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BEST SONG EVER
Tripp had been locked away in his music room. Tuesday evening we laid in my bed talking for a while before he got up and went downstairs to start writing music. He ate alone and he barely saw us for days after. It went on like that until Friday night when I finally had enough and just went and stepped into his lair, determined to see if he were still breathing or not.
He was sitting at his piano, playing a few keys but soon stopping to write down a lyric or two. He was only wearing pajama bottoms and his hair—God, what was Tripp Rivers without his signature messy hair?
Tripp stopped playing and noticed me. "Clover?"
"I almost forgot what you looked like," I joked.
I went and stood beside him, but not for long before he pulled me onto his lap.
"You missed me?" he asked, gray eyes searching mine.
"Yes, I was getting worried about you. Is this how you usually write?" I looked down at the piano and pressed a key.
"Not always, but I've got a lot to say this time around."
Tripp moved so that I was sitting between his thighs in front of the piano. With his hands over mine, he taught me to play a small tune. Behind me he was humming along as we played.
"Can I hear something you've written?" I asked.
"Chloey, I'm not sure—"
"Come on, it's gotta be good."
He sighed and stood from the bench.
I watched him go and grab his guitar. "Promise to tell me if it's shit or not?"
"I'm sure it'll be fine, Tripp."
Tripp strummed a few chords until he found a suitable instrumental to sing along to. He focused on his guitar while he began to sing, not once shifting his vision to me. It didn't matter, the song was clear and I was able to sit back and listen.
