Make Us Play Forever? Conan Gray x Reader

Tried

HEYYY GUYYYYYSSSSS!
 I am so sorry it's been a while! I went to a two-day festival and that was super hectic so I didn't get a chance to do writing. And heaps of work. And also- ✨procrastination✨Then I had a tooth out, therefore, MORE ✨procrastination✨

1) Taylor's Version 1989! HAHAHHAHAHgdagdvsacgdvbd;. Need I say more?! 

2) BUTTTT- 109 readers!!! What should we do to celebrate? 

3) I for one, have a whole bunch of Winner art coming out soon, so I'll put photos on here, and ofc on my Redbubble shop too. 

4) ANNNDDDD- OFC, KILLING ME!!! I want that free-signed poster so damn bad. 

5) Tell me the song that you have stuck in your mind. 

6) The feminine urge to change my last name to Gray-David-Malfoy-Torchio-Raggi-Campbell-Bower right now is so high. 

7) I saw Beck live- AND I LOVE HIM! He's kinda cool... and fine, ngl. Immediately added him to my long-arse list of fan art to make. 

8) Please, I beg of you- FEED ME YOUR REQUESTS!!! I'll take anything!

9) If an Italian guy gets you pregnant, did they 'Gnocchio you up'?

Alrighty then! OFF WE FREAKING GOOOOOOO!

I stare out across the pitch-black stage, which is swarmed with crew members setting up and checking microphones and instruments. I avoid bumping into any of them, stepping to the side whenever anyone approaches me. I can see only a part of the crowd from here in the wings, but the small sliver that I can see is enough to tell me that it's jam-packed out there. I can hear them all, chattering excitedly, singing along to the carefully curated playlist designed to pump them up before the performance starts.

I've always wondered how this felt- being here, looking out across a sea of adoring fans... people who listen to your music and are inspired by even the tiniest things that you do. But it's also such a frightening concept- that so many eyes are on you all the time, watching you- most looking for things to praise you about, but also, a portion looking for things that could tear you down. Those are the types of people that always bring a sick feeling to my stomach when I read their comments on posts.

It's so different being up here, rather than down there with all the other people- people who I once was exactly like. I still am, but I'm in the position that they wish they were in. Now, I'm the one watching from behind the scenes, but it's also not as glamorous as they all probably think. In fact, it's quite exhausting. 

I can hear chatter in the stairway, causing my focus to drift in that direction rather than the overwhelming amount of bodies currently on the premises. Conan runs up the stairs towards me and sets down two cups of black coffee before he wraps his jacket around my shoulders. He picks up the cups again and hands me one, flicking his hair over his shoulder.

"Thank you," I sigh, tiredly sculling the bitter drinking until it's all gone, "Damn, where'd you get this?!" I stare at the bottom of the cup. 

"Backstage percolator in the kitchen." he juts a thumb in the direction of the kitchen, and I nod, "I made it myself. Was it okay?"

"No, it was great. Damn Conan, you can be my barista any day!" I exclaim, and he raises a hand to his chest with mock offence, as if he's wounded.

"I'm offended that you're so surprised!" he gapes, "You act like I never make you coffee, and you and I both know that's NOT true."