Sounds Like Love

by PonyManne215

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, Human, Comedy, Romance
Length: 6329

A 2nd Person story, with you and Octavia. Romance, Comedy, and feisty situations all in one.

2nd Person Romance story, with you and humanized Octavia.

As a normal guy, you like all sorts of things. In fact, that is why your friends love you. Still, as laid back as you are, your parents love to mess with you! Having no sense of direction in life, they decide you should get a hobby. And that hobby is playing music. They hire a fancy cello instructor to teach you the ways of harmonic tunes. But that isn't the only thing you two will make, as you start to develop feelings for the refined, beautiful, and whimsical girl. But how hard will it be to tell her if her roommate is a beat-blaring, rowdy disk jockey? Will she accept your want for something more? Does she share the same feelings? And will you ever get over that intrepid fear of crabs?

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-07-28 21:25:06 UTC

Just Another Day For You

The seagulls chirp overhead, calling to their counterparts to mate. The sand of the beach shifts with the gentle breeze of the summer wind. Dolphins chirp from their watery homes, showing their love for a new day. The sun hangs on the horizon, giving the day a faint orange glow, warming the souls of all. And the water churns fluidly, moving in a calm motion. Tidal waves form at the edge, slowly descending as it reaches the shore.

Everything is calm. Everything is serene. Life could not be any more relaxing. Bubbles start to form around the middle of the ocean. It's soft, yet audible sound soothes those who hear it. A shiny dark green and blue surface begins to rise out, the salty water trickling over its sides. The form begins to show its full body, a towering, majestic thing. It moves slowly towered the shore, playing its melodious maraca sounds on the end of its arms.

It reaches down, looking at something. You look up at it, unsure of just what is going on. The creature approaches its designation, water falling onto your face as it clamps down hard.

"AAAAAAAHHH!" You bolt upright, sweating and fearing for your life. You throw the cover off of you body and check your assaulted victim. "Whew, you’re still there." You say to yourself as you pat your child maker.

The clock on the side of your bed reads 9 AM. Obviously, the new alarm that you set it to influenced your dream greatly. Who knew that having a beach side alarm would cause you to have a dream about a beach? You slept later than you thought you would, considering you slept pretty early last night.

"I slept at 1 AM, so I got.....eight hours of sleep." You deduce with your high levels of math. Rubbing your eyes free of that morning dust in your eyelids, you yawn loudly and stretch your limbs. After slapping yourself a few times, you get up, awake for the most part. The shades are blocking the window, so you pull them apart to be met with a lethal dosage of daily sunshine. “Gah!” You exclaim in disgust, feeling like a vampire dragged out of their coffin. Your eyes feel blind, but you shield them and turn your back, almost hearing a slight hissing sound as if your back was catching on fire. Don’t you love your morning unreasonableness?

You go to your bathroom, flicking the light on and looking at yourself in the reflective mirror . "Damn Giant Crabs." You curse, as you recall the dream, more precisely, nightmare that you just had. It was almost too realistic, and that was the third time this month. It was annoying you, seeing as how you hate those things.  Ever since you were a child, you developed a rare and peculiar fear of giant crabs. It all began when you went fishing with your grandpa.

The amount of clamps that you received on your body still haunts you to this day. It isn't easy for a child around the age of five or so to get clamped over sixty times by dozens of large crabs. That, and watching monster movies with things like giant ants didn't help either. Fear aside, you eye yourself up and down. There was no need to shave, or so you thought. Despite the pleading of your mother, you refused to be as clean-shaven as a newborn baby, to show off what she called you as being “My little cutey-wutey baby boy!”. You father had some part in this, as he did not want you to be Chuck Norris, prancing about with a beard large enough to hold weapons inside. So you made a compromise, five o’ clock shadows and stubbles would be your midway.

Checking you face some more, you rub the somewhat prickly stubble, eyeing your face for anything out of the ordinary. Just as you hoped, there were no blemishes, pimples, zits, or anything of that nature. For once in your life, you were having a summer that was zit-free. Last year was unworldly, as there were always three on your face, in different locations at different times. But now you looked like a man. Well, a teenaged almost adulterated man. Summer officially began a month ago for you, and since then you have not even thought about school. Besides, who cares about those summer book reports, right?

