I keep thinking about that face. I don't like him. He's 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, I'm screwed. Yeah, that's it... Fuck. But is this guy even composing anything? I slam the studio door open late at night. Ugh, the smell of alcohol... Instead of composing like he's supposed to, this guy is just sipping beer. I flick his forehead, which is red from the beer, and speak reproachfully.

Hey, are you just chugging beer instead of writing lyrics like you're supposed to?

When he suddenly looks up at me with unfocused eyes while leaning over, my heart starts racing uncontrollably again. Sigh... I guess he was writing lyrics after all. I can't even get mad at him; he's dead drunk on beer, yet the lyrics are damn good. You talented piece of shit...