Hysteria.
a state in which your emotions (such as love) are so strong that you behave in an uncontrolled way.

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Steve buried his head in his hands.
He stared down at the concrete under his shoes.

The lanky, blonde man blew out a sigh from between pale lips, running his fingers through his long, wavy hair. His Vintage Sunburst Les Paul leaned against the wooden bench he sat on, next to a bus stop a few meters down the street. The bustling traffic didn't help the stress building up in his muscles. A notebook was seated next to his thigh, opened to a blank page; consequentially, the first page.

It was Autumn, 1982.
Sheffield, England.

Steve was overwhelmed.

He twirled some of his locks around his first finger, beginning to hum a riff from the last album he had put out, titled High 'N Dry, 1981.

Although it was the second album they had released under the band name Def Leppard, they still were yet to find a hit.

In a world drunk on rock 'n' roll, Steve thought their rough sound would fit right in, as it was the start of a new era.

A promising era, for the 80's already reeked of filthy, harsh, downright disgusting rock 'n' roll.

Def Leppard was founded in 1977 on just that.

Two friends, vocalist Joe Elliott and bassist Rick Savage, better known as just 'Sav'. They were later joined by drummer Rick Allen and lead guitarist Pete Willis.

Pete had invited Steve to audition for the band once, but Steve hadn't bothered to show up. He always was the shy, quiet type; just a not-so-lonely man and his guitar.

The second time Pete asked, though, Steve appeared in front of his future band and played the solo of Lynyrd Skynyrd's Free Bird unaccompanied.

He joined on the spot.

Their first record, On Through The Night, released in 1980, barely struck a match in their scene. Still, the band was unfazed by it: who's going to get big with their debut album anyway?

They were sure High 'N Dry was it.
The 42 minute LP had some of their best material on it, ten times better than the debut in Steve's opinion.
The band had put its faith into Bringin' On The Heartbreak - the ballad didn't even make the charts.

They were running out of money, their small jobs weren't bringing in enough to keep a manager, never mind renting a studio or recording equipment.

Steve was starting to get the vibe that they weren't going to make it after all.

Yet the world was oblivious to the minuscule band's wishes, and Joe felt it in his heart to believe and start writing again.

The traffic paused, and only moments later a soft voice broke the silence that screamed in Steve's ears.

A singing voice.
Steve knew who that was.

"Gypsy, sittin' lookin' pretty, the broken rose with laughing eyes."

Steve glanced up, blue eyes shimmering as he rolled them at his older friend.

"'Aye, Steve. What are you doing out here all 'lone?" Joe's British accent purred, a small smirk crossing his thin lips. Steve only shrugged.

Joe was tall and leggy, even more so than Steve, with brown-dyed-blonde long hair that reached just past his shoulders. It reminded Steve of a lion's mane; and boy, could that lion who wore it roar.

The elder of the two crossed in front of the other man, taking a seat next to Steve, pinning the guitar neck between their knees.
Steve gently arranged it so the strings wouldn't become any less tuned than they already weren't.

"Have you got anything?" Joe murmured, leaning over his friend's lap to peer at his notebook. Steve quickly shut it.

"Inspiration doesn't like to appear when stress is all your mind has room for." Steve replied, his voice almost a whisper.

And the truth was that Steve was stressed, and had a right reason to be.

Joe sighed knowingly, nodding.

"I know, it's a lot to be thrown onto your shoulders. But you can do it, mate, we believe in you."

"It's too much, Joe. I don't know how anyone does it. Pete may not have been much help toward the end, but his creative input was something. Now I'm on my own."

Pete had a drinking problem. It was depressing to watch, but in the end there was no other choice but to "ask him to leave" - kick him out.

Now Steve was left on his own, halfway through writing an album and not knowing how to begin again.

The blonde chuckled at himself. Damn, Clark, you sound pathetic. It's your job. Do it.

But he couldn't.

Joe knew Steve needed help. And he had found just the man; a member of a band named Girl, ironically.

"Steve?"

"Yeah, mate?"

"Come back to the garage. I've got someone for you to meet."

Steve raised an eyebrow but did not protest, knowing he wasn't getting anything done here anyway. He slung the reddish Gibson over his shoulder and grabbed his notebook, tucking it under his arm as Joe led the way down the avenue.

Steve didn't bother asking what was at the garage - he could sense it was important. His friend's loose curls bounced along upon his tall head as they swiftly trotted to the Joe's garage, where the band always met up.

They arrived in spare five minutes. Steve cocked his head slightly to the right as he noticed someone new.

"Joe, who's that?"

Joe grinned, obviously pleased with his work.

"His name's Phil Collen. Our replacement for Pete, if only temporarily."

Steve almost hit the floor. Thank the queen.

The duo made their way across the street to the garage, Steve nervously fondling his guitar strap.

The stranger stood, a thrilling smile slicing open his lips.

"Nice to meet you, mate. You're Steve, I presume?"

Spare me a thought, Steve murmured internally. He's gorgeous.

Phil stuck out a hand for Steve to shake. The blonde dropped the notebook and pencil on the dusty ground without consideration, starting to grin as their hands met.

The chemistry was so electric, Steve believed he had been shocked. The two young men stared into each other's eyes; blue versus blue.
Neither had noticed they had been standing, hands clasped together, for almost a minute straight without a word.

Rick tapped his drumsticks together in the corner.

Steve snapped back into action.

"Y-yeah, that's me." He replied with a sheepish grin, stepping back from the handshake. "And you're Phil, 'I presume'?" He mocked playfully, getting a chuckle and an eye-roll from his new acquaintance.

"Indeed I am. Now, I've some ideas for riffs. Come talk?" Phil proposed, his own Jackson Soloist gripped tightly in his opposite hand.

Steve nodded, taking a seat on a rather low table. He strummed his guitar, cringing at the slight out-of-tune sound. He began to tune it by ear, feeling self-conscious next to the other guitarist. He didn't understand why, but he felt the need to impress the other man.

Phil smiled softly over at the taller man next to him, watching his fingers dash over the fret board when he finally got each string just right and start to crank out a classic Led Zeppelin riff.

Joe watched from afar, half-talking to Sav, half-making sure the two he "set-up" were doing alright.

"They've got it mate, I can already tell. They were meant to be each other's other half." Sav murmured, plucking nonchalantly at his large bass slung low over his thighs. Joe nodded. He could feel it too.

"Can you feel it in the air? Hmm, hmm..such a strange emotion.." Joe began to murmur, humming in parts he hadn't figured out yet. Sav raised an eyebrow.

"Lyrics. I've got a new song forming up here." Joe motioned to his head. "Hold on, I gotta write this shite down."

Sav laughed quietly as his old friend rushed off to find paper. Behind him, Rick had risen from his kit.

"You think Phil's the right one?" The youngest member asked softly. Sav nodded confidently, his beautiful features forming a smirk.

"For the band, or for Steve?" Sav chuckled sarcastically, playing with his long, tight curls.

"Both," is how Rick replied.