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shawnimaginesarchive · 6 years

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Good as Gold | College!Shawn (Part Three)

Hi friends! So sorry about the wait on this one–school got crazy but I finally found time to write. I’d love to receive feedback, so if you enjoy please drop by my inbox to tell me so! Other than that, here’s 4k of absolute fluff. It starts kinda slow, but stick with it and I promise it gets cute; I’m very proud of this chapter :’)

Here is my masterlist where you can find parts one and two.

When Shawn got out of bed on Sunday morning, two days after the party, it was with a bright energy that was atypical of most college students on weekends. As soon as he threw back the covers, his bare chest contracted as the cool air conditioning hit his skin, and he found himself crossing his arms over his chest as he walked into the bathroom in his room. He raked a hand through his disheveled brown curls and took notice of his flushed cheeks as he caught his reflection in the mirror. After splashing water on his face and throwing on a hoodie for warmth, Shawn ventured into the kitchen in search of some breakfast.

As he came down the stairs of the four-person apartment, gray sweats hung low on his hips, he was met with Brian and Ian occupying two of the three bar stools next to the island, both heads snapping up immediately at the sound of another pair of footsteps meandering in to join them. The two typical early-birds of the household were not used to a third, and this threw them for a loop. It took all of three seconds for the two to notice Shawn’s change in behavior, and to say they were curious would be an understatement.

“Hey man,” Brian said, a tiny smile playing on the corner of his mouth. Shawn simply nodded his head in greeting as he made a beeline for the fridge, grabbing an unopened water bottle and an apple. Dissatisfied with Shawn’s silent acknowledgment, Brian decided to push him further. “What are you doing up before eight? Usually you’re in bed until well after ten on weekends.”

Shawn wandered over to take the empty seat next to Brian, Ian craning his neck to look at him across the counter. Brian and Ian exchanged a perplexed look, which Shawn noticed, but he chose not to care. “Just felt like it,” he shrugged, cracking the top off of his water and taking a long swig.

Of course, this wasn’t entirely the truth. Shawn had gotten Y/N’s number right before she left the party Friday night, and they had been texting most of the following Saturday. That night, she’d had to cut their conversation short because she was scheduled to work at seven Sunday morning and needed to get some sleep. He couldn’t explain why he felt inclined to purposefully wake up significantly earlier than usual on a weekend only to text a girl he’d just met, but yet here he was. There hadn’t even been a long conversation; he’d wished her a good day at work, and she’d replied that perhaps they could meet up when she was off around three o’clock, promising to text him when she was done. Shawn had tried to go back to sleep, but he was too worked up–like some middle school kid. Which is why he found himself in the kitchen of his apartment at seven-thirty on a Sunday morning, for no good reason other than he was completely smitten with an almost-stranger who he had every intention of fully knowing.

“Well, I’m calling bullshit,” Ian replied with a laugh.

Shawn looked to his other friend to back him up, but Brian inevitably joined Ian’s side. “Not a chance I’m buying that you just felt like getting up early, dude. What’s going on?”

“Good to know you guys won’t believe I’m just in a good mood,” Shawn scoffed, but ultimately elected to clue them in. “You guys remember the girl I was with Friday night?” They nodded in understanding, suddenly beginning to get the picture of where this was going. “Well, she and I have been talking a lot since then. She had to work really early today, so I woke up a little early, too. To, um, text her. Before she left.”

Shawn could instantaneously feel himself blushing profusely. He knew he was speaking in broken sentences, and his words themselves sounded so elementary, so stupid when he said them out loud. Ian was the first to speak. “Damn, Mendes. Known this girl for all of three days and you’re already whipped for her.”

“Yeah, man,” Brian laughed, reaching over to pat Shawn on the back. “You’re fucked.”

The curly-haired boy smiled a bit, his blush never faltering, as Brian and Ian got up from their seats and wandered upstairs, mentioning playing some video game Shawn hadn’t heard of before. He leaned back in his chair so that he was facing the ceiling, running his hands over his face and up into his hair. Shawn hadn’t needed Brian and Ian to tell him how screwed he was–he’d been dealing with that realization from the second he sat down at that picnic table.

—

The Sunday following the party you and Harper found yourselves working the same shift at Alchemy. Sunday mornings were usually slow; a few college students filled some of the tables in the small coffee shop, intently studying over their notes and working on assignments. The slow-moving pace of the morning meant that Harper had plenty of time to press you ceaselessly about what had happened with you and Shawn since leaving the party, not accepting the answers you were giving her. You and Shawn had texted some yesterday, both mentioning wanting to make plans to hang out one-on-one, but Harper kept asking you about it as though there were more you just weren’t telling her.

“For the third time, Harp,” you said, wiping down the bar from behind the counter, “I haven’t seen him. We’re just trying to make plans right now, but I promise you’ll be the first to know when we do.”

“Oh come on, Y/N!” she cried, organizing the pastries in the glass case by the register. “I’m living vicariously through you right now. There has to be more to it than that.”

You laughed at the role-reversal you and Harper were experiencing. Typically, she was the one with all of the boy escapades and you were the one dying to know more about them. Needless to say, this was a strange dynamic the both of you were experiencing. “He said he was glad I could make it to the party and he had a good time, and that he’s hoping we can meet up sometime soon. To which I said that I also had a good time, and that I’d love to see him again, too. So now we’re trying to make plans. But, of course, you already knew all of that, because I’ve told you three times.”

