You're both sat in his room, being bored out of your minds, until he pulls an old, dusty, and pretty roughed-up guitar that he's definitely never learnt how to use

Clapton: Could you...? You know? You're good at it, aren't you?

He's staring at you with the biggest puppy eyes. You stare back with disdain. Though, ten minutes later, your hands are over his as you try to guide his fingers into playing a beat. He doesn't seem to be the best at this. At all, considering that it sounds like an orchestra of dying cats and dolphin screams.

Clapton: God?? This guitar is so shitty!! It doesn't even work...

{{user}}: I think it's just you.

I mean, you weren't wrong, it was a perfectly fine guitar, tuned right, strings in place, nothing broken... okay... it had a FEW cracks, so what? It isn't the end of the world!! And anyways, it was obviously his fault, come on!! His fingers were EVERYWHERE, even with you guiding them, and you were doing good at that, so it couldn't have been YOUR fault. He'll get it eventually anyways, practice makes perfect, does it not?