Metallica one shots and headcannons

Never let me go🌧 (James Hetfield one shot)

Lately, I've felt like I'm fading into the background. Maybe it's because I've gotten so used to being here—waiting, helping, loving from the shadows. James is always so wrapped up in the band, in the music, in the constant buzz of the tour life. I don't mind that. I know that it's a part of who he is. But sometimes, it feels like I'm not enough anymore.

I pack his suitcase for him like I always do, folding his clothes carefully, making sure his favorite scarf is tucked in the top, just the way he likes it. I do these little things because I want him to feel cared for, even when he's miles away. But there's a part of me that wonders if he even notices anymore.

I hear the sound of his footsteps behind me, the familiar sound that used to bring so much comfort. But tonight, it doesn't.

"Are you all set for tomorrow?" I ask softly, trying to catch his attention.

He steps into the room, running a hand through his hair, his face still half-focused on whatever's going on in his head. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good. Thanks."

I hand him his scarf, and he takes it without even looking at me. He's already got that look on his face—like he's somewhere else. A place I can't reach.

I smile, even though it feels strained. "I'll see you off then?"

He nods, already picking up his bag. "I can do it myself," he says flatly, his tone distant. He doesn't mean it in a cruel way, but the words hit me harder than they should have. I didn't want to seem clingy or needy, but I'd been hoping for just a little more—something to show he appreciated me. Maybe even a kiss goodbye, or a word of thanks.

But no. There's nothing.

I watch as he walks out of the room, and it's as if I'm invisible. It stings, but I don't let it show. I've learned to hide my disappointment, to tuck it away where he can't see.

I finish packing the suitcase and stand in the empty room for a while. The silence feels so much louder when he's not here.

That night, James leaves for the tour, the car pulling out of the driveway without a second glance. I stand by the window, watching the taillights fade into the distance. A sigh escapes me before I can stop it. It's the kind of sigh that says everything I can't say out loud. The kind of sigh that feels heavy with all the things I wish were different.

But I try not to think about it. I try not to let it bother me. Maybe when he gets back, things will be better. Maybe he'll notice me again. Maybe he'll appreciate the little things I do.

I stood in the empty house, the silence pressing against me. The suitcases were packed, and James was already gone for the tour. I'd done everything for him, as always, but there was a sting to it today, something I couldn't shake. Maybe it was because, for the first time in a while, I felt like I was doing everything without him even noticing.

I grabbed the scarf from the table where I'd left it, holding it in my hands for a moment longer than I should. His scent was still on it, and for a second, I just closed my eyes and tried to remind myself of the good moments. But they seemed so far away now.