Nonbeta

Where did you go?

oneshot

By HamburgerWithTea

Based on/inspired by Fluorescent Adolescent by Artic Monkeys.

It's been long ago since then. Then when I still lived my life to the fullest, back then when the alcohol would flow quickly and the music would be loud. Back then when I was just the right age; young enough to be attractive and energetic, yet old enough to get everything I wanted legally.

It was back when I would still visit the strip club often.

For a guy my age, well the age I had back then, it wasn't even too weird to go there. A lot of kids from my age and older went there to get a good night off and enjoy the 'shows' given. The only difference was that this was a gay bar.

To be honest, I just tagged along with friends at first. I knew they were gay and I was not the one to make any problems about it, though I had not expected them to take me with them to a club like that. Yet, they did, and so when I entered I was downright shocked.

I remember how the flashy and bright lights made me go flabbergasted and for a moment I doubted that was even the real life.

At fist I'd wanted to scold my friends and leave, but that idea soon vanished when I got a free drink. After all, as a poor man who just finished university, it would be a waste not to take it.

It had tasted delicious, and so had the other several drinks, and at some point I found myself actually enjoying it all. The shows, the people, even the teasing touches all over my body. I have to admit I don't remember it all that vividly thanks to the alcohol involved, but I do remember the green pair of eyes. The eyes that still shone brightly and proud back then.

I had to blink a few times in order to get myself back to earth. I'd never believed in anything as weird as love at first sight or something, to be honest I'd never even fallen in love back then. Of course I'd had a few random girlfriends over the time, but none of it was true love.

But this moment stuck me. I didn't know why, but I couldn't keep my eyes of him, and later on I'd promise myself it was because of the alcohol and smell of weed.

As the night continued on, I was even lucky enough to enjoy a show of the man. One of the few things I do remember vividly from that night were the fishnet-stockings, the tight leather shorts and the sexy police hat in combination with suspenders.

Everything about the look made it fascinating, seducing even. The way the man moved, the way slowly yet surely more and more pieces of cloths would be ripped off his body, the way everyone in the room would look at him and him only.

During the show, many men were kindly enough to offer the one on stage drinks and I could've sworn I saw a joint pass in his hands as well, and the more was given –in combination with money of course!- the better the man on stage would dance.

Later I found out his name was 'Bond', short for 'James Bond'. This was the only name I ever heard them call him. Of course it wasn't his real name, but no one in the club used their real name. Everyone would be who they wanted to be, just for these small nights in the cramped pub in one of the narrow allies of the city, and be themselves again next morning when they would be off to work.

When his show had ended, he'd soon retreated himself to backstage, to show up a few minutes later in a new outfit, though the recognisable fishnets were still on. None would dare to ask him for another show, nor would they bother him at the bar. Apparently he had rather a status.

Time passed on and on, and it took weeks, no months and maybe even years, before I finally got to talk to him. I'd visit every night I could, spent a shitload of money buying drinks in pity for myself, waving off all offers for companionship and this eventually earned me the name 'Lonely Cowboy'.

Up to this day, I'm still not sure if it was ever meant kinky, but it does sound rather… sexual. Not that I mind, since it did bring me what I wanted most; a talk with 'Bond'.

It started with him sitting next to me at the bar, dressed in his usual scanty clothing and his loyal fishnet stockings. One might say he looked terribly gay in it, but it fit him; it just was him. He'd always wear them and by now they were almost part of him. One could not talk about 'Bond' without thinking of his noticeable stockings.

"One Bloody Mary, please," he'd told the barman. With a quick, friendly wink the man started to mix together the drink asked for and while waiting, the blond, thick eyebrowed –another thing one could not ignore!- man next to me turned to face me.

"Hello," he started. At first I thought he'd been greeting someone else, someone sitting behind me. But there was no one sitting behind me.

"O-oh hi!" I'd mumbled, stumbling over my words. I couldn't believe it was him talking to me, the actual 'Bond'! It all seemed so unreal, so impossible, yet it was all happening.

"I've seen you around," the smaller man had tried to start a conversation as he'd taken his drink from the barman, "Do you enjoy it here?"

What a silly question, of course I enjoyed it there! There was no place I could come up with where I enjoyed myself more. Not even in some of the best seats of my favourite football –American football- match.

"Yes!" I'd answered a bit too eager, making the other stare back to me for a bit. To my displeasure the green orbs turned back away far too soon. "Your shows are the best!"

Oh silly me. Back then I was still so energetic, so childish. I can understand why people called me obnoxious and hyper back then. I'd always blabber whatever came to mind.

"I'm glad you think so, thank you." The smaller had said, giving me a wink if I was not mistaken.

And so our conversation started. We'd talk about casual things like favourite colour, favourite hobbies, favourite animals, etcetera. But as the night passed on and the drinks' alcohol mixed more and more with our blood, the conversation started to become more personal.

This would happen for the upcoming years. We'd stay there, talking and sharing drinks until we were kicked out of the pub, and I've heard rumours from my friends that the men were betting on when we'd end up together, but nothing of the sorts ever happened.

I can honestly say that I went to bed with him several times, especially after the more personal talks, and these nights had been wonderful. I'd felt on top of the world when I was one of the very few to be able to take off the fishnets, see the gentleman side from our conversations change into the rough sexy beast that he was famous for on stage.