Harper laughed and you couldn’t help but reflexively giggle, an amalgamate of the nerves and excitement that filled your gut any time you thought about Shawn. You hardly knew the boy, but oh how you wanted to. You’d spent your first two years of college floating aimlessly while all of your friends went in and out of relationships left and right, but Shawn was proof that good things come to those who wait. Every time your mind was unoccupied it found itself drifting back to Friday night, reliving every detail of every moment it remembered. How good Shawn looked perched atop the speaker in the basement of the frat house; a sort of calm contentment in the midst of the wild party. Him lacing his fingers with yours as he led you with him as he went to get another drink. Asking if you wanted to go upstairs so it would be easier to talk. Leading you out onto the balcony. His fingers tracing the underside of your jaw as he leaned in closer, closer…

Your cheeks burned involuntarily every time your mind drifted to the feeling of his hands on your skin, his lips on yours. You’d yet to hear him sing but even the way he said your name sounded like a song, and the memory of him repeating your name the day you met was stuck in your head on a ruthless repeat like a catchy radio hit. Everything about him had a rhythm, from the way he walked to the way spoke to the way he kissed you. His entire essence was music, and you wanted to know the beat by heart.

“Y/N,” you heard, waking you up from you impromptu daydream. Your head snapped up to see Alchemy’s manager (and your boss), Austin, staring down at you with eyes evidencing his amusement at having caught you in a state of reverie. “That bored, eh?”

You smiled sheepishly, wiping your palms on the surface of your ripped jeans. “Sorry. Zoned out a little.”

Austin chuckled. “No worries. We’re closing up a bit early today due to how slow it is, but I want to have a quick little meeting with everyone on shift first.”

Closing early? You looked past Austin at the newly-empty tables, having not even realized that the students had packed up their notes and left. Alchemy always closed a few hours early on Sundays, three in the afternoon as opposed to the usual eleven at night, but never prematurely from the set time. Harper and another coworker, James, were having a conversation on the worn blue couch tucked into the corner, and you shrugged as you followed Austin over to join them.

Austin was a hipster-y type guy in his late twenties, always sporting different variations of a beanie, flannel, and skinny jeans. He was very cool and very relaxed, which made working for him fun and stress-free. Alchemy’s owner was very laissez-faire, essentially leaving Austin in charge of the place, which meant he was the one who hired you. While he graduated from your university, you hadn’t the slightest clue what he had been studying, or what his future goals were. You’d only known him as Austin From Alchemy, but you liked him, and as far as you knew, everybody that worked for him did, too.

“Okay,” Austin began, taking a seat atop one of the tables near the couch. You leaned against the arm of the sofa, James offering you a smile in greeting as you did. “So this is something I’ve been wanting to do for a while now, and I’m finally forcing my lazy ass to do it.” The three of you giggled, eager for him to go on. “Back when I was a university student, before I worked here, Alchemy used to host open-mic nights. I came to almost every single one just to watch, but for whatever reason they just stopped happening. So, I’d like to get ‘em going again. If you know anybody who might be keen to the idea of showcasing their talent, try to talk them into showing up. Poetry, instrument, singing, whatever. Hopefully we can get this show on the road.”

The entire time Austin was talking, you were ignoring the burn of Harper’s eyes laser-focused on you. Of course you were thinking what she was thinking, but you weren’t going to be obvious about it or get ahead of yourself. Shawn had already admitted to you that he was hesitant to perform publicly, and furthermore, you barely knew him. Sure, you’d bring it up, but the last thing you wanted to do was make him feel pressured to do something he was clearly nervous about. Austin handed the three of you small fliers with the information and dismissed you with a quick ‘thanks’ before turning around to head to his small office in the back of the shop, and the second he was gone Harper was at your side.

“Y/N, you have to talk Shawn into this! Not only would he be perfect, but it’s another excuse to see him.” You tried to ignore her wagging her eyebrows at you as you reached behind the counter to grab your purse.

“I’ll talk to him and see how he feels about it the next time we’re together,” you replied, not wanting to get her hopes up. You waved a quick goodbye to James as you pushed the door out to begin the trek back to your dorm, Harper hot on your heels.

“I know you want to hear music boy sing just as badly as I do,” she giggled. “I’m sure he’s amazing.”

You sighed. “I’m sure he is too, Harp, but he told me he doesn’t really perform outside of his classes. I’ll just bring it up and say he can let me know if he’s interested.”

Suddenly, and with a small, involuntary gasp, you stopped walking as you remembered that you had promised Shawn that morning to text him when you got off work. Your right hand flew to your purse to retrieve your phone, left hand still clutching the flier, as Harper stared at you quizzically. “What happened, sugarplum?” she queried, and you eagerly hovered over your phone screen as you mentally planned out a text.

“M’ gonna text Shawn that I got off early,” you replied blankly, typing a message that said just that.

You tried to disregard Harper’s girlish squeals as your phone vibrated almost immediately with a response from Shawn. Do you want to meet up ? I can come to you.

I’m near Alchemy Coffee House at 19th Street and Massachusetts, you replied, giggling as Harper craned her neck over your shoulder to make herself aware of the texts being exchanged.

See you in five ! You tucked your phone into the back pocket of your jeans after Shawn’s reply, silently thanking yourself for getting out of bed that morning in time to put on the tiniest bit of makeup. You paused to sit on a nearby bench, Harper cocking her head as she looked at you. “I’m gonna wait here for Shawn,” you explained, and her eyes went wide.

“He’s coming?” she shrieked, and you could have sworn she was going to start jumping up and down.

“Yes, Harp,” you chuckled, entertained by your friend’s ceaseless antics.

“Well I’m gonna walk back now, and you are going to text me a giant update the second you can, okay?”

“Fine, fine,” you laughed, Harper’s giddy excitement beginning to rub off onto you. She gave you a bone-crushing hug before darting off in the other direction, leaving you to sit alone on the bench.

