Mr. Music - John Egbert x Reader

 Mr. Music – John x Reader

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Today was a lazy Sunday, the third Sunday after you moved in. The bird song outside slowed to a soft melody, the wind to a simple breeze. It didn't look like anyone else in the apartment complex had any particular afternoon plans, and neither did you – except for one. Your apartment neighbor, the boy that lives across the hall from you, had invited you over as a polite “Welcome to the Neighborhood!” type of thing.
Well, at least you think. He hadn't given you anymore than a time, the date, and his name.
John is what his name was, and he was a real nerdy fellow. He wore rectangular-rimmed glasses and his hair was parted by a cowlick that looked as if he had no intention of hiding it. You can't deny that it looked good on him.

You looked up at the clock and it read 6:12. He said that you could come over at anywhere around 6:30, so you used the extra time to tie up your [f/c] hair into a [h/s] and put on your favorite shirt, albeit its worn condition, a pair of shorts, and your casual shoes that were well broken into. Perhaps this looked like you were too lazy to care, but you dismissed the thought.

By the time you were done, it was already 6:27, so you grabbed the tray of cookies you may-or-may-not have bought and walked across the hall to his apartment. You were about to knock on the door when you heard soft piano music playing through the door. A few knocks and it stopped.
He opened the door dressed about half as lazy as you, to your relief: a white t-shirt with some sort of green ghost design on it with a blue button-up hung over it and beige pants. He pushed his glasses up the ridge of his nose. “Hi!” he smiled, flashing his rather prominent buckteeth at you.

“Hello,” you greeted back, shifting the tin of cookies in your hands. He looked down at it, back at you, and then at the door.
“Oh, you can come in.” he said, opening the door a bit wider for you. “And, um, you can set the tin on the counter over there. The one by the TV.”
You ushered in a thank you and put the tin of cookies on the small tabletop. You removed its lid and grabbed a cookie with a red paste filling and bit into it, sitting on the leather couch. Everything was neat; he had probably taken the last few hours to get everything spic and span for you, which you thought was thoughtful of him. You noticed that the room smelled like apple cider.

He closed the door and came to sit down on the couch adjacent to yours. “Cookies?” he asked, taking one dipped in chocolate. You nodded and he grinned, biting into the pastry. “Where'd you get them? They taste like the ones my Nanna would make, except not as fancy.”

You giggled. “I got them at that whole foods store. The one passed the veterinary hospital.”

“Ah. I'd have to stop by there sometime to get myself some.” he said, finishing off the other half of the cookie.

“It's a really nice place, yeah.” you returned, and after a while, “So, what do you like?” in an effort to start conversation back up. He beamed at you.

“Well, I guess I can be identified as sort of a film nerd, I guess?” he said, picking up a new found vigor in his voice. “I really like movies. That old cabinet right there is filled with all sorts of DVD's.”
“Really? What's your favorite?” He placed his hand on the back of his neck.

“Ah, well, it's kind of embarrassing,” he laughed. “But, I really loved Con Air.” You stifled a laugh. “What?”

“The movie with Nicholas Cage?” you asked.

“Yeah, that one.”
“That movie was terrible! My dad sold his copy at a garage sale for a dollar after my uncle gave it to him as a gift, it was so bad!” He chuckled and pushed his glasses up.
“I can agree with that. It's a bad movie, but I love it too much to never watch it again.”
“Yeah. That's nice.” you smiled. “Do you have any hobbies?”
“Hm,” He thought for a moment. “Do you consider playing video games a hobby?”

“Actually, yeah.”
“Oh, well, I play video games a lot.” he said. “Um, I like magic tricks, I guess?”
“Really?”
“I've practiced since I was a kid.”
“That's cool!”
“Yeah,” he said. “I like to program, but I've never actually made anything good.” He chuckled to himself. You took note of the PC in the corner of the room.
“I heard piano music – oh, sorry to interrupt you – coming from inside here when I was about to knock on the door.” you addressed. There didn't seem to be a stereo, and the computer's speakers looked too weak to be heard through the walls.

“Oh, you heard that?” he asked a bit of ashamed.
“Yeah. It sounded really good, though!” you assured. “I was just wondering if it was you who was playing.”
“It was. I have a piano in my room. It's really old, and I play it when I get nerv-” he hesitated. “When I feel like hearing music.” John corrected.
“Ah.” You wanted to ask him to play, but you didn't want to be rude. You bit your bottom lip before he cracked the question: “Do you want to hear me play?” as if he'd read your thoughts.

“Oh, uh, sure!” you nodded.
He led you to his bedroom and, before opening the door, said, “Pardon the mess.” The door swung open and the pillows of his bed were nothing more than a bit out of place. The rest of the room was relatively tidy. There were posters of different games, movies, and anime hung up on the walls. Figurines of multiple things stood on shelves and on his bedside table and books were stacked up on top of the hunched piano pushed up against the corner of the room. Sheet music stood unsteady on the ridge just above the keys, and there was a Ghostbusters poster above the piano.

“I knew you were a nerd, but this is a lot nerdier than I thought.” you said. He laughed as he sat at the piano. You sat on the bed, facing towards him.

He flipped through some sheet music, looking like he wanted to ask you something but dismissed the question, and put his hands on the keys. “Sorry if it's a bit rusty. Haven't played this piece in forever.” Then, both of his hands pressed down on some keys, each hand close to each other, and the piano played the notes. At first, the song started out quiet, his hands brought together. They slowly drifted from each other, his fingers dancing back and forth and stepping from the black keys to the white. He stared right up at the sheet music as his left hand waltzed up the left side of the piano and back again. It looked like either hand was playing a different song, but it sounded beautiful, the melody ranging from high up on the staff of keys to just above the very bottom. They danced in unison, his hands, all the while John kept his eyes on the music with his brow creased. Then, he hit a sour note.
“Ah, sorry. Knew I'd make a mistake somewhere.” he apologized.
“No, no. It's fine. You're playing beautifully.” you reassured. He smiled and resumed where he left off, finishing off the song loudly and proudly. You watched as his fingers pressed the same keys over and over again at impossible speeds; a trill. His hands left the piano, pressed various keys from around the piano, and then he hit a low note hard, ending the song.
You applauded and he laughed. “Well done, Mr. Music.” you chuckled, making up the nickname. “That was really amazing. How long have you played?”
“Oh, since I was, like, five or something? I don't know. And, Mr. Music?” You answered with a laugh.

“Yes, Mr. Music. Seemed fitting because, I mean, did you hear what you just played?”
He laughed. You laughed. He played another song for you.

---

You looked at the alarm clock on his bedside table. It read 8:03. You'd spent the entirety of the afternoon listening to him play the piano and both of you dove into a full fledged conversation about baked goods after finishing off the tin of cookies.
Now, you were just about to leave when he grabbed your free wrist, the other holding the empty cookie tin. “What's up?” you asked.
“Ah, ___. I like you.” he said, and it was evident he tried avoiding a stammer. “I really like you. Do you, uh. Do you wanna go catch a movie sometime?”
You smiled, feeling your cheeks burn a bit. “Of course! I'd love to see a movie sometime.” you said. “Mm, wait that sounded stupid. Um, I'd love to go watch a movie with you, John.”

He flashed his buckteeth at you again, his lips curled into a wide smile. Then, you both just stared at each other for a bit. He pushed his glasses up and you grinned.

“Well, I should start leaving now. Call me tomorrow, okay?” you said, referring to the phone number you wrote down on a sticky note of his.
“Sounds good.” he replied.
“See you, Mr. Music.” you smirked at him.

He closed the door, and you walked back into your apartment while piano music played steadily through the walls.