#yo.... ill work through the inbox tonight i think

[marlahey]

we stumbled in the dark; i knew we’d be alright (part three)

a shawn mendes rpf fic rating/warnings: standard teen language; references children and illness (sorry this keeps going to sad places) misc notes: thank you so much for all the love – I have never gained so many followers in such a short amount of time! please reblog/drop in my inbox/tag any reactions with wsitd. any feedback is really loved and appreciated. I have a paper due this week, so have a super long update to tide you over.  and because I want to know if anyone actually reads these notes; a question with no context: ‘queen’ or ‘champagne birthday’? also how much does everyone love the new album? I can’t stop listening to it. (previously; start at part one here)

lisbon; now Shawn’s a little superstitious when it comes to new venues.

He’d deny it up and down out loud, but you’ve now spent enough time in his company to know the truth. You have to carefully avoid laughing while he places a worn pick in the exact centre of B stage, or getting distracted when he always hums Life Of The Party with his acoustic before any other song, his feet dangling off the edge while he waits for the crew to finish setup. “Is that even on the setlist?” you ask, though you know the answer: of course it is. 

Shawn’s smile is a little rueful as he scrubs a hand through his hair. “I just want to remind myself to remember, you know? Where I started.” You throw your arms out in the cavernous arena. “You mean you didn’t spend your childhood in concrete stadiums made to seat twenty thousand people?” There is a particular kind of joy you get in making Shawn laugh that hasn’t really faded over time, though it’s less of a surprised pinch in your stomach than a warm glow, now. He shakes his head a little, his you’re ridiculous face. “Nah, can’t say I did. Pickering was missing out.” You let your grin spin out as you do a little circle there in front of him at the floor edge of the stage, on the other side of the metal grate. It’s just high enough that you’d have to stretch your arm to touch him, if you wanted. “I can see why you love it.” “Is it big enough for you?” Shawn asks, and you stop, confused. You find him on his feet, leaning down towards you with his hand outstretched. You know he’s strong enough to pull you onto the stage; you’re a little more doubtful of your own ability to balance on the only foothold available: the barrier. “C’mon El, I won’t let you fall.” The trust me is implicit; you can see the question in Shawn’s eyes, behind his grin. All you can do is dig your foot between the pipes and take his hand, and pretend that it’s Shawn hauling you across two feet of empty space that caused your stomach to summersault a little. It’s further than probably either of you realized; you land unsteady on your feet and then Shawn’s hands are there, on your waist, keeping you upright. His necklace clangs against your forehead while your nose presses into his sternum. Your heart is hammering a little unsteady in your ears. At least, you think that’s yours. “You’re lucky,” you mutter, uncurling your fingers from his shirt. “Ava would have killed us both.” Shawn exhales against your hair, a faint laugh. You remember the flight and pull back as normally as possible. “What were you saying before? Big enough?” He blinks, and then his smile is wide and familiar and you’re sure you imagined something off in his face. Shawn steers you by the shoulers to face out from the stage, right at centre. There’s already a white x of tape at your feet to mark where the mike stand is meant to go. “This,” he says, and you follow the line of his gesturing hand out to the sea of empty seats. “Everything the light touches is our kingdom?” you ask, just to make him laugh again. “Not unless you think Queen is about you,” Shawn says. “And I wouldn’t let you sully Mufasa’s reputation with such a lie.” You wince and you’re suddenly glad he’s still looking out and not at your face. There’s a memory there you’ve tried to forget. “No, just hang on. Stay here.” His hands leave your shoulders as Shawn hops off the stage with infuriating ease and vaults over the barrier. “Show off!” you call after him, and from here you can see his shoulders shake a little. Shawn turns around in the centre of the standing floor. Even in the middle of nothing, or even in the middle of everything, you’d always be able to find him. It’s a fact you’ve resolved never to examine too closely.  “What do you think?” Shawn asks, looking amused that you still have no idea what he’s talking about. But you indulge him anyway, pulling your eyes away from him to properly look around. Alone, the arena feels even more massive than before. You think back to that first concert in Ottawa, crammed up against Ava and hundreds of other bodies. Though you’ve traveled across two countries with Shawn doing exactly this, you’ll never know what it’s like to throw your voice out and have twenty thousand people send theirs back. “It’s huge,” you tell him, as if it weren’t obvious. “Sometimes I still can’t believe you do this every night.” Shawn’s smile is that pleased, humble one. Fondness for him wraps around your ribs. Shawn lopes forward, draping his arms over the grate and leaning forward to speak as though you’re the pop star. It’s a strange thought. “In Montreal,” he says, “You told me that you like to visit places places that make you feel small. Like the ocean.” His lips lift in a teasing smirk. “Well, smaller.” You’re so busy wracking your brain that you don’t even respond to the dig at your height. “Montreal? But we won’t go there till…” You trail off. “You mean, Montreal almost two years ago?” “You don’t remember?” Shawn’s tilted his head, looking up at you in vague disbelief. “On the bus, before the show.” “I do,” you assure him. You have to grapple with the truth of what you’re about to say. “I just...I had no idea you did.” God, is that horrible? But Shawn doesn’t look upset. “Wasn’t that like, the day after we met?” You have to make a joke before a carefully controlled part of you freaks out. “I can barely remember what we ate yesterday.” It’s that you’re ridiculous face again. “Tims. I think your exact words were, timbits are a Canadian institution and if you don’t eat this, you’re no longer allowed to tell people that’s Toronto’s skyline on your arm.” It’s been a while since Shawn’s made you flush in embarrassment and endearment at the same time. You cross your arms, feeling petulant and silly. “I stand by that statement. We were about to leave the country for four months! I even gave you the last chocolate one. I can’t believe you almost gave it up.” “Yeah, and there was only jelly-filled left.” “You hate jelly-filled,” you remind him. Two can play the memory game. “So do you, Lenny.” Ava’s nickname, even teasing, is so strange coming from his mouth. This stalemate is a lot more loaded than a conversation about timbits ought to be, in your opinion. But Shawn is clearly trying not to laugh and you’re losing the fight against a smile. “Let’s go you two!” Mike barks from offstage. “If you think I’m setting up all this equipment by myself you’ve got another thing coming.” “Duty calls,” you say. The moment is broken and you can’t decide if you’re disappointed or relieved. “Shouldn’t you be rehearsing, superstar?” Shawn makes a face. “You know I hate it when you call me that.” You just smirk at him. “Fair’s fair.”

toronto; then Hannah: So I have a surprise for you.  You: Ooh tell me. The tour left Montreal at sometime past midnight, arriving at a Toronto hotel at dawn. You and tech crew fall into bed to sleep for a few more hours while Shawn and Ava rise for an early morning interview. They pick you up in the tour bus and all you can think about is how this might be the last time you ever get to see it. Hannah wants to FaceTime. Slide to answer.  You scramble up from your bunk so fast you nearly hit your head. There’s only another few seconds to figure out if there’s anything revealing in the frame; thankfully it’s your phone instead of your laptop and only a blank section of wall is visible.  You can see Shawn on the couch on the far side of the bus, earbuds in, engrossed in his journal. You scramble to plug your own headphones in. You should be fine. Hannah’s smile is suspiciously normal, though her eyes give her away. 

