𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬 | Tyler x Reader | School Bus Graveyard

| 100k Special - Guitar Lesson |

One stroke of the wrong chord makes both him and I grimace. I let out an irritated sigh as I rest the guitar on my lap.

"I give up, I can't play the stupid song."

Tyler chuckles from where he sat beside me on my bed, "Don't let Tay hear you call it stupid."

We had been sitting in my room, going over the chords to one of Taylor's favorite songs for over an hour. Her birthday was around the corner and I begged Tyler to re-teach me how to play 'Sparks' by Coldplay so I could surprise her.

He taught me the basics of the guitar years ago and I've dabbled here and there. But it's never grown to become a hobby of mine. I always felt like I was starting fresh every time I picked it up.

I gazed down at Tyler's beautiful acoustic guitar, praying the notes would just come to me naturally. He then reaches out and wraps his hand around the dark fretboard and cupping the bottom of it with the other.

He props his guitar up on his knee, resting it against him like it's his second skin. His fingers settle onto the first chord's position. He looks over at me, smiling at how awestruck I must appear.

"You know the song, Y/N. I know you do because you've heard me play it several times." He insists, as if that'll magically cure my built-up frustration. He doesn't sense any difference in my expression and sighs, "I'm only going to play it once more, alright?"

He strikes the first chord with ease, creating a soft, melodic sound that I have still yet to master. His brows scrunch slightly in concentration as his finger tickle the fragile strings. He breezes through the first half of the song with not a single technical error.

This is what years of experience gets you. I could almost hear the lyrics with the way he played. It was like he took that instrument and made it his very own, his soul blending in with the music he creates.

I blink a few times when he comes to a sudden stop, pressing his palm against the strings to stop them from vibrating. He looks up at me with a raised brow,

"I didn't play to give you a show, babe. Were you paying attention to how I transitioned in between each chord?"

My cheeks flush when he lectures me and I sheepishly shake my head, "No..."

His frown shifts into that of a warm smile only after mere seconds of attempting to stay mad at me. A small laugh escapes his lips as he drops one hand to rest on the side of his guitar.

"Well, you do know the notes. What's getting you are the transitions. You're struggling to make them sound seamless."

I exhale deeply, scratching my temple, "So how do I make it sound the same way it does when you play?"

He hands me his guitar, positioning it on my knee for me. He scoots over until our shoulders were practically pressed up against each other. I feel his arm snake around me to help me position my hand on the fretboard in a way that was the most comfortable for me.

I find the correct strings on my own, which makes him smile proudly, "See? You know the song. You just need to trust yourself."

I look over at him and am slightly caught off guard with how close his face is to my neck, watching my hands closely, "Like this?"

"Like that." He repeats to me, keeping his hand over mine. He's hardly gripping it, rather offering assistance for when I might slip up.

I allow my non-dominant fingers to graze over the strings above the sound hole of the guitar. It sounds good, like it has been the last hour. But this next bit where my hand switches is what gets me every time.