I wring the water from my freshly-showered hair. Exhaustion weighs down my limbs as I sink down onto the edge of the bed. My gaze drifts to the mirror in the corner of the hotel room and I take a moment to distastefully eye my bedraggled appearance. I look like a wet rat. I tug at a lock of my hair. The dye has mostly faded, resulting in an uneven mixture of faint red and bleached blond, with my brunet roots starting to poke their way through underneath. If I look too closely, I can almost see a faint green tint on the lighter parts. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to be in a chlorinated pool for a while. 

At the thought, my mind drifts to the words from the afternoon.

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

"... does not give you an excuse to be such an ignorant asshole..."

"I get it that you want attention..."

I run a hand down my face, silently cursing myself. It's not that any of his words were untrue, much as I hate to admit it, but...

Am I seriously that much of a jerk?

The words did prove one thing, though—I know the boy who said them. That really is Hoffman, isn't it? It's been years, but... I'd never forget a face. And the way he spoke to me...

I'm shaken out of my spiraling thoughts by a melodic tinkling. I flinch at the sound, turning to where my phone sits atop the bedside table. The screen is alight and the phone buzzes and shifts across the table with the force of the vibrations. Wow, two calls in two days. What are the odds?

I reach out to pick up the device, hesitating as I notice my face reflected on the screen. Oh. It's a video call. I glance at the caller's name, finding that it doesn't belong to one person, but multiple—it's a group call. Shit. It's the band.

Bracing myself for the worst, I slide my finger across the screen to accept the call. Immediately, three familiar faces appear, with a small version of my own in the corner of the screen.

"Axel, what are you up to, man?" Cliff greets, his brown eyes narrowed as he studies me through the screen. He may be in the shadows as the drummer of The Kissing Teeth, but his personality seems to dominate most of our band meetings. I'd bet anything that he was the one to initiate the call.

"Just hanging out." I answer hesitantly, my eyes flitting between the three band members. Besides Cliff, both Gavin and Theo are on the call—our bass player and rhythm guitar player, respectively. "What are you guys up to?"

This time, Gavin is the one to answer, swiping his dark bangs from his face. "We were just thinking about our next steps, music-wise. We wanted to debrief with you, see what's up."

"Right," I reply, leaning my head back against the headboard. "So... What were you thinking?"

"You tell me," Cliff demands with a snort. "Y'know, for our front man, you really don't contribute a whole lot."

"What?"

"Is it not obvious?" He asks after a moment, scoffing. "When's the last time you wrote something for us? And, I mean, our tour was kind of trash."

"The ratings have all been good," I comment, suddenly defensive. "What do you mean, the tour was kind of trash?"

"The energy just... Wasn't there. I don't know, dude."

"A lot of the shows were quieter than usual," Gavin adds with a shrug. "Sure, there are good ratings... But also a lot more bad ones than usual."

"And that's my fault how?" I can't help but ask.

"Look, man, we're not trying to place all the blame on you." Cliff hurries to clarify. His image shakes a little as he adjusts his position on the other end of the call, tugging at his ponytail of dirty blond hair. I've never seem him wear it down, though the guy refuses to cut it. "We just want to check up on you. Check up on us. See where we should go, moving forward."

"That's actually pretty well-phrased, coming from you." I mutter, letting out a sigh.

While, looking back, I can agree that many of our shows lacked their usual energy, I don't understand what my band mates are trying to get at—or why they suddenly have a problem with what we're doing. We haven't produced new music since we released our latest album, Helpless Screaming, a little over two years ago. No singles. No EPs. Except for the past two months' worth of touring—and videos on our social media platforms using the same three viral songs—it's been radio silence from The Kissing Teeth.

The call is silent for a moment as we all awkwardly stare at each other. Eventually, Cliff speaks up. "We really need to release something soon, guys. The tour was fine, and got us some traction, but if we want to keep our image..."

As much as I hate to admit it, the drummer is right. We've risen in popularity so quickly that all it would take to lose our fame would be to fall behind. The fans clamor for more and more and more, and if we can't keep up with their demands... We'd plummet as quickly as we took off.

"I know," I murmur. "I know, I just... I don't know what's next."

"That's why we're calling," Gavin agrees. "To figure out our future as a band."

To figure out whether we have a future as a band, I silently correct. I let my head sink into my hand.

"So..." Cliff prompts.

When the other two remain silent, I snort out an unamused laugh. "So, what? You're leaving this to me to decide?"

"I mean, you have written most of our stuff in the past," Theo finally chimes in, offering an almost apologetic smile. "But you haven't suggested anything to us in a while, and... I don't know. Do we have to change plans? Are you still going to be writing for us?"

I'm the one to fall silent this time, my eyes drifting to where my guitar sits in the corner of the room. It's true that I've written most of the band's music. For a while, I was writing songs almost on the daily; the words came naturally to me. I would send over what I'd written to the other band members and we could come together to finish a song's lyrics and instrumentals in a week or less. 

After a while, though, the songs became more of a chore than anything. I had to force myself to write them and I was never happy with the results. A good portion of our most popular songs are nothing but hastily-produced shells meant to conform to the cliches. They make the fans happy, but...

"I'm sorry," I mumble, shaking my head. "I've just been so burnt out and I haven't been able to come up with anything actually meaningful, you know? I don't want to have to settle for something so halfhearted."

"I mean, sure, we get it." Cliff replies. I swear I see a hint of a sneer on his lips, though it could just be his poor camera quality twisting his features. "I don't know, though, man. We need to release something. If it has to be shitty, then fine. Shitty's better than nothing, right?"

"Is it?"

His eyebrows furrow. "I don't know, dude. But I do know that we need you to write something—anything. We will take literally anything at this point."

"If it's so important, then why don't you write something yourself for once?" I snap.

The call goes quiet again. It's Gavin that speaks up next. "Actually, Axel, man... We were thinking..."

My heartbeat speeds up upon hearing his sheepish tone. Shit. "Thinking what, exactly?"

"I've been working on writing some lyrics," Theo answers instead. "They're not perfect, but they're something. And I can sort of sing, at least enough to—"

"You're replacing me." My words aren't a question, but I still receive an answer in the form of apologetic grimaces from all three of my band mates. I scoff. "You're kidding me. You're replacing me."

"We don't necessarily need two guitarists," Cliff chimes in after a moment. "And, I mean, Theo's played lead in some of our songs. We were thinking that maybe he could kind of—"

"You're making Theo our new front man," I scoff, my mouth flapping helplessly open and closed. "Jesus fuck, I can't believe you guys."

"Look, dude," Cliff replies, his harsh tone bringing my focus back to him. "If you can write something for us, the spot's still yours. But, I don't know... Right now, we kind of really need Theo. We really need new stuff, and quickly. And with you off on your surprise vacation..."

"I get it. Theo's close by and won't talk back when he doesn't like something. Sounds like the perfect arrangement for you guys. All about what's most convenient, right?"

Cliff's expression shutters. When he speaks again, it's practically through bared teeth. "Oh, piss off. You can't talk, you—"

"I'm going to write something for you guys. In fact, you can expect it by the end of the week—because I'm just that good. And it's going to prove to you that you're making a mistake. So, yeah." I end the video call before I can let out a few choice words, though I still flash them a middle finger for good measure. I toss my phone down onto the bed. It bounces and slides down the other side, but I don't bother to retrieve it.

I ball my hands into fists, holding tight to the imaginary tether keeping me sane. As frustrating as my band mates can be at times, The Kissing Teeth is my dream come to fruition. I silently curse myself as I stare up at the room's ceiling. If this slips away, it's all your fault, Axel.