⤿ the music club prodigy gives you a lesson
the hardening cuticle of your thumb was a dull throbbing reminder that you was running out of time. for three days straight you had been tussling with your damned bass guitar. atleast 4 to 5 hours a day. straight labour.
it was a frustrating battle. a painful one as well. your finger pads grew tenderly sore with every faulted fleet of the strings.
you had been trying to learn a specific riff for an upcoming performance. the school had arranged a talent show for all of the clubs. a few students including you were nominated to represent. it was enough to form a classic 4-piece setup of a traditional rock/pop band.
practice consisted of profanity, hisses, groans and a hollow buzzing rattle everytime you tried to nail a seamless transition.
gosh. you had less than 24 hours to get your act together. everyone else had learnt their part. why couldn’t this just be a one and done situation? one. two. three. four. you plucked.
thwack. one. two. three. four. prrrrru- thwack.
it was your duty to become on par with your members. even if the skill gap was embarrassingly sparse. your musical members had their skills on lock with no doubt.
the drummer, naoya zenin, a bleach-haired boy with an inhumane speed. snares, toms and hi-hats obeying any beat at his will.
“tch… they just haaaad to give us a girl didn’t they? whatever, just try and keep up butter fingers.”
the keyboardist, suguru geto, fingers lurching across keys filling in the essential harmonies. even without an instrument, he seemed bound to the clubs aesthetic. from those heavy black gauges to that calm narrow-eyed expression.
“ignore him, please. do not be discouraged.”
you had the courtesy of manning the bass guitar. you weren’t exactly terrible at it, quite the ear candy when you put the work in. but, time was ticking and the bridges weren’t connecting.
then, there was choso. choso kamo. the only name that seemed to stick. around the whole school even. he was a musical prodigy. talent shows cleared in his name from a young age. an established relationship with the principal from how highly he held the school.
he was the lead guitarist. incredibly fitting. the one role that demanded majestic trilling solos, commanding the crowds attention. and he wasn’t exactly lacking in the looks department either. talk about perfection.
“a one and two and three.” a count queued the band.
you flinched when you felt the familiar brain fog interrupt the minute long flow. prrmm-thwack.
a distasteful hiss sizzled from behind the drum kit as the harmony collectively halted. you didn’t need to look up to know everyone’s eyes were already burning through you. lifting your head, the reception made your stomach churn.
naoya lulling his tongue against the inside of his cheek in condescedence. suguru, behind the keyboard, simply staring blankly at you, eyes void of readable emotion.
even choso’s gaze felt branding against your skin. to have such elite talent held back by... you. that pressure was suffocating. not to mention, you had already been a nervous wreck from his mere... visual.
a toxic mix of embarrassment and sheer anger bubbled inside you. you wanted to snap at them. defend yourself for umpteenth time but that would only pile onto the 10th apology in the hour. honestly, you were just as frustrated in your lack of skill as them.
“take it from the top? again?” choso interjected your stinging silence. “we have an hour left in the music room. gotta make the most, ‘kay?”
“yep... let’s go again.” you reply, the shame apparent in how low your gaze sweeped.
the room shuffled, fingers readying above their designated starting notes. an unspoken expectancy of a count in was set.
you were too lost in the focus of replaying every note, beat and timing in your head to realise the room had gone still in anticipatory silence.
“you’re too tense, y/n.” choso’s arm ragdolled from the top of his guitar, eyes boring into the struggled wrangled fingers upon your frets. “if you choke the neck like that, the notes are gonna buzz no matter how right your timing is."
you looked up catching his full gaze. the sleek black tattoo riding his nose bridge. the layered slivers of hair by his jaw swaying with every word. and those sleepy sleepy eyes...
he strummed a single note, letting it ring through the room, anchoring your wandering eyes back to reality.
then, he strummed again while tightening his grip on the neck in recreation. it sounded more dull and definitely unnatural coming from him.
“see?” his head tilted up slightly, low-lidded eyes narrowing a fraction to focus on you. his dark pupils dragged across your gradual softening posture as you swallowed deeply.
our clammy fingers released the neck, palming for a more natural grip under his pressuring stare.
