t even look at him. She gave thanks to the driver for helping her with her bags and opening her car door. Shawn was antsy, his hands twitching to reach out for her, and he was just about to scoot into the middle of the back seat just to be closer to her but she set her carry-on bag between them and when he went to move it, her hand clasped tighter on the strap, pushing it down. This wasn’t how they did things. No, she always put her bag on the floorboard or allowed him to. But not now. Now it stayed a firm barrier between them and his heart broke a little more. Then she was fumbling with her seatbelt and her cheeks were turning red and he knew she was mad at him. So mad.
“Hey,” he said softly, fingers daring to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “I love your haircut.”
She had gotten it to spite him, he knew that. He loved her impossibly long, curly hair, and she had chopped it off to the tops of her shoulders hoping he would hate it the way she hated him right now. But he didn’t hate it. He loved everything about her.
And now he was scared. Scared because she shrugged away from him, pulling a face she normally reserved for things like bugs and stains. “Thanks.”
She doesn’t return the sentiment, just turns her head to look out the window.
She points with chin towards the driver as if to remind him that they aren’t alone. He hated that his whole life was a great big NDA right now. He hated that the person he loved the most in the entire world suddenly couldn’t look at him.
It was building, he could feel it. That helpless tide of panic was gradually filling his stomach. His skin felt tight and itchy and he suddenly didn’t want her to look at him because he was a wretched wreck of a human being. He hunched in on himself, shoulders drawing up to his ears as he leaned down on the tops of his thighs. There was an odd noise, just one, that came from the back of his throat. Despair. That’s what that noise was.
She sighed a quiet, defeated sigh and reached over, placing her hand on his back. She didn’t rub comforting circles or assure him it would be ok. She was just letting him know that despite all of the shit they had been through in the last month, she was still here. She was still interrupting her life to fly out to see him.
“You’re really putting us through the wringer,” she told him.
She gave his back a pat, removed her hand. “I’m going to stay at a hotel.”
“Don’t,” he pleaded. “Please, don’t.”
“Andrew’s suggestion. Wouldn’t want her boyfriend to be seen with another woman, you know.”
He explodes. It’s not fair, not to her, but he has all this tension inside of his chest and stomach and head and he can’t stand to hear her call him someone else’s boyfriend when he’s been head over heels for her since the beginning. “What the fuck do you want from me? I’m trying my damnedest to make everyone happy and it’s not enough! I can’t do anything right by anyone anymore! So tell me what the fuck you want me to do and I’ll do it.”
The driver flinches visibly at his outburst. His eyebrows meet, eyes worried. “Miss?”
It’s then that Shawn realizes she’s crying. “Baby, I-“
“Can you pull over, please?” She asks the driver.
“It’s not much further to the hotel, miss.”
“Just pull over, it’s fine.”
He does even though Shawn is babbling about being sorry and don’t pull over and let’s just go to my place and talk and please don’t get out of the car. But she asks the driver to get her bag out of the trunk and when he’s out of the car, she turns to Shawn, finally looks at him, and says the thing he’s been dreading the most. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“It’s almost over,” he tries to assure her, his breath coming out in little spastic spurts.
“Well, it’s over for me right now. I’m done, Shawn. I’m just done.”
It doesn’t sink in what she’s saying until she’s already out of the car. He calls after her but she’s not listening, and then she’s shouldering her bag, thanking the driver, walking away.
He’s supposed to stay in the car. He wasn’t allowed to meet her in the airport and he definitely isn’t allowed to follow her down the sidewalk when they’re both crying. But his heart is an irrational thing that doesn’t know about NDAs or social media or iPhone pictures and he’s out of the car, telling the driver it’s fine to go on and he’s walking just a few steps behind her because wherever she’s going, he’s going there, too.
“Shawn, go away.” She calls over her shoulder.
She’s still crying, he can tell by the way she furiously scrubs at her face and then she whips around to face him and he realizes she’s angrier than he’s ever seen her. It gives him hope, though. If she’s angry, she still cares. Even if it’s just a little. There’s emotion there. “Go home. Leave me alone.”
