rodrikstark's headcanons (part 4)

call time (j. storm x gn!reader)

"loosen up."

the hotel parking lot echoes back your hesitant and irregular drum beat. a dreary accompaniment to your half-asleep bandmates trudging their way to the buses.

johnny grabs a stick from you, showing you for the dozenth time the looseness of his grip, how he lets it bounce after impact. "nice and easy."

"i'm trying," you grumble, snatching it back. you're still choking it, though, and he thinks your rhythm is somehow worse.

he smirks. "how are you so tense for a 5:30 call time?"

it'll never be his favorite way to start a saturday morning—jolting awake at an unwelcome alarm, drowsily zipping himself into a wool uniform—but he'll admit there's beauty in it. the dawning sun peering above the rooftops, washing everything in a pinkish red, the sky still dark overhead.

and you, especially in this gentle light. even with your not-so-gentle scowl. "how are you so chipper?"

"caffeine." the drum hooked onto his torso puts some distance between you two, but you still squirm when he lets his coffee breath waft all over you, a whitish cloud in the autumn chill.

you wave it away and shove at his chest. "coffee makes me nervous."

"you? nervous?"

a little smile plays on your face, despite his teasing. "do you think i can sneak onto your bus?"

"who's taking your attendance?" he squints to see which drum major is loitering by your bus's door. it's rogers, all straight-backed and clutching a dorky clipboard. you follow his gaze and whine, moping over to johnny's side while he laughs at you. "no chance."

he removes the harness, resting his snare on the pavement so you'll embrace him properly. you tug at the fake buttons on his jacket as he murmurs against your temple. "you wouldn't get any sleep on the drumline bus anyway."

he's their captain, but that doesn't mean he could ever convince them to be quiet enough for you to take a nap en route to the stadium.

"but you're so hot."

yeah, well, he can't help that. after rehearsals and games, you always wrinkle your nose at him, but he sweats because he has to work the hardest out of anybody.

you have no objections to his temperature now, giggling to yourself, burrowing into his uniform and dreaming of sleeping on his shoulder.

"we've got, what?" johnny wonders. "two parades, pre-game, three hours of football, half time. oh, then the post-game parade." he chuckles. "and a four hour trip back to campus." johnny's sore just thinking about it, but he softens at the next thought. "after all that, i'll warm you up."

sighing, you lift his harness to reset the whole contraption over his shoulders. you look at him up and down, in that proud way that makes him blush. "promise?" your smile is sleepy.

"promise." he steals his drumsticks back, slipping them into his bag before kissing your cheek. "happy game day."