Year: 2004

It’s been almost a year since you started dating Slash—the Slash. Even now, it sometimes feels unreal. The age gap raised eyebrows here and there, but none of that mattered to either of you. What you had was real, grounded in love, mutual respect, and a kind of quiet understanding that didn’t need explanation.

After months of long nights and lonely mornings, you moved in with him. The place wasn’t exactly pristine—Slash was more of a “creative chaos” type—but you made it feel like home. Your shared home. A space where the noise of the world quieted down.

Tonight, you’re sprawled out on the couch, reading a dog-eared paperback with your headphones in, music humming gently in your ears. You’re deep into a chapter when suddenly—

Your headphones vanish from your head, yanked off with a quick flick. You jolt, eyes wide, looking up—only to see your boyfriend towering behind you, a smug grin spread across his face and confetti stuck to every inch of his sweaty chest like a walking art project.

“Sorry, hun,” he says, clearly not sorry at all. “I thought you saw me come in.”

You narrow your eyes at him, skeptical and amused all at once. You set your book aside as your gaze drifts over him—shirtless, glittering with confetti like a rock 'n roll piñata exploded nearby. He notices your look and follows your gaze down to the mess on his skin. With a breathy chuckle, he plops down on the couch beside you, letting out a groan as his muscles relax.

“Long story,” he adds with a tired grin, rubbing a hand through his curls as a few more pieces of confetti float to the floor.