ARABELLA • Alex Turner

TWELVE

TW: Sexual content.
Smut starts after the line break (-), about halfway through the chapter. As always, feel free to ask for a chapter summary if you are uncomfortable reading. ❤️

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     Alex was in the middle of packing when he received a text from Arabella asking whether he wanted to come over.

   Ever since he had returned to his flat after their date at the weekend, ecstatic and a little kiss drunk, she had been the only thing on his mind. No matter how much he tried to distract himself, all Alex could picture was her, sitting there beneath the night sky looking serene and blissful as ever. Getting lost in the stars and the sound of her voice was quickly becoming his favourite pastime.

For perhaps the first time in his life, he was at a loss for words every time he sat down to write. There were no words profound or beautiful or raw enough to describe Arabella, and it frustrated him to no end.

   He had been so busy trying to lyricise over the last forty-eight hours that he had forgotten about the last leg of tour entirely. So much so, that on the afternoon before their flight to Canada, he was only now digging his suitcase out from the back of the wardrobe.

   Despite already being ridiculously behind schedule, Alex immediately accepted Arabella's request to hang out. He had been craving the chance to see her again before tour, to kiss her lips and laugh with her and listen to her ramble about things of no real significance, but they had both been too busy until now.

He very nearly ditched everything to rush to her house then and there, but the thought of waking up in the morning and not having packed a single item of clothing stopped him in his tracks. Cursing his own lack of organisation, he decided to invite Arabella over to his flat instead with the intention of continuing his task.

   He would probably never get anything done in her presence, but it would at least give him the illusion of productivity.

   He texted her his address and gave her the code to the gate, rushing to change into something more put together than a Danger Mouse t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms.

   Arabella arrived no more than twenty minutes later, having declined his offer to pick her up in favour of getting a cab, and the ringing of the doorbell had Alex cursing under his breath.

   He tripped over multiple piles of clothes stacked on the floor, stubbed his toe on the way to the hallway–only just refraining from yelling a loud fuck–and quickly fixed his hair in the mirror by the door before finally opening it.

   Arabella was standing there in a Moulin Rouge tank top and jeans, looking every bit her usual radiant self. A brown leather jacket was tucked under her arm, and her brown boots kicked at the ground. She smiled when she saw him, dimples sinking into her cheeks.

"Hi!" She stepped forward to embrace him before he could utter a word, a five-foot-something whirlwind of dark hair and fragrant perfume.

"Hi." He hugged her back and waited until she pulled away first, which wasn't for a good few moments.

"Come in, it's cold out there." He eventually placed a hand on the small of her back and ushered her inside, closing the door behind them both to shut out the wind. "You'll have to excuse my flat looking like a tip. I've just started packing."

Arabella laughed, kicking her shoes off and following him into the living room. "Aren't you leaving in the morning?"

Alex flashed her a bashful grin in reply and moved a pile of clothing out of the way with his foot. "Yeah, I'm a bit behind schedule."