˖ ݁♬⋆.˚𝄞. YOU'RE A MUSIC STUDENT WITH JOAQUIN TORRES
a/n: none of the lyrics are mine. all lyrics are from cups by anna kendrick from pitch perfect.
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the pleasant tapping was sweet at first—reminding you of the soft pattering of rain, then the faint sound of needles clicking from knitting; but after a while, it became annoying. like hair pulling annoying.
you paused, pencil between your teeth as you stared at your third attempt of songwriting. it was infuriating, trying to chase the ideas while running on red bull and coffee, your brain somewhere between shutting down and the never ending plane of words scrambling throughout your head.
the tapping didn’t stop though; and when you finally squinted through the fairy lights and half-covered curtains, you spotted a shadow, dark and hovering, balancing on the narrow fire escape.
“sunshine?” the voice was muffled through the glass, but unmistakably familiar.
you dropped your pencil, scrambling off your chair and shoving the window open with a loud creak. the chilly air of the midst of the night swept in, bone-chilling and icy as you stuck your head out.
“joaquin?”
he offered a crooked smile. “hey.”
your boyfriend hooked a leg over the window, one hand wrapped around his torso, the other clamped around the window frame like his body depended on it. nearly tripping, he stumbled halfway through before you caught him, arms under his and dragging his heavy weight inside.
but the second he was fully inside and the light hit his face, your stomach dropped.
“oh my god.” you reached for him instinctively, eyes wide. “what the hell happened to you?!”
he flinched as you touched his cheek, the bruise on his jaw dark and spreading like watercolor. there was a split on his lower lip, and his knuckles were red and scabbed, his jacket stained with what looked like dried blood.
“hey, hey,” he said quickly. “i’m okay—I’m fine, i promise. well, mostly, just a little dented.”
“you’re literally bleeding, joaquin!”
“it’s not actively bleeding,” he offered.
you glared at him, grabbing his wrist and guiding him toward the bed. “sit down before you fall down.”
“bossy,” he muttered with a grin, but winced as he lowered himself. you ignored him, instead kneeling in front of him, already rummaging through the drawer under your bed for the first-aid kit. “what did you even do to get so banged up?”
he didn’t answer at first, not until you cupped his chin, gently tilting his face toward you.
“joaquin.”
his jaw tensed under your fingers. “i might’ve taken a little detour.”
you narrowed your eyes. “what detour?”
he licked his lips nervously, closing his eyes. “don’t get mad at me sunshine, but i may have gotten into a teensy disagreement with my roommate.”
“a disagreement?” you repeated slowly, staring into his amber eyes, “with your roommate?”
he swallowed, “he was talking shit about you and i… i kinda lashed out. said your music was trash, like every other basic girl with a guitar.”
you let out an exasperated sigh. “so you punched him because of that?”
“technically,” he said, sucking in a sharp breath as you finally pressed the disinfectant to the cut near his eyebrow, “he swung first. i just… followed through.”
you stared at him, your exasperation battling the sharp twist in your chest at the fact that he defended you—again. “that is the dumbest thing i have ever heard, joaquin. but honestly, i can’t even be mad because...” you sighed, gentler this time, “... because you’re such a stupid idiot in love that it’s kind of gross.”
his lips tugged into a lopsided grin. “you think i’m in love with you?”
“i think you punched someone because they insulted how i sound, so yeah, i’m gonna go ahead and say fully obsessed.”
“but you’re obsessed with me too, right?” he asked, cracking an eye open and giving you a wounded look.
you tilted your head to the side, carefully pressing a finger to the bruise on his cheek, tracing the purple and green, blooming across his cheek. in return, he winced with a hiss, and you smiled sweetly, fingers sliding back to his jaw.
“careful,” he murmured, watching you from under his lashes. “i’m fragile right now.”
“yeah, and whose fault is that?” you said, though your voice was soft and teasing. “you crash-land into my room in the middle of the night looking like you lost a fight—”
“i won, technically.”
"you're lucky i love you," you muttered under your breath, with an amused twitch of your lips.
"i do," he grumbled, "it's why my roommate looks like someone shoved his ass into a garbage disposable unit."
"or you could've just used your words, like a big kid," you teased. "really, it's not that big of a deal."
instead of biting back with a smug grin, his gaze hardened, brown eyes sharpening like flint. "but it is to me."
you blinked, stunned.
"i don't care what people say about me. but not about you. 'cause they don't see the way your eyes light up with pride after you finish writing, even if it means staying up till three in the morning." he murmured, "he called you a basic girl with a guitar, but you're anything but basic." his eyes were shining now. "in fact, you're anything but basic. and that guitar? it’s the reason i fell for you in the first place, sunshine."
your chest turned warm, and your heart pounded hard in your chest, as his gaze flicked to your mouth. his jaw was cradled in your fingers again, and thumb brushing carefully over the side of his bruise. joaquin watched you with a soft and hopeful expression, like the one he always had when he wanted to ask you for something.
"so... you gonna kiss me now or are you gonna make me suffer more?"
you shook your head, laughing under your breath as you stood up and reached for your guitar.
“not until you’ve earned it.”
he groaned, flopping back onto your pillows again. “sunshine, i’m bleeding for you.”
“…no,”
he huffed out a breath, “fine will you at least sing for me then?”
you paused, half-expecting him to follow it with another dumb joke—but he didn’t. he was looking at you with those intense brown eyes, dark curls falling loosely over his eyebrows. "you always sing when you think i’m asleep,” he said. “you did it the night before when we fell asleep on your couch. i remember.”
you bit your bottom lip. “that doesn’t count.
"it does," he insisted. "besides, i wanna hear what you've been working on."
you hesitated, fingers brushing lightly over the strings of your guitar. the room had gone quiet except for the low hum of the city outside and joaquin’s breathing, which was slower and steadier, like he was starting to relax. his head was propped against the headboard of the bed, and you were sitting across from him, his eyes soft and floored onto yours.
“it’s not done,” you said softly.
“doesn’t have to be,” he replied, shifting slightly on the bed, wincing only a little. “just wanna hear it from you.”
you glanced at him, still sprawled out like a battered prince, all bruises and blood and an unwavering look of determination, something that always made your heart stutter.
so you sat on the edge of the bed, guitar in your lap, and started to strum at the bronze, voice shy and uncertain.
i got my ticket for the long way 'round, two bottle whiskey for the way and i sure would like some sweet company, and i'm leaving tomorrow, what'd you say?
joaquin’s hand started tapping against his thigh in rhythm. not loud, just a familiar three-beat pattern—tap tap clap—like muscle memory.
he smiled a little to himself, not even looking at his hand, just keeping it soft in time while his eyes stayed locked on you.
when i'm gone, when i'm gone, you're gonna miss me when i'm gone. you're gonna miss me by my hair, you're gonna miss me everywhere, oh, you're gonna miss me when i'm gone.
his head was still tipped back, but his lips were parted, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. you kept going anyways, though, your strumming slowed down a little.
i got my ticket for the long way round, the one with the prettiest of views. it's got mountains, it's got rivers, it's got sights to give you shivers, but it sure would be prettier with you.
you let the rest fade into silence, and by then, joaquin's finger had stilled, the last tap lingering like an echo. he didn’t blink.
“sunshine,” he whispered, voice soft like a prayer.
you didn’t answer, instead you just leaned down and kissed him—careful, gentle, and reverent.
he smiled against your lips.
“see?” he murmured resting his forehead against yours, “music heals.”
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you're gonna miss me by my walk, you're gonna miss me by my talk, oh, you're sure gonna miss me when i'm gone. — cups, by anna kendrick from pitch perfect