Summer has been a blast, just like that motto from Six Flags. Or was it McDonalds? Who knows. But regardless, it has been one. You’ve been hanging out with you friends, which your friend count was suffice to say, average/high. You’re a laid back guy, with the occasional joke and humorous attitude. You never seem to bring the mood down, and you take things in stride. Guys flash their girlfriends around like a gem, but you never really took a girl yourself. You weren’t ugly, so that wasn’t the problem. Neither was popularity. No, you just never got around to doing it. You were a bit lazy, after all.

Sure, girls would show their interest in you, wanting to take it steady or at least do it with you under the school bleachers. But you seriously didn’t want anything to change in your life. You were a happy-go-lucky kind of guy. And you just weren’t ready to take on big responsibilities and life altering actions like having a girlfriend. Not only would you have someone over your house, but you’d be over their house as well. And not to mention, the constant nagging of your mother to use a condom, or your father barging in to make sure you were doing things at a PG-13 level. Dates and other things worried you as well. So, in all, you were just waiting things out.

Your life...where was it going? You’re in your mid high school years, no longer a dim-witted freshman, but you were a new man. You could practically taste senior year around the corner, yet you still had no worries in the world. You had no car, no job, no profession. Your career? Please, don’t even joke about it. As far as you were concerned, being a lone drifter was your money maker. You occasionally took up some odd jobs, part-times, and rarely some full-time jobs, but you have been a freeman since the ending of the school year. Tax, bank accounts, and paying for renovations and gas were otherworldly to you for the moment.

And so, you stopped your morning gaze into the mirror, pondering your life existence, and went over to the toilet. It was time to unleash the hounds of Tartarus. The stream was steady, quelling any doubts as to whether or not you wet the bed from having a dream about a giant crab clamping your old pal. Hey, it was a pretty damn scary dream, so wetting the bed was a possibility. You weren’t a wimp, a nerd, a coward. But crabs....they were something else.

You could practically feel Hell waiting for you, if there was one, and you knew just what Satan had in mind. A torture chamber consisting of pools full of crabs, crab lynchings, and all kinds of crab-on-human torture. You finished up your continued pondering when your stream stopped. You pulled on the handle and the distinct sound of the suction cup vortex cleaning the bowl put your mind at ease. You moved your head to smell your pits. They were not too bad, but still intolerable. Throwing your clothes in the hamper blissfully, you walk inside the shower and put it on a steaming hot blast.

Everything went by like a blur as you instinctively lather yourself in soap, take in the hot relaxing water, and step out to dry yourself. You walk over to your cabinet, eyeing what to wear. For simplicity’s sake, you take the nearest pair of briefs, followed by some short cargo pants, and a regular old t-shirt . You throw the towel aside into the hamper, and walk over to your bedroom door. The door opens as the sound of your voice fills your somewhat spacious home.

“Mom? Dad? You home?”

You receive no answer in response. You knew this meant one thing. Either, you were in a hostage situation, in which a robber was holding your parents at gunpoint, or they were out shopping like any other Tuesday. It was probably the latter. You walk into the hallway, looking to see if their room is occupied. As expected, the door is open and no one is inside. You sigh with relief as you travel to the kitchen. And here comes the food....Wait.

There was a note. You decide to read it, out of curiosity and the fact that your parents put it there.

Dear Son,

We went out shopping, so eat what’s left in the fridge. Should be back around 9:30 or so, so don’t worry about a big breakfast until then. We have a surprise for you! Well, make that two surprises. The one is from both of us, while the other is from me. I found them...so you should probably find a better hiding place.

“Found what?” You ask no one in particular, going back to read the rest.

I mean, who leaves their porno mags under their bed? You know I clean under the beds every Sunday! I’m keeping this from your dad, for now. So either find a new place, or get rid of them, mister!

Love,

Mom and Dad.”

“Aww crap.” You say as you turn around face-palming. You were out that day, watching a movie with the buds. You contemplate your next options as you open the fridge. Your stomach is basically making whale moans by now. Your Equestrian Girls Weekly could be taken care of later.

“Damn.” You say as the examination of the refrigerator proves to be empty, only with a few meager apples inside. You take two in hand, and grab the carton of orange juice that is half full. You peel off the stickers put on the apples, but read the label so you would remember which kind to buy on the next grocery run. The label was clear as day, displaying a large name.

