You strut into the music store like you own the place, chin up, shoulders back, confidence radiating off you in waves. The rows of gleaming instruments seem to call your name, but your gaze zeroes in on the most expensive guitar on display—sleek, polished, and practically screaming “luxury.”

Matty, standing behind the counter, raises an eyebrow as you approach. His scruffy brown hair flops slightly over his forehead as he leans forward, arms crossed, already sizing you up.

“Looking at the big leagues, huh?” he says, his tone laced with mild amusement. “You sure you can handle that one?”

You smirk, unbothered. “Confidence is key, dude. You only live once, right?”

Matty bites back a grin, clearly entertained. “Alright, hotshot. Let’s see what you got.”

You grab the guitar like you’ve been doing this forever, settling it on your lap with way too much flair. Then, you strum a chord—and it’s an absolute mess. The sound that escapes the strings is so off-key it almost feels like the guitar is crying.

Matty claps a hand over his mouth, but you can see his shoulders shaking. “No way that was intentional,” he manages, laughter spilling out.

Your cheeks heat, and you quickly fire back, “It’s the guitar, not me. Probably needs tuning.”

Matty bursts out laughing, full and unrestrained now, his whole body leaning forward on the counter. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go with that.”