Sebastian Bach's life could be summed up using a simple word: incredible.
The feeling that shove down his spine, walking on the huge stage, with thousands of people crying at his feet, ready to sacrifice their lives just to get an autograph was incredible.
It happened almost every night. He thought he was living constantly in a dream, from which he would wake up because of a minimal mistake. And it happened. It had happened so many times, but his face was still filling up every magazine. That was incredible, too.
It was incredible to have sold thousands of records within a few months, splashing to the top of all the music rankings.
It was incredible to have known his favourite musicians, the ones who gave him the strenght to survive, day by day, in order to reach his goals.
It was incredible to think about himself as Axl Rose's friend.
Best friend, maybe. At least, he believed that no one could have been compared to Axl. His colleague could not fit into any pattern known by mankind.
There weren't adjectives strong enough to describe him, draw a general line that could have defined him. He always managed to live in a world of his own.
Axl Rose was one of a kind: Sebastian was proud to have him all for himself.
For a few hours a week, taking advantage of the breaks between one concert and another...
Some people thought that paradise presented itself as an expanse of soft clouds among which to dive, with enchanting angels guarding it. A place where nice people could live forever.
Real paradise, for Sebastian, was being able to sit on Axl's couch, next to him, Led Zeppelin acting as background during their interminable chats.
Axl talked a lot. He never stopped. It was not like listening to a boring friend who likes to talk about his private life, his fortunes and misfortunes.
Every word pronounced by Axl was important. Deep. He could even tell him a joke, but he was still poetic and unreachable.
Sebastian stared at him, occasionally mentioning a laugh, sometimes a minor comment. He did not feel able to interrupt the flow of thoughts in which, slowly, he was still finding his space.
Axl was sharing this with him: a boy who has been lucky enough to stand out in a world too prickly toward anyone. Sebastian could have never thanked him enough for it.
Robert Plant's voice did not outclass Axl. They almost created a dreamy mix, which made it even more difficult to stand beside him without feeling disrupted, about to collapse due to... something indefinite.
Indefinite in appearance. Far too defined in reality. But it was not a real problem. It was enough for him to pretend, to ignore that impatient little voice that ordered him to try any kind of approach.
Axl did not know, or perhaps did not understand ... and that's why he had let himself go against his legs, in exhaustion, looking at him from the bottom of his comfortable position.
Sebastian's legs were very comfortable, he said. And he believed him, dazed like a boy grappling with his first crush, starting to listen to him in the grip of a growing internal delirium.
Axl was relaxed. He stared at him with those eyes, shining of fun, sinuously following a feline line. Maybe they were painted by a great artist from Renaissance. It was impossible to ignore such a splendor, and Sebastian was not so different from other people. He was a human, after all.
He looked away and laughed.
Even Axl laughed for no reason, and Sebastian hoped he could make him laugh again, again and again.
How much pain in those smiles that addressed him. But Axl was safe. He knew nothing, and never would have known. It was okay. Everything was okay.
He began to look more and more like a cat. He stretched, opened his mouth wide, in a loud yawn, and rubbed his tired eyes, almost ready to fall asleep in that position... well, definitely comfortable, as it seemed.
Sebastian tried to restrain himself, but if he had been the protagonist of a comic book, his cheeks would have been colored with a deep, shiny red, ready to shock the poor reader.
"Do you want to sleep like this?" He asked him, unable to hold back yet another smile, filled with pure joy.
"Do I bother you?" Axl replied, exploding into another yawn, returning to look at him with those hypnotic eyes.
"Don't be silly." He concluded, shocked by the thought of being able to hold Axl in his arms for a few hours.
Strange. It was strange to hear such silence in an apartment that was continually assaulted by policemen, crazy neighbors and people noisier than them. The record that had accompanied them till then reached the end. Everything beautiful was destined to fade away, especially Led Zeppelin IV.
Sebastian could only hear Axl's breath. He had never tried to listen to that for real, actually. What an incredible mistake he had committed.
There was no music that could distract him from concentrating on the slow movements of his chest. Axl did not speak anymore.
Was he already asleep?
Evidently he was really tired, or had the same resistance of a newborn baby.
Sebastian could not help but curse himself.
Cursing himself because he found him beautiful.
Cursing himself because he did not think he deserved a similar grace.
Cursing himself because those lips, gently leaning forward -Axl was not realizing it- did not belong to him.
Nothing about Axl belonged to him, and he was not even sure he had a "special" place in his heart.
But it did not matter, nothing mattered as long as he could have stayed there, watching him as he slept, basking in an innocence that, perhaps, no one else had ever admired.
His fingers went to rest in his flaming locks of auburn hair. Blood froze in his veins. Throwing himself out of the window did not seem like a painful idea.
Axl, however, did not move. Perhaps he had not noticed... perhaps he wanted to pretend nothing had happened. Sebastian exaggerated. Oh, he absolutely did. He begun to slowly caress his head, almost trying to conceal the sleep of that precious gift that life gave to him.
He could not get up and leave. He could not kiss him. And he could not bear to admire him again, again and again, without being able to do anything different from dying slowly, for him.
He left his head against the back of the sofa, the only source of tranquility to draw from at that moment. His eyes narrowed.
He could already feel the lack of that face filled with bliss, framed by those sunset waves that spread on his -lucky- legs. He looked at him one last time, hoping to be accompanied by that sublime image, during his sleep.
Perhaps, at least for a few minutes, at least in a dream from which he would soon awaken, Axl would have been his.
His and no one else's.
