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smooshjames · 5 years ago

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forget you not (epilogue)

‘cause we’ve come, we’ve come so far, oh, baby (or: a second chance)

word count: 4k

a/n: i finally got my butt in gear and wrote the epilogue of forget you not! i still don’t think i’m 100% happy with how it came out, but if i edit / re-write it any more my head will explode. a reminder that i didn’t write any of the songs mentioned in this story (they all belong to little mix). and here are the links to this chapter’s songs: x, x, x. while we’re on the topic of links, here’s one to my ko-fi in case you want to buy me a coffee. no pressure if you can’t (or just don’t want to), i’m just glad you guys take the time to read my work. i hope you enjoy, and thank you for all the overwhelming support, it means the world to me <3

warnings: blink-and-you’ll-miss-it angst (i couldn’t help myself), i think that’s it ?? this is just a lot of fluff and the happy ending we deserve

previous parts: one, two, three, four, five

You called exactly one week later.

It was around six o’clock (nine o’clock for you, Shayne noted). He had just gotten home from work and was contemplating what to have for dinner when his phone started buzzing. He pulled it out of his pocket disinterestedly, figuring it was probably Damien or his mom. When he saw your name on his phone screen, however, his heart nearly stopped beating.

He took a deep breath and answered the call.

“Hey,” he said. He sounded mildly out of breath and hoped desperately that you wouldn’t notice. “What’s up?”

“I said I’d call,” you said. Your voice was shaky, your tone unsure. You were putting emphasis on all the wrong syllables. Shayne could picture you in his head; you on your couch in your nice New York apartment, dressed in something comfortable, a vision of natural beauty.

Shayne didn’t reply, just silently willed you to continue. He sat down on the couch.

“Um… it was fun. The sex, I mean.” There was a long pause. Shayne held his breath. “I would… next time one of us is in town, I think it would be good to hang out again. Maybe we can get to know each other again.” Another long pause. “Get to know each other like hanging out and talking, I mean, not like… not like wink-wink getting to know each other, not that I don’t want to have sex with you again, I just…” You stopped again, and he could practically see the grimace on your face. “Jesus, okay. I’m gonna stop talking now.”

Shayne grinned so wide he thought his face might get stuck that way.

“Okay,” he said. “I’d like that.”

Another pause, one which could have lasted three seconds or three years.

“I’m really glad we got to see each other again,” he said. He was careful to keep his tone light, decidedly avoiding any words that might send the I still love you vibe. He didn’t want to push the boat out on another chance with you too soon, but absence absolutely makes the heart grow fonder. There was a part of him that already had the color scheme for your wedding planned, a part of him that felt sure you’d give him a second chance. After all, you’d spent the night together, and now you were calling him back. That had to mean something, right?

But he knew, rationally, that you were still smarting from what had happened all those years ago, and he knew that you had every right to be. He figured you would want to take things slow.

And then, before his brain could really think about it, his mouth said: “I want… I really want to try again, if you… if you want to. I think we could do things right this time.”

So much for taking things slow.

There was another long silence. Shayne was almost certain his heart was going to pound out of his chest.

“I want to try again, too,” you said. Shayne felt his shoulder sag in relief. “I’ve missed you a lot. But, um, it’s late here and I worked all day. I should get ready for bed. I’ll have Michelle look at my schedule tomorrow and we can figure out a good time for me to fly back out there, okay?”

“Okay,” he said. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Shayne.”

The line went dead. Shayne sat back on his couch and stared up at his ceiling in wonder. A second chance. He couldn’t fucking believe it.

All he had to do now was get it right this time.

***

A month passed, and then two, and then six. You and Shayne flew from New York to LA and back more times than you could count. You squeezed texting, calling, and facetiming into every spare second. Shayne made himself endlessly available to you, and you did the same for him. You were constantly in trouble with Michelle for getting distracted during interviews and meetings and recording sessions. Rumors circulated that there was a man in your life, which, for a while, you didn’t confirm or deny.

You knew that you’d have to go public eventually, something you discussed with Shayne early on in your second attempt. You were both far more in the public eye now than you’d been five years ago, which meant people would put pieces together sooner than you wanted them to. Finally, after two months, the two of you decided it was time to call it official. Instagram posts went up, fans lost their minds, the comments of your Smosh video were dominated almost exclusively with references to you and Shayne.

At the four-month mark, you discussed moving out to LA permanently. You’d still be spending a lot of time apart while the band toured, but you would at least be able to go home to him full-time in between the months on the road.

