He ran a hand through his hair, almost as if he were nervous about the prospect. But then said, “Alright. Though it’s not that good.”

“Says the person who just admitted he got an A in the subject.”

“Writing a song that will be marked is very different to writing a song you want someone to enjoy.”

“How so?”

“I’m not sure… just, if it’s being marked I guess I’m more careful about not falling into traps of common riffs and such.”

“So you put in more effort? Sounds like it should be even better.”

“It’s not. It’s just—”

“Just that you’re stalling.”

He pressed his lips together and his eyes widened as he realised I had caught him. After, he took a deep breath, placed his hands back on the guitar, and finally started to strum.

I found myself swaying along to the melody quite quickly. It was a beautiful, slowed-down piece that contrasted with the more popular upbeat songs Frazer had played before. 

Though what really drew me in was his mouth, moving along with the song, almost as if, “Does this song have lyrics?”

He kept playing as he glanced up at me, then sheepishly nodded.

“Start again and sing it properly.”

His hands came to a halt, one gripping the bottom of the guitar and the other one clutching onto the neck. “I’m not much of a singer.”

I rolled my eyes in response, though was admittedly enjoying seeing him be nervous this time. More often I felt I was the only one scared I’d do or say something embarrassing that would make him like me a little less. That would make me seem so uncool he’d no longer want to be friends. Yet this time it was almost as if he was wary of what I’d think. So I reassured him with, “You can’t be worse than me.”

“You don’t know that.”

I barked a laugh. “My brother asked for noise-cancelling headphones for Christmas last year just so he can drown out the ‘noise’ that is me singing in the shower.”

My anecdote received a laugh from him, the tension in his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Now I want to hear you sing.”

“You won’t be saying that when your ears bleed.”

“I’m sure they—”

“You’re stalling again.”

His gaze narrowed as he realised I caught on again. A few moments passed as we stared each other off, but I could see the resolve eventually set in as he realised I wouldn’t let him win this one. 

After adjusting his guitar slightly, he started with the intro once again, though this time the lyrics no longer came out a whisper.

“Summer mornings | They were always the best time | Just you and I in the car, off to get the newspaper | Times were simpler | When you and I were younger | Back when you cared more about mum and me…”

As he continued to sing, I sat in awe, watching him become consumed in the music, at one with his guitar, the raw emotion dripping from his voice with every syllable he sang. 

Though unlike the previous times, I was frozen. Unable to sway. Unable to smile at him in encouragement when his eyes flickered my way for approval. Unable to do anything other than listen to the words and his voice.

Until eventually his mouth stopped moving, his fingers stroked the strings a few more times as he played the outro. And then the room was quiet, my heart and our breaths the only sounds.

He stared at the ground for a few moments before braving a glance up at me.

And when our eyes locked, my jaw finally dropped.

“So…” he muttered. “What did you—”

But I didn’t let him finish his sentence. Because I finally had re-entered my mind after what I was sure was an out of body experience and was quick to gush, “Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. Frazer.”

“What?” he asked warily.

“How… what… I don’t… How could you say…” Though I was clearly struggling to form a sentence. Shaking my head, I quickly blurted, “Let me first say that your song was beautiful. I imagine it was about your father?”

He nodded hesitantly, wary of my flabbergasted state.

“It’s a lovely song. Way better than all those famous ones before.”

A nervous laugh escaped his mouth, and he tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “I doubt it.”

“No, I’m serious. But that’s not the issue at hand here.”

“There’s an issue?”

“Yes.”

“What’s the—”

“I need you to record a copy of that song so I can listen to it over and over again.”

“Why would—”

“How could you say you’re not much of a singer?”

“But I’m no—”

“Shut up. You are. Who have you sung in front of before that said you’re not?”

“Er… my teacher? And my parents, I guess.”

“They said you’re not a good singer?”

“Not exactly.”

“Let me guess. This is just an assumption you’ve made yourself?”

