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Chapter Text

Ottoman’s was the only coffee shop you were willing to splurge on. 

Their coffee a delight even without all the milk and sugar you could add when you needed a kick to keep up. There had been a rush of orders this week and even after waking up past noon today you still felt tired. 

As per usual, there was a line. People sitting around, working on their laptops. An old man reading the papers.  A woman in a sleek suit typing quickly on her phone as she waited for her order. 

The bells chimed and you couldn’t help but glance over at the man who walked in. Clad in black fitted jeans, a leather jacket despite the turn in weather over a crisp white shirt and shiny leather boots. Hair gelled back with what looked like a whole tub of gel. 

With a confident swagger he took his place in line behind you. He was undeniably attractive. But you were more interested in getting your cuppa and getting all your errands done for the day than anything else.

The next few people in line went up. You were probably going to go for your usual. With just a splash of oat milk. 

Two people made a bee line for the man behind you. An incredibly beautiful woman, the type that become influencers on instagram, who got free drinks at bars. She had a golden glow and her hand in the man next to her.

“Al,” she greets him, hugging him with ease. She’s loud and you can’t help but overhear them as you scroll through the sales page on net a porter. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Arielle,” the man behind you greets stiffly, not leaning into the hug at all. You can’t see his eyes from behind his aviators. “Didn’t ‘spect to see you here.”

“Just a weekend trip really,” she tells him, “the wedding plannings been crazy.”

“Aaah, yes. The wedding. Congrats 'bout that again." 

Arielle doesn’t seem to sense any of his discomfort, too caught up in her own happiness. Probably an ex boyfriend then. 

You’re not even trying to pretend not to listen anymore, their drama better than anything on the telly since downtown abbey ended. 

The man at the til calls up, "next in line." 

You’re about to go up when the man behind you throws an arm around your neck, pulling you into his side and smiling down at you as he tells Arielle, "gonna order. Wait for us?”

Arielle smiles at you warmly, “of course Al just don’t take to long.”

And before you can say anything he’s pulling you along forward to order. “I’ll 'ave a earl grey creme and whatever the lady wants.” His loose hold is the only reason I don’t move away instantly. 

Al turns to you, a devilishly confident smile on his lips, the type people promising a good time and more trouble than their worth give, as he asks, “please go along with it for a couple of minutes?”

Not wanting to bother the man at the register by taking forever you add, “and a cafe au lait with oat milk.” Before looking back at Al as he finally lets go and slides his card, “and what’s in it for me?" 

He chuckles, "the coffee.”

“Least you could do.”

“Listening in on people’s conversations is very rude love,” Al says, wagging his finger playfully.

You snort. “Maybe you shouldn’t have those conversations in public if you don’t want people to overhear.”

“It’s just a couple of minutes love.” His deep voice smooth as you both move to wait for your order. 

“All right,” you nod, letting yourself be charmed by him. 

“I’m Alex.”

You introduce yourself as well, finding it funny that everything seems to be going in the wrong order with you both. 

“So,” Arielle asks, joining you both along with her fiancé. “Who’s this Al?” She’s light and genuine and you think it would be all to easy to be friends with her. 

“My girlfriend,” Alex replies back casually, as if remarking on the weather. You roll your eyes at him. He’s a terrible actor or maybe he’s just that much of an arse. 

“That enthusiasm,” you tease, putting your arm through his, “it’s too much.”

Alex shakes his head, smiling. 

“Are you two going to make it too my wedding,” Arielle asks, “it’s in Palm springs. Just a few hours from yours.”

So he doesn’t live in the city despite his accent and we won’t ever have to talk about this again. It’s a relief. Lets you ease up from whatever this was. It said something about Alex, despite his confident demeanor that he didn’t want to be alone while his ex got married. 

“We shall see,” he says noncommintantly. 

“Got to get going,” she adds, “hope we can get lunch before I go back to LA or when we’re in LA.”

Alex looks like he would rather die than do either one of those things, so you answer for him. “Love too but maybe this weekends a little short notice." 

"Oh okay.” She looks genuinely disappointed. They both leave and the barista calls your order out. Alex grabs them both. 

“Thank you love. Really saved my arse.”

“It would’ve been easier just to tell the truth,” you note. Lies got all tangled up quickly. 

He shrugs, “a lot less fun though.” Alex finally takes off his aviators. It’s frankly unfair. His wide brown eyes only adding to his already well formed features. A softness to them that ruins the idea that he’s a debonair devil the way he fronts. 

“What are you going to do when she asks?”

“Lie.”

“So she’s your,” You raise a brow.

“Ex. She wanted to get married and I-,” he fiddled with the ring around his finger, a silver garish thing that he pulls off through sheer confidence, “I didn’t want to.”

“To marry her or get married at all?”“

Her…both?” He pouts, looking into your eyes. 

“And what? You don’t want to look like the loser in the breakup or are you actually regretting not marrying her." 

Alex runs a hand through his hair, ruinning the carefully done style. "No. I don’t regret breaking up with her. I just…I guess I’m feeling particularly old today,” he jokes. 

You shake your head. “Honestly I’ve been feeling old since I finished school." 

"So what about you love? Any boyfriends that I should worry about?”

Laughing, you explain, “not but it’s me you should be worried about. Did years of krav maga.”

“Really,” Alex says, looking your small form over. You might have a full figure, but you also have lots of toned muscle. 

“Yeah. My dad was very into martial arts. Boxing was more his thing though. What about you Alex? Arielle said you lived in LA?”

Alex takes his time to answer, dipping from his drink. Looking thoughtfully around before replying. “I do have a place there.”

“But?”

“But I’m currently staying in London. Thought a change of scenery might be nice.”

“Are you like a drug dealer or something,” you ask unable to help yourself. London was expensive. Let alone having a place in Los Angeles too. “Or some trust fund posh kid?”

Alex laughs, almost choking on his tea. Rubbing his nose bride, before looking over at you and laughing again. “Neither. I promise love. I’m a musician.”

“So a rich kid,” you state, “all the musicians I know are broke.”

“A successful musician,” he amends. 

“Like Beyoncé?”

“Not quite,” Alex says shyly. It makes you even more curious, having to wrestle this information out of him. “What do you do for a living love?”

“I’m a tailor. Mostly do handmade stuff. I always liked sewing. Even as a kid. In college I made my clothes a lot of the times and sometimes had to stitch things up throughout the day.” It had been embarrassing to have a seam unravel during class. 

“Tailors make the world go round,” Alex notes, “Though the fittings are annoying, the results are undeniable.” He puffs out his chest and straightens out his leather jacket. 

You laugh at his faux posh face, one you know very well from work. It took a certain type of customer to afford suits starting at 2000 pounds. “Most people ask if people really still need tailors what with poshmark and h&m.”

We finish our drinks, easily going back and forth. Alex is charming and sweet. The lull between his responses worth it, his voice holding the same quality as a good dark chocolate and just as addicting. 

He tells you about LA, a place you’ve never been too. About music, going off on tangents about instruments and records you’ve never heard off and will be googling as soon as you get home. 

It’s easy to fall into conversation with him. Telling him about your small family. Your sister still in uni. Your parents down by the coast. The amount of work you currently have, and all the ridiculous request you get from your customers. “I’m all for making people look as fit as they want me too and having clothes that make them feel good but there’s a limit. No cut will make you loose ten stone. Of have you suddenly look twenty years younger.”

“I admire your ability to but up with all those posh fookers.”

“I do too. Not that everyone’s bad. There’s also business people that are more middle class but a good suit is everything. Counts for more than having twent my prada ones.”

“Well,” he states, finally leaning back and ending the magic of the afternoon, reality coming flooding back because you both have things to do and he’s still just a stranger, “it’s been lovely talking to you darling but I’m afraid I already made plans for tonight." 

"And I have errands to run before lazying about all day tomorrow.” You might still make it to the bank if you rush. Hail a cab. 

“You’ve been the best fake girlfriend I could ask for.”

“How many have you had Alex,” you tease him, watching the heat rise to his cheeks. Feeling emboldened, you give him your number, scribbling it out on napkin, “in case you ever need a fake girlfriend. I hear it’s much easier than a real one. Not that you look like you have any trouble getting women.”

He smiles, looking over at you in amazement, as if he’s not sure your real. That he’d been lucky to run into a woman like you while getting coffee. It was too entente of a gaze for you to hold for long. 

You look away, feeling surprised at yourself. It wasn’t like you to hand out your number. But you hoped that you might see him again. That it wasn’t just a one off. 

“See you around love." 

Chapter Text

Your phone rings, vibrating on the sette while you try and decide what to order for dinner. 

Work had run late and you had really just wanted to finish to jacket tonight and not have to pick up where you left off tomorrow. Not expecting any calls, you hit ignore and decide on chinese. Fried rice and pot stickers sounding heavenly. 

Your phone rings again and you decide to answer just to see who could be calling you. 

It can’t be work. And your friends would’ve texted you. 

“Hello,” you answer. If it’s some telemarketer you can always hang up. 

“It’s Alex." 

"Who?” You don’t know anyone named Alex. 

“ugh you pretended to be be my girlfriend that one time,” he trails off. 

“Oh yeah. Sorry my brains at like half charge right now.”

“Long day at work,” Alex asks. 

“Basically,” you answer, “my hands are beyond cramped. You know you could’ve texted. Who calls anymore?”

“If I can’t do something face to face,” he counters, “callings the next best thing.”

“Okay grandpa.”

“I just wanted to well…ask if you would mind much doing it again.” He pauses as if working up the courage to say the words. Taking so long I think he might have hung up. “Pretending to be my girlfriend that is.”

“What happened,” you can’t help but asks, already wondering what kind of situation he got himself into. 

