Band Oneshots!

David Bowie: It's Okay Unless It's You

Y/N POV:

It was the early 70s, the years I, physically but not really mentally, spent with the legend, David Bowie. Obviously we were both on cocaine, and I on LSD, usually doing it together.
I felt like I was looking at him for the first time. Without the swirling colours, patterns and dizziness to distract me, I saw how perfect he really was.
I felt high, even without the drugs. This time, he really was enough. In that moment, I didn't want to touch any of it ever again. No more cocaine, no more LSD, nothing. For him. But I knew he would never stop for me.
"What's on your mind, love?" He asked tentatively. This was one of those rare moments that neither of us was our faces on something, so I embraced it while it lasted.
"You."
I felt no need to lie with him. Soon he'd be on the floor, passed out and I'd have to call the ambulance again. No big deal.
"What about me?" He chuckled, his silky voice sure to be the death of me, if the drugs didn't beat him to it.
"The way you look. Your skins so pale. Your eyes are..." There were no words for his eyes. They were so beautiful. They shouldn't have gone together, but they did.
"You've seen me before, silly!" He laughed. I shook my head.
"I've looked at you before. I've never really SEEN you..." I mused. He shook his head, as he always would.
"Sometimes, it's hard to tell when you're high and when you're not..." he sighed. His addictions broke my heart, as mine did his.
"I'm less philosophical when I'm high," I joked, trying to bring the conversation back to the lightheartedness it once had.
"Because you're out for the count or talking the about the 'pretty colours!'" He groaned, his voice becoming more dippy hippy than cool cockney, talking about the pretty colours.
"Oh! Because you're so much better? Have you ever listened to the music you've written when you're high?!" I bit back. As a rule, we never spoke about the drugs and what they did outside the trip.
"At least I do something with it..." he muttered.
I wanted to scream at him. This had never happened before. We never argued about this, or anything for that matter. Why did it change so suddenly?
Of course, instead of screaming, I calmly strode upstairs, hands trembling from both anger and dire want for my next fix.
"Y/N! Don't think I don't know what you're doing!" He screamed at me.
"Either come join me or try fucking stop me!" I hollered back as loud as I could, calling on only silence. I continued to make my way upstairs, slamming and locking my bedroom door when I got there.
Pouring the fine white powder out of the baggie and onto the shiny metal tray, I saw my tears falling and could almost guarantee that David's actions were very similar to mine. I soon realised that he was most likely doing EXACTLY the same as me. That's when I screamed, smacked the suddenly hideous tray on the floor, along with the pale, toxic dust.
Heavy footsteps followed by frantic banging on the door came soon after.
"Y/N! Are you alright?!" David's voice echoes through the door and within my shockingly empty mind.
"Physically...? I'm all good... Still stone cold FUCKING sober..." I sobbed. It was only then that I realised I was crying.
"Oh no... don't cry, my darling. What's getting to you?" His whisper melted away any resolve I had to keep secrets.
"You were about to do a line... weren't you?" I sniffled.
"No, no, that's not important right now..." he mumbled.
"Tell me, David. Please," I was practically begging.
He groaned before telling me that he was.
"I knew it... David, stop."
I had never been so matter-of-fact with him before. I feel like it scared both of us.
"It's not that simple! You, of all people in my life, should know that!" He raised his voice before I could prepare myself.
"We can do it together. Just please..."
The tears had stopped because there was no point. He wouldn't stop. Not for me. Not for anyone.
Parents, friends, therapists and doctors. We all tried to warn him that if he continued, he would die.
"What does it matter...? I won't make it to thirty now! I'm fucked myself over, Y/N!" He wailed, pounding his fist on the door.
Shakily, I rose to my feet and unlocked the door, not skipping a beat before pulling him into my arms.
"David... oh, sweetie... It scares you that much...?"
"What scares me more is leaving you behind! Or worse: you leaving me!"
"David, honey, try and calm down. I'm not going to leave you alone and you are NOT leaving me!" I cried out, wishing he was less resigned.
"I hate it here, love. I really do..."
"Then we'll move! We can go somewhere safe, like..." I thought for a moment. "Berlin! How does that sound...?" I pushed. I wanted him safe.
"Berlin... you'll come with me?"
"I can't let you be alone like this now, can I?" I chuckled.
He smiled for the first time in months.
"Berlin." He stated. "I like the sound of that..."
"I'll sort it as soon as possible, AND quit the drugs. IF you promise to quit too."
"For you? I'd do anything to keep you happy," he grinned.
So we agreed on a date and moved out of America. We never touched drugs again.