You woke up to clanging in the kitchen and a splitting headache, both forcing a groan to erupt from your throat as your hands found your forehead. The light streaming in through your window didn't help your mild hangover, and you didn't feel much better as memories of Tyler's texts flooded your brain.

Fuck.

"Hey! You okay?" a perky voice called from your doorway. You propped yourself up on your elbows, squinting your eyes in its direction. Shawn leaned against the frame, his upper half bare with a pair of grey sweats hanging low on his hips. Christ. His hands sat gently in his pockets and his necklace rested on his hair-littered chest, a lazy grin stretching across his glowing cheeks.

"What?" you mumbled, attempting to tuck your wild strands behind your ears as he pushed off the wall and sauntered over to your bedside, his smile lifting at the corners of his mouth.

"I heard you waking up, was wondering if you're feeling okay," he giggled, crawling onto your bed uninvited. He was kneeling at your side, arms supporting his body as he looked at you expectantly, waiting to do something.

"Oh, uh, yeah, just a bit rough," you muttered, trying your absolute best to conceal your morning breath.

"Hmmgood," he grinned, releasing his hands from the comforter and collapsing on top of your body, his heavy frame pinning you down in place. You giggled as he laid limp, face buried in your shoulder and limbs sprawled out on either side of you.

"Shawn!" you squealed, squirming beneath him with great failure.

"Mmm?" he mumbled into your neck.

"Shawn, wha-, get up!" you laughed, a surge of happiness igniting within you as you felt him smile against your skin.

"But you're so comfy," he spoke, his voice muffled by your skin.

"Ugh," you groaned in an annoyed tone, "fine, whatever," your smile was hard to contain.

"Comfy and pretty. Especially in the morning," he spoke softly, a warm feeling creeping up your chest. Slowly, your arms swam out from under the blankets and your hands found his hair, twirling the strands around your fingers as you pondered what to say in response.

"What's with the racket you're making in the kitchen?" you asked accusingly but playfully, Shawn finally shifting down your body a bit to expose his face.

"Makin' breakfast," he grinned as his eyes found yours. "Come on, you're getting up."

He shuffled off of you and stood at the edge of your mattress, reaching for your hands to yank you from between the sheets. You groaned in protest, unable to resist his brute strength as you were peeled from your haven of blankets and pillows.

"Shawn, noooo," you whined, his smile ever growing as he rolled his eyes and padded his way back to the kitchen, you following behind sluggishly.

"Pancakes?" he asked as he took a few strides toward the fridge, retrieving the milk pitcher.

"Sounds lovely," you gave a tight-lipped smile. "Need help?"

"If you're feeling up to it," he muttered, "I do 'em from scratch."

You helped him locate all the ingredients from different areas of the kitchen, laying them out on the counter. You reached for an egg, feeling its weight in your palm as you contemplated cracking it on the counter or the edge of the bowl, only to be interrupted by a very boyish expression on Shawn's face.

"What?" you asked, snapping your head up to meet his pouting face. He looked innocent, maybe even a few years younger if it weren't for the bulging muscles and chest hair meeting you at eye-level. Focus.

"Oh, s'nothing," he muttered, "I just, uh, I really like to crack the eggs."

"Oh my god," you giggled, placing the egg down on the counter. "Are you five?"

"Five and a half, actually," he smirked, moving you out of the way by your hips. In the short second that his warm hands were on you, he somehow managed to slip his fingers beneath the hem of your shirt and burn holes into your skin with his touch. You stifled a shiver and stepped out of his way. "My mom always used to let me do it."

Your heart swelled and your cheeks turned rosy, a fuzzy feeling coming over your chest at the thought of a young Shawn being excited to crack the eggs.

"That's," you paused, watching the tendons in his forearms shift as he separated the shell, "adorable."

His smile reached his eyes when he looked up at you. "C'mere," he muttered, stepping back and beckoning you to stand in front of him. Your back was against his front and his arms squared you in, heat from his chest reaching the back of your neck.

"This is how she taught me," he spoke softly, "pick up an egg."

You reached for the closest one, leaning your head back against his shoulder as a way of asking what comes next.

"Instead of using the edge of the counter or the rim of the bowl, just crack it on a flat surface," he spoke, patting the marble countertop with his large hand. "There won't be as much shell-breakage, it's gentler."

You bit your lip as you leaned forward, lightly tapping the egg against the hard surface. Once you felt it collapse a bit, you held it over the bowl and separated the shell. Shawn watched intently as his arms left the counter and wrapped around your middle, pulling you snugly against his warm front. His deep inhale was right in your ear as he took in the scent of your hair, a slight grin spreading across his cheeks as he watched you crack the egg.

"Perfect," he grinned, nuzzling the crook of your neck. "See? No bits of shell."

