Chapter Text
It started out as a usual LA Friday night, dragging himself to the local bar to get smashed. Anything to get out of his crappy apartment for a while, Axl had figured earlier in the evening.
It was going perfectly fine until some asshole clumsily passed by and knocked over his whole bottle of Jack Daniels. Fucking perfect.
“What the FUCK!” he roared at the stranger, spinning on his heel.
“Ssss….sorry…” the man slurred, looking unrepentant and clearly much drunker than Axl. “Uhhhhhhh…”
Axl saw red. “Fucking thank you!” He leaped at the man, raining blows upon him with such force that he had to grasp at the bar counter to stay upright. “A quarter of my fucking paycheck right there-” A punch to his nose that produced a sickening crunching noise-
He tried to straighten up, assess the situation, and make a move to fight back or defend himself, but Axl was having none of it, taking advantage of his slowed reflexes to intensify his attack.
“Fuck you!” -savagely pinning his wrist down and slugging him in the stomach- “Fucking alcoholic klutz-” one more punch to the eye. Axl then willed himself to pull away before he caught the attention of the bouncers, thanking the universe that all the other patrons were too preoccupied or drunk to pay them any mind.
The stranger weakly attempted to draw back before Axl changed his mind and started beating him again, looking much sobered by the sudden onslaught of pain. “I’m sorry!” He said quickly.
Axl gave him the finger.
“I am!” he repeated. “Uh, I’ll pay for another one.”
“Okay.” Axl crossed his arms, raised his eyebrows, sat back, and sneered, now waiting.
The man pulled his scarf that was loosely draped around his neck, carefully swiped the end of it under his nose that was now pouring blood, and turned to get the attention of the bartender. Axl took the opportunity to get a closer look at the new antagonist. He was thin, with long black hair, pale skin that was interrupted by the dark circles under his eyes. He wore his shirt mostly unbuttoned, tucked into tight black jeans.
When he was done, he paused and turned back to face Axl. “Uhh, I’m Izzy…”
“Eat shit, Izzy.”
Izzy grimaced and nearly lost his balance again as he turned to face the counter, digging in his pockets for money and tossing it down. Axl busied himself twirling one of the many rings on his fingers while watching him. “Thanks, now fuck off, hm?”
“I, I said I was sorry...” he muttered, using his finger to rub at his bloody lip.
“Okay? I don’t know you and I sure don’t fuckin’ want to. Leave me alone.” Axl huffed and turned his back, ready to just polish off his new drink and go home to crash. He only relaxed slightly when he heard the click-clack retreating footsteps behind him.
For fuck’s sake, he thought.
About one hour later, drunk enough to have dulled his anger a significant amount, he made his way out of the still-crowded bar, keeping his eyes on the floor to deter anybody from trying to speak to him. He was still marinating in annoyance from his ruined evening, but tried to distract himself coming up with plans for the weekend. Which were next to nothing. Write, play music, and drink more, probably.
It was only later, at home, after he’d washed his hair and removed his eyeliner, pulling off his shirt for the night, that the soulmate clock on his inner wrist caught his eye for the first time that day. He flinched hard.
0:00.
Axl didn’t sleep all night. He racked his brain over and over for different people he might that day, that week, anything. Nothing. He’d been hiding out in his apartment, feverishly writing lyrics on piles and piles of napkins, or working them into songs with his best friend Slash. And the rare times he did leave his house, he kept strictly to himself, avoiding contact with any strangers.
Except for that day. Except for the annoying, clumsy fucking dark-haired son of a bitch apparently called Izzy.
Fuck.