»opulence{miles kane x alex turner}

a n i m o s i t y

illustration cred to the fabulous ToastedBuckwheat <3

i listened to Trick by Jamie T fifteen times during the process of writing this chapter lmao

it also potentially might not make sense but it will soon promise
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There was something so utterly and horribly uncomfortable about eating breakfast in Miles' kitchen, reeking of expensive alcohol and the stale sweat that stuck Alex's hair up like a birds' nest, his clothing crumpled beyond even the most experienced iron. The bowl of cereal that was in front of him seemed to have taken hours to eat, his breakfast sticking in his throat like cardboard. It wasn't even because he was the center of anyone's attention, since no one was taking the blindest bit of notice of the tired-looking Turner boy who was sitting awkwardly on a high chair at the breakfast bar. Everyone looked remarkably busy, leaving Alex to sit in his own bubble of marred quiet and mull over every word that he'd just heard. The more he thought about it, the more he attempted to digest what Miles had said and the terse tone of Jamie's voice, the worse he felt about it all.

Alex's dark eyes were darting around the kitchen, questioning whether he really believed that there was something of such a secret and unpleasant nature going on. Maybe the hangover was making him paranoid- maybe the surroundings and the company were making him paranoid, since this was still the first time he'd spent any real time with any of these men. It was entirely plausible that what the Turner was taking for 'secretive' was actually mere business- just in a different sense than he'd seen before. While it was taking him a lot to convince himself of anything (he'd been the subject of that conversation for god's sake, and it certainly didn't sound pretty), he was willing to take any alternative to the realisation that he'd tied himself up in something that was too big for him.

In the mid-morning sunlight, Miles' kitchen certainly didn't look very threatening. It was November, so there was no golden-tinge to the surfaces, more of a frosted kind of light- making the entire house look new and sharp. Alex's hands were shaking no matter how he tried to steady them, but the clinking noise that the spoon was making against the bowl went entirely unnoticed, lost in the layers of noise that seemed to be a given where this house was concerned.

Miles was standing in the arch between the kitchen and the main lounge (there were no doors downstairs really, leaving the entire lower floor of the house almost entirely open-plan), talking loudly to someone on a cordless phone. That lazy, assured arrogance was back now he'd slept off the alcohol's influence, his frame half-melted into the wall and the sharpness of his expression still vehemently fighting that telltale smirk that he never quite managed to entirely lose. Behind him, draped over the arm of the sofa and dressed in leather and jeans again, Jamie was simply staring at the ceiling, some discarded novel at his side and a tired, bemused sort of smile on his face. Alex couldn't see Will, and he couldn't see Damon- the thought of whom jarred that same sharp response that Miles had fired at Jamie earlier in the corridor- and just as his questioning gaze scoured the open room for Robert, the tall blonde man collapsed into the seat beside him.

"Did I make you jump?" He asked, smirking at the start that Alex hadn't been able to disguise. Though discomfort was still thrumming through him and the idea of being in such close proximity to the people that were lying to him, the Turner had made some kind of unconscious decision that he actually quite liked Robert, despite barely holding a conversation with him.

All of the men were quite likable, and that was the problem. That was what made them dangerous. And Miles, who was so blatantly underhand but somehow simultaneously endearing and believable, was the most dangerous of all.

"A little bit," Alex conceded, managing a smile and stirring the cereal listlessly with the spoon. He'd only drank the glass of water that Miles had got for him, after he'd waited for the sounds of his partner going down the stairs and awkwardly followed. The rest he'd barely touched for the sick, twisting feeling in his stomach.