“Apple Family Apples, the best darned apples in all of the United States. Product of the prestigious Sweet Apple Acres.”

“What kind of family names themselves after their products?” You ask as you throw the labels in the trashcan, walking over to the TV while taking a huge bite out of the red fruit. The sounds of the crunch, along with the juice dribbling down your mouth prove soothing as you flop onto the couch, lazily scrounging for the remote. Your heart skips a beat when you feel the metal and plastic life utility around the tips of your index. “Yes!” You exclaim as you move it towards the black box, flicking on the ground breaking technology with the press of a button. The screen buzzes with white before forming an image.

“Last time on ‘Living With the Kardashians’.”

“Oh God.” You recoil as you flip to the next channel.

“Previously on ‘Jersey Shore’.”

“What the fuuuuuu-” You didn’t even stay for the after second when you heard the name being said. But you almost leap in joy when one of your favorite movies comes to life.

“Doc, I have to tell you about the future!”

“What?!”

“I have to tell you about the future!”

The movie suddenly stops as a barrage of commercials come on the set. You stopped paying attention, deciding to eat the rest of the apple and then engaging the next one. You get right to the core, as your growing body needs sustenance, and you throw it at the wastebasket from over four feet away.

....And it misses. Looks like you weren’t joining the NBA anytime soon. Swallowing your pride, you ignore the mishap and eat the rest of the second apple, watching the TV again.

“Rarity’s Dresses. Come here for all of your fashion needs! The prices are so astonishing, you could practically say she is Generosity, itself! Store locations vary. Carousel Boutique is a copyright name from Ms. Rarity and will fine mimicry.”

“Are you tired of your plunger? Do you want to get a good reliable utility device that can take the crap out of your mouth? Well, come on down to Bob’s Deluxe Plunger Emporium! The home of the Super Speedy Toilet Plungy 6000! Buy five hundred units for 5.99 each, and you’ll get a signed autograph from the Flim Flam Brothers, themselves!”

Just before another commercial came on, you moved in your seat, accidentally butt-mashing the change channel button to another station. Buttock related channel changing was actually the number one reason why many shows would get so many viewings.

“Hi, I’m Chef Pinkie Pie, and you’re here watching Sugar Cube Corner Showdown! Today, we’re gonna knock the pants off of the contestants we have today. Say hello and goodbye to Donut Joe, Gordon Ramsey, and Betty Crocker! It’s cupcake eating time!”

It was a girl your age, surprisingly famous or wealthy enough to afford her own TV show. She looked pretty cute, weird curly pink hair aside. Her eyes were pretty cute, being as blue as the ocean. And she was pretty skinny and had a fun disposition to her. She lunged into a giant stack of cupcakes with nothing but a fork and Hershey’s Chocolate Syrup. You had no idea what that was about.

You take the cap off of the orange juice carton and drink the remainder of its contents. Sighing pleasurably, you throw the carton and the second apple core to the wastebasket. This time, the apple went in. But the carton didn’t, as it went flying towards the fine china.

“Damn it...” You say as you watch the damage unfold.

But much to your surprise, nothing happened. You get up as you wipe the orange mustache you have, picking up the first apple, slamming it in out of frustration. Then you walk over to the carton and put in the recyclables. The TV is blaring away, having sounds of ninjas, swords, and guns. Wait a minute, you were just watching a cooking show!

You ran to the TV to see what kind of show this was. Just as you reach the couch, tripping over it head first, you hear the sounds of clicking at the door. Your parents were home, nothing special. But back on the TV, the girl who named “Pinkie Pie” was covered in white batter, licking it up like a pornographic actress. You didn’t mind it any, until you realized something.

“Parents are home, they see me watching TV, see a girl covered in sticky white stuff licking it up......Oh fu-”

Just as you say it, the door slams open, causing some very unfortunate crashing noises from behind you. “And there goes the china.”

“We’re back!” Mom shouts as she comes inside, twirling about.

“Wanna help me out?” Dad asks as he carries in a bunch of bags.

You turn to the TV and see that the pink haired girl is on the floor, rubbing her belly in pleasure. This would definitely be a girl you needed pictures of in your room. But seeing as how it looked like a stupid kid’s show at this point, you left the TV on and went to help your old Pops out.