Carly asked if it felt a little soon, and you told her it didn’t. If your first attempt at a relationship with Shayne had been more-or-less a strong one (save for the end), this attempt was iron-clad. Shayne had matured more than you ever could’ve hoped for. The years apart made him wiser, more willing to confront his feelings and his issues. And in your five years of being single, you had found something infinitely more valuable than a shiny new relationship: self-worth. You knew what you deserved, and a happy, loving relationship was one of those things. You no longer lived in fear of Shayne running off at the first sign of someone better than you. You were far more willing to fight for yourself and for your relationship.

You spent a couple of months deliberating whether you’d move to LA. The time it took you to think was in part caused by some hesitation, but more than anything caused by the fact that the band was recording a new album. You couldn’t think about much of anything besides choruses and hooks and beats.

Your hang-ups about the move were more practical than anything; it wasn’t that you didn’t want to move, it was that cross-country moves were infamously stressful and problem-filled. Not to mention, the rest of the band still lived in New York, which might cause professional complications (and would most certainly cause personal heartache; you weren’t necessarily ecstatic about living almost 3,000 miles from your best friends).

You finally made the decision during a late-night, insomnia-induced facetime call. You called Shayne at four in the morning one night after tossing and turning for hours. He picked up on the third ring, and you could tell immediately that he had been asleep; his surroundings were completely blacked out, his face only visible from the light of his phone screen. He was squinting at the screen, face scrunched up in a way that made your heart swell with the urge to kiss him, as his eyes adjusted to the brightness. And when he spoke, his voice was gruff with disuse.

“Hey,” he said. He didn’t seem the slightest bit upset at being woken up, but there was definite concern on his face. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you replied, “I’m sorry to wake you. I can’t sleep. I wanted to see you.”

If you lived in LA, whispered the ever-present voice in the back of your mind, you wouldn’t have to call him to see him. If you lived in LA, you’d be fast asleep in his arms right now.

Shayne hummed sympathetically and you heard the blankets rustling as he rolled over on his back. The angle was about as unflattering as it could have possibly been, but you didn’t care. In fact, you loved him all the more for it.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he said. His words were just slightly slurred, like his tongue was still heavy from sleep. “What’s keeping you awake?”

You sighed and scrubbed a hand over your eyes. “I don’t really know,” you replied. “A lot of things, I guess. It’s been a couple of weeks since we saw each other last, so I’ve been trying to find a good time to fly out there, but I’m completely booked for the next few months. The new album has been kicking our asses and we’re nowhere near where we need to be if we’re gonna make the deadline, so we’ve been working all hours, which means everyone’s sleep schedules are completely fucked. I’m pretty sure Alexis and Piper are still at the studio right now.”

He hummed low in his throat again, nodding slowly. There was a moment where he seemed to be debating which part of your speech to address first. “Well, don’t worry too much about flying out. You know I love seeing you in person, but I don’t want making time for me to be too stressful for you. I’m perfectly content with long-distance if that’s what you need to do.”

You smiled despite yourself. Shayne had established this rule early-on; you never needed to worry about going to see him if going to see him would jeopardize your work or your personal wellbeing. If you couldn’t handle the stress of a flight across the country, he would either come to you or you’d just make texting and calling work until one of you could get on a plane.

But in this instance (and in every other instance), you didn’t want to see him in person just so that he would be satisfied. You wanted to see him in person because seeing him in person was infinitely better than seeing him through the phone. You wanted to be there when he got home from work, to kiss him goodnight and good morning, to fall asleep next to him.

“I’m gonna move out there,” you said, surprising even yourself with the conviction in your tone.

“What?” he asked. The camera shook for a moment and you imagined he was sitting up in bed. “Seriously?”

You nodded. “Seriously. I’ll talk to everyone tomorrow and then I’ll call you and we can figure out the logistics. I need to be with you, Shayne. I think now’s as good a time as there’ll ever be.”

***

It took a month of you living together for Shayne to track down the old ring. He’d kept it all these years, though he could never quite put a finger on why. At least, until now.

As he rifled through his closet searching for the little blue box, he knew exactly why he’d kept it. For five years, he’d hoped against hope that you would come back to him. He’d hoped that despite it all, you could still be soulmates, just like he’d known you were before he went and fucked it up.

He found the box. It was a little dusty, but the ring inside was preserved perfectly. He moved it from the bottom of his closet to the back corner of his sock drawer, which felt like a more appropriate hiding place for a ring that was no longer going unused (hopefully).

You were currently back in New York to finish recording the new album, and then you would begin tour rehearsals in LA. The reasons for that were threefold; first, there was a choreographer based in LA that you desperately wanted to work with; second, the tour would kick off in LA, so it made sense to do the rehearsals in the place you would start; and third, you had convinced the rest of the band to do it in LA so that you could be close to Shayne. They, being your best friends and considering the other two reasons, had agreed happily. The proximity was good for Shayne, not only because it meant he got to spend time with you, but because it meant he could consult Carly. He figured that if anyone would know if you were ready to marry him, it would be her.

