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

2013

When I touch down in the States for the first time in my life, I'm shocked– at the sunshine, and the palm trees, and just how bright, and hot, and bloody blue everything is. Alex is waiting for me at LAX with a cardboard sign that reads, 'Tosser Davis', and a goofy grin on his face. I haven't seen him since he properly moved to Los Angeles, and I abandon my luggage to leap into his open arms.

"'Ow are ya, Lils?" he asks, grabbing the handle of my suitcase for me as we head toward the exit.

"Ready for a holiday," I tell him. It's the only one I've been able to afford in years, and it's only possible because Alex is letting me stay with him, and insisted on paying for half of my plane ticket.

He puts an arm around me as we reach the automatic doors out of arrivals, and squeezes me to him, saying, "We're gonna get you proper tan for the first time in your life, Davis."

I roll my eyes, but laugh, and say, "I don't know if that's possible, but we can try."

"What yeh wanna do while yer 'ere?" he asks. "Go to the beach? See the Walk of Fame?"

"Sleep."

"Nah then, you'll sleep when you're dead."

He takes me to his West L.A. home, which is hidden by hedges of green palm and electric fuchsia bougainvillea, protected by a remote-controlled garage door. He hauls my things into the house, and I enter the cool, bright quiet of his new home. It's a mix of retro and modern– clean edges, '60's prints, and lots of sunlight. His records are stacked messily on the coffee table though, and he's got photographs and art that make it home, and I glimpse the pool through the glass doors at the back, and I'm excited to spend my week here.

And then Arielle comes into the living room from the kitchen.

They've been dating for nearly two years now, but this is my first time meeting her and– I should have known from the photos– she's absolutely beautiful. With long, reddish brown hair, impossibly sharp cheekbones, and the clearest skin I've ever seen, she looks like she could have stepped out of a magazine. She is so effortlessly cool, standing there in ripped jeans, and one of Alex's t-shirts– and can he just date someone who isn't a goddamned supermodel for once?

I'm annoyed at the first sight of her, and I know I shouldn't be, because she's looking at me like a puppy, with an excited-timid smile– like she wants me to like her, as one of Al's best mates– but I wish she weren't here.

"Lils," Alex says, and I could cringe at the fact that I'm wearing old leggings and a minging t-shirt from my King's College days, hair in a curly, wild bun atop my head. "This is Arielle. Arielle, this is Lily."

She sticks a hand out, before taking it back awkwardly and deciding to hug me. I should be endeared by the quirky, realness of her– that she's not just a vapid, pretty face– but I'm not.

I don't know what's wrong with me. I've always given Alex's girlfriends a chance. I don't know why I feel so differently right now.

Maybe it's because she's American.

"It's so nice to meet you!" she says brightly, smiling wide and– Good lord! She has dimples in her perfect cheeks. "We figured you'd be hungry after your flight so I just ordered pizza!"

All right. I really need to give her a chance.

"I'll show you to your room so you can freshen up if yeh'd like," Alex says, ushering me toward the stairs.