•••
"Yeah, sure. Okay, Duff. You're ready in three, two..." and Axl flips on the playback.
He then slides his chair back over to the sound board and sits beside Mike Clink, their producer for the album, Appetite for Destruction.
They were recording at the Record Plant in LA, about halfway through the album, and now Duff was laying down his half of the backbone for My Michelle, a song that Axl came up with and brought to the guys.
Steven had been the first to lay down his part in the rhythm of the song, and then Slash. Izzy would go on after Duff and then they'd all leave because Axl took a painstakingly long time laying down his vocals.
Don't get them wrong, they loved how articulate and loyal Axl was to his craft, but sitting around listening to Axl scream the same bar 56 times was not something they found interesting.
So they all sat around the studio nodding along to the song, listening carefully for any things they'd need to change.
Steven, on the other hand, was in his own little world. He loved seeing his friends play. It left him in awe all the time.
He sat on the floor outside of the recording booth's door, staring through the glass at Duff and how serious he was about this.
He gently rapped his drumsticks against the carpeted floor since Axl was always yelling at him about being noisy and fidget. Now he always tries to be considerate about his fidgeting.
But the smile on his face stayed as the playback stopped and Duff looked up at Axl through the glass.
The redhead gave a thumbs up and then pressed a button on the soundboard before saying, "That's was great, Duffles. We're gonna go to the bridge next, a'right?"
Duff nodded and Axl went over to start the playback of a different part of the song and on and on it went.
While Steven was intrigued, Slash was not.
He was bored outta his mind.
Honestly, he did love watching his friends kick ass, but he had a pretty short attention span so he had zoned out a while ago, staring at Steven's hair instead.
It was pulled back into some half-assed ponytail with straggling hairs framing his face.
He wore a black sweatshirt with the sleeves rolled up above his elbows and ripped acid washed jeans.
On his feet he wore his beat up black Converse.
Still, he looked fucking hot in Slash's eyes.
And he knew it was bad. Bad that he had fallen for his best friend and the fact that said best friend was a dude.
But he honestly couldn't bring himself to care, because that was the type of person he was. He never worried too much.
From where he sat, on the sofa, Steven was sat directly in front of him.
Pulling out his phone, Slash checked the time before sighing. He tucked the phone back into his pocket and looked back at Steven.
