Bandom One-shots book 3

Anything Goes ! Part Ten !

The bus is bumping along some backroad in the middle of nowhere—typical tour stuff. The hum of the engine is like a lullaby, making the whole damn bus feel like it's swaying to a slow, sleepy rhythm. It's the calm after the storm, the kind of moment where you can breathe.

Duff's sitting back on the couch, his fingers lazily combing through Steven's hair as the drummer snoozes, curled up on his lap, his head tilted at that weird angle that only happens when you've been sleeping on a moving vehicle for too long. Steven's out cold, looking like he's at peace for once, a smile on his face like he doesn't have a care in the world. Meanwhile, Duff's got that soft, content smile on his face, clearly enjoying the rare quiet.

I'm not sure how long we've been on the road today, but it's been one of those long stretches where there's nothing to do but let your mind wander. The chaos of last night feels a little distant now, though the adrenaline's still there, lingering at the edge of my thoughts. I'm trying to shake it off.

The pen's moving fast across the page in front of me, but I'm not really thinking. Not really.

I've got my guitar beside me—nothing fancy, just the one I brought along to kill time on the bus. I'm not working on anything in particular, just filling the quiet with some noise. But my mind keeps drifting back to the past—back to those days before Guns N' Roses was even a thing. When it was just me and Izzy, figuring things out in the chaos of Hollywood, when we were writing with that raw energy that could almost burn.

I stop for a second, biting the end of the pen, thinking back to when we wrote "Anything Goes." That song—it's wild, it's reckless, it's everything we were back then: free, young, and full of piss and vinegar. I remember sitting in some dingy little apartment, late nights turning into early mornings, both of us jamming out whatever came to mind, not giving a damn about rules. Just the music.

I look up, seeing Izzy sitting a few feet away, his eyes half-lidded, the calm stillness of the moment draped over him like a second skin. He catches my eye and offers that quiet, easy smile that always makes my chest feel lighter.

"You working on something?" he asks, his voice soft, like he doesn't want to disturb the calm. He's seen me scribbling in notebooks enough times to know when I'm deep in thought.

"Yeah," I murmur, glancing at Steven and Duff, making sure they're not awake to interrupt. "Just thinking about old shit."

Izzy raises an eyebrow but says nothing. He knows better than to press me for details. He always lets me take my time. I roll my shoulders, feeling the weight of the guitar on my lap, the strings cold against my fingers. I start strumming a little, letting the melody come back to me.

"I been thinkin' 'bout, thinkin' 'bout sex. Always hungry for somethin' that I haven't had yet. Well, maybe, baby, you got somethin' to lose. Well, I got somethin', I got somethin' for you. My way, your way, anything goes tonight. My way, your way, anything goes to"

The lyrics come back to me, almost like a memory in the back of my mind. There's something about that song—about the attitude behind it—that's always felt alive in me, even now. It's crazy how much of that feeling was us. Not trying to be anything more than we were, just two guys making noise and trying to get out of the mess we were in.

Izzy watches me, his head tilting slightly as he listens. "You're bringing it back," he says, his voice low, almost like he's toying with the idea of picking up his guitar and joining in.

"Yeah," I say, cracking a grin. "I never really let go of it, you know?"

Izzy nods, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He knows me too well. Hollywood Rose feels like a different lifetime, but those old songs still have a way of sticking to me—songs like "Anything Goes".

The words I wrote back then were raw, maybe too raw for most, but it was everything we were at that time. Reckless. Messy. But true. And now, looking back, I can almost hear the way we were when we wrote it—young, hungry, so full of desire to make it big, to make something that wasn't just about us, but about everything. About every wild night we spent chasing down a dream that seemed so far away.

"I still love that song," I murmur, my fingers tapping against the neck of the guitar.

Izzy leans back in his seat, looking at me with that calm, amused expression. "Of course you do. It's like a time capsule for you. The way you were back then—wild and free. No rules. No cares." He pauses for a second, eyes softening. "We were different, man. But in some ways, we're still the same. We're just not afraid to let it all out anymore."

That hits me. I look down at the guitar in my hands. He's right. There's a part of me that's never stopped wanting to break free, never stopped feeling that desire to just scream out anything. It's like we've just learned to channel it better over time, use it for something bigger, something that means more than just us.

I strum a chord again, feeling that familiar energy rushing through me. The past is never far away, even on days like today when everything feels quiet.

"Anything goes," I whisper under my breath, the words still ringing true. I'm writing this for us. For the band. For everything that led us here. The old song, the old fire—it's always there, buried beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to rise up again.

And this moment feels like one of those times.

Izzy watches me, still calm, but I can see that little glint in his eye. He's always known me better than I've known myself. "You're gonna bring it back, huh?"

I nod, feeling that wild spark of creation start to burn in my chest again. "Yeah. Anything goes."

I can feel the old spark growing, that rebellious edge coming to life again, and even though it's a quiet moment right now, I know it won't stay quiet for long. We'll take that fire and turn it into something new. It's what we do. It's who we are.

Duff looks up from the couch, seeing the guitar in my hands and the way I'm getting lost in the moment. "You're still thinking about that old stuff?" he asks, his voice groggy from the nap. "Damn, man, you're never letting go of that, are you?"

I grin, my fingers still moving on the strings. "Not when it still feels this good."

Izzy just chuckles softly, leaning back in his seat. "Yeah. I guess some things never change."

And with that, I start playing again—letting the old song breathe new life. Izzy, of course, is watching me, his eyes tracing every movement I make. It's like he's right there with me in that moment, remembering it all—the old days, the music, and the fire that never goes out.