Chapter Text
Alex had just poked out for a smoke.
He leaned against the brick wall, trying to remain steady on his feet after a few too many pints shared with the lads at the club.
Jamie'd even bought shots for fuck's sake. Some of the real nasty ones that made you feel like you could breathe fire.
The loud music was still pumping inside the club, vibrating in his chest, and though it was muted through the walls, it still made him feel like he was stuck in cotton candy or something.
His head felt fuzzy.
It was quite pleasant, really. Like being inside a vibrating cloud, high up in the sky.
He ruffled the brown mop of messy hair atop his head and shook it out of his eyes.
He found a somewhat quiet corner to himself and lit up a cigarette.
He closed his eyes for a second, sighing as he leaned his head back against the dirty bricks to stop himself from toppling over.
He was getting slightly dizzy, he had to admit.
He pulled a drag of the cigarette, breathing in the cold night air alongside the smoke in an attempt to clear his mind a bit.
He let it gather in his lung for a moment, holding his breath, allowing the nicotine to wash over him.
He tried to steady his spinning mind.
Blowing out a cloud of smoke, he chuckled to himself, remembering something funny Matt'd said inside.
He didn't notice a dark figure sliding into his little pocket of the alley.
Someone leaning against the bricks next to him, lighting up a cigarette of their own a few feet over, the bright cherry lighting up their face for a second.
"Fancy seein' you here," a distinctively crispy and melodious voice suddenly drawled, permeating the quiet moment Alex was having to himself.
Rude.
Alex stumbled at the noise suddenly directed at him, pulling him from his thoughts.
He choked as he inhaled too hard in surprise, smoke getting caught in his throat, followed by a hoarse cough.
"Pardon?"
Alex opened his watering eyes, coughed again and turned around sloppily and was faced with a dense cloud of smoke.
He brought the cigarette to his mouth, wrapping his lips around it and inhaled more carefully this time.
He steadied himself and squinted through the cloud, blew a lungful of smoke out across his shoulder, giving himself a second to catch up.
He recognised that voice all too well.
Fuck.
The heavy and all too familiar Scouse accent could easily be heard over the noise and chatter of the people gathered in the dark alley behind the pub.
So much so that it would be futile to feign not to have heard it.
And slowly the face that went along with the voice appeared as the cloud of smoke evaporated.
Thin lips and round brown eyes.
A mop of dark hair. Those weird long strands by the ears.
A barely concealed smirk pointed his way. The most annoying and infuriating fucking smirk he'd ever had the misfortune of laying eyes on.
A, no doubt, expensive leather jacket thrown over his shoulders. Further down a pair of long legs. Tight jeans. Shiny boots.
For fuck's sake.
Not him.
But it was.
There was no denying that.
Alex simply had the worst fucking luck in the entire world.
Miles fucking Kane.
In all of his pompous, pretentious and stupid glory.
Once again.
Alex suppressed the groan that threatened to slip from his throat at the sight of him.
They weren't exactly on friendly terms, to put it lightly.
They'd met a few times out and about the town over the last couple of months, once or twice perhaps. Nothing Alex had taken particular note of, of course.
It was probably more than twice.
Three times. At least.
Or perhaps more, Alex wasn't sure anymore, the drinks and lateness of the evening starting to blur his mind. He hadn't counted or anything.
Four times.
Alex wasn't quite sure how or why the Scouser had so suddenly entered his life. But here he was, sauntering in as if he owned the bloody place, like he always did.
Alex supposed they had some friends in common, moved within the same circles or whatever, and for some reason they kept meeting.
And they had a nasty habit of running into each other at the most unfortunate times. Always drunk, always at parties, always at the worst time possible. And it always ended badly.
He wasn't quite sure why, he just knew that they kept bumping into each other, and that the guy was always acting like a proper dickhead.
Alex knew for a fact that there were few people in this world he wanted to bump into less than the Scouser.
