1991

He was here for Slash.

Because Slash had disappeared into your bedroom two hours ago, whiskey in one hand and his arm wrapped around your waist like it was just another night. And maybe it was. You were a model. You knew how to look like you didn’t care — like nothing touched you.

You hear the knock again — louder this time. The kind that says whoever's on the other side doesn’t care if they wake the whole damn building. You already know it’s him.

Axl.

You hesitate at the door, your pulse tightening. When you open it, there he is — standing in the hallway of your penthouse like a storm that never cleared. Leather jacket, messy red hair, and those haunted eyes that haven’t looked the same since Erin left.

Since she lost everything.

“Where is he?” he asks, voice rough. He doesn’t say Slash’s name, but he doesn’t have to. You and Slash weren’t trying to hide. Not really.

You sigh.You didn’t stop him. Maybe out of boredom. Maybe out of something else. “Sleeping,” you say flatly. “Or passed out. You want to wait till he sobers up?”

You step aside without a word, and Axl walks in — like he’s done it before, like he still has the right. His boots hit your floor heavy. He’s looking for Slash. He’s looking at you.

“Erin told me where you lived,” he says, scanning the room like it’s too clean, too quiet. “Back when things were still… salvageable.”

You fold your arms, feeling every memory twist behind his words. You were there through all of it. The late-night calls. The screaming. The silence. The miscarriage that left Erin and Axl shattered. The love that rotted between the two. You were her best friend after all, and you were at their wedding too.

Axl steps inside uninvited, brushing past you. The air between you shifts. Thickens. He should be angry at Slash, but somehow it feels like the tension is all yours.

He stops in your living room, glancing around like he’s never imagined you in a place this quiet, this clean. And then his voice cuts through the silence.

He shook his head slowly, eyes flicking past you like he couldn’t decide what hurt more — the fact Slash was here… or the fact you were here with him.

“I just need to talk to him,” Axl said, voice low, tired. “About the band. About everything.”