Shawn Mendes Imagines (Editing + Open Requests)

♬0.2 - Before The Stage

Imagine Shawn being worried that you weren't going to make it before he went on stage......

(Shawn's P.O.V.)

"She's on her way, Shawn," my dad reassured me.

"There are so many people out there, I'm freaking out," I exhaled, dropping into the chair in my dressing room.

"You just need to relax. You're going to do great."

"Thanks, Dad, but I really need her to tell me that." I ran a hand through my hair. "She's always been there — since I was, like, six. I'm not saying you haven't been, you have, I just—"

"I know, Shawn," he interrupted gently. "Just... breathe."

"Shawn, we need you backstage in the next few minutes," a stage manager said, poking his head in with a polite smile.

"Yeah, of course," I replied quickly. As soon as he left, I muttered, "Shit, she's not going to make it. Shit, shit."

"Shawn," Dad warned.

"Sorry," I sighed. "I'm just... nervous."

"Then breathe."

I took a long breath, staring at the floor. She had a life too. Maybe I was being selfish for wanting her here, but I needed her.

She'd been my constant since we were kids — the one person who could take away every bit of panic and make everything feel easy. I didn't know how she did it, just that she did. And somehow, I did the same for her. We'd always been that way — too close, too honest, maybe too dependent. But I couldn't imagine it any other way.

"Ready?" Dad asked.

"I guess I have to be, right? Now or never."

"You'll be fine, Shawn. I promise."

He was probably right, but it didn't feel that way. My hands were shaking. My stomach was twisted into knots. I was terrified I'd walk out there and forget everything.

I headed backstage, my heart pounding. This was one of my first big performances, and the nerves weren't calming down — if anything, they were getting worse.

Then I heard her voice.

"Mendes!"

I turned immediately. "Y/L/N—thank God you're here."

"Of course I'm here," she grinned. "I was starting to think you weren't coming. Maybe you backed out."

"Yeah, right," I laughed.

"Hey, you're going to be great, Shawn," she said softly, resting a hand on my shoulder.

And just like that, everything settled. The nerves, the panic — gone. My best friend was here, and that was all I needed.

"Good luck, Mendes. Love you!"

"Love you too, kid!" I called over my shoulder as I started toward the stage.

"I'm older than you!" she yelled back.

"...No, you're not," I giggled under my breath.

"SHAWN MENDES!!" the announcer's voice boomed through the arena.

I grabbed my guitar and turned back for one last look at her — smiling, grounded, exactly where she was supposed to be — before walking onto the stage.

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