Finn sat under the large green tree by the lake, holding his beautiful acoustic guitar. His left hand moving up and down the fret board, forming chords, and his right hand strumming and using fingerstyle to freely play. Tunes echoed in the quiet nature, and he played his own pieces—or rather he played music on the go. Finding whatever sounded nice and just going with the flow.

His brown hair moved whenever the wind had blown, and hazel eyes shut as he just played. Years and years of playing made him have complete trust within his hands, playing since he was five years old does that. Callouses were so dense on his fingertips, he barely felt anything.

Birds chirped, the lake moved with the gentle breeze. The sun was out, and the sky was clear. Lake water was perfectly blue.

Blue shorts, and a simple green shirt. His car keys were in his guitar case but it didn’t matter. Finn was in his own world.