haileybxxr

[haileybxxr]

Our Song, Replayed ~ Andrew Vanwyngarden x f! reader

Chapter one

A/N: A chance backstage reunion between two ex lovers, both musicians, performing at the same event. Their initial awkward, but warm exchange is filled with unspoken history and lingering connection.

Warnings: None

do not copy, translate or claim any of my work as your own.

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Y/n’s POV:

The air in the backstage area of Fillmore theater hummed with nervous energy. Tonight was a big night – a triple bill featuring me, the eternal French duo Air, and an artist I don’t seem to know who just yet. I was going over my lines to prepare for “Sexy Boy”, trying to ignore the butterflies doing acrobatics in my stomach. 

I took a deep breath, the scent of hairspray and expensive cologne thick in the air. A familiar, slightly nasal voice cut through the pre-show din. 

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t y/n.”

I freeze. I didn’t need to turn around to know that voice. It still held that slightly sardonic, almost boyish lilt that used to make my heart do a little flip. Slowly, I turned.

There he was, leaning against a roadie case, looking older, of course, but still undeniably Andrew. His signature tousled hair was a cut, maybe a touch grayer at the temples, piercing green eyes were unmistakable. He wore a black wool cardigan with what looked like a sky blue plaid button up, a look that was quintessentially him.

A beat of awkward silence hung in the air, thick and heavy like the Miami smog that hung over Fillmore Theater.

“Andrew,” I managed, my voice a little breathier than I intended. “Wow. I… didn’t realize you were on the bill.”

A wry smile played on his lips. “Surprise. My manager pulled a last-minute rabbit out of a hat. Apparently, there was some scheduling conflict, and here I am.” He pushed himself off the case and took a few steps closer. “You look… good, y/n.”

A blush crept up my neck. “You too, Andrew.” I gestured vaguely. “Big fan of the new album.”

“Thanks,” he said, his gaze lingering on my face for a moment longer than strictly necessary. “I’ve heard good things about your work with Air. That’s quite a leap from our noisy college room days.”

A small smile touched my lips. “Life takes you to unexpected places, right?”

Another silence stretched between us, this one less charged with awkwardness and more with a shared history, a ghost of the intense connection we once had. I could feel the weight of unspoken words, of shared memories of late-night songwriting sessions, cramped tour vans, and the dizzying rush of early success.

Just as silence threatened to become too heavy, Nicolas Godin from Air walked by, clapping us both on the shoulder. “Ah, y/n! Andrew! Fantastique to see you both on the same stage tonight. A meeting of musical minds!” He beamed, oblivious to the undercurrents in the air.

Andrew offered Nicolas a polite smile, “Definitely. Big fans of your work.”

As Nicolas continued on his way, Andrew turned back to me, a softer look in his eyes. “It’s strange… isn’t it? All this time, all these different paths, and here we are.”

I nod, a lump forming in your throat. “Yeah. Strange… but maybe not entirely unwelcome?” The words slipped out before I could fully process them.

A flicker of something - recognition, perhaps even a hint of the old spark - ignited in his eyes. “Maybe not,” he echoed softly. “Maybe not at all.”

The stage manager’s voice boomed over the intercom, announcing that Air would be going on in ten minutes. The moment, fragile, and loaded with unspoken history, was interrupted.

“Well,” I said. “Duty calls. Break a leg tonight, Andrew.”

“You too, y/n,” he replied, a genuine warmth in his voice. “It’s good to see you.”

As I walked towards the stage, I couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight was more than just another gig. It was a reunion, a chance encounter that had stirred up echoes of a past I thought was long gone, and I couldn’t help and wonder what the rest of the night, and maybe even the future, held. The music was about to start, and for the first time in years, I felt a nervous excitement that had nothing to do with the crowd.

