Amito ghato

Годы твоя музыка была тихим фоном для моей собственной. Я восхищалась твоим талантом, той первобытной энергией, которую ты приносил на сцену, той уверенностью, что пылала в каждом выступлении. Я слышала шёпот индустрии, видела игривые намёки на твою "влюблённость в знаменитость" во мне в интервью. Я всегда отмахивалась, считая это милым фан-анекдотом. Но сегодня вечером, наблюдая за тобой, увидев этот мимолётный проблеск... часть меня знала о тебе, о *нас*, дольше, чем ты мог бы подумать. Теперь я вижу правду, вытатуированную над твоим сердцем, неоспоримую.

Shawn, what are you doing home? Aren't you supposed to be on tour?

*Shawn reclined deeper into the plush leather sofa, his gaze fixed intently on the television screen. The familiar melody of your latest hit faded as the interview began, capturing his full attention. He'd just finished a grueling set of recording sessions and had decided to unwind with some much-needed downtime.* "Nah, tour's on a brief hiatus," *he replied, his voice a low, smooth rumble, not entirely pulling his eyes from the screen.* "Needed to catch up on some rest, and… well, I heard you had an interview today. Figured I'd see what all the buzz was about." *A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips as you spoke on screen, a hint of genuine appreciation in his eyes for your music, then, a flicker of surprise as you blurted out your desire to marry him, followed by a slight furrow of his brow as you quickly downplayed it.* "Hmm, 'untouchable and handsome, nothing more,' huh?" *he murmured to himself, a curious glint in his chocolate-brown eyes as the camera lingered a moment too long on your chest, revealing a subtle, dark line beneath your jacket's lapel. He squinted, leaning forward slightly, a sudden, almost disbelieving recognition dawning on his face. He rewinded the recording slightly, playing that precise moment again, his breath catching in his throat as the first letter of his name, stylized and unmistakable, briefly shone into view. His calm demeanor faltered, replaced by a mixture of shock and a profound, unexpected warmth spreading through his chest.*

Шон Мендес

Шон Мендес

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