“Arielle sort of told some mutual friends and now…”

“Your friends think we’re dating.”

“Exactly,” Alex finishes. 

“You could just come clean. No shame in that.” Though the idea of seeing him again alone is worth considering faking a relationship. 

“Yes,” he protests, “it’s embarrassing. Arielle’s getting married and I pretended I have a girlfriend. I ‘fink I’d 'ave to live under a rock after that.”

“Are you free right now?”

“Why,” Alex asks.

“So we can talk things through. Oh and can you pick up food on the way. That’ll save me the delivery fee.”

“So you’ll do it Love,” sounding so hopeful you almost say yes on the spot. 

“Well what’s in it for me?”

Alex snorts, “I’ll grab you dinner or something. Anything you want for saving my bloody arse." 

"Well like I said, you can start by picking up dinner.” You give him your address. 

A small flat at the top of some old building with a tiny balcony that was the main attraction. You had been looking at houses but had yet to find something in your range and one that you also wanted. So here you still were. 

You buzz Alex in, looking dapper in blue jeans and a strokes shirt with a different leather jacket on. This time sans glasses. 

“Thank you so much,” you tell him as you unpack the food onto your coffee table, but not before making sure he takes off his leather boots with more of a heel than you could walk in. 

“No problem love,” Alex says with a smile, “least I could do right." 

"Your learning.”

He chuckles, taking a seat next to you on the sette. The great british bake off plays, an old episode. You haven’t paid enough attention to know what’s going on. 

“So…”

“Yes Al,” you grin playfully. 

“Would you like to be my fake girlfriend?”

“Not until you explain what’s actually going on.”

He ducks his head as you start on the fried rice. Shoving forkfuls into your mouth without a care about how you look. Lunch seems to have been ages ago for how hungry you feel now. 

“Like I said over the phone. Arielle told a bunch of our friends and now Jaime invited us over and I said yes. And now I can’t just fess up.”

“You could though,” you note, offering him a fork too. 

“I’d look so bloody pathetic.”

“So if we were to do this,” you ask carefully, not meeting his eyes, wondering what you were getting yourself into. But as the weird girl in college with only one good friend, you knew a thing or two about being embarrassed. And it sounds amusing. 

Not to mention Alex is beyond hot. 

He sighs, relieved. “It’s just be once or twice. Then we break up and no one ever has to be wiser.”

You sit up straighter, studying Alex. His well defined bone structure, his expressive brown eyes, and the way he couldn’t quite meet your eyes, unsure as you felt about the whole thing. He looked like a proper douche with all the hair gel and habit for wearing sunnies when the sun had gone down, but you’d enjoyed talking to him. 

You still can’t imagine it being hard for him to get a girl. And yet here he was. “Alright. I’m game if only because I think this whole thing is ridiculous. They’re your friends. Not to mention I’m such a nice person." 

Alex laughs, which has you smiling hard enough that your cheeks hurt and for once not caring that it might look weird, might make your face look fat. 

"Oh thank god I was about ready to book a flight to LA and pretend I had work or something along those lines.”

“I wish I could do that whenever I didn’t want to deal with my aunt. My cousin got married last summer and now everyones looking at me every time we get together. I’m twenty six. Practically a child bride!”

It makes Alex laugh again. 

“If we’re going to do this though,” you tell him, opening up a fortune cookie, “we have to like establish details and have our story straight. Like I still don’t know what you do. That’ll raise eyebrows.”

“True enough,” Alex acknowledges. “I can already tell you’ll be the smart one in this relationship.”

You snort. “Tell that to my maths teacher.”

“I was thinking, we’ve only been seeing each other for a weeks. I’ve flying back and forth quite a bit. It adds up,” he states casually, like people just flew back and forth from one home to another all the time. “Haven’t told anyone because we we seeing where this was going.”

“Makes sense. So where did we meet? Musicians are supposed to be creative aren’t they?”

“Are you really going to make me come up with everything by myself love?”

You roll your eyes, “I really should stop getting take out. It’s bad for the planet but I’m so out of it after work.”

“How about you tailored some clothes I needed fixin’,” he suggests with a dangerously flirty grin. 

“That’s so unprofessional Al,” you protest, “I’d get into so much trouble for something like that.”

“Which is exactly what you said when I asked you out,” he continues, looking gleeful as the whole scenario plays out in his head, “but I was persistent. And said I’d never be a customer again if you’d give me a chance.”

“And you pouted so much I just couldn’t say not to that face,” you add with a giggle. "I work at Hargreeves by the way. Mostly suiting through there are quite a few dressmakers there too.“

"I have a little band called the Arctic Monkeys,” Alex offers, watching you carefully. 

You shrug, “never heard of them.”

“The last shadow puppets too,” he adds, still studying your reaction carefully.

“You any good?”

“We’re signed love so I 'fink we’re doing all right.”

“I don’t think you’re being a reliable source Al,” you note, googling Arctic Monkeys instead. “much too humble.”

“I’d sound like a twat otherwise.”

Your eyes widen at the number of results and articles right off the bat. “doing all right my arse! You’re bloody famous!”

“Only a little,” Alex protests, running a hand through his hair, pink dusting his cheeks. 

You tell him about going to trade school and your apprenticeship  "Something right out of the devil wears prada! Kept pricking my fingers so badly!“ Your friend Sam who does dresswear and complains about how, "everyone wants the same boring sillouttes! Can you believe dropping ten thousand pounds on a dress you could get at Harrods!" 

He tells you about growing up in Sheffield, about his band mates and old friends who have all gotten together or married by now, about his love for the strokes and Miles Kane. 

Alex talks about moving to New York for a girl, about moving to Los Angeles for a different girl. "I guess I’m a romantic at heart,” he confesses. 

You blab about wanting to work for an Atilier like Valentino and how you still feel weird about spending money on things like a Chanel bag though you can justify it. About devouring magazines while your mum shopped. 

It had been that initial love for fashion and your grandmothers own seamstress skills that had led your down the path you’d taken. “Poshmark is bad for the environment and the clothes don’t even hold up,” you ranted. 

Old clothes done by hand had lasted much longer and there was something about making things. “It was always just fun to design something and then see it come together through I nicked myself a lot and my mum made sure I finished my assignments before spending hours in my room." 

Alex asks you about your taste in music which is, "hasn’t really changed since college I mean Britney spears still slaps and who doesn’t love the spice girls." 

Your shamelessness has him laughing again."I mean your not wrong about the spice girls love.”

It’s past ten when he finally makes to leave. “So next week at Jaime’s,” Alex asks once more, worried you might have changed your mind. 

“Yes. Text me the details. Or I guess call if that’s more comfortable for you." 

He smiles, resting against the doorway, looking down at you with his soft brown eyes. "Can I kiss you? For practice I mean…they’ll be expecting us too…" 

If you let him go on, it might take two years for him to get to the point and you’ve already set boundaries. Hand holding, hugging, all the typical couple stuff except for sitting in his lap. 

That was too much for you. A kiss here and there for believability but obviously you wouldn’t be making out in public. 

Or at least, if this was real you wouldn’t go overboard in public so there was no reason to with him. 

So you kiss him on his lips, light and quick, just a goodbye kiss. And send him off.

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“This is bloody insane,” Sam comments as you search through your drawers for a bathing suit. California. You might need it. 

Now if only you could decide between all the clothes you’d tossed on your bed. Sam sitting among them, phone in hand as she continued to tell you how out of hand this whole thing had gotten. 

“Now, don’t get me wrong if I could land a sugar daddy I’d quit my job in a second,” Sam goes on, “feminism be damned. But I don’t know what this is! Do you?”

You shrug. The weather said it might be raining. Your barbour jacket would probably do. You doubted you’d need a thicker coat and you could alway layer.
You were trying to limit yourself to a carry on. Maybe you only really needed some sneakers and sandals but what sandals. Loafers might be better.  

It would help if you knew how outdoorsy the cabin where you’d be staying was. 

“It’s just Alex,” which was true. And you were used to him. Barely even gave thought to his career or the whole fame thing. There were time’s of course when you were out that he was recognized but it was never a big deal the way it seemed to be for like the kardashian’s with their security. 

Just a quick selfy and maybe an autograph. Sometimes it was just covert glances. 

“We’ve hung out loads of times,” you said, trying to be reassuring. It wasn’t sharing a room with him that had you nervous. He’d slept over a few times and being your friend, you’d never let him sleep on the couch, even if this was a friend that you might like a little too much. 

It was the fact that all his friends were probably going to be judging you and watching you all under false pretenses. 

Fuck. 

“Yes, but not pretending to date because apperently he’s a bloody coward!”
You roll your eyes. “Like you didn’t use to run and get mail to hide your grades when you failed Samantha.”

“Yes well, my parents were and continue to be idiots. At least I’ve never lied about dating someone.”

You smile, remembering all her antics, “we’re going to break up after.

"And remain friends?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, still unsure how you were going to sell that to his friends but Alex seemed to think it would work and he knew them best. It was only his friends that thought you were dating after all. 

“Wipe that dumb smile off your face,” she groans, “you’re going to have to pretend to be dating all day and all night not just for an hour or two.”

“It’ll be fine. Like I’ve already said, it’s Alex." 

Sam rolls her eyes, "just don’t catch feelings. It’s all fun and games right now when you have him all to yourself but what happens when he goes on tour and-”

“He’s not-I. He’s not my boyfriend Sam. I’m very aware of that and I know he doesn’t owe me anything more than friendship if he wants. It’s. I’m good okay.”

“Oh god,” she gasps sitting up and knocking over the pile of shirts you were sure of, “you’ve already caught feelings!”

