VIII: Long, Long Way To Go

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Joe was rummaging through his pages of lyrics from past years when he heard his phone ringing. He abandoned his work and trotted over to the corded phone, picking it up.

"Hello?"

"Hey Joe! We've got a new song for you to write lyrics to!" It was Phil, his smile shining through his cheerful voice.

Joe was immediately intrigued.

"What kinda song?"

"A good one. Me and Steve are gonna be on our way over in a moment so we can play what we've got for you." Phil chuckled.

"Uh, I'm not ready and I've got work tonight-"

"See you in twenty!"

Click.

Joe rolled his eyes, something he had been doing a lot recently. He wandered into his room, exchanging his shorts for a pair of jeans and tugging on a shirt as he normally walked around his house half-naked.

Joe took the time to tidy up the place quickly, tossing clothes into drawers and moving dishes into cupboards from where they were sat to dry.

He plopped down on the sofa, equipped with only a notebook as he waited for his favorite terror twins to appear at his doorstep.

It didn't take long, as the three excited knocks on his door appeared only a few moments after he had sat down.

"It's open." Joe called, and the door swung open to reveal Steve and Phil, both carrying their guitar cases; Steve with his own notebook.

"Okay! We're calling it Die Hard The Hunter, and this is what we've got." Phil murmured, sitting back and letting Steve play his intro.

Phil planned to work with Steve to add in a part for himself, but for now it was a singular guitar start.

Steve was hesitant to sing, but he knew he had to or Joe would never understand the way he wanted it done. Steve pushed himself through the first verse, managing to stay strong even for the last line.

Phil clashed in with his next part after a four-count fade out, Steve following behind with the higher part. They had written a bit further than that, finding that creating the main riff was easy once they had mapped their ground. Steve was amazed that they had went through almost the whole song. The only thing left was the solo - and possibly a ride-out at the end, and of course some shifts in the riff throughout the song. Steve was confident in his abilities, though, and once the two were done with what they had Joe felt a strong urge to applaud.

"You did all that.. today?" Joe asked in disbelief, raising his eyebrows.

An affirmative nod.

Joe buried his head in his hands. After a moment, he looked up, a dumbfounded smile plastered to his lips.

"I'm 100% sure now; we really do have the best guitarist duo to walk the earth. Now I'm gonna have to step up my game." The singer joked, pulling the other two in for a hug. "You guys are fucking amazing. I'll copy down the lyrics you wrote, Steve, and start working on some shite based on what you've got so far. Update me anytime you add to it, and next practice you guys can play it and you can tell the others about your visions for their parts."

"A'ight, cool mate. Wanna go out for dinner later? We could prob'ly round up the rest of the band. Like a celebration dinner. We're releasing a new album, for fucks sake!" Phil suggested, laughing. Steve grinned supportively, the possibility of getting his hands on a cold beer itching at his fingers.

Even though he had snuck a full bottle of Jack Daniel's that morning, Steve couldn't shake the thirst for more. He was ashamed of it, but the addiction was slowly taking control of him. Phil was the only thing keeping it at bay.

"Eh, I'm sorry, mate. I'm not really feelin' up to rushing out again after work. Which is where I gotta be in..." Joe glanced at the clock on the wall, biting his lip. "One hour. So I suggest you blokes get out before I go into a frenzy to get ready to leave in time." He chuckled, already standing up and making for his room. "Next practice is Wednesday at one, my garage as always. See you there." Joe flashed one final grin before disappearing into his room and closing the door behind him.

Steve and Phil waved goodbye, quickly packing up their guitars and heading out, locking their friend's door behind them.

Steve was undoubtedly bummed about not going to the restaurant. There was no way Phil could deny him what he wanted to a waiter - he was a grown man, not a child. Deep in his heart he knew Phil was only doing it for his own good, but he just didn't see how dropping alcohol would affect his life in any positive way. He walked down the sidewalk with one hand shoved deep in his pocket, his eyes averted low.

Phil was well aware of why Steve wanted to go out that night. Steve didn't realize that Phil could read him much better than he thought, and Phil was on high alert for anything about alcohol. He never tried to be pushy, like how he found the smashed bottle of Jack in the dumpster and ignored it as best as he could, but Steve brushed away his footsteps almost effortlessly, and there was no proof that he even was the one who drank it.

But Phil knew.

And yet, he didn't bring it up. Not unless he caught Steve in the act, which he did rarely. Steve was good at covering his traces. Too good.

Phil was scared for Steve. No, scratch that - he was downright terrified. There was no way in hell he could survive unless he put his foot down, and Steve didn't want to.

"There's a cure." Phil mumbled aloud, his cheeks burning when Steve turned, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"Huh?"

Phil scrambled for a reply that didn't include "addict", since Steve hated that term more than any other, and he hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"Your...urge. The need to drink. There's a cure, I think. It's right under our noses."

Phil took a moment to observe the two of them.

"More like over our shoulders, actually."

Steve bit his lip, knowing exactly what his lover meant. Whenever he played, the tug to the bottle vanished into thin air, if only temporarily.

"I suppose." Steve mumbled, losing interest in the conversation.

"Steph', please. I can't quit for you. You have to end it yourself." Phil sounded devastated, reaching for Steve's hand with his other free one.

Steve ripped his arm away from Phil's grip, pushing it back inside his pocket.

"I don't see why it's important for me to quit." He grumbled, staring out toward the houses rather than at Phil.

"Because the drink will surely kill you if you don't fucking control it." Phil growled, taking a few paces ahead of Steve.

Steve let him, hanging back and watching the concrete of the sidewalk instead of where he was walking.

He closed his eyes, preferring the peace and darkness of his eyelids over Phil's lecture.

Then he found himself on the ground, pain searing up the side of his forearm.

"Steve, fuck!" Phil rushed over, helping him up from where he stumbled off the sidewalk and fell into the road. Staring down at asphalt, Steve was almost enjoying the coolness on his face before Phil tugged him back to his feet.

"Fuck, baby, are you alright?" Phil asked worriedly, giving him a once-over and grimacing at the scrapes up his forearm, and the blood dripping off his cheekbone. Steve nodded, gently removing Phil from his body and scooping up his guitar case, starting to walk again. He only wanted to go home.

Phil pressed their hands together, entwining their fingers.

"Steph', I'm sorry.." He whispered, pressing a light kiss to the injury on Steve's face, holding his hand tightly for the rest of the walk without saying a word.

Terror Twin [Def Leppard] #Wattys2016Where stories live. Discover now