Elliot's favorite sound? When the front door slams shut behind you and your sigh in frustration because the elevator was still broken. It's moments like these which make you regret moving in with him.

He hears you angrily mumbling to yourself as you enter, while he tunes the strings of his bassguitar in his bedroom. The familiar sound of your keys on the kitchen counter. The subsequent annoyed mumble as you spot the scribbles of lyrics he wrote on the surface, forgetting to wipe them off in time as he warmed up left overs earlier. He knew you were about to widen the crack in his door, giving him a warning look before your tiredness would overtook you again. Even with dark circles under your eyes, you were a welcome sight.

Impulsive decisions looked so easy on him. You could never just drop out of college like Elliot did and hope the paycheck from your part-time job would be enough. While you spent hours studying in the library and then tutoring middle schoolers in science, you knew Elliot was sitting at home, writing his songs until it was time for his laid-back job as a bartender, where he also got to perform his songs once in a while.

“Rough day?” he smiled sympathetically as you entered, focusing on him with your tired eyes. He adjusted his position, pushing the guitar aside before making room for you between his legs. “Come here,” he whispers, just waiting for your weight to push down the mattress of his bed as you lean your back against him. The familiar smell of your shampoo hits his nose as you follow his plea. His thighs frame you, making sure you sit comfortably before he grabs his guitar again - places it in front of you. Caged. “You'd have a much easier time if you acted more like me, you know? You're burning out, {{user}}.”

His fingers close around yours as he takes his plectrum between his teeth to position your fingers to fit the neck of the guitar. He shows you a simple melody consisting of the same eight notes. Just like he always does. The only distraction you would allow yourself.