₊˚⊹ gap tooth smile | joe keery x reader
summary: she’s in the balcony, he’s on stage, and for one song, the world shrinks down to just the two of them. every note, every lyric, every glance carries the weight of months apart
warnings/tags: joe keery, concert, live music, long-distance relationship, fluff, romantic, 2nd person pov, intimate moments, mild crying, established relationship, no use of y/n
a/n: gap tooth smile means so much to me, this one has been cookin’ for a whileeee. i got a little bit of my inspiration for this from a book on wattpad called be mine by -appledoll, so if you like this and want to see and even longer (completed) fic that has similar concepts in some of her chapters, go check her work out! it was soso cutesy. i think she has some other fanfics on there, as well, if you want to check those out in general!
anyways, this was heavily voted for on my poll so i hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing (as a future teacher with a little gap in my front teeth, i had too much fun writing this)
You live in a third floor walk up on the north side of Chicago, in a neighborhood that smells like roasted coffee in the mornings and damp concrete after it rains. Your windows look out onto an alley where the same orange cat suns itself on a fire escape every afternoon, where delivery trucks idle too long and someone always seems to be practicing the same three chords on an untuned guitar. In the winter, the radiator knocks and hisses like it has something important to say, and you have learned to sleep through it with one arm flung over your pillow, the other curled around the quiet.
Your apartment is small but colorful and the textbook definition of homey. Books are stacked in uneven towers beside the couch and a plant, that you forget to water but refuses to die anyway, is nestled neatly beside it. There’s framed photos from college, from early years that still feel close enough to touch.
When your boyfriend visits, his shoes always end up by the door and his jackets draped over the back of a chair, like proof that someone else exists in your space. Sometimes, days after he leaves, the couch still smells faintly like his laundry soap, and you sit there a little longer than necessary just to live in it.
Your classroom sits two floors above the playground at a quiet elementary school just blocks from your apartment complex.
Twenty two kids. Backpacks nearly as big as their bodies. There’s construction paper suns taped crookedly to the windows, the corners peeling from too much tape and too many small hands. You have a reading corner that smells like crayons and pencil shavings and the faint sting of hand sanitizer. You know exactly which kids need their shoes tied every morning and which ones pretend they do not. You know who always asks for an extra hug at dismissal and who only wants one when no one else is looking. You have learned how to speak gently even when the day feels loud, how to anchor yourself so others can feel safe.
This is your life. Steady and rotted, and full in quiet, enduring ways.
You met him in college, in a way that felt unremarkable at the time and inevitable in hindsight. It started with a shared table in the student union because the library was full and neither of you wanted to move. You had a color coded planner and three highlighters lined up just so, and he had a beat up composition notebook with lyrics scribbled into the margins and a coffee that had gone cold hours prior. You started talking because it was easier than sitting in silence, and you kept talking because something about him felt familiar in a way that surprised you.
Back then his dreams were big but blurry, and yours were smaller but certain and planned. Somewhere between graduation and real life, you learned how to love each other across the distance. How to count time in weekends and holidays and FaceTime calls that stretched late into the night. How to be proud of his growing world without feeling like yours was shrinking. And most importantly, you learned how to miss someone without letting it hollow you out.
Tonight, you are sitting on the edge of a hotel bed in New York City, your cellphone pressed to your ear and your heart knocking hard enough that you are half-convinced he can hear it through the line.
The room is dim, lamps turned low. Your dress is laid carefully across the chair, smoothed flat like it is waiting its turn. Outside the window the city hums with restless energy, and sirens cut through the air whilst laughter drifts up from the street. The steady thrum of life continuing whether you are ready for it or not.
“Can you come to my next show?” Joe asks.
His voice is softer than it is on stage. No echo without the crowd, just him. You can hear the tired smile in it, the way he is trying not to sound like he needs you as much as he does.
“I miss you,” he adds. “Like.. a lot.”
You twist the hotel keycard between your fingers and stare at the ceiling. There is a crack near the corner that looks like lightning frozen in place, branching outward in thin lines.
“I know it’s hard,” he adds quickly. “With school and your kids and everything. I just thought maybe I’d ask.”
“I wish I could, I miss you so much,” you say, and it is both the truth and not. “You know it’s not that easy for me to get away.”
