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[personal profile] hippyjolteon

Title:
Hero Worship
Day/Theme: April 2 - "Walking on higher ground".
Series: U2
Character/Pairing: Adam Clayton x The Edge, mentions of Bono and Larry Mullen Jr.
Rating: PG for mild slashiness.

This grew unashamedly WAFF-y by the end, but I rather enjoyed writing fluff today.

It's raining outside, so loudly that I can't even hear my own thoughts. I wanted to be left alone so much earlier on today, but I appear to have decided against that now. I want to be with someone. I want to have someone here to snuggle up with, to share warmth with and, ultimately, to speak to. It's been too quiet over here for the last few days. There's been no recording and hardly any communication between us, which is strange. Usually we're so well-connected. What's gone wrong?

There's a knock at the door. I have no idea who that could be and why they've decided to come and visit me, of all people. Even if they're a crazed fan, I'm still curious as to who it is, so I open the door. Smiling, right in front of me, wet and bedraggled, is Edge.

In a way, I'm very happy to see someone – especially him – at my door, with that pleading look in his eyes that I can't help but smile at. I wish I could say something to him that wouldn't sound sycophantic, but everything I imagine telling him gets more and more strangely obsessive. I need to tell him how I feel someday, but it's going to be difficult even thinking about admitting to him.
“You're – why are you here?”
“I wanted to see you, that's all.” He's smiling. It's not the kind of smile you see every day, the sort that looks at you from the audience, or the kind that a person behind the counter at a shop gives you. It's a smile that looks through you, one full of empathy.
“Thank you. So, do you – do you want anything? Tea? You can have some tea.”
Edge nods, heading towards the sofa. “I'd just like to sit down, if that's all right.”
“Sure. If you want somewhere to hang your coat...”
“Thanks.” He places his soaking wet coat on the peg on the back of the door, then takes off his shoes, puts them on the mat; sits back down on the sofa. Throughout all of this, he seems reserved, like he hardly knows me.

In spite of Edge's protests, I've made tea, bringing it to the sofa in two much-too-large mugs.
“You really didn't have to.”
“I – well, I felt like it.”
We hardly speak to each other for a while; instead we focus on those two mugs of tea, occasionally exchanging short side glances, each studying each other's facial expressions. More awkward silences, more sips of tea, more listening to the rain hitting the windows. Normally one of us would lead the conversation, but sadly, this doesn't seem to be on the agenda.

I want to talk to him. I want to tell him everything that I've felt about him for the years we've known each other. I've always thought he was on a completely different plane of existence to myself, Bono and Larry, with these incredible thought processes that at once baffle and fascinate me. If I could tell him all of those thoughts within me that I hold about him, maybe we could understand each other better, maybe my feelings towards him could get resolved through my own willpower. Even though I think like this, I have no idea how I want to express those thoughts, neither do I have any clue when or where I should admit them. Even if I did tell him, he'd be too elevated to notice. Has he already noticed? I don't really want to think about the implications of that.

“Adam.” He looks over at me, concerned, looking through me again. “You're quieter than usual.”
“I know.” Taking another sip of my tea, I can imagine what Bono and Larry are going to think about this. That is, if I even mention our encounter to either of them. I probably won't. I wouldn't dream of it. I should keep myself reserved, even if my thoughts about Edge are far from it.
“So? Why is that?”
“I've been under a lot of pressure recently.”
“Haven't we all?”
“I suppose, but I've just got a lot on my mind.”
He takes another sip of tea, then puts the mug back on the table.

Should I say any more than I have already, or should I keep to myself, leaving the awkward silence as it is? I imagine what the next gig will be like, standing opposite Edge on the stage, watching him play so magnificently in every song, studying his guitar intently, concentrating on each note. Bono jokes that Edge is from another planet and sometimes, I have to agree with him. He's so calm in every situation, and the way he walked in here was just so casual. It was so like him to come to me.
“Why did you come here, anyway?”
“I was feeling lonely. There hasn't really been much going on, has there?”
I shake my head. “I wish there was, though.”
“Sometimes we all need a break.”
Another pause. Another sip of tea, a stretch, a yawn. Edge blinks. Now it's here, I realise that I've needed this kind of peaceful evening for a long time.

Then, completely out of the blue, Edge puts his arms around me in something that resembles an embrace. I'm not quite sure how to feel – should I be flattered? I attempt to return the favour by hugging him back, and he smiles, placing his head near to my chest, closing his eyes. I really don't know what's come over him – this is very unlike the transcendent, calm Edge that I know – but I can't say I'm not enjoying this moment.
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hippyjolteon: Figure in shorts, shirt, tie and glasses holds up net. (Default)
Rowan

September 2010

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