Junho had been staring at the computer for the last couple of hours, his fingers splayed across the keyboard prepared to type in as soon as something clicked into his brain. He had been on to the same thing for almost three months and nothing had come up so far in his brain. His muse seemed to have disappeared with no intention of reappearing.

Junho was a writer by profession,though not many knew except a select few. He had hid himself perfectly under a fake name 'Aidan' and so far he had done a great job of not being found out. Many had tried to expose his real identity. It would, obviously, be a huge news, but it was the same thing that had made him more cautious. He didn't want to be publicly known figure. He just wanted to do what he loved to do without being bothered by anyone.

He was lucky enough to have a bestfriend, who also happened to land a job as an editor at one of the country's leading publishing houses. If not for Wooyoung, the aforementioned bestfriend, he wouldn't have been able to hide his identity to the world. Talk about having lady luck from the start.

He had never had problem with writing as far as he could remember. He just had to sit in front of the computer and let the magic unfold. He was always at his best and hardly made any mistakes. His ideas were always easy to be portrayed into words or maybe he was born gifted, the gift to express his feelings words, which not many posessed. The thing with language as a medium of expression is that it is rarely enough to express everything a person so desires. One can never word down the degree of happiness he/she feels or the sadness or the anger or any of the human emotions. So it was rare feat for Junho to be able to pen down his thoughts and make the readers feel the extent of emotion he felt with every word he wrote.

It must have been the reason why had so many fans out there, irrespective of their age, who loved him. They don't have to be an avid reader or a master of linguistics and language to be able to understand his works. They just have to be human and that's about it. 

He was a man of few words (when it comes to verbal conversation, that is) but when it comes to putting his thoughts into words, he is plain flawless.

​​​​It was the exact thing that was making him frustrated with the lack of movement of his fingers. He had no ideas left, no words to express the empty feeling. He had no new story to write. And for a person who had so far made a living out of the very thing, it would be completely disastrous for his future if he couldn't come up with another story for the next release under his name.

He had signed a bond with the publishing house with the deal on his part that he would write two more books and on failing to do so, he would have to pay a huge sum as compensation. And he might have to sell himself in order to do that. Seeing as how his celebrity status as an author was never out in the open, no one would buy him for much money if it ever comes to that.

​​​​​Junho shook his head trying to push away the awful image of being auctioned off. That would be nasty.

He sighed and gave up for the day as was his usual routine nowadays. His back ached with the lack of movement, his muscled had gone stiff and the nerves in his hand and legs were too numb with the inactivity.

It took another ten minutes to feel the blood rushing to its desired locations and the movements of his body was more easy than the previously forced commands of the brain.

He shut down the system and got off the cahir wondering how life without the words seemed. He had to write something, anything. This lack of muse was getting on his nerves.

Where had the passion gone? Where had the need to write gone? Where had the old Junho gone? He needed to find them back. He had to find the inspiration he needed. He just had to.

He pulled out his phone from the jacket and dialled the number of the one person who might have a solution to his problem.

"Meet me at the cafe now" Junho didn't even wait for th