Oh Yeah, I Was A Weird Kid

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A/N: My titles are really misleading. This chapter is basically a way to get out my love for ukuleles. I also headcanon that Jeremy can play the ukulele, fight me.

»Michael's POV«

     Jeremy sat next to me on my couch. Singing softly, barley above a whisper as he strummed the ukulele lightly.

     I had insisted that he should play me a song, since we already had the ukulele laying around.

     I remember being a little kid again. I was so jealous of Jeremy for being able to play the ukulele and I didn't know how to play any instruments. I begged my moms to by me one, and finally, for my 9th birthday, they bought me a light tan ukulele. It wasn't too childish, it wasn't made out of plastic of anything, it was actual wood. I was a responsible child, and I guess my moms knew they could trust I could take care of a legitimate ukulele. And I did end up taking care of it. But for one reason only:

I couldn't play it for the life of me

     Switching chords was a pain in the neck, the strings hurt like hell to push down, and for the love of god, that fucking G CHORD. I had tried countless times everyday to at least learn one song. But, ha, NOPE. Eventually I just gave up and learned to live with a best friend who was way cooler than me.

     It had stayed in my room collecting dust ever since that day. I had barley remembered it right now when I heard Jeremy singing under his breath. I reminded him of his ukulele. It was a mocha color with those cool looking black stings. He had decorated it with all his favorite stickers. Flowers, hearts, all that stuff. We even gave it a name. 'Kirby' if I remember correctly. He was actually really good at playing it. Not only could he play the G chord, but he could play bar chords, another one of my worst enemies. He seemed embarrassed when I brought it up, saying things like, "oh yeah, I was a weird kid" and "it was just a phase."

     I suddenly remember my ukulele. It was a normal ukulele, nothing really special about it. No cool strings, no cool stickers. I had never named it or anything like that. It was just any other ukulele you'd see online. I told him that he should play it. For memories.

     He denied at first, saying he couldn't sing well, and he hasn't played in forever and that he's forgotten all the chords. He was embarrassed, I could tell. What's wrong with a guy playing the ukulele? I think it's just the perfect little cherry on top to create the cutest boy in the world.

     I brought it out from my room, and gave it a single strum. Both of us cringing at how untuned it was. I looked for a tuning app, but before it could download, Jeremy had already taken the ukulele out of my hands. Resting it on his lap and against his chest at a slight angle.

     He was softly humming under his breath, tuning at the same time. After two strings I realized that he was humming at the tone that the string should be in. I smiled, realizing that he did in fact know what he was doing. After a while, he placed his finger on the first string, third fret and strummed. The beautiful sound of a C chord filled the room and I couldn't stop the smile from spreading across my face.

     "Perfect," I heard him whisper under his breath, and he proceeded to strum a couple more chords.

     He played the G chord and I silently laughed to myself, remembering the nine year old struggle I had with that chord. He looked at me concerned and embarrassed,

     "What?" He said, his voice unsure.

     "Nothing, it's just that fucking G chord was going to be the death of me," I responded honestly, I allowed myself to scoot in closer to him. He looked up at me and smiled, looking back at the ukulele as he began to play a sweet tune.

"Take a look at the clock, only so long to go,
scrubbing smooth, young skin saying 'I don't know.'
Grab a bag grab a bottle, but leave the 'what if.'
You'll see it in the morning after your kicks"

     He hummed softly. I smiled at his voice. He was keeping quiet, making sure that my moms wouldn't be able to hear him. He was always self conscious about, well, everything. He continued singing, I sat there, criss-cross applesauce, my elbow on my knee and my head resting in my hand. His voice fogging up my head. The ukulele sounding like twinkles. How does he do this? Especially after all this time without playing it.

     He played and sang, I sat and listened. Smiling at him, occasionally joining in on the humming, creating a sweet harmony. And with a final strum, he was finished. I lightly clapped and he smiled awkwardly and blushed a little. He handed me the ukulele and I put it back in the corner of my room.

      "You sounded really good! Why don't you sing more often?" I smiled at him as I walked back into the living room to sit down next to him.

     "Come on, Michael, I'm not that good," he denied my compliment. But it wasn't in the 'oh, boo-hoo, come and comfort me and tell me I'm the best' kind of denying, it was the, 'I genuinely don't think I'm good at this and I don't understand why you're lying to me' type of denying.

     "Seriously, you were amazing!" I try my best to convince him.

     "You really think so?" He tilted his head as smiled softly.

     "You were so good!" I gave him a big goofy smile, and he smiled back. He really likes compliments, like, a lot, but he never believes them. You have to convince him it's true in order for him to truly love it. He rarely gets complicated though, besides by me. But on the bright side, it's getting easier to convince him than it was before. Maybe his insecurities are starting to go away.

     "Anyway, I should be on my way home, I'll see you tomorrow!" He smiled at me and stared to gather his things. He gave me a hug and walked out the door. I'm lucky my tan skin blends in with my blush.






A/N: Sorry If theres any mistakes, I'm going to sleep now...

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