Chapter 8

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"Fuck!" Will cried the second the recording cut off, "It sounds like shit."

He threw his head in his hands, pulling slightly at his roots. Gods why was it so hard to write a decent song.

"It's better than your last song." Nico ever-so-helpfully supplied.

Will just slid off the stool to lie on the cushioned floor.

"I just don't get it, I can write a good song. I know I can but these latest ones are just, I don't know...empty." Will lamented, "And I've barely slept, all I've done is eat, sleep and breathe song writing - and it hasn't even paid off!"

"Look if you want to throw a pity party, can I leave?"

"Fuck you." Will snapped. "You could at least try to be nice, you know. I'm basically crying on the floor and you couldn't care less."

"Look, I'm the last person you want to cheer you up." Nico said, but he didn't leave the room. Instead he continued, "And quite frankly you're right, your latest songs haven't been great."

"Thanks." Will said sarcastically, though it was muffled by his hands over his face.

"Hey I warned you, I'm not good at feelings...But what I'm trying to say is just because they're not working out right now doesn't mean they never will. You're a talented songwriter."

"And you said you weren't good at feelings. That was probably the nicest thing you've ever said to me." Will said, shocked at the warmth that flowed through him at Nico's words.

"Your song is still shit." Nico deadpanned, making Will laugh. It was a morose, tearful laugh but at least he felt a little less bitter.

"I don't know what to do." He sighed, pushing himself up to a seated position.

Nico raised a brow, "Keep writing, obviously."

"It's not that simple, I have been writing."

"But this one was an old song wasn't it? You just tried to rewrite the lead guitar. What about your new songs, I know you have some."

Will glared half-heartedly at the brown eyed musician, grabbing his notebook out of his bag. "They're just nothing like I've ever written before..."

"Is that a bad thing?" Nico asked.

"No?"

Nico offered a hand and when Will took it, he pulled him up with unexpected strength for his skinny frame. "Sing one for me."

Will spluttered, freezing up at the very idea of these songs being heard by anyone except himself. And if he wasn't so anxious his thoughts might've spiralled around how perfectly Nico's hand had fit in his.

But Nico was watching him expectantly and Will couldn't say no to those rich brown eyes.

Will passed him the fragments of a song he'd written two nights ago, when he'd had a couple glasses too many and fell back into the clutches of grief. Nico read them over quickly, there wasn't enough there for him to do anything with - just fragments of the keyboard melody and some chords.

"Okay let's go."

When Will didn't move, lost in the confusion of Nico's mood swings, Nico forcibly shoved him toward the microphone. He sat himself down at the piano, and without hesitation swung the reverb dial way up and began to play a much more filled out version of Will's melody.

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