There is a pause on the line and you can easily imagine him nodding, shoulders dipping just a little at your word.
“Yeah,” he says softly, a small and defeated sigh following. “I know.”
Your chest tightens in the familiar ache of loving someone whose life pulls them away from yours just enough to hurt.
“Play me something later,” you say. “Tell me how it goes, I want to hear all about it.”
He exhales and there’s a small laugh threaded through it. “You know I will.”
When the call ends, you sit there for a long moment, letting the silence settle around you. Then you stand, smooth your dress, and finally let yourself smile.
The venue is already buzzing when you arrive.
The line snakes around the block, bodies pressed close, voices layered over one another in excited bursts. You hear his name everywhere, shouted, whispered, laughed about like a shared secret between all of his fans. Inside, the air is thick with heat and anticipation.
You take the stairs instead of the elevator, heart racing, palms damp. The balcony feels safer and removed somehow. A place where you can observe without being observed. You lean against the rail and look down at the crowd packed shoulder to shoulder, phones already lifted, faces tilted toward the stage like flowers toward light.
By the time the lights finally go down, your body feels too small to hold everything happening inside it.
The crowd shifts instinctively, shoulders brushing, phones lifting higher. Someone behind you chants “Djo” once, then again, until it catches like a spark and spreads. You grip the balcony rail, knuckles whitening, and tell yourself to breathe.
Then the stage blooms with light.
Joe, who’s followed by his band mates, steps out into it like he has done this a thousand times and like he still cannot quite believe it. The first song hits hard, bass rolling through the floor, and the crowd moves with it. You watch him settle into himself, the way his shoulders loosen after the opening verse, the way his voice grows steadier with every chorus. This is his element. This is where the noise in his head finally quiets.
You tell yourself you are just another face in the dark for tonight.
Halfway through the set, he does what he always does. He scans the room. It’s a casual habit, like the way someone looks for exits or familiar shapes without thinking about it.
He does not expect to find you.
You see it before anyone else does, the precise moment recognition lands. His gaze catches and holds, his mouth parts slightly, like he forgot the next breath was coming. The smile that follows is not the one meant for an audience. It is slow, stunned, almost reverent.
The lyric he is singing falters, just for half a second.
Your chest tightens painfully. You lift your hand, unsure whether to wave or hide, and he laughs softly into the mic like he has just been given something fragile and extraordinary.
The crowd notices immediately.
People follow his line of sight, first confused, and then delighted as they spotted you. You hear gasps, whispers, phones shifting direction. Someone near you says your name like it is a revelation, even though they do not know it.
Joe clears his throat, steps back from the mic, then forward again.
“Hey,” he says, and the word comes out crooked with emotion. “Sorry. I just— hold on.”
The room quiets in that expectant way that feels heavier than noise.
“I was gonna go straight into the next song,” he says, eyes still locked on you, “but I can’t do that now.”
The cheers start, but he lifts his hand again, gentle but firm.
“My girlfriend is here tonight,” he says, disbelief threading every syllable as he shakes his head like he still can’t believe it. “Which I did not know about. At all.”
The reaction is explosive. People scream and whistle, and someone else shouts something you cannot hear over the blood rushing in your ears.
Joe laughs, shaking his head, rubbing a hand over his face like he is trying to steady himself.
“So I want to do this right,” he continues. “I want to sing something that means a lot to me.”
He glances to the other members as if he’s telling them something, and the band shifts, exchanging quick glances that say everything without words. The harsh white lights fade, replaced by a warm, golden glow that feels intimate, and Joe steps back up to the mic.
The first notes of Gap Tooth Smile spill into the room.
Slower and gentler than the recording. Like he’s laying each sound down carefully.
There she is, gap-tooth smile
God, how lucky can a simple man be?
Your breath catches, sharp and sudden, and your hand flies up to your mouth without thinking. A laugh slips past, broken and disbelieving in a way it rarely did. That little gap between your top front teeth had always been one of your biggest insecurities, from childhood through your teenage years. You’d smile carefully, or sometimes not at all, guarding it like it was something fragile.
From the very first moment, he was in awe of your smile. The way it lit up your whole face, the way it caught in your eyes and seemed to spill over, made him want to grin back even when he was having a rough day. When you laughed, even if you tried to cover it, he would gently move your hands away so he could see every part of it, as if he were memorizing it. And then he’d tell you—softly, insistently, sometimes with that teasing starry-eyed look—how beautiful you were. Slowly, over time, you began to believe him, to love that little imperfection the way he always had.
