»opulence{miles kane x alex turner}

c o n f i d a n t

i spelled it like that on purpose promise

also it appears that i'm just throwing in unnecessary chapters on the stuff going on in miles' house because i really love the vibe they've all got with each other and writing about it fuels me. my apologies if it's really boring. i shouldn't write a milex fic and then focus on other characters, but whatever

i also realised halfway through writing this that i've never actually heard the actual jamie cook speak and now i have i've realised how i have imagined his voice completely wrong lmao,,,, who am i

oh and this reached 3,000,,,, what the fuck?? thank you!!

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Will was sitting against the wall, his legs bent at the knees. He wasn't entirely sure whose room he was in and if he was welcome here, but the bed looked too pristine to have been slept in recently and there was a fine layer of dust covering the screen of the television, so it stood to reason that this wasn't anyone else's room at all. Will didn't live with Miles, but he couldn't be bothered threading his car through the motorway now it was dark, so he'd probably just end up staying the night in a guest room and not sleeping for the current rage that had gripped him. Everyone in this house had had an idea that this was going to happen as soon as Alex had put in an appearance at all, but the fact that it had actually happened didn't make it any easier. The Turner boy knew everything, and there was not a thought more damning than that.

Quite how long Will had sat there for he wasn't sure, but he'd heard the telltale growling of Miles' car leaving, followed by a silence that stretched for twenty minutes or so, and then the rather unwelcome return of the wheels on the gravel. It dawned on Will as soon as the door shut that he'd been taking Alex home, and the grey-haired man would be willing to bet that that was the last time anyone would see him around here.

Will had been sitting in pleasant silence for an hour or so, thoughts swirling around in his head like a particularly miserable type of washing machine. It was no secret that Will hadn't been himself recently- it had worsened significantly since he'd killed Damon, but there had been some underlying problem for a long time now. It had hit him as surely and brusquely as one of Miles' punches- straight across the face and sent him reeling. It was the sudden realisation that he meant nothing to these men, they were constantly watched and hunted and betrayed- but this was his life and there was no exit clause anymore. Will had been perpetually angry for months, but Alex's buoyant figure had made it so much worse; and that was without his begging to be 'initiated', like this was some sort of game. It was only a matter of time until it dawned on the naïve other man the extent of the danger they were in, the brutality and cut-throat dealings that were everyday occurrences.

Will could see it all, because he'd seen it all before. People were often this taken with Miles, intrigued by his angles and his silhouettes, his posh words and velvet voice, the idea that there was always some darker side to him that he'd reveal in due course. It was addicting and suffocating, and no one seemed to realise until it was too late. But even that wasn't true- there was no dark side to Miles, simply because there was no contrast of anything lighter. He was black from the inside out, obsidian running through his veins and nothing but fire in his eyes.

There was a knock on the door. It sounded horribly loud in the confined space of the room, magnified since the door was barely centimetres from Will's head.

"Leave me alone."

There was no voice like that anywhere else in the world- Will sounded like he'd been choked and had barely recovered, but there was something tempered in that voice that promised nothing but the stone Will himself seemed to be carved from. And then there was the confusion that his accent rose- no two words were strung together properly, each one sounding like they'd been summoned from opposite sides of the globe because Will had never quite lost his New York accent, and it tainted even the thickest London accent of certain phrases. It set him apart- had him standing out nearly as much as his almost unnaturally green eyes and his strange grey hair that no one ever believed wasn't the product of dye.