You stepped out of the cabin, fixing your hoodie after messily putting it on. You didn’t think it was going to get so cold even during the summer, but you were still thankful for the tiny voice in your head that told you to pack some extra heavier clothing at the last moment.

The semester was over, and Johnny had decided to invite all of his friend group to his parents’ lake cabin for the summer; neither of you said no. The cabin was big enough to fit - albeit with some adjustments - around ten people, since the MacTavish family was already fairly big, if you count Johnny’s three sisters. The cabin was right where the treeline met the lake, and a dock we would use to dive into the water.

You had organized the spaces between girls and boys, and of course, the differences in how each of us kept their station was comical— you’ve been here for only a week, and their rooms looked like a battlefield already. The only guy who seemed to be somewhat cleaner than the others was Simon.

Simon Riley.

Things between you and Simon had been awkward for the whole semester, but not inherently in a bad way, but they surely did feel different since you broke up with your partner during winter break. Everyone said that he was just trying to find the courage to finally confess, but you didn’t believe them, or didn’t want to. Simon had always been one of your closest friends, and he only ever seemed to truly open up with you and Johnny only. Still, you never would’ve thought that he was harboring any feelings for you that weren’t strictly platonic.

Everyone was already sitting around the bonfire when you made your way out, cracking open beer cans and laughing, some crafting s’mores to heat up on the fire. Simon sat on the ground with his back against the log Johnny was sitting on, his eyes meeting yours for all of a second before he went back to tuning his guitar, testing a few chords as you sat next to Johnny, who handed you a can of beer he had already opened.

Time went by fast, and by 2am, you and Simon were the only ones left around the fire, which was starting to grow weak. You hated this whatever he had created between the two of you, so you thought that taking advantage of the fact that you were both less inhibited was the best move. You eyed his guitar. “I never learned how to play.”

Simon looked back at you, still sitting on the same spot. He furrowed his brows. “Never?” You hummed and shook your head, and you could see the gears in his head working overtime, trying to get the hint. After a few seconds of deep thinking, and the confidence from the beers he’d had, he spread his legs, patting the ground between them

You nestled where he had indicated and crossed your legs while Simon grabbed his guitar and placed it onto your lap. “Do you know how to hold it?” He asked. You awkwardly tried to hold it, but you had no idea what you were doing. It was even harder to concentrate when you could feel Simon’s chest rising and falling against your back, his warmth enveloping you more than the fire could ever do, and his breath tickling the nape of your neck.

Slowly, his hands came to rest over yours, and guided them in the right position. “You put your thumb and index together like this–” he was showing you “-and then you strum, just up and down. And then you can make chords, too.” And with that, he placed his chin on your shoulder, effectively engulfing you to look at the fingerboard, making your heart stutter.