TNT Short Fics

I'm coming back so strong

Steam curls up from her mug, obscuring the snowy view of the trees as she brings it to her lips. A flash of red cuts through the white, and she watches as a cardinal lands on the bird feeder she set up on the deck just yesterday—Travis teasing her that she's about to become a millennial bird lady like the ones she watches on TikTok.

A rare sight in winter, she watches as it pecks through the seeds before fluttering off. She sets the mug aside and turns back to the piano keys in front of her.

Writer's block isn't new to her. It happens to the best of songwriters, and she's not too bothered by the ebb and flow of creativity. No, she's not worried, but she is surprised by the reason for it this time.

It's because she has so much to say. So much to share, and she doesn't know where to start. Pages of half-formed lyrics scribbled between tour stops, off-key melodies hummed into voice memos while half-asleep, all while Travis slept like the dead beside her. Snippets of life she's longed to shape into a song... if she can just start somewhere.

A cold-lipped kiss lands on her cheek, pulling her away from her thoughts and back to reality. She looks up at Travis's pink-cheeked grin and slicked-back hair.

"I didn't even hear you," she says, pulling him in for another kiss. "You'll get sick running around with wet hair."

He drops his face into the crook of her neck. "Hmmm. You were in it. And I'd rather be home than dry my hair. Practice ran long as it is. Any luck?"

She's told him—more like vented—about her lack of writing recently.

"Nah," she shrugs.

"It'll come," he assures her confidently. He's always her biggest cheerleader.

"I know. I'm just annoyed. I've got this window of time while you're still in season, and I'd hate to waste it."

"I know you want to, baby," he agrees. "But maybe this window is also about rest and processing."

"I am resting," she argues, though she knows he has a point. "Besides, music is how I process."

He looks thoughtful. "Does it have to be yours?"

"What?"

"Maybe playing other stuff will get the creative juices flowing. Just grooving to something that feels how you feel. I dunno." He trails off with a sheepish shrug.

She thinks about it. The more she does, the more she likes it. It's such a Travis suggestion. He's always building playlists that match his mood.

"Maybe you're right. I used to play more covers when I was younger. And I haven't had time to listen as much with the tour. That's a good idea."

He grins and straightens back up. "Glad I could help. You gonna work some more or want to grab dinner?"

She stands too, stretching. "The pickleball place? Dinner and a rematch?"

He swings his arm around her shoulder and steers her away from her frustrations. "You're on, Swift."

*****

As January continues and Travis locks in on the final games of the season, she does what he suggested. Some days, it's lying on the plush, living room rug, letting her favorite songs pour from the stereo. Other times, it's playing them on guitar or exploring new songs from artists she's heard good things about while working out.

A pattern starts to emerge in the music she gravitates toward, in that there is no pattern. It reminds her of a conversation she and Travis had on their first date.