DreamOutLoud13
Blue Crack Addict
Okay, this is just something sorta shortish. It was inspired by two things. One, the situation the protaganist is dealing with is completely based on what I'm going through right now. I'm seperated from my best friend now, and have been depressed about it. The night before last, I was mulling over it in my mind and couldn't sleep, and decided to distract myself by thinking about Bono 
This was just after all of the 'drunk Bono in London' photos had hit PLEBA, so that's what my mind turned to. More specifically his jacket. I got a little obsessed with it 
Anyway, I ended up writing this whole thing in my head as I was falling asleep. I started writing it out yesterday, and finished it up this morning. Writing it really helped me feel better 
It's in second person, which is a sort of weird way to write (I prefer third person), but it's nice to write short little things in second person. Especially fanfic involving Bono
And it's set in London (duh!) though what is with me setting fics in London? 
I've never been there.
And for anyone wondering about my Edge of Time fic, I'll get to it, just give me time
Denim Jacket
He's gone, and there's nothing you can do about it. He's been your closest friend for years, but now he's gone. Off to school, off to have a new life, and now you're stuck here alone. You miss him. You miss him so bad, and it hurts. You can't sit here alone any longer. Too many photos on the walls, too many memories.
So you get out, just to have a bit of a walk through your corner of the city. You get out to clear your head. The air is cool and calming. The lights and sounds of traffic, dazzling. Your plan is just to walk a little while, and go back home. But when you see the dim, inviting lights of a small pub, you get an urge to go in. You hadn't planned on drinking tonight, but now that the pub is right there, just across the street, you decide that one drink would probably do you some good right now. You can't get him out of your head. Maybe one drink will help ease the heartache.
The pub is almost deserted. A few people are clustered around some of the small tables. A man in his late 60s is perched on a stool at the end of the bar, in animated conversation with the bartender. You take a seat toward the opposite end and wait. It's a full minute before the bartender is able to break away from the elderly gentleman and take your order.
He brings you your beer, and you've taken a full swallow before you realize there's a jacket hanging over the back of the barstool next to you. It's denim, and despite the dim lighting in the pub, you can tell that it's nowhere near new. Your curiousity gets the better of you, and you give the jacket a quick examination. The edges of the collar and the sleeves are slightly frayed. The inside of the jacket is a clear, light blue, but the outer surface of the material is dark with age. It looks as though it could use a run through a washing machine.
You turn back to your drink and are just wondering if you should move down to the next stool before the jacket's owner comes back when you hear a door somewhere off to your right swing open and then shut again. You turn and look, surely this must be the owner of the jacket returning.
He's a short man, middle aged, with very short reddish hair. He's dressed in dark clothes, and is wearing funky blue-toned shades. Indoors, at night. You scoff into your foamy glass. Poor lad, he's probably having some sort of mid-life crisis and thinks he looks quite cool.
He takes his seat beside you, and the bartender breaks immediately away from the elderly gentleman to attend to Mr. Denim Jacket. He orders a Guinness, and you notice that he sounds a bit Irish. But there's something else there too. His voice sounds very familiar, you're sure you've heard it before.
As you ponder this, you take another look at him. He notices, and gives a smile. Suddenly, it's like John Lennon put it: one and one and one is three. You put it all together, the face, the glasses, and the voice, and realize who he is. This is Bono. Leader of U2. Sitting next to you.
You feel as though the floor has suddenly dropped out from under you. You find yourself grabbing the edge of the bar for support. Your mind is spinning with every recollection of Bono and U2 that you can muster. You're not really a U2 fan. The last time you even really thought of the band was over a year ago, because of Live 8. You watched it of course. Everyone watched it.
You feel a supporting hand on your upper back and realize why. You're sitting here, probably white as a sheet, holding onto the bar for dear life. You turn and look, he's got one hand on your back, and is watching you with concern.
