"Transformation," I hum to myself, managing a halfhearted strum on the acoustic guitar sitting in my lap. "Word that rhymes with transformation..." I pat on the instrument's hollow wooden body with a groan. "Shit. Maybe that isn't the best word to use."

I turn to the spiral notebook sitting on the bed beside me, scribbling over the word transformation on the line of lyrics I just wrote. 

"Just like a butterfly gone through transformation." I murmur as I read. I tap the ballpoint pen—compliments of the hotel, with the name Regal Peaks Resort printed on its side—against the palm of my hand. "Chrysalis, maybe? Actually, I should probably just drop the butterfly metaphor. I don't know where I'm going with this."

Sighing, I scratch a line through the lyrics I've already written. This is useless. How am I ever going to get a song finished for the band? I was hoping to have something done by the end of the week, but I won't get anywhere at this rate.

I run my fingers across the strings of my guitar, alternating the bass notes as I switch between a few simple chords. I let my mind drift, hoping I'll magically find a melody in the progressions. I don't.

"Let's see... So... Not butterflies, but... What else flies? Birds? Moths? Moths go to... Lights? Maybe there's a metaphor there." I set my guitar aside to pick up my notebook again, jotting down the words moth, light, and fire. "Alright, so... What do I do with that?"

This feels like I'm fighting my own brain, I can't help but think to myself as I stare down at the mostly-empty page. It wasn't always this hard. I find myself envying my old self, longing more than anything to go back to a time where I still had basic skills like forming sentences, for goodness' sake.

I flop down onto my back, staring up at the ceiling with a groan. I'll just have to try tomorrow. Maybe I'll see something that gives me some motivation in the meantime.

I glance toward my phone on the bedside table. Breathing out a sigh, I sit up and scoot over to the edge of the bed to pick up the device. No notifications decorate its lock screen. I tentatively open the messages app, pulling up the band's group chat. The last message in it was from Cliff, sent yesterday morning.

Cliff: Any updates?

I stare at the text for a long moment before hesitantly typing out a reply.

Me: it's really hard, i'm sorry guys

Me: i promise i'm trying, i'm just not getting anywhere with it

I'm about to set my phone aside again, but a message pops up.

Cliff: When's your best guess as to when you'll get something finished?

Gavin: Don't worry, Theo and I are working on something in the meantime

Cliff: Yeah no pressure, of course

I snort. When I type out a response, my fingers tap more furiously at the keyboard on the screen.

Me: says the person who can't even pull his own weight in this stupid group

Cliff: We don't need to have this conversation again, just get something written dude

Cliff, you're an asshole, I think to myself, barely holding back the urge to type and send the words. You're the one that should be kicked out of the band.

I stand and grab my guitar, setting the wooden instrument gently back in its case, which I prop against the wall in the corner of the room. I stare at it for a long moment before shaking my head and taking a step back. I grab my phone and headphones and sling my leather jacket over my shoulders. It probably wouldn't hurt to spend some time outside. Listen to some music. Clear my head. Letting out a breath, I exit my hotel room and wander to the elevator.

By the time I've ridden the elevator down to the lobby, I've connected my headphones and pulled up a playlist I've wittily titled No thoughts, just vibes. It seems to be my default choice when I'm not sure what to listen to, made up of a combination of music ranging from punk rock to easy, mellow indie. I don't remember choosing the songs for any particular reason; just as the playlist's name indicates, it's a mishmash of music that I thought sounded nice. No deeper meaning—at least, not as far as I care at the moment, when I just need some background noise to drown out my own thoughts.

The first song to pop up is an alternative piece utilizing multiple layers of strings. I let my mind sink into the complex melody as I walk out of the hotel lobby. I don't have a particular destination in mind, so I pick a somewhat random direction down the sidewalk. The sun has already set, and I rely primarily on streetlights to guide my path as I wander, absentmindedly nodding my head along to the beat of the songs.

I stuff my hands into the pockets of my leather jacket, the pins and buttons decorating its exterior clattering against each other with the movement. This jacket feels more like myself than anything else I own—second only to my guitars, I'd guess. The buttons aren't the jacket's only decor, either. Nearly every inch of the material is covered in clumsily sewn patches and shiny objects ranging from safety pins to soda can tabs. I would hardly consider myself an artist, though; I learned to sew just for the sake of this jacket and most of the stitches are still uneven. A few patches keep threatening to fall off, hanging by a literal thread. But, just like me, they're hanging in there.

I watch my Converse-clad feet as I walk, letting myself sink into the motion. I can almost let myself disappear for a moment, as long as I don't focus too heavily on the lyrics of the songs in my ears or my whereabouts or how frustrated my band mates are or how I'm so close to losing my place in the band or— Nope. Too many thoughts. Back to square one.

I've only just reached West Rye's—somewhat pitiful—downtown area when my headphones go silent. I slip them down to rest on my neck, pulling my phone out of my pocket. Shit. The device's screen has gone black. When I hold down the power button, an empty battery symbol blinks back at me. Double shit.

