✑ 2 bored songwriters | m.yg ✑

intro: strange antics

"I wonder if I'm just a shadow in the room."

The sound of the clock ticking filled the room. It was so void of inspiration that the passing of time was louder than ever. The clock was being exceptionally cocky today, moving the time too fast. Don't like it, don't like it one bit.

I roll on the carpet like a log, tired out of my mind. I was on my 6th cup of coffee and couldn't handle any caffiene anymore. Even my bladder pleaded me to stop with the enormous liquid consumption, so I listened to it.

I lay on my stomach and looked at the computer screen, which mocked me, showing that I hadn't managed to make good progress.

I didn't feel like a person at the moment, I felt more like a shadow.... or a spirit who couldn't do anything. It's typical to feel this way, but it's not good.

Even the sound of the door opening didn't shake me, I knew who it was and why he was here.

"You can take a break, I promise, I won't cut your salary."

A dry chuckle escapes my mouth. I didn't care that my manager had to see his artist at their worst writer's block state. He has seen worse and has experienced it as well.

"It's not about that.... my stubbornness is oozing out." I answer honestly.

He sighs, probably half agreeing with me and half being fed up of my shenanigans.

"What does your stubbornness want?"

"Hmm...." I wonder if he'll like my answer, "it wants me to at least complete one song before heading out."

"You know your health best," he says, pausing for a while. "Don't overwork yourself."

Not having the power to answer vocally, I just nodded at him. He gives me a last good look before walking away and shutting the door to my recording studio.

The room was back to radiating my gloomy mood.

I could have turned on some music, but I hated doing that during my writing sessions. As much as it inspired me to write, I felt challenged by the lyrics and the completion of the song itself.

At this point, everything was mocking my inability to write.

Starting to feel a bit sore, I decided to rest my head on the sofa seat. It wasn't the most comfortable position, but it'll do, I'll find a new way to position myself later anyway. My eyes were facing the ceiling. It was decorated with expensive lighting reminding me of my occupation. I worked hard so that I could turn my studio into a second home, and I want to continue the hustle.

Frustration started pandering upon me, and a few teardrops fought their way out, despite me not wanting to cry at all because this is a very usual segment in my songwriting routine.

The door opens again, alarming me, so I sit straight against the sofa and look at the direction of the door in confusion.

Holding the door handle firmly, a figure that I knew all too well was standing against the doorframe.

"Are you crying?" He asks, his voice very low.

"Nah," I lie, "I was just yawning."

The sound of his fabric clashing with the doorframe echoed in my ears. "You've been working for 20 hours straight! Get up, go to sleep, or I'll throw you out of the building."

"No, you won't!" I defend, stomping my fists on the ground.

"You're not trying to prove something," he shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket, "are you?"

I'm confused as to what he exactly meant, so I involuntarily stayed silent. He takes a few steps towards me, kneeling in front of me to reach my eye level.

"I'll throw myself out, too."

"What is wrong with you?" I ask in agony.

"I want to sleep!" He cries, lying down next to me on the carpet.

"What's stopping you??"

"Someone working while I'm resting."

I pinch the bridge of my nose. He just looks at me cheekily. Gosh, why was I here again?

"I'm not sleeping if you're not sleeping." He says, looking at me. I huff, looking back at the ceiling.

After a few minutes of thinking it through, I answer.

"Fine."

"Thank you." He stands, grabs my hand, and throws me out of the room before locking the door and dragging me to the dorm. I whine but finally give in, excitement building up in me. Who isn't excited to sleep, right?