It's nearing the middle of the night, the sky completely black outside my window, but I can't let the strange, newfound tug of inspiration slip away. My notebook sits open in my lap as I scrawl whatever phrases I can think of across its pages.

After weeks and weeks of burnout, I'd finally found my muse: the brown-haired boy staying two floors down—the very one I was sure I would never see again. 

As soon as we'd returned to the hotel after this afternoon's hike, I knew it was time to write. Even now, hours later, I can perfectly picture the giddy, boyish smile on Nikolas' face as he chased the butterfly. I can imagine the hope pooling in his brown eyes when we stood on the cliff nearly 24 hours ago and I somehow convinced the stubborn, unsure boy to take the leap.

I just need to find a way to do him justice in this song, I think to myself as I scribble down another line describing last night's stunt. 

Nikolas' words of advice still echo in my mind as I stare down at the pages in my lap. For something to be meaningful, the topic has to be, too, he'd said. They're meaningful to me. Isn't that what matters in the end?

His words had moved me more than the boy seemed to realize. I'd never been an entirely selfless person—and would probably be the first to admit it—but much of the music I'd made with The Kissing Teeth had been focused on our fans' enjoyment. Maybe it was because I was too insecure to share anything personal, or simply because I wasn't sure our audience would like it—but, whatever the reason, I'd never put myself first when writing my music. At least, not since before we'd started the band, before music had become a for-profit effort.

Speaking to Nikolas this afternoon, though... The boy had seemingly seen right through me. You being happy is so much more important than your fans, he'd told me in a voice hardly louder than a whisper. If you're not happy, why bother with any of it in the first place?

That nerd is right, I silently admit, a fond smile tugging at my lips. Still, I hadn't quite realized until the past couple of days that the very thing making me happy is Nikolas.

That's always been the case, hasn't it? I ask myself as I begin to mindlessly doodle in the notebook's margin. Nik has always been the one constant in my life. The one person guaranteed to make me feel okay. When I lost him, I lost that.

"I don't know if he still likes me in the same way as before, but I can tell he's trying to forgive me and trying to figure out where we stand," I whisper. "All I can do is tell him how I feel." I glance down at the notebook in my lap. "This is the best way I can think to do that. And if it gets me making music again..." I breathe out a laugh.

The next hour or two is spent scratching notes down and organizing each phrase and metaphor into fluid lyrics. I hardly notice the time pass by, too focused on the lines of music coming to life beneath my hand and the boy in my mind conjuring a flutter in my chest with each thought.

At long last, I set the notebook aside, massaging the cramp out of my ink-stained hand. I grin down at the—admittedly messy—pages of writing. 

"I can't believe I did that," I murmur, shaking my head. "Now I just need to find a guitar melody to go with it." I stand and wander to collect the instrument from its case propped in the corner. As I adjust the tuning pegs, I glance down at the lyrics.

"Major chords, for sure," I note quietly. "But maybe one minor chord in there to balance them out."

I stare down at the strings, contemplating. "Honestly, I could just do a simple A-minor, G, C, D progression..." I toy around with the chords, switching up their order before eventually deciding on the original sequence. "It's far from fancy, but they're easy enough chords to play. They'll be fine, especially since I have no desire to do anything professional with this song."

The song isn't one I plan to send to the band, I'd already decided while in the process of writing it. This song is a personal one, a song just for me. And Nikolas, if I have the guts to send it to him, I add. 

Rolling out my shoulders, I spread out the pages of the notebook in front of me and set the guitar in my lap. I play through the chord progression a few times, humming the melody of the lyrics I'd written as I go.

"That'll do," I whisper with a smile. "Definitely not perfect, but it fits. I'm... Proud of myself, honestly. I managed to write something and it's not half bad. Been a while since I could say that."

I decide on a somewhat simple strumming pattern of mostly down strums, patting the guitar's hollow body to add a percussive beat in the background. I nod my head as I sink into the rhythm. 

With that decided, I manage to play through the completed song several times in a row, stopping only when it feels familiar and I can sing the lyrics without needing to read them off. As I finish with a final strum, I grab my phone from the other side of the bed and open up the device's camera.

It takes nearly a minute to prop up my phone where I can see both myself and the entirety of my guitar. When I'm finally sure the device won't immediately fall down, I take a breath and press the record button.

"This is a new song I just wrote. Let's ignore the fact that it's like..." I glance toward the clock on the bedside table. "Two o'clock in the morning. Damn. Is it really that late?" I look over at the phone screen again, where my own face stares back at me. "Anyway. Who cares how late it is? I've got a new song, and I'm... Going to play it now, I guess." Offering the camera an awkward thumbs-up, I drop my hands to the guitar in my lap.

"I think I'm going to call this one 'Butterfly,' but that name is still a work in progress," I add after a moment. "But enough stalling. Here we go."

Sucking in a breath and releasing my nerves with the exhale, I strum the muted strings to count myself off. "One, two... A one, two, three, four..."

"I'm drawn to you, like a swallowtail's gaze

"Captured by your beauty and your grace.

"Each flutter of your wings makes me sway.

"I'm awestruck, spellbound, and amazed..."

I release a breath as I move into an instrumental break. My singing voice has never been perfectly smooth; it's more built for heavy rock music than the softer sound this song has, with its slight rasp and occasional break. Still, as I sing the next verse and switch up the pace to transition into the song's first chorus, I can't help but think that it sounds perfect. I think anything would be perfect, I admit as I open my mouth to continue singing. I'm writing again.

"And I know it's time to take the leap,

"Into the water, however deep.

"Leave all your fears and worries behind,

"'Cause this plunge is worth the risk to find...

"You."

After a few more verses and several repetitions of the chorus, I finish off the song with a quick series of strums, ending on a reverberating down stroke. I flash the camera a shaky smile. "Ta da? Um, hope you like it. See you later." I press the button to end the video, collecting my phone from its precarious recording spot. With my whole body trembling with anxious adrenaline, I barely look at the screen of the device as I swipe toward the messages app and attach the video to a text. 

There we are. Whether Nikolas feels the same way or not, it's out of my hands now, I assure myself, tossing my phone aside before I can think too deeply about what I just did. Still, a nervous smile curls my lip. Holy. Freaking. Shit.