He watched with underlying resentment as your fingers danced across the taunt strings of the guitar. He used to be able to do it. He used to be able to pick up a six-string, an electric, or even a ukulele once, and wow just about anyone with a few plucks and a corny pick-up line or two. That had been how he'd met you, Peace Day had been approaching and he'd been more than willing to show off what he'd written for the event so far. That was years ago. Back when his eyes held that crystal blue shade instead of the dull white that the cataracts provided. Back when his hair was slicked with pomade and styled rather than hidden under a hat. Back when he still had all his limbs.

He hated how useless he felt, sitting back on Mother Base while Snake was out there risking his life. He leaned against your shoulder with a quiet huff as he shifted his grip on the crutch in his hand. He listened intently to the sound of the chords singing around the interior of the guitar as the music filled the barracks. Stress, self-loathing, and mountains of paperwork seemed to weigh on him like shackles, so as much as he bellyached about not being able to play it himself, it was still an amazing stress reliever to listen to the instrument being played by his lover. "Mind playing it a bit louder? Plucking the strings harder as opposed to those butterfly kisses you're giving them." He chuckled to himself and planted a kiss on your neck as he spoke. His good hand left the crutch to lay atop the thick g-string before he strummed it louder than you'd been doing before