Bandom One-shots book 3

Broken Strings (Mick Mars x Nikki Sixx)

The strings of my bass hummed low and heavy beneath my fingers, filling the rehearsal space with a buzz that matched the chaos in my head. It was 1983, and we were on top of the world—or so everyone thought. Shout at the Devil was coming together, the shows were selling out, and we were invincible.

At least that's what I told myself when I wasn't looking too closely. When I wasn't feeling the gnawing hunger for something stronger, something to numb the ache that no amount of success or screaming fans could touch.

But Mick? Mick saw through it all.

We were in the middle of running through Bastard when he stopped playing, his guitar cutting out mid-verse.

"Jesus, Mick," Tommy groaned, tossing his drumsticks onto his kit. "What now?"

Mick ignored him, his eyes locked on me. "Nikki, can I talk to you? Alone."

The room went silent, save for Vince's exaggerated sigh. "Fine, but make it quick. We're wasting time."

I rolled my eyes but set my bass down. Mick's tone wasn't the kind you argued with, and truth be told, I was too drained to fight him off.

We stepped into the cramped hallway outside the studio, the air cooler and quieter. Mick lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his sharp, weathered features.

"What's this about?" I asked, crossing my arms.

He took a long drag, his gaze piercing. "It's about you. About the fact that you've been acting like a ghost for weeks now. You look like hell, Nikki."

I scoffed, leaning back against the wall. "Thanks for the concern, Dad."

"Don't start with that bullshit," he snapped, his voice low but steady. "I've been around long enough to see what's happening. You think you're hiding it, but you're not."

"Hide what?" I challenged, though my chest tightened.

"The drugs," he said bluntly. "The way you're using them to bury whatever it is you don't want to face."

I bristled, the words hitting too close. "What the fuck do you know about what I'm facing? You don't get it."

"You're right," Mick said quietly, his gaze softening. "Maybe I don't. But I care, Nikki. And I'm not going to just stand by and watch you destroy yourself."

The vulnerability in his voice threw me off, but I wasn't ready to let my guard down. "Why do you care so much?" I shot back, defensive.

He hesitated, his fingers tightening around the cigarette. "Because I love you, Nikki," he said finally, the words raw and unfiltered.

My heart stopped.

"What?" I breathed, staring at him like he'd just spoken in a foreign language.

Mick exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Forget it," he muttered, turning away. "You're not ready to hear it."

"Mick—"

But he was already walking back into the studio, leaving me frozen in the hallway, my thoughts spinning faster than I could keep up.

The next day in the studio, Mick was different. Quieter. His usual steady presence felt distant, like a wall had gone up between us.

Tommy and Vince didn't seem to notice, too wrapped up in their own chaos, but I felt it. Every glance he avoided, every clipped response—it gnawed at me, leaving me restless and on edge.

By the time we finished for the day, I was ready to implode. One by one, the others filed out, leaving just Mick and me.

He was packing up his guitar, his movements slow and deliberate, like he was trying not to acknowledge me.

"Mick," I said, my voice breaking the heavy silence.

He paused but didn't look up. "What?"

I took a deep breath, my palms sweaty. "About yesterday..."

"Don't," he said quickly, his tone sharp. "I shouldn't have said anything. Let's just forget it."

"No." The word came out firmer than I expected. I stepped closer, my heart racing. "I don't want to forget it."

That made him look at me, his dark eyes guarded. "What are you saying, Nikki?"

I hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. Then, finally, I took the leap.

"I'm saying... I feel the same way," I admitted, the words trembling but real. "I just didn't know how to say it. I didn't know how to deal with it."

His expression softened, the tension in his shoulders easing. "You mean that?"

I nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah. I do."

For a moment, we just stood there, the silence stretching between us. Then Mick stepped closer, his hand brushing against mine.

"You don't have to deal with it alone," he said quietly. "Whatever this is, we'll figure it out. Together."

The knot in my chest loosened, and for the first time in weeks, I felt something other than the ache I'd been drowning in.

Relief.

Hope.

Love.

~Broken Strings~