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shawnpetermuffins · 5 years

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I Miss You

A/n: I hope this is good because I put this off for so long wanting to do it justice. And this is based very loosely off I Miss you.

Summary: you two broke up recently, and it's not sitting well with Shawn, even though he's the reason you broke up.

Requested by @it-isnt-in-myy-blood: Hi, I recently listened to the song 'I Miss you' (Clean Bandit, Julia Michaels). Maybe you could write a fic based on the song, angsty but with a fluff ending? Thank you... ❤️

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Kinda_yourname

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Kinda_yourname Cabo sunsets >>>> anything else

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It may have only been a week, but I'm missing it here! 😭

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I shut my phone off and toss it to the end of the bed. I should have been with her on that trip, but tour got in the way. I got in the way. It's crazy to think that if you asked me three weeks ago, I would have said that my girlfriend and I could overcome any obstacle thrown at us. But ask me again a week later, and I would tell you I was wrong. That being away from her for months at a time was too much for me and I broke it off because I thought it would be what was best for both of us in the end.

Now ask me if I still believe that.

I don't.

I haven't told anyone about us yet. I mean, everyone probably suspects because there haven't been Amy preshow FaceTime calls for good luck, and I'm not texting like a madman during dinner or when we're on our way to the venues. And I know she hasn't said anything to anyone either. How? Because for one, she hasn't blocked me on any social media - I know, I've checked at least ten times just within the last two hours. And two, she hasn't deleted the three pictures of us that she has on her Instagram. They're still there for everyone to see, me included.

Now my fingers are hovering over the keyboard and I'm staring at her name on my phone which is still My Love 😍, and I'll probably never change it. Because she is my love, and to strip her of that title because I'm an idiot just isn't fair.

Hey... I miss you

I type and backspace and type and backspace at least ten times. Because I want to text her. I want so badly to text her, but what if she doesn't want to hear from me? I wouldn't blame her if she didn't want to. I was the worst. Breaking up with her over the phone, no less because I was hurting being away from her. Never once did it occur to me that, yeah, she was hurting too. Or maybe she's with someone else. Maybe she's found somebody new. I want her happy, sure. But I selfishly still want to be the one that makes her happy.

Y/n I miss you.

I delete it one last time and open my photo gallery. I have an album saved for photos of us. Photos that I never got to post because she wanted to keep us as private as possible without being a secret. Which is why both of us only have 3 photos of each other on our Instagram. One for our six months, a year, and a year and a half. Two more months and we would have had a fourth picture.

I'm swiping through the photos landing on one I took of her when we were flying back to Canada after our first trip together. We're on a private jet because this was before we went public with our relationship. Andrew made sure that we weren't seen together in the airport or anything. She's sitting in the seat across the aisle from me, legs up to her chest, earphones in, head resting on her knees as she smiles brightly at me. There's another one of us curled up together on this tiny chair in a green room in the UK that Andrew sent me. She's literally curled into a ball on my lap, sleeping peacefully and my legs are spread in front of me, arms wrapped tightly around her body, head resting against the back of the seat.

The next one Brian took. We were at my place for a very impromptu new years party. It was just gonna be me and y/n, but she insisted we invite the guys over. And we did. It was one of the best nights of my life. We're watching the ball drop, with her in my lap, arm around my shoulder. I have one arm behind her back, the other on her thigh. I think Brian knew something was going to happen because at ten seconds to midnight he pulled his phone out and captured out first new years kiss. She's holding my face and I'm practically leaning her back against the couch. It looks like I'm seconds away from crawling on top of her, and it be honest, I probably was. She's just too perfect for me to resist.

Then there's one that Josiah took of us just a few months ago at the studio house. I had y/n on the kitchen counter, she was in these jean shorts that I loved her in and a button up that she'd stolen from my suitcase. Not that I was complaining. It looked far better on her than it did on me. I stood between her legs, my hands on her sides, slipping under the shirt a little bit, leaning her hips exposed. Not that either of u cared with her fingers threaded in my hair as casually as they were. My face is blocked by her figure, but there isn't a doubt in my mind that I was smiling entirely too wide standing between her legs.

The video that follows knocks the breath out of me. She giggling like crazy, but the camera isn't on her, it's on me. On my back, more specifically. She laughs even more when I wince at the feel of her fingers on my red, raw skin that is now home of her fingernail scratches.

"Baby? What happened to your back?" She asked, amused.

"Don't know," I said, turning to face her, my cheeks still holding a slight blush. "But I think the real question is, what happened to your neck, missy?" I pluck the phone from her hands and turn the camera to her where she's trying to cover her face. I manage, however, to take her hands in my free one and the camera focuses on the flourishing bruises that litter her beautiful neck, my favorite place to rest my head.

I close my eyes, the memory of that night filling my mind. Watching her come down from her high, my face still buried between her legs. The weight and cold touch of her hands as she pulled me up to her, into her, because she needed me closer. I can hear myself murmuring the words 'I love you' all over her skin, still remember the way her back arched when I hit the right spot again and again and her finger ran down my back over and over, once more and she probably would have drawn blood. And I may not be home, but I can smell her on the sheets, that constant aroma of warm vanilla penetrating my nostrils. God, do I miss her.

