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: fluff, tiny bit of angst (maybe), smut, piv, public(ish) sex
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London to Paris, 2022
The quiet of the room was suffocating, the only sounds being his deep, even breaths as he slept soundly next to you. Meanwhile, your heart was racing. Tomorrow was hanging over you like a storm cloud, and you were terrified. You didn't want to admit it, but the thought of him leaving, of possibly losing what you had, was gnawing at your insides.
It was the last day before he had to leave for tour, and as much as you tried to push away the fear gnawing at the edges of your mind, it lingered. For the past few weeks, everything with him had felt almost perfect. He was so present, so different. Like living in some fairytale he'd wrapped the two of you in, where time didn't exist, where all that mattered was the two of you, making you feel like nothing could break this bubble. But the more perfect it seemed, the more you doubted it. You couldn't shake the feeling that maybe it was too good to be true. Was this just temporary for him? Was it his way of clinging to something real before he had to leave again? The uncertainty clawed at you. You hated it. God, you hated it. And you hated yourself for doubting him. If he knew what you were thinking, it would shatter him, wouldn't it?
You turned to your side, lying on the bed fully now. You glanced over at him, watching him sleep beside you. His face, half-buried in the pillow, was peaceful, his hair a mess of dark waves. It was soft and messy. He hadn't cut it since he arrived. He used to keep it neat, almost as if his life needed that kind of control. But now it seemed like he was letting go, loosening his grip on some part of himself. He hadn't mentioned cutting it, and part of you wondered if it had become some kind of symbolic thing for him, like letting go of his hair was tied to letting go of something bigger. Maybe cutting it again would mean something was ending, and he didn't want to risk that. He had mused, almost superstitiously, that maybe cutting his hair would change something. Risk whatever magic had bloomed between you both.
You were wide awake, the clock ticking closer to dawn. He'd insisted on taking you on one last date before he left, something special. You hadn't expected it to mean catching the first train to Paris, but that's exactly what he'd planned. "So we don't waste time." he'd said with a playful grin. And how could you say no? He was so damn earnest about it, so certain that you needed to squeeze every last second out of this day together. But the anxiety inside you was growing, because after today, he'd be gone. The future felt like a foggy, uncertain thing, and you couldn't bear the thought of waking up tomorrow without him next to you.
You shifted in bed, trying not to wake him, but of course, he noticed. He always noticed.
"Mhmm...go to sleep, baby." he murmured, voice muffled against the pillow, his face still buried in its soft folds. His arm reached out, sheepishly searching for you, a quiet, sleepy sound of effort escaping him as he stretched. He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him with a lazy, half-conscious urgency. His body was warm, comfortable in the quiet of the late night.
