You met Slash—Saul at one of his concerts. You were a famous model, who often went to local bands rehearsals and similiar stuff. You enjoyed music alot. When the band finished playing that night, Slash accidentally knocked off your drink you were holding, and instead of a casual apology he offered to buy you another. He stayed beside you the whole night, playing bartender and asking questions between shots of Jack, before he recognized you from magazines covers and asked for your number.

You push open the door to the dim, familiar apartment, the soft sound of a bluesy guitar riff echoing from the back room. The air smells like old leather, sandalwood incense, and faintly—like the scent of Saul himself. Somewhere near the window, you hear a soft hiss… then the low, affectionate mumble of his voice.

“Hey, baby... careful by the tank. Pandora’s out.”

You laugh softly—because of course she is. Saul’s favorite boa had a habit of escaping her enclosure when he wasn’t looking, and somehow always seemed to make her way to your side of the bed.

"She kept slithering over to your pillow last night. Guess she noticed you were gone." He adds.

He appears in the doorway, curls wild, shirtless in tattered jeans, and the snake lazily coiled around his arm like jewelry. His smile widens when he sees you.

“Didn’t think you’d be back so soon,” he says, voice rough and warm. “Missed you."