ShawnMendes entered Wattpad.

75

<<lost (?)>>

I can hear someone shouting. "Mandy! Mandy! MANDY!" And then there's a light.
As dramatic as it sounds, it turns out to be someone with his smartphone torch. "MANDY?!"

Gosh, it is so cold. Everywhere is snow and wind. Are my lips already frozen?!

"Yeah! I'm here!"

Okay, they aren't frozen.

"Shit, it is so dark, I can't see anything! Where are you exactly?!"

As I would know between whose house I am.

"I'm here!" I repeat several times, and suddenly, Shawn stands in front of me. He's wearing a ridiculous big jacket that makes him look like a snowman. A not amused snowman. He takes my arm and shouts through the howling wind: "We need to get inside, Mandy!"

"I'm not going anywhere with you," I shout back, but I know that I will, because I'm not dumb – I don't wanna die.

Shawn shakes his head. "Can't we stop fighting for one minute?! It is dangerous outside here. We need to get back into the warmth."

I agree. So instead, I don't say anything anymore and take the hand he is offering. We're both wearing gloves, but I can feel the warmth of his hands anyway. He helps me up, and then we walk side by side back to his house struggling against the wind. I am freezing so much that I can feel my teeth chattering – and that I can't feel my cheeks and nose anymore.

We've reached the door.

Shawn opens it with jingling keys, and then we're back in the warmth. "You need to get into dry, warm clothes," he says. "I'm gonna give you some."

"I'm not taking clothes from you," I answer. "I'm not a creepy stalker, nor a fan who is happy about getting clothes from Shawn Mendes."

"Fine, do you wanna catch a cold and die? Or should I go get your mum, so everybody is afraid and scared and wants to take you into hospital?"

"No no, I don't. They shouldn't. Definitely not. I take the clothes," I mumble. "Just give me the damn clothes. – Or give me clothes from Aaliyah. Yeah, just give me some of hers, she surely won't have anything against it."

"Stop arguing, just come with me upstairs. I really don't need any more stress and allegations." He stops and looks at the living room. "From anybody." He hesitates. "Can you walk?"

My feet and legs are a bit shaky, but I guess that'll work.

"I could carry you," Shawn says with a striking tone.

"Don't. Touch. Me." I answer and go to stairs. Damn, they are high, and the stairway is really long. I didn't remember it that long. I need a second to overcome my pride, then I say: "Maybe... anyway could you maybe help me getting upstairs?"

Shawn laughs softly. It's this melodically laugh he already had yesterday. And I like it. Damn, I really like it. And I am way too much cursing. Anyways. I take the handrail of the stairway with my one hand, and then, suddenly, I feel Shawn's arm around my hips. I hush.

He laughs again – right beside my ear. "Stay calm. It's just me."

"Careful, Mendes," I snap. It feels unusual, his arm around my hips and him so close in general, but not in a negative way. More like there's someone to support me and catch me, should I fall. A feeling I certainly haven't been associated with Shawn Mendes lately.
And yet he is now the one who helps me up the stairs and keeps his voice down so that we are not confronted with questioning looks and general concern and excitement. We enter a room – his room – but I'm way too exhausted to look around. I don't have an eye for the guitar on the wall or the many instant camera photos or the string of lights. I'm just freezing too much for that.

"Chamber of Secrets," I murmur.

"What?"

Shawn is still holding me, and almost automatically, I lean slightly against him. "I just thought you did everything so that I didn't see any private stuff in this house – and look at us now: standing in your most sacred."

"I'll survive it."

"Someone is striking completely new tones," I answer.  

To sum up this evening in one sentence: We have been more distant than in the last weeks and months, but at the same time we've been so crazy close as never before. Especially physically.

"Stop talking and get out of those cold clothes," Shawn says instead of an answer. "The snow will melt, and then they will be really soaked, and you will be very cold. Way more cold than you already are."

He makes it sound as if he doesn't only mean my physical temperature. I snort. "Your jokes are so lame. You need so much more practice before you become an acceptable joking partner."

For a moment he just looks at me, and there's something in his eyes that I'm probably just imagining because I'm so exhausted because of the whole snowstorm thing.
I clear my throat. "I can't feel my cheeks, is that normal? It feels weird."

A touch just like a butterfly on my cheeks. Shawn's fingers are striking my cheeks.
It's kinda crazy, cause everywhere he touches my face, thousands of little, very small flames are burning up. "I can't feel my nose either," I mumble. "Do you think I'll lose it all?"

"You mean, lose your cheeks and your nose?" He gives me a little "dud" on the nose and then puts his hand down to take my leftover hand and help me up from the stairs to get through the corridor. "I don't think so. It is really unpredictable, of course. I mean if you lose it all. But I guess for now, nothing's lost."