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You strummed the electric guitar again, attempting to replicate what Hobie had done a few moments earlier so easily, and winced when the note came out entirely wrong. You adjusted your position on his bed, dangling your legs off the side of it, and placed the guitar down gently. No progress was being made at all, and it was starting to get on your nerves, no matter how Hobie insisted that you were just a beginner and it was to be expected. You supposed it was unrealistic to want to be the best at something new immediately, but you couldn't help it.
"How long do you think I'll have to practise to become decent? I don't mean good, but just… how long would it take for me to reach an acceptable level," you asked, giving the guitar pick next to him as he sat next to you.
"Honest?" he asked, raising a pierced eyebrow. You nodded, stretching your arms up and outwards.
"Honest. Don't lie to save my feelings," you told him, pointing mock-sternly. He flicked the guitar pick up in the air and caught it, before commenting offhandedly, "I hardly do that, anyways."
"I know you don't," you couldn't help but reply, smiling lightly as you did so. "So, thoughts?" Hobie sucked in a breath through his teeth, and what looked like a slight grimace appeared on his face.
"A long time. But, it depends on if you're actually proper interested or not in learning, ya get me?" You hummed in reply, and after a few moments he added, "You're not that bad, really, but just… mildly bad." You couldn't help but scoff at those words, which could hardly be considered as anything but salt on the wound.
"'Mildly bad'," you let the words roll off your tongue, before saying jokingly, "Somehow, that hurts more than just being straight up." You sighed despondently, falling to the side and laying your face in his pillow wearily. Then, you realised it all smelled like him— the cologne you liked so much strong on the sheets and pillowcase. You quickly sat up again, caught off-guard for a moment. "What if I quit? I'll just play the tambourine or the triangle," you told him, crossing your arms over.
The equally disappointed and incredulous look he gave you was palpable. "No hate for the tambourine, or triangle, but those out of every instrument you could choose? Actually?" Hobie said.
"They're simple, that's why. Can you really mess up something so simple?" you said. That was a good point, and so, he tilted his head a little as he mulled over his reply. "I mean, that’s true. Seems impossible to muck it up. But, won’t you get bored at some point— ‘specially if you’re playing solo," he said, a small smirk creeping onto his face when you didn't have an immediate reply to that. These joking arguments were kinda your thing, between you and him, where you'd both take different sides and debate on stupid topics to pass the time. He won most of the time, because he always took the logical side and you were left with the more silly one. A little like now, but you had the suspicion that he just wanted you to learn the guitar so you two could play together.
"So, you’re saying they’re boring? Y'know, if I played the tambourine, I'd be really offended right now," you told him and he laughed. "Good thing you don't then, ay," Hobie said exactly. His lips curled up into a grin, eyes glancing at you briefly. "I'm not saying you can't play it, but there's bare instruments: you don't have to go for the most boring ones of the lot."
"So, what are you suggesting, then?" you asked, turning your head to look at him. You noticed his gaze drift over to you after glancing over one of your drawings that had been flimsily taped up on the opposite wall.
"I was thinking bass, but I know you, so you'd probably like the recorder and kazoo: I hate both of them, genuinely." You laughed at that. "You know me so well; I actually used to play the recorder when I was little. There's a performance video of me if you want me to show you," you spoke softly as you focused on scouring through your camera roll for the video. Once you found it and held it up, he leaned forward, shuffling closer to you. His hair was almost touching you as he tilted his head to get a good look at the camera, and you internally froze at his casual behaviour.
When the video started, you could see that it was a shaky recording of you performing at your recorder class, filmed by your mother who had come to watch, From what you could remember about the day, there were a few other parents and these performances from the class would determine who would get to do the big performance at the end of the year. Although muffled, you could still hear your mother's encouragement and compliments as you nervously shuffled on stage. This was insanely nostalgic.
You remember, at first, you were playing fine. Good, even. But as the notes got longer, and your fingers got clammier as you began paying more attention to the crowd of parents, teachers and classmates, you remember misplacing your fingers. And suddenly, the final note veered horribly off-tune, messing up the whole thing.
"God, man," Hobie murmured once the video ended, "I can't even lie, you are not musically inclined whatsoever." You couldn't even disagree. You waved your hand away as if that truth was irrelevant, playfully contending, "At least I made up for it by being good at drawing. You can't say that, though, can you?"
"Quit lying," he said, "I know how to design banners and outfits."
"Oh, for your protests? Sure. But, if I ask you to sketch a person, the best you can give me is a stickman. Is that a lie too?" You raised him that, and he simply rolled his eyes in return. "Fine, let's squash that topic, then," he relented.
