Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Hey.”

“Oh hi, Al, love, how are ya?” Miles’ chirpy voice emerged through the speakers, and Alex clutched his phone tighter.

“I, erm, good, erm… Happy birthday.” He mumbled awkwardly as he has always been awkward to make birthday calls.

“Ta, mate! Grand to hear ya!”

“Yeah, erm, you too. Hear ya, that.”

“How’s the tour?” Miles’ enthusiasm was spilling through the phone, making Alex’s lame condition stand out even sharper.

“Alright that is. I mean I think so. See ya soon, right?..” Alex felt uncertain.

“Sure, la! Can’t wait!..” Miles was confident and smiling.

“Right… I… erm… I actually gotta go… the soundcheck, tha knows…” Alex scratched his brow, scowling at himself.

“Yeah! Good! Have a nice one!” Miles was seemingly nonchalant and cheerful still.

“Fanks… You, you too, mate…Have a blast,” Alex tried to make his voice sound more lively.

“Right. K, Aly, real nice to talk to ya, babe. See ya soon, love,” Miles quickly replied with affection, not willing to keep Alex from his work.

“Yeah, you too, Miles.” Alex slurred back.   

…

“Love ye.” Came from the speakers.

“I, erm, love ye, too…”

Miles hung up, and Alex pulled his phone from his ear and stared at it with a light frown. It was really good to talk to Miles, to hear his chirpy scratchy voice, full of vitality and kindness. He missed that. He missed that sense of coziness and trust he had with him.

Though the frown had settled and won’t go away.

Miles was too chirpy and happy. Like the call didn’t twist his insides, making you hide in your hotel room, having neither energy nor desire to communicate with anybody above the needed by the band’s management level, ignoring even his own godforsaken girlfriend, who had flown all the way to Japan, half a fucking world away, to see him a week ago. And see Japan of course. Because she loved that type of shit. Travelling and being his infamous girlfriend.

Alex sighed.

There still was that unread message from her, lingering in the notification board like an annoying big brother, watching Alex shakily tapping on Miles’ name to call him and mumble his pathetic birthday wishes. Have a blast. 

Yeah, that’s definitely what Alex lacked himself these days. Years, to be precise. The years it took Alex to realize how vain and shallow his life has become, hopeless and blank. He’d worked it through, writing this album, The Car, like in therapy, having broken it to pieces first, in an optimistic and naive attempt to put them all back in the only correct order afterwards, but with dread realized that he couldn’t. The scattered pieces have been thrown all over the imaginary desk of his fate, and Alex was just staring at them dumbly, not knowing what to do with his life. He was useless and lost. And absolutely not happy, as might be seen from the little bits and pieces of his persona, caught on uncountable cameras during the gigs he played. In the costume which helped him to create at least one personality and hold onto it for dear life, because now he had none of them.

He used to be different. He used to be more content and comfortable in his skin. He used to do what he felt like doing and never took somebody’s words to heart, ignoring any evil word aimed his way. Maybe he’s been stronger like that. Maybe he’s been weaker, just shutting himself up from the world to protect his vulnerability and deep self-consciousness. Anyway, Alex felt that he used to be completely different. He’d have the world at his feet, and even when he didn’t he still felt like he could make it lay just there. Maybe he’s been younger and bolder. Maybe he’s been more oblivious to a failure because he knew lesser. Maybe he’s been loved better. Maybe he’s been loved at all…

Alex sighed and opened the message.

‘Paris on fire’ Pauline’s message said, and Alex slowly raised his eyes from the screen, blinking into the nothingness, feeling his eyelids fight against the heaviness of the unwillingness to even contemplate the answer. What he was to say to that? ‘Okay’? ‘Good’? ‘Take care’? He didn’t give a shit. He knew there were some protests in the city of Paris, Matt had mentioned it this morning after having discussed it with his girlfriend Amanda via phone; she’d been all about it, excited and nervous about her ‘French wife’.