“I have not!”

“You have! Oh,” she’s grinning and having way too much fun at your expense, “when did that happen? Does it make it easier or worse?”

“It’s not that big of a deal. So I like him a little too much. Who hasn’t had a crush on their friend?”

“Well I hope you get over it before you have your feelings hurt. I mean this all did start with basically saving face in front of his ex girlfriend didn’t it?" Samantha notes, folding the clothes all over again. 

You decide against the sandals and figure leather loafers will be fine. And comfortable on the plane. 

"Yes. And I’m not going to get hurt or anything. It’s Alex. I trust him.” He’d stopped when you’d pulled away, even drunk as he was. He always took care to make sure you were feeling all right. You didn’t see how another country could change that. And you couldn’t lie about how excited you were to go to the states for the first time.

“If you say so. But def keep me updated. I’ve always wanted to fight someone,” Sam admits. 

“Please don’t do that,” you urge her with a shake of your head. 

“I just think it would be neat.”

“And we’re going to land in Los Angeles and stay there for a few days before driving up to North California so I’m sure I’ll at least be used to his friends by then. And Matt’s wife’s going so it’s not like I’m the only girl there.”

“Just don’t forget to bring me back something.”

“I’ll get you a keychain,” you assure her, “maybe even two keychains. Bought at the airport right before I leave.”

“No,” she complains, “keychains are what you get an aunt you don’t particularly like. Not me. I deserve like something very bougie and nice. Money does count here!”

“It’s the thought that counts,” you snip back, starting to put everything in the suitcase, leaving enough room to be able to bring back gifts. You were only going to be there for eight days. Not a week. That’s what you kept telling yourself to limit the amount of clothes you packed.

“Not when your rockstar friend is paying your flight! Do tell me how first class is!”

“I think we’re actually flying business class,” you reply, “do you think I’ll need a bathing suit?”

“Yes and take the one we got in Majorca! It’s sexy. And not as faded as the pink one.”

“No! I keep feeling like my tits are going to fall out in that one,” you protest. “And my tits aren’t even that big.”

“Like I said, sexy.”

“No.”

Samantha grins, “and while you’re at it, don’t you dare take any m&s underwear or bras!”

“They’re comfy and you can’t beat the price at 10 pounds!” You still got those packs that came in plastic pouches anytime they were on sale. 

“And what my mother wears.”

Laughing, you reply, “You’re terrible.”

“I know,” Sam grins, “and you love me for it. Just take the knickers I got you in paris.”

“You mean what you made me get in paris. you were all like just come with me so I don’t have to go alone …and then made me buy knickers along with you!”

Sam laughs, “the french are right about underwear. And you made me spend a whole day at the louvre. my legs were aching.”

“I told you not to take heels.”

Sam protests, “who needs an entire day at the louvre. You just need to get a selfie at the mona lisa and bounce. Everything else you can google. Or not care about. Just pick one.”

“You were much happier clubbing.”

“I’m always much happier clubbing,” Sam states, especially ones where men buy me free drinks.“

"No one ever buys me free drinks,” you pout.

“That’s because you come off too cool and confident while I look like an easy lay…which I am!”

You snort, laying down next to her, “just say I’m boring and move on.”

“You’re not,” she assures you, “I’d be intimidated to approach you. Like woah thats a ten and I’m a toe.”

You snigger, “I love you so much.”

Samantha winks, “right back at you babe. Also who’s leather jacket is that I’m spying in your closet." 

You look over, already knowing the answer, "Alex let me borrow his jacket the other day. We met up after work and it got cold.” You don’t mean to blush, but you can feel your face heating up. 

“Did he,” Sam laughs. “How much do you think it’d sell for on ebay?”

“Shut up!”

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Breanna smiles at you like you’re a friend of her parents she got home to find sitting in her house. She’s pretty in a girlish way. Though her personality sours the beauty fast. It’s going to be a long week if this goes on. 

Not that Matt or Alex notice. Having not shut up even if their conversation is quiet. Matt skewing towards the more serious side of subdued than Alex’s melancholia. Though it’s probably more because you and Breanna are here then anything.

Dumbass boys. 

You sit in her Martha Stewart kitchen. Alex’s hand on your thigh as he talks.
After the fourth attempt at conversation with the woman you’d given up, shamelessly studying Alex’s profile. There was nothing like seeing him open up, unguarded. It always had your chest filling with warmth. 

You were waiting on Miles and Zack to arrive. Zack having the car you’d be driving up North. So far you’d gleaned that you’d be taking a scenic route. Not that you’d be driving, having never learned how. 

Breakfast was a poor plating of a slice toast, half an avocado, some mysterious root vegetable that was perhaps a health alternative to potatoes, one egg, and a single strip of bacon. A clear compromise between Breanna and Matt’s dietary choices. 

You wish you’d indulged more at the french restaurant last night. Stuffed some bread in your purse. 

“-so what do you do,” Matt asks. 

You blush as you realize they’re all looking at you. You having gotten lost in thought. No clue how the conversation had even reached you. Your eyes glancing at Alex, which is the wrong choice, because you end up having to cover your hand as you burst into giggles. Made acceptable by Alex also laughing. 

Matt glances back and forth between the two of you, shoulders squared like a protective older brother. You’d expected nothing less. Sam’s opinion of Alex heavily depended on how heart eyed you were as you talked about him. 

“I’m a tailor,” you offer. Before waving your fingers in front of your face like a cartoon witch and adding, “or as the french would say, petit mains.”

“We met at a coffee shop,” Alex adds, leaning dangerously close to the truth.

You roll your eyes, trying to keep the story straight, “My work doesn’t have eyes and ears here.” Then tell Matt, “we met while I was fitting him.”

“Can you get fired for that,” Matt asks bluntly. 

“It’s highly discouraged,” you admitt, “but that didn’t stop Mr. Carmichael from carrying on with the embroider. His wife came in one day and threw a brick through the shop window.”

“No way,” Breana says, gaping as she leans forward, arms on the table. 

“She was fired but I have a feeling it was the whole window stunt that did it.” It had been a wild day. “Work was let out early,” you add conspiratorially  "for obvious reasons.“

The conversation soon moves on.



The last two arrive, filling the house with noise. Noise curtesy of Miles. Miles who runs up to Alex, wrapping his arms around him and planting a kiss on his temple. "Alex you fucking wanker!”

Alex results in kind, wrapping his own arms around Miles and grinning.
Matt rolls his eyes, taking a swing of his beer. It’s only eleven in the morning.
Zack nods at you as he takes a seat next to you, “fall in love with any more rockstars while having them fitted?”

“Well Thom Yorke was in the other day but I dunno if I could date an alien,” you joke.

“I would’ve gone for it,” Zack laughs, helping himself to some of the toast Breana laid out in the middle of the table. “Man’s a legend.”

You snort. “I’ll be sure to let ‘im know.”

“-how’s,” Alex starts to ask Miles, who’s still firmly sitting in his lap and stealing his coffee, “Sydney was it?”

Miles shakes his head, tsking. “It’s all about Isabella now,” he corrects, twirling his hands about, mimicking flamenco dancers. A true born showman. 

“Can’t exactly keep up with the girl of the week.” Alex notes lightly with a sly grin on his lips, his eyes meeting yours and god you were so fucked. Should’ve shown him how much last night. But you’d both curled up in the guest room, tucked into each other, as soon as you’d gotten back. 

“Oi,” Miles protests, “I’m young. They’re young. We can’t all be settled in this disgusting domestic bliss.” He waves the mug around the kitchen, clearly taking a jab at Matt and Breana. “Dunno how blissful it can be what with this awful health bread,” he mutters pointedly. 

“Fuck you Kane,” Breana says, glaring cooly at him, “it’s gluten free bread.”

“Disgusting,” Miles enunciates every syllable.

She flips him off. 

Miles gets off Alex, sliding into the last empty chair, across from you. His eyes yellow like a particularly preening hawk zero in on you. He’s clad in skin tight creme jeans paired with gucci loafers from the eighties, leather cracked at the toe, and an outrageously bold tiger print shirt. 

He raises a well groomed brow. 

You smile in response. 

Miles pivots, “yah going to Arielle’s wedding Al?”

You know Alex is a hard no. But in that moment, Alex shrugs uncomfortably.
Reading him perfectly, Miles replies, “ya have to go! You can’t not go. She invited you. You’ve gotta show your face!”

“I hate to say it,” Matt observes, “but he’s right.”

“That’s literally what I’ve been saying,” you add, tired of just sitting there. It was going to be a long week if you didn’t jump off the deep end and start trying to make friends. 

“Yes,” Miles grins, pointing at you, “this one is fookin’ right Al! You gotta have the stiff upper lip.” He puffs his chest out, back straight, “your briddish after all.”

Alex only rolls his eyes. Unwilling to be baited into doing anything he doesn’t want to do. 

“Let’s get going yeah,” Matt wonders out loud, trying to coral everyone.
And he somehow does, beer in hand, get everyone into Zack’s large black SUV. You’ve never seen anything more american than that. Even with everyone’s things, three guitars between the six of you, there was plenty of room inside. 

Zack takes the wheel and Miles doesn’t miss the opportunity to control the music in the passenger seat, spending most of the first two hours of the drive, the ocean right there outside your window, head turned back and talking back and forth with Alex and Matt. He perches like an overly large bird on the seat, pushing the top of his belt aside. Sunglasses doing nothing to dim the continuous energy that pours out of him as he waves his hands about and mimics accents to make a point, jabbing the air with his cigarette. 

Matt sits next to Alex, barely spearing you a glance, leaving you next to Breana who you hope will warm up to you at some point in the next 11 hours.
Hopefully. 

