Shawn Mendes Imagines

Essay//S.M

I sigh while rubbing my temple as I look at my computer screen.

My fucking professor changed the due date of this essay to tomorrow.
I still need about 15 pages.
I already have my rough draft I just need to type it.

"Babe?" Shawn questions from the door frame of our room.

I wonder how long he's been standing there.

"Yeah? What's wrong?" I ask continuing to type.

"Dinners ready." He informs.

I smile small
"what'd you cook?" I ask.

"I made pasta......is that ok?" he replies

"You know pasta is my favorite." I smile cheekily.

He nods before turning around and walking away. That's odd.

I grab my laptop and papers and walk downstairs to the dining table. I put my laptop and papers on one side and push my plate to the other side.

I wash my hands. Then I sit back down and continue my typing.

Shawn sits on the other side quietly occasionally looking at his phone.

After about 15 minutes of just typing I put my laptop to the side.

I grab my fork and begin eating.
I see Shawn staring at me intently.

"Uhm so how was the studio?" I ask.

"Fine" he mumbles.

My eyebrows furrow at his vagueness. He's usually so descriptive.

"Uhh that's good. What'd you guys do?" I ask taking another bite.

"Nothing" he mumbles.

"Oh....uhm are you ok?" I ask.

"I'm fine" he replies not meeting my eyes.

"Are you sure? You seem a little down." I reply.

"At least you cared to notice" he mutters.
I was taken back.

"What are you talking about?" I ask calmly and confused.

"For like the past week you've almost completely ignored me. Last night I don't even know at what time you came to bed. When I come home it takes you like 3 hours to even say hi." He rants.

"Well sorry but I have an essay that's due tomorrow. I don't feel like failing my class. Cause then I would fail college and then I would fail at life and you wouldn't want to date a failure would you." I exaggerate.

He rolls his eyes at me.

"The least you could do is not bring your damn computer to the dining table. Maybe then you'll start talking to me. Maybe then I won't have to keep eating dinner alone." He says slightly raising his voice.

I scoff while glaring at him.

"What do you think I do when your on tour for three to six fucking months. You think I go out every night to eat with my friends. You think I have house parties so I won't be alone. There are hours when I just sit staring at the ceiling for who knows how long just waiting for you to call me or message me. So yeah Shawn in three months there's about 90 days. 90 days that your gone. Take off like 14 days that I eat out with my friends. That makes 76. 76 fucking days that I eat my fucking dinner by my fucking self." I yell.

Shawn's eyes don't meet mine.

He feels guilty. But I do too. I shouldn't have brought up his touring. It's not his fault.