You pulled out your phone, checking your reflection in the camera app. You ran your fingers through your hair in an effort to tame it, adjusted the way your black Alchemy v-neck hung on your shoulders, and quickly swiped on your trademark cherry chapstick, deciding your current appearance would have to do. You closed your phone and, as if on cue, a black Jeep pulled up to the sidewalk in front of you, the passenger window rolled down to reveal Shawn craning his neck over the console. “Get in, loser.”

You laughed, hurrying to get from the bench into the passenger seat of the car so as not to hold up traffic. “How are you?” he questioned as you buckled up, looking over his shoulder to pull back out into the center lane.

“Glad I got off work early, honestly,” you replied, leaning your head back against the leather seat.

“Me too,” he answered as he quickly glanced over at you, causing a blush to rise in your cheeks.

“So,” he continued. “Where’re we headed?”

“You’re driving, you tell me,” you grinned, looking over to study his side profile.

“How ‘bout we just park and walk around until we see something fun?” he suggested. The downtown area was packed with shops and restaurants; you could easily entertain yourselves.

“I’m good with that!”

“Cool,” he said, looking over at you. “What’s that?” he asked suddenly, noticing the piece of paper you had forgotten you were clutching.

“Oh, um,” you started, looking down at your hand. “It’s nothing.”

His eyes narrowed and his lips lifted into a small smile as he pulled up to a red light. “Well now I’m intrigued.”

You sighed, unfolding the paper in your hands to read it. “My boss is trying to start open-mic performance nights at Alchemy. He, um, wants us to try and get people to do it.”

“Got anyone in mind?” he asked, his tone light and joking.

“Maybe one person,” you giggled nervously, avoiding his gaze.

“Seems like it might be kinda fun,” he admitted, pressing the gas as the light turned green.

“Really?” you questioned, unable to hide your surprise. “I thought you didn’t really play outside of class.”

“It’s not that I don’t play outside of class, I’ve just avoided the spotlight of campus performance groups. Don’t wanna incur the wrath of the frat guys,” he joked, but it sunk your heart.

“Do you really think they’d make fun of you that badly?” you questioned, suddenly serious. You hated the idea of Shawn stifling his talent because he wanted to fit in with the stereotypical fraternity image.

“I don’t know,” he conceded, adjusting his hands on the steering wheel as he pulled into a parking lot. “I’d rather just fly under the radar when it comes to the frat.” You nodded, not sure of what to say. “But your open-mic night,” he continued, his tone lightening, “I’d honestly be down for that. Only if you help me pick what song to play.”

“Of course,” you giggled, opening the door to climb out of the Jeep after Shawn had whipped into a parking space. You adjusted your purse over your shoulder as Shawn walked around the hood of the car to you, locking it with a beep.

“Shall we?” he asked as he offered you his hand, shit-eating grin plastered on his face as he drew back memories of Friday night.

“We shall,” you laughed and threaded your fingers with his, picking up on his reference right away. The two of you walked out to the sidewalk and began venturing hand-in-hand along the downtown shops, laughing and talking about anything and everything. The conversation was free-flowing, and you couldn’t help but swell at the thought of how effortless being with Shawn felt. You felt oddly comfortable around him considering how short of a time you two had known each other, and your mood seemed to skyrocket in his presence.

“Look what it is,” he smirked, and you followed his pointer finger to the Hot Topic across the street.

“Don’t tempt me, Mendes,” you said, and he shot you a wide-eyed look.

“Tempt you? Oh, please tell me you had a Hot Topic phase,” he beamed.

“Oh, I absolutely did,” you replied. “Might still be in it.”

“I am never going to let that go,” he said, and the two of you burst out in laughter.

“Don’t act like you haven’t had one too,” you joked.

“I may or may not have purchased a few of their Harry Potter items back in high school.”

“You liked Harry Potter?” you shrieked, looking at him with the same grin still on your face.

“You say ‘liked’ as though I don’t still,” he scoffed, and you threw your head back in laughter.

“Now that’s awesome,” you said, completely bemused. “You are such a Ravenclaw, too.”

“Ravenclaw?” he questioned, feigning offense. “I am one hundred percent Gryffindor.”

“No way,” you defended.

“You’ve known me for three days! That is not enough time to have a clear idea of my Hogwarts house.”

“What’s wrong with Ravenclaw?” you teased. “It’s a great house!”

“What, are you a Ravenclaw or something?”

“So what if I am?” you challenged, and you held eye contact with him for all of three seconds before the two of you could no longer contain your giggles and they evolved into full-fledged cackling, drawing looks from passersby as you and Shawn continued down the sidewalk.

You noticed a glowing red sign as your laughter died out, signifying the downtown music store you were about to walk past. Shawn seemed to notice it too; before you knew what was happening, he was tugging you towards the front door, a grin so sweet plastered on his mouth that you couldn’t help but smile back.

He held the door open for you and followed you in, the sole shopkeeper calling out a greeting. You and Shawn were the only two patrons in the cozy shop, characterized by worn wooden floors, instruments hung on the walls, and the smell of old records permeating the room’s air. It was quiet save for the sound of barely-audible music playing over the speakers and the creaking of Shawn’s and your feet on the wooden flooring.

“What are we doing here?” you whispered to Shawn, still slightly smiling.

“Why are you whispering?” he mocked, warranting a laugh from you and a playful smack on the arm. You looked up at him expectantly, and he just giggled in reply, reclaiming your hand in his own as he led you over to an acoustic guitar displayed on the wall.

“We’ve more guitars in the back,” the shopkeeper, a kind-looking man in his late fifties, called out to Shawn, noticing his interest in the dark brown acoustic.

