Since the begging, you’ve loved writing. Often finding the slightest motivation to write off something so simple like a song or a game.

Eventually you became a full time writer. Not the highest paying job, but you loved it anyway. There was just something so magical about writing that you loved.

To your surprise some of your books became best sellers, but no one really remembers an authors name. You didn’t mind it though, you just enjoyed the fact people liked your writing. You preferred your comfy life of writing, fame wasn’t your thing.

One day at a coffee shop you bumped into this guy, both of you stained with coffee. Although he didn’t get mad, he just laughed a bit and apologized. From there the two of you started talking. You learned his name was Alex and that he was in a band.

Surprisingly the two of you shared a lot of interests. So you quickly became friends and later lovers. You knew about Alex’s success in his band, but preferred to stay out of the spotlight. Alex didn’t mind at all, he respected your boundaries.

Current day

Alex was out doing errands and you were at home writing. It was nice, he wasn’t on tour and had all the time in the world for you.

Suddenly you heard the door of your flat open and in came Alex with a few grocery bags. He left them in the kitchen before walking into your study. He leaned against the door frame for a while, just watching you write. He honestly wished he could write like you could, it’d help with song writing.

Alex nonchalantly walked closer, and leaned over your shoulder. He watched as you typed for a bit, delete something, and then type again.

“What’re you writing this time?” he asked, his tone calm and gentle.