Robert Smith Imagines (requests)

pt. 1 / A Prodigy

Robert Smith. That's a name you've known for years. The name of a great friend of yours, too. You've grown up together, always a great duo. In the past, your friends have jokingly called you two a couple, though you always laughed it off. Robert never laughed, instead, he would nervously glance to you, then the ground. The years race by like minutes, and suddenly you're 26 and 28 (Robert is 28.) And he's also in a famous band, too.

And as those years raced, you two slowly inched apart. You and Robert still talked, but at most once a month. And that was when you would call him, checking up on him like some paranoid doctor or therapist.  Now, you two talk once every few months. It feels like every 13 centuries. You still deeply care for him like he's still by your side, but you don't think he sees you that way. 

A loud, rapid KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK on the door interrupts my sleep. I drowsily sit up, stumbles out of bed, and walk to the door. I open it to find Max, my best friend waiting at my door. 

"Guess what?" He bounced on his toes, his converse creasing. He was holding something behind him, and I raised an eyebrow with suspicion. "What?" I said with a cough, my throat dry from a deep rest. Max stopped bouncing and smiled, "No, y/n, I meant to guess. Literally. But this is so sick you won't even be able to." He suddenly revealed two paper tickets.

I grab one of the tickets and can't stop a huge, fantastic smile to form on my face. "The Cure!, Oh, Max, you're the best!! And it's tomorrow? This is brilliant!" I beamed and looked back up at Max, who looked pleased with himself. 

After talking for a bit, excusing myself for my appearance, Max left. I shut the door and looked down at my ticket. An imprint of my hand coated in sweat had formed. I beamed for a bit longer before sitting down on my bed, and my grin disappeared. Why am I happy? Robert probably doesn't even remember me. If not, barely. Sure, I still love him and his mates' music, but seeing him.. oh, seeing him. Fuck, my heart races just thinking about it. I'm not sure if I'm nervous or excited. I can't blame Max for this, though. He doesn't know me and Robert's past, hell, he just knows I love his band. I snap out of my stupid thought and focus back on my ticket. I can't stop reading 'The Cure'.

Thursday passed so fast. I woke up to the same knocking, knowing it was Max. We both spent hours doing our hair and getting on presentable outfits. I found myself wanting my outfit to be perfect, like a good representation of who I am. How I want Robert to see me. Max's hair was almost styled exactly how Roberts was during the Pornography tour, and he wore a droopy and thin black sweater with ripped jeans and his converse from yesterday. I wore my hair like a messy wolfcut. With it was a white-laced tanktop with a black, low-neck-lined, thin sweater matched with baggy, worn jeans and big, rowdy white sneakers. Max and I looked a bit similar, actually. Though Max had black eyeshadow slapped all around his eyes, and I had black eyeshadow on the corners of mine. Thankfully, my eyelashes were long so you could see them very well through my boring makeup. 

"Alright, you ready to see the best band ever?" He jabbered, I think noticing my uneasy eagerness. I fidgeted with my ticket in my pocket and nodded like a mad man. Shit, my heart is pounding so much. I don't want to sweat off my concealer. We walk to Max's old, brown car and hop in. 

Soon enough, we hastily give our front-row tickets to security and are put right in front of the stage. Max and I talk for about 20 minutes before a tall, dark figure begins to walk out onto the stage. I feel my palms begin to sweat and Max has to remind me to breathe. Robert Smith steps out into the light, his hair in a disgruntled mess. Why am I so excited to see him? He steps in front of the mic as the crowd roars. 

"Thank you so much." Robert's British accent is almost as brilliant as his music. I stare at him like he's some kind of god. I mean, I'm not in love with him, I don't think. He proceeded to play Plainsong first. As he plays I feel hypnotized, mesmerized. Of course, I dance and sing to his music, but not as much as I would have years before. 

As I stared at him, I could swear he looked at me a few times. He then played Lovesong, Boys Don't Cry, In Between Days, Lullaby, A Letter to Elise, Three Imaginary Boys, and finally-- "Pictures of You will be the last one. I think we have time." He exclaimed in his adorable voice. I was forced out of my trance by Max slapping my shoulder, which hurt like shit. "Hey, man, look! He's looking at us! God, do I want to pass out." Max went on about how he would love to get his autograph. I moved my head over with excitement to see that he has looked down at his guitar. I'm devastated. If Robert just had a nice, long conversation with me again i would be able to sleep at night again. 

The show ended after what seemed like 8 minutes. Probably because I was totally gawking at him, in a trance the whole time. I feel embarrassed about my behavior, what if he saw me and was weirded about by me more than he most likely already is? Max is in front of me as we leave, I'm just following him. Suddenly, a cold hand is upon my shoulder. Startled, I turn around. 

Fuck, it's security. Did Max buy fake tickets?? That would explain how we could afford such great seating. "You were invited backstage. Follow me." The guard sounded tough, I'm almost scared of what'll happen. As I follow the guard into an unfamiliar area I begin to freak the fuck out. Did Robert see me gawking? I'm just excited to see him. What if he's going to apologize for ghosting me? That'd be quite nice, actually. Or, what if he's going to say he likes me? Shit, that's stupid. 

My train of thought is interrupted by the opening of a door and a shorter, surrey band member opening it. Simon Gallup stood in the doorway-- he wasn't the most inviting person. "Is this the bloke Robert invited?" Simon exclaimed. 

2 B CONT.

words - 1178