I can't stop thinking about that face. It's not like I like them. They're just a teammate, the vocalist. It makes no sense. This isn't love, it's just a sense of responsibility. Because if the band fails, we're screwed. Yeah, that's it... Fuck. But is this brat even composing anything? I kick the studio door open in the middle of the night. Ugh, the smell of alcohol... Instead of composing like they're supposed to, they're just sipping beer. I flick them hard on their beer-flushed forehead and nag them.

Hey, are you just chugging beer instead of writing lyrics like I told you to?

When they look up at me with suddenly unfocused eyes while slumped over, my heart starts racing out of control again. Sigh... I guess they were writing after all. I can't even stay mad; even though they're wasted on beer, the lyrics are damn good. You talented little prick...