You paused, unsure of what to do and unsure of if you could move. Separating yourself from him seemed downright impossible, his frame warm and inviting and a fear in the back of your mind of losing the moment being shared. This was dangerous. You wiggled against him, signalling to be let go but he only squeezed you tighter.

"You can do the rest, I'm enjoying this a little too much," he mumbled into your skin, arms crossing over your stomach as you cracked the last couple of eggs.

You turned in his arms, looking up at his features as his grip released and settled on something on the counter. He grinned down at you, nose crinkling a little in front of your eyes and causing you to smile in response. You felt his arms shift behind you, unsure of what he was rummaging through but it didn't matter. Somehow the grin on his mouth and the twinkle in his eyes and the heat of his chest meant more, your teeth unintentionally biting down on your longing pout as you found it impossible to peel your eyes from the pink of his lips.

"Like what you see?" he smirked, raising an eyebrow at you and snapping you out of your trance.

"Wha-, oh, uh, yeah," you nodded, leaning back against the counter to put some distance between your mouths.

"Good, because you have something on your face."

"What?" you asked, attempting to break free of his grasp but failing as his massive hands came up and gently clapped against your cheeks, an explosion of white powder surrounding your head. "Shawn!" you squealed, the smell of flour filling your nostrils. It was all over your cheeks and Shawn was having a giggling fit, his hands covered in the substance.

"I-I'm sorry, I had to," he spoke between chuckles, taking a few steps back with his arms up to signify that he was done.

"Oh, you're so gonna get it," you snarled, turning to the counter and grabbing a handful of flour. He turned on his heel, running for the living room as you caught up to him, both of you laughing hysterically. His sweats were threatening to fall down as he stood in front of the couch, cornered by you and your flour-fingers.

You lunged forward, the backs of his knees hitting the sofa as he fell backward and brought you with him, frantically trying to intercept your hands but you won, emptying your palms into his hair.

"You're a silver fox, Mendes," you laughed, messing up his hair and giggling as flour particles fell onto his bare shoulders.

You felt something against your inner thigh, looking down as you realized that your knees were on either side of him, your body straddling his on the plush couch. Your eyes flickered up to his but he broke his gaze, his head falling back against the cushions as his eyes fluttered shut.

A giggled escaped his lips as he spoke, "I don't even know why I'm hard right now."

You grinned, placing your small hands on his firm chest. He inhaled sharply, feeling your crotch grind against his as you leaned forward, your lips ghosting over his ear. His hands found your hips.

"That's too bad because I'm hungry," you whispered, feeling him shake his head with a grin as you peeled your body from his and stood from the couch, padding your way back into the kitchen to finish up making breakfast. You looked back, watching out of the corner of your eye as he got to his feet, his right hand rearranging the bulge in his grey sweatpants.

You cleaned the counter as he made the pancakes, his shirtlessness making you anxious as he stood in front of the gas stove. You made good time, each of you reaching the kitchen table in unison. Your pile was a lot smaller than Shawn's, a chuckle escaping your lips as you wondered how on earth he was going to eat six fluffy pancakes.

"Don't question it," he spoke, practically reading your mind. "Gotta keep my stamina up somehow," he smirked, turning your cheeks pink. "Know what I was thinking?" he asked, his mouth half-full. His hair was still coated in flour and you were sure there were still patches of it on your face. He looked adorable.

"Mm?" you responded, pouring syrup neatly into one area of your plate.

"I know, like, nothing about you," he stated, reaching for the syrup once you'd finished and slathering his pancakes in it.

"What do you mean?" you asked, angling yourself toward him as you began to eat.

"What I mean is," he paused, swallowing, "I know literally nothing about you. Where are you from? Do you have siblings? Allergies? How do you like your eggs?"

You grinned, setting down your cutlery.

"I don't like eggs," you said softly, crossing your leg under your thigh in your chair.

"See?" he grinned, "This is the shit I need to know."

"Same goes for you, though," you said. "I mean, yeah, I know things about Shawn Mendes. But I don't know much about Shawn."

"I see your point," he nodded blankly, his gaze travelling out the window to the city beneath you. "It's Sunday."

"What?"

"It's Sunday," he reiterated, "That means there's a farmer's market up on Queen. Wanna come with me?"

Your heart leapt, but quickly fell at the realization of what it meant to be seen in public with Shawn Mendes.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" you asked wearily, "What if someone takes pictures?"

"There will definitely be pictures," he nodded, his mouth full again. "But I don't care if you don't."

"What'll they think?" you asked, bitting down on your lip anxiously.

"Does it matter?"

"Hmm," you blinked, thinking. "Guess not."

"Great," he grinned, wiping his hands on a piece of paper towel. "We can go get some stuff to make dinner tonight. Then maybe we can watch a movie?"

"Definitely," you corrected, "we can definitely watch a movie."

