Metallica one shots and headcannons

The Weight of Unspoken Words-(Kirk Hammett one shot)

I stare out the window, watching the rain trickle down the glass. Each drop seems to have a rhythm, its path curving and merging with others, disappearing into something larger. It's almost poetic, the way the rain falls, just like how time has passed—slowly, relentlessly, erasing everything I thought I knew.

I can't escape the memories, no matter how hard I try. Every time I close my eyes, I see him. Kirk. And I think about the way he left. Without a word, without warning. Gone, just like that, as if I never meant anything to him. But now, here I am, standing on the edge of what feels like a broken promise.

The club is packed. People everywhere, talking, laughing, dancing. The lights flicker, dimming with each beat of the music. But my mind is a thousand miles away, even though I'm standing here, in the middle of the chaos.

Then, I hear it.

The unmistakable sound of the guitar. My heart skips. I know that sound. It's him.

I look up, and there he is, standing on stage. His hair is longer than I remember, his hands expertly strumming his guitar, the one I used to watch with a kind of awe. The one I used to hold when he played me songs in the dark.

I freeze. For a moment, everything fades away—the noise, the lights, the crowd. It's just us. And his eyes, like magnets, find mine almost immediately. It's like nothing has changed. He's still the same, and yet, he's so different. The song he's about to play—the song that will speak for him, in a way he never could—hangs in the air before the first chord even rings out.

"The Unforgiven" starts.

The words pierce me immediately. Every lyric feels like a wound reopening. *"What I've felt, what I've known / Never shined through in what I've shown..."* I close my eyes for a second, as if trying to block it out, but it's impossible. The song is a reflection of everything I've felt, everything he never said before he left.

Our gazes lock again, and it feels like the entire world fades away. His eyes are full of something I can't quite place. Regret? Sorrow? Maybe both. There's no denying it. I can see it there, between the lines of the music. He's not speaking. He doesn't need to. The song says it all. The years of silence. The questions I never got to ask. The pain I never got to heal.

Never free, never me
So I dub thee unforgiven

I feel my heart ache. It's like he's apologizing without uttering a word. The song—his eyes—everything is a plea for forgiveness, even if it's not enough. I want to look away, but I can't. My feet are glued to the floor, my breath shallow. I want to scream, ask him why he left, ask him why he didn't care enough to stay. But I don't. The words won't come. All I can do is stare at him, searching for some sign that this is more than just a show.

 Each note seems to pierce deeper than the last. The years he's been gone, the life I had to rebuild without him, all of it crashes down on me, pulling me back into the space I thought I had escaped. The rain outside, the cold chill that I've been carrying in my chest, it all seems to reflect this moment.

His fingers fly over the strings, the guitar wailing in the background as if it's begging for release. It feels like his soul is spilling through each chord. And all I can do is stand there, caught in the gaze of the man who left, who never looked back.