I'm only making it worse for myself by doing this, I know that. But I should feel bad. I lost the greatest thing in my life and I didn't need to. So I got back to our messages, but instead of going to type a new one, I scroll through, reading through our old texts. There's countless paragraphs of us professing our love for each other. Lots of random pictures sent, most from my side. There's conversations about getting a home together, and a dog. And her telling me how much she loves my family and me telling her how much they love her, how much they ask about her. It's all hitting me too hard right now.

And it doesn't help that im literally sobbing at 2 in the morning, in Paris. The city of love. The place she told me was her favorite trip to ever take with me. Where we stood atop the eiffle tower and I gave her a promise ring, a ring that said I would love her and keep her forever. A promise ring that was now probably in the ocean in Cabo because I tore us apart so easily.

I sit up suddenly, struggling to catch my breath. It takes a few minutes, but I'm able to pull myself out of this empty bed that would only be comfortable with y/n laying next to me. I'm scrambling through the room, picking up the pair of jeans I threw off my body earlier and slipping back into them. I find a torn work out shirt in the bottom of my back and push my head and arms through before throwing my youth hoodie over my already overheated upper body. My passport is sitting in my guitar case, and I grab both things without a second thought. My suitcase trailing behind me.

It's difficult booking a flight and carrying a suitcase and guitar all at once, but I get along just well enough and adjust myself in the lobby while I wait for a taxi. I don't text Andrew until I've made it to the airport and am in my seat on the plane, ready for take off.

Emergency... had to fly home. Promise to make it back in time for the Paris show.

And I turn my phone off before he can text or call me back. Because there isn't a damn thing that he could say that would keep me there in a city that's meant for lovers, when my lover is across the world instead of laying in my arms the way she should be.

I know I shouldn't be doing this. I know there is someone out there who is better for her. Someone who isn't constantly on the move. Someone who can come home to her every night and help her make dinner. Someone who can cuddle her until she falls asleep when she's having a particularly bad day. I know there's someone who can do those things.

But I also know that he won't love her the way I do. He won't know all the little things that I do. Like how she only uses a blue toothbrush. Always has. And he won't notice the tiny scar that she has on her right middle finger from when we tried to make dinner together one night and she cut herself. He probably won't know that she wakes up at 3:34 every single night, because she hasn't been able to sleep fully and soundly through the night since she was four years old. And he'll mess up the way she likes her tea, using tea bags instead of leaves. (She like the herbal taste that you get when you use the leaves. And she likes when you do two scoops of them, and two scoops of sugar, but just cane sugar, the rock sugar makes it too earthy. And of course, she drinks it on ice because she hates burning her tongue with hot drinks.)

I'm thinking way too much as I get off the plane, reluctantly turning my phone back on only to see texts from just about everyone I know. They're all asking where I am, but I ignore them, because what I'm about to do is far more important than anything they threaten me with. I have to make things right.

Standing in front of this door that I've stood in front of hundreds of times should make me feel at ease. Remembering all the times I had her pressed against the other side of the door because I just couldn't wait to have her all to myself. But if anything, it's making me more nervous. So nervous that my hands are shaking, palms sweating, my breathing is jagged and I know if I don't knock right now I might never get the chance again and I can't lose her for real this time. So without giving myself the chance to rethink, I knock on the door three times and I wait, handing in the pocket of my hoodie.

I wait a solid thirty seconds, which feel like an eternity, before the door finally opens and I see my beautiful girl. Her face is bare, hair only halfway straightened, and she's in those shorts I love and my old Led Zepplin t-shirt.

"Shawn," my name still sounds like heaven spilling from her lips. "What are you doing here?" She crosses and then uncrosses her arms, shifting her weight from one leg to the other before standing completely straight.

I didn't even realize I was crying until I sniffled and heard my voice crack with just three words, "I miss you."

"Shawn," she shook her head.

"I tried not to," I insisted, still standing like a fool on her door step. "I swear I did. But I couldn't stop. I looked through all our pictures and texts, and I couldn't stop myself from missing you. And I know I have no right to because I broke things off. But I was in Paris and I was miserable because Paris was your favorite place, and that was where I promised to love you forever, and I'm still keeping that promise. I was an idiot," I continue to ramble. "If there's a better word for that, then I'm that too, because I thought it would be easier if I broke things off. This tour was going to be so long and to go that long without each other, I was scared that it wouldn't be enough for you. But it's not what I wanted, y/n. It's not, and I just-"

"Shawn, stop."

I shut my mouth instantly, ready for her to tell me to leave. But what she does instead throws me completely off guard. She pulls me into the apartment and wraps her arms around my neck, burying her head deep in my chest.

"I miss you, too." She mumbles and I exhale slowly, only to inhale that scent that I love so much. The scent that is naturally her. She starts to pull away, and even though I don't want her to, I let her but she only leans back enough to take my face in her hands and before I even have time to blink, her soft lips are on mine and I'm whole again.

She's mine again and I'm never letting her go.

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Tags: @curlyshawny @shawns-badreputation @anamariel2301 @bbellbagel

This took me longer to write than it should have, but I kinda really like it. I hope you enjoyed and I'll see you Wednesday for more content! 💙

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