“You know, I still can’t believe you got to bail on the last few days of school.” “I wouldn’t call getting an ear infection bailing, but fine.” You feel badly lying to your best friend, but it was Ava’s first condition: no one can know.  “Where are you?” Hannah asks, peering into her screen. You try not shift uncomfortably.  “Doctor’s office. Just getting the all clear.”  “Good timing.” She’s just bursting at the seams to tell you something, but you can’t help a coil of dread that twists in your stomach. “So you know who’s playing the Air Canada Centre tonight?” He’s like three feet from me. “No,” you say, feigning ignorance. “Who?” “Shawn Mendes, idiot! Remember, that guy you’re always trying to get me to listen to?”  “You–” You can barely choke out the words. “You have tickets to Shawn Mendes?” You don’t mean for your voice to crack – or project – like it does. Ava’s head jerks up from her desk right across the bunks. Paul, Shawn’s personal security, winces. Shawn’s pulled his headphones off with that classic, I just heard my name? look on his face. You clamp your hand over your mouth, which thankfully Hannah just takes as shock. Which it is. “Surprise! I’ve been dying of boredom since you’ve been gone so I finally just sat down and Youtubed him. He’s amazing! My mom got last minute tickets at her work in a raffle. The seats are shit but...”  Ava’s eyebrows are shouting at you, get off the phone and Shawn’s getting up. This whole thing is too hilarious; you can barely suppress panicked laughter. “Han, I’m sorry they’re calling me in. I have to go!”  “Okay, good luck! I’ll call you later with the details and we can meet there!”  You drop your phone.  “What,” you hiss, “the fuck?”  “Language,” your sister says, more automatically than with actual disciplinary intention. Shawn snorts a laugh. The absurdity gives way to horror. You bury your head in your hands and groan. “This can’t be happening.” Andrew is surely going to kick you off the tour for this.  “Don’t panic.” Ava clearly doesn’t share your concerns as she taps away at her phone. “Worse case scenario, you go to the concert with Hannah and then you go straight to her house from there. Saves me from having to drop you off.” No one says it, and you can’t either: the Winnipeg stop.  “At least the seats are awful.” You finally look at Shawn, and then wince. “No offence. I mean, it’ll be amazing from wherever.”  He laughs. “You’re trying to save this and it’s not working.” You exhale. “I’m just glad she doesn’t have a meet and greet package. Pretending I haven’t seen you live before is one thing. I don’t know if I’ll be able to fake having never met.” Shawn recoils dramatically. “Are you doubting my acting abilities?” It’s your turn to snort. Even though it’s only been a few days, the thought of missing him is an ache, so deep and wide you have to push yourself away from its edge. Please don’t let this be the last time I see you.   The bus pulls into the Air Canada Centre. You can’t move. As if on cue, Ava’s phone rings. “Oh Mrs. Marshall, so nice to hear from you! Mhmm, yes she’s feeling a lot better now.” Your sister sticks her head out the doors, and then nods at Paul.  “Ready you two?” he asks, and it occurs to you – like it had the first night you met Paul – that he could probably very easily haul you anywhere, whether you were ready or not. But as it stands, you sling your purse over your shoulder and nod. Keeping up with the strides of your bee-lining sister and two men who clear six feet isn’t easy, but there are no frenzied screams. You’re safe. “Of course, Elle would love to have dinner with Hannah before the show. I can just drop her off– oh yes, that’s perfect.” Ava ignores your attempts to disaster wave as everyone troops behind her through the arena. “She’ll see you at six. Great. Bye!” At your affronted expression, your sister rolls her eyes. “You’ll survive. But you’ll definitely need to change – you’re going to a concert, not the farmer’s market.” “My avocado shirt resents that!”  Shawn is smiling like he’s trying not to. “It’s a great shirt.” “See?” You gesture at Shawn and force down a blush.��“The pop star approves.” “The pop star,” Ava says, pointing you both into the dressing room in the next hall, “wore khakis and Vans until Serena sorted out his wardrobe.” You and Shawn look at each other. You can’t decide whether or not you’re allowed to laugh, until Paul intones, “You’re gonna need some ice for that burn, kid.” Twenty-five minutes later, you’re in the room adjacent to Shawn’s, wearing the only dress in your poorly packed emergency travel bag, your sister’s leather jacket, a hasty smokey eye and lip gloss, and are trying (and failing) to fasten a third bracelet with your left hand.  “Need help?”  You whirl around to find Shawn, clearly ready. His hair is shinier, the curl slick, dark skinny jeans paired with a grey button down, rolled up to reveal his guitar tattoo and his watch. You have to blink to reconcile him with the Shawn from an hour ago, slouched in a hoodie into which he burrowed like a turtle. He blinks, like he’s doing the same.  Embarrassment feels like a default reaction at this point. “Um, yes. Please.” You meet in the centre of the room and you hand Shawn the small string of black marbles, holding out your wrist. “Thanks.” “Don’t thank me yet,” Shawn says. His fingers are warm on your skin in the room that is just a touch cold. Do not be weird. All you can smell is his cologne. The clasp doesn’t click at first; he swears under his breath and your stomach jumps. “Language,” you half-whisper, desperate to be rid of the butterflies. Shawn’s silent laugh shakes his shoulders. The marbles clink together.  “God El,” he mutters. “Stop that. This is precision work we’re trying to accomplish here.”  No one’s condensed the name you buried with your parents into one syllable before. Shawn finally manages the bracelet; for a moment he doesn't move and you take it to admire his swallow again. You wonder if it always looks like it’s in flight, if that’s why he put it on his hand, so it’s always in motion.  You want to ask him how you find home without a place, when most of the people who make up your home are gone.  “I’m amazing.” Shawn’s victorious grin as he steps back is so ridiculous you can’t help but smile back. “I should just call it a night right now.” “Please don’t,” you say. “Hannah would never forgive me for introducing her to your music if you bailed.” You pick up your bag and point at him. “And yes, I introduced her to you. Don’t let it go to your head.” You have no idea where all this sudden confidence is coming from. Maybe it’s just all the energy you’ve amassed from being stuck on a bus and in dressing rooms for hours at a time. Maybe it’s delayed reaction from the fact that you’ve just spent the last four days with one of the most famous teens in the world and you haven’t made a complete idiot of yourself. Or maybe, he’s as real of a person as you never let yourself believe before.  There’s so much you wish you could say to him, because this might be your last chance, but you can hear Ava’s shoes from down the hall.  “Thank you Shawn.” You can only smile and hope that’s enough.  “Wait, El–” He stops. “That’s okay, right?” You shake your wrist. The bracelet holds. You hold it up, but Shawn shakes his head. “I mean– El. It’s okay I call you that?” Your heart’s doing something strange inside your chest. “Of course it is.” You’re suddenly torn between laughing and crying. His smile is so wide it’s hard to take in all at once. “I’ll see you soon,” Shawn says, like he’s certain. You flash back to Ottawa. The gaping space without him is open beneath your feet. “Have fun.” Ava is making a we gotta go wave at you. So you let her pull you out of the doorway, and even though your last glance at Shawn is of him smiling, you pretend that that the look in his eyes is because he’s sad to see you go. * You meet Hannah on the steps of the arena. By some miracle you make it through dinner without falling apart and confessing to this whole wild charade. Security is tighter than you’ve ever seen at an event here; parents stick close to their merch-covered kids and teens and your heart aches a little. Hannah clutches at your arm, chattering in your ear. “I think my favourite is Ruin–” “Excuse me, girls?” You both turn to find a middle aged woman hand in hand with a little girl, who has two tiny clear tubes extended from her My Little Pony backpack to wrap around her face and nose. You jerk your eyes back up to the mother, afraid you’re staring.  “Clara and I had special passes to meet Shawn before the show but I’m afraid we can’t stay. Would you like them? We’re not–“ The woman’s smile wavers a little. “We’re not feeling too well. You can have our seats as well, if you’d like to be closer to the front?” You recognize the look on Clara’s face. She’s distraught, but clearly holding it together for her mother. You remember being close to her age. You remember seeing that face in the mirror. Your throat feels so tight that at first, you can’t speak. “Oh no,” you start, “We couldn’t–“ “Thank you so much!” If Hannah can read your horrified glare, she ignores it in favour of grinning brightly at the woman and accepting the pass from around her neck. Clara silently holds out hers to you; her nails are sparkling. You’ve never wanted anything less in your life. You’d never be able to look Shawn in the eye again. “What’s your name sweetheart?” Clara’s mother takes her daughter’s pass, pulling the card from its plastic case. She's looking at you expectantly, but there’s something soft in her eyes, a kind of motherly understanding, as though she can see how awful you feel.  “Ellie,” you manage. The woman just nods, scrawling something in pen on the back of the pass. She takes Hannah’s and does the same.  “There you go,” she says. You take yours automatically. “Just in case they give you any trouble at the doors.” Her expression is resigned, as though this is the best she can make of whatever situation she’s been given, but her sincere smile crinkles the corners of her eyes. You’re so ashamed of yourself that you can barely keep her gaze. “The tickets are in there too. Have fun, okay?”  “Thank you!” You stare at Clara’s backpack until she and her mom are swallowed by the crowd. “Oh my god Ellie can you believe–” “We shouldn’t have done that.” You’re a lot calmer than you thought. There’s a deeper, angrier reaction somewhere further down, but you can’t bring yourself to have a full blown fight with your best friend in the middle of a concert venue. “Han, they–” “They weren’t gonna use them! You heard her, Ellie. You were seriously ready to pass up an actual meet and greet with Shawn Mendes?”  You open your mouth, but Hannah has clearly had enough of this conversation, and turns her attention to the pass. “Oh my god, we only have ten minutes to get there! God, where are we supposed to be?” While Hannah flags down a passing security guard, you force yourself to take a deep breath. And another. Don’t deprive her of this chance just because you can’t bear the thought of seeing Shawn again. But that’s only the reason you’re using to coax your feet to follow your best friend; you can’t help but think that Clara deserves this more. You recognize the guard at the top of the dressing room hall, where a barrier’s gone up and teens and parents line up and peer down towards the room you left Shawn in not two hours ago. Your heart hammers, harder even than it did when you first met. Cameron’s eyebrows furrow as the other guard explains the pass swap; you make as subtle of a wave at Hannah and an I’m sorry as you can.  Cameron looks from you to Hannah, who eagerly thrusts her pass at him while the two girls Shawn’s just seen, flushed and giggling, make their way back up the corridor. You can see Paul now, standing outside the dressing room door. Cameron lets the other girls back through the barrier towards the main concourse hall. “Okay, go ahead you two.” Your steps feel like lead. Hannah is squeezing your arm so tightly it almost hurts. Paul’s surprise is – like most of Paul’s on duty expressions – almost imperceptible, but it’s too late for any sort of communication, because you’re in the doorway and Hannah’s practically pushed you ahead of her into the room.  Shawn looks up; some irrational part of your brain screams at you to run. You have no idea what you look like, but you feel trapped. You’re sure this is it. Hannah is going to find you out and everything will be ruined. Until he smiles, stands, and turns first to her instead of you. “Hi.” Hannah is very rarely speechless. Some distantly vindictive part of you is strangely smug to see her this way. “Oh my god, hi.” She goes to hug him and you look away instinctively, flipping over your platinum pass as Hannah proceeds to find her voice and explain her mother, the raffle and–  Plat pass for Ellie. Don’t let go of that big heart. – Alice  

“I just love your music so much.” “Oh thank you! That’s so sweet.” “I’m Hannah, by the way.”  “Hi Hannah, it’s so nice to meet you.”  Your best friend giggles – the kind of giggling she flirts with. Your stomach turns. “Someone just gave us their passes! Her daughter was sick. I still can’t believe it.” You can tell without having to lift your head that Shawn’s looking at you. Can he see your hand shaking? Can he see your guilt? The truth of what you’ve done slams back into your ribcage; Clara’s determinedly okay expression is burned behind your eyes. It’s hard to tell in the moment that if your secret didn’t entirely depend on your ability to fake enthusiasm, that if Hannah wasn’t standing right there, if you’d have let yourself cry.  You can’t remember the last time you cried.  You really need to stop letting the almosts be with him. “I’m excited for the show,” you blurt, grasping at the memory of Ottawa to keep you grounded. Shawn’s eyes are searching for something in your face. You can’t tell which one of you is currently worse at this ‘we’ve never met’ game. Panic squeezes in your chest.  