Shawn Mendes Imagines

"What If I'm Not Okay?" (Sad)

THESE IMAGINES ARE NOT MINE!!! I JUST EDITED THEM A LITTLE!!

"You were like a dream. You never came true."

🥳🥳🥳

It'd been the third night this week he's come home with a slumped posture, lips pursed downwards and red-rimmed eyes. His hair was pushed back messily with a pair of old sunglasses, often jostled by his constant sniffling.

Y/N was worried about his mental health, his wellbeing. She'd spent the first night holding him to her chest, thumb stroking the skin barely masking the thumping beat of his heart. Her left leg was pushed between the both of his, soft bare skin caressing his as she rubbed his foot with hers.

He hadn't said a word that night, but she knew he appreciated the gentle touch enveloping his tense frame, the warmth of her breath hitting his neck whenever she exhaled. Long curls would tickle her nose and forehead as she encased his body in her arms but she couldn't, and wouldn't even utter a word of complaint.

They stayed wrapped up in one and other, neither of them speaking and neither of them needing to. Their presence was enough.

On the second night, she'd drifted off to sleep while revising for a final exam; he'd entered the room and wordlessly tugged apart her arms, burrowing himself between them. Hot tears rushed against her skin as he cried, the sudden wetness yanking her from her unconscious state.

One shocked look at his screwed up face and gaping mouth was all it took for her to usher him closer, tighten her grip around him and thumb away the rivets gushing down his cheeks

"Oh, Baby," she soothed, sponging affectionate kissed all over his soaked dimples and cheekbones. His neck arched, desperately nuzzling his face in her chest to seek as much comfort as possible.

"You're going to be okay, I promise," frantic fingers combed through his thick hair, tilting his head up to press a firm kiss to his forehead. "I love you."

"What if I'm not okay?" His body twisted so he was hovering over hers, trembling hands sliding up her torso to grasp her face. Despair was so clear in his pained, glassy eyes, feverishly searching hers for any form of reassurance. "W-What if this ends up fucking breaking me into pathetic pieces?"

"I would love every little piece of you."

Parted lips sucked in a ragged breath, puffing outwards as he shakily sighed. "Please don't ever leave me. I don't know what I'd do if you did."

"Of course." Y/N threaded her fingers through the hair at the back of his head, encouraging him back to her chest. He obliged, slumping against her soft flesh and fluttering his swollen eyes closed.

"Tell me anything," her voice was a mere whisper after he was slowly lulled to sleep. "Anything I can do to help you, and I swear I'll do nothing else."

***

It was the third night. All the lights in the room were switched off, the current luminescent orange glow cast by the array of candles carefully placed around the room. A subtle jasmine scent lingered in the air, creating a cozy, comfortable atmosphere.

Rose petals had been scattered designedly across the mattress, drifting to the white, plumped pillows. The duvet was folded towards the bottom of the bed, leaving the white sheets exposed like a blank canvas.

She fussed with the bottles of oil - jojoba, jasmine, you name it - arranging them in order of which she thought Shawn would lean to the most. Jasmine was first, placed on the right-hand side, simply because she knew he adored the scent.

She didn't have time to deliberate for long, however, as the rattle of keys in the lock caught her attention. She was wearing a black silk robe - not with the intention of seducing him but simply because it was comfortable. Tightening the sash around her waist, she stepped out of their room, shutting the door quietly behind her just as Shawn called her name.