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

2007

If I knew Glastonbury was going to be such a disaster, I wouldn't have gone. But I don't know that when I take the train to meet Alex in Pilton, headphones jammed into my ears, blaring Bowie and The Kooks in intervals.

I've spent the last several weeks adjusting to and accepting my withdrawal from King's College. Dad and I packed up all of my things and moved them back to Sheffield only a few weekends ago, and I've been waffling about, listless, ever since. I haven't started looking for a job, or even thinking about what's going to happen next. Instead, I've been setting aside books to read, thinking about stories to write, and then watching reality television instead, anchored to Dad's couch like my body is made of lead. So, honestly, I think Dad was pleased to see me off at the train station, because it means I'm getting out of the house, that I have some kind of purpose– even if it's just for the weekend.

But if I'm being honest, I haven't been coping with leaving King's College very well. At least, I'm coping even worse than I thought I would. After getting my exam results, I really thought it would be a relief to withdraw, to have one less worry and failure hanging over my head. Instead, it's like I've lost my identity, like I don't have a purpose any longer, and it makes me feel like I'm adrift at sea, gasping for air.

And I still haven't told Alex. All the weeks leading up to us reuniting at Glastonbury were spent talking about it, about how chuffed he was to be performing, about all the artists we were going to enjoy, the drinks we were going to have, how fun it would be to have a festival weekend together. I've been telling myself I'm going to find a quiet moment to tell him though, once the music and alcohol and time spent together have melted the distance between us, and the high of performing the Pyramid Stage at Glastonbury has diffused enough that Alex can see me again.

I'm going to tell him. No elaboration on my failures, or how shit it makes me feel, just a perfunctory announcement: I'm not going back to King's College. I've temporarily moved back in with Dad. I'll be looking for work soon.

Simple.

And when I see Alex– when he picks me up at the station in Pilton– I feel instantly comforted, relieved of the tension and anxiety that has come with my academic and career failures over the past two years. He pulls me into his arms, that goofy, wide grin lighting up his face, and I know everything will be set to right.

As headliners, the boys are staying in the poshest RVs at Glastonbury– far enough that it's private and comfortable, close enough to still be a part of the action. I'm sharing a bed with Alex, and no one bats an eye over it. It's Glastonbury, we're lucky we're not camping out in the mud.

The first day is spent in a whirlwind. I've never been to Glastonbury, and the first day alone sets me spinning. I wander around the grounds while the boys do soundchecks and press things, and I can't believe the size of it, the energy of it, or the absolutely astounding amount of mud. I stick near the Pyramid Stage mostly, with a drink in one hand, and my mobile in the other, for whenever Alex texts to check in. I watch Amy Winehouse and the Fratellis from the fringes of the crowd– too nervous to get into the thick of it alone– and my VIP wristband and wad of cash from Alex gets me proper pissed by the time he texts me and tells me they're on next.

He sets me up backstage, amidst a gaggle of VIP onlookers. The crowd is enormous, a near-pitch-black sea of darkened faces and limbs. I'm shocked at the enormity of it– at the size of the stage itself. Alex plies with me drinks, before he's swept into work, until it's time to go on. Camera flashes and glow-in-the-dark shapes punctuate the dark of the crowd, until the stage lights come on, and the crowd goes absolutely mad.