“that’s better. now try again.”
you strummed. it sounded cleaner. the ugly buzz was fainter now, if not completely gone.
you couldn’t suppress the warm tug forming in your chest at how easily your biggest problem had been solved in a few seconds of choso kamo. he seemed to be quite pleased, nodding to himself in self-praise as he returned focus to his own strings.
and now, your burning shame was admittedly gone. adjusting your posture fully, you pulled the bass higher against your torso in pride.
“now... from the top.” choso called out, long fingers finding its place on the strings. “a one and two and three.”
with the tension gone, the band fell back into rhythm.
the introduction of the song went smoothly as rehearsed. however, your dreaded riff slowly neared.
choso peered at you through his ragged pull of strings. his eyes were still half-lidded but there was an unmistakable curiosity now, watching to see if his advice would stick in the real test.
you felt the familiar pressure build but instead of submitting to the unease, you retained his words. your grip lay relaxed on the neck. a confident trill of several notes rung through your amplifier as a result. a major improvement.
the rest of the song was a breeze. the group seemed to play more passionately from the sound of harmony, finishing with a few shared smiles.
suguru and naoya burst into a cheerful celebratory chatter, mostly lead by naoya. but, choso only provided them a pensive smile before turning to look at you.
“how did that feel? you happy with that?”
deep down the fleeting sense of accomplishment could not compete with the raw unadultered attention of choso kamo.
the time had melted under the focused atmosphere of the band. a darkening navy sky washing over the small club window. the faint clamor of other clubs leaving their rooms acted as a cue to do the same.
naoya got up almost immediately, tossing his drumsticks into a leather bag. suguru tampered with a few buttons of his sticker-tatted keyboard.
the school talent show was tomorrow. could you reaally afford to stop practicing now?
“are you coming, y/n?” suguru asked, zipping his backpack. “morning practice starts early, we all need the rest.”
choso unplugs a cable from his guitar, a little too casually considering how hard he was trying to eavesdrop. a single eye peered over his shoulder, pinned directly onto you waiting to see what you’d say.
if asked, he would not be able to describe the sudden interest in your whereabouts. maybe it was the way your eyes gleamed with each strum. maybe it was the dainty curve in your rosy lips after his advice took effect.
“i think i’ll stay a bit longer.” you twirl a cable round your palm. “i need this to be second nature for me.”
“oh god yes! please do stay!” naoya flamboyantly remarks as he passes you toward the door. “considering we’re performing tomorrow, we shouldn’t still be ‘learning’ the song.”
karma bit him quick as suguru kicked his ankles in joint revenge, making him stumble through the doorway. the long haired boy lifted a hand gesturing an assuring ‘goodbye’ to you as they disappeared round the hallway, a prominent barking echoing from naoya.
you turned back around, readjusting your sore bottom on the shabby pine stool. choso was still wrapping his cables however there was no progress from the last time you glanced.
ahead of you, he was a study of motion and muscle. his back was broad, the thin black fabric of his tank top mapping out a terrain you so suddenly wanted to explore. every minuscule movement he executed through his fingers was reflected onto his toned triceps.
you took the open invitation to stare. your jaw locked tight, a blessing in disguise, because you were honestly about to drool.
there was an intoxicating security in the freedom of your frisky gaze; him being completely naive.
mounted on the tacky wall in front of him, was a polished chrome-plated guitar. the metallic finish acting as a cruel mirror.
“something on your mind?”
his voice was distinct, albeit an octave lower, far too confident.
oh sh*t. you straightened your posture with a readable haste, crossing your ankles to feign a perfect composure.
“nothing, just thinking about earlier.” you hummed, keeping your tone airy and innocent. “thanks for being patient with me. it means alot.”
you mentally applauded yourself for the save.
choso lets out a huff that sounded suspiciously like amusement, shoulders dropping as he let go of the tangled guitar cables.
“don’t mention it. i’ve gone through my fair load of teachers. i know what sticks and what doesn’t.” he replied.
as he spoke, he turned to face you. his black painted fingernails tussling with his guitar strap to rest comfortably on his tight shoulder.