The opening notes of “Playground Love” drifted through the backstage curtains, instantly wrapping me in a familiar, melancholic haze. It was Air’s signature blend of dreamy synths and breathy vocals, a song I knew intimately from countless times of listening to “The Virgin Suicides” album. But tonight, it was Andrew who had unexpectedly joined them onstage.

A wave of curiosity, tinged with a strange sort of nostalgia, washed over me. I found yourself drawn to the edge of the stage, peering through a gap in the heavy velvet curtains. The stage lights bathed the audience and theater in a soft, ethereal pink glow. Nicolas and Jean-Benoît were positioned at their usual array of vintage keyboards and synthesizers, their silhouettes familiar and comforting. And there, standing, centered, in front of the mic, was Andrew.

Watching him, I felt a peculiar mix of emotions. There was a sense of pride, seeing him so effortlessly blend his voice with Air’s unique sound. He looked comfortable, almost serene, lost in the music. It was a side I hadn’t seen as much during the frenetic energy of MGMT’s early days.

But there was also a pang of something else, something akin to longing. This song, with its bittersweet melody and themes of youthful innocence and fleeting romance, resonated with the echoes of our shared past. I remember late nights, huddled together in Andrew’s cramped Brooklyn apartment, listening to “Moon Safari” on repeat, the album a soundtrack to our burgeoning relationship. “Playground Love,” in particular, had always felt like our song, a whispered secret language only the two of us understood. 

Seeing him perform it, years later, on this grand stage, felt surreal. It was as if a ghost of our former intimacy had materialized in the music.

I watch the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the subtle sway of his body as he felt the rhythm. I remembered the way his eyes would crinkle at the corners when he smiled, the way he used to hum melodies in his sleep.

The crowd swayed, lost in the hypnotic rhythm. I could feel the vibrations of the bass drum through the floor. But my focus was solely on Andrew, on the way his silhouette moved against the backdrop of the stage lights, his voice sending waves that did not clash, but rolled smoothly with the instrumentals.

A stagehand brushed past me, whispering something about my set being next. I nod absently, my gaze still fixed on the stage. The song nearing its end, the final shimmering chords fading into the warm Florida night.

As applause erupted, Andrew looked up, a fleeting glance that seemed to sweep across the backstage area. For a brief heart-stopping moment, I thought his eyes met mine through the darkness.

Then, he turns to acknowledge Nicolas and Jean, a small smile playing on his lips. The moment was gone, but the feeling lingered. Standing there in the wings, the music still echoing through my ears, I couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too - the ghost of “Playground Love” connecting us across the years and the miles.

Andrew’s POV:

The low hum of the amplifier vibrated through my feet, a familiar comfort amidst the pre-show chaos. Tonight was unexpected. A last-minute call had me at Fillmore Theater in Miami with Air, a band I deeply respected, their sound a shimmering sophisticated counterpoint to MGMT’s more chaotic energy. But the real surprise, the one that had sent a jolt of something akin to nervous energy through me, was seeing her name on the lineup: y/n.

I hadn’t seen her in… Christ, had it really been that long? Years bled into each other in relentless cycle of touring and recording.

I had followed her musical journey from afar, a quiet admiration for her evolution into a more nuanced, indie sound. Collaborating with Air? That was impressive.

I leaned against a roadie case, trying to appear nonchalant as I scanned the backstage area. And then I saw her. Reading her lines, her brow furrowed in concentration, a familiar habit. Her hair was longer, styled differently, but the way she bit her lip when focusing, the slight tilt of her head - those were instantly recognizable. She looked… good. Really good. My chest tightens as I approach her.

Our brief, awkward exchange had been a strange mix of polite pleasantries and unspoken history.

I’d caught myself staring, the years melting away for a moment, replaced by the memory of late nights and shared dreams. Hearing her say my name again, that familiar cadence, had been a jolt.

Later, as Air took the stage, Nicolas beckoned me over with a warm smile. “Are you ready?” Nicolas asked me. I nod, a strange sense of inevitability washes over me. I knew what song I was going to perform with them, “Playground Love”. Our song.

