Purple Thunder (finished)

Part 4

.... when you arrived at home you found your boyfriend Josh sleeping on a chair in the entrance hall of your flat. He made sure to sit there and wait for you to get home. Josh never intended for you to leave him that night, like you did. He was too good for anyone, always searching for a conversation to talk things out, instead of throwing everything under a bus. He was always trying to find a solution, no matter how severe the situations and problems might seem.
He looked so peaceful, legs sprawled out, his hands crossing over his chest as light snores escaped his mouth. His current state made you feel guilty, guilty that you spent the night away from him, while he was sitting at home, worrying about where you could have gone and what could have happened, wandering the streets of London at night all on your own. Guilty, that sudden feelings were creeping into your system, which did not mainly involve him anymore.
Lost in your thoughts the door behind you made a loud sound as it shut, which you did not intend, and it made Josh shuffle. His eyes shot open once he realized that you finally arrived at home and he jumped up from the chair, basically jumping into your arms having a feeling of relief rushing through his body, seeing that you made it home safe.

-Y/N! Where have you been, babe? I've been worried sick! Don't you ever leave again like that, PLEASE, I beg you! - he nuzzled his face into your neck, having his arms wrapped around you tightly.

~a week later~

This time it wasn't you the one to leave. It was your boyfriend, Josh. In fact, he went on tour with his band through North America, which meant approximately 3 months without him, though you were supposed to join for the last 2 weeks of their tour. Being without him for 3 months would mean loads of time for being productive, productive in a sense of recording a new album.

-where in the world is it??- you mumbled as you were searching for your little notebook in which you kept all your thoughts inside, they then turned into songs. While making a mess in yet another room, searching for the little crème leather notebook you received as a birthday gift from a friend a few years ago, the memory of your first ever songwriting experience flashed before your eyes.

*it was a lazy Sunday afternoon and you were sitting behind the piano, a crumbled-up paper with a few lines scribbled on it in front of you. Those words written on the paper made you feel vulnerable, all your heart and soul expressed through words: broken love, insecurities, everything you've been wanting to talk about, but never actually had the courage to say out loud. Placing your fingers on the piano and hitting the first few notes was finally it, releasing everything, telling a story, processing feelings. It was like an addiction. Finally creating something, something that people might be able to relate to and making them feel understood was the goal*

Something you were glad to receive when you were younger and now you were lucky enough finally meet your heroes: Brian, Roger...

-FUCK- Roger has it.

You left your notebook in his guest room. Oh no. Pacing around the flat and running your fingers nervously up and down your temples didn't help the situation very much. You had to call him.

You gathered all your courage to call him, but as the phone kept ringing and ringing you felt more embarrassed by the fact that he didn't pick up right away.

-Hi love- a hoarse voice finally spoke up. It was him. A feeling of relief rushed through your body.

-Um hi Roger, sorry to disturb you. I think I might have left m..my notebook at your place and I'd need it. We're going to record today, and I certainly can't do without it.
-uhh yeah. I'll look for it, text me the address and I'll drop it off at the studio? - he asked. When in reality he didn't have to look for it, because once he saw it sit on top of the table in the guest room, he decided to keep it secure in one of his drawers, which only he had access to.