Chimi

How’d he find out exactly? Definitely not because he overheard you on the phone with your friends, chatting about your celebrity crushes and mentioning how you may have a type for the musically gifted.

“Yes! Oh my god, The Jonas Brothers?? They’re kinda hot, I dunno though— not to mention Jimin from BTS?? Oh the things I would-” you giggled and kicked your feet in the air, typical teenage girl behavior sure, fangirling and fawning over boys. Yet the behavior was anything but typical to Caleb. The boy who had stuck by your side since you were children struggling to process that you could now and may have your sights set on other boys but him?? He couldn’t help but feel his brow slightly furrow in not only confusion but also discomfort.

The moment your giggles bubbled out, he registered your enthusiastic words. His knife stilled—the methodic chopping ceasing before he went silent. His eyes momentarily flitting to you, just out of sight. Your bedroom door was peered open, the sight of you lounging on the bed a familiar one he’d seen countless times. You warm and cozy or perhaps being studious. But what interested him more—no, what had his ears perked up like a cat—was how you awkwardly raved about guys who play guitar.

Oddly enough, the boy felt a pang of something in his chest, his heart rate quickening as, without thinking, he began to plan on how to get his hands on a guitar. He took a breath, the moment lasting less than a minute before he mentally tucked away this new piece of information. His pipsqueak now laughing and moving onto something else before he resumed his chopping. You—on the other hand, were blissfully unaware of this quiet exchange.

The next day, Caleb went to school like normal but beelined it to one of his friends. Quickly, he started to pick up a sudden interest in guitars.

Anything to make his pipsqueak happy, right?

Easily admitted to his friends that his sudden interest in guitars was to impress you, they all gave him a knowing look before one of them sighed and caved in. Originally, he wanted to impress you as quickly as possible and opted to learn a song rather than individual chords. (Yes, his friends tried to talk him out of it, but he just gave a chuckle and waved them off.)

He would only practice at school, wanting to surprise you once he had learned enough. Although, he made sure to record videos of his progress. As the weeks passed, he tried to offhandedly mention and drop hints of his numb and calloused hands. (A result of him already having finger calluses from basketball) Mentioning friends who were bands and use technical terms, something new and embarrassingly intentional.

Once he finally learned enough to show off, he sat you down after dinner one Friday night. Serenading you, finally having a chance to reveal his surprise to you, secretly trying to spike his har up and style it with pomade: just like those boy band guys you were obsessed with.

Mentally excused his slightly intense action by saying, “now the boys who will come into your life will know that some simple songs and serenades aren’t enough to sway you pip”. A classic grin on his face before he started to strum his guitar.

“What are you doing?” you laughed out, your feet dangling from the couch as you watch Caleb, your childhood friend, emerge from his room and onto the living room awkwardly holding onto an acoustic guitar. With a small hum, he eased himself onto the couch beside you, placing the guitar onto his lap with ease before he replied, confident and cheery.

“Serenading you of course, and language pip,” he chuckled, his voice light and casual before he experimentally strummed the guitar once more before adding, “you mentioned a few weeks ago that you thought guys who play guitar are kind of cute. So I’d thought I’d test that theory today, hm?” his gaze briefly flickered to you before dipping down once again to adjust his fingering on the chords.

“Caleb, what?” you let out a surprised chuckle, slightly in disbelief he learned the guitar thanks to a statement you had offhandedly mentioned about a month ago. “You remember that?” You huffed out, slightly warmed by how observant he was.

“Yea! Now the boys who try to date my pipsqueak will know some simple guitar playing isn’t enough to sway you!” he grinned before finally straightening his posture and gestured to himself, “pretty nice, huh?” He asked, playful and as if the gesture wasn’t laden with meaning.

Deciding to be a show off he opts out his guitar pick for his fingers, he had developed some calluses on there thanks to his practice and basketball. Not to mention he thought it looked cooler.

Laughed it off when he cut himself while playing and when you scolded him. Didn’t think it was that serious.

“Oh my god! Ok, Caleb!” you gasped, bringing your hand to your mouth in shock, trying to get his attention as his fingers glided effortlessly over the steel strings—their silvery shine slowly becoming coated with a bloody red. However, he was too immersed into his strumming, his tongue slightly sticking out as he played harder, somehow even more determined to show off. You winced, noting how the fretboard had become more slippery, not to mention he didn’t show any signs of slowing down soon.

What you weren’t aware of is that Caleb may have overestimated himself; just because he could play without a pick didn’t mean he should. Caleb—blissfully unaware of his overexertion—failed to realize his fingers were bleeding.

“Huh-?” he looked up, his tongue slightly sticking out, the confident smirk on his face quickly dissipating as you called out to him in worry. Instantly, his hands on the strings paused their strumming, the boisterous melody cutting off as he looked at you concerned.

“Caleb, stop! You’re bleeding!” You jumped forward to stop him from playing any further.

“What? What are you talking about pipsqueak? I’m fine” he laughed softly, slightly confused on why you recoiled at the sight of his hand. His brows knit in confusion as you pulled back. He released his grip from the instrument, reaching out to reassure you before his eyes landed to his bloodied hand.

“Holy shit!” he slowly looked at his hand, bringing it closer until he gently took it by the wrist with the other before looking back at you. His puzzled expression morphing into shock and almost…awe?

“Pips, look!” he gestured to his hand and gingerly flexed it as the blood dribbled past his fingers and onto his palm. His eyes raking over the crimsons trails up to his fingertips. Thee root cause for his injury? A friction burn on his middle finger. The skin raw and red from playing so intensely.

“Oh my god! Oh my god! Caleb, that is not- I don’t want to see that!” you jerked back and contorted your face in disgust, how could boys be so gross?

“I’m gonna grab the first aid kit, stay here! EW, DON’T TOUCH IT!” You exclaimed, your own hands flexing while you awkwardly maneuvered past him from the couch to the bathroom.

Bonus:

As the years passed, he found himself having dips where he would be continuously playing all the way up until he graduated from the DAA. After that, he became too busy to really play or have it come to mind. (ALSO BIG BOOM HAHA (sorry guys)

Feels nostalgic whenever he sees someone else playing on the street or serenading because it brings him back to that memory of you.

Picked it back up again after reuniting with you, for old times sake and as another coping mechanism to cling to the past.

I actually have another huge and much more in depth idea/headcannon on him and MC's relationship throughout their teens. I realized it midway through writing this so maybe a future post cause yea idk lol