Hobie let his right arm fall around your shoulder, telling you, "You will be getting better at the electric guitar, whether ya like it or not." At that moment, you were just trying your hardest not to freeze. You knew he only thought of you as a friend, so you'd been trying to suffocate these feelings out of existence. But, they just wouldn't subside, and that was inconvenient for whenever he did this or pulled you close to him platonically.
You replied after a moment with a slightly awkward laugh, "This is my last hope for if I want to learn an instrument properly, if I'm being real."
"And, you're going to succeed, eventually," he said, his self-assuredness evident in his voice too. His arm dropped from around your shoulder and he picked up the custom-decorated electric guitar again, placing it in your hands. "Shall we start now?" He adjusted your hands so one was clasped on the fretboard and the other held around the body. Since he had to be close to help you find the notes, you could see the chipped black nail polish on his dark brown fingers and the calluses that formed on his fingertips due to playing the guitar.
You didn't look up, because if you did, you'd be able to see every detail of his face, from the silver lip ring that hugged his bottom lip to the piercings that accompanied his eyebrows. You knew you wouldn't want to look away, so you resisted even starting.
"Let's try something simple," he said, mostly to himself before he told you to position your fingers on certain strings to try and recreate a simple riff that you often heard when listening to him rehearse his shows. You tried following along with what he was saying, you really did try to care about all the different lettered strings he was naming to you, but your attention kept pulling back to him instead of what he was teaching. After a few minutes, he stopped, much to your confusion. "You alright there, (Y/N)? 'Cause ya ain't focusing…" When you glanced up, you could see the confusion on his face.
"I'm good, don't worry," you said quickly and you cleared your throat, forcing your gaze to lock back onto the electric guitar and not look back at Hobie. Not when he corrected your hand positions on the frets by leaning over you, and not when you noticed the space between you becoming smaller and smaller.
He ended up stopping again a while later, and while he looked mildly confused the first time, now there was some concern. "You sure nothing's up?"
Would it be too blunt to say that he's been the one distracting you without even trying?
Would that be odd? (You consider the thought briefly, and decide it would be, so you bite your lip.)
In the time you've known each other, you've forged a close and comfortable friendship, where you often spent more time in each other's rooms hanging out then your own ones by yourself. You shared so many things, and you knew there was a bond there that you cared about, so you didn't want to mess it all up now.
You inhaled and exhaled.
"Nothing," you said curtly. You weren't expecting anything of him, so why tell him? You'd just wait till these feelings faded and you'd be back to normal.
Hobie spoke, "I'm not daft, alright. I know there's something going on with you, so just let me know if it's something serious, aight?" You didn't want to cause him worry by making him think that something serious was going on when it was you just being indecisive on whether or not you should tell him about your feelings. So, you pushed back your anxiety for the moment and began to speak. "There's nothing serious or bad going on, and I mean that," you said, and you meant that. "It's just that, right now, you're a little close."
He moved to be a little further away, stating, "Oh, my bad, I didn't know you was uncomfortable with that." But, that wasn't exactly what you were trying to say, so you steeled yourself and continued. "No, I'm not uncomfortable, really. And, whilst I’m talking now, I think I should tell you something, Hobie. I like you. If I’ve been awkward recently, it’s because of that." As soon as the words had come out of your mouth, you were humiliated. Forget being humiliated by possible rejection you had been humiliated by your mouth. Though, you relaxed slightly after you saw the smirk that he held on his face.
"That clears up the whole thing,” he said, before adding, “You should’ve said sooner, would’ve saved some time for me wondering what was up with ya.” You never really expected him to make a big fuss about this knowledge, regardless of if he rejected you or not, so this reaction wasn’t surprising to you.
“If you don’t like me back, that’s fine—”
“Who told you that?” he asked, and you couldn’t help the surprise that was on your face at that.
“What?”
“I mean, who said that I don’t like you?” When you realised what he meant by this, you paused, genuinely lost for words. He took this as a prime opportunity to say, “I really thought that I was making it obvious enough for you, but maybe not enough.” Once he said this, the past month especially began to make more sense, all the stuff that had flown over your head circling back to hit you all at once. “It’s calm, I don’t mind you being a little clueless with hints,” he added.
You shook your head with a wide smile on your lips, and after bickering for a little more (as you always did) you were reminded again of your close proximity. Extremely close proximity, from how you’d both now turned to face each other, and how you both leaned forward when the other spoke. You saw his gaze drop, from meeting yours to glancing at your lips. Briefly, you thought that he might kiss you, but just as you were about to lean forward, he pulled away. The smile on his face told you he knew exactly what he was doing. “Shall we continue?”
He held up his guitar pick and whilst you relented and agreed, you knew that you wouldn’t be focusing any better than before your confession. He got the feeling that he wouldn’t either.