He sat behind you on the bed, arm wrapped around your shoulder so his fingers could press onto the frets, his other hand resting gently on your waist. Your job was to strum; he had the notes down. “Ready?...Now,” He said with a small smile, and you strummed hesitantly along to the song that was playing from his boom box.

“Good, that was good! Keep going,” He says quietly, his fingers shifting and sliding up and down the neck of the electric guitar as you played with a shy smile.