Bandom One-shots book 3

A Night In Transit ! Part One ! (Izzaxl + Duzzy)

The stale scent of cigarette smoke lingered in the hotel room like a ghost that couldn't let go. I stretched out on my bed, arms crossed behind my head, letting my mind drift while Slash absently flipped through the television channels. Static, sitcoms, news—he barely gave anything more than five seconds before moving on. He stopped on a rom-com I didn't recognize, the kind where everyone's hair is too big and the dialogue is as predictable as rain in Seattle.

"Man, why is it taking the others this long to get ready?" Slash grumbled, eyes fixed on the screen but voice tinted with impatience.

I turned my head to glance at him. He was slouched against the headboard, dark curls spilling over his shoulders, an unlit cigarette tucked behind one ear. His leather jacket lay discarded on the chair in the corner, leaving him in just his black tank top. He had this way of looking casual and iconic at the same time—like he didn't give a damn, but somehow still made the whole world care.

"They're probably arguing over who gets the mirror first," I said, smirking. "You know Duff takes forever with his hair. And Steven's probably too busy bouncing off the walls to find his boots."

Slash snorted, finally tearing his eyes from the screen to glance at me. "At least Izzy's got it easy tonight. Bastard got his own room."

"Yeah, but you know he's just lying there, strumming that acoustic he dragged along like some tortured poet."

Slash chuckled at that, a low rumble in his chest. "Bet Duff's over there with him by now, though. Those two are like magnets."

The thought made me grin. "More like Duff's a moth, and Izzy's the flame. He always ends up singed, but he keeps flying back."

The room settled into silence for a beat, the movie on the TV providing the only soundtrack. I watched the glow of the screen flicker across Slash's face, softening the sharp angles of his cheekbones. There was something about these in-between moments, the rare pockets of quiet amid the chaos of the road.

"You ever think we're all just a bunch of flames and moths?" Slash asked suddenly, voice softer now.

I raised an eyebrow. "What, you getting philosophical on me now, Slash?"

He shrugged, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips. "I'm serious. I mean, look at us. We're all a mess in our own ways, but we keep coming back to each other."

"Maybe we're all just pyromaniacs," I offered, smirking. "Drawn to the fire, even if it burns."

Slash laughed, the sound warm and familiar. He leaned forward to grab his pack of cigarettes from the nightstand, flicking one out and lighting it with practiced ease. The first drag seemed to settle him, his shoulders relaxing as he leaned back again.

"You ready for tonight?" he asked, blowing out a stream of smoke that curled lazily toward the ceiling.

"Depends," I said. "Are we talking ready to drink, or ready to deal with whatever drama Steven's gonna stir up by the end of the night?"

"Both," Slash said, grinning around the cigarette.

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Yeah, I'm ready. But first, you gotta stop hogging the TV remote."

Slash tossed it onto my bed without protest, the flickering light catching in his dark eyes. I flipped through a few channels before settling on some rock station playing music videos. The sound filled the room, drowning out the muffled noise of the world outside.

For a while, we just sat there, Slash smoking and me half-watching the screen. The air between us felt easy, like an old song you never forget the words to.

And maybe that was the thing about this band, this life. No matter how much we fought, how much we burned each other, we always found our way back to this—a quiet moment, a shared laugh, the kind of connection that didn't need words.

Because in the end, we were all just a bunch of flames and moths. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

~A Night In Transit ! Part One ! ~