“Thanks,” he called, leading you past the mahogany desk behind which the man sat and straight back through sheer white curtains that gave way to a whole other room, filled floor to ceiling with guitars. Shawn’s eyes shone like gold as he admired the instruments, and you in turn silently admired him. Genuine happiness seemed to radiate off of him, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him as his own honey orbs gleamed under the harsh white lights of the room.

He took his time inspecting all of the guitars with a trained eye, before finally stopping in front of a light-beige one. “This works,” he muttered, letting go of your hand as he reached to carefully pull it off of its display. “Sit,” he instructed softly, nodding towards a small backless bench in the middle of the room. You silently obeyed as he perched next to you, adjusting the guitar strap over his shoulder as his skilled fingers made sure the instrument was tuned.

“Thoughts on Ed Sheeran?” he asked quietly.

You couldn’t fight the smile on your face. “Love him.”

Shawn took a deep breath and adjusted the guitar on his knee once more, and you instantly recognized the song as he began to softly play the opening chords of Perfect. You watched in complete awe as he closed his eyes in concentration, his voice filling the still room and causing goosebumps to arise on your arms. He stopped after playing the first verse and chorus, and he shyly looked up at you as the guitar’s echo came to a quiet stop.

“Holy shit,” tumbled from your lips involuntarily, and he smiled. “Shawn, that was incredible. Everything about that was just…perfect. Literally.”

One corner of his mouth lifted into a lopsided grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you breathed out, and you meant it wholeheartedly. Your chest ached from seeing Shawn losing himself in the song, and you knew that he had just revealed a huge part of his life to you. Just when you thought there was no way you could possibly be more infatuated with him, he’d gone and made your feelings even stronger.

“You should play that at the open-mic.”

“You don’t want to hear other ones to choose from?”

“Oh, I definitely want to hear other ones,” you confirmed. “But that’s the open-mic song. Final answer.”

“The judge has spoken, then.” he grinned, standing up to place the guitar back onto the wall. He once more extended his hand out to you, and you rose from the bench and took it without thinking. You were growing accustomed to the feeling of holding his hand, but it still gave you butterflies every time you did. “C’mon,” Shawn said, squeezing your palm in his. “Let’s keep exploring.”

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shawnimaginesarchive · 6 years

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Good as Gold | College!Shawn (Part Two)

Part Two to my College/Fratboy Shawn series. I kinda snapped and made this one 3.2k (which I know isn’t long for some of y’all but it’s long for me). Enjoy how quickly I got this bitch up because I have no idea where I’m taking part 3. You can read part one here :-)

The second you got up to your dorm room after a quick stop at the dining hall for a late lunch, you reached for your phone to call your best friend, Harper. You had known Harper since you two ended up sitting next to each other in your freshman year Finance class, and by chance she was already working at Alchemy when you got hired. It was the perfect coincidence that essentially guaranteed that the two of you would be best friends.

“This is Harper, how can I help you?” she queried as she picked up the phone.

You rolled your eyes. “It’s me, Harp.”

“I know,” she giggled from the other line. Classic Harper. “I’m just messin’. What’s up?”

“So it’s a long story, but basically we’re going to a frat party tonight.” At this, Harper burst out laughing. “Harper!” you whined. “I’m serious.”

“I’m not opposed, you know that I will totally go, I’m just confused. I have spent two years trying to get you to go to one single frat party with me and I can literally hear you roll your eyes every time I bring it up. What changed?”

You sighed. “Okay, so I was having a really rough day because I failed my English Lit exam because I didn’t have time to study because my roommate–”

“Y/N,” Harper interjected, and you halted your rambling. “Normal speed, so I can understand.”

“Sorry,” you giggled. Harper was always on your case about your tendency to talk incoherently fast when you were excited or telling a story, but you were glad she kept you in check; no one else ever did. “I’ll shorten it. Basically, for a lot of reasons, today sucked. So, when I was walking out of my last class a little while ago, I got really flustered and frustrated. I was trying to find a kind of secluded place to sit down and compose myself, and I saw this random table behind the health center.”

“O-kay,” Harper said, dragging out the word to show that she followed you thus far.

“So I go over to sit and put my head down, and then this random guy sits across from me, saying I was ‘in his spot.’ Except he was actually just being friendly, and I totally snapped at him, but he was still so nice to me. Basically, we got to talking, and not only is he one of the single most attractive guys I have ever seen, but he’s actually sweet. And smart. And a music major.” Harper hummed in understanding on the other side of the phone; she knew where this was going. “And…he’s in a frat. And he told me I should come to their party tonight. And I said I’d bring friends, which is where you come in.”

“Okay, not only am I wicked happy for you,” Harper began, and you could hear the smile in her voice, “But I cannot wait to actually get you to a frat party!”

You laughed, appreciative as ever of Harper and her ceaseless energy. You glanced at the alarm clock on your desk, reading the glowing red 4:12 p.m. “Come over around seven to help me get ready?”

“Say no more. I’ll be there in t-minus three hours. See ya soon, sugarplum.” You chuckled, and with that hung up the phone and flopped down onto your bed, no longer having to restrain your childish smile.

Always punctual, a fully-ready Harper burst through the door to your dorm room at seven o’clock on the dot. “Where’s the roomie?” she queried as she tightened her thick brunette ponytail, looking around the room and seemingly inspecting whether or not it had changed since she was last there. It hadn’t.

“Her backpack was here when I got back from class, but she wasn’t. Probably just dropped her stuff off and went straight to a friend’s to get ready to go out,” you shrugged. You liked your roommate, you really did, but she was a party animal through and through. You didn’t mind on the weekends; you yourself went out all the time on weekends. But when her coming home trashed on a school night led you to do poorly on an exam…that’s where the problem came in.

