Love is a Laserquest - Alex Turner/Arctic Monkeys Fan Fiction

Is This It

2014

I'm leaving work on Tuesday afternoon with Rosie, and she's trying to convince me to come to hers to get a curry and watch old EastEnders, when my phone rings.

"Lils."

It's Alex. I haven't seen him since Thursday night– haven't heard from him except for a few errant text messages about work with Miles– so I'm pleasantly surprised that he's calling.

"What are you doin' tonight?"

My skin practically hums in anticipation, the thrill of seeing Alex in person still surprising me after all the years he lived up the road. Rosie smokes her cigarette and watches me, as we stand behind the hotel, snow beginning to fall lightly around us.

"Nothing."

"'ow about you come out to dinner with me?" he asks. "So we can spend some proper time together and catch up."

Rosie is studying the look on my face like I'm a maths problem, and I turn away from her slightly, say, "All right, that would be nice."

"I'll come 'round yours?" he offers. "About eight?"

"Cheers," I reply, and we hang up.

"'Oo was that?" Rosie asks, as I'm stuffing my mobile into my pocket.

I take out a cigarette of my own, light it. "Alex," I say.

"The Arctic Monkey?" her cigarette is burning down low– she's forgotten it momentarily to gawk at me.

I roll my eyes, "Yes."

"Are you goin' out wit 'im?"

"Yes."

"Are you gonna shag 'im?"

"Rosie!" I shake my head.

"Weren't it you that–"

"I was very bloody pissed when I told you about my crush on him," I cut her off, words coming out in a frustrated rush. "And it was ages ago. We're just friends now."

"Yeah? Does he 'ave a girlfriend?"

I think of Arielle, his ex now. I don't say anything.

"Thought so," she flicks her dead cigarette to the ground and crushes it with the toe of her trainer. "You're gettin' proper shagged tonight. Forget the curry, hon, and text me the details in the mornin'."

She starts walking around the building to the sidewalk, towards the tube, and I yell after her, "You're mad!"

She waves my words away without turning around, before disappearing around a street corner all together.

Alex comes round to my flat a little after eight. He's dressed in a plain white button up and jeans, with a leather jacket over, and he seems out of place in our relatively cheap, small flat. But he's friendly, and he says hello to Tess– who he's met a handful of times– and waits for me while I pull my coat on and grab my purse.

We take a cab to Hampstead and stop into an ancient but posh pub. We're sat deep inside, nestled amongst the worn, wood-panelled walls, light sconces flickering low around the room. We both order vodka sodas and the fish 'n' chips, leaning across the table while we wait for our food, warm and buzzing on the surge of alcohol.

I can't help but think of Alexa's words from Thursday– "It was just– I don't know– something in the way you looked at him, the way you talked to each other"– and I'm feeling myself go flush in the heat of the room, under Alex's eyes.