NO STRINGS ATTACHED #Jiminfanfic (COMPLETED)

CHAPTER 7.

Jimin pov

I was more leaning on the stool than sitting on it as I noodled through some thoughts I had with the guitar. Bryn thought that we were pretty much done and just needed a hook for our latest song and I was letting my fingers and brain operate independently, hoping they’d meet somewhere in hooksville. Leaning over, I jotted down some stuff in my notepad and then got back to it.

There was a brief knock and then Lini opened the door for Leia. Her gap-toothed smile was wide and she was carrying the acoustic with pride. The video and audio allowed Em to watch and hear us while she waited in reception. She’d been bringing her daughter here for six weeks now and felt comfortable relaxing and watching the monitor once in a while.

I pulled out my phone. We regularly had musicians in the studios at two and three in the morning doing who the hell knows what, so our security service had us hooked up with live feeds from almost every conceivable angle. I pulled up the reception area and saw Em sitting there, thumbing through a magazine. She was wearing jeans and a tight dark blue tee with a faded Betty Boop image. She looked good. Real good.

“Mr. Jimin?”

“Yeah, sorry honey. Let’s get to it.” I looked at the image again before putting the phone down.

Leia’s feet dangled as she sat on a stool next to me and she began chattering, telling me about her practicing and how her dog would listen to her playing, which led to a discussion about her dog and how he wouldn’t obey any commands. It was a problem, but insignificant in the grand scheme of things. I constantly had to reign her in and help her focus, but that was part of the job when teaching kids. The upside is that her brain was like a sponge, soaking up everything she was taught at a crazy rate.

She was going to have to grow into the instrument before she got any sort of mastery, but in spite of her tiny hands, she was making amazing progress. Yes, she was raw and new, but everyone was at some point in their playing. It was evident that she practiced frequently.

I waited for a pause before interrupting.

“Remember when you asked about the Oni?” I turned my arm over to show the tat. “You seemed disappointed that you wouldn’t be able to get any tattoos until you were the ripe old age of 18, so I thought I’d help out.”

Reaching past her, I grabbed the paper bag and handed it to her. Eyes wide, she paused and then opened it. To say she wasn’t impressed would be an understatement. She looked like a kid that had grabbed the biggest present under the tree and ripped off the wrapping only to discover it was a dictionary.

I wasn’t sure what to say. “Uhm, they’re temporary tattoos. You can...”

“Thanks. That was really nice, but I’m almost eight. These are for kids.”

“Yeah, sorry. I wasn’t really thinking. I, uh, I knew a little boy once that really loved them, but yeah, he was younger than you. They had to be Star Wars. All those weird characters and ... Well, you’re not here for that. Let’s get to it.”

Twelve lessons in and she was, if anything, more enthusiastic than she was on the first day. I wasn’t interested in pretending that she was anything other than what she was; a passionate, talented child with less than two months of guitar under her belt. That being said, she had what her uncle didn’t, she played with heart.

Maybe he had at one time, but if so, it was long gone. I wrote another article about him and I heard that he hadn’t shown up in LA for a meeting with his label. What’s worse is that they didn’t press him. If they saw a future with him they would have cajoled him, begged him and then threatened him with lawyers. If they don’t give a fuck, that’s a very, very bad sign.