"Are you okay?" He sounds concerned. More memories flood your head. This is Bono. The rockstar with a conscience. He's looking at you with genuine, human compassion. Like a regular man, not like an arrogant rockstar.
You sit up and shrug away his hand. "Just got a bit dizzy there."
He smiles. "Maybe you shouldn't be drinking then?"
You stare at him for just a moment, then force yourself to look away. You still can't believe this is really him. You've never met anyone famous before, and fate has decided to let you start with a real whopper. He's twice your age, even more, surely. But he's handsome for his age, and dripping with charm.
"I'm fine." You say, and take another long draught. You swallow, and then involuntarily let out a mournful sigh. You're not fine. If you were fine, you wouldn't be sitting here drowning your sorrows. You feel his hand again, this time on your forearm. Before he can ask again, you save him the trouble. "I miss someone."
He raises his eyebrows behind the blue shades. "A boyfriend?"
You give a genuine smile at that, but it fades quickly enough. "Worse. A best friend."
"Oh." He says, but he doesn't press farther. He takes a sip of his drink. It leaves a bit of foam on his upper lip. You try not to stare as his tongue darts out to remove it. You blink, avert your eyes, and continue.
"He left this morning, for university. It's not like I'll never see him again, and it's not like we've never been apart before, but this is different. I just know he's going to be so busy, and making new friends, and having a whole new life, and nothing will ever be the same."
You turn away, your cheeks growing pink. You hadn't meant to spill it all out like that. But now that you have, the grief you've been toying with all day almost overwhelms you. You quickly raise both hands up to your face and rub furiously, attempting to discourage the tears you feel welling up from coming.
You feel his hand on your shoulder again as he leans in. "It's alright." He says, in a low, soothing voice.
You turn to look at him. He looks more than concerned now, he looks worried. You look away again, and make a noncommittal noise. But this doesn't discourage him, he presses farther.
"The two of you care for one another, correct?"
"Yes." You say, and take another drink of your beer.
"Then things will surely work out. If he cares about you as much as you clearly care about him, then he'll do his best to stay close to you. It's going to be difficult, and it's probably going to hurt, but I think things will be alright." He finishes by giving your shoulder a small squeeze, before letting go.
You nod slowly. "I suppose." You raise your glass and take another good swallow before turning toward him. You look into his eyes for what must be the first time during your little encounter. Maybe it's the glasses, but they look amazingly blue. "Thank you. I feel better."
"Honestly?" The corners of his mouth turn up.
You nod your head slightly and smile. "Honestly."
"Good." He smiles fully now. He shoots a look at the glasses sitting on the bar. Both are now about half full. He returns his eyes to you. "How about I buy the next round?"
You blush and lower your eyes, but before you can open your mouth to answer, his mobile phone rings, ruining the moment.
"Excuse me." He says, plucking a small phone from his pocket as he stands. He steps a few feet away to take the call.
You wait, wondering whether you should accept the offer to have another drink with him. You're incredibly flattered that he asked, though you know it was just a friendly offer, nothing more than that. He's married, you don't know for certain, but think that surely he must be. If he weren't, the trashy tabloids would surely be filled with all the juicy details of his illicit affairs.
He comes back quickly enough, tucking the phone back into the front pocket of his jeans. "I'm terribly sorry, I need to go."
You smile and nod. "It's okay, I understand."
He offers his hand and you shake it. "It was nice meeting you."
"You too." The words are out of your mouth before you realize how they sound and you nearly cringe. But he doesn't seem to notice. He turns to go, stopping once to wave goodbye, and then he's out the door and gone, just like that.
You turn back to the bar and just sit for a moment, thinking about how surreal the whole encounter was. You just met Bono, had a drink with him, and had him comforting you. Amazing. You smile and are just picking up your glass when you notice that his denim jacket is still hanging across the back of the barstool. Without really thinking about it, you set your glass back down, grab the jacket up into your arms and rush out the door with it.
