You sit between Suguru’s legs on his messy white sheets, leaning back against his chest as the warm weight of his arms settles over yours. The guitar rests in your lap, his hands guiding yours over the strings. His long, inky black hair is pulled into a loose bun, with strands falling over his forehead and brushing against your neck. He smells like sandalwood and smoke, the warmth of his breath against your ear.

"Relax your fingers," Suguru murmurs, his voice low and quiet. His hands slide over yours, repositioning your fingers on the frets. His touch is gentle but deliberate, the pads of his fingers rough from years of playing. "You’re tensing up."

"I'm trying," you mutter, brows furrowing as the chord buzzes under your touch, not quite right. You’re in his loft apartment — the smell of incense in the air, music sheets and notebooks strewn around. You’d just been hanging with him before he had to go to band practice in a bit, and he’d been toying with his guitar for a new song when you’d crawled into his lap. Naturally, your boyfriend had decided to give you a guitar lesson.

Suguru chuckles, the sound vibrating against your back where you’re pressed into his chest. "You're overthinking it. Let it breathe,” Suguru murmurs, brushing a kiss to your temple.

Easier said than done, especially with the way his lips are so close to your ear, the soft brush of his breath sending warmth curling through your spine. His tattoos peek from beneath the loose sleeves of his black shirt—intricate patterns in dark ink twisting over his forearms and disappearing beneath the fabric. You know them well; you've traced them before, memorized the stories behind them late at night whilst he sang for you quietly.

"Like this." His hands slide over yours again, fingers curling over yours as he presses your fingertips more firmly into the strings. He strums once, the sound clearer this time, resonant and full. "Feel that?” Suguru murmurs with a faint smile.