As the years continued on I'd slowly notice how the once so famous 'Bond' would start clinging to these times, the rough and young times he'd enjoyed so much and that would slowly start to slip away from between his fingers. I think he knew what was going to happen eventually, yet he wasn't one to let his pride down and thus he'd continue on, pretending all was fine. I could see how he'd become older, how his body would slowly become tired of this rough life, though his mind still wanted more.

We'd still meet at the club every weekend to have the usual long talks, but his shows would be shorter and less often. The fishnets were still as sexy as ever, but no one seemed to pay as much attention to them anymore.

Newer, younger boys –'Slags' as he'd call them- would be the centre of attention now. 'Bond' was starting to become too old, too nice. He was no longer the rascal he used to be.

At some night, as the bar smelled the same mixture of weed and beer as it'd done for years, I couldn't help but confront him about it. In a quiet tone I'd asked him how he felt now that his fame, all of a life he had, was slipping away from him, moving on as he'd still be stuck in the past.

He'd looked at me with a mask of pride that was obviously shining through. This man didn't have anything else but his pride left. His energy, his daring looks, his seductive gestures… All had been taken away by age, taken away by the experience of being replaced and losing fame. I could see that deep down he'd already know about his near future, how he'd be forced to leave this place behind and have it only as a memory.

"'Boy'," as was his nickname for me, "How come you always figure me out?" it wasn't a question. It was more like he'd just admitted reality to himself.

"You know," he continued, "I used to get it in my fishnets, but it seems these days have passed. I seem to have traded my naughty nights for niceness, living only on memories. The best memories I have." He paused, sighing as he tried to keep his voice from crackling, "The best. The ones of when the boys were still electric, of when I didn't have to worry about my future, the ones where I'd always be lucky and I'd not be falling apart."

I'd just listened. By now, as I'd also noticeably gained several years, I could understand what he meant, yet I could not put anything to words. I knew what in a few more years, I'd be at the same moment in life, having to realise the same reality and being forced to continue on despite my wants.

"I landed in the very common crisis," 'Bond' continued on after a small, understanding glance of mine, "I don't know what to live for, I don't know what to do. I want to move away, start a new life, yet I don't know where to go or who to meet. I don't want to jump into the deep, I'm too old for that already. I can't just live my life at random anymore, I'll have to find a proper job, have to stop my bad habits and have to… Have to…"

He'd not continued after that. He'd just slumped down, finally letting reality hit him for real, no longer keep up his pride and as I comforted him I had a feeling this would be one of our last times together.

Not much was said that night. We'd went the same ways as possible to his house, to his room. This night, which would later seem to be our last one, was one of the more sympatric ones. It was no longer like the rough nights we'd had before; right then it'd been comforting and a last, silent goodbye.

I'd tell him his dreams for a better life were not daft as he'd tell me that in a few years I'd think different about that, yet I knew I wouldn't. The night had been tender and had ended way too early.

I'd left his house as usual, with a small cup of coffee gulped down and a hangover banging in my head. The small smile he'd sent me from his front door had made me realise that this really was the end. Yet I still acted casual as always and waved back at him, continuing my way down the stairs of the apartment.

When I'd come back to the pub again a week later, there was no trace left of him. No one bothered with me as I'd sat there waiting for hours, drinking slowly from my cocktails and not even looking at the stage. This continued on for a few more weeks until I realised I had to continue on.

Together with 'Bond' I'd started to get into the 'common crisis' of the rough life, the time to leave everything behind and continue with the real life. And so I did.

There had been just one last thing I had to do before I was able to.

I'd taken a small notebook with me, a pin and a pen. Despite my plans on moving on, my mind still told me to not give up permanently.

I walked the familiar route towards the apartment and could see his apartment was empty. The landlord had put up flyers in order to get a new person to rend the house, yet I ignored them. With a quick movement I put up the note in front of the door, as it read;

Where did you go?

As far as I'm concerned, it's still there up to this day. Nobody seemed to care enough to take it away, even as most of the ink had vanished by the rain and the paper would soon be falling apart. It's almost part of the building now, and I can still see it when I take a longer route to pass by the apartment. After all, clinging is not sentimental he'd said. That was just a memory now. The best memory I ever had.

But you're not coming back again.

/Author's Note/

SORRY FOR ANY GRAMMAR MISTAKES it's unbetaed and I'm not the best in grammar. Not native, remember ;D (I kind of just write English the way it feels right, rather than check grammar. As school's explanations are confusing and make me mess up)

Hahah persistent plotbunny right there, guys!

Inspired by Fluorescent Adolescent by Artic Monkeys. The ones who know the song might have been able to spot some references? :D I do hope so

Uhm yeah I'm writing this instead of my English essay. I can't help it… I mostly don't even start stuff until their deadline so I'll be ok. (Hahah and the teachers think I'm one of these neat, organised people working really hard! XD)

So oops? A write?

I don't have a lot to say really, except that I'm kind of pondering about the sequel lately. In short I can say it was a decision I made when I still had plenty of time and inspiration and I felt high pressure of having to make my readers happy, rather than myself. I admit it was partially because ICL was/is my best fic so far, and maybe I made a mistake in promising a sequel. I'll probably write a longer explanation later on, but for now I can tell you I'm just pondering about whether to keep my promise despite my own will out of decency, or give up and feel disappointed in myself for letting you guys down.

Oops long AN

Have a nice time and see you soon as I catch up with a lot of schoolwork!

I do not own Hetalia or the characters, those belong to their rightful (awesome) creator, Hidekaz Himaruya!

Also I do not own the song.

(09/25/12)