Yuri POV

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I assumed she didn’t feel like writing tonight when she didn’t show, and I told myself I was okay with that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

However, it’s a few minutes past 8, and my light just flickered.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I can’t ignore the rush of adrenaline pumping through me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I tell myself my body is having the reaction it’s having because I’m passionate about writing music, but if that were the case, why don’t I get this excited when I write alone? Or with Yoona?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I close my eyes and gently lay my guitar next to me while inhaling a steady breath.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s been weeks since we’ve done this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Since the night she let me hear her sing and it completely changed the dynamic of our working relationship.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That’s not her fault, though.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m not even sure if it’s my fault. It’s nature’s fault, because attraction is an ugly beast, and I’ll be damned if I don’t conquer it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I can do this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I open the door to my bedroom and step aside while she comes in with her notebook and her laptop.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She walks confidently toward the bed and drops down onto it, then opens her laptop.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I sit back down and open mine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sica: I couldn’t pay attention in class today, because all I wanted to do was write lyrics.

 

I wouldn’t let myself write any, though, because it comes so much better when you play. I’ve missed this.

 

I didn’t think I would like it at first, and it made me nervous, but I love writing lyrics. Love, love, love it. Let’s go, I’m ready.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She’s smiling at me and giddily patting her palms against the mattress.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I smile back as I lean against the headboard and begin playing the opening to a new song I’ve been working on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I haven’t finished it yet, but I’m hoping that with her help, we’ll make some headway tonight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I play the song several times, and she watches me some of the time, then writes some of the time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She uses her hands to tell me to pause or back up or move on to the next chorus or to restart the song altogether.