D&J - soaked in the blues
soaked in the blues
drake & josh. future!fic. drake/mindy (allusion to), drake/ofc. 518 words. PG13.
Drake stands on stage, the only place that feels like home, and plucks silver strings over and over. He sings out the song he wrote for her and finds it ironic that thousands of people have heard it at this point.
author's note;
marleybanana/mtfizz blames me for this fic, but really it's all Drake Bell's fault (as usual). We decided to have a "fic off" to the song Honky Tonk Blues that we found out Drake Bell covers, and this is my take. You can read her version (Drake Bell/Shia LaBeouf RPS) right this way.
--
At 18, he thought knew everything and when those around him tried to tell him otherwise, he snuck out and headed for the open road in a quiet piss off attitude to everything he knew.
It was lonely, but that feeling didn’t catch up to him until four years later. By then, he was too numb to acknowledge it.
*
Playing gigs is weird when you have no one to play for Drake thinks one night as he stumbles off stage. He’s in Memphis, where the accents are as thick as the summer air that’s filled with lavender instead of sea salt that he still misses sometimes. It’s different here, but the fact that the scene changes every other day is about the only constant in his life and it should depress him, but it doesn’t.
He hooks up with a cute brunette that night, but it’s not until they’ve been in her apartment for a while that he realizes who she reminds him of. Realization sends a sharp arrow of familiarity through his heart and the name that’s dying to gasp out bleeds into his lips instead as he holds on to her hips and rides it out.
*
Drake stands on stage, the only place that feels like home, and plucks silver strings over and over. He sings out the song he wrote for her and finds it ironic that thousands of people have heard it at this point.
She probably never will.
*
“So sweetheart, what brings you here?”
“A pocket full of dreams,” Drake says, voice dripping in sarcasm. She laughs harder than the joke requires, but her hand is on the inside of his thigh and at this point he doesn’t care how hard she laughs. He does care about the diamond adorning her finger and when he asks, she shrugs.
“Just a reminder of things that went wrong.”
“That’s depressing.”
“Eventually, it all is.”
He doesn’t quite get what she means, but he likes the way it sounds and thinks about putting it in a song. He can faintly hear a new melody start to work in his head when she kisses him; it’s soft and sad, like her and Drake lets himself drown.
*
He had quietly crept out of the apartment the next morning and pointed his car somewhere east, some place where he can see the ocean again.
Halfway to Maine, Drake hears an old song that makes him choke up unexpectedly and he swerves off the highway and on to the side of the road. His hand is throbbing with pain after banging it on the steering wheel, but turning off the radio helps. Silence is deafening and awkward, but it gives him a chance to focus and think. Thinks about then, thinks about now, thinks about her face before he left California, thinks about the countless faces he’s seen since hers.
And he thinks that no matter how many miles and years he tries to put between them, she’s still going to have a hold on him.
It’s killing him slowly, but he tries, tries, and tries.
drake & josh. future!fic. drake/mindy (allusion to), drake/ofc. 518 words. PG13.
Drake stands on stage, the only place that feels like home, and plucks silver strings over and over. He sings out the song he wrote for her and finds it ironic that thousands of people have heard it at this point.
author's note;
marleybanana/mtfizz blames me for this fic, but really it's all Drake Bell's fault (as usual). We decided to have a "fic off" to the song Honky Tonk Blues that we found out Drake Bell covers, and this is my take. You can read her version (Drake Bell/Shia LaBeouf RPS) right this way.
--
At 18, he thought knew everything and when those around him tried to tell him otherwise, he snuck out and headed for the open road in a quiet piss off attitude to everything he knew.
It was lonely, but that feeling didn’t catch up to him until four years later. By then, he was too numb to acknowledge it.
*
Playing gigs is weird when you have no one to play for Drake thinks one night as he stumbles off stage. He’s in Memphis, where the accents are as thick as the summer air that’s filled with lavender instead of sea salt that he still misses sometimes. It’s different here, but the fact that the scene changes every other day is about the only constant in his life and it should depress him, but it doesn’t.
He hooks up with a cute brunette that night, but it’s not until they’ve been in her apartment for a while that he realizes who she reminds him of. Realization sends a sharp arrow of familiarity through his heart and the name that’s dying to gasp out bleeds into his lips instead as he holds on to her hips and rides it out.
*
Drake stands on stage, the only place that feels like home, and plucks silver strings over and over. He sings out the song he wrote for her and finds it ironic that thousands of people have heard it at this point.
She probably never will.
*
“So sweetheart, what brings you here?”
“A pocket full of dreams,” Drake says, voice dripping in sarcasm. She laughs harder than the joke requires, but her hand is on the inside of his thigh and at this point he doesn’t care how hard she laughs. He does care about the diamond adorning her finger and when he asks, she shrugs.
“Just a reminder of things that went wrong.”
“That’s depressing.”
“Eventually, it all is.”
He doesn’t quite get what she means, but he likes the way it sounds and thinks about putting it in a song. He can faintly hear a new melody start to work in his head when she kisses him; it’s soft and sad, like her and Drake lets himself drown.
*
He had quietly crept out of the apartment the next morning and pointed his car somewhere east, some place where he can see the ocean again.
Halfway to Maine, Drake hears an old song that makes him choke up unexpectedly and he swerves off the highway and on to the side of the road. His hand is throbbing with pain after banging it on the steering wheel, but turning off the radio helps. Silence is deafening and awkward, but it gives him a chance to focus and think. Thinks about then, thinks about now, thinks about her face before he left California, thinks about the countless faces he’s seen since hers.
And he thinks that no matter how many miles and years he tries to put between them, she’s still going to have a hold on him.
It’s killing him slowly, but he tries, tries, and tries.