Once again, he nodded, eyes still shrouded in distance from me, as if he were waiting for the other shoe to drop where I confirmed his suspicions.

Before, my crush on him seemed slightly tangible. I knew all we’d ever be was just friends, though sometimes I wondered if he held even the slightest of feelings for me that I did for him. Though now I knew we’d always be incompatible because I couldn’t understand how someone as breath-taking, kind, and talented as him was wasting his time on someone like me. Someone like him would never fall for me. He was too amazing. He was too high above me. He was, “You’ve got to be one of the best singers I’ve ever heard.” But the admittance stung a little in my heart as I realised I’d need to get over this crush more quickly than I had planned.

His gaze widened, and he lost his grip on his guitar as he moved to rest it against the wall. The instrument thudded against the carpeted ground before he leaped out of his chair to properly prop it up. “Excuse me?” he asked for clarification, his face quickly turning crimson.

“As I said earlier, I need you to record that song for me. And any other songs you’ve written. I also would love it if you covered some of my favourites. Because I want to listen to you sing like all the time now. When I’m studying, when I’m on the bus, when I’m going to sleep—”

“Going to sleep?”

“You heard me.”

His mouth opened and closed several times, but before he could find something to get out of his muddled mouth, the bell rang. 

“What do you have next?” I asked as I got out of my chair, grabbing my bag.

“Maths,” he managed to squeak out while following me out of the building.

“Me too. Well then, I’ll see you second break.”

“You’re coming back?” All previous embarrassment had disappeared from his face for a moment, replaced instead by that excitement I had seen earlier when I first entered the music room.

“What part of ‘I must grasp every opportunity to hear my favourite artist sing’ did you not get?”

His footsteps faltered while I kept walking ahead. Though when he realised I wasn’t going to wait for him, he rushed to catch up, a little breathless as he blurted, “There’s no way I’m your favourite—”

“I’m thinking about making merch tonight, actually. And can I get your autograph?”

“Oh my gosh… please stop.” 

Redness was spreading through his cheeks and to his ears at a rapid pace again. And I couldn’t help giggling at the sight, revelling in the fact that I managed to make him blush this time… even if it was only because I was praising his talents.

“You know I’m not going to sing in front of my friends though, right?”

“I thought I was your friend?” I mock-pouted at him, but he seemed to not hear the jest in my tone.

Hands raised, he was quick to say, “You are, but—”

“Then what’s the difference?”

“They will… make fun of me.”

“You hang out with them and play music every lesson.”

“It’s different when it’s just instruments versus actually singing.”

“You just have to rip off the bandaid like you did with me.”

Though his hand grabbed my arm, pulling me to a stop before he released his hold of me. We had only a minute left to get to class, but I could see plastered to his face the worry of what I might make him do second break. “I’ve told you before, it’s different with you. I feel safe being myself in front of you.”

I had many things I wanted to say back to that—namely that his friends can’t be great friends if he feels he can’t completely be himself around them. But a small part of me wondered if he was saying more beyond the words, which had me stopping any other questions that begged to be asked from exiting my mouth. Instead, I felt my determined gaze soften, and my resolve weaken as his eyes pleaded with me while at the same time implored me to understand. “I’ll keep my mouth shut about the fact that you have the voice of an angel—”

“I do not—”

I put my hand up and shot him a glare. “I’ll not say anything if you agree to record me some songs.”

His lips pressed together as the second bell rang, signalling the start of class. Then he reluctantly nodded. “I still don’t get it, but fine. Though… you’ll have to help me record them. Maybe on the holidays?”

The question, his hesitancy, the eagerness in his gaze, had my heart starting to pound in excitement. Sometimes it almost feels as if he craves my time and attention just like I do his. But that’s a ridiculous thought… he’d never like me back. Surely. 

Yet I couldn’t stop the giddy grin from gracing my face as I nodded in response. “I’d love that.”

He returned my stupid smile. “I’ll still see you second break, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”