Broken Guitar Strings

Chapter 10

A/N: So I know my chapters vary in length but I guess that's just because I'm an author unaware of her own evilness ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Please tell me if you have any suggestions on making the story flow better and enjoy!

(ALLIE’S POV)

It’s finally Thanksgiving break! I can put a pause on school and stress. It seems like everyone’s doing dandily on their composition projects, except for Chanyeol and Whitney. He doesn’t like her at all, and even though she knows that, she tries anyway. I think that’s the case for every one of Savannah’s lackeys.

Oh and by the way, someone asked me out again. Even though I’m “dating” Chanyeol. I’m not sure if that’s just nerve or pure stupidity.

Lay and I have decided to get our project done all in one day on the 22nd, which is on Saturday. I would have him come over to my place, but apparently he has a bunch of music equipment at his house which could help us record. I’m kind of excited but nervous at the same time, because he seems so fragile and sensitive. I’m afraid I’ll break him.

I press the doorbell with my free hand, my laptop in the other. It’s only nine in the morning and it’s already pretty chilly, but I’m not surprised because this is Chicago. Sigh. I miss the California sun.

Lay opens the door and immediately says, “Oh, come on in!” He’s wearing a nice sweater and he looks great. It’s a different kind of great than Chanyeol. Chanyeol’s the bold, out-there great and Lay is the sweet, under-the-radar great. They’re both...well, great.

His house gives off a really cozy vibe. Lay kept politely saying things, like “would you like any food” and “I’ll take your jacket” and “let’s go in the basement to work, if that’s alright.” As to what I could see, no one else was at home. He took me downstairs; I kept looking around. The atmosphere is so different than the one back at my house. When I reached the basement, Lay immediately went for a guitar. I just stood at the bottom of the tiny stairwell in awe. Everything was...musical. There were acoustic guitars and electric guitars hanging from one wall, and there were multiple trophy cases next to a grand piano. There were also microphones, headsets, a boom box, and Lay’s Mac on top of a desk. There were wires on the floor connecting to speakers, and if you walked even further in there was a small room with a mirror covering a huge wall. “Whoa,” I say. “This is amazing.” I slowly walk over to one of his trophy cases. I could see “1st place for Illinois State Guitar Performance Competition,” “3rd place for the Annual Self-Composing Musical Competition,” and “2nd place tie for the Chicago Voice Connection” along with countless ribbons for placing at dance competitions. “You dance?” I ask him. He nods. “Wow, I didn’t know that,” I exhale. “I didn’t know about any of this.” He sits down in front of his Mac and says, “No one really does except for my family.”

“Do you dance for a club?”

“No. All of my dancing is self-taught, and choreography gets easier to understand as I go along because I start to find patterns in the moves.”

“That’s amazing. Can you show me? Just a little bit. Of anything.”

“How about after we finish this,” he says with a tiny smile. “Okay,” I take a seat next to him and turn on my laptop.

“I saw the lyrics you sent me, and I think they’re pretty good. We just have to make edits to the piece and put it all together; then we can record it and we’ll be done. Oh, and I think I left out an inversion somewhere, so let’s see where we can put that in.” Oh. Oops. I feel so stupid that I didn’t even check how many chords and inversions he included when he first sent me that rough draft.

We work for the next hour in diligence. He started to open up to me, and I realized that he really isn’t that shy and he really isn’t that reserved. He’s actually really funny in an adorable, sweet way. When it’s time to record, he says that I should sing. “What? I’m horrible at singing.” I retort. “Well, can you play the guitar?” I shake my head. I should learn. “Then you have to sing,” he says. “One of us has to play and one of us has to sing.”

“But I’m really horr-”

“No you’re not. I’ll just teach you some of the basics and then you’ll be good to go. Remember, Mr. Morse isn’t grading us on how well we sing. It’s all about the music itself. Plus, he isn’t even expecting us to record it.” Then, he starts giving me pointers on what a spectacular singer does with his or her voice. By the end, I’m pretty sure I’m 200% better at singing. Lay picks up his acoustic guitar and plays the piece, and I try to sing to it. “Looking out the window…” He stops playing. “Don’t be nervous!” He chuckles. “Just go it with it. Sing it in your head and your voice will deliver it beautifully.” I try again, and this time we don’t stop until the last note.  “YES!!! Good job!” He laughs. He emails it to the teacher and gives me a huge hug. Lay is so amazing. He’s been so humble and quiet about everything that no one knows anything about his life until they really interact with him.

I check the clock, and it’s already 12:23. “Do you want lunch?” Lay says. I shake my head. “You should dance first. I really want to see you dance.”

“Haha, okay.” Whenever he smiles, his dimples show. They make him so adorable; it makes me want to take care of him.

He walks to that little side room and takes out his iPod. This song called “Two Moons” starts to play, and Lay just starts...dancing. He stares charismatically at the wall mirror and I don’t even know if he knows I’m there anymore. He seems so carried away and into it. His legs swiftly carry him from one spot to another, arms and torso all in perfect sync with the music. It’s a very unique style of dance that I’ve never seen before, and I’m just completely amazed. He’s outstanding.

When the song finally comes to an end, he stops,  softly panting. He walks over to me gives me a huge smile. “Yeah, let’s go get some lunch.” He says. “That was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen,” I reply. “And I’ve seen a lot.” I give him a huge hug. “Allie,” he says. “Thank you.”