Out on the sidewalk, you look both ways and spot him, already halfway down the block. You chase after him for a moment, then stop and call out. "Bono!"
He stops and turns, looking around. When he spots you, he smiles with recognition and begins walking back toward you. You move toward him and the two of you reconvene.
"You left your jacket." You say, holding it out to you.
He takes it slowly, smiling, looking at you with an amused, slightly awed look on his face. "I didn't think you knew who I was."
You blush and smile, bringing one hand up to your face, embarrassed. "I recognized you. That's why I almost fell off my stool."
He laughs then. It's a beautiful sound. "I do sometimes have that effect on women."
You laugh too, and then he's pulling the jacket on, and a somewhat awkward silence falls on the two of you. You break it. "Well, I know you have to be going." You say, preparing to back away.
He nods. "I do." But he doesn't move away yet.
"Thanks again, for you know." You gesture vaguely.
"Don't mention it." He says, and then he's opening his arms, inviting you into an embrace. You seem to fall into his arms. The hug is amazingly comforting. You cheek is pressed against the shoulder of his dirty denim jacket, and you make note that it doesn't smell bad at all. It does have a worn, lived in sort of smell, but mostly it smells of whatever cologne he's wearing. But this hug, however brief, is less about him, and more about another man, the one who's been on your mind all day. You wish the strong arms around you belonged to him.
Bono lets go of you, but before you pull away from him, at least a couple of tears manage to escape your eyes, further darkening the tarnished denim jacket. You take a step back, and wipe under your eyes with your thumb.
"Thank you." You whisper.
He nods, taking a step back as well. "I'll see you around."
You nod, smiling, and turn away. But you know it's not true. You won't be seeing him again. Things like this happen only once in a lifetime.
You take a few steps back toward the pub. You've only been gone a moment, the bartender probably hasn't even discarded the rest of your drink yet. But at almost the last moment, you pivot the other way and continue down the road. You really don't feel like drinking anymore. You still miss him, and it still hurts, but you feel better now. Thanks to Bono.
You turn and look back, but Bono's already out of sight. You smile and continue on your way. If you didn't know better, you'd almost think you'd imagined the whole thing.
This was just after all of the 'drunk Bono in London' photos had hit PLEBA, so that's what my mind turned to. More specifically his jacket. I got a little obsessed with it Anyway, I ended up writing this whole thing in my head as I was falling asleep. I started writing it out yesterday, and finished it up this morning. Writing it really helped me feel better It's in second person, which is a sort of weird way to write (I prefer third person), but it's nice to write short little things in second person. Especially fanfic involving Bono
And it's set in London (duh!) though what is with me setting fics in London? I've never been there.And for anyone wondering about my Edge of Time fic, I'll get to it, just give me time
Denim Jacket
He's gone, and there's nothing you can do about it. He's been your closest friend for years, but now he's gone. Off to school, off to have a new life, and now you're stuck here alone. You miss him. You miss him so bad, and it hurts. You can't sit here alone any longer. Too many photos on the walls, too many memories.
So you get out, just to have a bit of a walk through your corner of the city. You get out to clear your head. The air is cool and calming. The lights and sounds of traffic, dazzling. Your plan is just to walk a little while, and go back home. But when you see the dim, inviting lights of a small pub, you get an urge to go in. You hadn't planned on drinking tonight, but now that the pub is right there, just across the street, you decide that one drink would probably do you some good right now. You can't get him out of your head. Maybe one drink will help ease the heartache.
The pub is almost deserted. A few people are clustered around some of the small tables. A man in his late 60s is perched on a stool at the end of the bar, in animated conversation with the bartender. You take a seat toward the opposite end and wait. It's a full minute before the bartender is able to break away from the elderly gentleman and take your order.
He brings you your beer, and you've taken a full swallow before you realize there's a jacket hanging over the back of the barstool next to you. It's denim, and despite the dim lighting in the pub, you can tell that it's nowhere near new. Your curiousity gets the better of you, and you give the jacket a quick examination. The edges of the collar and the sleeves are slightly frayed. The inside of the jacket is a clear, light blue, but the outer surface of the material is dark with age. It looks as though it could use a run through a washing machine.
