I'm going to say this now, because I may or may not get copyright infringement hell for this. I OWN ABSOLUTELY NOTHING IN THIS STORY EXCEPT FOR THE PLOT AND THE OBVIOUS STUFF. I don't own John Mayer (though I wish I did) or his songs, or any company or name that is in this story. Thank you:)

My eyelids open, and I'm startled to see that I'm not in my own room. I never would have thought that the yellow walls of my bedroom would be able to offer solace, but they're what I'm craving to see right now. Anything that looks familiar would be comforting right now. Anything. The scene is extremely unfamiliar. I'm staring into a purple ceiling, still wondering where the hell I am. Then it hits me. I'm not at home. I probably won't be home for a while. You know that feeling you get when you wake up from a nap and find that it's afternoon and you feel like the world's spinning and the last thing you want to do is get up? Yeah, pretty much how I feel. It's disorienting, and my mind's trying to keep up with everything else my body is doing.

"I was starting to think you were dead." Nick's standing by the door of the room, and he's leaning lazily against the frame.

"How long was I asleep?" I ask, stifling a yawn.

He glances at his watch. "Uh.. eight, no.. nine hours."

My eyes widen in shock. "Nine hours? You couldn't have woken me up?"

"You'd probably have bitten my head off, so.."

"What time is it?"

"Four in the morning." He states, shrugging like it's a perfectly acceptable time to be awake.

"Why the hell are you not asleep?"

He shrugs again. "I don't need sleep. I'll probably head to bed in a couple hours."

"That's probably not a good habit. You're going to get purple bags under your eyes. And, trust me- that's not attractive."

"Whatever. I've been doing this since I was eleven."

"What do you do until six in the morning?"

"I always make myself a sandwich around two, then I'll drink a coffee around three, and I'll watch movies or work on some music."

"You write music?" I ask, interested.

"Yeah, a little. I've been playing guitar since I was nine, and I do write a bit, but I've never had too much success."

"That's really cool. I used to play the piano, but I stopped after my mom left. I was good, really good, but then things got hard and there were more important things to focus on than my music."

"You should start again." He points down the hall. "I've kinda got a makeshift music room in there. It's got a bunch of recording equipment, mics, a piano, a few basses, and at least forty guitars. It's where I spend most of my time."

"I don't think I could play. It's been almost six years since I quit. I'm sure that I've forgotten everything, and if I do remember the basics, I'm sure I suck."

"Music isn't something that you just forget in six years. You might be a little rusty but I'm sure that everything you've learned is in there somewhere."

"Maybe. I guess I'd have to see."

"Come on then."

"Okay. I mean, if you promise not to laugh if I do end up sucking."

He laughs. "I doubt that you'll suck, but I promise anyway."

"Good." I let him lead me out of the room. He opens the door to his music room and I gasp. It's incredible. There are guitars basically everywhere- hanging on the walls and on stands on the floor. There's a piano on the back wall, and a huge panel with recording equipment. In the back, there's a small section secluded by a glass wall. The only things in there are a microphone on a stand and a white and black Fender Stratocaster.

"Oh, my God. This is freaking amazing!"

He smiles. "I'm pretty proud of this room. I'm still working on it, though."

"Wow." I say, still looking around.

"Go ahead." He says, probably noticing me looking longingly at the glossy, elegant black piano.

"I don't really know if I can." I admit sheepishly, but go over to the piano anyway.

I sit down at the bench, and without any hesitation, play a single note, holding it, letting it's simple voice fill the empty silence of the room. I recognize it as a C, and use my other hand to layer treble notes on top of it. Then I stop the sound all together and close my eyes. I'm guessing that my fingers know something that my mind doesn't, because they've found their way back to the keyboard, and they're starting to play a melody that I know as Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. I'm sure that I played this in a recital before when I was maybe ten or so, and it surprises me that I still remember it. I don't open my eyes until I'm done with the song. I look up to see that Nick had moved from the entrance of the room, and had taken a seat next to me on the bench without me even noticing. It's always been like that, I guess. When I'm playing music, nothing and nobody matters except the piece that I'm focusing on.

He doesn't say anything at first, but then breathes out a soft "Damn."

I shake my head. "No. It's all off. I sound really horrible. Nowhere near how I used to be able to play."

"That was pretty damn incredible for someone who hasn't played in six years."

"I played better when I was twelve."

"Hard to believe."

"It's true." I sigh. "Playing again just brings back so many memories. My dad was always the one to encourage me to pursue this music thing. He always pushed me to try my hardest. He really believed that I had talent in me. When I sat on this bench, I thought about how he would sit by my side two hours every day while I practiced, correcting me when I was wrong, praising me when I did something right. He was the best teacher I'd ever had. It feels wrong to be playing without him."

