IMPORTANT A/N: Or maybe not extremely important… well, it is to us, the authors. That's right. "Us." "Authors." If you haven't guessed yet, this is a joint fic between Sammie and Trisha. This is Sammie :) We're super excited, this being our first joint fic together. We have very different styles of writing, so if you see the styles switch a bit within a chapter, it's probably because the other took over. So while reading this fic, just keep in mind that this was masterminded by TWO people! Thanks! :D

He couldn't believe it.

He simply could not believe it.

Unfortunately, he lacked another option.

Quickly, he rifled through every corner of his mind, searching with urgency. He pried, looked, and prayed – nothing. His brain had only produced a mirror image of the sight that presented itself before him.

A painfully blank computer screen.

Panic and confusion swept over him as he tried again. He found nothing more than a rather firm wall and no matter how much his mind pushed, it didn't look as if it would be budging. Behind it lay colorful words and interesting plotlines, complex characters and beautiful, detailed locations. But there was just no getting around that freaking blockage in his brain. He kicked the mental wall with as much force as his tiny, inner self could muster.

He groaned and sat back in his chair, his blue eyes darting around the screen as if inspiration itself would materialize if he stared hard enough. Forming a simple sentence had never been such a difficult task before. Yet, quite suddenly, the words seemed to evade his grasp.

He glared at the letters on his keyboard until they swirled together and started forming their own words without his assistance. Words like, "failure" and "loser" appeared. And he could have sworn he saw "douche bag" at one point. His writer's block was starting to mess with him… He had obviously been alone with his computer for too long.

Without hesitation, he whipped out his cell phone, hurriedly punched in a number, then pressed the phone to his ear. One ring, two rings, three… finally, an answer.

"Sora!" The loud greeting caught him by surprise, causing him to fumble with the phone as he tried to hold onto it. "About time you called…"

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't get to you before, but I –"

"Don't stress, it's not a big deal; I'm just messing with you." Sora could clearly hear the ever-present grin that was likely plastered on his agent's face. "So, have you finished the first two chapters? The editor is anxious to get to work on checking them over. You know how OCD she is about her job." Again, Sora knew that an amused smile was playing on the speaker's lips.

"Well, I started working on them, but –"

"Oh, and that reminds me! A few of the critics are looking for excerpts from those first chapters you're writing, along with a summary of the novel." Sora's stomach dropped as the offending words continued to spill out from his cell phone's little speaker. "We can always BS the synopsis; they'd take anything and think it sounded like a piece of poetry. But the only one with access to the story itself is you. So, you think you could fork over the chapters soon? The critics are waiting…"

"I would love to give them to you, but –"

"Oh, and by the way, I set up a few interviews for you with some interested news stations. Everybody's wondering how this novel's going to go and –"

"For the love of all that is pure, I haven't written anything!"

A heavy silence began to press upon the call. Even in Sora's hand, the phone felt like it was becoming increasingly weighty, pulled down only by the sudden outburst.

"…Nothing…?" The question hung in the air before he finished it. "You… haven't written anything at all for this novel?"

"No," he said, shame dripping from his voice.

"But I had you work on it for three weeks! And then I busted my ass to get that extension you wanted. And you're telling me that there's nothing?"

Sora pulled the phone away from his ear until the sound of shouting died away. He hesitantly drew his cell back to himself, hoping further injuries to his eardrums could be avoided.

"Look, I totally meant to have those chapters done. Honest! But my mind has just… died." Sora sighed, unable to hide his feelings of defeat. "I can't pull anything out anymore. I don't know what's wrong… It's been like this for weeks and I don't know what else to do!"

"…You're an idiot."

"Wha…?"

"You made it sound like you were dying. You're not. It's just writer's block. It happens. It's a bit inconvenient, yeah, but there's nothing we can do, really."

Sora made a face, though the voice on the other end obviously couldn't see it. "Nothing at all to help?"

Silence returned as his mind began to rack their depths for a solution. The silence deepened. And then, one mind had a breakthrough.

"You need a break."

"A break? That's your idea?" Sora asked, uncertain.

"Oh no. It's the idea. And it's brilliant."

"Perhaps a little less than that."

"Ouch. Is there a receipt for that hurtful comment? I'd like to return it." Sora scoffed, but listened. "Look, all you need is a chance to recharge your batteries. Get your brain jumpstarted. And the best way to do that?" The pause provided for an answer was short-lived. "By stepping away from the work."

Sora loosened his grip on the phone. Take a break? What was he supposed to do? The last few years of his life had revolved almost solely around his writing. To others, he became a semi-permanent fixture in front of his computer screen, on the green bench on the west side of the park, and in the corner table of the Paopu Café. Always scribbling away in a notebook, always nibbling on the eraser end of a pencil, his brow always wrinkled in thought. Rarely did anyone ever see Sora Aoi at a time when he wasn't writing… Until they watched him on his book tour. Any person could sense the high level of joy that radiated from him as he would read a small part of his latest book. Nobody could deny the bright smile he would share when he would sign one of the bank pages in front of said book for a supportive fan. And anybody with half a brain could see that same friendly face he gave was returned to him.

Sora loved being around people. The noise, the bustle, the utter insanity. If he could surround himself by that sort of mess all the time, he believed he would have a great way to kill some time.

"Well, what am I supposed to do now? I lack a social life. At least recently."

"And that's why your writing suffers! You've forgotten what it feels like to be around people – real people – and how reality works." But he was wrong. Sora could never forget the kind of energy that surrounded him, or the squeals of, "Oh, Mr. Aoi, could you please sign my copy?"

"You have to re-learn how interesting life is, Sora. And you'll be better off for it. And so will this nonexistent novel."

"So what do you suggest? I hit up bars and sleep with people who MIGHT be women?"

"Don't be stupid," was the reply. "You're not allowed in a bar yet. Do you forget that you're only twenty?"

"But I can still sleep with women?" He paused. "And people who might be women?"

A sigh through the telephone line. "You don't like girls, Sora… You're being immature."

"Well, I'm distressed! Sorry I can't drown my sorrows in alcohol. I'm underage!" Sora pouted, emphasizing his point to someone who would never notice. But he heard a gasp. Maybe they could see it.

"…That's it!"

"What's it?"

"You're gonna go back to school!"

"Excuse me…?"