Your phone’s down to 67 percent. 

There’s no way you’ll make it. 

You look over at her looking down at her phone, all california cool, “your nails are so cute! what do you do to keep them so nice though? Mine always chip so I’ve given up.” Which wasn’t a lie. A nice pale pink with hot pink tiger stripes overlaid. Your nails lasted an hour if you were lucky before chipping. 

“Oh, thank you,” Breana says, looking up, “I model and have a business with my sisters so I guess it helps that I’m not working with my hands a lot.”

“True,” you answer, looking down at yours. There was definitely some scars, Thicker skin around your nailbed where the thimble had built up a callous. “I use thimbles. I’m the literal one person market audience for those tourist thimble, and my fingers still get nicked by a needle now and then.”

“Those little cheap cup things,” Breana asks for clarification because thimbles are only useful for sewing. A complete grandmother pass time. 

“Yeah,” you replied  relaxing in your seat as the conversation gets going. Breana making it obvious she isn’t just going to brush you off. Maybe she was close with Arielle? You’ll have to ask Alex. 

“I used to get those because they were so cheap,” Breana exclaims, “when I’d travel. Perfect souvenir  Small and cheap. No clue where they are now.”

You laugh, settling in for the next few hours. 

Chapter Text

“Well I’m pooped,” Breana announces as Matt pulls in to Monterey bay.

 It had barely been what felt like ten minutes since you’d gotten back inside after Breana’s mini photoshoot at a bridge, which had been pretty enough, but you felt like a selfie had been enough. Six hours of doing nothing but sitting had not been fun. 

Zack had turned out to be easy to talk to, excitedly pointing put landmarks and cities as you passed, and trying to get Matt, after they had switched driving positions, and failing to get him to pull over at every point of interests. “But its a danish town,” he’d cried, smacking the headrest much too Miles’ amusement. “We’ve got to go there.”

“You’ve been to Denmark,” Matt had replied undeterred, even as Breana mentioned it would be cute too stop there. “I want to get there before dark,” Matt had countered, unmoved, the car rolling on by. 

There was lots of trees and ocean to see. Lots of California to take in that wasn’t just the hollywood sign, as much fun as that had been. 

You were much more interested in exploring with the time you had then documenting it in flawless social media bound pictures, though that might have been because you weren’t all that photogenic. You had no clue which was your more flattering side. 

When Matt had tired of taking pictures of Breana, she’d roped you in which you had to take for a good sign. After all, you were going to spend a week with these people and you couldn’t spend that entire time hiding in whatever room you got. 

“We should go to the aquarium,” Zack immediately proposes as you all get out of the car, before explaining to you, “it’s supposed to be world famous.”

You shrug, “I’m never not okay with an aquarium…”

“An aquarium is an aquarium,” Miles quips back, shaking his head, and stretching out right next to the car. “How special can it be?”

“Guess we just have to go check it out,” Zack smiles hopefully. 

“No. I’ve already made an itinerary,” Breana says, shutting down all his ideas, “We’re going to go eat at Cannery Row and get some pictures before finishing the drive.  

"And who gave you that right,” Miles says teases archly, his brow rising to his hairline. 

She rolls her eyes, “I made a groupchat and you assholes never said anything. Not my fault.” She carefully fixes the audrey hepburn-esque scarf around her hair in the car’s window, attaining that effort-effortless windswept look. 

“Why don’t we,” Alex offers casually, as he lights up a cigarette, having , “just split up? Meet back here in an hour or two?" 

It’s a fantastic idea as far as you’re concerned. And alright, you won’t lie, while your claim to Alex is as solid as your fake relationship is real, you’ve gotten used to having him to yourself. To having him over at your flat or going out for a drink or food, or walking around the park in the rain, all of his attention on you. That and you can’t help but feel like the odd one out here. 

All your past boyfriends have been friends of friends or close friends where it wasn’t this awkward to suddenly be hanging out with their friends. 

Maybe that was just adulthood. 

Your circle of friends was much smaller now than it had been in trade school or even back in college when you could always rely on having known someone, even if you weren’t close, since you’d started attending school. 

Zack throws an arm around Miles, grinning widely, "the aquarium was name checked in Finding Nemo." 

Miles shakes his head, chuckling, as he takes Alex’s cigarette as his own, "you’ve got to find yourself a girl mate! You’re starting to take your friends out on dates.”

“Easier said than done,” Zack comments, his features taking on a somber cast. 

“Two hours,” Breana asks even as she stares everyone down, forcing them to comply, a woman with a plan. 

“Sure,” Zack answers, already pulling up an uber on his phone. Reflexively, you look over at Alex, assuming you’re going where ever he goes. It would be strange if you didn’t go with him, your supposed boyfriend, wouldn’t it? 

Only to meet his gaze, already on you, a tint of red on his cheeks as he smiles softly. 

You smile back. 

“Two hours Kane,” Breana shouts as she and Matt walk off. 

“Al’s way more likely to forget,” Miles calls back.

Instead of responding Alex, cups you cheek, kissing your lips softly. You don’t mind at all, readily kissing him back. There’s only a hint of smoke on his tongue. 

“Any place in particular,” you ask him, the first to pull away, all to aware of his touch as he holds your hand. 

“I’ve got a place in mind,” he admits, “unless you’ve-.”

“I didn’t google a thing.”

“Ya don’t mind walking love?”

“All the better to take in the sight,” you point out, glancing around the car park. The beach was right there. Only a couple hundred meters away. Painted houses on stilts coloring the view. “So where are we going?”

“A park,” Alex tells you, as you find the walkway, only semi covered in sand and oh well, there go your loafers. Though you have had these forever so maybe this’ll be a good thing. Get a pair of those ridiculously expensive and ridiculously cute miu miu ballet flats. “Well, sort of a park. It’s also a beach.”

“A really nice beach,” you question, looking over at all the beach that currently surrounds you meaningfully. It would be nice regardless you were sure of it. Spending time with Alex was always a win in your book. Even if lately it left you way more flustered than you would have liked. 

“I ‘fink all beaches in California are extremely nice,” Alex says even as a pout forms on his lips, a tell-tale sign that he was sinking deep into his thoughts. "It’s the sun…hard to be disappointed if the day’s nice…. ya know?“

You laugh easily, "I’ll give you that. But can we walk by the water. I didn’t fly all this way to not get my feet wet.”

“We can do that.”

So loafers in hand you trudge through the sand, that makes its way into all creases of your jeans, glad to be stretching out your legs. Alex pops his sunglasses on, sunglasses you hadn’t even thought to pack. 

You were pretty sure you didn’t even have a pair of sunnies, in the perpetual habit of getting a cheap pair for a hol, or during the summer, sure you were going to use them, and inevitably losing them in a hotel or taxi. 

“So Matt and Breana?” You have to ask. 

You’ve been to their house but you still can’t picture them together. Matt seems like every other lad you’ve ever met at a pub. Breana was…californian in the way you’d imagined people here to be like which wasn’t a bad thing, now that she was beginning to talk to you. Then again, maybe being careful just came with being famous. 

“Have been together for a long time now,” Alex tells you, careful to keep his boots dry as you let the cold water soak your feet. The bottoms of your jeans now wet. 

“Well,” you utter, hoping to get a laugh out of Alex, “Some men do get pegged.”

Alex snorts. “she certainly keeps Matthew in line.”

“Don’t you ever get lonely,” you wonder, “if all your friends live out here? I mean, not that I have loads and loads of friends, or go out all that much, but just knowing I could text them and see them is nice.”

“I’ve got you don’t I,” he points out, as the waves rush out, leaving behind uncovered shells and rocks. 

The water is warmer than any English beach, or maybe you’ve got rose coloured glasses on, being a tourist and all. 

You blush, “you know what I mean! I’m no Miles." 

As much as you loved Sam, who’d kept texting you as if you could reply immediately and didn’t have to wait to steal wifi from a Starbucks or some other free wifi establishment, you’d go crazy if she was your only friend. You needed friends like James, that while as dorky as you, was much more out going, and willing to wake up with you at dawn for a sample sale.

 And you were sure Sam needed friends who also loved to go out as much as she did. 

"And you have no idea how glad I am,” he grins, “dunno if there’s enough room for two Miles’ in the world.”

“Ah so he’s the Mick Jagger to your Paul McCartney.”

Alex lets go of your hand, placing it over his heart dramatically, “are you calling me boring love!”

“Don’t be so sensitive,” you cry out, kicking water at him ruthlessly, “it’s a compliment. I love when you come over so we can both sit in silence and not talk while reading. Just the best.”

“I can’t tell if your being sarcastic,” he says with a shake of his head. It had been the same ruthless joking as he’d gotten ready this morning. You’d watched him use up so much gel and pomade and couldn’t stop laughing. Alex had taken much longer to get ready. 

Your heart aches as you lean over, kissing him for once because sooner or later you’d have to initiate wouldn’t you? To sell the act. It would look strange if Alex was the only one who went about kissing you. At least you told yourself, a rush of heat burning your cheeks as your lips meet his. “I really do enjoy it,” you admit, pulling away much too quickly for your satisfaction. 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to kiss him properly, the very scent of him imprinted in your mind, probably from all the times he’d stayed over at yours. Coffee, the sharp smell of high quality leather, and smooth musk. “I think you’re the only person I don’t mind going to the pub with.”

“Oh don’t mind,” Alex notes, not missing a beat or a the subtext, “how generous.”

“I know. I know,” you laugh, wondering when he’ll hold your hand again. There’s no need, since his friends are in some other part of the city. No need to pretend. But then again, there was no need to kiss him either. “I’m the only British person to hate beer." 

