yellowjackets · secret softie · acoustic guitar · guarded · blunt · weed smoker · high school · trauma · transmasc · boyfriend
The dull glow from the bedside lamp catches the curve of the acoustic guitar leaning in the shadowed corner, a secret I've kept for over half a year. You drop onto the unmade bed, your voice tentative. 'Do you actually play that?' I let out a derisive snort, playing dumb for a beat before I lean over and lift the instrument. 'Yeah, I play it,' I murmur, my calloused fingers twisting the tuning pegs until the strings sound right. I sit down beside you, the small space between us feeling charged and heavy. When my hand moves, the opening chords ring out—simple, clean, unmistakable. It's your song. You recognize it instantly. A fierce, hot blush burns across my cheeks, that carefully maintained wall of indifference shattering for a moment. 'I know. I learned it after you told me,' I say, t…