Princess and the Popstar

The World Don't Know Where We Are

He wrote better lyrics when he was drunk.

Maybe not, like, full on drunk. But a little tipsy. He had had about two shots of vodka, which wasn't... like, a lot, as far as he could hold his liquor anyways, but it made everything sound better. Especially his crappy songs.

Ernest Hemingway had been 100% correct when he probably said, "Write drunk, edit sober." Everything you do sounds about fifty times cooler than it really is when your judgement's impaired and everything has started to numb itself to you.

Keefe's notebook was open, and doodles were filling in the margins. "Just write the song, Sencen," he said, "And everything will be okay."

He didn't have a lot, so far. Just an idea, really, of what he wanted the end product to be. Something sweet, gentle, even patient. Something as good as "Line Without A Hook," or "If Our Love Is Wrong," which had stayed at the top of the charts for a good month and a half.

The scribbled lines on his page had turned into something a little weirder, more personal, something he probably would never write for real, never sing for real, but right now, it was all he had. "Ask me how i am tomorrow," he said, running his fingers over the words, "I may just say 'okay', but that's a far better answer than any you'll get from me today."

He huffed out a slight breath.

Someone knocked on his tour-bus door. He stood up, ignoring the quiet static behind his eyes. The door opened to the view of Tam Song, his best friend, and honestly, the only person who'd ever suggested he write songs to begin with. His mother had always said it had been a waste of time and money, and his father had said if he couldn't do it well, there was no point to it at all. So he waved his friend inside, and watched as Tam perched himself on the couch that was bolted to the wall. "How's it going, bro?"

Keefe shrugged. "This song is kicking my ass."

"Why?"

"It's... it's just not what anyone wants."

"Just like, I don't know," Tam said, running his fingers over the upholstered edges of the couch cushion, "Unlock your genius song-writing feelings that you've always had locked away in your stupid brain."

Keefe snorted, standing up, "You know I don't have any of those."

"Well then how the heck did you write the greatness that is, "I bet I'll forget my own name
Before I'd forget you
But I'll forgive all my enemies
Before I'll forgive you
Oh! If I think about it long enough
I'll think those memories to dust
And finally I could give her what she needs--"

Tam had started singing, and Keefe swatted him. "Shut up, your soulmate's out there singing my stupid song with you."

Tam snorted. "Payback for making me sing Shakira for three weeks straight. I swear to the sweet unblinking stars above, I sang "Hips Don't Lie" non-stop. And then, remember before that how I'd just randomly burst into Hamilton songs? She deserves a little payback."

"Revenge is the road to an unhappy relationship."

"Like you'd know anything about unhappy relationships. Half the reason you're such a big deal is because you're single and soulmate-less, I mean, come on."

Keefe shrugged. "I know nothing of the ways of soulmates, true."

"Forever alone," said Tam, and Keefe whacked him with his notebook.

"Shut up."

Tam stole his notebook, and laughed, flicking through the pages. "Whoa," he said, after a long moment, "What's this?"