“you ever thought about doing this part-time? like teaching or tutoring guitar on the side? you have the experience, skills and definetely the patience. type of thing people would pay good money for y’know.” that same dainty curve returned to your lips, a brutal blow paired with unexpected praise.
his eyes seemed to tighten in an actual consideration; though it might’ve just been a desperate bid to mask the sudden tell-tale heat singeing his ears.
he had never considered the tutoring path before, however the futile thought was drowned by how whipped he was at the sheer value you placed on his simple guidance.
“ah. you really think so?” he braced an appreciative yet subtle grin, his lip piercing shining in the movement.
“uh... you’re choso kamo? musical prodigy?” you countered, gesturing to him like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “you’re like perfect at this kind of thing. that would be easy money for you!”
“don’t try and downplay your name...” the interjection catches him, interrupting his building defensive sigh. “you’re the best musician in this school. i swear. i don’t think i’ve heard you mess up a chord. once...? not once!”
the pedestal you put him on only seemed to get taller and taller, slight awe for his natural talent growing.
however, that same pedestal began to buckle as he shook his low slung head, lips pursed and eyes elsewhere.
a scraping whine grinded throughout the room, choso now sat opposite you on an identical tattered stool, guitar leaning against his thigh.
“do you think i got this good without making mistakes?” he huffs, gaze lowering to your fingers resting on frets. “without feeling as helpless as you? i know how frustrated you’re feeling.”
knowing choso kamo was something you never really imagined. sure you knew him. everyone else did too. but you had never really really knew him, despite being in the same music club for a year and a half. to you, he was more of eye candy mixed with untouchable idol.
yet, here he was. stripping himself of every meticulously placed title to meet you at your level.
“and trust me, you’re doing fine. i’d rather you go through this frustration with me.” he drags his gaze up to meet yours, stray hairs dangling around his passioned eyes. “...with someone who understands. you need help practicing? i’m there. to study chords... demo? whatever i’m right there for you.”
there was no doubt a blooming warmth spreading across your stiff body.
“the school performance we have tomorrow... i don’t want you to stress on it too much. ‘kay?” he chews his lip, pulling back slightly to settle his guitar back to his spread lap. “if you’re gonna stay behind, i’ll stay too and teach you what i can.”
your heart did a little dangerous flip under your ribs. you swallowed intensely, forcing a meager grateful smile to hide the sudden breathlessness in your throat.
“yeah...okay,” your voice sounded scant. “i could you use your help. can you... show me the transition again? the one for my riff, please. i just want to see how you do it.”
“mm.” he adjusted himself on the stool, loose hairs flicking back in the quick motion of his head. he bit his lip in recollection of your riff, lip piercing catching the dim overhead light. within seconds, his long defined fingers moved into a familiar position in unmistakable expertise.
“watch my hand. you want to angle your index finger here...” he tapped his finger in gesture, checking to see if you were looking through the furrow of his brows. “you wanna slide the rest down... like that. yeah?”
he performed your riff in insulting ease. so, this is what you were meant to sound like?
you copied him, replaying his hand motion in slo-mo. each attempt sounded like a dehydrated version of his. your fingers would stagger causing you to drag behind by a half-beat, strums still weak despite the powerful resonance.
“sorry.” the fourth attempt was the breaking point of your humiliation. “my fingers can’t stretch that freely. we should’ve just picked a song with an easier bass riff.” your fingers glare back at you in mockery.
a soft laughter rumbled from choso’s chest. “don’t worry. it’s fixable. i can see it in the placement of your palm.”
at first, he tried to guide you with words. there was an awkward ping pong of ‘yes’, ‘no’ ‘higher’, ‘not like that’ as you shifted your fingers blindly. zero retention in your pea brain.
a defeated breath respired from your spent band member, standing up to undress his guitar strap, setting the instrument aside.
when his pale arms laced around your stature to provide you with the most realistic instructions, it almost made you short-circuit.
his aroma followed the richness of cedarwood, hints of amber, iron and not to mention the natural scent of his perspiring efforts from practice. it all pillowed humidly within your personal bubble.
