and the stars will all come out

chapter twelve! ☆

"OKAY," DAVE SAID FOR THE FIFTH TIME SINCE HE'D GIVEN HER THE GUITAR, "You're gonna want to move your other finger a little bit down - yep - okay, you got it."

"Okay?" Landry repeated anxiously, strumming weakly.

"Great," Dave affirmed. "That's the last chord of the first verse."

She looked at him a bit blankly, then looked down, paused, and strummed out the first verse to "Learn to Fly" perfectly.

When she looked up again, Dave was smiling. "Perfect."

(Truthfully, he couldn't understand why she was doubting herself so much when she was a perfectly fine student.)

Unfortunately, it also happened to be that Dave was doubting himself, and he quickly backtracked on his statement.

"Er, I mean, not to enforce the lie of perfection on you, but that was pretty damn good, y'know?"

"Dude, I didn't take it like an insult," Landry replied, laughing.

"Sorry," he bit out quickly, hoping the back of his neck wasn't as red as it felt. "Uh, now for the chorus, you're gonna wanna-"

Landry started to move her hand the wrong way down the fretboard, and without thinking, Dave reached out to gently move her hand up to the B chord.

He let go of her hand just as quickly as he'd grasped it.

Trying to play it off while panicking internally, he smiled at her. "Close."

For Landry, an unexpected pang of heat had hit between her legs, and she had zero idea of what to do with this feeling.

"Thanks," she mumbled, nervousness rising in her. Her brain was jammed, it was impossible to think: the only thing she could focus on was the feel of Dave's fingers on hers thirty seconds ago, forever imprinted on her skin.

☆

IT WAS CONFUSING TO FEEL THIS WAY, especially because Landry's evening in the aftermath of returning home from the cabin was exactly like any other.

She blearily unlocked the door to the apartment and traipsed past Hope, who was on the couch in their squashed living room, looking dazed and stoned in paisley pyjamas, took a quick glance at the dog's bowl as she passed to make sure he had been fed, and practically fell into the hallway that led to her tiny bedroom with the only intention of changing out of her clothes and maybe watching a rerun of Sex and the City.

She sighed as she flicked the light switch upward and stepped into her bedroom, shitty, flickering golden light flooding the cramped cube of mess. It was in the same state of disarray as she had left it: Dave had started to understand ever since she started keeping a drawer full of her things at the cabin, but if Landry inhabited a space, it always looked like a bomb had gone off.

As she searched for a change of clothes, it became harder ignore her scarred fingertips tingling and aching from being pressed to the fretboard of her guitar for so long. Even though she hadn't even played until blood was drawn, Landry had a feeling she would need a shower after this long day of shenanigans.

So, instead of collapsing onto the bed like she so dearly wanted to, she gathered up her pyjamas that were lying in a crumpled heap on the floor and left her room.

As she went to the bathroom, Landry winced for the exhaustion she was feeling today, and the exhaustion she would probably be feeling tomorrow. Fuck.

It was some kind of relief to turn the shower on, pull the sweaty clothes off of her body, and step under the sputtering, lukewarm spray. Landry felt better with the water flowing onto her head, soaking her scalp and dripping down her body, totally alone with her thoughts for what felt like the first time that day.