Bandom One-shots book 3

Every Rose Has It's Thorn (Bret Michaels x Axl Rose)

~Bret Michaels POV~

The light barely filters through the half-closed blinds of our bedroom, casting long shadows on the unmade bed. His side is untouched—still perfectly smoothed over from the last time I straightened it. My chest aches as I sit on the edge, guitar resting in my lap, its weight both a comfort and a burden.

The house feels dead without him. The silence is suffocating. No clatter of his boots on the hardwood, no low hum of his voice drifting from the kitchen when he thinks I'm not listening. It's just me, alone with the echoes of last night.

I can't stop replaying it. The fight. His voice sharp, mine sharper. We went for the jugular, both of us knowing exactly where to aim. I called him cruel. He called me selfish. But the words that could've bridged the gap—the truth—I love you—stayed stuck in my throat.

When he stormed out, the door clicked shut too quietly, like even it was holding its breath. He didn't leave a note, didn't slam anything to make a point. That's what scares me the most.

I lower my head, my fingers hovering over the strings of my guitar. They feel foreign under my touch today, the usual comfort absent. But I press down, strum a single chord. The sound is hollow, a reflection of the space he's left behind.

The melody comes slowly, tentatively, as if afraid to be born. It's raw and aching, like the pit in my stomach, like the lump in my throat.

We both lie silently still in the dead of the night, although we both lie close together. We feel miles apart inside.

The words tumble out, unfiltered, unpolished. Each one feels like an apology, though I don't know if they'll ever be enough.

Was it something I said or something I did? Did my words not come out right? Though I tried not to hurt you, though I tried. I guess that's why they say

The tears come then, hot and relentless. I don't bother wiping them away. My voice cracks on the next line, but it doesn't matter. This isn't for anyone but him.

Every rose has its thorn, just like every night has it's dawn. Just like every cowboy, sings his sad, sad song. Every rose has its thorns, yeah it does. 

The lyrics flow easier now, a stream of every emotion I don't know how to say to his face. I sing for the way he chews his bottom lip when he's thinking too hard. For the way his hand lingers on my back, even in the middle of an argument, as if to remind me he's still there. For the way I let him walk out, even though everything in me screamed to stop him.

I listen to his favorite song playing on the radio. Hear the DJ say loves a game of easy come and easy go. But I wonder does he know, has he ever felt like this? And I know you'd be here right now if I could have let you know somehow I guess. Every rose has its thorn. Just like every night has its dawn. Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song. Every rose has its thorn. Though it's been a while now I could still feel so much pain. Like the knife that cuts you the wound heals, But the scar, that scar remains. I know I could have saved a love that night If I'd known what to say Instead of makin' love We both made our separate ways. And now I hear you found somebody new. And that I never meant that much to you To hear that tears me up inside And to see you cuts me like a knife I guess Every rose has its thorn Just like every night has its dawn Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song Every rose has its thorn

The song ends, the last chord fading into the stillness of the room. I set the guitar down and wipe my face with trembling hands. There's a scrap of paper on the nightstand, and I reach for it, scribbling the lyrics in messy handwriting. The words look so small and fragile on the page.

I fold it neatly and place it on his pillow, smoothing the creases. It feels like something final, like the last piece of myself I can give him. And then I sit back down, waiting. Hoping.

The hours crawl by. Afternoon light fades into evening, and my chest feels heavier with every second that passes. I close my eyes, leaning back against the headboard, the silence pressing down on me like a weight.

The sound of the front door opening jolts me awake. My heart leaps and stumbles, hope and fear colliding in my chest. I don't move, don't breathe, listening for the familiar rhythm of his boots against the floor.

And then he's there, standing in the doorway. His hair is wild, his eyes red-rimmed but defiant, like he's ready to launch into another fight. But he doesn't say anything, just stares at me with that guarded expression I know so well.

"Axl," I whisper, my voice cracking.

His lips press into a thin line. "I forgot my wallet," he mutters, but his feet don't move.

"It's on the kitchen counter," I say softly, but he still doesn't leave.

Instead, his gaze flicks to the guitar by my side, then to the paper on his pillow. He takes a slow step forward, then another, until he's close enough to pick it up.

"What's this?" he asks, his voice rough.

I swallow hard. "It's... it's for you."

He unfolds the paper, his eyes scanning the words. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think he's going to tear it in half. But then he looks up at me, something raw and vulnerable flickering in his expression.

"Play it," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

I reach for the guitar with shaky hands, my fingers finding the familiar chords. The melody comes easier this time, the words flowing like a balm for the wounds between us.

Every rose has its thorn...

As I sing, I see the fight drain out of him. He sinks onto the bed, his head in his hands, but he doesn't leave. And when the last note fades, he looks at me, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

"I'm sorry," he says, the words cracking like glass.

I set the guitar aside and pull him into my arms. "Me too," I whisper into his hair.

For the first time since last night, the silence doesn't feel so heavy.

~Every Rose Has It's Thorn~