A week or so into tour rehearsals, the two of you hosted a dinner party at your apartment. You invited the Smosh Squad, the band, and a few other mutual friends. It was a challenge fitting everyone into the small space, but you made it work.

Shayne managed to find Carly after dinner was over and everyone had broken up to mingle. You were occupied with Olivia, Courtney, and Piper, and Carly was only talking to Damien, so Shayne figured it was his golden opportunity.

He sidled up to Carly and Damien and shot Damien a Hey man, you know what I’m about to do look (Damien was well aware of his plans, of course; Shayne had texted him the very second marriage popped into his head). Damien nodded.

“Hey, Carly,” Shayne said. She gave him a barely-civil look and took a sip of her drink. She still didn’t entirely trust him, which Shayne couldn’t blame her for; the way he understood it, she had been the one to pick up the pieces of the mess he made. He knew she was only playing nice with him for your sake. “Can I talk to you in private?”

“Sure,” she replied. She narrowed her eyes at him, obviously suspicious, even as she gestured for him to begin walking. “Lead the way.”

Shayne beckoned her into the bedroom, which was the only place not occupied by dinner guests, and rifled around in his sock drawer until he found the ring. He turned and presented it to Carly.

She choked on her drink.

“You’re going to propose?” she asked, volume just lower than a shout, obviously incredulous. Shayne shushed her frantically and glanced over to the open archway into the living room, thoroughly regretting not closing the door and praying to God that no one had heard. “Sorry, I just… Jesus, okay.” And then, in a much more reasonable tone of voice: “You’re going to propose?”

“I’m thinking about proposing,” Shayne corrected her. He set the ring back in his sock drawer. “I haven’t made my mind up yet. I don’t want to ask and freak her out. I figured you might know her thoughts on it.”

Carly narrowed her eyes at him, appraising. Shayne got the disturbing feeling that she could see straight into his soul; it was like she was looking through him, not at him. He shifted uncomfortably.

“Y/N is my best friend,” Carly said after a few seconds. Shayne nodded his understanding but didn’t dare speak. “After you destroyed her -- and you did destroy her, and it was your fault, even as much as she’s tried time and time again to convince me otherwise -- I was there for her. I have seen her at her lowest, most desperate points, and I have seen her at her most joyful. She is my best friend. She is my sister.

“All this to say, Shayne, that if you hurt her again, I can and will -- in fact, I am obligated to -- make your death look like an accident.”

Shayne nodded again, struck speechless. He was reminded of a conversation he’d had with you some time ago: he’d mentioned that he thought Carly didn’t like him, and you had conceded that she didn’t. But, you’d said, don’t worry too much. She’s all bark and no bite, and she just cares. She’ll come around to you.

As she stood in front of him now, fire in her eyes, tension in her shoulders, chin held high, Shayne was absolutely convinced that this woman was 100% bite. She quirked an eyebrow, waiting for him to speak. He was somehow more intimidated by Carly than he had been by your family.

“I love her, too,” he said. “That’s one thing we have in common. I know that I hurt her, and not a day goes by that I don’t regret it. I should’ve done things so much differently five years ago, I know that, and I’m sorry I didn’t. But by some miracle, she’s given me a second chance, and I’m not gonna fuck it up this time. I want to marry her with everything I have, Carly. I need to know that she’ll say yes.”

There was another silent moment as Carly appraised him. She glanced over at the sock drawer, where the ring was safely tucked away, and then back to him. “Okay,” she said. Shayne’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Here’s what we’re gonna do.”

***

You rehearsed for two months before the first concert of the new tour. In the week leading up to it, you were riddled with nerves; you were exhausted from long rehearsals and yet you couldn’t sleep, you had to force yourself to eat, you had dreams of getting on stage and forgetting all your choreography, or, worse, the lyrics to your own songs.

Shayne did his best to help you. He stayed up with you when you were having insomnia, even if his work suffered for it the following day, and he brought you food sometimes when rehearsals ran past your allotted lunch or dinner break. He was a godsend.

Finally, the big day arrived; it was the opening night of your tour. The new album had been out for a couple of weeks and it was doing well so far. The concert hall was slightly bigger than the one you’d performed at last time you were in LA. But sitting in your dressing room with shaking hands, about to attend the pre-show meet and greet, the nervous churning in your gut felt eerily similar to the way it felt eight months prior.

And, like eight months prior, Carly came to collect you. You walked with her down the hallway and to the meet and greet room, which had an almost identical setup; white backdrop and four stools on one side, camera equipment and a friendly man named Rob on the other.

You and the rest of the band gave Michelle the all-clear to let guests in, and the meet and greet began.

