cheater; tradley

seven

Cheater ((7))

A week later, and Tristan sits in his bedroom, staring at the crumpled paper in his trash can.

His plan was to write a song or two and bring them in to James, Bradley, and Connor, to show how dedicated he really is to the band. He was at it all night yesterday, and he has been all afternoon, and all he's got are random phrases that could possibly be lyrics, or could be built off of. Right now, he's hitting his head against his desk in annoyance.

Tristan picks up a few crumpled pieces of paper and smooths them out, reading over whatever is written. But he understands the reason he threw them out in the first place, and he shakes his head before chucking them into the garbage again.

Tristan groans, reading over the few sentences on his non-crumpled paper.

"Damnit," he curses, spinning around in his chair a few times and slamming his fist down on the desk.

"Tristy," A squeaky voice calls from outside of his room, interrupting his thoughts. "Tristy, where are you?"

Tristan's eyes widen and he runs his hands through his hair. He doesn't have time for this. Maybe if he doesn't speak, she won't know he's here. No. She'll find him either way. He sighs. "Up here."

There's a squeal and footsteps, and then the door flies open and a smiling Jules is standing there. "Hey, baby!"

"Hey, Jules. How'd you get in?"

"I knocked and you didn't answer. It was unlocked." Jules murmurs nonchalantly, as if she hadn't just basically broken into her boyfriends apartment. She closes the door behind her and crosses the room, immediately plopping down onto Tristan's lap with an over-exaggerated giggle. "So, I'm here, you're here. We have time alone."

"Yeah, um," Tristan shakes his head a bit, leaning away from his girlfriend a bit. "Sorry, Jules."

"What's wrong, Tristy?"

"I...I'm, um, I'm a little busy right now."

"Too busy for me? For us?" she asks in a sweet voice, resting her head on Tristan's shoulder.

"Sorry to say it, but a little. I have to write a song for my band."

"Really? But you have the rest of the day. All I'm asking is an hour of your oh so important time. We haven't seen each other in, like, a month."

"I promise you, we can spend some alone time, just me and you, soon. A whole day, just the two of us. But not today."

"Fine," Jules murmurs, batting her eyelashes. "But maybe...I mean, just a bit wouldn't hurt."

She then leans in and suddenly attaches her lips to Tristan's, running her hands through his hair. The blonde boy almost loses himself in it, but shakes his head and pulls away, holding his hands out. He then grabs her hands from his hair and removes them, gritting his teeth.

"I'm sorry, Jules. I can't right now. I need to write. I have extreme writers block, and I have to concentrate."

"You just need a little..." Jules trails off, running his fingers across Tristan's jawline. He reaches up and grabs her wrist, the action bothering him, and he plays it off, intertwining their fingers instead. Jules tilts her head. "...inspiration."

"That's it!" Tristan shouts.

Jules seems a little surprised by the outburst, but then settles a bit and smiles mischievously, as if she had won or something.

But Tristan doesn't even notice, and he jumps up, making Jules fly off and away from him. She frowns, stumbling over to his bed and plopping down.

"Inspiration. I need inspiration!"