Shawn Mendes Imagines

You're My Muse

He rests on the edge of the grey couch, encircled by notebooks and coffee, coffee that isn't strong enough to further fight the void he is feeling or the writer's block he is going through. He gazes at the same few lines scribbled on the white paper, lines that appear to hold no depth or emotion to them, they are nothing but words scribbled in black ink.

Shawn profoundly sighs in an attempt to release the frustration that is building within him, his shoulders and neck are tense. His enthralling, champagne-brown eyes are dreary and want nothing more than to have a good nights rest, his back want nothing more than to sense the comfort of his bed back home, and his arms want nothing more than to welcome the warmth of your body as they wrap around you.

Shawn reaches for his coffee, his third of the evening to be exact, and part of him wishes there was something stronger he could be sipping on, whiskey or bourbon would settle just fine, but to his disappointment, it isn't professional to drink with his surrounding team who are striving to help him with completing his next album.

"Shawn, come on, you've been staring at the same lines for an hour," one of the new songwriters on the team remarks, stating the obvious thing that everyone has been thinking.
Shawn looks over to the group and swallows hard, attempting not to show his resentment.

"Where's your mind, mate? Doesn't seem like you're here," the writer continues and Shawn nods his head.
Shawn is aware his head is somewhere else, his mind is a few hundred miles away and he can't stop himself from thinking about it.
"Do you need a break? We have been at this for a while?" Andrew questions, "I think we all need a break, that might help?" Andrew glances around at the assemblage, essentially focusing his sights on Shawn, "Shawn, we really are on a time crunch, you have to have something ready-"

Shawn cuts Andrew off, "I know, Island records need content from me, I know," Shawn operates his fingers through his hair, frustration crinkling his eyes as he views towards Andrew.

"If you know, then what is the problem? I know you're tired but you've battled through this before, we have this writing space for two more days and we need to have the songs finished by then so we can record in the studio and be finished within the next few weeks. We have deadlines."

"I am aware, Andrew, jump off my back," Shawn murmurs, "I can't... I can't do this," Shawn breathes out, launching his notebook to the table and allowing his pen to slump to the unyielding floor as he leans back on the couch for a moment.

Andrew stares at Shawn and shakes his head in the same manner that Shawn's father would, "No, you don't get to say you can't do this, you don't get to give up easily because shit is hard."

"That is right, shit is hard, Andrew. I constantly have these deadlines, I'm exhausted."

"Okay, well you can go to the hotel and get some sleep and we will kick off tomorrow at seven, the rest will try and think of lines," Andrew endeavours to compromise with his partner, well aware that Shawn can only work for so long before he will ultimately crash and be useless to the team. It has happened before, where Shawn has been so strung out with no sleep that he wasn't a functioning human.

Shawn again shakes his head with a dismal exhalation, "you're not understanding."

"Well, make me understand, what is the problem? You said you're exhausted, it is midnight, so get yourself some sleep." Andrew becomes frustrated.

"Andrew," Shawn laments, "I need to go," Shawn stands to his feet, his hands grasping for his jacket that contains his car keys, "I'm going home," Shawn familiarises Andrew.
"You can't go home, you have an album."

"I'm driving home, I need to sleep in my own bed."

"Shawn-"

"I'm not asking permission, Andrew. I haven't been home in over a month; I need to go home to my fiancée." Shawn states stubbornly, his keys locked securely in his hand as he seizes his jacket and checks his pocket for his phone.