It was around the halfway mark when the door opened and you heard familiar voices walking in. Your face split into a wide grin as Noah, Keith, Olivia, Courtney, Damien, Ian, and Shayne rounded the backdrop. All of you had grown pretty close over the last few months, between you living with Shayne and occasionally visiting him at work. You had actually been in talks with Ian to appear on a SmoshCast once the tour was over.

Hugs were exchanged between the band and all your friends. You greeted Shayne with a kiss on the cheek, and Courtney with the complicated secret handshake you two had been working on.

The entire massive group took a photo together, and then your adoring fans left to find their seats. Your heart felt lighter for having seen them, and knowing that they would be in the audience worked wonders to calm your nerves. It was the exact opposite effect of your last meet and greet experience with Shayne.

The meet and greet ended, mic check passed, and the beginning of the concert approached. You took a deep breath. You did your pre-show ritual. You got into places. The concert began.

The first half of the show went off without a hitch. The fans were obviously loving it, and you (miraculously) remembered everything you were supposed to do. You were constantly glancing back at Shayne and your friends, both for comfort and to make sure they were enjoying themselves. Occasionally, you’d make eye contact with one of them and they’d flash you enthusiastic thumbs-ups. Every time you looked at Shayne, without fail, he was looking back at you, which made your heart beat just that much faster.

As you were introducing Your Love, though, you glanced over and saw that Shayne was no longer sitting with the group. You frowned but figured he had gone to the bathroom. Damien flashed you a grin and a thumbs-up from his seat next to Shayne’s.

The song began and you didn’t have time to think about anything else as you started to sing: “Luxurious lovin’ like Egyptian cotton, if I ain’t got nothing, least I got you.”

This particular song hadn’t been written with Shayne in mind, but it was hard to think of anything else as you sang the lovey-dovey lyrics. Every time you glanced over at his seat, though, he was still gone. It wasn’t that big of a deal, you knew, but you were somewhat saddened by the fact that you couldn’t serenade him (or at least make eye contact with him) while you sang.

Alexis had the second verse. You were swaying to the beat and moving across the stage to your mark when you felt a tap on your shoulder. You almost ignored it and kept moving; you were in show mode, so you chalked it up at first to a backup dancer brushing against you or something of the sort. But then you took in your surroundings and stopped in your tracks.

Alexis was still singing, but she and the rest of the band had turned their eyes to you. In fact, everyone on stage was looking at you. The audience was screaming, and you thought you heard your name a few times, but it was impossible to make anything out, and a screaming audience at a concert wasn’t exactly unusual. Your heart still plummeted, though, and you wondered if you’d done something wrong. You made eye contact with Piper, standing off to your right, and she nodded encouragingly and motioned toward you as if to say turn around.

You did, and what you saw almost made you drop your mic. Your jaw practically hit the floor.

There, on one knee in front of you, was Shayne. He was holding a little blue box, and inside the box was the most beautiful ring you’d ever seen. He was smiling up at you, hope and adoration in his eyes. As your band-mates launched into the second chorus of the song, you nodded enthusiastically and allowed Shayne to put the ring on your finger. The audience was going insane. He pulled you into a tight hug.

“I promise I’m gonna get it right this time. I love you so much,” he said. You nodded against him. When he pulled back, he laughed softly and reached up to wipe his thumb over your cheek; you realized with a start that you were crying. “Happy tears?” he asked, just loudly enough that you could make it out over the noise.

You nodded and leaned in to kiss him. You weren’t normally big on PDA, and you were pretty sure kissing in front of a concert hall full of people definitely counted as PDA, but you figured you could make an exception just this once. When you pulled away and brought the mic back up to your mouth to sing, you kept one arm around his shoulders and hardly took your eyes off him. You could feel yourself missing your choreography, but you didn’t care. Your world had narrowed to just the two of you. Shayne, the love of your life, your fiancé, standing next to you with the biggest smile you’d ever seen, looking at you like you were his everything.

You finished the song and kissed Shayne again before he had to get offstage. He leaned in to whisper in your ear, “I’ll see you after the show. Knock ‘em dead, beautiful.”

And then he went backstage. A minute later, you saw him return to his seat in the audience, where he was almost immediately engulfed in a patented Damien Bear Hug. You smiled at your friends and then turned back to the audience. They had only marginally quieted down since the end of the song. You brought the mic to your mouth. “I’m engaged, ya’ll!”

A fresh round of cheering erupted and your band-mates rushed over to wrap you in a group hug. You felt another few tears spill over and wiped them away. You’d only felt joy like this a handful of times, and it more than made up for all the sadness Shayne had caused you.

You knew, as you launched into Nothing Else Matters, that this was the beginning of a long, happy future. Your life with Shayne would, of course, have its ups and downs, but after everything, you knew this for sure: with him by your side, you could weather any storm that came your way. And he was more than worth it.

#shayne topp x reader #shayne topp #eliza.txt #forget you not

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