Shawn stood across from you in the elevator, seemingly staring into nothing as the box descended to the ground floor. His eyes appeared to be fixed on your shoes but he had a foreign look on his face, as if he were deep in thought. You tilted your head and focused on his features.

Each of his hands gripped the railing he leaned against, his biceps flexing a bit as he supported his weight. His feet were flat on the ground, pointed boots aimed at you. His grey t-shirt was tight around his chest but loose on his middle, dipping a bit where it hung from his relaxed frame. His lips—those lips—were pulled into a tight line, hair falling onto his forehead as he finally blinked, now seeing where he was actually looking.

He tilted his head and his lips curved into a sly grin, "Are those," he paused, "Skechers?"

"Shut up!" you giggled, pointing your toe to get a good look at the sneakers enclosing your small feet. "They're functional."

"They're hilarious," he blinked, crossing his arms over his chest and meeting your gaze with a wide smile.

"They are not," you argued, crossing your arms and swivelling a bit to get a good look at your footwear. "What's wrong with them?"

"They're huge, for one," he chuckled, "they're stark white, as if you're trying to, God, style them or something," you rolled your eyes, "and, you know. They're Skechers."

"I think they're cute," you said flatly, looking away from him to fake your anger.

"You make them kinda cute," he stepped in your direction and turned, now leaning against your wall of the lift. "But they're Skechers. Unforgivable."

"Shawn," you raised an eyebrow, leaning your head against the mirrored wall. "You wear headbands in public and yellow glasses at night."

"Ah ah ah," he pointed a finger at you, "That's so my eyes don't get all messed up from my phone."

"You're aware there's a night-mode, right? It tints the whole screen yellow," you spoke with a half-smile, facing the elevator doors as you approached the main level. You could see Shawn in the mirror, looking dumbfounded as he pulled his phone out of his pocket to discover that his phone did, in fact, have a night option.

Shawn put his sunglasses on as you stepped out of the building, the square frames complementing his chiseled features quite nicely.

"Those look good on you," you mumbled, Shawn eyeing you as he carefully took them off his face and held them out to you.

"Try 'em on," he spoke flatly.

"Oh, I like round ones on myself," you responded, taking them from him and placing them over your eyes.

"They're cute, but yeah, round ones for you," he giggled, taking them and putting them back on.

You laughed with him, following where he seemed to be leading you. The city was less busy than usual, allowing you to walk hip-to-hip rather than single file on the sidewalk. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Shawn insisted on stopping for coffee, to which you enthusiastically agreed.

Once you'd each been given your cold brews, you reached for the door.

"Wait!" Shawn called, placing his stuff down on a table near the exit.

"Wha-at," you muttered in joking annoyance, sauntering over to him and sitting on the edge of a metal chair.

"Gimme your drink," he muttered, tongue snaking out the corner of his mouth as he fished his iPhone out of his tight pocket, "I wanna take a picture."

"Oh my god," you rolled your eyes with a smile, placing your Grande next to his Venti on the table.

He snapped a photo, eyebrows knitting together as he swiped through filters.

"Wait," you stood, pushing up on your tiptoes to have a look at his screen. "That's not for your story, is it?"

"Why not?" he responded, settling on not adding a filter.

"Well, aren't people going to think we're, like, dating?" you asked, biting your fingernail in anticipation.

He looked up from his phone, a blank expression crossing his face. "Are we, like, dating?" he asked bluntly, your cheeks turning a deep flush.

"N-no," you spoke quickly.

"Then what's it matter?" he asked, adding the post to his story and slipping his phone back into his pocket. You shook your head, unsure of why he was being so bold on social media, revealing that he was out with someone. "Fans get really fucking protective," he spoke, slinging his backpack over his shoulders and heading for the door, "But, like, it shouldn't matter, you know? If I'm out with someone or out with someone."

"Yeah, I get that," you nodded, putting a spring into your step to keep up with his gigantic strides. "I just, I wasn't sure if you wanted the headache."

"S'not a headache," he half-grinned, the back of his hand momentarily brushing against yours. You pulled away. "I'm out with my friend."

The street market was busy, vendors lining the sidewalks selling different forms of produce and knick-knacks. Shawn seemed to know his way around, you shadowing his movements as he picked through different types of apples.

"Do you come here often?" you asked, watching the concentrated look on his face as he started putting things in a reusable bag that he seemed to pull out from nowhere.

"Yeah," he nodded, both of you ignoring the stares of passersby. You noticed he kept his sunglasses on.

"What are you thinkin' for dinner?"

"I dunno," he shrugged, "maybe a stir fry or a salad or something. They don't really sell mea-, oh," he stopped, glancing over his shoulder to the small group of girls walking in your direction. "This will only be a second, I'm really sorry," he spoke, handing the bag to you as he broke from the food stand and greeted a few fans.

