Don't Write Me Notes || Levi x Reader

5. it doesn't count if it's dance practice

They're still glaring at each other. Kuchel pats your shoulder. "I can handle the cake, you go with him," she murmurs, and her lips twitch. "Men."

That makes you smile slightly, and you mouth thank you to her before you scurry across the kitchen to Levi. He offers you his arm, still not looking at you, and you take it, your fingers wrapping around his bicep. "We'll see you at dinner," he says, and he pulls you out of the kitchen.

When you're out of sight of his stepfather, you let yourself exhale, trying to relax. "Thank you," you murmur, your grip tightening on his arm.

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly as he steers you down the hall.

You nod. "Mhm."

"What'd he ask you?"

"How much I knew. About the family. And about you, and if you actually work." You think about what he asked, and you add, "I think he thinks I'm only dating you for your money."

"Of course he thinks this is all about him."

"At least he-" At least he doesn't suspect this is fake? "At least he thinks we're dating," you whisper, your voice barely loud enough to be heard.

Levi hums. "Yeah."

Another thought occurs to you- something Levi told you over pizza in your physics classroom. "And I can't believe he's cheating on your mother," you hiss through your teeth, fingernails pinching into his arm. "She's so sweet- a literal angel. I don't think she has a mean bone in her body."

He doesn't reply. But his hand rises to cover your fingers and he squeezes, so you think that's a good thing.

The two of you end up wandering into a room that you'd been in last night, after dinner- the room with the massive grand piano. When your steps falter, Levi notices, and he pauses. He gestures to the room and you take that as an indicator that you can explore, and you let go of his arm so that you can wander.

The room is gorgeous. The piano is the centerpiece, sitting on a massive, fluffy white rug and bathing in a massive patch of natural sunlight from the window that's larger than a garage door for a monster truck. There's some pretty paintings and vases decorating the sides of the room, but all of your attention is on the piano.

Your fingers feather the piano keys, not pressing hard enough to play any notes. You hear footsteps, but you don't turn, because you know it's Levi. "You play piano?" he asks, his voice right next to you. He's closed the distance you made between you.

"No," you say, and you glance at him. "It's gorgeous, though. Must've cost a fortune."

"Or a week's worth of his salary," Levi grumbles.

Your lips twitch. "Do you play?"

"Used to."

"I'm assuming you were good." You shrug; you need to pass time somehow, right? "You should play something."

"Play something," he repeats, looking at you. 

You shrug again. "Yeah. Play something."

He stares at you for a second longer, then murmurs, "fine," and moves to the piano bench. 

You smile slightly to yourself as Levi stretches his arms, fingers ghosting along the keys as he gets a feel for the instrument. He seems relaxed, comfortable on the piano bench. At home, almost. He likely took lessons growing up, once his stepfather took in him and his mom. Was he good? Probably.

Slowly, he starts to play. And yes, he's good, fingers gentle across the piano keys as he plays a melody you don't recognize. The tempo feels a bit slow, but you guess that he's just rusty. If he only comes home for the holidays, how often does he actually get to play?