Professional Publicity Stunt » Shawn Mendes✔️

twenty-two: love me like tomorrow's never gonna come.

While it is normal for me to wake up to full notifications on all of my social media, what isn't normal is for all of those notifications to be pertaining to something of my own.

The insane amount of notifications has only become a normal occurrence since meeting Shawn, too, but still, most of the notifications are his fans, talking about him or us as an item.

Not my own career.

So you can imagine how frightened I am to see all of these notifications and article links sent to my email and through text messages when I wake up.

The cast list is out! Director Andrew Moore's new historical film has all the big names.

A few are general like this, but a few include Shawn. Like an updates page about Shawn and I's (fake) relationship.

Look like Shawn Mendes's mysterious girlfriend is an actress! Click here to see the big film she's starring in.

Shawn stirs, rolling over to face me with a heavy sigh. "What is it?" He asks, voice still completely full of sleep. He sounds a little rough, but he didn't get back to the hotel until two or three. I don't remember.

"Apparently the cast list is out," I tell him, quietly because I know he probably has a headache. He's not old enough to drink here just yet, but I would be lying if I said I think that stops him.

"For the movie?"

"Mhm," I nod, thinking, what else would it be for? "Everyone seems excited."

"Of course they are," he breathes, a little smile crossing his lips. "It's Met Gala day."

"That it is," I sigh, clicking my phone off after telling Sidney I'd call him in a few minutes. "Are you excited?"

"I guess," he shrugs, his arm resting over his eyes. "Are you?"

"Well I'm nervous now," I chuckle, knowing Sidney's call is going to entail a pep talk because interviews questions are probably being prepared as I lay here for when Shawn and I are at the Met Gala. And I know Andrew – this is going to be confusing with Shawn's manager also being named Andrew – sent me an email to look at, which basically has what we can and can't reveal. He hasn't sent any of us the script yet – he said he'll do that after today – so we technically don't know much.

"You're gonna be great," he assures me, reaching over to lace our fingers together. "I'll be right beside you."

"I know," I smile, squeezing his hand. "Should we be getting ready?"

He lifts his arm from his eyes, giving me a look. "Do you ever rest?"

"Yeah—"

"Come here," he interrupts me, patting his chest.

"Shawn."

"Come on."

Deciding to humor him, I let out a breath and scoot closer, molding myself into his side. I lay my head on his chest, right in the perfect spot to listen to his heart beat as his arm tightens around my back.

"I have an alarm set for when we need to get up," he whispers. "Close your eyes."

I don't argue because I know there's no point with him right now. And I'm still tired. I close my eyes, settling into him.

Eighteen days left, my mind screams. But its silenced when Shawn begins singing.

"I promise that one day I'll be around/I'll keep you safe/I'll keep you sound/Right now it's pretty crazy and I don't know how to stop or slow it down/Hey, I know there are some things we need to talk about/but I can't stay/so let me hold you for a little while longer now..."