The bass felt heavier in my hands than I expected, the smooth wood cool against my fingertips. I shifted slightly on the couch, trying to get a better grip as Riker watched me with a lopsided grin.

"Relax," he said, reaching over to adjust my fingers on the fretboard. His touch was warm, steady. "You’re overthinking it."

Easy for him to say. He made it look effortless, like the instrument was just an extension of him. I let out a slow breath, trying to shake off the nerves.

"Okay, now press down—harder. You gotta own it," he instructed, his voice low and encouraging. His own bass was slung over his shoulder, and he strummed a few notes effortlessly. "Like this."

I mimicked him, plucking the string, and winced when the sound came out more like a sad thunk than an actual note. Riker chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, that was tragic, but I respect the effort."