One life livin’ and a cat beguiled
I know that’s my future lookin’ right back at me
Your eyes burn, hot and bright, and for a moment your mind drifts to home. The orange cat sprawled on the fire escape, sun warming its fur; the uneven stacks of books that lean just enough to feel alive; the couch that still carries the faint, comforting scent of his laundry soap days after he’s gone.
And then your gaze finds him again, right there on stage, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he’s looking at you. Really looking, like he’s grounding the words in something solid and real, like you’re not just a presence in the crowd but the center of everything that matters to him.
I see right through your skin
Your shoulders fold inward, like the words have weight. Like he’s saying them just to you. You think about the nights you’ve spent on FaceTime, half-lit rooms, quiet confessions whispered after midnight.
Frame up on my baby, she’s my superstar
Someone near you gasps, and the sound cuts through the crowd like a sharp note. Warm heat floods your cheeks all of a sudden, and you press your hand lightly to your cheeks as if you’re willing them to stop betraying you.
You glance at Joe and notice the way his mouth quirks into the tiniest, crooked smile as he sings, a look that is equal parts mischief and reverence.
He knows exactly how ridiculous it sounds, but also exactly how true, and in that brief, intimate moment across the stage, it’s just for you. Every subtle tilt of his head, every microgesture of his fingers along the mic, carries the weight of the words, and you can’t help but feel like he’s laying bare a piece of his heart that no one else gets to touch.
Come on pretty baby, let’s last a while
You shake your head, tears spilling freely now. You’re smiling so hard it aches.
When he sings that line, his voice softens, carrying something tender and pleading beneath it. Your chest tightens, aching with the weight of every mile between you, every weekend apart, every moment spent counting the days until you could be together again.
Ooh-la-la, that’s the spot
Anything’s cool if it’s done with heart
You sway without realizing it, hand pressed to your sternum, like you’re trying to keep your heart from leaping out of your body.
Makes me roly-poly with her dada smile
No, I didn’t say a century, I just said a while
You laugh through your tears at that. A full, unrestrained laugh that shakes your shoulders and catches in your chest.
Because it’s reckless and honest all at once, and it carries the weight of everything he’s ever felt for you without needing to be shouted or proven. Forever has always felt too big to promise out loud, even when you know, deep down, that you mean it, and hearing it sung this way, like it was made for you, makes your chest ache in the best possible way.
His voice cracks just a little on the laugh, and you know he’s barely holding it together anymore.
That’s my little missus, she’s my number one
Your knees go weak. You have to lean more fully into the railing, breathing through the rush of it.
Freddie said it right, ‘cause she’s my killer queen
He looks right at you on killer queen, unflinching, like he wants the entire room to understand that this isn’t a metaphor.
You’re fully crying openly now, hands shaking, chest heaving, completely unguarded.
And I tell her all the time, yeah
His eyes never leave yours.
The crowd sings with him, but you barely hear them. You’re watching the way his shoulders rise and fall. The way he keeps glancing up like he needs to check that you’re still there.
—you whisper the numbers along with him, breath hitching, heart pounding, like each one is proof of time passing and still going out of your way to always choose each other.
God, I count my blessings from the one-eyed dove
Your lips tremble, a soft, unthinking movement, and you can’t even name why.. only that it feels sacred, like something too big and bright to be contained. The words hang between you, echoing in the small space of the balcony, and your chest tightens with the quiet, overwhelming ache of being seen, of being loved so completely.
But I fell in love with her gap tooth smile
When he sings it the second time, his voice breaks.
But I fell in love with her gap tooth smile
The last note hangs in the air, trembling.
And a moment, there is nothing.
The applause is deafening. People scream, clap, stomp, but Joe doesn’t move right away. He just stands there, chest heaving, eyes locked on you.
Then, almost impossibly, he lifts a hand, flicking his fingers toward you in a small, deliberate motion, and blows you a kiss across the space between the stage and the balcony. It’s quick, and intimate, and entirely him, and it hits your heart like a jolt.
Your chest feels like it might split from the ache of it. You press your fingers against the railing in front of you, trying to steady yourself, and for a second, the noise of the crowd disappears, leaving only him and that single, perfect gesture.
