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

2005

I'm in a state, and Dad can see it. He watches me as I fidget from across the living room. I take my hair out of its bun, and then feel how wild my curls are around my head and put it back up. I chew on my thumbnail. I get up and look out the window, sit back down, get back up and walk to the kitchen, then check the window again.

"Blimey, Lily," Dad finally says, startling me. "Should I get you a stiff drink or summat?"

I throw myself down onto the couch beside him with an audible sigh, crossing my arms.

"What are you so worried about?" he asks, elbowing me in the side. "Think all the celebrity has gone to his 'ead?"

"No," I say, because that's not what I'm afraid of. At least, not exactly.

"Then what?"

I hesitate. The worries have been circling my brain for weeks– ever since Alex left to go on his first national tour, ever since I last saw him after I failed to tell him the truth at the Fat Cat– and they've morphed and gotten a mind of their own at this point, and I'm hesitant to voice them. Afraid I'll bring them to life.

At first it was concern– concern over the fact that Alex was out on tour, meeting new people, bonding with Matt and the boys, and he wasn't calling or emailing nearly as often as I was used to. I tried to convince myself he was just too busy, but then I also managed to convince myself it was because his life was so much cooler than a sixth form mate from Sheffield who was on her way to university. Then it became worry that Alex would become so famous I would never be able to keep up, that he would party harder and live like a rockstar and he would try to stay my friend, but it just couldn't work, and it would feel pathetic and pitiful. And then the anxiety sprouted up, and I started to agonize that things were just going to be too different– in whatever way that might be– that we would never be the same again.

I still love him. It's only been a couple of weeks since I vowed to forget my romantic feelings for him, and I've been trying, but it hasn't happened yet. My heart still rockets in my chest when he does email or call, and I've been having dreams nightly where he just holds my hand, or kisses me on the cheek, making me wake up with a strange ache in my chest. But more than him not returning my feelings– which I've accepted– I'm worried he'll come back from this tour and we won't be best friends anymore. I'm terrified we just won't fit the way we always have, that something will have shifted between us because of the new paths our lives are taking. It's left me lying awake at night wondering if I'll even recognize him when he comes back, if talking to him will be like speaking to a stranger.

"I'm just worried things will be different," is all I can manage to explain to Dad.

He puts his arm around me and pulls me to his side on the sofa, squeezing me hard, releasing some of the tension from my tightly wound body. "Who says different is bad?"

I let out a wounded breath.

"Maybe he'll have spent all this time missin' yeh," Dad says. "Maybe he'll realize he's in love–"

"Dad!" I pull away from him and meet his eyes, cross, but he's smirking at me.

"I could be right."

"Stop it."

He shrugs. "Don't worry over nothing, my girl."

There's a honk outside, and I fly off the couch and to the window.

Parked at the edge of the garden is Alex's beat up, forest green Peugeot. I can see him at the wheel, fiddling with his radio, shaggy fringe falling into his eyes. From here, I can't tell if he's different– if we're different– so I can't fend off the way my heart starts pounding at the prospect of us being together again.