So here's another pointless fic. It's basically major fluff, and nothing is mine, yadda, yadda, yadda. Enjoy!
For a really long time, I've been famous. Since Connect 3 "connected" at Camp Rock and became famous short after, we've all been followed around by the paparazzi all day. It seems that no matter where we go, they find us. After a couple of years, I got used to it, but it still annoyed me. It gets so bad sometimes that our press agent insists we watch our every moves, careful not to do anything that might look really bad in a picture, especially during concerts.
The more famous you are, the more pictures show up in magazines, and the more you have to watch yourself when you're in public. Sometimes I do it unconsciously, but sometimes it's really annoying to be watching every single move I do because I might get a bad picture taken.
All in all, it's infuriating, frustrating, and just the way it is. At the end of the day, it's worth all the trouble we go through keeping up a good image, because we love what we do. We love performing, we love our fans, we love music and there's really nothing we can do about it. It's definitely worth it, as hard as it sometimes.
We are what we are, right? I guess so, but that's not what my thoughts were today as I walked down the street after a particularly bad day recording. Nate hadn't been feeling well, and Jason had sprained his wrist while doing some kind of stupid stunt he always does. We didn't get much done, and needless to say, I was not a happy camper.
And to top that all off, there seemed to be more paparazzi than usual following me that day. I was trying really hard to look acceptable, but my head hurt and all the noise outside was making it worse. As I made my way to my car, I avoided a couple of reporters but stopped to sign some girls' autographs, not being able to reject them.
After ten minutes, I got in the car. Finally, I thought. I turned on the radio and sang along to the radio as I drove home. I knew I was right when I got tinted glass windows for my car. That way, I avoided a lot of paparazzi encounters.
The drive home wasn't too long, and once I got there, I opened the door and took my shoes off, hanging up my jacket on the coat hanger. It was really nice and warm inside the apartment, and once again I was glad I'd invested on my apartment.
"Shane, is that you?" I heard from the kitchen. As I walked into the kitchen, I saw Mitchie wearing an apron that said 'Kiss the Cook' and looking really busy. I grabbed her waist from behind, spinning her around, and kissed her forehead softly.
"Who else would it be?" I said. She laughed and smacked my arm playfully.
"Well, I don't know, Nate and Jason seem to be pretty comfortable with just barging in when they come over," she answered, giggling adorably. Man, was I head-over-heels for her.
"So when's dinner ready?" I asked. I knew she hated when I did that whole I'm-a-man-feed-me-woman thing, so when she frowned, I wasn't surprised.
"It'll be ready when you make some salad and set the table," I groaned as I grabbed a stack of plates from the cupboard behind her, and set them on the counter. Not being able to help myself, I hugged her from behind and kissed her neck while she stirred the contents of the pot.
"Shane," she whined, wiggling in my arms so I'd let go of her.
"Aw, c'mon, Mitch," I said against her neck. "You know you love it."
She gave up the resistance and spun around, surprising me as she kissed me on the lips. I grabbed her tighter and smiled against her lips, then deepened the kiss. She moved her hands to my hair, playing with it while my hands traveled up and down her back. I pushed her against the counter and grabbed her legs so she could sit on it. She put her legs around my waist and kissed my neck, hitting that spot she knew drove me crazy. My hands traveled under her shirt, moving farther up her back to the clasp of her bra. She smacked my arm, stopping me before I got to unclasp her bra. I moved my hands down reluctantly, but kept kissing her passionately. She moved her hands from my hair to my neck, rubbing it in slow motions. As I kissed her jaw line with small kisses, a loud beeping noise brought us back to reality.
I pulled back, surprised, and she got off the counter. She handed me the plates and smirked before turning back to the oven top, where dinner was still cooking. I scowled at her and started setting the table. No matter how annoyed I was at that timer, I appreciated the few minutes of Mitchie time I got.
Still pondering about this, I realized how loose I was when I was with her. I never felt the need to watch myself, what I said, or how I acted, and to my surprise, she never cared. There wasn't anyone to take a bad picture of me here, and that's when I was most grateful to not have let fame get to my head- when I could go home to my beautiful fiancée and just be myself.
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