“Hm,” Harper assented, flinging a stuffed-to-capacity black and pink tote bag onto your bed. Your eyes widened.

“Geez, Harp, what did you do? Bring half your closet?”

“You asked me to help you get ready!” she cried. “I take that very seriously.”

“I already know what I’m wearing,” you defended.

Harper folded her arms across her chest, jutting her hip out. “Let’s see it.”

You rolled your eyes and walked over to your tiny closet, pulling out a black short-sleeved henley bodysuit and black ripped jeans, with a flannel for around your waist. You looked over at Harper, tossing the ensemble onto your bed triumphantly.

“It’s cute, Y/N, but we’re going to a frat party. And, more importantly, you are meeting music boy there.”

“Shawn,” you corrected, and Harper laughed.

“Okay, you are meeting Shawn there, whatever. Which means you’re gonna have to come up with something a little hotter than that.” She gestured to the outfit you had laid out.

“Harper,” you warned, already apprehensive. You dressed well, but showing skin wasn’t necessarily your forte; it just wasn’t your style. But, if anyone was going to force you into something new, it was Harper.

“Relax, Y/N! You’ll thank me later,” she said breezily, walking over to her bag and reaching inside to pull out black denim shorts and an off-shoulder maroon crop top.

“Pick one or the other,” you pleaded with her. “We’ll compromise. I’ll either wear that shirt with my jeans, or my shirt with your shorts.”

Harper pursed her lips, thinking, before tossing the top at you. “Try this one.”

“Thanks, Harp,” you sighed, changing into her maroon top and your black jeans, throwing on a pair of black chunky-heeled booties. Once you were all dressed, you turned to face Harper, and she squealed.

“Look at you!” she exclaimed, grabbing your wrist and scooting you over to stand in front of the full-length mirror over your door. You gave a small smile, glad that Harper had agreed to compromise. Your jeans were high waisted, so it made up a little bit for how cropped the shirt was. You were still showing skin, which satisfied Harper, but you were happy, too. With some earrings, a black choker, and Harper’s magic touch with makeup, you were both ready to go.

After making the fifteen-minute walk to Shawn’s fraternity house, deciding to save a little money by not Ubering, your nerves began to set in. You could hear the party before you could see it, and Harper seemed to sense your hesitancy. “Breathe,” she said to you, offering a reassuring smile. “You look great, and he will like you. If you get overwhelmed, just come get me and I’ll walk outside with you. I’ll stay by where the drinks are so you know where to find me.”

“Thanks, Harp,” you said, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze as the two of you approached the house’s entrance. Immediately, the smell of beer was everywhere. This level of the house was quite large, but empty save for a few couches arranged around a coffee table in the middle. There was a small group of guys standing near the door, and one called out that the party was downstairs in the basement, gesturing to a staircase on the far right side of the large room. You smiled and walked up to the guy that had spoken, a tuft of red hair peeking out from underneath his backward baseball cap. You cleared your throat to get his attention. “Um, do you know where I could find Shawn?”

He exchanged a knowing look with the guy next to him, spiking your pulse, before he turned to face you. “Downstairs, should be by the speakers. He’s on aux.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, laughing to yourself. They made the music boy DJ.

You and Harper walked down the wooden stairs into the party, slick with what you assumed was freshly spilled beer. The music, some rap song, was deafening, and people were packed in tightly as they danced with various kinds of drinks in their hands.

“I love Travis Scott!” Harper cried, and you scoffed in bemusement; of course she recognized the song. “Let’s go get a drink!” she yelled into your ear so that you could hear her. She grabbed your hand and pulled you forward as you both began to weave through the mass of people. Your eyes searched for Shawn, but you couldn’t find him through everyone.

Before you knew what was happening, Harper was shoving some fruity can of alcohol at you and telling you to down it, to which you happily obliged. Nothing wrong with a little liquid courage. You handed the empty can back to her and she gave you another drink, which you cracked open and began to slowly sip on.

You grabbed Harper’s wrist with your free hand, leading her towards the source of the music. Once you broke through the crowd, you were met with the sight of Shawn sitting on top of the massive box speaker that his phone was connected to by an aux cord, his inked hand scrolling through Spotify and his other one fisting through his tousled brown curls. His cheeks were flushed with slight intoxication and sheened ever-so-slightly with sweat as his head subtly nodded along to the bass of the song, his lips slightly parted. The same black skinny jeans as before hugged his legs in the most perfect way, and a solid white muscle t-shirt highlighted his biceps and revealed another tattoo on his forearm that you hadn’t noticed before. He looked like a dream.

You were broken from your trance by Harper tugging you back so hard that your still-full drink sloshed out of the can and onto your jeans a little bit, to which she offered you a sheepish smile to apologize before unleashing her trademark Harper energy on you.

“Is that him?” she squealed in excitement, her jaw slack as her eyes took Shawn’s perfect figure in. You nodded and pulled your drink to your lips, unable to hold back your smile. “Holy shit, Y/N, get your ass over there!” And, without warning, she had shoved you in Shawn’s direction and you were stumbling over to him as he looked up and caught your eye, smiling that golden smile of his.

“Y/N! You made it!” he cried, setting his phone down and jumping up to pull you into a bear hug. You cried out in surprise at the forwardness, then breathed a sigh of relief as your hands quickly wrapped around his waist to hug him back before the two of you broke apart.

You placed your hand on his bicep and spoke into his ear so that he could hear you over the music. “I didn’t expect Travis Scott from a guitar-slinging music major,” you teased, eliciting a laugh from Shawn, who in turn placed his hand on your waist and leaned down to your level.

