It was 1993, and the silence was unbearable. The house felt colder every day, emptier, like the echoes of something long gone still lingered. Axl was never home. Not really. Not in any way that mattered.
He was still out there—on stage, in the spotlight, surrounded by screaming fans, groupies, his bandmates. Women he called girlfriends. Wives. But not me.
We hadn't broken up. Not officially. We were still... together, I guess. In the technical sense. But I was a ghost in his life, forgotten in the haze of fame and excess. He was never around, and when he was, he wasn't really him anymore.
I'd sit with my guitar, the notes pouring out like confessions I couldn't speak. Each chord felt heavier than the last. The pain had settled deep, twisting in my chest, and the words spilled out, raw and honest.
"It's amazing when the moment arrives that you know you'll be alright."
But I wasn't alright. Not yet. Writing was the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely. And maybe—just maybe—one day, he'd hear it too. And remember what we used to be.
When Axl finally walked through the door one night, it was almost midnight. I sat on the couch, the guitar in my lap, strumming softly. His face was drawn, tired, the weight of too many long nights and endless tours dragging him down. But it was the way he looked through me that cut the deepest.
"Joe," he said, voice hoarse, as if the distance between us hadn't already taken root. "You still up?"
I set the guitar down carefully. "Yeah. Been waiting for you."
His brow furrowed. "Look, I'm exhausted, can we do this—"
"No." My voice came sharper than I meant, but I couldn't stop it. "We can't keep ignoring this, Axl. I'm right here, but you're...you're everywhere else. Groupies, your band, these 'wives' you keep collecting like trophies. But me? I don't even know if I matter to you anymore."
He flinched, and for a moment, I thought I'd finally broken through. But then his face hardened, the walls slamming back into place. "You knew what this life was, Joe. You knew what you were signing up for."
I stood, the guitar forgotten. "I signed up for us, Axl. Not whatever this...this performance is. I'm not some stranger in the crowd. I was supposed to be the one you came home to."
Silence stretched between us, the weight of unspoken words pressing heavy in the space where love used to be. Axl's jaw clenched, but his eyes softened just enough to remind me of the man he used to be.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, but it felt like too little, too late.
I nodded, throat tight. "So am I."
~Amazing~
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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 :)