He nods. "I guess I can't relate, because my dad was never there for me when I needed him. I don't think he knows that I even write music or play guitar. Joe was the one who helped me with my music career. He went to Berklee and got a degree in Music Engineering. He taught me most of this- how to record, how to use the panels and stuff. He never did anything with his degree, though. He'd only graduated last month."

"I bet he was good."

He just nods. "So, you wanna help me finish this song I've been working on?"

"I don't think I have a choice."

He hands me a sheet of paper. It's got a few lines written on it, and I take it that this is what he's got so far on the lyrics. There are a lot of scratched out words and arrows pointing to variations of the same line. In big, messy handwriting, Edge of Desire is written on the top margin in scribbled, boyish handwriting. (John Mayer song. I do not own, but I LOVE.)

"I have a few chords down that make up the chorus and the first verse, and also some stray variations. The basic melody is done, and I just need to finish the lyrics. That would be where I need your help."

Don't say a word, just come over and lie here with me,

Cause I'm just about to set fire to everything I see.

I want you so bad, I'll go back on the things I believe.

There, I just said it- I'm scared you'll forget about me.

My eyes scan over the verse that is scrawled on the wrinkled sheet of notebook paper in black pen.

"Play me what you have." I demand. He pulls a glossy, smooth, chestnut-colored acoustic guitar off the wall, introduces it as being named "Libby", and sits down with it. I giggle at the ridiculous name. He strums the A and D strings, and briefly tunes it to perfection. (Pull up YouTube or iTunes here and listen to Edge of Desire *acoustic* for the full effect.)

He pulls a sparkly purple pick out of his pocket, and begins plucking a series of fast staccato notes.

Mesmerized, I watch in awe as Nick throws his entire being into the song that he's playing. His eyes are closed, and his lightning-fast fingers fly swiftly, effortlessly, over the neck of the beautiful guitar.

I pull his lyrics sheet towards me, and grab a pen that had been carelessly tossed onto the floor. Tugging off the cap with my teeth, I furiously write words, random ideas, onto the page. His guitar melody is still going on in the background, but I'm not paying much attention anymore. The sudden burst of inspiration was coming through, and I madly try to get all the ideas floating in my mind onto the paper.

He finished the song and holds the last cord, draws it out for a few seconds, letting the ambiance resonate in the air.

I smile encouragingly at him. "You, my friend, have the skin and bones of a potential Grammy winner right there."

He throws a quick glance at the words that I have scribbled on the paper.

Young and full of running,

All the way to the edge of desire.

Steady my breathing, silently screaming,

I have to have you know.

"I like that a lot. I'd fit well as a bridge, you think?"

"Yeah. And maybe the first line would work as the opening line of the song, also?"

We sit there until the sun comes up and covers the world in it's happy golden color, just bouncing ideas off of each other.

Around nine, I get up from off the floor, and walk into the kitchen. I turn on his fancy, hi-tech coffee maker, and pull two coffee mugs from a cabinet. I walk back into the room once the coffee has brewed, and take a cautious first sip. It burns my tongue slightly, so I blow on it gently and wait for it to cool down a bit. I hand him the other mug and warn him to be mindful of the temperature.

"So, guess what?" He asks, with a thousand-watt smile plastered on his face.

"What's that, Nick?" I play along and tack a grin to my face also.

"It's done." He announces proudly. "I swear to God, Miley. That was the most productive night of my life. This would have taken me years to finish, and it wouldn't have been half as good."

"I doubt that. You're amazing as a songwriter. Promise me that you'll never give it up, okay?"

"Promise." His eyes light up. "This is damn good coffee. I've tried like hell, and I can't get it to come out not tasting watery."

"What can I say? I'm just that good." I tease, and poke his arm.

This felt so natural. It didn't feel like I'd first met Nick not even twenty-four hours ago, but like we'd been close friends for years. I didn't feel like I had to hide anything with him; I'd told him my biggest secret within ten minutes of meeting him, when my best friend was informed years too late. He wouldn't mock me because of my rather stupid, idiotic decisions, but would laugh about them with me. He made me feel like I had purpose here, like there was something in life that was worth living for. And, for that, I'm eternally grateful. In more ways than one, Nick Jonas kinda sorta saved my life.

I gotta say this: I'm pretty proud of myself. Two updates in less than a week? This is amazing for me, considering my sloooowwwww progress lately. Leave me a review, please? I'll love you forever and ever if you do...:) Thanks for reading this, all you amazing people.