Book 3: You Don't Want My Love (Slash FanFic)

Ch. 27: Let's Rock

"Fuck..." I groaned as I lugged Steven's suitcase up the stairs, heading towards one of my house's many guest rooms. I was starting to suspect that Steven hadn't packed clothes at all, but had instead stuck a bunch of bricks into a suitcase as some sort of sick practical joke. These things were heavy as shit.

As I stumbled up the steps, I paused when I heard an explosion of laughter coming from the dining room, where I'm sure Steven was busy winning over Al with his boyish charm and happy-go-lucky attitude. I really wanted to join in on the fun and maybe score some brownie points with Al by showing her that I was capable of having a good time without sex, drugs, or alcohol involved. Not to mention I was a little jealous at just how well those two were getting along, especially since it had taken me and Al forever to finally act civilized towards one another.

If it had been Axl, I might've tried stepping in. But Steven was Steven, and so instead of pouting about it, I tried to just be happy that my best friend and the girl I had fallen for were actually getting along. Besides, knowing Steven, he was probably going to end up inadvertently talking me up to Al just by reminiscing on all of the memories we shared together. He really looked up to me and the other band members, so I'm sure he was going to paint me in a positive light. He really was a good friend.

I decided not to barge in on them, and instead just took in a deep breath and struggled on with my assignment of helping Steven move in. I staggered down the hallway, forcing myself to leave the sounds of their mixed laughter behind me, even as my stubborn ears continued to strain to eavesdrop.

When I finally got to the bedroom, I got to work unpacking Steven's luggage-surprised not to see piles of bricks when I unzipped the suitcase, but actual clothing. How did he manage to stuff so many clothes into these things? And why did he have so much shit? There were at least three other suitcases from my multiple trips to and from the car as well as a new drum set that Steven had ordered and had shipped to my house. He wasn't sure how badly-if at all-his drumming had been effected by the stroke, but he wanted something to practice on just in case.

I really hoped he would be able to play, and I gave the set a dubious look before focusing on shoveling all of Steven's clothes into a nearby dresser. It was a look that said: "You better play well for my friend, or I will have you disassembled and crushed in the nearest landfill. I'll pulverize you into tinker toys."

Suddenly feeling very much like his mother, I sorted through the mountains of clothes, folding various shirts and pants before putting them in their proper drawers. As I worked, my mind unconsciously began to wander back to what Al and Steven might be up to downstairs. I imagined them hunkered over the kitchen island, going back and forth with learning various small things about each other and probably making cracks at me as they went.

I could easily imagine Al complaining about something I'd said or done and Steven following up with some similar story about me from our childhood or our early band days. His warmth and friendliness would help to make her feel more welcome and comfortable in my home again, and with Al's nurturing attitude I was sure that she would encourage Steven and help to give him the proper support that he desperately needed right now. The thought of them feeding off of each other like that brought a genuine smile to my face and I continued to fold the clothes while grinning to myself like an idiot.

"Don't smile like that while you're handling my underwear. It's creepy." Steven's voice made me jump a bit in surprise. I whirled around to see him leaning against the doorframe, chuckling to himself.

"How long have you been watching me like that?" I demanded, putting a hand over my chest to keep my heart from bursting out. I slowly fell against the dresser, leaning into it for support.