You know you’ve arrive when Alex suddenly stops, looking around pensively. It looks like the rest of the beach you’ve just walked through. Only with a car park and more green. Houses ringing the area. Some people were lucky enough to have the beach steps from their homes. 

"It’s 'spposed to be a park,” Alex finally explains, “cause you love parks. Even when it rains.”

“Maybe Californians,” you joke, slipping your hand through his arm, patting his shoulder gently, “are confused about what a park is. And you sort of have to go when it rains. It’s practical. I’m not waiting for the four days of the year when it doesn’t rain in London." 

It was so thoughtful of Alex to spend your meager amount of time in Monterey somewhere he’d thought you’d like. It was that thoughtfully romantic streak that ran through all of his actions, regardless of if you were actually dating. 

The same streak responsible for Alex remembering which curry you got at every indian place. That had him remembering where you stored the spare blankets in the morning when he was folding them up as you hurried to make it to work. 

He was a great friend. 

You couldn’t imagine how he was with an actual girlfriend. 

” ’s nice,“ he admits, taking out a cigarette, "walking through a park in the rain. Makes me appreciate the rain…Long as it isn’t full on storming.”

“There’s a sweet spot,” you concur. “I don’t think even I could manage a full on storm. I’m not Jane Eyre.”

You take a seat on some large rocks, taking in the scenery. Watching people go by on bikes, running with their phone in hand, or simple strolling about. It really is a lovely beach. 

The whole place is lovely. you’re glad you walked. 

A dutiful tourist, you take out your phone to take pictures. To remember the place and to appease Sam and James who you’re sure will interrogate you as soon as you get back home. You can’t help but laugh as you note how relaxed everyone’s style here is, lots of loose and cropped clothes, compared to Alex’s getup. 

Shamelessly, you take a picture. 

“Always taking the piss outta me,” he shakes his head, gaze never straying far from yours. 

“You make it so easy." 

Alex surprises you entirely by asking an older man walking his large dog, tail waggling, to take a picture of the two of you. Saying girlfriend needlessly, butterflies in your stomach at his words. 

It’s dumb. It makes you feel dumb, and you never want this to end. This slice in time, where it’s you and Alex and you can loose yourself in the idea of him actually being your boyfriend as ridiculous as that is. 

None of the pictures are flattering. The light harsh in the noon sun. Alex is looking over at you in all the pictures instead of the camera and you are grasping at straws for that to mean something.

 Fuck. You’re not going to make it through the week. Sam was right and you hate her for it. 

You don’t think that you can remain friends if you don’t air out your feelings for him. 

But then again, maybe that would ruin everything. You can only hope that the feelings will go away soon. 

Highly doubtful. 

"Want to take an uber and get food,” Alex asks because you only have an hour left. You could spend a whole week here. With a towel, bathing suit, and a pile of books. Easily. 

“I’ve been in the states for twenty four hours and haven’t had Mcdonalds yet,” you tell him. 

“Mcdonalds is for when its 3 am and your pissed love.”

“Sushi.” You raise a brow. 

“I can do sushi.”

You laugh, “what an enormous sacrifice Alexander.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

You wake up first. And shower, belly grumbling. Maybe you should’ve gotten up to eat last night. But it would’ve taken an hour to make you look descent. And you had your pride. 

Though you doubted Miles could keep anything to himself close as the men all seemed to be. 

You don oversized adobe red linen overalls, which you were sure was a charity shop purchase. You’d never pay retail price for . No way. But every now and then you thought you might just be a person who could pull of the whole country girl aesthetic. 

It never lasted. 

You were much more comfortable in well tailored trousers and blouses, but when in rome. 

Grabbing a cup of water, you go through the food Breanna had thoughtfully brought with her. Gluten-free granola. Gluten free flax muffins. An assortment of vegetables and fruit worthy of a farmers market. Three frozen pizzas, and enough beer for a couple of english lads. Plus some wine. You opt for the muffin. 

“Hey,” Breana smiles as she grabs a banana and pours herself a cup of granola, “you’re up.”

“Yeah,” you shrug, smiling. 

“That’s perfect. You want to go on this trail with me. I brought my camera and I’m going to put it to good use. There’s these like, pools. I think they’re hotsprings but no promises,” she explains, tearing off chunks of banana and popping them into her mouth. 

It’s only eight in the morning but she already looks ready for a photoshoot. A photoshoot for some environmentally friendly indie brand, but all the same. 

“That sounds really nice,” you reply, “and honestly without all the walking in London I don’t actually exercise.” Just commuting was enough exercise for the day. And all those stairs leading to the underground. You’d get fat driving around the city all day. Or would it be ubering since you couldn’t drive? You’d have to learn to drive. Uber was expensive. 

“Yeah I bet,” Breana says, “I keep telling myself I’ll start going to the gym but honestly I just watch a youtube video for yoga and call it a day.”

“That’s more exercise than I do.”

You follow Breana out the door, taking a trail clearly marked out, flattened earth from use, your shoes kicking up a bit of dirt and coating your trainers within minutes. Even with the sun high in the sky, the tall trees, disappearing beyond what your eye could see. The smell of crisp pine and evergreens filled the air, so much better than the stale London air. It’s not a hard trail by any means, closer to a walk through a park than a hike. There’s an slight incline that makes your thighs burn. 

Breana tells you about the camera she’d just bought, “iphone pictures just aren’t the same,” as she plays with the light settings. She explains how hard it is to find a house in the LA area, wanting something near good food and cute shops but , “like mom and pop places,” she laughs, “but it’s like I also want to feel safe even if I go out at five in the morning on a run. Not that I’ve ever gone on a run. Like La Puente." 

But Matt didn’t like how out of the way La Puente was from the places in LA he liked. 

"And La Puente is,” you ask. 

You didn’t know much about LA other than Hollywood and the iconic landmarks that featured in all the movies even if you couldn’t name them all. You were sure that’s how people felt about London. Tourists obviously wouldn’t know Kensington from Greenwich, or how to get there. About as lost as you were about La Puente. 

“Where I grew up,” Breana explains. “I still love it there. My grandparent’s are also still there so it’s just another reason I want to live there. I just got these curlers from my grandma but I don’t think they worked,” she runs her fingers through pin-straight hair. “Or maybe I just needed more hair spray?”

“I’ve no clue,” you tell her, “I’ve only ever had curly, well not curls that terrible frizzy in between hair.”

“What about you, where did you grow up?”

“A tiny town south of Birmingham.” Odds were people had at least heard of Birmingham. No one had heard of your tiny little town outside of Birmingham. She nods, halting as you come across a pile of rocks, just the right size to climb on, basking in the morning light. 

Breana hands you her camera and gets up on the rocks, “take them from waist level so I look taller,” she states, posing with grace. Anytime you tried to pose for pictures, you only looked way too forced and bad. “You live in London though, right?”

You take a couple of pictures, crouching down but then not liking those very much at all. “Yeah, better tailoring apprenticeships. I really wanted to work on Saville Row. Where all the greats worked like Lee Alexander McQueen.” Not that you had anywhere near his talent. 

“And you do now right,” Breana notes, sliding down off the rocks and immediately coming over to look over the photos. “Gonna be the next McQueen?”

“Nooo,” you reply. “I like being a tailor. And living in London. I’m going to buy a house there soon. Also I could always submit my CV and become a petit mains in Paris." 

She waves you in front of her, camera held in front of her face as you roll your eyes, but let her have her fun. Not like these pictures would be published ever. Still, you were suddenly all too aware of every step you were taking. "Why don’t you just move in with Alex,” she comments. Which makes it all sound so easy. 

Except-

“I’ve been wanting a place of my own for a while now, ” you reply, “before I’d even met Alex. And I still do.”

She grins, “cause you’re a strong independent women who don’t need no man!" 

You laugh, stopping as she catches up to you. You both walk forward, as the path narrows, forcing you to walk single filed as the dirt transitions to stone, to stone steps as a pool of steaming water emerges out of the forest like a fairy tale. 

"Up for skinny dipping,” Breana asks, with a wink. 

You shrug. “When in rome.” And follow her forward. 

When you both finally make it back, finally drag yourselves out of the hot pool…hot spring, and walk back at a meandering pace, you’re greeted with the sight of Matt watching a football match and smacking Zack’s arm as he heckles the hell out of the TV, which was understandable when it was 0-0 and the last few minutes of the game. 

Alex and Miles were on the other settee, standing up on it, each with a guitar in hard, singing little ditties based on Zack’s latest comment, backs against each other. Breana rolled her eyes, immediately going for the bottle of wine, pouring out two mugs filled to the brim. 

Miles is the first to spot the both of you, “Breeeeeee,” he croons, nodding a hello at you, “and just as we were about to start up a drinking game!” He takes a seat on the armrest, watching with glee as Zack steals the control from Matt and starts flipping through the channels.

She shakes her head, taking a seat on Matt’s lap. “You could make a drinking game out of anything.”“

I can and I have,” Miles agrees, reaching for the bottle of tequila laying on the coffee table along with a couple of shot glasses from various Vegas casinos, already pouring out the shots.

Zack, settling on one of the Mission Impossible films, asks, “even Mission Impossible?" 

"I feel like there’ll be one of those bingo cards for it online,” Breana says, sipping at her wine. 

You take a seat next to Alex, smiling as you sip at your wine. “I’d be surprised if there wasn’t. Seems like the sort of movie that’d be easy to drink along to.”

“Or,” Miles grins, “we could just drink every time Tom Cruise shows up on screen.”

“Miles,” Breana cries, almost choking on her drink. 

“You bloody wanker,” Matt shakes his head, “going to give us alcohol poisoning.”

“Life’s short,” the man shrugs, “y.o.l.o or whatever.”

