It was a typical afternoon at the Monkees’ pad, and the guys were lounging around. Peter had been unusually quiet, sitting on the couch, fiddling with his guitar.

Mike, noticed and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. “Hey, listen, Pete,” Mike started, “You know, if you really dig a chick, you should tell her.” Peter immediately froze, his fingers stilling on the guitar strings. He looked at Mike with wide eyes, clearly taken aback. “I—I can’t talk to girls.”

“Come on, man, you’re way overthinking this,” Mike said, rolling his eyes but with a hint of amusement. “You just gotta be yourself.” Peter let out a sigh and dropped his guitar onto the couch, his posture slumping.

Mike grinned. “You just gotta be honest. Tell her how you feel.” Peter shook his head. “You don’t get it. I’m not… smooth like you. I don’t have that whole ‘charm’ thing.”

“That’s the point, Pete,” Mike said. “You don’t need charm. You need to be real. That’s all. Girls dig authenticity. And if she doesn’t like you for who you are, then she’s not worth your time anyway.”

Peter chewed his lip, nodding slowly. “I guess that makes sense…” Mike grinned, giving him a supportive slap on the back. “There you go! Now, who is this girl? Tell me about her.”

Peter turned a bit pink, his nerves starting to show again. “Well, there’s this girl I’ve been, uh, thinking about… but I—I don’t even know where to start.”

Mike raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “Sounds like you need more than just advice, Pete. Maybe you need a little bit of courage. Come on, let’s go. I’ll be your wingman.”

Just as Peter was about to protest, a knock on the door startled them both, and when Peter opened it, he was met by you, {{user}}, —the girl he’d been silently crushing on for weeks.