You sure did. Tell me. And do it. More than do it, really!
[He all but wraps himself around her, sitting back on his butt with first his arms and then also his legs looped around her like a koala hugging its eucalyptus tree, or something else it absolutely needs to live. It's an all-encompassing, marsupial kind of adoration.
He rubs his face against hers and finds himself chuckling again, like the happiness just won't stop bubbling out.]
[She echoes the word like a secret, because it is — the kind that comes with a wink and a nudge and two people who know better and neither one of them inclined to spill the secret resonating between them.]
Hey, don't let me crush your guitar, okay? I'd feel bad if it got jacked up under the crushing weight of my beefy body.
[She is a soggy spaghetti noodle at best, what even is this.]
Ohhh, no, not your massive muscles of steel! This isn't even my guitar, how will I ever explain the girlfriend-shaped imprint to the guy I'm borrowing it from?
[His bright, laughing grin goes a little shyer, and his eyes flicker up repeatedly from the guitar to Summer, from Summer to the guitar. Eventually, he shifts back and takes the guitar in his hands, adjusting strings that don't really need adjusting.]
'Cause... I guess we had the same idea. Kind of. And I don't have a whole one-man band's worth of magic at my fingertips, so I gotta do it the old-fashioned way. So. You wanna hear?
[Prompto looks up and smiles again.]
Here goes.
[It's an easy, generic progression of chords, all the easiest ones he can remember. He plays like a beginner, too, looking from the frets back down to his strumming hand, clearing his throat and fixing his fingers whenever he misses a note.
Prompto's no stranger to singing, but none of his goofy jingles sound this quiet. This quiet, or this open.]
♫ I wrote this song with simple chords, 'Cause I'm a simple guy I wrote this song with simple words, Just stuff that came to mind
My feelings are so simple When you get down to the heart... ♪
[He pauses for a second, fingers picking idly at the notes of the chord he just strummed to keep the sound going, going for a moment, then sing-says in a hurry on the same note:]
[And then smiles and returns to the proper pattern of the tune.]
♫ But seeing you, telling you face to face Is actually the simplest part...
You make The days longer The nights warmer More fireflies in my chest than freckles on my skin, you make Me wanna Be honest And open all the windows up to let you in, you're Like a week of lazy days just playing oldschool video games With friends who know my tune by ear...♪
[He looks up at her, smiling softly, then finishes with the last chords.]
What I'm trying to say is simple: You're my favorite time of year. ♪
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
[He all but wraps himself around her, sitting back on his butt with first his arms and then also his legs looped around her like a koala hugging its eucalyptus tree, or something else it absolutely needs to live. It's an all-encompassing, marsupial kind of adoration.
He rubs his face against hers and finds himself chuckling again, like the happiness just won't stop bubbling out.]
That show was aces, Ace.
[Heheheh.]
no subject
[She echoes the word like a secret, because it is — the kind that comes with a wink and a nudge and two people who know better and neither one of them inclined to spill the secret resonating between them.]
Hey, don't let me crush your guitar, okay? I'd feel bad if it got jacked up under the crushing weight of my beefy body.
[She is a soggy spaghetti noodle at best, what even is this.]
no subject
[His bright, laughing grin goes a little shyer, and his eyes flicker up repeatedly from the guitar to Summer, from Summer to the guitar. Eventually, he shifts back and takes the guitar in his hands, adjusting strings that don't really need adjusting.]
'Cause... I guess we had the same idea. Kind of. And I don't have a whole one-man band's worth of magic at my fingertips, so I gotta do it the old-fashioned way. So. You wanna hear?
[Prompto looks up and smiles again.]
Here goes.
[It's an easy, generic progression of chords, all the easiest ones he can remember. He plays like a beginner, too, looking from the frets back down to his strumming hand, clearing his throat and fixing his fingers whenever he misses a note.
Prompto's no stranger to singing, but none of his goofy jingles sound this quiet. This quiet, or this open.]
♫ I wrote this song with simple chords,
'Cause I'm a simple guy
I wrote this song with simple words,
Just stuff that came to mind
My feelings are so simple
When you get down to the heart... ♪
[He pauses for a second, fingers picking idly at the notes of the chord he just strummed to keep the sound going, going for a moment, then sing-says in a hurry on the same note:]
♫ AndIdidn'tthinkitwouldgothiswaysoI'mchangingthewordsalittlereallyquick--♪
[And then smiles and returns to the proper pattern of the tune.]
♫ But seeing you, telling you face to face
Is actually the simplest part...
You make
The days longer
The nights warmer
More fireflies in my chest than freckles on my skin, you make
Me wanna
Be honest
And open all the windows up to let you in, you're
Like a week of lazy days just playing oldschool video games
With friends who know my tune by ear...♪
[He looks up at her, smiling softly, then finishes with the last chords.]
What I'm trying to say is simple:
You're my favorite time of year. ♪