After He Asks You Out

                                    

                                          
"He asked me out," you say quietly to your best friend, panicking as she squeals. "Yesterday. I had to pinch myself."
                          
"You're kidding?" she whisper-yells. 
                          
"No! I swear!"
                          
"Well then why are you being all weird? I thought you liked him?" she reasons. 
                          
"I do, it's just... He's Shawn Mendes. He has such a reputation. It wouldn't matter to him if he hurt me somehow."
                          
"Well, it would matter to me. That's why I approve of him, a little. I don't think he's the type of person to intentionally hurt you, Y/N."
                          
"I do," your other best friend chimes in, sliding into the seat across from you. You were in the library and the bell for first block hadn't rang yet, so everyone was just walking around, grazing book spines and whispering to their friends. 
                          
You were really only looking at one person, on the other side of your school's library, by the window. He was sitting on the bench with his legs crossed, phone in hand as he scrolls down the screen. 
                          
God, he was beautiful.
                          
"Hello? Y/N?" your friends wave hands in your face. "Go talk to him."
                          
"He just asked me out yesterday," you roll your eyes. "We haven't even been out on a date or anything."
                          
"Well, go make plans--"
                          
"No, don't make plans," your other best friend interrupts. "Drop him. He's just going to hurt you."
                          
"He is not," you and your best friend say in unison, but then you get nervous, because he might've heard it. You were, as you found out, the loudest group in here. 
                          
You look over at Shawn again, at his focused chocolate brown eyes, matching soft brown hair perfectly fixed into a quiff. His lips were pressed together as he furrows his eyebrows, reading something that required deep thought, you assumed. 
                          
He did look really sweet, like he wouldn't hurt a fly, even by accident. Still, he was Shawn Mendes. You had been crushing on him since seventh grade. He was so far above you on a scale, if he let go of the bar he would have to crush the whole school before landing on you. 
                          
But he settled for you.
                          
You force yourself to look away as soon as he tilts his head up, and you return to the topic that wouldn't seem to drop, arguing back and forth about Shawn until it became a whole new topic; guys in general. 
                          
You were so focused on your conversation, you almost didn't notice a hand suddenly placed on your shoulder. 
                          
You turn around and look up, only to meet Shawn's smiling face, his eyes lit up with energy despite the hour of the day. 
                          
"Hey, Y/N," he exhales. 
                          
"H-Hi," you stutter. "Good morning."
                          
There was a moment of silence before your friends give you a knowing look, jumping up and grabbing their things. 
                          
"We'll see you in third block," one of them mumbles, before giggling and finding a new location where they can spy on you and eavesdrop on the conversation. 
                          
Shawn looks at you. "What were you talking about earlier?"
                          
"Oh, nothing. Just, uh, this book series we all love," you answer. 
                          
"You're blushing."
                          
He eases into the now empty seat across from you, still smiling. 
                          
"No I'm not," you turn away. "What else would we be talking about?"
                          
"Me?" he laughs. "I saw you looking at me."
                          
"You saw that?"
                          
"Y/N," he clears his throat. "I thought we were past this whole, I like you, you like me thing."
                          
"Okay," you sigh. "Okay, we were talking about you." Really, all you could think about was how he just admitted he likes you. You felt like you were in fifth grade again. 
                          
"What about?" he asks. 
                          
"Just.. about how things are going to be between us."
                          
"Oh," he chuckles. "The best friend thing?"
                          
You don't respond, and he bites his lip before reaching across the table and placing his hand on yours. You scream on the inside. 
                          
"Listen, I don't have any plans to cause you any pain," he assures you, his eyes locking on yours. "In fact, that's the last thing I want. I want us to be together, Y/N. I like you, a lot. So please stop looking at me like we come from two totally different worlds."
                          
"I'm sorry," you flush after a long, memorizing pause. "I won't."
                          
"So tomorrow night, when I pick you up to take you out to the movies, I want you wearing those joggers you love and that black cardigan you wear all the time. Whatever you feel good in. You don't need to impress me, Y/N. You already have."
                          
His eyes fix on yours and you couldn't help but smile, and you were totally having a moment where you just looked at each other. And then the bell rang, and students start piling out in groups. 
                          
Shawn just stands up, slings his backpack over his shoulder, and smiles at you. Then he kisses your cheek softly before swiftly walking away.
                          
"You don't have to be afraid of me," he says once he gets to the door. "I promise."
                          
***
                          
hello