you met one night in Dublin and you never stopped meeting since.
some smutty one-shot-ish chapters with a bit of a storyline / character development (still Alex x reader).
warnings: angst (i guess), it's just him thinking a lot, and shaving his head, some mentions of smut
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Unknown to Dublin - 2018
He sat in the dim light of his hotel room, surrounded by the hum of city noises drifting in from the streets below. His phone lay on the bedside table, a harrowing reminder of what had transpired. He stared at it as if expecting it to come alive and explain the inexplicable. There were texts. So many texts. Each one a painful echo of what was now irretrievably broken. The calls were endless, a relentless stream of notifications that had somehow become an all-too-tangible sign of reality.
He was the one who ended things, after all. He'd convinced himself it was for the best, that they were growing apart, that the fire had dimmed. But he hadn't expected her to actually leave. Not like this.
It wasn't that he had an inflated sense of his own importance. In fact, he was acutely aware of his flaws. He just hadn't anticipated the emptiness that came with the finality of her departure. He wanted this freedom, or at least he thought he did. But now, faced with the reality of it, he was lost.
He had deliberately distanced himself during the tour, keeping her at arm's length. The demands of his career had become his excuse, a convenient reason to avoid the responsibilities of a relationship. He hadn't made any effort to include her in his world, or in his life really. He'd been content in the knowledge that she was there, that she was his, and he was hers. And now, that security had vanished.
Days had passed in a blur. The guys in the band had noticed his change in demeanour but were too preoccupied with their own lives to press him on it. They joked about his greasy hair and unkempt appearance, attributing it to a lack of effort rather than the deeper turmoil he felt. Alex played along, using the breakup as a shield to mask his true feelings. It was a convenient excuse, one that made him seem less like a lazy recluse and more like a man broken by love.
As he sat in the quiet, the silence of the room seemed to magnify the emptiness inside him. He reflected on the relationship, on her, on himself, on everything. And he realised with painful clarity that his detachment was more than just a result of the tour. It was like some defence mechanism he had constructed over time, and now that he no longer had her, he was forced to confront the hollow space left behind.
His phone buzzed again, a fresh text message illuminating the screen. He ignored it, feeling a pang of guilt for the way he had treated her. The reality of his choices was sinking in, and for once, Alex found himself grappling with something he couldn't easily escape, his own sense of loss and the crushing weight of his own decisions.
That night, Alex found himself staring at the screen of his phone a lot, the cascade of missed calls and unread messages building and building like a testament to the mess he'd made. He knew what he had to do. In a moment of cold clarity, he made the decision to block her number. It seemed like the only way to end this chapter for good, to prevent any chance of ambiguity or false hope. He couldn't bear the idea of leading her on any further, of allowing the pretence of potential reconciliation to linger.