“your fingers should be here.” his voice practically rumbled through your hair, his adams apple mere inches above your shoulder. “now... look at my palm. see how the curve of mine cradles the neck? each time you move you return it to the same nook. don’t grip it differently.”
blah blah blah. that was all you heard.
every ounce of musical jargon and knowledge you once knew completely dissolved from how he kept glancing at you while he spoke, the vibration of his voice making a bee-line straight to your burning ears.
“now your turn. remember, keep that palm curled.” he straightened himself up, reaching his normal height.
he settled for an aerial view of your hands, leaning over your shoulders.
then, a pressure formed on your right shoulder.
his hand. rings enforcing extra, noticeable pressure. molding the curve of your shoulder for extra balance. did he really need to do that? surely he could’ve just-
then came his other hand, on your other shoulder. now... this could’ve meant two things. one, he simply just needed a comfortable pillar of balance to watch your hands thoroughly. two, he was completely aware of what he was doing to you.
the way your knees squeezed together instantly in flutter. the way goosebumps shot up your neck, cheek and arms as his fingers playfully changed pressure on the ball of your shoulder.
the way your trembling fingers rested upon the wrong strings, making you hurriedly correct, earning a silent weighted chuckle from him.
you haphazardly recreated his hand motions upon the neck and fretboard to the best of your ability, desperate to end the torture.
“posture is important too. you’re slouching.”
like the ultimate cherry on top, one hand leisurely slid down from your shoulder. his index finger pressed firmly in the center of your spine, creating an involuntary jerk out of your body as your back snapped in a jolt. the pressure between your squashed knees felt bruising and now there was no hiding your fluster.
he pretended to pay no mind to how your breath hitched as he breathed emphatically. a horrible tease.
you repeated the riff pathetically, palms showing zero trace of his advice.
to no avail, it sounded worse than before. clearly not your fault. choso kamo is the only thought richoting inside your hollowed head.
“are you still struggling?” his tone annoyingly helpful, insanely naive to the chaos he was causing in the pool of your belly. “let me help you…”
the words dragged bawldy above your head as he leaned back down. a benign pillow of air followed his movement, engulfing you back into his smell.
his black-painted fingers sprawled toward yours, taking hold of your index finger and adjusting the angle against the fretboard. then, he moved to your palm, his thumb pressed into the meat rectifying it to a state of impeccability.
his touch was encapsulating. how long had you been touch deprived? you were completely drunk off this man’s scent, proximity, heat the list could go on. this isn’t fair. he’s meant to be teaching you your riff. not insinuating erotic thoughts.
“press down here. and keep that palm stiff..” he slid his middle finger over several of yours, creating pressure where he wanted you to do so. “we’re gonna do this together. that palm needs to stay still.”
with his body enveloping yours shamelessly, you partook in the shared riff, his touch keeping you steady. once again, a few lengthy torturous seconds of choso kamo had solved your problems.
but you definitely had a few more now.
“told you it was fixable.” like a scarce summer breeze, he left your personal space, walking to his stool and unzipping his guitar case.
you sat stock-still, heart drumming riding the waves of an embarrassing amount of adrenaline.
he buckled his case shut, slinging it over his shoulder with a grunt, unfazed yet content with how ruined he left your mind.
“i hope i taught you enough. practice at home yeah? and send me a video.” he paused at the doorway from your lacked response, hands dug deep in his pockets. a knowing grin tardily sprouted under his piercing. “you alright there?”
you don’t even turn around. just a rushed nod.
“…don’t spend too long in here. janitor’ll get mad again.” he murmured. “and i take it you’ll be here first thing in the morning?”
he stares at your figure a second longer, with a newfound infatuation that seemed to only belong to you.
a shame you were too busy being a mess to return the mutual gaze.
“if you show up before 7:30,” the door handle clucked. “we might have time for another one-on-one, before the others arrive.”
a/n: i’m not a big fan of this fic it looks rushed so ignore that if you noticed it too
gummygunk
dailybridgerton
stormborns
annaxmalina
turnnoffyourmind