Well, they weren’t old, your parents. They were in their mid 30’s. Pretty young, right? They actually had you before you would even think. You thought the normal age for people to have kids was the late 20’s, or maybe even early 30’s. But they had you as young adults in college. And your mom was still a child on the inside. So it was pretty easy to talk to them like friends.

Your family wasn’t poor, like the unfortunate souls all around the world. You thanked the omnipotent being above for that. Your parents, despite their fun personalities, were hardworking people. Your mom worked for half of the week, doing what she did best. She was a teacher for kids in preschool. So that meant she got to touch kids with their snot covered hands. Then, she would come home and feed you with said snot-laced appendages. Isn’t that a fun fact?

You dad was a corporate sales pitch guy. So basically, he was the guy who had the perky attitude that went around, throwing ideas in peoples faces until they would get mad. So he was a professional troll. He made a good income, he had that at least. So you were in a higher middle class family. And this family was fully functional, save for your sorry ass.

“Um....honey,” Mom begins. “What happened to all of the dishes?” You gently put down the bags as you walk over to examine the mess.

“Wow.” Was all you could say as the thing before you looked pretty.....

“Looks like art.” Dad adds from the side, his neck elongating from the doorway.

“Did you do this?” Mom looks at you like you are King Kong climbing a skyscraper.

“What?! No, no! It wasn’t me, I swear!” You say as you put your hands in front of you, waving them back and forth reassuringly.

“Then who, Ebenezer Scrooge?” She cocks her head to the side, her hair falling into place. Her hips slouch and her hands go on her waist, waiting for an answer.

Without any doubt, you point to the side, saying without emotion “Dad did it.”

She turns her hate ray towards him, who then turns on the faucet and begins to throw it at her, making a cross gesture and screaming at the top of his lungs “The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you!” As predicted, it did nothing as she pounced on him, both of them falling over the couch.

You aren’t sure what to do now. You could do one of three things. Call the cops, saying that a mad women was in the house. Another was that you could go to your room, hide in the corner, and fall into the fetal position while muttering “It’s alright, everything is okay.” The last one is to go and check out what they’re doing. And again, curiosity killed the cat, in which case, you were big fat Garfield.

And there it was.

Your parents, the people who brought you into this world, the people who loved and nurtured you since you were a baby, the people who put a roof over your head, the people who blah blah blah, you get the idea, were kissing passionately.

And there goes your appetite.

You were a man, well young man, sure. You have seen plenty of sex, romance, kissing, and all of that lovey-dovey stuff in your life, but watching your parents make out is not exactly the funnest thing to witness. Let alone be in the same room with. It was a touching story of how they met. Your dad was not a jock, a sports guy, or even the handsomest guy in school. Your dad was an average, having nothing special about him. He’d be one of those regular guys you’d see in an anime, or the private in military movies that dies without a story. Yet, he managed to somehow fall in love with your mom, a beautiful gal who was the eyes of many.

Your mom, don’t get them wrong, was not Miss Popular. She was one of the most gorgeous girls there but she wasn’t like a cheerleader. She had that...girl next door look to her. And yet, your dumb old dad met your comedic old mom. To you, they were like two old dogs watching the horizon.......

And you were the dog catcher.

You blared the TV volume to an ear-piercing high level, breaking their share of affection. “Okay, I get that most of the people these days say ‘YOLO’, but could you chill with that? I’m right here!”

Your mom wipes her mouth as your dad scratches his head.

“Sorry about that.” He mutters.

“Oh, that reminds me!” She says as she pounds a fist into an open palm. “Your surprise!”

You groan, unanxious to hear it already. “Why do I get the feeling that thi-”

“You’re a failure!” Mom suddenly exclaims.

“Where did that come from?” You ask as you are taken back by her insulting statement.

“Well, that’s what the sweet girl said, anyway. But while I was getting my nails done, this beautiful girl who sat next to me was talking about her little sister. I think her sister’s name was....Belle or some other. But anyway, we were talking and I started to tell her about your lack of direction in life. And she did the nicest thing! She gave me a list of contacts in her friend list, telling me to call any of the people on there for a job for you. And here it is!” Mom says as she pulls out a small white book, it had a giant Purple ‘R’ on it, along with some diamonds.

