Alex Turner/One Shots. (Smuts And Non-Smuts)

Stitches. (Fluff)

prompt: Alex getting some stitches by you after a gig episode. (it's a first meeting short-fic).

...

His expression was filled with tension, an awkward smile pleading the curly-haired man to rescue him from the situation. His long legs fidgeted uncontrollably, as if he were trying to dig a hole in the ground.

"Alexander?" you addressed him, seeking confirmation from the man beside him. They appeared slightly older than you, exuding a coolness that was hard to ignore. "Well, I suppose you're the one in need of stitches, right?" you smiled, trying to convey a sense of calmness through his concerned, chocolate-colored eyes.

Your voice carried a friendly tone as you held his chin gently in your hand, examining the dried blood on his brow. His face nuzzled into your palm, eliciting a sweet smile from you as your eyes met his. He resembled a golden, vulnerable puppy, scared like one during a New Year's fireworks display.

"Is this goin' to 'urt?" His eyebrows softened, and you had to suppress a cute sigh in his presence.

The man patted his shoulder, assuring him of his presence. The smile was no longer on his lips, but he remained adorable. Dressed in a blazer and a crisp white shirt, he was undoubtedly feeling hot inside, yet the adrenaline prevented him from realizing it. His face was perfectly sculpted, with a well-defined jawline, and you found yourself fixated on the small scar near his eye, becoming somewhat obsessed with it. They appeared casual yet sophisticated, a captivating sight to behold.

"Not much, it'll be quick!" you reassured him, wetting a piece of cotton for his wound.

"He's not exactly the brave type," the man commented. You chuckled, though Alex didn't seem too pleased about it.

"Yeah? I must admit I wouldn't want to be in your shoes right now, but I promise to make it as painless as possible."

"Thank you," he swallowed, growing increasingly tense.

His friend maintained a smile on his face, as if silently declaring his correctness. Judging by Alex's expression, he was probably right.

You introduced yourself to him, and he appeared pleased by that, prompting himself for you to lift his face with your thumb. It seemed he was genuinely happy to know your name, although it could have just been your imagination playing tricks on you.

He was about to repeat your name, but you acted faster and pressed the cotton to his wound. He shivered, suppressing a groan. It was so adorable that you almost wished you hadn't interrupted him, as you longed to hear him say your name out loud. Even if only for a single time.

"I'm sorry," you wrinkled your nose. Patients in pain weren't your favorite thing, especially when their well-being rested in your hands. "I promise this is the worst part, you'll soon be numb and feel nothing."

"Yeah, Al. The doctor is pretty, they won't kill you if you don't ask," the man chimed in, causing Alex to blush and sending a delightful tingle through your body. It wasn't a vulgar remark.

"Uh, I'll ask you to close your eyes, I think it'll be better that way."

"Don't mind him, he's just trying to distract me."

"I see. Do you think it's working?" You continued the conversation. Theoretical classes had taught you that talking to patients could help them endure pain a bit better. Alex wasn't a child, but in that moment, he seemed just as nervous and restless.

"I think so, actually. Your presence helps. I thought I'd find someone older and grumpy." His brows twitched, and a tear trickled down his face. Why did it feel like the pain was affecting you too?