You Could Be Mine ➷ Slaxl

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ Oɴᴇ

A/N
Hello, and welcome to this story!
It was recently posted for like a day, and then taken down because I decided to rewrite it right off the bat. So here is the new rendition, all in Axl's point of view.
⚠️KEEP IN MIND, this story includes mentions of drugs, depression, and self-destruction⚠️

With that, enjoy reading :)

•.•.•

I would blame it on the storm. The wind's acrimony, and the rain's fierce abuse, all of which united forces in hopes of destroying the decorated yard. My excuse, fathomable, yet never enough to disperse my friend's skepticism.

I peer at him from the hammock, swinging my feet gently and examining the way he brought the paper cup to his lips, sipping his drink while holding my gaze from behind his opulent curls. A timid smile is playing on his lips as he rests the cup down, and I find myself smirking as I've grasped his complete attention.

Perhaps, it was a psychotic, detrimental habit to pretend I was completely okay— that everything was alright, even after I had ruined the party only minutes before it started.

Seven o' clock, and I was perched alone on the patio, pridefully simpering upon my work. Ribbons danced along the stone pillars, which reliably held up the cerulean canopy above me. Cups were stacked neatly on the wooden table, and beside them were an assortment of different drinks ranging from fine wines, sodas, and beer. The next table was arranged with confections from biscotti, to carrot cake. Everything was so neatly aligned, so perfect, and I couldn't of been more excited for the get-together.
However, only minutes into my serenity and anticipation for guests to stroll in, my phone buzzed with an alert that spurned a rush of pure frustration within me.

'Can't make it, see you tomorrow, Axl'— Izzy.

Everything after that was a haze.

And now, it's ten o' clock, and my friend, Duff, is desperately attempting to compensate for the loss of appetizers and drinks as I gaze into the eyes of a curly-haired man with nothing more than keen seduction written across my lips.

He pushed his curls out of his face, revealing his gorgeous, familiar mocha-colored eyes, and flashing a broad smile at me as he plopped down onto the hammock, tipping me over from the other end. We shared a brief laugh before falling into a comfortable silence.

"Duff's really freaking out there, eh?" He raised an eyebrow, and I turned to watch the blond prancing around the yard to grant everyone an apology they really didn't deserve.

"He's a nutcase," I murmur, shrugging as I chugged the rest of my beer.

Was it anxiety? Perhaps.

"Can't believe just a bit of wind did that."

"Well it happened, Slash. Alright?" I wavered my hand at the canopy, and then the table, desperately attempting to cover myself and frame the dreary weather for this mishap.

Slash pursed his lips, and I almost felt bad for snapping at him. Almost.

I turned back to him, and then I tell him to quit hiding his face behind his hair. Yet, he remains inert, and the situation falls tense.

"I can't believe this," Duff breathed out, downing a full bottle of beer before perching himself right in between Slash and I— as if the hammock can stably maintain all of our weight at once. My feet were no longer touching the ground, and instead, they floated about a foot above it as Duff and Slash penetrated the other side. Sheepishly, I tried sliding down, but that was to no avail. "Like, I seriously don't get why Izzy and Steven just don't show up. Isn't that fucked up?"

Tell me about it.

"Parties aren't really their thing, y'know?" Slash attempted relieving at least a bit of Duff's frustration, yet it did absolutely nothing. Duff bitterly lit the end of his cigarette, inhaled harshly, and huffed out a cloud of smoke, notifying Slash that his statement wouldn't change the fact that only three members of the band were here. Meanwhile, I extend my legs to gently brush my toes against the grass— at least that was some type of progress.

"Well they should've been here for us. Right, Axl?" Duff yanks me away from my pressing task, and I look up at him with heat rising to my cheeks.

"Right," I murmur. However, I already released my anger on the situation. Did I have to reveal the fact that I ruined the decorations just to prove that I wasn't taking this situation lightly at all?

"Know what? I'm calling them again," Duff exclaimed, and then abruptly stood up, sending me gliding down onto Slash's lap.

"Ow," Slash whimpered, although he was snorting, and I found myself chuckling too. I no longer had enough energy to measly prop myself back up, because at this point, I was sick of this hammock. Therefore, I remained with my head rested on Slash's lap in defeat.

"You're so delicate," Slash commented, and I growled at him as he pushed strands of long red hair out of my face. "It's surprising you didn't fall off."

"I'll push you off," I spat, irked yet undoubtedly flustered.

"You wouldn't dream of it," he remarked, cockiness coating his tone. And I only nodded, because he was never wrong. He knew me too well, and should I have been worried about that?

"Where do you think they are?" He inquired, and I heaved an exasperated sigh.

"I don't care," I declared, and then he pulled his infamous skeptic expression again.

"Is that so?" He pressed, and I pushed my hair back over my face to hide away my embarrassment. I should have been worried. He knew too well, well enough to realize that I was clearly unhappy about the entire Izzy and Steven scenario, nor was I content with the events that had played out during last week's rehearsal for our thriving band. But what good did it do him to find that out?

I stopped replying to him and turned on my side, allowing my cheek to press against his thigh. Absentmindedly, his hand found it's way to my hair, and he began intertwining his fingers with the unkempt, oleaginous strands.

This was a period of content, his way of wishing that I'd find serenity in his reassurance. He could feel anxiety and impatience resonating around me, feeding into his own demeanor and obstructing his happiness with mild concern. And of course, with the tenderness of his soul, and his consistent urge to make things better, he would relentlessly attempt softening each overbearing emotion.

"This will get better, you know?" I didn't believe my own words, but if Slash was that gullible, then perhaps he would.

"Axl? Is that you?" He joked, and then chuckled at his own words. Nutty, but adorable nonetheless.

"Very funny," I mumble monotonously. "But I think we can get through it, right? Izzy and Steven are just going through shit."

"What shit?"

"Just.. shit," I trailed off. Yet there he was, pulling me away from my introspection and settling me back into reality— the reality where he was right here comforting me.

I knew he was smiling. When was he not?

So I smiled too, slowly drifting off with his fingers running through my hair, and his lap sufficing as a pillow.

Yet before I could venture out into a peaceful sleep, the hammock shifts again and this time, Duff is picking my legs up to make room for himself, and then resting them back down on his own lap. I sit up, narrowing my eyes at him.

"What is it now, Duff?"

"Sorry to ruin whatever the fuck that was," he wavers his hand at Slash and I with his nose scrunched up, "But Izzy and Steven said we have to hold an important band meeting tomorrow."

Well shit.