If Tomorrow Never Comes

35. Strobe Light Flicker

The club Alex wanted to go to was only a few blocks away, so they decided not to spend a fortune on a cab and just walk instead. The dark night was illuminated by streetlights and neon lights, the colours reflecting in their eyes as they made their way through the city, hands in their pockets against the cold, coat collars turned up against the wind that was blowing through the narrow streets, and small, content smiles on their faces.
They walked in silence, enjoying the sounds of a city that never slept and the warm bubble that seemed to surround them both. They would look up at the stars, barely visible in this part of town, and smile, thinking that they didn't need any other star than the one besides them.
They walked close, for warmth, supposedly, arms and sides occasionally bumping together as they slowly came closer to their destination. For a moment, Alex wished they were lost, so he'd have an excuse to keep walking like this. But sure enough, the club was already in sight, and there little walk was over.
Miles looked over at him with a loving, tender smile, that soon turned misschievious.
"Are you ready to get pissed, birthday boy?" he said, though his voice lacked the usual confidence he had when making jokes, instead sounding almost disappointed. Alex nodded, unwilling to let go of the moment.
But Miles grabbed his arm and pulled him along, into the smoky club.

***

Miles dropped Alex' arm as soon as they were in, and combed the fingers through his hair.
"This looks good!" he tried enthusiastically, shouting over the loud psychedelic music as he looked back at Alex, who was staring at him with his wonderful brown eyes reflecting the purple lights. Alex nodded, and pointed over to the bar. Miles held up a thumb and flashed a smile, before turning around to make his way through the dense mass of moving bodies. He felt Alex right behind him, his warm breath brushing his neck. Then, a few cautious fingers, wrapping around Miles' hand and holding it tight. For a moment, Miles stood frozen, a statue between the dancers surrounding them. Then he softly squeezed Alex' hand, and started moving, pushing himself through groups of people, careful not to let go of Alex' hand, which was warm to his own cold fingers. Alex held onto him and followed him, bumping into him when Miles had to stop suddenly. Admittedly, Miles did this a bit more often than was absolutely necessary, cherishing the feeling of Alex' body pressed against his back, always lingering a second too long before apologizing softly, a "sorry" that was inaudible in the club, but that breathed against the sensitive skin of his neck. After what seemed like hours, slown down by adrenaline and hypersensitivity, they reached the bar and ordered their drinks. They both downed a few shots, and stared at each other, neither of them knowing quite what to say. Miles started playing with his glass absentmindedly, his foot tapping to the rhythm of the deafening music. At long last, he looked up to find Alex staring at him, a sad but calm expression on his face. He looked melancholic, Miles realised. And he wanted to know why. He wanted to know what had happened between the walk to the club and them sitting down, that could've made his mood change this much.

It was the realisation that they'd never be together. That's what Alex would answer if he were an actor, rewatching this moment on screen and explaining his acting choices to an overeager interviewer.
"As you can see here, my character, Alex, is contemplating the fact that he'll have to live the rest of his life pining for his best friend, simply because he doesn't have the courage to tell him the truth. He is looking at that beautiful boy, and he realises that he can't do it. He's a coward. They just kissed, and he's already doubting himself. The silence of their journey to this godforsaken place has made him run his mind over the previous hour, and made him realise that there is absolutely no proof Miles likes him back. He might have kissed him back, but he sees all this as platonic interaction."
The interviewer would nod attentively, and express how great she thought he was at imagining his character's thoughts. Of course, cool Mr. Turner, the world famous, incredibly straight actor, would shrug like it was nothing.
"Just doing my job, darling," he'd wink, and shag the interviewer in the bathroom stalls after the camera'd stopped filming.
Too bad this isn't a film. In films, the person they like always likes them back.
Or... Maybe that's just when the couple's straight. Even in films, gay couples don't stand a chance.
He had been staring too long, he realised as Miles furrowed his brow in concern, undoubtedly thinking Alex was affected by the alcohol. If only... Alcohol I can handle. It's the sober thoughts that kill me .
"I think I need a cig," he managed to bring out, already fumbling in his pockets for his lighter. He stood up before Miles could answer, and was already pushing himself past the partying people before he heard Miles shout: "Al! Wait! I'll come with ya!"
Alex pretended he didn't hear, and started walking faster. If there was anything he didn't need right now, it was to feel Miles standing right behind him.
Just like I stood behind him. Way too close. Holding his icy hand. Desperate to kiss the bare skin in the crook of his neck, only inches away.
Except of course, Miles wouldn't be thinking like that. Alex sighed. He really needed some time to sort himself out.

They smoked in silence, apologetically smiling when the other looked their way. When his cigarette had burned to a stub, Alex swallowed audibly. Miles threw what was left of his own cigarette on the ground and grinded it out with his foot. As they walked back inside, Miles placed his hand on Alex' shoulder, feeling the tense muscles under the leather jacket. The line had grown enomously, and they were faced with at least an hour of queuing before they could go back in, so Miles whispered: "Are you sure you want to go? We could go someplace else if you want?"
But Alex shook his head. He could be quite obstinate, and right now he was determined to get back in and have good, innocent fun with his friend, instead of leaving this place with a sour taste in the back of his throat.
"I think I saw a back door we could use," he said, already moving past the line, down the street to where there was, in fact, an inconspicious door.
He tried the handle while pulling Miles along, ignoring his muttered protest.
The door opened, revealing a dark room that smelled badly of sweat and spilled alcohol. There were way less people here than in the other room, and the music was considerably less loud. In the flickering lights, it took Alex a few seconds to realise where they were.
This really is starting to look like a film.
He stared at the two men kissing in front of him, hands roaming free as they made no attempt to stifle their moans. He felt Miles tug the back of his sleeve.
"We should probably leave, Al," he whispered, sounding very uncomfortable. But Alex let his eyes wander over the people in the room, holding hands, dancing way too close, kissing, touching, grinding.
If this was a film, we'd stay. We'd stay, and I'd confess that I like him, that I like a boy, and we'd end up kissing against the back wall.
And as soon as he'd thought that, he felt a balloon of recklessness inflate in his stomach.
Fuck this shit. This is my life. It's my own fucking movie. And I won't be showing any credits until I've told him the truth.
He turned around, and with a quasi-nonchalant shrug, he answered a stunned Miles:
"We could stay. I don't mind."

Miles was pretty sure his jaw was falling to his knees, that's hoe far his mouth dropped open.
"Are you sure? It's really different from other clubs..."
But Alex smiled misschieviously, and took his elbow, dragging him to the dancefloor, beaming like he was having an inside joke. "This is a good song," he said, slowly starting to move his hips in some ridiculous form of dance. Before they knew it, the two of them were dancing like they were the only ones there. Being in a gay club, of all places, with Alex Turner made Miles giddy and exhilarated, a contagious feeling that soon encompassed them both. They were laughing and dancing and screaming along to the lyrics, ignoring (or maybe cherishing) the fact that, at that particular place and moment, they looked like a couple indeed.