#sm3: bologna

[daisychains4]

Can’t Handle You | Chapter 8: Bologna

Can’t Handle You | Masterlist

Warnings: None

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Fair enough, you read from Shawn’s latest note. You had just taken a seat at a tiny bistro table at an adorable coffee shop. Addison was still ordering her usual iced coffee, so you had a moment to peak at this note before she sat down with you.

So… The note continued. Male or female?

You rolled your eyes at the most tragically boring question he could’ve asked you, though you couldn’t help but smile. Shawn was sweet to his core, and it didn’t surprise you in the least that he’d played his first question so safe.

You started to brainstorm a snappy retort, but quickly stuffed the note back into your pocket as Addison squeezed her way between tightly-packed tables to reach you.

“So, what are we doing today?” Addison asked, swirling her iced coffee in its tall cup before taking a sip. She had the look of adventure in her eye, and you hated that you were about to disappoint her. It was a beautiful morning in Bologna, Italy, and a rare free day for Shawn.

You had one obligation that you’d put off in Germany: laundry. Both yours and Shawn’s. Even though you very much wanted to head out for a mani/pedi with Addison after coffee, you were going to run back upstairs, gather all of the laundry, and haul it to the nearest laundromat.

“Laundry first,” you said, wincing when Addison’s audible sigh confirmed your fear that she would be disappointed. “But then I’m all yours!” you said cheerily, hoping she would find it in her heart to forgive you.

“I can’t believe you’re going to waste this beautiful day doing laundry.”

“I know. But I can’t put it off any longer. Shawn’s going to run out of clean shirts and start walking around topless across Europe. We can’t have that.”

“No, that would be such a shame,” Addison laughed with you.

“It might actually start riots in the street,” you giggled. “Can you imagine what the fangirls would do?”

“Can you imagine what I would do?” Addison snorted. “I’d tackle him right in front of Andrew.”

You continued laughing through the rest of your coffee, then parted ways. Addison was off to do some shopping, and you promised you’d catch up to her when you’d finished the task at hand.

You headed back upstairs to your hotel room to grab your duffel bag of dirty clothes, then up quite a few more floors to let yourself into Shawn’s room to grab his laundry.

As you stuffed a bag with everything from the famous black skinny jeans to stinky gym shorts, it struck you that you didn’t know what type of laundry detergent Shawn liked. You doubted he cared about the brand, but did he have a preferred scent?

You reached into his closet and pulled out a clean shirt. You inhaled deeply - fully aware of how creepy this would seem if anyone saw you - and tried to pick a scent out of the fabric. It was no use. The clothes had been in and out of suitcases, and hung up in too many strange places to have maintained that fresh laundry smell. You’d have to work on that.

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Andrew’s phone rang as he followed Shawn down a beautiful Italian street. He was surprised to see your name appear on the screen; he’d given you the day off.

“Hello?” he asked. Shawn turned, as though he’d know who was on the line just by looking back at Andrew. He was quickly distracted by Connor, who was pointing out something he saw across the street. If Shawn had listened for a moment longer, he’d have heard a very confused Andrew ask, “Why do you want Shawn’s mom’s number?”

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As luck would have it, you found a nearly deserted laundromat a quick taxi ride from your hotel. You lugged two large duffel bags of dirty clothes into the facility - getting stuck in the doorway - and set to work along a wall of industrial washing machines.

Since no one else was using the machines, you took full advantage. You sorted all of Shawn’s clothes into four washers before stuffing your own clothes into their own machines. It seemed wasteful to wash your clothes separately when there was more than enough room in the giant washers, but it was far too intimate to wash them together.

When the first washing machine you’d started beeped loudly, you jumped up from the row of hard plastic chairs you’d been sprawled across while you read from a recently downloaded iBook. It was time to prepare your newly-discovered secret weapon: essential oils and cotton washcloths.

Before your trip to the laundromat, you had gotten Shawn’s mom’s number from Andrew (you were still impressed by your own cleverness). Karen was surprised to hear from you - Shawn had never mentioned a crew member by your name - but was as sweet as could be when you told her you wanted to make Shawn feel more at home by using whatever laundry detergent she used.

She’d told you her trick for the freshest-smelling laundry: Dry a couple of clean, wet washcloths dotted with half a dozen drops of essential oil. She said that Shawn’s favorite was lavender. The oil smelled so good that you couldn’t resist using it on your laundry as well.

As you pulled Shawn’s clothes out of one dryer after another, folding them neatly and placing them into your bags, you couldn’t resist hugging them to your chest and inhaling the lavender scent. When you caught yourself doing this on his fourth shirt in a row, you shook your head. “Get it together, (Y/N),” you told yourself. “This is getting weird.”

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Today had been one of Shawn’s best days on tour so far. He’d had the whole day to himself - with the exception, of course, of selfies with any fans he met throughout the day.

He enjoyed walking aimlessly around Bologna, stopping at vendors along the street to taste delicious local foods, sip on craft beer, and lay in the sunshine, watching the locals stroll by.

He returned to his hotel room to change before dinner.

As soon as he opened the door, he smelled it - home.

He couldn’t immediately pinpoint why it smelled like home. He walked into the room, overwhelmed by the scent that greeted him, hoping that maybe, just maybe, his mum would be waiting for him to find her.

“Mum?” Shawn called quietly, feeling foolish (albeit hopeful). No one answered. The room was empty.

Disappointed, Shawn walked into the bathroom to turn on the shower. He came back into the room to pull a clean outfit out of his closet. When he slid open the door, the smell of lavender hit him with even more force. Shawn tentatively pulled a soft sweater from the closet and buried his face in it. With his eyes closed, he could pretend his mum had just handed him a basket of fresh laundry. He pictured her at the bottom of the stairs in his childhood home calling up to him to pick up his sneakers from the floor and take his clean clothes upstairs to put away. She would sound stern, but he would always find her smiling when he came down. He loved being on tour, but he missed home, too.

Shawn returned to the bathroom to shower, now more curious than ever to figure out who was taking such good care of him on the road.

It wasn’t until an hour later, just as he was sitting down to dinner with the boys, that Shawn found a note stuffed into the pocket of his freshly-washed jeans. He pretended to look down at his phone under the edge of the table and read:

I’ll give you this one because it’s the first round (I’m a woman), but you’re going to ruin the fun if you keep asking such obvious questions. Come on, Mendes, give me something I can work with.

Your turn: If everything in your house had to be one color, what color would you choose?

Taglist | @librarianct @5secondsofjade4499

[shawnsmusical]

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[shawnsmusical]

good times ☺️