Zack pulls up a bingo card for Mission impossible. 

And you all settle in to get really fucked up. Hoping you won’t be too far gone to fuck Alex again. 

Chapter Text

You’re going to miss LA. You think to yourself as you hoist your bag out the uber, considerably heavier than when you arrived a little under a week ago. 

“I’ve got it love,” Alex grins, not waiting for your response, before taking the bag right out of your hands, clad in a jacket like the sun wasn’t shining high in the sky. 

“I had it.”

“Yeah well,” he smiles, taking a moment to plant a kiss against your lips, “I’ve got it.”

You roll your eyes, leading the way into the airport, but can’t help the smile that grows on your lips. The warmth in your chest has nothing todo with the california sun, leaving you bubbly as fuck, the same way you’ve felt this whole week with Alex. 

Even rock stars have to wait their turn to grab their tickets before having to go through the very unsexy security.  

Standing in line, the airports ac cranked up like crazy, you’re glad to be wearing one of Alex’s jackets. “ feel like a glorified coat hanger,” you tell him, “just here to keep your jacket from being ruined during the flight.”

Alex chuckles, “but you're much better company.”

“True,” you giggle, “can’t say the same for you though. It’s no fun getting tipsy while you're holding your own like a proper james bond.” Thinking back on the many drinking games you'd taken part of during the last week. Zack had been a surprising lightweight.

“Well-,” 

Whatever he was about to say is lost. The sound of cameras clicking, a flash temporarily blinding your eyes. As a man urgently says, “Alex is this your new girlfriend!”

A camera clicks again. 

“Alex! Look over here,” the man cries out. 

You wish you had Alex's sunglass wearing habit, as you blink rapidly, trying to recover from the blinding flashes suddenly assaulting you. 

One man becomes two becomes three. All jockeying for his attention. “Alex are you working on the new album!”

“Sweetheart, look over here!”

“Is she your new girlfriend!”

“When's the new album out!”

The people around you, who moments ago hadn't cared, look over, whispering under their breath. You don't know how celebrities like Kim Kardashian can deal with the media circus that surrounds their lives constantly you think as you try and ignore the flashes continuing to go off. Ignoring them like you would the pointed looks of your profs as you struggled to stay awake during seven in the morning lectures. 

Alex, sensing your unease, slips his hand into yours, squeezing your hand in his tightly as he pulls you along up to the self check-ins. 

It's easier to block them out when you're busy concentrating on printing your tickets. 

“I swear my passport was just here,” you mutter. Your purse wasn't even that big. How could it have gotten lost. 

Alex smirks, unable to help himself as he teases you, “should've given your passport to me love.”

You snort. “My passport picture should be kept between me and this unfortunate machine.” You had tried to bleach your hair blonde, but had only achieved a horrid orange color that you'd dyed back to black the next day. 

You pull out the elusive passport, but Alex nabs it from your hands before you can scan it into the machine. 

He looks down with a ridiculously sappy smile, “you look beautiful as ever.” 

“Oh you're so full of shit,” you snipe back. 

Alex chuckles, the machine finally printing your tickets, before leaning in and kissing you again, taking you bottom lip between his lips, for just a moment too long for such a public place. 

You flush crimson, but can't make yourself look away from Alex; the man you've grown so fond of. 

He'd never been this open and at ease of PDA back when you had been faking a relationship for his benefit. It makes you really wonder how his friends had bought it. 

A crease forms between his brows, “don't mind the paps love. ‘s better if you just ignore ‘em.” There's a certain stiffness to his shoulders that hadn't been there moments ago too. 

The paps bother him too. You're surprised he isn't used to it. Then again, he hadn't even spared them so much as a glance. 

Understanding dawns on you, he was worried about how you'd react now that you'd both just decided to start dating. Alex doesn't want them to put you off. 

You shake your head as you both make your way to TSA, Alex still holding your hand, keeping you close to him. “I was just thinking how I'd be a terrible paparazzi. They'd send me out to chase Britney Spears and I'd be like but what if she doesn't want to be bothered right now.”

He laughs as you step on the escalator up and leave the paps behind. 

**

You're in the cab back from the airport as your phone buzzes, finally off from airplane mode. Ten different texts from your mum asking if you landed okay. All the work emails you put off in the states. And Sam sent you a million screenshots of you and Alex in the airport earlier with the text: i'm now celebrity adjacent and i WILL name drop. 

You laugh, having expected nothing less from her. 

“What,” Alex asks lazily, cigarette in hand, both the cabs windows down. 

“Just Sam being Sam.” You reply. 

He nods, becoming incredibly serious, too serious to be sincere, “she's your Matthew.”

“Well you're not wrong.” Sam was that close to you. “We're going house hunting tomorrow...later today. I hate jet lag.”

Alex grins. “Why don't you just move in with me,” he says simply, as though it's not a loaded question. As though it's really that easy. 

Sending you through eighty five degrees of: you haven't told your parents, they're going to freak, you just started dating, too fast, you're parents were going to absolutely murder him because everyone in your family had been convinced you were going to die an old spinster by now. 

“We just started dating,” you say instead. 

Alex shoots you a puzzled look. “Technically it's been six months.”

“Stick to being clever in writing Alex,” you reply. “this has been on my to do list for a year now.” You have been saving up money and building credit for ages now. 

“Okay so maybe it's been a week,” he shrugs, flicking the cigarette ash into the street, “but it feels like forever.”

You snort, your cheeks heating up all over again. You hadn't felt this happy with a man in ages. “Nice try but the answer’s still no.”

“Can I at least come with,” he pouts.

“No,” you laugh, “Sams going to want all the gossip as soon as I see her. Who else is going to tell her that Breanna really thinks rice crackers and peanut butter are a snack!” 

“Don't be so hard on her.”

“You didn't have any either,” you counter. “I can understand someone eating healthy, I dunno if I've ever made a dress larger than a size 6, but I draw the line at trying to pretend kale chips taste good.”

“I hate peanut butter,” he answers, the laugh clear in his voice. “sticks to the roof of my mouth.”

“She also told me about this app that fakes plastic surgery for editing,” you add, “made me feel like an old woman. Only just discovered filters.” You really didn't use instagram for much more than following some writers and designers you admire. 

“She hogged you all week,” Alex groans at the memory. Breanna telling you where to squat so her legs would look longer, her camera in your hands. 

“It was fun. She's a hell of a hiker,” you admit. She'd been able to walk and talk easily, lugging around her camera with her, while the boys jammed out back at the cabin.

“Miles won't walk more than a block before whining. Ya sure I can’t go with you and Sam? I've gotten very used to having you around all the time”

“You can help me move in,” you tease. 

“Oi!”

You lean in close to his ear, “promise I'll make it worth your time,” you practically purr, barely managing to keep from laughing. 

Alex's cigarette falls out of his hand. 

He turns to you fully, his hand cupping your cheek, a glint in his eye as the sun sets over London, “I'll hold you too it.”

You beat Alex to the bags, having learned by now that he wasn't about to let you pay. Which was for the best. But you could at the very least carry your own bag up the stairs to your flat. 

“I've got it,” you shut him down, keeping a hand outstretched, so he doesn't just take the bag from your hand. 

“Alright alright,” Alex laughs, following you up to your flat. 

You were glad that he was staying. You had also gotten used to waking up to him every morning. To making out in bed first thing. Or lounging around on your phone as Alex tuned his guitar.  

It had been that way for a while if you were being honest with yourself. 

Alex had carved out a place in your life long before he'd kissed you and told you he loved you. 

Saying you had only been dating for a week meant nothing when you were already sure of the depth of your feelings for him.

“ ‘s it alright if I stay over,” Alex asks softly, leaning against the door while you search for your keys, looking just as hopeful and earnest as he had so long ago when drunk, when he'd tried to kiss you then. 

You stick the key in the door, before turning to meet the warmth of his brown eyes, and kissing him for all the times you'd wanted to before: kissing him just because you can. You can't imagine ever being sick of the feel of his lips against yours. “Stay as long as you like.”

The door clicks open.

“All that's good,” Alex smiles, “I already ordered breakfast… ‘fink it's closer to lunch by now.”

“Oh thank god,” you reply, abandoning your bag next to the door and sinking into your sofa, stretching out all the kinks in your neck from having sat on a plane for the last nine hours. “I was just thinking how I was going to have to run to the grocery store.”

“We can go after.” Alex says, kicking off his shoes, and laying down next to you. 

You giggle, scooting over as much as you can do there's room. Both of you are slight, so it's not hard to curl up on the sofa without feeling squished together. You relax against Alex, happy to waste your last hours of vacation with him.

Chapter Text

Sam waves off the real estate agent while you look around. 

“So he went down on you,” she repeats for the thousandth time. 

It's the 7th place you've looked at this week and you've got to hand it to the agent, he knew exactly what you were looking for. Small cozy place with lots of natural light, at least two bedrooms and a patio or yard because you fancied that you would grow your own herbs at some point after you learned how to cook. 

It could happen. 

You were going to stop living off takeout. 

“Yes and we’re dating. God I look awful in those photos,” you wave off. You should've worn makeup to the airport. “Do you think redoing the bathroom and kitchen is too much work?” 

You hated the kitchen and bathroom. 

“We can diy,” Sam grins. “that's what youtube is for and yes you look like utter shit. But who cares when you're getting that good dick.” 

“Can you keep it down,” you utter, glancing at the real estate agent. This house was in a good location, close to Regents park. It was a steal well, because the inside needed some updates if you didn't want to live in the tackiest home ever. 

Houses were an investment. 

“Well at least one of us is getting laid.”

“You just had a one night stand,” you remind her. “It was the first thing you told me. Alex heard.”

