Everything You Know Is Wrong - Chapter 7

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WithoutSpeaking

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Remember - PM me to read Chapter 6!

Title: Everything You Know Is Wrong
Author: withoutspeaking
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: None of these fine Irishmen are mine, and this is complete and utter fiction.

*****************


I dreamt of when Edge and I were young.

I used to see him in the hallway at Mount Temple, always sitting by himself, a song in his head and guitar in his hands. His hair was wild. I remember giggling to myself and wondering if he’d ever combed it – but then again, none of those boys did back then.

He was in a band called “Feedback” or “The Hype” or something like that, along with a few of the boys in my form. They were always changing the name and I could never get it straight. I couldn’t keep track of what they’d called each other either, silly art boys as they were. I’d never seen them play but I heard they were decent, the singer was a bit of all right according to most of the girls but no one really mentioned the quiet boy who played the guitar.

Sometimes he would look up at me from underneath those bushy eyebrows when I walked past him; and sometimes, he paid me no mind at all. He was a slip of a boy, all legs and arms and long, slender fingers. When I stood for a moment and watched him play, he quite obviously had the fingers of a musician, easily drifting over the strings and caressing the neck of the guitar with such skill and grace. I would occasionally catch a flash of his green eyes from beneath that cool exterior, and if I was lucky, maybe even a bit of a smile. His features were striking – all angles and cheekbones to form that wonderful profile of his; whenever I stole a glance at him, I couldn’t help but wonder what he’d look like when he finally grew into them.

His name was David Evans, but I knew that his goofy mates called him “The Edge”. I couldn’t really say I fancied him at the time, but I found him intriguing, to say the least. I’d wished he wasn’t so shy.

Maybe one day, he’ll actually say hello.

I certainly wasn’t going to do it first.

* * *​


I dreamt about an afternoon in Phoenix Park, Bono and Edge were arguing over something trivial. And, as 17-year-old boys were wont to do, fists would often be ready to come out. Bono and I had just started hanging around with each other a few weeks before that, and, although Bono and I were friends, I often found myself agreeing with Edge whenever they quarreled. It usually resulted in me keeping silent – I thought that the best plan. The idea made me chuckle at the time – some things never change.

It was a crisp fall day and we’d all decided to skive off school for the afternoon and go to the park together.

Bono had Edge restrained facedown on the ground, he was coughing and spitting out sod and leaves and I put my boot on Bono’s back.

“Come on, get off,” I demanded of Bono and he grabbed my knee, dragging me down onto him and tickling me until all three of us were laughing and tumbling over each other. Once I’d found all the ticklish spots on Bono that sent him into fits of giggles, he curled up in the turf, his hair full of grass and he was laughing too hard to fight back. Edge put his arms around my waist and lifted me off Bono, placing me on the ground as he crawled on top of me. Edge had a slight frame but his forearms were strong; I was no match for him as he tickled my sides and sent me into hysterics as I writhed in amused torture beneath him.

“EDGE! Quit quit quit quit QUIT!!!!” I cried, tears in my eyes from giggling so hard. Edge stopped suddenly, panting above me – his eyes sparkling as he looked down at me, pinned to the grass. He reached out and brushed my hair away from my face. For a brief moment our eyes locked before he turned away, blushing, taking my hands and lifting me with him like the gentleman he was.



* * *​


I dreamt of the night everything had changed.

The three of us had gone down to Dockers Pub that night and got splendidly intoxicated on cider and black & tans.

Bono had been inching closer to me on the pub bench all night, and by this point our thighs were touching. His hand grazed lightly over the inside of my leg as he sang drunken Clash lyrics into my ear. Edge watched us intently from across the table, chewing on his lip and refusing to meet my eyes.

Eventually growing tired of being a spectator to Bono’s advances, Edge accepted a pint from a girl who had ‘seen him around school’ and ‘loved his band’ and ‘ooo, could he show her how to play the guitar’. He retreated into a dark corner with her and talked and laughed with her for the rest of the evening.

My heart sank when I saw him take her hand and pull her into a drunken kiss.

“Bono ... won’t you just take me home already?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

A few years later, Edge would marry her.
 
PM'd you guys with the info. There are at least a couple more I can't post on here either so best to get the Live Journal rockin. I've actually written up to Chapter 10.
 
I started a little fanfic community if anyone is interested. I just have my stories on there right now (and a new one called "Lost Highway") but I hope to have more writers soon, I have a few lined up so far. Click on my profile for the link if you are interested.
 
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