Bandom One-shots book 3

Think About You (Duzzy) ! Part One !

1986. Shit, it feels like a lifetime ago, but here we are. Guns N' Roses is in the thick of it now, the chaos of it all is starting to take shape. We've got five songs done, more or less—some of them are still rough around the edges, but there's something real happening. Something big. We're all on the edge of it, that feeling you get when you know something's about to break wide open. We've been playing the hell out of the few tracks we've got, working through the nights, arguing over arrangements, and sweating it out in the studio. But there's one thing that's been stuck in my head lately, something that's been taking up space in my mind in between all the noise of the band and the booze.

Izzy.

Izzy's always been this quiet storm, never one to make a fuss, but damn, he's got this way about him that just knocks me out. We've been together for a while now, and it's not like I'm trying to make a big deal about it—we don't need to. We never needed anyone's approval to do what we want. Hell, the guys are cool with it. But now, with everything moving so fast, with the band pushing forward, I find myself thinking about him more and more.

And it's not just about the sex, although, damn, Izzy knows how to leave me breathless. It's how he looks at me when I don't think anyone's paying attention, like he knows exactly what I'm thinking. It's the way he quietly slips a cigarette out of my hand when I'm distracted, the way his laugh cuts through the noise, or how he can say everything without saying anything at all.

So, I'm sitting here in this cramped studio, the rest of the guys riffing through something in the background, and I'm just thinking—what the hell do I have to show him? What do I have to give him that would make him know how much he means to me? Not that I'm exactly the best at expressing shit like that, but I need to do something.

Izzy doesn't expect grand gestures. He's never been the type for anything that feels forced, but that doesn't mean I can't give him something. Something real. I've been messing around with a riff I can't get out of my head, and as I'm playing, it starts to come together. It's a little rough, but it's got the vibe, that raw, gritty feel that feels like us.

It's the kind of song that could sound like a love letter if I'm being honest, but a love letter to someone who doesn't expect you to write one. The kind of love where you don't need a lot of words, just the right ones. I don't know how Izzy will take it—I mean, the guy's a man of few words himself. We've never been the mushy type, but I've got to do something. The song's starting to take shape, the melody clear in my head, the words coming out as natural as breathing.

I play through it again, and I can't help but smile. It sounds like a song about him. It sounds like Izzy. It's a little rough around the edges, a little raw, but that's how he likes it. He doesn't need some polished, pop-star bullshit; he needs something that's real, something that feels like the grind, like the street, like the life we live.

I'm halfway through a take when Slash pokes his head into the room.

"You good?" he asks, looking at the guitar in my hands like he can't decide if it's some new trick I'm working on or if I'm just trying to avoid the mess of the studio.

"Yeah," I say, not stopping. "Just working on something."

Slash raises an eyebrow, clearly trying to keep his curiosity in check. "For the band or...?" He doesn't need to finish the question. He knows.

I stop playing, letting the guitar hang loosely in my hands. "It's for Izzy."

Slash gives me a look that I can't quite read, like he's trying to figure out if I'm serious or just messing around. But then he just nods, like it's nothing out of the ordinary, like it's what I should be doing. I can't help but feel a little lighter, like I'm not the only one who gets what this is. Slash gets it. We all do.

"Cool, man," Slash says, disappearing back into the chaos of the studio.

I sit there for a minute, letting the silence settle around me before I start playing again. This time, I let the words come out, no holding back. I've been thinkin' about you... It's simple. Real. And it feels good. It feels like the way I feel when Izzy's around, when he's not saying anything, just existing in the same space as me.

I finish the verse and chorus, playing through it a few times. It's not perfect yet, but I know it's going to work. I know it's the right song for him. But the question is—how the hell do I show him? I can't just hand him a piece of paper with lyrics on it like it's some high school love note.

Before I can overthink it any more, Izzy walks in. His dark hair is messy, like he's been running his hands through it, and there's that typical bored look on his face, like he could be anywhere else but here. But I see it in his eyes—something different today. He's a little softer than usual. I get the sense he's in one of those moods where he's just waiting for the world to catch up with him.

"Whatcha working on?" he asks, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. I try to keep my face neutral, but I can't help but smile at him. He's the only one who can make me feel this way without saying a damn thing.

"Just some new shit for the album," I say, shrugging like it's no big deal.

Izzy steps closer, glancing at my guitar. "Play it for me," he says, voice low, almost like a challenge. He's curious, but he's not gonna beg for it.

I hesitate for a second, the words caught in my throat. But then, I just start playing. I play the riff, slow and steady, letting the music do the talking. When I get to the first verse, I look up at him. His eyes are fixed on me, and I can tell he's listening—really listening—like he's not just hearing the notes, but the feeling behind them.

I've been thinkin' about you... I sing the first line, and Izzy doesn't flinch. He just stands there, arms still crossed, his usual mask of indifference hiding whatever's going on behind his eyes.

I finish the chorus, my heart beating just a little faster. When I stop playing, I can't tell if he's processing it, if he even liked it, or if he's just waiting for the next thing.

Izzy finally uncrosses his arms and takes a step toward me. He reaches out, brushing his fingers lightly against the strings, making the guitar hum with just the smallest touch.

"That's good," he says, his voice quieter than usual. He looks up at me then, and for a second, I see something there that I can't quite name. "I didn't know you felt like that."

"Yeah, well," I say, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "I guess I do."

Izzy doesn't smile, but his eyes soften just enough that I know he gets it. He gets me. And for the first time in a while, I feel like I'm doing something right.

"Play it again," he says, his voice barely above a whisper, like he wants to hear it more.

I start again, the words coming easier this time. I don't need to say anything else. He already knows.

~Think About You ! Part One ! ~