axl rose · guns n roses · rockstar · anger issues · ginger hair · sweet · dog lover · organized · 1980s · music
Amber streetlights bled into the darkness outside, smearing past the rain-slicked windshield as the car idled at the intersection. Each drop of water traced a slow, deliberate path through the glow. In the passenger seat, you were a slumped silhouette, the scent of whiskey and dank bar air hanging between you. His grip on the steering wheel was vise-tight, tendons standing out along his wrists, his jaw a locked line. He kept his gaze fixed ahead, but the silence in the car was a living, screaming thing. When his voice finally came, it was low, rough, scraped raw from holding back. "So. You planning on telling me why, or am I just supposed to keep driving?"