Alex took a deep breath and covered his eyes, sliding his hand heavily down his face. He was devoid of energy, sitting on his hotel bed for half an hour already, in jeans and a shirt, having not yet unpacked his suitcase, pulling his essentials out. There were none of them for him now anyway. He was lost, and sad, and exhausted, despite the fact that he’d spent good five hours asleep on the plane just recently. The anticipation on the other side of the line — and the planet — was literally taking life out of him. He had to reply.

‘Stay home’ he typed, at long last, and blocked the screen, swiftly putting the iPhone aside face down. He didn’t want to see her answering right away. He’d throw up.

The phone buzzed nevertheless, and Alex jumped off the bed, stimulated by the sudden wave of frustration. Standing by the window, he moved the curtains and stared out of it at the sunny landscape of light buildings and greenery in between. His room was situated in a landscaper, so the view of Jakarta was fairly fascinating, but Alex was observing it with an unsettling shallowness inside. He felt empty and tired. He could move the masses of people, singing and playing his guitar — God, he did it by simply taking his stupid glasses off! — but now he couldn’t move a finger.

Alex knew that was just that very much familiar fatigue, which he surely had experienced before, but deep inside he knew better.

That wasn’t just fatigue. Alex felt that his life was heading towards a very unpleasurable direction off a cliff, and he was motionless, nevertheless, observing it, hoping for a lucky chance to save him.

He must’ve been too old already to believe in fairytales, but Alex naively believed still. Maybe some prince would come and save him, after all. Take him and pull him onto his lap, riding away on a white horse into the happy ever after. Alex was such a romantic old soul.

The thought of a person who could be that imaginary prince for him made him huff mirthlessly. He had that prince once. That was Miles. He would’ve done anything for him. Move the moon and light a star. But Alex had been too scared to let him do it. He’d dug his fingers into Taylor back then, hiding behind her like a shield, because he’d been too scared of the intensity of the feelings that had been brewing between them from the start and started developing at an incredible speed during their work at the second album and the following tour with Miles. Alex had felt completely blown away by the things he felt and felt Miles feeling, and almost gave it to his uncertain shocking desires but pulled away at the last moment, running away, startling and offending Miles, and having their thing ruined for an unbearably long period of time. The time which Miles had spend sulking, trying to gather himself from the broken pieces Alex had left in that room instead of him, going into various directions, trying to heal his wounds, becoming distant, different and wild.

Alex fairly thought that it was the end. He didn’t initiate any communication, although every single holiday or a birthday he would twist his arms, dying to send at least a text, but being too scared of receiving nothing back, and chickening out as a result.

Over the course of time though they had found their way back to each other — the balls it had taken for them both notwithstanding — and started talking and even hanging out again. Alex had been so energized by this newfound light in his life which Miles was capable of bringing, that got completely lost in his role of the mad 70-s porn star he portrayed for their new album with the Monkeys, and hooked up with a girl while they had been recording it in a French village.

A French girl.

And the girl who’s been all about the same things he and Miles were about. Alex saw a chance for himself to get the things he couldn’t get and hadn’t gotten from Miles, and had been drawn by the possibility to live the moments he was hoping to live with him through but couldn’t because he was a friend. And a man, what was more important.

Alex had thought about it. Of course he had. He blamed himself for stopping what had been about to happen back there in that Parisian hotel room countless times. Cursing himself, hating himself. They could’ve gotten what they both clearly wanted with Miles, there had been a time and there had been a place for that; and maybe that wouldn't have been the end of all. Maybe that would’ve been the beginning…

Alex despised himself. He blamed himself for his weakness, for his unreadiness, for his shame. He beat himself mentally for Miles’ glassy eyes, for his raging heart, for his own shaking hands. Alex couldn’t stand his doubts, his unwillingness to try, his fright of change. He hated himself. And it couldn’t not have affected his relationship by that time. His girlfriend Taylor was becoming more and more distressed and demanding, claiming his physical and mental presence at their shared home, sensing Alex’s absence, and he was soon looking for a calm bay to hide in, finding it the confines of a French studio once, where his crew had organized a party during the recording process.