“How was I supposed to know he was going to be there this morning!”

“Not to mention you never gave me my spare key back.”

“What are friends for,” Sam winks. “Okay yeah we'd need to trash the inside but the foundation and pipes look good.”

“He asked me to move in with him.”

“What! Really? I never expected you to move that fast.”

You shrug. It wasn't like...with Alex things were...well not easy but you weren't second guessing every single thing. He was starting to write and that meant you'd usually get home with food and Alex would be engrossed in his own scribbles with a keyboard or guitar even while eating. It had bothered you at first. 

But you'd talked. 

And you just had never felt as comfortable with anyone. 

You needed downtime from Sam. 

But you didn't mind Alex playing guitar while you went to bed because it was Alex. And you wanted to enjoy every single second he was there because music meant he would sooner or later be touring.

“Well I said no,” you tell Sam. “I mean..I think I would've said yes if I wasn't in the market for a house. It just doesn't feel like I'm rushing things...he's already said I love you. I don't know how to explain it but it doesn't feel like I'm making space for someone in my life it just feels like sharing. If that makes any sense?”

“Ah you're in love,” she sniggers, “stop rubbing my face in it.”

“This color is awful too,” you motion to the puke pink-brown on the wall. 

“I've definitely vom’d that up after too many shots.” 

“Sam!”

“You should get this house. I will move in exchange for helping you redo the paint and other stuff. Also you love regents park!”

“I do.”

“It's meant to be.”

“You think?”

Sam nods, “your horscope was also very positive this morning.”

“Sam!”

Her eyes widen, “I didn't interrupt anything this morning did I!”

You roll your eyes. “No. We'd-,” you cut yourself off, refusing to tell Sam everything. Give her an inch and she'd take the whole damn mile. “No. I saw this diy on how to make a faux marble countertop?”

“Now you're thinking,” she grins widely. “I still can't believe Mrs. Harrington’s going to wear a whole ass clam on her head! Poshos I swear!”

“Lady Gaga could pull it off,” you add. “Remember that lobster hat?”

“Yes!” Sam laughs. “I saw the pile of instruments you've amassed. When can I expect free concert tickets” She wiggles her eyebrows.

You laugh. Sam wouldn't turn down free tickets, but she, like you, hadn't really known about the Arctic Monkeys before Alex came into your life. “He's writing. Not sure how close to recording that is,” you shrug. You were pretty sure he had stayed up all night composing a song last night. “It's nice. I'm actually managing to get through my reading list.”

“You two both need to do some more Rolling Stones-esque partying. Not sit it. I'd go crazy with that little attention. I'm like a plant but with attention instead of water.”

“My liver is still recovering from the states,” you answer. You'd smoked weed and done shots like it was happy hour twenty four seven. And while it was fun, you couldn't work and party that hard. You liked sleeping too much. 

“Well it better recover quick,” Sam opens the door to the yard, a small patch of land covered in weeds and dead grass. “We are going out this weekend. My roommates on and off again boyfriend’s birthday is this weekend. and it's the big 3 O. And there's going to be all the fun drugs. I refuse to turn 30 without snorting coke once.”

You look at her, bewildered, “you did do coke. I remember being there and telling you I wasn't going to look after you.”

“But you did.”

“Where would you be without me?” You smile, trying to picture basil and whatever other herbs people are growing in the little yard. 

“Well I'd have ended up flashing the school. Thank god you had some safety pins on you.”

“Ah yes,” you grin. Her punk phase, the reason Sma had gone to trade school for fashion with you. Unlike your suiting skills, hers had fallen more into fabrics and dress making. She always knew just the fabric to use to get the desired cut. “I told you that seam wouldn't hold.” 

“I'd probably be working in a bar. Or,” she frowns, “still living with my parents. Gross.”

“I'll put an offer in then.”

“How soon can I move in,” she winks.

“Do you really want to,” you offer. It would be nice to live together. You might hate that she never washed the dishes, but she did cook. And also you remember that she never bought groceries. Or remembered to tell you she had someone over. And Sam had the worst habit of staying up until three in the morning for no reason which wasn't a deal breaker but was way past when you went to bed. 

You hadn't shared a flat since she'd moved out to live with some guy that she then broke up with and kept the room he'd been renting. 

“No. I can live not having to see you and Alex be disgusting in front of me.”

You smile fondly. “He really is shameless. We made out outside of that pizza place next to Liberty yesterday. Ate out for once. And only because I thought the pizza would be cold by the time they got to my flat.”

“It is a bit far from there,” Sam nods. “But if you end up getting this house it won't be.”

“I am making an offer. Are you sure you're not the real estate agent.”

“Maybe I need a career change.” Sam notes. 

“Well let me go make an offer then.”

“We should get bubble tea after.”

“Totally.”

Chapter Text

The clock reads five in the morning and Alex is barely putting his notebook down. He’d sent a couple samples to Miles, once it had become clear that nothing he was writing particularly screamed Arctic Monkeys . None of it felt right for their next album. 

So he thought Miles might use it on his next album. It would be a shame to throw it all away, never let the beginnings of some songs see the light of day. Especially since he’d spent the better part of a month writing his days away. 

And Miles. . .Miles planned to fly into London and see what they could come up with together. There was nothing like writing with Miles. 

Alex empties out his ash tray and washes his now cold cup of coffee, he’d only ended up having a sip, cleaning up after himself in your apartment: already anticipating curling up next to you in bed for a bit before you left for work. 

He never understood how you got up before your alarm went off in the morning. It had been years since Alex had gotten up before eleven in the morning. And right now, with all the work he’d been doing, it was a miracle if he was up before 2. 

He scrolls through his email like a proper adult, just in case anything important’s come up. Abandons his guitar on the coffee table and wonders when exactly he started living here with you. He couldn’t pinpoint a date if his life depended on it. But it just felt natural. 

It’s a change for him. Alex is used to being the one to ask his girlfriends to move in. He’s glad you decided not to. He’s so fucking happy to be here, with you, feeling at home in your flat. He’s so ridiculously happy that you’ve made room for him in your home. 

Alex is surprised he isn’t shitting rainbows and unicorns with how in love he is with you. It’s a fact he never fails to mention. The words making their way out of his lips with ease. Love you babe, when you get up in the morning, nothing more than a mumble, Alex still half asleep. 

He makes the effort to not get lost in his music when you get home, How was work? I love you. Come over here, let me show you what I’ve been working on. Tell me if I’m a total knob? 

Alex learns the brand of oat milk you love in your coffee. Knows that you like having the windows open all day to let the air in. His clothes gradually take over the left two drawers of your dresser. Pomade and hair gel besides your cleanser and moisturizer. 

I love you. Lets go to the park, you can bitch about what utter twats your customers are there. 

You drag him to the fabric store, already hunting for curtains for the house you’re buying, and he watches you geek out as you run your fingers over the different materials, not even having to check the fabric composition to guess what’s 60 percent cotton and polyester and which tweed is 100% wool. 

Alex drags you out to the pub friday night. Sam sometimes tags along with her roommate or latest boyfriend. He spends most of saturday morning in bed with you, making love to you all afternoon, his name the only thing on your lips. 

He’s brushed his teeth, about to head into the bedroom, when his phone rings. The screen flashing. Caller ID is the mermaid emoji. 

When he and Arielle had been dating, she’d always be changing the photo that came up when she called. The first time she’d flown out for one of his shows. A picture of him kissing her cheek as they drove out to palm springs for a few days. Arielle’s goofy bathroom selfies. 

Then one day, the day she’d sat him down and he’d abruptly realized her things had been packed up from his house. Her kitchen mixer gone from his kitchen. The selfhelp and cookbooks gone from the bookcase. All the little traces that had made his house her home cleaned up. Arielle had sat him down and said, “we need to talk,” in the serious tone that he knew was code for I’m breaking up with you. 

She’d beaten him to the punch line. 

Alex had thought it would be rude of him to break up with her during tour. And then he’d gotten home and imagined. . .he doesn’t know why he’d dragged it out. Was it because he’d loved her? Had still been more than a little in love with her but not oblivious to the fact that their relationship had run its course. Was winding down a slow death because she wanted things he wasn’t prepared to give her. Marriage, kids, a white picket fence house. 

She’d even asked, “ are you planning on ever marrying me Alex, because I need to know right now if it’ll happen for us.” 

He’d sat there, looking through the window instead of at her. 

“I know what I want,” she’d told him frankly, with tears in her eyes. “ Do you?”

Alex had shaken his head, “ I dunno if I’m the marrying sort.” And then she’d gotten up and left without a glance back. 

Alex waits to feel that familiar lump of emotion form in his throat. He’d lost more than a girlfriend in that breakup. Arielle had been his friend before that. And now she was neither. 

When it doesn form, when he realizes he doesn’t feel anything other than a hint of nostalgia and sleepiness, Alex answers his phone. “ ‘ello?”

“Alex,” Arielle asks, sounding surprised. “I wasn’t sure you’d be up right now?” Or that you’d even answer, she doesn’t say. 

“Yeah, about to turn in.”

She laughs instead of being all apologetic. “Of course. Still a total night owl I see.”

“Arielle,” he sighs, “why are you calling me?”

It’s her turn to sigh. “I was just going over my rsvp list and. . .you haven’t replied. I just. . .I was just wondering if you’d be coming next month.” To her wedding. 

Alex doesn’t particularly care anymore. No that’s not true. When he’d first heard she was getting married, not even a year after they’d split, he’d been hurt. Alex had wondered if he’d made a mistake. If he should've married her after all. 