Walking on stage, bathed in the warm pink light, the opening synth chords washed over me, instantly transporting me back. “Moon Safari” had been a constant in y/n and I’s early days, a shared sonic landscape. And “Playground Love”… that had been our song. A whispered intimacy, a soundtrack to a time when our worlds felt inextricably linked.

As I closed my eyes, and swayed to the intro, a melody both familiar and newly discovered, I couldn’t help but let my gaze drift towards the wings. I knew she was there. I could feel her. I didn’t dare to look directly at first, afraid of what I might see, what emotions might flicker across her face.

But then, drawn by an invisible pull, I glance over.

I see her silhouette against the dim backstage light, her posture still, her attention fixed on the stage, possibly on me. I couldn’t make out her expressions in the shadows, but the intensity of her gaze felt palpable.

Playing the song now, with the weight of years and separate lives between us, was a surreal experience. Each note felt loaded with unspoken memories, with the ghost of a love that had once felt so all-consuming. I remember holding her close, the lyrics a whispered promise in the dark. I remember the naive hope, the belief that our story would be a never-ending soundtrack.

I began singing, the melody and lyrics ingrained in my mind. But at the same time, my mind was elsewhere, replaying fragments of our shared past, the laughter, the arguments, the quiet moments of connection.

As the song reached its final, shimmering chords, I allowed my gaze to sweep across the backstage area again. And then, for a fleeting, heart-stopping moment, I thought I saw her eyes meet mine through the darkness. There was a flicker of something there - recognition, maybe even a hint of old tenderness.

I quickly looked away, a knot forming in my throat. I offered Nicolas and Jean a polite smile as the applause washed over us, trying to appear composed. But inside, my thoughts were a whirlwind.

Seeing y/n again, performing our song on this unexpected stage, had stirred something deep within me, a reminder of a connection I thought had long faded.

As I walked off stage, the echoes of the music still in my ears, I couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight had been more than just a gig. It felt like an unwritten chapter, suddenly reopened.

Y/n was up next. Brushing by me as we exchange a small smile.

The lights dim, the familiar synth intro of “Sexy Boy” starts pulsing through the venue. From my spot backstage, I hear the crowd erupt.

A knot tightens in my chest. Seeing her up there, bathed in the stage lights, a part of this iconic song… it’s surreal.

We hadn’t really talked, not properly, since everything fell apart. Now, here we are, orbiting the same musical universe again, even sharing this legendary Air track.

Each playful synth line, every driving beat, feels different now. It’s not just a fun, flirtatious song anymore. There’s a strange mix of pride - seeing her shine, knowing her talent - and a sharp pang of what we lost. This song, this moment, it’s bizarre, beautiful, and slightly agonizing reminder of a connection that still hums beneath the surface, even if we’re both just playing our parts on separate stages now.

The adrenaline of the performance slowly ebbed away, replaced by a nervous anticipation. Backstage was a flurry of activity- roadies packing equipment, crew members congratulating Air, the general post-show buzz.

Andrew found y/n leaning against a catering table, a half-empty bottle of water in her hand, talking animatedly with Jean-Benoît. He waited until their conversation lulled before approaching.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a little rough from singing.

Y/n turned, a genuine smile lighting up her face. “Hey yourself. That was… unexpected, Andrew. You sounded great!”

A warmth spread through his chest at her words. “Thanks. So did you on ‘Sexy Boy’.”

He hesitated for a beat. “You free for a bit? Just wanna catch up, y’know.”

Her smile softened. “Yeah, I’d like to.” She excused herself from Jean, who gave Andrew a knowing nod and a thumbs-up.

We find a quieter corner of the backstage area, near some stacked flight cases. The noise of the departing crew faded slightly.

“So,” Andrew began, feeling a strange mix of excitement and apprehension. “It’s been a while.”

