Ripped Tights (Alex Turner from the Arctic Monkeys)

Part 2

An arm reaches past me and takes the bottle from my hand. I can feel his chest on my back. Electricity exchanging between our bodies.
I hadn't even realised that the singing had stopped. I turn to face him. His damp hair falls across his face. Hiding his eyes. He looks at me from under his long eyelashes.

With one fluid motion of his wrist, he flicks the lid open. He passes it to me then leans past again to reach for another. My face almost in the crook of his neck. He smells like bourbon and pepper. His black button down shirt is open half way down his abdomen and a gold chain swings with his movement. He returns back to his standing position, opens his bottle and takes a sip, all while not breaking eye contact with me. I can see his neck bob as he drinks the water.

His gaze is immeasurable. Like he's staring right into my soul. My own eyes match his stare and yet I can't quite make out what is going on behind his. My first thought is that he's analysing me and yet it is not cold or methodical. The drums beating down in the background in slowmo. Time no longer mattering.

"What are you?" He whispers perplexed, as if I were not human.

I blink - breaking our link.

"This is the end of their set guys so we can leave soon." Tobias yells out.

"Naw I like it here." Skye whines, grabbing her boyfriend and spinning.

I can barley hear what is being said. Not just because of the drums pounding out behind his figure but because all of my senses were completely focussed on him.

He steps away from me slowly. Entering back onto the stage but still making full eye contact. Dark brown meets light blue. The smoke from the stage envelops him and the strobe lights slash around his frame.

He reaches the microphone

"Ladieeessss!" He shouts out. Screams fill the air. The instruments rip through the atmosphere.