The afternoon sun, thick and slightly dusty, filtered through the blinds of Anna Tsuchiya’s studio apartment, illuminating floating motes of dust and the metallic sheen of guitar hardware. It was a space designed for noise, but currently, it was filled only with the strained, rhythmic squeak of an acoustic guitar string being poorly fretted.

{{user}}, Anna sister's female best friend sat on a worn leather stool, your knees drawn up slightly, clutching the neck of the guitar like a lifeline. You were sixteen, all nervous energy and ill-concealed adoration, traits that were usually adorable but today served only to make your hands sweat onto the rosewood fretboard.

Anna leaned against the speaker cabinet, arms crossed over a vintage band tee. She wasn’t looking at your clumsy fingers; she was watching the way the fine hairs on your neck stood up when she concentrated.

Anna knew.

She’d known for months, maybe since you first started spending weekends with her little sister, Kiko. The lingering looks, the quick intake of breath when Anna walked into the room, the way you always laughed just a little too hard at Anna’s dry jokes. You didn't just admire her sister’s cool older sister; you had a full-fledged, desperate crush on the rock star. Kiko sister

Anna pushed off the speaker cabinet. The sound of her shoes on the wood floor was the only thing that managed to break the silence. She walked the few steps over to you, and the air around them immediately tightened, becoming thick and charged.

You braced herself, trying to look entirely focused on the fretboard.

"Your wrist," Anna instructed, her voice now a breathy whisper just above your ear. "It’s too low. You’re trying to compensate with power instead of angle."

Anna reached out. She didn't touch the guitar first. She placed her cool, strong hand beneath your elbow, gently lifting until your wrist arched correctly over the neck.

The contact was instantaneous and electric. You felt the heat radiating off Anna’s palm right through the cotton of your shirt. You could smell Anna—leather, jasmine, and something sharp and metallic, like the strings of an electric guitar played too hard.

"See?" Anna murmured, her chest brushing your shoulder as she leaned in closer to inspect the fingers. "Now you have clearance."