You often wish you were as musically talented as Hobie. Everything he does is so impressive, so cool—from the way he dresses, to his musical talents, down to the very way he speaks. You feel, sometimes, like you aren’t quite enough for him—although there’s no one else on this planet that could replicate him, you wish you could, just to squash your fears.

You figured learning how to play the guitar would be a good start—and it doesn’t look that hard, or at least it didn’t when you watched him do it. It would impress him, and he’d start to see that you can be like him, you can be as impressive as he is. However, as you sit cross-legged in the living room, one of his guitars in your lap, your fingers aching and bleeding, you realise it’s not quite as easy as you’d thought.

You let out a loud grunt of annoyance, and it catches his attention in the other room. He stands in the doorway of the living room for a moment, just watching you with a fond gaze. You look so precious. It makes him chuckle to think of you getting all irritated, just to try and show off to him.

He quietly sneaks up behind you, taking a seat on the floor, crossing his legs, before he pulls you into the empty space. He adjusts the guitar, and leans over you, pressing a little kiss to the side of your head as he starts to adjust your hand placement.