Alex missed France. France reminded him of Miles. And if Alex couldn’t have Miles, he’d have France. At least once.

Once slowly turned into twice, twice into several times, and soon enough Alex found himself taking a train to Paris to see his new secret lover Pauline, which was supposed to stay secret, being just a seasonal fling, able to make him fuck Miles out of his system if he’d been too afraid to fuck him in real life once, but soon enough the whole thing spiralled out of control — modern technologies be damned — and Alex appeared in the situation where he had his girlfriend sending him a screenshot of something from the internet — a bunch of some other screenshots — which, as she claimed with a ‘what the fuck???’, pointed on him being a cheater. Alex didn’t study the screenshot much — that were some pics of him, Pauline’s friends and other unrecognizable stuff, and called Taylor right away, assuring her in a low serious voice that that were nowt, and he didn’t know what she was talking about. Taylor ate it up, calming her tears and curses, and asked when he was coming back home from Europe. Alex said soon and that he loved her, and felt the stinging on his tongue as it could only deliver so much lies. He should have really returned back to LA, been with his girlfriend, who’s name he’d got engraved on his arm recently, and tried to become normal again. Come back and done what was anticipated from him and right. Pauline was pretty and exotic for him with her French allure, but she wasn’t the woman he’d have dropped Taylor for.

He never came soon though, as just in a couple of days, Pauline called him in tears saying that she’d just lost her mother.

Alex was in shock. All of a sudden he appeared in the situation when he felt obliged to provide his literal side-chick with comfort — as she’s been devastated and grieving — despite the fact that he needed to be next to Taylor at that moment.

The good part of him was insisting on the first option, because fighting against his own conscience was harder than fighting his girlfriend, so Alex decided to call Pauline and offer her to come and stay in London while he’d been away on the already roaring fresh tour to keep herself distracted. He’d have let her into his flat, but he’d been away, and there had been no way to let her in, so Alex had her staying at a fancy hotel in the center of the city arranged, and paid for it. That was the least he could do.

When they met some time later, for the first time after the tragic news, she’d been still unconsolable and was clinging to him like a child, and Alex’s heart ached for her loss. He had soothed her into calmness and offered to join him on the road for a while, if she would’ve liked, in order to lift her spirits. Pauline had beamed and kissed him, murmuring in her broken English something about that she was ready to follow her man anywhere.

So the commitment had suddenly been settled. Alex started to show up with her in tail, despite still officially being in the relationship with Taylor — there, in the USA — and, of course, it couldn't have been not noticed by his ever-present fans, who liked to follow Alex’s every move. And soon enough the secret hadn’t been secret anymore, his aware but loyal silent crew notwithstanding.

That’d been awful.

What he and Taylor had to be drugged through had been ugly and filthy. Alex despised himself for having done that to her, to him, to them. But it’s been too late to pretend that that had been nowt. She knew it hadn't. And Alex didn’t find it in him to try and assure her otherwise. He had been found red-handed. There had been nowhere else to run and hide. There had been nothing left to do. He didn’t want to, though. He’d been the pond and some away from Taylor and hadn’t been due to return to the states for a couple of months, so they had enough time to calm down and recover at least a bit before the inevitable meeting. Which never happened though.

He didn’t tell Miles; despite the fact that they have already been talking to each other again by then; Alex just couldn’t admit how much he had failed. He didn’t want Miles to despise him too. But the man had learned anyway though; learned and reached for Alex, simply asking how he was coping, and Alex felt so much relief at the realization that Miles had been on his side despite all the mess, that it lifted his spirits enormously. For some time Alex had been doing quite great, enjoying the tour, keeping Pauline, who’d been doing relatively better with each day, by his side, and discussing the directions their third album with Miles might have taken turns into.

