Scores with papers scattered around him, cigarette smoke closing the room, the night lingered, his flickering lamp sputtering on as he messed with his keyboard, humming to himself in a trance. Pen and paper in hand, he scribbled across the page, notes and lyrics and lines being slashed out or circled with vigor.
2D leaned back, the dying smoke coming short, snuffing it out in his filled tray, papers crinkling under him, exhaustion yawning. He licked his lips, throat dry and stomach growling; rubbing his belly, he stood up to stretch, the distant sound of the door opening from the outside catching his attention. He crossed the room, stepping over his work, looking out the window, his hands playing with the latch.
Dim yellow light illuminated the cab, its doors opened and from below, Russ rushed out, bustling to reach. Noodle popped out, her hair swinging as she hugged the drummer. Another door opened, long legs peeking, murky hair and off skin stepping towards the trunk, pulling out luggage. The stranger reached to Noodle's side, his hand touching the small of her back, nodding at something Russ had said, looking up as he laughed, nearly catching 2D as he stepped back from view.
Turning around, he eyed his room and the mess scattered about. He felt tired then, eyes heavy, but reached down settle on to the floor.
The night rolled on, his eyes open and uselessly concentrated, flowing music swerving to a halt, stuck and bother niggling at the back of his head.
The sleepless night passed him, door locked shut, pens and ink smeared across his skin, the tips of his fingers stained black.
The clock ticked on, the LED striking another hour.
He reached for his beer, the can and the pack empty. He stacked his papers almost begrudgingly; feet dragging when he shuffled away from his room.
Creaking down the steps, he made his way to the kitchen, passing Russ who sat asleep, the television on low.
He pried open the refrigerator, cold pizza and Red Bull finding themselves in his hand. He perched on his seat, munching, thinking abrupt.
He only had so long to finish the album, summer rounding the bend, getting Russell's opinion, waiting for Noodle to review, locking himself in his room, banging on instruments, melodies making themselves on air, the need to record almost urgent.
He sipped at his drink, the caffeine in a rush, eyes blinking sleepily, headache worming in his wake, frowning heavily as the memory of the stranger, his hand comfortable on Noodle as if without care, flashed, disappearing as a tune whistled in and he forgot, focus back onto the possibility of a new song.