I nod and sip my vodka cran. “I’m aware.”

“So it’s a truce day.” Reid starts playing a variation of the opening chords of “Hate Is a Closed Window,” my favorite song because it is the most ridiculous. It is sharp and dark, and the song that allowed us to keep Moritz. Last weekend marked the first collaboration session where Reid and I—armored with the reality that is Melted’s stakes—were able to compromise. I convinced Reid that this is the true villain song and in turn we agreed to kill Moritz off at the end of act one, per Henry’s suggestion. Progress. “Even if it wasn’t, I’m not a total asshole.”

“Just a little asshole.”

“Are you drunk?” Reid asks, a smirk tugging the corner of his mouth.

“I wish.”

I’m more buzzed than I think though, because a few seconds later I stand up and cross the studio, minimizing the distance between us, and ask Reid to scoot.

Like, I tap his shoulder and say, “Scoot.”

He does.

“What’re you working on?” I ask.

“Messing around with ‘In Winter’ some more. It’s my favorite composition, but it’s lyrically weaker than the rest of the score. I work best in the studio, so here I am.” Reid flips the page of his composition book with one hand, to a page that is a mess of crossed-out lyrics. “Help?”

I shake my head. “Ugh. Verse is the worst.”

“Well. That answers my next question,” Reid says.

The Melted script is already in Mrs. Mulaney’s inbox ahead of our deadline because we want to cast as soon as possible, but the songs are very much still a work-in-progress. And since there is no way I will direct in a world where Fitz is not playing Adina, we’ve cut “Keep It In” and are adapting Adina’s emotional monologue from the original script into a spoken word poem that I have been trying and failing to write all week. It’s the moment Adina learns to trust her powers, decides there is nothing left to salvage, and burns everything to the ground. It has a rhythm but it isn’t musical. And there’s nothing even close to a rhyme. So how do I translate this moment into something resembling a poem?

“Want to work on it?”

I frown. “You’re going to help me write something you are adamantly against?”

“Yeah. Happy birthday?” As soon as the words are out, Reid’s expression twists like he wishes he could take them back. “Sorry. You should get back to… whatever is happening out there. We can work on this tomorrow. Maybe.”