You turn back to your drink and are just wondering if you should move down to the next stool before the jacket's owner comes back when you hear a door somewhere off to your right swing open and then shut again. You turn and look, surely this must be the owner of the jacket returning.
He's a short man, middle aged, with very short reddish hair. He's dressed in dark clothes, and is wearing funky blue-toned shades. Indoors, at night. You scoff into your foamy glass. Poor lad, he's probably having some sort of mid-life crisis and thinks he looks quite cool.
He takes his seat beside you, and the bartender breaks immediately away from the elderly gentleman to attend to Mr. Denim Jacket. He orders a Guinness, and you notice that he sounds a bit Irish. But there's something else there too. His voice sounds very familiar, you're sure you've heard it before.
As you ponder this, you take another look at him. He notices, and gives a smile. Suddenly, it's like John Lennon put it: one and one and one is three. You put it all together, the face, the glasses, and the voice, and realize who he is. This is Bono. Leader of U2. Sitting next to you.
You feel as though the floor has suddenly dropped out from under you. You find yourself grabbing the edge of the bar for support. Your mind is spinning with every recollection of Bono and U2 that you can muster. You're not really a U2 fan. The last time you even really thought of the band was over a year ago, because of Live 8. You watched it of course. Everyone watched it.
You feel a supporting hand on your upper back and realize why. You're sitting here, probably white as a sheet, holding onto the bar for dear life. You turn and look, he's got one hand on your back, and is watching you with concern.
"Are you okay?" He sounds concerned. More memories flood your head. This is Bono. The rockstar with a conscience. He's looking at you with genuine, human compassion. Like a regular man, not like an arrogant rockstar.
You sit up and shrug away his hand. "Just got a bit dizzy there."
He smiles. "Maybe you shouldn't be drinking then?"
You stare at him for just a moment, then force yourself to look away. You still can't believe this is really him. You've never met anyone famous before, and fate has decided to let you start with a real whopper. He's twice your age, even more, surely. But he's handsome for his age, and dripping with charm.
"I'm fine." You say, and take another long draught. You swallow, and then involuntarily let out a mournful sigh. You're not fine. If you were fine, you wouldn't be sitting here drowning your sorrows. You feel his hand again, this time on your forearm. Before he can ask again, you save him the trouble. "I miss someone."
He raises his eyebrows behind the blue shades. "A boyfriend?"
You give a genuine smile at that, but it fades quickly enough. "Worse. A best friend."
"Oh." He says, but he doesn't press farther. He takes a sip of his drink. It leaves a bit of foam on his upper lip. You try not to stare as his tongue darts out to remove it. You blink, avert your eyes, and continue.
"He left this morning, for university. It's not like I'll never see him again, and it's not like we've never been apart before, but this is different. I just know he's going to be so busy, and making new friends, and having a whole new life, and nothing will ever be the same."
You turn away, your cheeks growing pink. You hadn't meant to spill it all out like that. But now that you have, the grief you've been toying with all day almost overwhelms you. You quickly raise both hands up to your face and rub furiously, attempting to discourage the tears you feel welling up from coming.
You feel his hand on your shoulder again as he leans in. "It's alright." He says, in a low, soothing voice.
You turn to look at him. He looks more than concerned now, he looks worried. You look away again, and make a noncommittal noise. But this doesn't discourage him, he presses farther.
"The two of you care for one another, correct?"
"Yes." You say, and take another drink of your beer.
"Then things will surely work out. If he cares about you as much as you clearly care about him, then he'll do his best to stay close to you. It's going to be difficult, and it's probably going to hurt, but I think things will be alright." He finishes by giving your shoulder a small squeeze, before letting go.
