The man sat with his two best friends at his side.

The guitar Phil had gotten him in his lap, a bottle of the finest whiskey he could buy next to his knee.

He took another swig and placed it back down, strumming a few chords on his unplugged guitar.

A few more strums, a few more power chords, he found himself playing one of his favorites off their soon-to-be-released album.

"Love bites, love bleeds, it's bringin' me to my knees."

The blonde bit his lip, reminding himself that no one was around to hear him sing.

He sung a little louder.

"Love lives, love dies, it's no surprise."

He sighed softly, letting his grown out hair land over his eyes. He didn't need to see his guitar to play it flawlessly.

"Love begs, love pleads, it's what I need."

The man realized he was hunched over his guitar, sniffling. He accepted this, though, and sobbed until his eyes burned.

"Steve?"

He glanced up, his golden mane falling out of his face.

"Yes, beautiful?"

Phi crouched down beside him, wiping tears away with his thumb.

"Sweetheart, why are you crying?"

Phil sat down, purposely moving the bottle away from his boyfriend, who laid down with his head in Phil's lap.

"I love you."

"I love you, too, Steph'. Are you done packing?"

"Yeah."

"Just three shows, baby boy. Then the album's out. And then it's really showtime." Phil pressed a kiss to Steve's forehead, running his fingers through his hair.

"Okay."

Steve closed his eyes, nuzzling into Phil's body.

"Would it be okay if I was addicted to you instead of my bottles?" Steve asked, staring up at Phil with large, puppyish-eyes.

"That would be wonderful." Phil chuckled, enjoying the short period of bonding they had.

"Good, because right now I like both, but I think I like you more." Steve grinned, reaching up and caressing Phil's face.

"You're so sweet." Phil whispered, biting his lip. Steve had fallen asleep on his lap. He must've been up late packing.

"Just three shows."

•

"Elliott, count to ten."

"One, two, three-"

"Alright, the mic should be fine. Sing somethin' high. We don't want interference."

Joe went ahead and did so, obeying the man testing the microphones.

"That's good. You can turn it off now."

Joe flicked the mic off, stepping back to where his boyfriend was tuning his shiny white bass.

"You ready for tonight?" Joe smiled, ruffling his lover's hair. Sav growled, fluffing back up the spot Joe had flattened.

"Yeah, I just hope Steve isn't gonna be as fuckin' smashed as he is now when we go on."

"He's going to be fine, excuse you." Phil's sweetly sarcastic voice carried over to the couple, a scowl crossing his lips.

"He never goes on hammered." Phil defended his love, even though Steve had been cold to him since they left Sheffield. He's just homesick, Phil told himself, over and over again.

Sav rolled his eyes. He was losing faith that Steve could pull through his addiction, but he would still support him. The man needed help, after all. Sav was still his childhood friend.

Joe placed a hand on the bassist's shoulder reassuringly.

"Phil is right, baby. Steve will be okay. He always puts on a good show." Joe whispered as Phil retreated back over to his guitar to finish prepping.

"I just feel like this is more than a like to drink. I really think he needs help, Joe." Sav pressed, mentally noting all the times Steve had been drunk beyond words and all the times Phil had called him in tears, looking for advice.

Their old times of laying together and talking had ended once Steve's problem had truly taken off.

Sav missed it.

"What about you? Are you ready?" Sav turned the conversation when Joe didn't answer, his gaze shifting into concern.

"Yeah, I'm good. I can't wait to kick off the world tour in two months." Joe grinned, sitting down on the stage next to Sav.

Joe rested his hand on Sav's cheek, smiling softly. He leaned in, pressing their lips together tenderly.

"I love you." Sav whispered, his voice almost breaking with all the emotion that was flooding through him.

"I love you, too, babe." Joe smiled sweetly, resting his forehead against his boyfriend's.

"Steve, baby, are you alright?"

"Get out of my way, Phil."

The gruff, drunken voice slashed their perfect moment in two.

"Steve, I love you."

There was no reply as the taller of the two began to tune his guitar.

"Good luck tonight, Steph'."

Phil trailed off back to the bus.

Sav felt his heart shatter for his friend.

He found himself standing in front of the guitarist, scowling.

"Is that how you treat your fucking boyfriend?"

Steve glared up at him, eyes hazy.

"You fucking addict. Disgusting, asshole, addict!" Sav shouted when Steve gave no reply but a lazy blink and a smirk.

"Sav!"

Sav crashed his fist into Steve's cheek, sending him sailing onto his back, guitar following along around his neck.

Steve lay sprawled across the stage, face burning, from either pain or anger.

"Rick Savage, what the fuck are you doing?!" Joe's angry screams only hit Sav's ears then.

He growled under his breath and sulked off to the bus, bass left on the stage. Joe put it back on the stand, grumbling under his breath.

"Why'd he do that, Joe?"

Joe glared over at Steve.

"Because he's right. You're being a fucking prick to your boyfriend. You're lucky he hasn't fucking left you."

Although Joe lowered his voice on the last part, Steve heard it loud and clear.

"He- he promised he wouldn't."

Joe knew he had struck a nerve. Shite.

"He said he wouldn't leave me, Joe. He loves me."

"Do you still love him? Because if you don't, you're wasting his effin' time." Joe was starting to care less and less about whether he made Steve cry or not.

"I love him more than anything." Steve whimpered, voice breaking halfway through.

"More than liquor?" Joe pressed, folding his arms as he stared down at the guitarist.

Steve nodded.

"I want to spend all my time with Phil, but the whiskey just drags me away. Every time. I want to hold him and take him out to dinner and shite, but my flask screams at me to stay home, drink more."

Joe was silent for a moment.

"Aren't you strong enough to not let alcohol tell you what to do?"

"I used to be."

Joe sat down, face buried in his hands.

"I might be."

Steve bit his lip, holding out the container dressed in silvery robes in front of him. The flask glinted in the late afternoon sun.

"I am."

"You are." Joe agreed, looking over to his friend.

"I know I am."

Steve declared, throwing the flask to the ground. He stomped on it until the lid cracked open, spilling sweet whiskey all over the concrete in front of the stage.

"I don't need it."

"Go apologize to Phil." Joe murmured, running his hands through his hair.

Steve nodded, standing and trotting off to the bus as quickly as a drunk man could.