Just keep pretending. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”  “I’m definitely real,” Shawn says, smiling not quite the way he had four days ago. From outside, Paul tosses a quick, perfunctory wave into the room. Time’s up. Shawn nods, but looks back at you. “I can even prove it.” Here at last is something you don’t have to fake. You’re not sure what to blame on the innocuous fact that you’ve never hugged Shawn. Both Ava’s sisterly concern and Andrew’s constant watchfulness flash through your mind. But you don’t have time to overthink it, stretching into the space Shawn leaves as he bends down to meet you. His cologne’s gone softer against all the perfumes and deodorants of everyone he’s probably already hugged tonight, but you can still catch traces of it. You want to close your eyes and squeeze a goodbye around his ribs, but you don’t. Shawn’s arms reach nearly all the way round your back and your waist; his hands slide down your elbows, dropping from your wrists as he pulls back. The marbles of your bracelet clink and go silent.  “Have a great time, guys.” Shawn’s smile sweeps from you to Hannah and it’s almost a relief. “Thank you for coming.” “Bye!” Hannah waves, her hand clamping around your arm like a vice, and you’re being dragged away from Shawn for a second time. You don’t look up to see his face. Hannah is practically vibrating beside you. She skips forward, hopping through the open metal barrier, but it swings shut before you can follow. “I’m sorry miss,” Cameron says when you gape up at him, his lips twitching on the last word. He has his hand to his earpiece. “I’m told you dropped something in the dressing room?”   Your face flames as people gawk. You hurriedly pat yourself down – bag, phone, rings– “I’m sorry, I don’t–” You don’t know he’s talking about, but Cameron just nods down towards Paul, who is beckoning you back. You’re tempted to bolt back to him just to escape the particular awfulness of public humiliation, but you manage a fast walk instead.  Paul just points into the room. “You have thirty seconds, Shawn.” Your eyes dart around: his jacket, his guitar, a water bottle. When they finally land on Shawn, you can only stare as he holds up your marble bracelet.  “How–” “I saw that look on your face,” he says. Now that you’re alone, you allow yourself to really look at him. It seems like concern in his gaze, almost urgent in its openness, but there no time to process it. “When Hannah said someone gave you those passes. I just–” Shawn’s mouth twists, a shadow of regret, as though he wants to say more. “I saw it.” Well that answers that question. “I didn't want them,” you blurt, feeling helpless against fear of his judgement.   ”Do you know her name?” Shawn asks, and you’re too dumbfounded to pull away when he reaches for your wrist and returns your bracelet. “The girl?” 

“Clara.” Shame presses tears into your eyes. You blink and blink and none fall. “She’s so little,” You say in a rush. “She had oxygen. Shawn, I–” “It’s okay, El.” He hasn’t let go of you yet. You don’t want to look at him, but you’re still powerless against his pull. You see the same soft smile from that very first night, when he was close enough to touch. “It’s okay.” “Time to go,” Paul says. You turn to leave; Shawn’s fingers catch on yours as he drops your hand. Paul looks down at you, his face seemingly as impassive as ever.  “Deep breath now, little one.” You force it. You can see clearly again. Paul nods, and you follow in his shadow back to Hannah, and hold up your wrist. “My bracelet fell off,” you tell her, loud enough that it’s audible to the girls still staring with something like vague suspicion in their eyes. “He just helped me get it back on.” It’s only a half lie. At least, you’re fairly certain.  Your best friend makes a noise that can only be described as a squeal. “God he is so sweet!” You move through most of the night on autopilot. It’s probably a credit to Shawn’s showmanship that you can, at least for a while, forget whose seats you occupy in the 100 section of the arena. After TNHMB, Shawn riffs a little on his guitar while the crowd waits with baited breath.  “So I’ve already met a ton of really amazing people tonight.” Hannah squeezes your hand as she screams. “But my team let me know that there was someone super special whose been in the hospital lately, and who really wanted to be here but couldn’t make it.” Your heart leaps up to your throat.  “And I thought, because Toronto has to be one of the most amazing cities in the world–” Shawn smiles when the crowd drowns him out. “We might all send this little girl some love.” He waits for the screaming to die down. “So Toronto, if you have a cellphone light, please pull it out. Clara, I don’t know if you’ll see this, but this is Never Be Alone, and it’s for you.” The tears make it hard to sing.  You’ve never asked Shawn about this, in the weeks and months since. No video recording captured it with clarity, but some people are sure that in the final measures of the song, as Shawn pulled out his earpiece and listened as he did every night, that there were tears in his eyes, too. * Four days later, you lay on your stomach on Hannah’s bed while her iTunes shuffles in the background. You’ve successfully stopped flinching every time Shawn’s voice floated through the speakers. Ava had dropped your bag off with a hug and an, “I’ll let you know.”  It’s half a fear of being annoying and half a fear of confirming your own disappointment that keeps you from texting her at all.  “Oh my god!” Hannah’s shriek nearly makes you drop your phone. “Look!”  She shoves her own phone under your nose. It takes a minute, but eventually you realize you’re looking at Shawn’s instagram story, where Hannah’s thumb has paused on a still of Shawn’s feet walking through a pristine white hall. surprising someone special!  She clicks forward; your hand flies to your mouth at the sight of Clara, looking even tinier than she had the night of the concert, sitting up in bed. Her shock and her tears as Shawn walks into her room, someone else recording now, takes your breath away. “I’m so jealous of this girl,” Hannah says. “Can you imagine getting to meet Shawn by yourself?” “She’s in the hospital, Han.” “I’d put myself in the hospital if I got to meet him.” Thankfully your phone chimes then, saving you from having to come up with a reply. Ava: Get somewhere private. Calling in two minutes.  Is it possible to have a nerves induced heart attack? “Ava’s calling,” you say, lurching to your feet. “I’ll be right back.” Hannah lifts her hand in a wave, engrossed in her phone again. You dash into the hall, down the stairs, and out the back door to the backyard, forcing yourself to sit on the steps of her deck.  Ava wants to FaceTime. Slide to answer.  You have to close your eyes for a moment before you accept. But it isn’t Ava’s face that focuses into view: it’s Shawn. Your mouth falls open as you look frantically around the yard, as if anyone else were here besides the squirrels squabbling on the back fence. You look back. He’s still there.  “Shawn?” It comes out a little squeakier than you’d have hoped. His grin stretches from ear to ear.  “El, hey! Busy?”  “Um, no?” You don’t have time to untangle your wilting, half-up bedroom hair. You don't even know if you can hold your phone up without shaking.  “Someone wanted to say hello,” Shawn says. You catch the blur of a white room as he passes the phone to someone else. Alice, leaning down to get her daughter in the frame, just smiles as you clamp your hand over your mouth.  “Hi, sweetheart.” Clara waves and you return the gesture with a trembling hand.   “That was a really wonderful thing you did,” Alice says, her eyes bright. “We just wanted to say thank you. It means so much to us. ” “Shawn did all the work,” you croak. “I’m a terrible singer.”  Clara giggles. You think you hear Shawn laughing just beyond the screen.  “Still,” Alice’s smile is fond. “He’s even better for having people like you in his life.” “Thank you,” you whisper, because you don’t know what else to say.  “I’ll pass you back now. Say goodbye to Ellie, Clara.” “Bye!”  You don’t even realize you’re crying until you can’t see them anymore.  “Oh no, El–” You wipe frantically at your eyes to find Shawn’s mouth downturned, his eyes apologetic. “I’m sorry, I never wanted you to–” “No!” You shake your head and let out a disbelieving laugh. “No, Shawn. Please, I’m fine. I’m better than fine. Thank you for this.” You try to push your reassurance through the screen. “You just made my whole week.” Shawn’s relieved smile makes your heart stutter. This boy is seriously going to give you a heart attack. “Good. I have a question, before I go. Av looks like she’s going to rip her phone out of my hand.” You snort. “Classic Ava.” Shawn glances off camera, and then back. He makes a face like he’s trying to be serious, and failing. “Do you have a raincoat?” The question takes a second to compute. “Do I have–? Um, yes?” You don’t know why it comes out like a question. Fucking hell, Ellie. “I have a raincoat.”  His grin fills your tiny screen. “Make sure you bring it to Seattle.” (part four)