prhvl bop daan scene reimagined
synopsis :: as you walked into the PRHVL Bop club, you found Daan playing the piano…
categories :: (subtle?) angst, SFW, no smut, no prns used for reader, any gender!reader, pathetic!daan, one shot
notes :: pathetic daan my beloved aaa (*≧∀≦*)
As the man’s buttocks rested on the full-grain leather piano bench, his pale, slender fingers gently bounced over each key; a soothing melody was the result of such.
After you dropped your suitcase on the floor, you assumed that it would be best to continue to stand in silence at the entrance in an effort not to disturb him. Therefore, you did.
Slack-jawed, the rest of your body remained stiff as you watched the man with checkered pants play the piano.
The tune he played flooded your mind with rememberings of one you heard back when you were a small child; although, you weren’t able to recall the exact song.
Eventually, Daan’s fingers tapped one last key before he stopped. He stood up from the piano bench, turning around.
Just as he was about to head back to the bar he had set up, he noticed your presence.
A practically unnoticeable shade of red rushed to the face of the doctor. The man then cleared his throat, muttering
“I didn’t expect you to be monitoring me; as a matter of fact, I most certainly didn’t expect anyone to be monitoring my behavior.”
As he spoke, he slowly walked back to the bar, which he had various drinks & such set up.
You chuckled in response to his previous statement, sarcastically scoffing,
“Well, apparently, God forbid I felt lonely— as well as an urge to annoy someone.”
A long beat of silence was shared between the two of you.
You examined his face— the first thing you had noticed was the singular diamond, where his stare should be.
Although, the second thing you had noticed about him was the odd color of his hair, which was a steel gray.
“Might I inquire; where did you learn to play the piano like that?”
“I certainly have never seen someone as talented as you.”
Daan adjusted his tie & raised an eyebrow. He yawned, responding monotonously to your words, despite the subject being a sensitive one,
“My wife— she was the one who taught me.”
“She never had a massive obsession with the piano, although she knew enough to teach it to me.”
The man in the silk vest looked down, he seemed to be avoiding looking at you; as he continued to speak, his voice began sounding brittle,
“I miss her— very dearly…”
As you sat down on one of the bar stools, you decided to at the bare minimum, attempt to soothe the man,
“There’s no shame in crying. I can assure you that.”
You held out your hand, then muttered,
“Here, you may hold my hand if you’d like to.”
The singular eye of his widened, tears welled up. Whilst the man was weeping, you felt a delicate, smooth pressure against your hand.
It was his hand; his freezing hand. You ran your thumb over the doctor’s hand.
As you held his hand across the bar, the man with checkered pants started to whimper like a small child; tears ran down one of his temples,
“I—I wish I could see her— at least for five more minutes…”
he continued, “I hate this. I hate crying.”
You couldn’t do much else but continue to gaze at the doctor with sympathy.
Therefore, you did. You continued to hold his hand, even whilst he was shedding those tears.
You admired how doll-like & ethereal the man looked, even whilst he was in tears.
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