It's 1984, and life feels like it's moving faster than I can keep up with. We've got the world at our feet, our faces plastered on magazine covers, stadiums packed with screaming fans, and the sound of drums and guitars echoing through every city. But all of that—every wild party, every sold-out show, every insane night on the road—fades into the background when I look over at Mick.
Mick. My Mick. My heart, my rock, my everything.
When I first heard about his diagnosis, I didn't want to believe it. I couldn't. It didn't feel real, like some sick joke, a cruel prank no one was laughing at. But there it was, as real as the sound of my heart pounding in my chest when they told me that Mick had been diagnosed with ankylosing spondylitis.
At first, he brushed it off. "Don't worry about me, Tommy," he'd say, with that calm, cool smile of his. He's always been the strong one, the steady one, the one who doesn't let anything rattle him. He's Mick Mars, the guitarist everyone looks up to. Nothing ever gets under his skin.
But now, it's different. It's like I can see the weight of it all behind his eyes, even when he tries to hide it. And I'm scared. Scared of what this could mean for him, for us. Scared of losing him.
It's late, probably around 2 a.m. I'm sitting next to Mick on the bus, watching the city lights blur by in the window. He's quiet, which is rare for him. Usually, he's got some dry joke to throw my way, some sarcastic comment that makes me laugh. But not tonight.
"Hey, baby," I nudge his shoulder gently, my voice soft. "You okay?"
He doesn't look at me immediately. His fingers tap lightly on his knee, but I can tell it's not the usual rhythm. There's something off about it. When he finally turns to me, there's a flicker of something in his eyes—something I can't quite read.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he says, his voice low, but there's a slight rasp to it. It's like he's trying to convince me, but I know better. "Just tired, that's all."
I reach over, placing my hand on his, and I squeeze it. He doesn't pull away, which I take as a good sign. Mick's not one for physical affection unless he's in the mood, so I always treasure the moments when he lets me in like this.
"You sure?" I ask again, the worry creeping into my voice despite myself. "I just... I keep thinking about what the doctor said, Mick. I know you're trying to be tough, but I—"
"Tommy," Mick cuts me off, his voice a little sharper than usual. His gaze softens, though, and he leans his head against mine. "I'm alright. I've been dealing with this for years. You don't need to worry about me."
I swallow hard, trying to push the lump in my throat down. "I can't help it, Mick," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I love you so much. And I can't imagine life without you. You mean the world to me."
He looks at me then, his eyes soft, but with that familiar twinkle that makes my heart skip. "I love you too, Tommy. You're stuck with me, you know that?"
A small chuckle escapes my lips, though it's tinged with anxiety. "Like I'd ever let you go. You're mine. All mine. And I'm not letting anything happen to you."
Mick doesn't say anything at first. Instead, he turns his hand over, his fingers interlacing with mine, a silent promise that he's not going anywhere.
"You're a mess, you know that?" he murmurs, his voice a mixture of affection and amusement.
"I'm your mess," I reply quickly, squeezing his hand tighter. "And don't you forget it."
He snorts softly, the sound making me smile despite the worry in my chest. There's something comforting in the way he looks at me, like he's always known how to keep me grounded, even when everything around us feels like it's spinning out of control.
We sit like that for a while, just holding hands and listening to the hum of the bus as it rolls down the highway. I can't tell if he's really fine or if he's just pretending for my sake. But either way, I can't help it. I'll worry about him. Always. Because Mick... Mick Mars is my everything.
And no matter what happens, I'll be here. By his side. Forever.
I rest my head against his shoulder, letting out a deep breath. "You know," I whisper, my voice a little sleepy now, "we could always skip the next show and just... stay in bed all day. Just us. You and me."
Mick chuckles, his hand moving to run through my hair. "You'd get bored after five minutes, Lee. But I'll tell you what—when this tour is over, we'll take a trip. Just the two of us. No crowds, no noise. Just peace."
"Promise?" I ask, my heart swelling at the thought.
"I promise."
I close my eyes, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath my head. Mick may not show it, but I know he's hurting. I know he's scared too. But we've always been a team, and nothing is going to tear us apart. Not now. Not ever.
"Love you, Mick," I whisper softly, my voice barely audible.
"Love you too, babe," he replies, his voice thick with affection.
And in that moment, as the bus rolls on through the night, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, we'll be okay.
As long as I have him, I know we will be.
Always.
~Underneath The Stars~
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Bandom One-shots book 3
FanfictionI take requests! Fluff, Smut and Angst Lots of bands from the 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s and 90s. I also take requests for SOME artists from the 2000s but I prefer anything before that :)