Then he turns back to the mic, to the set, to the night—moving as if the world hasn’t just shifted on its axis, though you know it has.
You barely remember the rest of the show. Every song, every cheer, every flicker of stage light blends into a haze of him, of the way he saw you, and the way he always makes you feel seen.
Backstage smells like sweat, warm metal, and the sharp bite of adrenaline that hasn’t fully burned off yet. The hallway is narrow and crowded, voices bouncing off the walls, laughter threading through the chaos. Someone presses a cold bottle of water into your hand and then another person, with a headset on, tells you he’ll be out in a minute, like it’s a promise you’re supposed to hold onto.
Your stomach twists as you replay the set in your head, the way he kept glancing up at the balcony, like he was afraid you might vanish if he blinked too long. You’ve waited for this moment for hours, and now the door swings open, and he’s there.
“Oh my god,” he breathes, and then he’s moving.
He crosses the small space between you in three long strides, faster than you expect, and wraps you in his arms before you can even react. His body presses against yours, warm and solid, shaking slightly as though he’s been holding himself together with sheer force and it’s finally run out. His hands grip your back, sliding over your sides, sliding along your spine like he needs proof that you’re real.
His forehead presses to the side of your head, breathing hot against your hair, and he lets out a short, broken laugh that vibrates through his chest.
“You’re here,” he says into your shoulder, voice thick and raw with disbelief. “You’re actually here.”
You nod, pressing back against him, arms curling around his neck. He doesn’t let go. His hands move as if they know every inch of you, holding you close, grounding you. You feel the tremor in his shoulders, the rapid thrum of his pulse against yours, and the uneven rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.
You hum softly against him, letting him twist around you, hands cradling the back of your head and your back. He holds you like he’s afraid the world might take you away from him if he lets go.
“I’m proud of you,” you murmur finally, voice barely above a sigh. Your cheek presses into his chest, every heartbeat beneath you a steady reminder of why you’re here. “You were incredible, baby.”
He lets out a short, shaky laugh, eyes still closed against your hair, nuzzling you instinctively. When he finally pulls back just enough to look at you, his gaze is wild, unsteady, like he still can’t quite believe you’re really here.
“Thanks honey,” he murmurs, grinning down at you, his thumbs brushing gently over the streaks of happy tears slipping down your cheeks. “And thank you for being here, I’m better when you’re around.”
“You’re amazing no matter what, you goof,” you say softly, laughing, your hand lifting to brush at his own tear-streaked cheeks. “Watching you up there.. Joe, it was amazing.”
His arms slipping back around your waist to pull you a little closer, resting his forehead lightly against yours. “I kept looking up at you, didn’t care how ridiculous I looked,” he admits, voice low. “I thought maybe I’d imagined it. I thought maybe I’d look again, and you wouldn’t be there anymore.””
“It’s real.” Your gaze softens at his words, and without thinking, you rise onto your tiptoes, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips. “I’m here,” you murmur against him, “and I’m not going anywhere for a few days. You’re stuck with me.”
His lips part slightly at the word days, his head tilting as if trying to wrap his mind around it, words fumbling out in a breathless stammer. “I thought you—what—how?”
“The school’s on break for eleven days,” you explain, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I knew I had to see you, even before you called me.” Your hand lifts to the side of his face, fingers curling gently against his jaw, and he leans into it, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your palm.
He shudders, chest trembling against yours, and his hand slides down your back, pulling you impossibly close. You feel the warmth of him seeping into you, the faint brush of his stubble against your temple, the steady pressure of his fingers along your spine. “You’re killing me,” he whispers, voice cracking under the weight of it. “You have no idea.”
A laugh escapes you, soft and breathless, and you bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar warmth of him. You had missed him in ways words could never capture, and the fact that he was here, holding you like he might never let go, felt like a dream you never wanted to wake from.
“I love you so much,” he murmurs into your hair, voice nearly breaking. “I don’t even know what to do with it sometimes.”
Your grip on him tightens at his words and your next ones come out muffled, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. “I love you even more.”
He shakes his head, fresh tears welling in his eyes, mirroring your own, but he doesn’t say anything, and neither do you. And for a long moment, you’re simply wrapped up in each other, with the rest of the world fading into nothing around you.
