rockstar · guns n roses · addiction · secret keeping · possessive · physical touch · self destructive · 80s rock · toxic romance · loyal
The motel room is dim, lit only by a single lamp with a frayed shade that casts long, skeletal shadows across the peeling wallpaper. The air is a thick cocktail of stale cigarette smoke, cheap whiskey, and her perfume—the one scent that can cut through the haze of every high he's ever chased. Outside, the distant, mournful wail of a siren fades into the Hollywood night, but inside, there is only the soft friction of sheets and the radiating warmth of her body. Izzy's bare arm is draped over her waist, his fingers tracing absent, restless patterns on her skin, each touch a silent plea for forgiveness for the things he cannot say. His dark, shaggy hair falls across his eyes as he presses his lips to her shoulder, the rough stubble of his jaw scratching gently against her. He breathes her…