I shove my useless phone back into the pocket of my jeans as I turn back around. Guess I'll have to walk back to the hotel in silence. Fun. 

Still, I manage to get my feet moving to begin my return, retracing my steps back toward Regal Peaks Resort. I stare at the barely-there silhouettes of the mountains on the horizon, my eyes skating across their jagged tops. I find myself longing to somehow teleport up there, to sit on the point of the tallest mountain and forget about all of the lowly problems down here, like bands and burnout and ex-friends. I have to admit, the thought is never one I've had before now. I much prefer the city and its bold lights and noise. Exile on top of a mountain range has never appealed to me.

With my mind fixated on mountains and how to skip the dreaded climb to arrive at their peaks—how would teleportation work, scientifically?—I manage to reach the hotel before my less pleasant thoughts sink in. I wander toward the lobby door, ready to return to my room so I can charge my phone, when a voice drifts my way from somewhere up above.

"God?" I mumble, lifting my head.

The sound wasn't heavenly—at least, not in the literal sense—I find as my eyes land on movement on the hotel's second floor. A figure is sitting on their balcony... Singing?

"I'm almost there, I'm almost there..." The words are just loud enough for me to make out. The voice is far from a professional singer's, but still surprisingly in tune, carrying the familiar melody my way. "People down here think I'm crazy, but..."

My eyebrows hitch upward as I recognize the song from The Princess and the Frog. I can't help but chuckle to myself, stepping away from the lobby doors and closer to the balcony.

The singer appears to be writing something, a notebook in their hand as they scratch at the pages with a pencil. I cross my arms, settling my weight on one hip as I listen.

"Trials and tribulations... I've had my share..."

Before long, I find myself humming along, tapping one of my feet. "Ain't nothing gonna stop me now, 'cause I'm almost there..."

The words make the singer startle. I watch as they shove their notebook down, their head whipping up to look at me. It isn't until we lock eyes that I recognize the figure's face. Well, shit. 

"Nikolas!" I greet, an amused grin tugging at my lips. "I didn't know you sang. Having your Princess Tiana moment? You've got the balcony, the stars... All you need is a frog to kiss."

Even in the darkness, I can see the glint of the boy's dark eyes, which are wide with surprise as he stares down at me. "What the hell are you doing? You really are a stalker."

"I'm not a stalker," I mutter with a roll of my eyes. "I was just walking past. You happened to be singing where I could hear you. Good song choice, though."

"Oh. Thanks."

"Remember how obsessed we both were with that movie?" I ask. I had nearly forgotten about it myself, but the song seems to have tugged a memory from the back of my mind. I remember the two of us sitting on the couch side by side, singing along to all of the songs as we watched the Disney movie for the thousandth time. "You always wished you could turn into a frog."

Nikolas snorts. "That's only because I thought Naveen was hot. Or he gave me gender envy—I was too young for that to occur to me. It was probably a bit of both." 

My smile widens. "You had that frog costume and everything..."

"I wore it for at least three Halloweens."

We both break into laughter. This feels nice. It's almost... Normal. For a minute, I let myself drift in the peace of the moment, listening to Nikolas' laugh. It's always reminded me of a zebra, chirpy and high-pitched, though I hadn't thought of that comparison in years; I had nearly forgotten how much I love it. It's been so long since I've heard him laugh. 

"I always assumed you just had a frog hyperfixation," I reply when his laughter finally fades. "I was always forced to listen to all of your fun facts and everything."

"Well, maybe that too. I guess there were a lot of reasons."

"I thought you were going to become some fancy biologist person and study frogs when you grew up."

"Oh," Nikolas' smile slips a fraction, just enough to make me wonder what I'd said wrong. "Ha. No."

I take a step back, shrugging as I slip my hands back into the pockets of my leather jacket. "Well, I always thought I'd be some big scientist. Turns out I'm not smart enough for any of that stuff. Chemistry? Phew. Glad I dropped out of college." I bark out a laugh.

The words make a small smirk twitch onto Nikolas' lips, there and gone in a moment. "Shh," he mumbles. "It's the middle of the night. People are sleeping."

"You're not sleeping."

"Just be quiet, rock star."

I chuckle, shaking my head in amusement. My gaze drops to the ground and I let out a breath, thinking back on Cub's words from yesterday. It's still worth it to try. Reach out, spend some time with him. I glance back up at Nikolas. Well, here goes nothing. "Hey, um... Can I come up?"

"To my room?"

"No, genius, to the International Space Station." I roll my eyes. "Yeah, your room. Can I? That way we don't have to talk from two floors apart. And you don't have to scold me for being loud."

I watch Nikolas, his hesitance perfectly apparent from the way he tugs at his bangs, his gaze going distant as he considers the request. I nearly miss his answer, spoken barely louder than a whisper.

"Huh?"

"I said, um, sure. You can come up."

I grin. "Great. See you soon."