“Gotta give the people what they want,” he replied, his rosy cheeks lifting into a smile, which you returned involuntarily. “I need another drink, come with me?”

“What about the music?” you asked, looking up at him through your lashes.

“I’ve got a whole playlist queued up,” he brushed off. “It’s set for the rest of the night.”

“Okay then,” you giggled, taking the hand that Shawn had reached out to you so as not to lose him as he pulled you back through the crowd. You could feel your cheeks get hot as he unexpectedly intertwined his long fingers with yours, and you were thankful for the low lighting of the party so that he wouldn’t be able to tell.

Once on the other side of the room, the two of you had reached the “bar,” which was really just a long countertop with two frat guys behind it handing out alcohol left and right. Shawn gently let go of your hand and leaned over the counter, talking to one of the guys as the other fetched him a drink, and you noticed Harper right where she said she’d be, twirling the ends of her ponytail as she was lost in a flirty conversation with a broad-shouldered guy in a baseball jersey.

Shawn turned to you as he took the first sip from his red solo cup, nodding towards the can in your hand. “Are you good on yours?”

You nodded, walking over to the side of the room next to the bar and pressing your back against the wall. “For now.”

“Cool,” Shawn said, stepping towards you and extending his arm to place one hand on the wall next to your head. Even in the darkness of the room, you could see the gleam in his eyes that seemed to be backlit by gold. “You look good, by the way,” he continued, and you felt your heart rate quicken. “Meant to tell you that earlier.”

“Thanks,” you said, blushing, barely loud enough for him to hear as you averted your gaze, taking a swig of your drink. Liquid courage, liquid courage, liquid courage. “So do you.”

He grinned, never once sparing you from the heat of his eyes boring into you. “Do you wanna go to the third floor?” he asked suddenly, his finger absentmindedly tapping against the side of his solo cup. “There will still be people, but it might be a little quieter. There’s a balcony we can go on. Only if you want.”

“Sure,” you smiled, and Shawn turned his back to lead the way up. You immediately downed the rest of your drink the second his back was turned and set the empty can down on the counter where you noticed Shawn had put his still half-full cup. He turned over his shoulder to make sure you were following him, once again reaching his hand out for you to take. This time, it was you that tangled your fingers with his, and you felt him squeeze your hand ever so slightly as you did. The butterflies in your stomach were more like animals in a cage.

You walked up the first flight of stairs back onto the level you entered the house from, careful not to slip on any of the various mystery-liquid puddles covering the wood. The same guys from earlier were still standing by the door, and all started calling out to Shawn when they noticed the two of you heading for the second flight of stairs. Sensing your apprehension, Shawn squeezed your hand reassuringly. “Ignore them,” he said, and you gave a small smile.

He was right that there would still be people on the top floor of the house, but he was also right that it would be infinitely quieter. He pulled you out onto the balcony where there were a few other people, but he led the way to the far left corner of the banister. You leaned over and looked at all the people on the street who were drunkenly making their way from one fraternity party to the next. You felt Shawn lean down next to you, and you both laughed as a drunk girl lost her shoe and fell onto her knees as the rest of her equally as inebriated friends laughed out loud at her mishap.

You turned to face him so that you were both leaning sideways against the balcony railing, and you noticed him distractedly fidgeting with the dark gray pendant around his neck. You stuck a finger out to point at it. “What’s on your necklace?” He looked down to realize that he had been toying with it and then dropped it so it lay flat against his chest.

“It’s a Saint Christopher pendant from my grandma,” he said softly, smiling at what you assumed was a very fond memory. “She said I needed it to protect me because I was traveling so far away for college.”

“Because he’s the patron of travelers,” you finished, looking up at him and batting your eyelashes. He quirked his head at you, silently asking how you knew that off the top of your head. “When I bought my first car,” you explained, “My mom gave me a St. Christopher coin to keep in the glove box. Said it would keep me safe wherever life took me.”

“No way,” Shawn responded, beaming down at you.

“Yes way,” you giggled. “It looks just like the pendant on your necklace.”

Shawn smiled down at you, his soft amber eyes aglow with energy and admiration. “Some coincidence,” he said, barely audible, his voice trailing off at the end. Before you knew what was happening, he was reaching a tentative hand out towards your face and tucking a stray lock of your curled hair behind your ear. You froze and you felt your breath catch in your throat as he gently, ever so slowly trailed his fingertips around the back of your ear and slid them along your jawline, his thumb reaching up to slowly brush the side of your cheek. His eyes, seemingly in slow motion, glanced from your eyes, down to your lips, and back up again. He used his pointer finger and his thumb to delicately lift your chin up towards him and, tantalizingly slowly, he leaned in until his lips were softly pressing against yours. He moved his hands down to place them on either side of your hips, and you felt yourself relax into him. No longer paralyzed with nerves, you reached one hand out to his waist and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, the other hand tangling itself in the hair at the base of his neck, giving a little tug in response to him pulling you closer so that you were flush against his chest. What had started as soft and gentle rapidly evolved into steamy and rushed, and as his tongue met yours your mind was clouded with the cinnamon and whiskey on his breath. After what was probably a long time but felt like seconds, you pulled away and laid your hands on his chest and your forehead against his, your hearts racing as you both tried to catch your breath.

“Should we go back downstairs?” he whispered, your foreheads still pressed together. You could feel his breath on your cheek as his fingertips skimmed up and down your waist.

“Harper’s probably wondering where I am,” you sighed, skin hot and tingly with Shawn’s touch.

“My friends, too,” he replied. He pulled his head back, staring down at you with the most perfect closed-mouth smile, then reached up to cup your face and plant one more chaste kiss to your lips.

