Bandom One-shots book 3

Heart-Shaped Box (Kurt Cobain x Vince Neil)

The hospital room was too quiet.

I don't remember much of what was said, just the way the doctor wouldn't meet our eyes when he walked in. The hum of the machines felt louder than his voice when he said the words. Words I still can't fully accept.

"I'm so sorry...she's gone."

The world should've shattered then. Should've cracked down the middle and swallowed me whole. But instead, it just...kept going. The fluorescent lights flickered. The clock ticked. The world moved forward, even when ours had stopped.

I felt Vince's hand grip mine, trembling. Stronger than mine, but just as broken. His chest was heaving, his face pale. I've never seen him like that, not even when we fought. Not even when we screamed at each other in moments that felt like the end of everything. This...this was different.

I don't remember how long we stayed there, sitting in silence, holding each other, watching the machines they didn't bother to turn off right away. Watching the body of our little girl, her tiny hands still, her face peaceful in a way that only made the ache worse. Skylar. Our beautiful, strong Skylar.

We held her twin sister, Frances, tighter after that. Even when we got home, the house felt hollow—like part of it had been ripped away with Skylar. Everything reminded me of her. The pink blanket draped over the armchair. The stuffed bear she used to carry everywhere. The empty spot where her crib used to be.

Days blurred together after that. I was drowning. Couldn't write. Couldn't pick up a guitar without hearing her laugh, echoing back at me like some cruel memory that wouldn't leave. Vince tried. God, he tried to hold us together. But I could see him breaking too. He'd disappear into the nursery late at night, holding Frances, whispering promises I knew he didn't fully believe.

"I should've done more," he whispered one night, voice raw. "We should've caught it sooner...maybe—"

"Don't," I choked out, shaking my head. "We did everything. You...you did everything you could. It wasn't enough."

We weren't enough.

Weeks Later

It started with the box.

A small, heart-shaped music box Skylar had been obsessed with before she got sick. Vince had packed it away, too painful to see. But I found it that night, tucked in the back of her closet when I couldn't sleep. Dusty. Forgotten.

I wound it up.

The soft, haunting melody filled the room, and something in me cracked open.

I picked up my guitar for the first time since the hospital. Fingers shaking. Breath uneven. But the melody played on repeat in my head. The music box. Her music box.

The words came next. I didn't think. Didn't plan. They just...came.

"She eyes me like a Pisces when I am weak... I've been locked inside your heart-shaped box for weeks..."

Vince found me at the kitchen table hours later, scrawling in my notebook, my guitar on my lap.

"Kurt?" His voice was so soft, like he was afraid to break whatever fragile thing was holding me together.

I couldn't look up. Couldn't meet his eyes because I knew if I did, I'd fall apart again. Instead, I just kept writing, the words spilling out faster than I could control.

"Hey, wait, I got a new complaint / Forever in debt to your priceless advice..."

I thought writing would help. I thought getting it all out would stop the ache. But it only made it worse.

The anger came next. The helplessness. The way the world kept spinning like nothing had happened, like we weren't destroyed inside.

"Broken hymen of your highness, I'm left black..."

I dropped the pen, my head falling into my hands as the sobs overtook me.

Vince was there in an instant, his arms around me, pulling me into his chest the way he had the night we lost her. He didn't say anything—he didn't need to. We just held each other. Two broken pieces of the same heart, trying to hold on.

"I wrote it for her," I whispered finally, voice wrecked. "I don't know if it'll make sense to anyone else...but I had to."

Vince kissed my temple, his hand cradling the back of my neck. "It doesn't have to make sense. It's...it's for her. She'll hear it. Wherever she is...she'll know."

I nodded, clutching the pages tighter, the melody still echoing in my head. The music box. The empty crib. The pieces of her still here, haunting us in every quiet moment.

"Throw down your umbilical noose so I can climb right back..."

She would always be with us. In the music. In Frances' eyes. In the quiet moments Vince and I shared, holding on to each other because there was nothing else left.

This song—her song—was all I had left to give.

And I would make sure the world heard it.

~Heart-Shaped Box~