You flip through the pages, none of the names sounding too cool to you. “C. Top, produce sales? Nah. A. Bloom, Day Care for Three Children? Hm...pass. Zecora? Herbal Remedies, and other Mystic Commodities? No, thank you.” You close the book with a pop. “How’s this any help, Ma? And I don’t need help from strangers.”

Your mom made a ‘what do you know’ face as she slaps your hand. “She’s no stranger, she goes to my salon all the time! I can never get her name though....but she taught me that purple hair makes the guys go crazy, that’s something. Oh, and I already picked someone out for you. I gave them a call on the way here. So get ready, Mr. Cello Player!” She smiles at you and pats you on the back.

You panic, looking to your dad for some manly support here. He shrugs at you. “I don’t know.” So much for men standing together.

But you have no idea how to play the cello! Let alone use it for a profession. Who the hell needs a cello player, right? From what you guessed, cello players were probably those old, ugly, ragged people that had nothing better to do in their lives. You thought they were just washed-up has-beens that mulled over each grueling day. And you were joining them. In your opinion, the saxophone was something worthwhile.

Without any choice left, mainly due to the fact that your mom can blackmail you, you sigh and go to your room. Your dad is a fellow man, so anyone would think that he’d have no problem with a hormonal teen. But that wasn’t the case, because your dad was the Spanish Inquisition, and pornos were the witches burned at the stake. And those associated with said witches were usually whipped, severely punished, or burned alongside their accomplices. Being punished wasn’t exactly something you were fond of, either.

Your mom starts to talk from the kitchen. “Wear something nice, it’s a fancy meeting after all.” You mumble something under your breath about a fire breathing dragon flying in and attacking the kitchen, that way your mom gets to reorganize every single cabinet again. This was wasting your time. You could be outside with the guys, playing some Xbox or PS3, or even watching some vids on the computer. You take a dress shirt and some jeans and change.

Then, you walk to the door leading outside. You slip on some socks, and a pair of sneakers and look back to your mom. “Ready yet?”

“But who’s going to clean this?”

“Dad will!” You say happily.

Dad looks to you, giving you a ‘what the hell, man?’ look. You shrug in reply. “Payback’s a bit-”

Dad looks at you and points a finger, not wanting to hear that kind of speech. It was fair enough, you suppose, as you move outside with your mother in tow. Your mom pats you on the head and grabs you by the hand, making you feel like a kid again.

“Mom.” You state blankly.

“Yes, dear?” She says tauntingly.

“I don’t even have a cello.” You say as you pull your hand away from here. It was embarrassing.

“Of course you do! I bought one from the instructor along with the package deal. Oh, it’s going to be so fun to hear you play it.”

“Yeah, a blast.” You roll your eyes.

You both get in the car as you buckle on your seat belts. You were somewhat unique in that sense. Most people your age don’t give two craps about seat belt safety. But you’ve been through enough PSAs, presentations, and videos to know that putting it on doesn’t hurt anyone. Well, except the wearer during an accident.

“Where is it, anyway?” You question.

“Not too far. It’s a few blocks from here, maybe six.” She answers. “We’re doing this out of love for you.”

“Don’t you think I’m getting too much love?”

“Well we never had another kid....it’s just you.” She sadly said. “But that means we get to give you double the love!” Mom suddenly perks up.

“Great. The love has been doubled.”

The car ride went by at a medium pace. Buildings didn’t stand out much to your eyesight. It was the same thing over and over. There were homes, commercial buildings, your run of the mill convenience store, and then there were the supermarkets like Wal-Mart, K-Mart, Shoprite, and Equis-buy. That last name was definitely up there with weird named stores. There is a store in the world called “The Nose”, but still.

There were many things on Earth that had something along the lines of “Equestria”. You have no idea why. Actually, you did do a midnight research session in your room while waiting for the stormy weather to clear out that one Saturday early morning. It was something because of a huge corporate company that went by the name of “Celestial Princesses Incorporated”. It was run by these two old people that have passed the company down to their daughters. What were their names again? Oh yeah, Celestia and Luna. Pretty weird names.

Occasionally, a person here or there, followed by children, were walking the streets. The weather overhead seemed to stay like that for the rest of the day, being sunny and bright as ever. The radio was something that you and your parents fought over. You liked music, sure. As long as it wasn’t one of two things. Country, and folk. In your opinion, they put you right to sleep.