You couldn't help the smile on your face as you watched him talk to them, everyone's face lighting up with joy. They each got a photo with him and tried for some small talk, lasting a bit until he cut them off.

"Guys, it was so nice meeting you, but I've really gotta get going," he sighed, saying his goodbyes and returning to your side.

"I'm really sorry, I asked them not to post anything for a few hours," he took the bag from you.

"Don't be sorry, that was actually really nice," you grinned, completely in awe of his wholesomeness. This was definitely something to get used to.

"I don't think they noticed you, though, so that's probably good," he said, "We'll see if that keeps up."

The rest of the trip was remotely uneventful, and he only stopped for photos thrice more. You lurked off to the side, trying your best not to watch intently. It would only create unnecessary suspicion for both of you.

"Ready to go home?" Shawn asked, bouncing a bit on the balls of his feet after he'd paid for the fruits and vegetables.

"Yeah, unless there's anywhere else you wanna go," you nodded, tossing your empty Starbucks cup in a nearby garbage can.

"I'm thinking we can limit our next outing to nighttime," he grinned, reaching out to touch your arm as he spoke. "And I'm kinda hungry."

"Already?" you asked with a giggle. "You ate, like, five pancakes this morning."

"Six," he corrected, leading you across the street as the light turned green. "And yes, already."

"Good," you laughed, looking down and then meeting his gaze, "Gotta thicken up those thighs somehow."

"Bet you'd love that," he laughed, both of you trying to hide the blush creeping up one another's cheeks.

"Wouldn't complain," you nodded, your eyes fixed on a small dog across the street.

Dinner was whipped up rather quickly by Shawn, who again, seemed to know what he was doing. He added some leftover chicken to some cooked vegetables, this time failing to make you nervous because he kept his shirt on in the kitchen.

"Get this," you laughed, sitting on a barstool at the kitchen island. He turned to you, listening, as you held your phone up in front of your face. "Shawn Mendes spotted out with mystery girl."

"No," his eyes widened as he smiled, "Where?"

"Twitter moments," you nodded, turning the phone to show him the headline.

"We didn't even, like, interact," he chuckled, turning back to the pan to move its contents around.

"It's because of the Instagram story, I knew this would happen," you spoke, clicking on the topic and scrolling through some the tweets. "Look–there's a picture of you touching my arm. No one seems to be mad, though. Just confused. "

"Yeah, I don't even think I follow you on anything," he laughed, reaching for the salt and grinding some into the sizzling pan. "I should. We can watch them freak the fuck out."

"Shawn, that's mean," you tilted your head, exiting Twitter and locking your phone. "It really is nothing, let's not make it out to be something."

"I'm allowed to follow you. But you're lucky, because dinner's ready and I can't be bothered to go get my phone," he spoke, turning the stove off as you hopped off the seat.

"Fuck, this is good," you mumbled, your legs intertwined with Shawn's as you sat on opposite ends of the couch.

"Not bad, actually," he agreed, reaching for the PlayStation remote. "Movie?"

You nodded, turning to face the television.

"Romcom?" Shawn asked excitedly, a red pepper poking out from between his lips.

"Romcom," you reiterated in affirmation, evening out the strings of your hoodie.

The bottoms of his socked feet rested on your thigh, toes wiggling a bit as he maneuvered to put his plate in his lap to work the controller. It wasn't long before you both agreed on When In Rome, his toes advancing to your lap when the movie started.

About halfway through, each of your empty plates rested on the coffee table in the dark living room. Something was moving back and forth in your lap, shaking you awake. Shawn's feet were digging into your thigh.

"Hey, sleepy," he whispered loudly, "c'mere," he spoke, patting his chest.

"Mm?" you groaned, sitting up a little straighter. "Not sleeping."

"Yes, you were," he smiled, his white teeth basically glowing in the dim light. "Come on, get comfy," he moved to the very back of the couch, laying lengthwise and indicating for you to join him at his end.

"Hm'okay," you muttered, shuffling over to the left side of the sofa where he laid with open arms. "Just for a bit," you giggled, curling up to his side and nuzzling his hard chest with your right cheek.

"For as long as you want," he spoke softly, patting down your hair to get a better view of the television screen. You faced him, enjoying the warmth coming from his firm body as your mind fought sleep, hoping to enjoy this moment for as long as you could.

You focused on the sound of his heart against your ear and the digestive grumbles coming from his stomach, the uniformity of his breathing pulling you into a different state of mind. You nuzzled impossibly closer, slinging your left leg around his middle.

His large hand found your thigh, rubbing small circles over the fabric of your sweatpants. It wasn't foul-intended, though. Tonight, you weren't roommates who hooked up for fun. You were something else. And you weren't sure if that scared you as much as it excited you, but you'd be damned if you weren't going to find out.