Emo Trinity x Reader

Patrick Stump x Reader - Piano

Requested on Tumblr
Word count: 3 323

Patrick knew his life had been turned upside down when you entered the room and he saw you for the first time. When he had talked to you over the telephone he had admitted to himself that you had a pleasing voice, but he never would have believed you would have such an impact on him. He did not believe in first love, never had, still did not, but when he saw you it was... something. Like reading the summary on the back of a really good book and really badly wanting to start reading immediately. Like that, only a million times stronger. He was not sure what it was, maybe the way you continuously flipped a strand of hair away that just did not seem to stay where it was supposed to, maybe it was the way your shirt hugged your body, not too tight, not too loose, maybe it was the way you pushed the sleeves up your arms so the shirt cuffs would not get in the way. The way you played piano was definitely a reason. It sounded like angels singing when your fingers moved over the keys, and Patrick was certain that you could have played the worst song written in twelve-tone technique and it still would have sounded beautiful. Of course he had heard the tapes that Pete had played them when they had started deciding on a pianist, but hearing you play live, right in front of him, was entirely different.

Maybe someone else would have made a move on you as soon as possible, maybe Pete, or Andy, or Joe, if they had felt about you the way Patrick did, but not him, no. He was happy enough just to be around you and get to know you. Mentally he pretended to be prepared for you to be a horrible person and that only the outside was good about you, but luckily his mental exercises were not tested, because as he had judged correctly from the different times on the phone, you were one of the loveliest people he had ever met. Not only were you kind and polite, you also listened patiently when someone spoke and gave everyone the chance to defend their opinion, even if you disagreed. That did not mean that you never spoke up though. You had your own opinions, strong opinions on that, on a lot of things, be it politics, human rights, animals, climate change or religion. You hated conflicts, just like Patrick, and preferred an honest discussion with constructive criticism over being buttered up and ongoing fights. And you loved laughing. You had an amazing sense of humor, giggled at his jokes and played along with pranks. Never were you mad or annoyed by the many stupid things especially Pete came up with. Instead you played into the prank, were not afraid to make a fool out of yourself every now and then, and were always ready for a witty comeback. How the hell was he supposed not to fall in love with you, deeper and deeper every day?

Little did he know that, while you immensely enjoyed the company of Joe, Andy and Pete, you had taken a special interest in the chubby lead singer. There were countless things that made you curious about him from the beginning on, his charm, his politeness, his talent, his character, and damn, just everything about him.

So when Patrick found the courage to ask you for some advice with playing the piano, it is needless to say that you were extremely delighted to do so.

By now you were on tour, travelling all over the US. Most hours on the bus that were not spent sleeping, were spent with Patrick and you, sitting close by each other, shoulder against shoulder in the back lounge, playing on the keyboard that the band insisted on keeping there. Sometimes you would also play at the big concert grand that Patrick was playing at the shows. Between sound check and doors you sat at the instrument, telling Patrick things he did not yet know, or at least pretended not to know. He would listen and ask questions, looking over at you curiously, his blue eyes sparkling under his black rimmed glasses. It was strange, to sit on the stage of an empty concert hall and explain somebody so famous and skilled things about an instrument he was playing every evening in front of an audience of thousands. You voices go lost in the huge space of the halls, even the sound of the piano never reached the back. Patrick loved it, when you pushed the sleeves of your shirt further up your arm. He loved it, when you ran your fingers through your hair, trying to find the right words. And he loved it when you placed your hands over his, guiding his fingers to play a melody.