Shawn Mendes Imagines

Beautiful

T/W: eating issues/body dysmorphia

In which Y/N sometimes forgets how beautiful she really is.

- - - - -

Blinding lights flash around me mercilessly, vying for a split second of my attention with each accompanying shout. Hundreds of people clamber in front of me, shoving microphones and cameras in every direction, no regard for the people they're aiming for. Shawn's strong hand grips my arm carefully as we slowly make our way through the jungle, preventing me from tripping as I stumble on a bunched up part of the stained red carpet. My free hand wraps itself around Shawn who's guiding me, anchoring me as we sail through the chaos.

After an immeasurable amount of time, we emerge into a huge hall bustling with greetings and raucous laughter.  Crimson drapes adorn the walls like blood as they descend dramatically onto the dark carpet. Countless tables fill the venue, all surrounding the show-stopping stage residing in the centre of the room.

My breath catches in my throat as I watch all the beautiful people converse at ease, eager cameras snatching up photos from every angle. Not a hair is out of place on their heads, and they walk as if they have never questioned anything in their lives. 

Somewhere deep inside, I know I'm looking around with rose-tinted glasses, ignoring each little stumble or piece of ripped fabric in favour of scrutinising how I measure up to everyone. Suddenly my hair feels frizzy and my makeup seems too much. I watch as one of the Kardashians flawlessly walk past me in stilettos and curse myself for wearing platforms. The silk dress I had so lovingly picked out weeks ago feels tight against my skin and I try to discreetly pull the fabric as Shawn excitedly leads me towards people he knows, introducing me to everyone with a grin on his face and a squeeze of my hand.

Despite arisen insecurities, with each kind smile and friendly greeting, I relax a little bit more, allowing myself to soak up the feeling of excitement and enjoy the awards show. Without the initial panic, I can appreciate the glamour of the show and the effort that went into its organisation. I clap graciously for those who win awards and sing along to the songs I know, settling for dancing when I don't. And when Shawn wins Album of the Year, I do nothing to hide my pride or love, kissing him fiercely when he turns to me in shock, eyes widened and shiny with unshed tears.

I pretend I don't spend the night drinking water instead of eating the food.

*****

I knew I shouldn't have gone.

I knew I had been naive to think that the world would overlook the girl hanging off of Shawn Mendes' arm.

I knew that the dress was too tight and the makeup too much.

I knew I shouldn't have had lunch that day.

But I went anyway.

Dragging the biggest hoodie I can find over my head, I curl up on the couch with my phone, a cushion on my lap that I cling onto as I immerse myself in each new comment section and scour the internet for articles and pictures.

The comments seem endless. With each new word I discover an insecurity I didn't know I had to have.

No stone is left unturned. Each part of my body and my presence is put under a microscope and picked apart by strangers in a way that leaves me terrified to ever show my face again.

Ever since I met Shawn all those months ago, I have been told to avoid social media, that it will only do more harm than good, that it's too easy to fall into a rabbit hole of spite and hatred. I should've listened.

I don't know how long I sit huddled in the corner of the couch, but the once dark room is now illuminated by golden light. Still, I don't notice the change in time until I hear a door open and then footsteps that stop abruptly in front of me.

"Y/N?"
I don't look up.
"Baby, what's wrong?" Shawn hunches down beside me. He upturns his hand, silently asking if he can touch me.
I shake my head, releasing a sob I didn't realise I'd been holding before clasping my hand over my mouth. Shawn isn't deterred and, respecting my wishes, sits down beside me, leaving a small gap between us. I can't bear to look at him as he gently prises the phone out of my grip and looks at the screen.

"Oh, sweetheart..."
"It's nothing," I say, quickly wiping my streaming tears away.
"This definitely isn't nothing." Shawn swiftly closes all tabs and apps and shuts the phone off, getting up to put it away somewhere before coming back and sitting in front of me on the coffee table, his hands outstretched. This time, I place my hands in his. "You know that all of that is bullshit, right?"
I stiffen but don't reply.
"People are cruel, so cruel. They have nothing better to do with their lives than sit down and rip another person apart. Sometimes it's because they're jealous of that person. Sometimes it's just because they're bored and want trouble." He pauses, lowering his head so his eyes meet my downturned ones. "Can I tell you a secret?" He whispers.
I nod, focusing on the way his thumb rubs back and forth across my hand.
"They're all wrong. You were the most beautiful person in that whole place."
"Shawn," I warn, tightening my hold on his hand.
"No, listen. You were. All those other people, all those celebs, they couldn't hold a candle to you. Do you know how proud I was to be able to call myself your boyfriend last night?  Walking down the red carpet, introducing you to my friends... when you kissed me. I thought my heart was going to explode! I couldn't take my eyes off of you."

He stops for a second, simply watching me. The sun catches his eye and sets the colour alight. Sitting here in front of me, with messy hair and nothing but sweatpants on, he looks ethereal.

"This is going to sound cliché as hell, but it doesn't take away from the truth. You, Y/N Y/L/N, are so beautiful, inside and out. You looked fucking gorgeous last night. Don't laugh - it's true! I found it impossible to not grab you and kiss you every time you looked at me. But you know what? You look just as beautiful, if not more, now. You look like you. And you are so amazing."

I can't stop the tears from flowing as I listen to him ramble on, eyes wide and hands gesturing even as they hold mine. I tug on his hands, pulling up beside me on the couch where he immediately wraps his arms around me, letting me bury my damp face in his neck.

"Who cares about what those internet trolls think? I know their words hurt, I'm not saying you're going to be immune, but try and stay away from them. They'll always be there but if we ignore them they have less power." One of his hands rubs soothingly up and down my back while the other rests at the base of my head.

The muted sounds of early morning traffic are all that can be heard for a time, as we simply sit there holding each other. Through closed eyes I can still see all the hateful comments dancing through my mind, but they're fainter now. I think about what Shawn has told me and, knowing that it won't be easy, vow to learn how to love myself without needing other people's opinions.

But until I can love myself, I can throw all my energy into loving one other person. "Shawn?"
"Mhmm?"
"You're beautiful."
He huffs a laugh but doesn't move. "Thank you."

A few moments pass.

"Y/N?"
"Yeah?"
"You're beautiful too."

- - - - -

This... this is a lot of dialogue.

I know very well how delicate body image is and how easily your view of yourself can be tarnished. You guys are all beautiful. I don't care that I've never met you and I don't know what you look like.

YOU ARE ALL SO BEAUTIFUL. LIKE IMPOSSIBLY BEAUTIFUL. LIVE YOUR LIVES LIKE THE HOT PEOPLE YOU ARE AND DON'T TAKE SHIT FROM ANYONE.

It'll probably be a while until the next update but feel free to request in the meantime.

Thanks for reading xx