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

2008

I meet Alexa Chung on a Wednesday night in January– months after she and Alex have become a real couple. Alex is finally able to set up a night where the three of us can match our schedules, and I agree to meet them at a bar in Shoreditch.

I'm shaking as I walk the several blocks from the tube to the bar– partly because of the cold, partly from nerves. I've spent the last several days trolling after this girl on the internet, digging up any and all information on her, and I'm feeling sufficiently wretched as I'm about to meet her. Not only is she witty and cool in all her interviews, she's skinny and beautiful, a TV personality and international supermodel. She hobknobs with celebrities on a regular basis, attends front-row fashion shows as often as I get pissed up and watch reality TV at Rosie's. In my jeans and oversized jumper, with my scraggly blonde curls and failed writing career, I feel like an absolute melon in comparison.

Behind the frosted glass of the bar, the decor is eccentric and the lights are low, and they're playing a dance remix of the Smiths just loud enough that it's jarring. Ducking around the bodies, I find Alex and Alexa tucked away at a high top table, and I approach them tentatively. I meet Alexa's eyes first, and as I walk up, there's a moment of awkward between us.

We're strangers– she and I– and we don't know how to greet one another, but we surely know who the other one is from photographs, from Alex's stories. So we hold each other's gaze in the brief seconds that pass, unsure of one another, until I'm touching Alex's shoulder lightly when I reach them.

He turns, eyes alight when they fall on me, jumping up to give me a hug, his shaggy fringe brushing my cheek.

"Lils, this is Alexa," he says when he releases me, and she's stood to greet me. He puts a hand to the small of her back when he introduces us– so familiar, so comforting, sending a stabbing sensation from my stomach to my chest– but she actually looks nervous now and, against my will, it immediately endears me to her. "Alexa, this is my best friend, Lily."

"It's so good to meet you!" she says with the brightest smile, her eyes crinkling at the edges, and she actually comes round the table to embrace me as well.

Shocked by the genuinely warm greeting, I return it and smile, feeling disconcerted. As we sit back down around the table, the feeling grows– this strange juxtaposition of jealousy and hurt, and warmth.

I'm grateful when the waiter comes and brings me a drink.

I had been fully expecting to dislike Alexa– or just barely tolerate her, at the very least– but there's an immediate warmth and sincerity about her, an open candor that breaks down every one of my defenses, and I ease into her presence without wanting to fight it. She asks me questions about my life, and though I have to skirt around my lies, her interest is genuine and it feels good. She listens as Alex and I laugh about Sheffield, Matt, our school days, and she asks questions about our stories. She even joins me in taking the piss out of Alex when we get the chance– teaming up against him like old chums. And when we decide to get another round, I know for sure that I like her– No, I know I could be friends with this girl.

And I don't think I've ever seen Alex so happy before. His eyes are shining, big and warm, and a gentle smile never leaves his lips– except for when he's grinning goofily, laughing out loud. Their bodies are drawn to one another by some unseen force, and they're always close, brushing each other briefly, eyes meeting over their drinks. And the way they speak to one another, laugh together, are together, makes their chemistry evident and nothing about it makes me feel like a third wheel. To the contrary, it feels natural– feels like it's how things should be– though that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt somewhere deep behind my breastbone.