𝐏𝐚̊𝐥 𝐖𝐚𝐚𝐤𝐭𝐚𝐚𝐫 𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

Writing and Fun (Smut)

Year: 1980

Your boyfriend, Pål, had told you that he was desperate to write a new song, even though song lyrics and melodies were something that came to him naturally. The melody was already there, but the lyrics were a whole other problem. He had already rehearsed this song, which was yet to have a title, with Mags, Viggo and Øystein, and they loved it. They told him to write some lyrics, but it just wasn't working. He was about to decide that the song should just be an instrumental, but he was desperate to keep trying.
He had been sitting in his room for almost two hours when you finally decided to check up on him, although he clearly told you not to. Still, you were getting worried. He had told you to leave, since you didn't live with him, but you insisted on waiting. You stood up from the couch and walked upstairs to Pål's bedroom, where you saw him still struggling to write. You stood in the doorway and looked at his paper, which was blank still. The ground was covered in paper scrunched up into balls, proof he has been really trying to write this song.

"What are you doing here? I thought you'd have left by now." You heard Pål say. You looked up and saw him looking at you.

"What? Oh, I just wanted to check on you. I was worried." You replied, walking closer to him. "How's it going?" You stood behind his chair and wrapped your arms around him.

"Well, as you can probably see, it isn't really going." He pressed his pen against the paper.

"How about you take a break? You really don't have to be writing new material now anyways, the first album comes out tomorrow, doesn't it?"

"Yes, but I promised I'd write some lyrics for this song. I can't just give up. I don't give up."

"I'm not telling you to give up, I'm telling you to take a break and come back later. I haven't even heard Fakkeltog yet." He sighed, but did not listen.
"I'll stay the night if you want."

"I'm tired, y/n. Not tonight." You both stayed there in silence for a moment before he started to write again.
It read:
"Find some words to fit my song. I'm so tired, nothing's wrong. Any songs would go along. Find some words to close the night-"

"That sounds like what's happening right now." You said after reading the paper.
He didn't reply; he clicked his pen about 10 times before shifting in his chair and looking at you.

"I think I've got it, y/n; it's about a guy trying to write a song, a-and he's trying so hard that he begins to feel sick or something... I don't know, really."

"Is that what's happening to you?" You asked worriedly.

"No, no, no. I just, somehow, came up with a storyline. 'Find some words to close the night. Need no doctor, I'm alright.' That's it, don't you think?"

"Yeah, I like it." He quickly jotted the lyrics down. "Now, how about you take a break? Come back tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I guess so. And how about you go home? It's-" He checked his watch. "oh my God, it's already midnight. I had no clue I had you waiting for so long."

"Well, you did say that you had expected me to leave."

"Yeah, but that's only because I thought you'd leave if I hadn't finished in only, like, 20 minutes. I had no clue I had you waiting down there for over two hours. I'm sorry."

"It's fine, Pål. Really."

"How can I make it up to you?" He asked, turning around to face you. You could notice the smirk on his face, so you knew what he had in mind.

"You really don't have to. I know you're tired."

"I know, but..." He stood up and placed his hands on your waist, "you know I'd do anything for you."
You bit your bottom lip gently and looked at the ground.