Shawn Mendes Imagines

Too Young

qotd: what time is it where you are? (((:

***

With a single huff and puff from his twitched lips, his jaw still clenched, fish still curled up into a ball despite the fact that your palm was placed on top of it in attempt to calm him down-- he stands up from his seat slowly.

The words echoed in your mind repeatedly, in the same tone and with the same intensity as when they were spoken.

Oh, please. You're seventeen. You don't know the first thing about what it's like to be in love.

A million responses jumbled and piled into your brain all at once, an abundance of denials and refusals to accept the truth of that absurd statement. It upset you that Shawn's mother would say that right to his face-- especially with you sitting silently in the chair right across from him at the kitchen table.

In fact, the whole evening had been strange. It started off with a typical afternoon-- homework with Shawn at the kitchen table, a single pair of earbuds shared between the two of you. Everything was fine, stress-free.

But then his Mum arrived home, with a tall, skinny guy loitering behind her, who was holding a bottle of wine and two glasses in either of his hands.

She had told Shawn it was time for you to leave; and Shawn argued that you don't usually leave until six pm and you two still had an hour and a half to spend together.

This only set her off, which led to a mother-son argument, accusations, judgement, insults and all-- while you and the wine guy sat or stood awkwardly with nothing to contribute to the conversation.

Soon enough, the wine guy fled, but you didn't. You took in every word Shawn was throwing back at her. On any normal occasion, it would be none of your business, but this fight had suddenly become about you.

It was when Shawn's mum called him out on always being on his phone, that he scrunched his eyebrows and said, "that has nothing to do with what we're talking about!"

And as she spun around to go upstairs to her bedroom, clearly exhausted, she mumbled something about how it's like she doesn't exist to him anymore.

Shawn nervously ran a hand through his hair and said softly, "I'm not going to apologize for spending time with someone who wants to spend time with me, too, Mum. You wouldn't know anything about that. I bet you don't even remember how it feels to love somebody."

And you knew that with that single statement, he'd torn her apart a little. It was by the way her eyes soften, cheeks red. Her eyes welled up with tears, and she turned away at last.

That's when she became real mature, only leaving so she could get the last word-- stomping up the stairs and telling Shawn that he doesn't know the first thing about being in love.

You could bet your home and family on the inaccuracy of that accusation. Not just about you, but you did know that, despite the distance and cruelty between them, Shawn does love his Mum. And he loves you.

Shawn stood frozen for a while before slowly easing into his seat. You waited for him to look over at you, but instead he buried his face in his hands and in a quiet, muffled voice, apologized that you had to see and hear all of that.

"I'm really sorry, Shawn," you lean forward in your chair, placing a hand on his knee and squeezing. You see him bite his lip, holding back a cry.

"She's wrong," he eventually says, lifting his head slightly, gaze narrowing on your feet. "Just because I'm seventeen, well, that defiles absolutely nothing about what I know and what I'm sure about when it comes to love. I'm sure about you, Y/N. If nothing else. I love you so much, you know that?"

Your lips twitch into a smile and you shake your head in astonishment, in awe of the way he was speaking to you.

"You're not too young," you nod. "Neither am I. You know a thing or two about love, Mendes. I've seen it... up close."

***

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