In Which
He wants to buy her guitar.
or
In which
Her guitar brings them together.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
In a forgotten corner of the city sits a little record shop, filled with dusty shelves, the scent of coffee, and the girl who keeps it alive. She's twenty-tw...
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🎸
Messy -
⊹˚♬₊⋆"Maybe if it's messy, if it's messy, if it's messy Then you know it's really love" ♪ ༘⋆
⚡︎⚡︎⚡︎
The morning of the showcase didn't feel like any other morning.
The sun was streaming through my curtains, bright and warm, but inside my chest it felt like there was a thunderstorm brewing. My stomach fluttered like it had been lined with restless moths. My arms tingled with energy, like I'd had ten coffees instead of the single oversized cup on my nightstand.
I sat up in bed, hair sticking out in every direction, staring at the wall as if it had answers. Tonight was supposed to be exciting — my chance to play in front of a crowd that wasn't just my friends or a handful of regulars at the Echo Room. A showcase. A spotlight. A moment that mattered.
And yet all I could think was: Jay will be there.
It was ridiculous. The idea of him watching me perform — his sharp eyes tracking me the way they did when I played in the shop, his easy smirk when I fumbled a chord, the way he had this quiet intensity when he listened — it made my pulse race faster than the thought of any audience ever could.
I groaned into my pillow, muttering, "I'm doomed," before dragging myself out of bed.
By the time I trudged into the shop, my hair was still damp from a rushed shower, tied up into a messy bun that sagged to one side. My hoodie was oversized, sleeves swallowing my hands, and I clutched my massive coffee like it was the only thing tethering me to the earth.
Dad was behind the counter, glasses perched low on his nose, flipping through a stack of old invoices. He looked up, eyed me, and smirked.
"You look like you lost a fight with your reflection this morning."
I shot him a flat look. "Thanks. Exactly what a nervous performer wants to hear."
His smirk softened into something gentler. "Big night, huh?"
I leaned against the counter, blowing on my coffee. "Big is one word. Terrifying is another. Catastrophic feels appropriate."
He chuckled, setting his papers aside. "You'll do great. You always do."
I fiddled with the lid of my cup. "What if I mess up?"
"Then you keep playing. Nobody remembers mistakes when you play with heart. That's what makes it music."
I glanced at him, and he gave me this quiet smile that was more comforting than I wanted to admit.
A few hours later, the shop's peace shattered with Minhee's dramatic entrance.