He reached out a hand as he had before, beaming down at you with his trademark, made-of-gold grin. “Shall we?”

“Such a gentleman,” you laughed, taking his hand and wrapping your free hand around his arm. “We shall.”

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shawnimaginesarchive · 6 years

Text

Good as Gold | College!Shawn (Part One)

2.3k first installment of a College!Shawn / Frat!Shawn AU in which Shawn and Y/N meet after she has a particularly stressful day, and the two go from there. Enjoy :-)

Spending Thursday night cramming for your English Literature exam while all of your friends were out partying was not what you had in mind at the start of this week. You received a hefty scholarship to be able to afford the university you attended, and it required that you earn certain grades to keep it. Because of this, you had to be a good student. You always paced yourself in your studying for fear of falling behind, and had planned accordingly for this week so that you would be able to join your friends for a few hours on Thursday. You would stay sober and arranged to be home before midnight so that you could get enough sleep before your exam Friday afternoon, but things don’t always go as planned.

On Tuesday morning you received a desperate call from your coworker, Emily, begging you to pick up her six hour evening shift, saying her little brother’s choir concert was that night and she had completely forgotten. Because you were too nice to say no, you found yourself clocking in at Alchemy, the quaint coffee shop you worked at near campus, at five in the evening. You liked working there; it was quiet and cute, your coworkers were all fun, and most went to your university. However, you typically only worked afternoons and weekends–not weeknights, when you would normally be studying. But you picked up your coworker’s shift anyways, figuring there would maybe come a time when you’d need her to return the favor.

Then, last night, you were cozied up in your bed beginning to review your English notes after finishing all of your other assignments when your drunken roommate burst in around midnight and proceeded to immediately throw up in the sink of your small room and then collapse on the floor, muttering something about how she felt “just fine” and that you should “go back to bed.” You weren’t going to leave her like that, so after getting her cleaned up, pulling her hair back, changing her clothes, getting her into bed, cleaning the sink up, and spraying copious amounts of Febreze into your small room, it was nearly one-thirty in the morning and you had an eight a.m. class.

So, after missing a combined eight hours of potential studying time throughout the week, you found yourself frantically cramming for your exam Thursday night as opposed to being out with your friends like you had planned. The longer you studied, the more you realized that there was no way you were going to cover everything you needed to know before tomorrow. As panic set in, it became increasingly more difficult for you to focus on absorbing the information and, around three in the morning, you decided to just give up, hoping that some extra sleep would help you at least guess intelligently.

As you walked out of your exam that Friday afternoon, you felt a pit in your stomach. You knew you had bombed it, and the presence of information you had studied was greatly outweighed by what you hadn’t. You couldn’t do poorly in this class; your scholarship was reliant on a high grade. You found yourself cursing your coworker and your roommate and your own tendency to be too nice and understanding with other people. The longer you walked, the shorter your breath grew. You stared at the sidewalk as your feet carried you back to your dorm, trying to focus on counting your steps, the lines in the sidewalk, anything to calm down, but it was no use. You needed to sit down and just breathe, preferably where nobody would see you. You looked up from the sidewalk, taking in the fact that you were right next to the campus health center, and noticed a single square picnic table peeking out from behind the building. It looked so out of place, just hidden there nestled into the grass, but you didn’t care. It was secluded and it was there. You hoisted your backpack up onto your shoulder and began trekking through the grass alongside the health center until you reached the table. You flung your bag onto it and sat down, picking your legs up to rest on the corner of the bench next to the one you were sitting on and cursing the bug bites that would surely appear on your ankles due to your impromptu journey through the grass. You put your head in your hands, trying to clear your thoughts, but it was a futile effort. Your mind was a whirlwind, unable to focus on anything but your failed exam, your grades, and your scholarship.

Just as frustrated tears began to prick the backs of your eyes, you were startled as the weight of the table shifted and you felt someone sit down across from you. You picked your head up, exasperation bubbling in your stomach, as you made eye contact with a broad-shouldered, curly-haired boy, his arms folded horizontally as they propped him up on the table. You tried to sound neutral as you asked, “Can I help you?” but your annoyance was evident in your tone anyways.

He smiled, and on any other day you knew you’d have found him cute, but your bad mood was negatively coloring everything at this particular time. “I’ve been a student here for three years, and this is the first time I’ve ever tried to come to my spot to find someone else already here.”

You scoffed in disbelief and immediately fired back, “Well, I’ve been a student here for two years, and this is the first time I’ve been actually kicked off of a picnic table by some guy who thinks he owns it.”

You lifted up and reached for your bag to storm off, but the guy reached his hand, marked with a tattoo, out to cover yours. The touch startled you, and you paused and looked up to meet his wide amber eyes. “Woah, who said I was kicking you off?”

You paused. You realized you had completely snapped at this stranger who had not actually been rude to you in any way, shape, or form. Unsure of what to say, you slowly lowered yourself back down onto the bench and jerked your hand away from his.

“I’m sorry if what I said sounded rude,” he continued, the soft look in his eyes unfaltering. “I was just kind of amused to actually find another person here, that’s all.”

You sighed and put your head back in your hands, embarrassed. “I’m sorry too. I’m just not having the best day.”

“Wanna talk about it?” You cocked your head to the side and studied his expression, dumbfounded by how attractive and genuine he was. Maybe his presence was the universe’s way of making up for the shitty day it had given you.

“I don’t want to bother you with my problems,” you said sheepishly, staring at your hands that were fidgeting nervously.

He leaned in further, a tiny smile playing on his lips. “Try me.” You didn’t know why, but you suddenly found yourself telling him about everything from your coworker to your roommate to your scholarship that had all contributed to you being in this moment.

