Bandom One-shots book 3

It's So Easy ! Part Three !

The tour bus is cramped, the air thick with the remnants of our last show, the roar of the crowd still lingering in my ears. It's one of those long stretches of highway between cities where time seems to both stretch and collapse, and the bus is our only real world. I've been staring at this notebook for what feels like hours. The paper's starting to blur, and the ink from my pen's bled through the page more than once.

I need something. Anything. The night's winding down, and the adrenaline is long gone, replaced by this gnawing sense that there's a song I need to finish. Or maybe it's just that I need to finish it. I've had the riff in my head for days, but the words aren't coming, and now I'm starting to second-guess everything. It's like the pressure's building in my chest, and it's almost suffocating.

I can hear Slash's guitar in the front of the bus. He's playing around with something—just jamming, probably. It's always like this. He picks up his guitar, and whatever riff is in his head starts to flow. But me? I'm stuck, locked in my own head, unable to unlock the door.

Izzy comes up behind me. I don't even hear him move at first. It's just that presence—quiet, steady, always there when I need him most.

"You good?" Izzy's voice is soft, but it cuts through the fog in my brain. He's leaning over my shoulder, peering at the lyrics I've been scribbling. "You've been at that for a while now."

I groan, rubbing my eyes. "I can't get it right. I know what I want, but the words don't fit. Everything sounds... wrong."

Izzy glances down at the notebook and doesn't say anything for a second. He just watches me, calm and quiet as always. He's got that ability to just be, without any pressure. No rush. Just... there. But he knows when I'm close to losing it.

I let out another sigh, letting my head fall back against the seat. "It's this riff, man. I've got it stuck in my head, but the song... it's like I'm trying to force it. It's too clean. Too polished. It needs to be raw. But nothing's clicking."

Izzy doesn't speak right away, his eyes flicking between my scattered thoughts on paper and the guitar sitting idle in the corner of the bus. Finally, he moves, stepping out of my space and walking over to Slash, who's been noodling with something on his guitar for the last few minutes.

"Slash," Izzy calls out, his tone casual. "You gonna just play around with that thing all night, or are you gonna actually finish something?"

Slash looks up, a lazy grin spreading across his face. He shrugs, his fingers still draped over his guitar. "What do you need, man?"

Izzy gives a small nod in my direction. "Axl's stuck. Think you could give him a hand?"

Slash rolls his eyes but sets his guitar down and stands up. He doesn't even ask what the problem is, because he knows. We've all been there—stuck—more times than I care to count. He walks over and leans against the seat, looking at me. His eyes narrow slightly, the way he does when he's sizing up something.

"What's the problem, man? You got the riff, right?"

I nod, still frustrated. "Yeah, but it's like—fuck, I don't know. It's supposed to be fast. It's supposed to be raw—but it's coming out all clean and neat. I need to make it dangerous. I need it to feel dangerous. But it's not."

Izzy steps back, arms folded, while Slash looks at me with that familiar glint in his eyes—like he's heard this a million times before and he knows exactly what's wrong.

"You're trying too hard," Slash says, leaning in a little closer. "You're making it complicated. Just let it come. Let it be easy."

I stare at him for a moment, wanting to argue, but the truth is—I know he's right. It's always like this when I get in my own head. I'm looking for perfection, and in doing so, I'm blocking out what makes it work in the first place.

Slash grabs his guitar again, strumming a few quick, sharp notes, tapping his foot to the beat. He doesn't say anything—just plays. The riff. The one I've been hearing in my head all night.

Something clicks.

I grab my pen and start scribbling the first line that comes to mind.

"It's so easy, so easy. When everybody's tryin' to please me, baby"

Izzy moves behind me, watching with that quiet, knowing expression. Slash is still playing, letting the music flow through him like it's nothing. The rhythm's clicking now. That fast, reckless pace I wanted. The rawness, the hunger—it's all there, coming together without me having to force it.

"It's so easy, so easy. When everybody's tryin' to please me, baby" I sing out loud as I write, and the words fall faster now, like the floodgates have opened.

Slash leans in, nodding. "That's it," he says quietly. "That's the feel. Raw. No frills. Just... easy."

I keep writing, the words coming without effort now, the song taking shape in a way that feels right. It's not perfect, but it's real. It's us—the chaos, the mess, the energy we bring every night.

Izzy watches me with that small smile of his, the one that says, I told you so. He doesn't speak, but I know what he's thinking. He always knows.

By the time we hit the chorus, everything's falling into place. The rhythm, the words, the music—it's all syncing up like it was meant to be this way. I'm starting to feel it—the wildness, the energy, that unmistakable feeling when you know you've got something good.

I glance up at Slash, who's strumming harder now, adding that signature edge to the riff. "You've got that dirty sound, man," I say, grinning, finally letting myself relax.

Slash grins back. "Yeah, it's always been there. You just had to stop thinking and let it be."

Izzy gives a small chuckle from behind me. "Finally," he says, stretching. "Told you it was easy."

I sit back in the chair, a smile creeping across my face as the music swirls around us. It's loud, it's chaotic, and it's exactly what we need. Everything else fades out, and all I can hear is the sound of the song coming to life.

Suddenly, without even thinking, I get up and walk over to Izzy, grabbing him in a tight hug, my arms around him, holding him close.

"Thanks," I mutter, my voice low but full of gratitude. "For everything, man."

Izzy doesn't say anything at first, just holds me for a second, the way only he knows how to. His grip is firm but calm, like he's always been my anchor, keeping me from spinning out of control.

"Yeah, anytime," he says quietly, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

I pull back, feeling lighter. This moment—this song—we've got this. It's not just the riff. It's not just the words. It's us. And for the first time in a long while, everything feels easy again.

I give Izzy one last look before turning back to Slash.

"You good?" I ask.

Slash gives a half-smile, strumming one last note. "I'm good. You?"

"Yeah," I reply, feeling the energy building again. "Yeah, I'm good."

And as the bus rumbles down the road, the sound of our song fills the space between us. It's raw. It's real. And it's so easy, so easy.