Stealthily glancing to the side, you see your mom looking straight ahead, occasionally humming to herself. A sly smile spreads across your face as you do it. Your finger prods the power button, turning the radio to life as music fills the atmosphere.

And your heart leaps for joy as one of your favorite songs comes on the radio.

"Ohhhh, I forget, let me breathe, let me live. Just run away from my mind. Ohh, I forgive, I don’t need, I won’t breathe. Just get away from my life!” The woman’s voice is so epic it makes you almost leap, except you’re in a car.

Your mom looks at you, almost wanting to slap you. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Playing the radio, what does it look like?” You ask rhetorically as your European idol plays his Epix Sax Solo.

"You lost one and all, so fly away. Over the clouds, under the sky. Never come back, no, run away. With all your might, gave up you!”

The man started to sing along with the female lead.

Today was a good day so far. How could it get any better. You look over to Mom and see that she isn’t exactly annoyed by the song choice, meaning there is some interest in it. You want to start dancing but the car abruptly comes to a halt.

“We’re here!” Mom states as she looked to your right.

You follow her gaze, seeing a lone house that seems like something out of a British manor house. It is a two story building. The outside has the posh look to it, as if someone of higher standards lived here. There were plenty of windows, and it even had a vintage chimney! This place looked expensive.

“Mom...how much did this cost?” You ask.

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s not like we’re renting the place. I paid a few hundred for five lessons a week. How could I pass up such a good deal? It was the cello, which was three hundred, plus the lessons, which was five hundred. But the teacher guaranteed me that you’d be living the rich life if you become a professional cellist. So, here we are!”

“Five days?!” You are less than happy about it taking about most of your personal life.

“I know, such a shame, right? She had a six days a week deal, but I ran out of money  at the time. Oh well. Go on, I’ll be back when the session is over.” She smiles at you warmly.

“Mom,” You blankly reply. “How long is the session?”

“Oh, a few hours, maybe five. Why?”

“God damn it.” You unbuckle the seat belt and sigh. “I’ll just walk home, okay? It’s a nice day, so I want to get some excercise on the way home.” And some time to visit the guys, you sneak.

“Okay, have fun!” Mom waves as you step out. The car turns and begins to make its way back home. You watch as your mom leaves your sight.

With a final heave, you turn to the house. Now that you were closer, you noticed the lawn was pretty cut. The hedges were trimmed. And don’t even start on the flowerbeds. They were like something from the Home Owner’s Association pamphlet, not that you looked...

You approach the door, examining the white ivory entrance. The doorknob was gold, not brass. You learned the difference a long time ago. The doorbell was a black musical note. He must really like music. You press on it and an unsurprising ring follows. It was Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, something that was used in way too many drama movies.

“Duh Duh Duh Duuuuuunnn!” You say in accord with the small tune. You can hear some scuffling inside on the other side of the door. Your instructor was surely taking their sweet time to get there already. You turn around behind you, looking to see if any cars are nearby. You hear the door open behind you as you turn around. “About damn ti...me..”

“You must be (Insert your name here), my newest student.”

“I-I-It’s a pleasure to meet you!” You stumble a little too enthusiastically.

“It’s quite alright. Please, come in.”

You have no words to express your shock. Like before, you thought that cellists were boring, corny people. But that theory just got thrown out of the Empire State Building’s window. Beholding before your eyes, was an awe-inspiring beautiful girl. She was British, from how she spoke. Her body was lean, clearly in perfect shape. She was wearing a woman’s suit, followed by a bow tie. Her voice was soft, gentle, and definitely ladylike. Clearly, this girl was someone who had a man begging for her at every step.

But that wasn’t the best part. No, what moved you the most was her face. It was an alluring shade of pale, which greatly contrasted from her black long hair. You could see it flowing almost to the end of her back. It was straightened, save for the bangs that she swept to the right. And then came her eyes. They were a shade that you had yet to see. They seemed like contacts or something, because you hadn’t seen a person with light purple eyes before.

That wasn’t any problem though, because you knew that you could stare into these eyes forever, swimming in the vast ocean that was her vision. It complimented her looks. She was just....beautiful. And there was no way you’d be able to concentrate on playing boring music if this girl was teaching you. The best part was that she was your age, or at least seemed to be.