Y/n chuckled softly. “That’s putting it mildly. Last time I saw you, ‘Kids’ was still blowing up.”

I winced good-naturedly. “God, that feels like a lifetime ago. A lot has happened.” I took a breath, preparing to drop this big of a news on her. “Um… I actually got married a few years back.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly, but her expression remained open. “Oh? That’s… great, Andrew. Congratulations.”

“Yeah, it was good for a while.” I say, the past tense hanging in the air. “We’re not together anymore though. Been separated for about a year now.” I shifted slightly, feeling the need to explain further. “But the good that came out of it… well, i have a daughter. Her name’s Lila, she’s five, and she’s amazing.” A soft smile touch my lips as I spoke of her.

Y/n’/ eyes softened. “A daughter? Wow, that’s incredible.” There was a genuine warmth in her voice. “I can’t even picture you as a dad, in the best way possible.”

I laugh, genuinely. “Trust me. I couldn’t either. But she’s changed everything.” I pause. “And musically, Ben and I have been working on some new stuff. It’s different. A bit more introspective, maybe. Less… overly psychedelic, though there are still elements, of course.”

“I’d love to hear it sometime,” y/n says. “My own music has been evolving too. Especially working with Air. It’s opened a whole new landscape for me. More textures, more space.”

“I’ve been following,” I admit. “Really beautiful work, y/n. That track ‘Starlight Bloom’… it’s amazing.”

A blush touched her cheeks. “Thanks, Andrew. That means a lot.” She seems to hesitate for a moment. “And… yeah, life on my end has been good. I’m actually in a relationship. His name is Julian. He’s a photographer. We’ve been together for about three years now.”

A small pang, unexpected and quickly suppressed, flickered within me. “That’s great, y/n. I’m happy for you.” I say trying to keep my tone even.

“He’s wonderful,” she says, a smile gracing her lips as she spoke of Julian. “Very supportive of my music. We moved to Paris a year and a half ago.”

“Paris.” I repeat, a slight surprise in my voice. “You’ve really built a life out there huh.”

“It feels like home now,” she agreed. “But it’s still strange being here, in Miami, even for a night.” She looks at me with a thoughtful expression. “It’s strange seeing you too, after all this time. In this context.”

“Yeah.” I echoed. “Life has a funny way of bringing people back into orbit, even if it’s just for a fleeting moment on a crowded stage.” I paused. “So, new music with Air, a life in Paris… it sounds like you’re in a really good place.”

“I am,” she confirmed, her gaze steady. “It took a while to find my footing, both personally and musically, but yeah. I’m happy.”

A comfortable silence settled between us for a moment, a silence that felt less charged with awkwardness and more with shared understanding of how much time had passed and how much we both had changed.

“Well,” I finally say with a small smile. “It’s good to hear, y/n. Really good.” I meant it. Despite the unexpected twinge I had felt hearing about Julian, seeing her happy felt right. “Maybe we can properly catch up sometime. No backstage chaos, no looming stage times.”

Her eyes light up. “Yeah. Maybe next time when I’m in LA (where he lives), or if you ever find yourself in Paris.”

“Definitely,” I say, pulling out my phone. “Let me grab your number.”

As we exchange contact information, a sense of closure, mixed with a newfound possibility of a different kind of connection, hung in the air.

The past was still there, a shared history that had shaped us both, but the present held the promise of something new, something less tangled with youthful intensity and more grounded in the realities of their separate, yet somehow still intersecting, lives.

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A/n: This is my first time write a fanfic. I noticed that no one had written a ff about Andrew Vanwyngarden of MGMT and I wanted to read one but sadly there was none!

I really hope you guys enjoyed it. I’m hoping to turn this into a series but who knows 🤷‍♀️.

[haileybxxr]

Why is there no ff about Andrew Vanwyngarden of MGMT on here?!! Come on people ☹️. Think I might write my own. 🤔