Nevertheless, the high of Alex’s excitement appeared to be short-lived: as the tour had been monotonous and boring — the same old tunes puking from his throat every night — Pauline appeared to be shallow and passive, and Miles had awkwardly replied that he’d been busy enough with his own album and other projects at the moment and believed he couldn’t have any more work squeezed in.

Alex had quickly lost his wit and courage, simply starting flowing from one day into the other, until the stream of their tour has all dried off.

And then the pandemic came. The uncertainty of it had been hideous, and Alex had been scared as hell for his loved ones and himself. He’d been binge watching sci-fi documentaries and apocalypse movies, trying to predict or at least get ready for what might have been to come, and stressed himself into bad health and panic. That had made him rearrange his relationship with Miles though, making them both realize how important they were for each other indeed.

Pauline… Well, Pauline had stack around. She hadn’t been a big enough burden to toss, furthermore she lived in Paris and didn’t demand anything, just posting selfies on the internet and promoting her own album — as she was a singer now, which Alex had helped her become out of boredom and urge to put his hands onto something artsy, when Miles had been too busy — or unwilling — to work with him. Alex hadn't been ready to be a prick for yet another woman who loved him in such a short period of time, so had let them be.

And there they've been, seeing each other rarely through the swinging pandemic, dating. Alex had been left almost completely alone at his London home — having the LA house long abandoned by Taylor and not having guts to visit it since — living through the great changes for the humanity and important personal changes in his own life, having enough time and space to reflect on it and his decisions, which had lead him to the spot he’d been occupying — being lonely, miserable and lost.

The state he’d been in was a fertile soil for music though, so Alex had started writing, taking it all out of his chest, and soon had been having his first ever zoom chat with his Monkeys pals about their next possible album. The album they hadn't known they would ever release and tour with, but been hoping for it with all of their might still.

Month after month had turned into season after season, and thankfully the situation on the planet had started to improve and resemble the world they all used to live in, and so life’d slowly and not surely went on. The habitual way of things had been returning in its track, and the band had proceeded doing their job — writing and recording, gradually making their seventh album coming to life, and the very musicians, figuratively speaking, too.

And so, three years later, Alex was standing by the window in his hotel room in Jakarta, observing the heated sity, and was contemplating where had he taken the wrong turn, that had led him to his current miserable state.

There was no excitement for performing, there was no thrill for traveling after being spared of it for almost two years, no fun in doing it all with his bunch of closest friends…

Maybe they weren’t his closest friends anymore. The pandemic had changed a great deal of things in everyone’s life, personal relationships included, and people valued other things now. What had been once considered important had been tossed, and some new and unexpected stuff suddenly had taken over; Alex had been struggling with the change and hence even had dived into the long-gone decade, drawing inspiration and calmness from there — in the sweet 60s — in the decade where everything had been serene, safe and beautiful. Unfamiliar and romantic. He and Miles loved the 60s music and cinema loads, especially the French ones — that’s why they both had been absolutely thrilled upon being announced where the recording of their first album as The Last Shadow Puppets had been supposed to be taking place — in France. So Alex decided to concentrate on that period of life, when they had been recording in France with Miles, the period which he now treated as the peak of his happiness and light-heartedness, especially now, feeling worn out and exhausted, envying that reckless boy with a beatle haircut, running up the hills of France with his best friend, happy and giggly.

Alex squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly feeling them tear up. Must be the fuckung sun.

He turned from the window harshly, offended by the world, and faced his room for tonight. The same faceless walls as everywhere else — plain and white. Creamy sometimes. With abstract paintings and blank sconces on them. Alex sighed and eyed his phone, left discarded on the messy bedcover, instantly making the whole room look messy. That irritated Alex to no end.

“Go fly on a plane, fuck,” he muttered, clutching the phone, addressing Pauline whose message he was about to read, and suddenly froze, looking at the screen. There was a message from another person, and Alex’s heart started beating like crazy.

‘I miss you, Al, I mean it xx’ Miles said, and suddenly Alex’s life became bearable again.