When you finished, he offered you another smile. “Well, if it weren’t for you bombing your exam, we wouldn’t have met,” he said, and you giggled. In addition to the warm blush you felt rising to your cheeks, you appreciated the fact that he hadn’t given the standard oh, I’m sorry response and had instead made you laugh, which actually made you feel better.

“Yeah…yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

“And for what it’s worth,” he continued, “One failed exam is not going to be the end of the world. I would know, I’ve got a whole year on you in this place.” He grinned, and you smiled at his sarcasm.

“You’d be surprised,” you say, sighing as thoughts of the potential repercussions of your failed exam began to slowly come back to you. “I have to work extra hard in that class now to make up for that grade, and I was already working myself to death to begin with. I can’t lose my scholarship. If I lose that, I lose this school, and I’ll be stuck at home again.”

“Is home close?”

“My dorm or where I’m from?” As soon as you answered, you wanted to slap yourself. Of course he meant where you’re from, you idiot.

His lips curled up. “Tell me about both.”

“Okay,” you said, still slightly embarrassed, fighting the schoolgirl smile that would surely give away your attraction to him. “Well, my dorm is on the southwest corner of campus, right by the School of Business, so pretty close.”

“My apartment is actually around there, I can walk back with you?”

“O-okay, yeah, sure. I’d like that,” you agreed shyly, standing up and putting your backpack over your shoulders as you set off towards your dorm in stride with the boy next to you. “As for my actual home,” you continued, “I’m kind of as far away as possible. Needed to get away for a while and I got a good enough scholarship to be here, so here I am. What about you? Where’s home?”

“Near Toronto, actually,” he said, and you looked up at him with surprised eyes.

“Toronto?” you gasped immediately. “What the hell are you doing here?” Your university was good, yes, but leaving a city like Toronto to go there? You couldn’t fathom why anyone in their right mind would do that.

He threw his head back and laughed in response to your shock, revealing the most perfect set of teeth you had ever seen. “That’s pretty much the typical reaction. Honestly, it’s kind of like what you said. I like a little change of pace. I love my hometown, but I wouldn’t want to stay in the same city all my life.” His voice dropped off at the end and he shoved his fingers into the front pockets of his black skinny jeans, looking over at you and meeting your enraptured gaze. It took you a second to realize that he’d caught you staring. Suddenly self-conscious, you jerked your head away and pretended to find interest in studying the buildings you were walking past. You could hear him let out a little laugh.

You cleared your throat, desperate to break the silence and recover from the previous moment. “So, what are you studying?”

“Music,” he replied, and you could feel your heart melt into a puddle of molten lava. “Emphasis on guitar and vocal performance.”

“You sing?” you asked, but it came out more like a flat statement.

“Yeah,” he smiled, looking over at you as you rounded the corner towards your dorm. “And college has definitely helped me get better.”

“Where do you hope to end up?”

“I’d love to be an independent musician,” he replied, staring ahead with wistful eyes. God, you could just melt. “But I know that’s probably unrealistic. Maybe teaching music or working somewhere in the industry would be cool, I’m not sure. I have a lot of options, I think.”

“You’ve got time,” you responded, the girlish, nervous giggle you’d been holding back threatening to make an appearance. “You’ll figure out what you want, and whatever that is, I’m sure you’ll be just fine.”

He turned to smile at you, making your stomach flutter, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he did. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Do you do any music stuff on campus? Like acapella?”

He scoffed at this. “If I came back to my frat one day and said I joined an acapella group, they’d vote me off the island.”

The fact that he was in a fraternity surprised you; he didn’t seem like the type, and you told him so. “Frat, huh? You don’t strike me as one to be big on Greek life.”

“Part of the college culture,” he shrugged. “And it’s honestly not as bad as you’d think. Some of the guys are really cool.”

“How cool can they be if you’re worried they’ll judge you for doing what you want to do?”

He let out a breath of air at this and tilted his chin towards the ground, a stray curl falling over his forehead. “I guess you’re right,” he said softly. “Maybe one day I’ll try something out and see how they take it.” Abruptly, his demeanor changed and his head snapped up to face you, a grin playing on his lips. “Speaking of my frat, though, we’re actually throwing a party tonight. You should come.”

Frat parties: Hundreds of liquored-up college students packed like sardines into the lower level of a house, dancing in hot air thick with sweat, humidity, and the smell of beer with an occasional hint of weed. This was not typically your scene; you failed to see the appeal. You enjoyed going out, but preferred to hit up smaller apartment parties or one of three bars near campus where any college student with a semi-decent fake ID was welcome. But cute music-major golden boys with floppy brown curls and million-dollar smiles…that was your scene. And because of this, you made an exception to your own “steer clear of frats” rule.

“Okay,” you agreed as you came to a stop in front of the doors to your residence hall. “Sounds fun. I’ll bring some friends.”

“Please do,” he answered with a smile. “Bring whoever you want. We’re starting around nine.”

“And who should I ask for once I get there?”

“Tell any of the guys you’re looking for Shawn. They’ll know where to find me.”

“Shawn,” you repeated, deciding that you liked the way his name sounded when you said it. “Got it.”

“And your name?” he questioned, brushing his hair from his eyes.

“Y/N,” you replied, watching his tattooed hand with a little too much focus as it raked through his curls.

“Y/N,” he repeated, just as you had with his name, which made yet another blush rise to your cheeks. “Lovely. See you tonight.”

“See you tonight,” you echoed, as Shawn offered a wave and one last golden smile before turning off in the direction of his apartment.

Shawn. You couldn’t wait for nightfall.

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