You nod slowly. "I suppose." You raise your glass and take another good swallow before turning toward him. You look into his eyes for what must be the first time during your little encounter. Maybe it's the glasses, but they look amazingly blue. "Thank you. I feel better."
"Honestly?" The corners of his mouth turn up.
You nod your head slightly and smile. "Honestly."
"Good." He smiles fully now. He shoots a look at the glasses sitting on the bar. Both are now about half full. He returns his eyes to you. "How about I buy the next round?"
You blush and lower your eyes, but before you can open your mouth to answer, his mobile phone rings, ruining the moment.
"Excuse me." He says, plucking a small phone from his pocket as he stands. He steps a few feet away to take the call.
You wait, wondering whether you should accept the offer to have another drink with him. You're incredibly flattered that he asked, though you know it was just a friendly offer, nothing more than that. He's married, you don't know for certain, but think that surely he must be. If he weren't, the trashy tabloids would surely be filled with all the juicy details of his illicit affairs.
He comes back quickly enough, tucking the phone back into the front pocket of his jeans. "I'm terribly sorry, I need to go."
You smile and nod. "It's okay, I understand."
He offers his hand and you shake it. "It was nice meeting you."
"You too." The words are out of your mouth before you realize how they sound and you nearly cringe. But he doesn't seem to notice. He turns to go, stopping once to wave goodbye, and then he's out the door and gone, just like that.
You turn back to the bar and just sit for a moment, thinking about how surreal the whole encounter was. You just met Bono, had a drink with him, and had him comforting you. Amazing. You smile and are just picking up your glass when you notice that his denim jacket is still hanging across the back of the barstool. Without really thinking about it, you set your glass back down, grab the jacket up into your arms and rush out the door with it.
Out on the sidewalk, you look both ways and spot him, already halfway down the block. You chase after him for a moment, then stop and call out. "Bono!"
He stops and turns, looking around. When he spots you, he smiles with recognition and begins walking back toward you. You move toward him and the two of you reconvene.
"You left your jacket." You say, holding it out to you.
He takes it slowly, smiling, looking at you with an amused, slightly awed look on his face. "I didn't think you knew who I was."
You blush and smile, bringing one hand up to your face, embarrassed. "I recognized you. That's why I almost fell off my stool."
He laughs then. It's a beautiful sound. "I do sometimes have that effect on women."
You laugh too, and then he's pulling the jacket on, and a somewhat awkward silence falls on the two of you. You break it. "Well, I know you have to be going." You say, preparing to back away.
He nods. "I do." But he doesn't move away yet.
"Thanks again, for you know." You gesture vaguely.
"Don't mention it." He says, and then he's opening his arms, inviting you into an embrace. You seem to fall into his arms. The hug is amazingly comforting. You cheek is pressed against the shoulder of his dirty denim jacket, and you make note that it doesn't smell bad at all. It does have a worn, lived in sort of smell, but mostly it smells of whatever cologne he's wearing. But this hug, however brief, is less about him, and more about another man, the one who's been on your mind all day. You wish the strong arms around you belonged to him.
Bono lets go of you, but before you pull away from him, at least a couple of tears manage to escape your eyes, further darkening the tarnished denim jacket. You take a step back, and wipe under your eyes with your thumb.
"Thank you." You whisper.
He nods, taking a step back as well. "I'll see you around."
You nod, smiling, and turn away. But you know it's not true. You won't be seeing him again. Things like this happen only once in a lifetime.
You take a few steps back toward the pub. You've only been gone a moment, the bartender probably hasn't even discarded the rest of your drink yet. But at almost the last moment, you pivot the other way and continue down the road. You really don't feel like drinking anymore. You still miss him, and it still hurts, but you feel better now. Thanks to Bono.
You turn and look back, but Bono's already out of sight. You smile and continue on your way. If you didn't know better, you'd almost think you'd imagined the whole thing.
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awwwww, I feel sorry for you and your best friend 
when are you going to reveal a bit of the 'other' fic btw?
