Professional Publicity Stunt » Shawn Mendes✔️

twelve: i'll lie here

you can rest your head/upon my chest/i feel warmer with you there

Shawn and I should be getting dressed because he has the dress rehearsal and taping for The Late Late Show in a few hours, but we're not.

Instead, we're still under the covers on his bed, and I'm asking random questions that hadn't come to mind until now. Specifically, about his tattoos.

"I know this is a bird," I chuckle, holding his right hand. "But why?"

"It is a bird," he smiles, and I can tell he's trying not to laugh at me. "It's a Swallow. Sailors would always get one before they went out to sea. It was like their promise to make it back."

"That..." I breathe, shaking my head as he moves to thread his fingers through mine. "That's so sweet. That's your promise to always come back home."

He nods, holding up his other hand to show off a little elephant on the inside of his middle finger. "I got this one with my mom."

"Awww," I pause, studying the dainty tattoo. "That's adorable."

"And then this one," he lets go of my hand, so he can stretch his arm out, showing a piece on his forearm. "This is a guitar reflected on a lake, with the skyline of Toronto, and then a soundwave of my parents saying, 'I love you.'"

I stare at him in shock. The amount of thought that goes into the tattoos he has, even if some are as small as the elephant, is breathtaking. He's really serious about it, which just makes them even more amazing.

"Did you design it?"

"Yeah, yeah, I did," he runs his fingers over the guitar, smiling softly. "I thought about it for years before I actually got it. I didn't want my first one to have no meaning, you know?"

I nod, but then I shake my head. "I've never gotten a tattoo, but I get it."

"Have you ever thought about getting one?"

"Oh, many times," I chuckle, giving him a serious look. "But I have an issue with that type of commitment."

He laughs, which is good, it was meant to be funny, but only partially. It is true, on the lighter side, because I have always had an issue with being able to choose what exactly to put on my body that I won't wake up one day and regret. And on the heavier side, it couldn't be truer. Look at what I do for a living for Christ's sake. Commitment is not something I'm skilled at.

"If you were going to get one though, what would you get?"

It doesn't take long for me to answer. Because I have thought about it. "The outline of the mountains," I pause, smirking at his confused face. "We used to go camping a lot when I was younger. The mountains are my safe space – a home away from home, basically." I haven't been in years, though. I miss it.

"See," he nudges my arm. "That would be a good one."

"I guess," I breathe. "Maybe I'll get it one day."

"I'll go with you," he smiles. "It's a lot less scary to have someone who's gotten one before there with you."

"Is it?" I try not to grin, teasing him. "Or do you just want to come with?"

"I just wanna come with."

"Then you can come with," I laugh. "All you have to do is ask."

"Okay," he smiles, reaching to grab my hand again, this time threading our fingers together and kissing the back of my hand. "I'll keep that in mind."

This lull in our conversations, where there's nothing else really I can reply with – he renders me speechless a lot – has been happening more frequently. Especially in the last two days leading up to today, where we haven't had much to do. Today he has the dress rehearsal for James Corden's show, and then the actual show taping closer to the evening, but this will be the busiest day he's had in the past two days.