You caught yourself staring at her as she closed the door, turning around to properly talk. “Where are my manners, my name is Octavia. I’ll be your new cello teacher for the rest of your lessons. Do you have any questions before we take a tour of the place?”

There are millions of questions flying around in your head. The first would be if she was single, or if you could get her number. But that wasn’t the time for that. You had more pressing matters to question. “How old are you?” You accidentally slip out.

“Oh,” She looks surprised. “I’m still in high school. I’m a sophomore but lately I’ve had to stop my studies as a student.”

You brighten up like a newborn fire. She was about the same age as you! “And you live here by yourself?”

“No, that isn’t it. This house, as you can see, is out of my current income allowance. This is one of my parents’ many homes that they chose to give to me. The only condition is that I be able to make a living out of my talents and pay them a small amount. That’s why I’ve been teaching others how to play the cello. The only problem is....I haven’t exactly had a investor since six months ago, so I....had to take up a roommate.” Octavia looks ashamed to say the least. But to you, she remains pretty cute, her hair moving with her head.

“But she isn’t here right now! So that’s good, right? If she were here, we’d never be able to get on with the lessons. Is there anything else?” Octavia looks at you with her enticing purples, making you just fall out of your skin.

“....No..” You reluctantly answer.

“Splendid! Let’s go take a tour of the house shall we?” She asks.

You nod you head in response. She then leads you into a main room. “This is the living room. The whole house is made out of mahogany, and the artistry is of top notch quality! Over here, we have the furnishings like the Tellie, books, comfort rests, and other things.” She explains.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see a hurriedly hidden gaming console. “Of course, Vinyl has her things all across the room as well. But I was able to clean all of that!” She then leads you to another room. “This is the kitchen, where we have all of our meals prepared and stored.” Wow, this place looks like a freaking restaurant backside. The place was sparkling clean for a kitchen.

She opens a door, motioning for you to follow. You comply as you end up in a medium-sized room with a table with multiple seats in the middle. “This is the dining room, where we eat our meals like adults.” She put extra emphasis on that last word, confusing you cryptically.

Then you see a door leading downstairs. “What’s that?” You ask.

“Oh,” She says without much pleasure, more on the side of annoyance. “That’s Vinyl’s studio. She also tends to have little get-togethers there on occasion.” What’s up with her and her roommate? Do they hate each other or something? “But don’t mind that, let’s proceed upstairs, shall we?”

You both go up the stairs, you behind her. You admire her curved butt cheeks as her legs go up and down, ascending the wooden staircase. Stop it.. You shake your head to turn your attention elsewhere. There are multitudes of doors along this long hallway. “Over on that side,” Octavia points to the right. “Is the guest bedroom, the bathrooms, and Vinyl’s room. On this side,” She points to the left. “Is where we are going. That first door there is my own room, while that there is another bathroom, the adjacent one being the studio in which we shall be spending the course of the time."

“Sounds fun!” You say to brighten up her mood, sincerity your top priority.

“Yes, won’t it?” Mission accomplished. A warm smile spread across her face as she looked back at you.

Did your stomach just jump?

You walk inside of the room and it looks like a study of some sorts. There are two chairs, along with cellos resting against them. Behind those is a window overlooking the entire neighborhood. And the walls are lined with various medals, letters of recommendation, plaques, pictures, and other things. There is even a fireplace in the corner. You can’t help but whistle.

You hear Octavia giggling behind you, something that sounds too cute. You see Octavia sit down, pulling out some musical sheets and setting them on the appropriate stands. She then scoots the chair closer to you, putting your cello in your hands. Don't panic, everything is okay. She isn't like that. But it'd be pretty cool if she was....She flips through some pages before reaching the first set. Octavia looks at you, moving closer and touching your arms, moving them in the proper place to hold the instrument. Your heart begins to race as she moves even closer, tuning the strings to be just right. Oh my God!

Her hands are so soft you could sleep on them. Her touch is gentle, but present. Her hair smells amazing, like a cascade of rose, lilac, chrysanthemum, and daisies. And you can feel it brush up against your arm, being almost as soft and luscious as her skin. She looks into your eyes, a tender show of appreciation spreading across her face.

“Lesson one..”