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

You Can't Always Get What You Want

2014

Alex picks me up on Saturday morning, in a shiny black Range Rover, with hot coffee. I suck it down gratefully as he navigates his way out of London, through a cold, steady rain. The Rolling Stones play quietly through the space of the car, and I look over at Alex while he drives, his eyes trained on the road. He looks handsome in his navy peacoat and dark jeans, aviator sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, his hair perfectly gelled and filling up the car with a piny, masculine scent. He looks unbothered, confident, and I can tell he has properly moved on from our sleeping together.

Which is fine, because I have too.

I'm an adult now. I've been through this before– have fully accepted that Alex and I have a friendship that is unconventional, and deep, and different, but it's just a friendship. Sex– now, or back when we were sixteen– doesn't change that, and it probably never will. And when I didn't hear from Alex during the week, except to discuss our plans to go home for the weekend, I cemented my resolve against any hope or romantic notions.

It was just sex– a night of drunken mistakes. Nothing more.

We had a three hour drive ahead of us, so when we were on the M1, I finally brought up Arielle.

"What happened?" I ask. "I know you said it weren't right, but how did it happen?"

He pauses before speaking, the windshield wipers filling the silence before he says: "When we were in L.A. for the tour in December things were different. We 'ad been apart for so long and 'ad fought over the phone for such stupid things for weeks before'and– it just didn't feel right. But we tried to make the best of it for a few days, until we 'ad to leave for Arizona."

It sounds vaguely like his break up with Alexa– drifting apart because of his tour schedule, beginning to resent each other and fight because of the distance. I feel so bad for him, watch his eyes stuck on the road, unflinching.

"It just got worse while we toured the States," he goes on. "Goin' days without even texting each other, gettin' annoyed when we did speak– I couldn't do it anymore. It was just like with Alexa, and it weren't fair to her, or to me."

He sounds so sad, but looks so unaffected, that I can tell he's trying to be strong– trying to seem physically unhurt. I put a hand on his arm, give it a squeeze.

"I called her from Orlando, pissed out of my mind, and ended it," he tells me. "I think she were relieved, to be honest."

"Oh, Alex, I'm sorry."

He shrugs.

There's silence between us, the soft sounds of "Wild Horses" mingling with the rattle of rain. I watch the wet, English countryside as it passes in a blur, and I wonder if Alex worries about finding someone to settle down with– if he ever worries his career and schedule will make it impossible to find someone who is suited to his life. But, looking at him in the beige exterior of the SUV, his hair and jaw and eyes so perfect, I can't see him worrying about anything, and I wonder if he's just not letting me in enough to see it.

"So, what about you?" he asks, breaking the silence as he picks up his coffee from the cup holder.

"What about me?"

"Break any 'earts lately?"

"Not since summer," I half-joke.

"No lucky blokes on the horizon?"

I shake my head.

"Major Tom would scare 'em away anyway," he jokes, looking over to me with a cheeky smile.