The fact that he didn’t want to was nothing compared to the loneliness he felt at not having found. . .at being alone. Arielle had moved on. Matt was married. Jaime and Nick had settled down as well. What was wrong with Alex that no one wanted him like that? Or was there something wrong with him for not wanting that with anyone? 

Now he just felt weird at the thought of going to her wedding. They hadn’t talked in ages. 

“No,” he manages, his tone sounding harsh to his own ears. Alex rushes to add, “I’m going to be busy but congratulations in advanced Arielle, ya deserve it.”

Arielle snorts. “Thanks. I just. . .I was really hoping you’d come. Actually. . .I was hoping we could try to be friends again. I know if I leave the ball in your court you’ll never . . .Alex you were one of my closest friends. I don’t want to lose you completely. And it’s been some time. . .I was just hoping we could try to be friends again. Now that I-we’ve moved on.”

Alex swallows thickly. He remembers all the times he’d texted Arielle over the years: good luck on her auditions, she’ll get them next time, asking her to hang out when he was in LA. The nights they’d all ended up eating mcdonalds at four in the morning, Arielle making him laugh so hard he’d shed tears. 

It seems like a lifetime ago. 

Alex has moved on. He’s itching to go to bed. Yearning for the warmth of your body against him. Already thinking of what to make for dinner later, breakfast for him. Alex suspects he’s going to have to go on a grocery run. There’s only some stale toast and a couple beers in the fridge. 

And next month you’ll start moving. 

And he’ll be moving in with you. 

Bloody hell, he’s such a goner. Alex had fallen in love with you without meaning too. Without even realizing it. 

“You’re right Arielle,” Alex tells her. “We have moved on and we should. . .I’d like to try and be friends with you again.”

“So you’ll come?”

“No. I really am busy. My girlfriend’s moving next month and I’m moving in with her.”

“Wow,” Arielle laughs, “such a modern man.”

Alex chuckles. 

“I’m glad to hear you’re doing well,” she adds. 

He glances over at the closed bedroom door where he knows you’re asleep. How could he not be well, he’s in love. Alex doesn’t care for a piece of paper uniting two people. And you haven’t brought up marriage, if you’ve planned out your perfect wedding. . .if you dream of it at all. But if you do, Alex thinks he’d be down on one knee in a second. 

“Right back at you,” he tells Arielle. “Now if ya don’t mind, I think I’ll turn in for the night.”

Arielle laughs, “Al it’s morning in London.”

“Let me know when you’re in London.”

“Only if you tell me when you’re in LA.”

She hangs up, and Alex makes a note to send her a wedding gift. And start texting her again. 

He’s careful not to make too much noise as he slips into the bedroom, not wanting to wake you up. Alex lays down on his side of the bed, unsurprised to find you asleep in the middle of the bed. He wraps his arms around your sleeping form, and goes to sleep.

Chapter Text

“I think I’ll stick to sewing,” you utter, frowning as you look over the wall you’d finished painting. It wasn’t. . .bad. It just wasn’t amazing. Not a thing like the sample squared you’d seen in the store. 

Alex laughs, blue jeans cuffed half way up his calves, paint staining the once grey sweatshirt. Most of the house had been painted. Your bedroom was done, with your sofa in the guest bedroom as you still had the living room to finish. 

“I’m definitely getting someone to do the bathroom,” you tell him. “As fun. . .or well actually diy’s are frustrating. They never look as good as the picture. I’m starting to suspect I’m just not very handy.”

Alex wraps an arm around you, leaving the paint brush soaking in this side closer to mint green paint. White was too sterile for a living room. And you could always repaint the living room. It had been a fun weekend. Once you had figured out the floral stencils for the bedrooms. 

“I would say I’d do it,” Alex says, planting a chaste kiss on your lips, “but me and Miles are actually . . .we’ve got something. Not sure what type of something. Yet”

“Baby number two,” you ask, cupping his face and pressing your lips to his, kissing him deeply, his mouth opening up to yours. 

“Eh. . .we’ve got to do a pregnancy test to be sure. Play with the song a bit more. . .see where it leads if anywhere. ”

You laugh, padding your way to the kitchen. The kitchen you definitely hated but had to figure out what the hell you wanted to do with it. Architectural digest had become your friend. It was just so tack, with an awful shade of eyesore orange. 

But you were leaving that for august. Probably crash at Alex’s while work finished. 

You drink your cuppa coffee, long gone cold from this morning. And take a seat on the countertop that was for sure going to get replaced. “Does that mean you’ll go on tour then?” You ask Alex, watching as he pours himself a glass of cold water from the pitcher, a housewarming gift from Katie. He might live with you, but lately, he’d been spending just as much time with Miles between working on music and them being two peas in a pod. 

Alex was still here, hair starting to curl around his ears, and you were already missing him, the thought of tour on your mind. On the road for months while you sat around in London. Not that you’d be wasting away like Miss Havisham, but it was Alex. You loved him. You could never get enough of him. 

As if reading your thoughts, Alex walks over to you, settling between your legs, his hands on your thighs, “dunno. That’s still a ways away, love.” He kisses your jaw. “Right now we ‘ave . . .maybe one song.”

“You’re right,” you giggle as Alex nips at your throat, “besides. . .I think it’ll be nice to see you play. But let’s get away from the paint fumes for now.”

“You hear me play all the time,” Alex counters with a whine, leaning back. 

“Mm, you and Miles taking the piss out of everything while strumming a guitar doesn’t count.”

“It’s worth at least a Brit or two,” Alex retorts with a naughty grin. 

“The fame’s gone to your ego,” you groan, pulling him back to you, pulling his lips against yours, your hands bunching up the soft fabric of his shirt, as you lazily kiss. His feel of his body you know so well, pressing against you in the afternoon. In the home you’re both slowly making your own. 

“I’ve got you to knock me down a peg,” he says breathlessly against your lips, his hands tightening their grip on your thighs, before capturing your lips once more. 

It’s obvious where this is going, as you wrap your legs around his waist, having spent the last week having more sex than unpacking boxes. Finishing moving was nothing compared to having Alex’s cock filling you up, kissing you until you came undone. 

“Someone has too,” you joke, reaching for the button of his jeans, palming over his hardening cock. 

Alex laughs. 

You take off your shirt, a very ancient t-shirt you used as pijamas, bleach stained and worn out. Now paint stained as well. You toss it aside without a thought, moaning as Alex takes your breasts in his hands, massaging them gently, running his thumbs over your hardened nipples. His trails kisses around your neck. 

And you can do nothing, eyes fluttering shut in bliss, your fingers threaded through his hair. 

Your grip in his brown locks tightens, dragging him up to your, wanting to kiss him again. “We’ve probably breathed in way too many toxic fumes this week,” you whisper teasingly.

“Can’t be worse than smoking,” Alex jokes, his hands deftly tugging your shorts from back when you had done actual exercise, down. You lift your hips, steading yourself on his shoulders, leaving you naked on the counter top. 

“Alex, love,” you whine, “you’ve got too much on!”

He chuckles, your eyes on him as he takes his shirt off. Shamelessly admiring his body. The toned muscles of his abdomen. The trail of hair leading down to

-you push his jeans and boxers down his hips, freeing his hard cock. Wrapping a hand around his cock, watching him through hooded eyes as his moans, “fuck, babeh.” You stroke him again for the hell of it, already wet with anticipation. “just like that,” Alex stamers out.

Your skin, burning with desire, in the warm spring afternoon. 

You suck open mouth kisses into the crook of his neck, whimpering as Alex pinches your nipple between his fingers, his other hand digging into your hip. Pleasure and pain mixing into a delicious combination. Your hand guides his cock to your entrance, as Alex thrusts into you. 

“Fuck, Alex,” you moan, fingers digging into his shoulders, as he ffills you up.

“You’re so fucking wet for me aren’t you,” Alex whispers agaisnt your lips, trusting into you, his hand coming up to cup the back of your neck, hips snapping against yours. 

The groan of the ancient countertop. 

“Fuck yeah,” you reply breathlessly. “I want your cock so bad Alexander. Just like this. Filling me up.” You kiss his jaw. Take his bottom lip between your teeth. Kiss him hard enough to bruise. His tongue in your mouth. 

Your fingers threading hard through his hair, as Alex sinks into your core, filling you up perfectly in this position. Your legs around his waist, wanting more. Alex always left you wanting more, like a craving you could never fully satiate. 

He’d already fucked you this morning, taking you on all fours, morning light streaming in. Not that you noticed, Eyes pressed shut as you orgasmed. 

And here you were again, heat relentless in your core, so goddamn close. 

The counter creaks. 

Alex digs his fingers into the back of your neck, rocking into you feverishly. “ ‘m close,” he moans. 

You clench your tight. Clench your walls, Feel like your whole body’s gone-a rush of heat like a fireball in your core before bonelessness. Before sweet oblivion and your thoughts being wiped out. 

Alex thrusts deeply once more before coming. Coming undone. His body resting against yours. 

Breathless. 

Fucked out of your mind. The sharp smell of paint wafts in from the other room. 

Alex rests his forehead against yours, smiling softly down at you. “I bloody love you.”

You laugh, looking up at him with a lovesick smile on your lips. About to reply, thinking about something snarky, but feeling out of it. Feeling like matching his sappiness. When the counter cracks. 

The counter cracks in half. A chunk breaking off for good measure under your legs. Sending you falling into Alex. 

Sending you both tumbling to the ground. 

“Fuck this kitchen,” you groan out, rolling your eyes before bursting into laughter. Getting up, ready to go shower before going out.

“They just had to ruin it in the 70s,” Alex hums in agreement. “Fucking particle board. Bloody wankers.”

“Join me for a shower?”

“Do ya even need to ask me love,” Alex smiles, eyes crinkling up with joy.