“No,” he shakes his head, voice small. “I won’t. I love you.”
She turns her back on him and walks determinedly away. It would be cute, the way she thinks her strides are a match against his, but it’s not because his heart is breaking and the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with is trying to get away from him.
“Please,” he’s crying in earnest now. “Please, talk to me. Please don’t leave me like this.”
He knows she still loves him when she turns back around, hands grabbing his arms to pull him into a quiet alcove on the street, away from prying eyes and phones. “Pull yourself together, Mendes. Andrew will hand you your ass if you get busted acting like this.”
“I don’t care. I’m done. I’m done with it, I promise. I hope someone does see me losing my absolute goddamn mind right now so I can at least be honest about what’s happening.”
“You signed a contract. You knew what you were doing.” She pulls her phone out, presses a contact, and puts it up to her ear. She makes unwavering eye contact with him when she says, “Andrew, I need you to come get Shawn. He’s having a panic attack in the middle of the goddamn street.” A pause. “I don’t care. I don’t care about any of this shit because it’s not my shit to care about anymore.” A pause. “No. I’m not. I don’t want him to come to my hotel. No.” A pause. “Because we’re broken up, Andrew. That’s why.”
He’s absolutely wailing now. Whatever dam that was inside of him, holding back this absolute onslaught of misery, crumbles and he can’t say anything because he’s absolutely losing his shit.
“Shawn, stop. Shawn. Shawn!” Her fingers are on the back of his head because he’s suddenly on his knees, his face pressed against her soft belly . She’s pushing her phone against his ear where Andrew is telling him to pull his fucking shit together and stop but he covers his ears, his whole body aching. He can’t take this. He can’t. He won’t survive this.
She’s tugging at his arms, hissing for him to get up, to calm down, and then she’s crouched in front of him, his face in her hands. “Shawn, look at me. Look at me,” she demands. He obeys. Of course he does. He’s always been her boy. “Calm down. Take deep breaths and calm down.”
“You can. Just pull yourself together enough for us to get to the hotel and get checked in, ok? That’s all I’m asking.”
His legs are wobbly when he’s finally able to stand. It feels like the world is off kilter and he can’t even enjoy the fact that she’s got him by the arm because he knows she’s just hurrying him along before someone snaps a photo of him red-faced and absolutely destroyed.
He lingers behind her, his baseball cap pulled low over his face. She’s so kind and cordial to the receptionist, even when there’s a problem with her check-in, that he wants to start crying again because there’s no way she’s about to walk out of his life. She declines help with her bag, leads him to the elevator.
When they get into the room, her bags hit the floor and her beautiful face finally breaks and she’s sobbing, but she doesn’t want him to touch her. They sit three feet apart on the side of the bed, both of them crying and that’s how Andrew finds them.
“Goddamn it,” he shakes his head, hands rubbing tight circles on his temples.
She stands up suddenly, dashing her tears away with the tips of his fingers. “Just get him and go.”
“I’m not leaving,” Shawn shakes his head. “I’m not.”
“I don’t want you here! We’re done, Shawn!”
His throat closes up and all he can do is shake his head rapidly.
“Maybe we should go. Give both of you space to cool off and talk about this tomorrow,” Andrew suggests.
“I’m not leaving,” Shawn repeats.
Andrew closes his eyes. “Do you know how much damage control I’m going to have to do if anyone saw you, Shawn? Do you know what you’ve already risked?”
He hates Andrew at that moment. He wants to be seen as a person, not as contract that he didn’t fully understand. Shawn pulls out his phone and opens twitter, and pulls up a recent picture from Miami. He hits retweet with comment, types a message above it, and shows it to Andrew. “How much damage would this do?”
Andrew visibly blanches and for a brief moment, she looks triumphantly proud. If she can look at him like that, he knows he can fix this. It’s enough for him to almost hit retweet.
“Don’t do it, Shawn. I’m begging you.” Andrew takes a tentative step towards him, palm outstretched.
“I’m so sorry.” He’s not sure if he’s talking to her or Andrew at this point.
