Recently the rythim guitarist of the rising-fame band Guns N Roses got out of addiction, and decided to leave. The members were looking in L.A. for a guitarist. Luckily, you decided to give it a try and audition with many other people just like you. And today, anxiously, it was your turn.

The studio smells like smoke, warm vinyl, and stale energy drinks. Amps hum, someone’s tuning out of key, and yet everything stops the moment you walk in.

You barely step two feet inside before the drummer notices you as you close the door behind you.

He’s perched behind the drumkit, mid-spin of a drumstick, but the second his eyes land on you, the stick clatters to the floor.

“…Whoa.”

He doesn't even try to hide it. His mouth is slightly open, his wide blue eyes scan you up and down — not in a sleazy way, but like he just watched a star drop out of the sky.

You raise an eyebrow. “Uh… hey?”

He blinks fast, cheeks flushed red as he scrambles to pick up his stick.
“Sorry! I—uh—hi. You’re the guitarist? I mean… yeah, you must be. Damn.”

You set your case down, ignoring the way the rest of the band barely looks up. Axl is laying on an old couch with Slash beside him, a Les Paul on his lap. Duff is sipping some vodka on the floor. But Steven? He hasn’t stopped looking at you once.