Each time they'd met, it'd left Alex feeling radged and frustrated and just fucking annoyed, rage burning in his chest and bubbling under his skin, his pulse pounding away and his palms damp with fury.
Miles had some type of way of rubbing him the wrong way, pissing him off, always making Alex feel weird and put out. Like a small, immature child that needed to be minded. Like he wasn't worth the dirt under his pristine, fucking shiny boots. Like he wasn't worth shit.
Always made his skin tingle and his breath gallop away fiercely with all of his fucking antics.
Four times they'd met before.
And now here he was once again, obviously prepared to make their fifth encounter as awful as the rest.
Alex blinked a few times, steadying himself back on the wall, leg bent and one foot coming up to rest against the bricks. He inhaled deeply through the cigarette once again.
Miles just looked at him, as if expecting Alex to say something.
But if Miles thought his mere presence alone was enough to rattle Alex, to throw him off his game, he thought wrong!
If he thought he could come here and ruffle Alex's feathers and get him all worked up he was sorely mistaken.
Alex didn't care!
Not one bit.
He was cool.
Miles had no effect on him whatsoever.
Not tonight, that was for sure, if that's what he thought. Alex was calm and collected and all that. Of course he was.
Alex tried to steady himself, willing some of his drunken stumbling to cease, and the sudden oddly hectic beating of his heart to calm down.
The fucker just kept staring at him, testing his fucking patience.
Did he really expect Alex to say something first? Hell no, he'd never give him that satisfaction!
A beat passed and Miles didn't say anything. Not a fucking word.
He just kept fucking looking at him!
With a popped eyebrow and that damned smirk was still there. What was his fucking problem, eh?
Alex cast his eyes down onto the ground littered with garbage, cigarette butts and empty bottles.
He was getting annoyed, wasn't he, at the continued silence and that apparent scrutiny he was being put under, for whatever fucking reason.
"Fuckin' what?" he finally muttered impatiently in Miles' general direction, when the silence stretched on for too long between them.
Miles just ignored him and kept smoking his cigarette.
Alex hated these prolonged silences. Hated being caught under Miles' gaze.
He'd much rather Miles just get on with it and spew whatever random shit he'd planned to ruin Alex's night with and get a move on. Yell at him, fire off his measly insults or something!
Anything to wipe that infuriating smirk off of his stupid face.
He inhaled another lungful of smoke, letting it rest and gather in his lungs for a moment. He shook his head. Still felt fuzzy.
He had a distinct feeling that this night, as every other fucking night he'd been so unfortunate to run into the guy, was right about to be ruined as well.
It always bloody did when the Scouser got himself involved. And he always seemed to get himself involved, the fucking drama queen that he was.
Alex grumbled and pushed the smoke from his lungs then, sighing heavily.
He'd been enjoying himself until now. A nice night out about town with the lads.
A proper banger of a night, if he was honest.
Pints, music, banter, the lot. They were out celebrating the fact that they would finally get to go on their first proper tour soon.
They'd even gotten an AR for fuck's sake. Someone to take care of everything. Anton, his name was.
Things were right about to go off. They'd depart in about a month's time, with dates planned for at least three months in advance. With a van or perhaps even a little bus or something, driving up and down the country and all.
Playing venues all over, big crowds, proper gigs, like. They were right chuffed with that.
And they deserved a celebration! They'd all been working hard on the music, practising until their fingers bled, and he'd been cracking his head trying to write good lyrics, trying to improve and better himself.
He was trying to improve his voice and sing better too.
It was important, after all, the band. And the lads, he couldn't let them down, not after all the trust they'd put in him, being the singer and the frontman and all that.
He'd been reluctant to accept the position at first, being the lead, up front getting all that attention. He wasn't sure he was quite made for that sort of thing.
His lyrics he'd been scared to share with even his best mates, feared he wouldn't cut it as the lyricist of the band. He'd feared that his words weren't good enough or that they'd laugh 'em off. Feared he'd embarrass himself.
But they'd all encouraged him to give it a proper go once he'd finally shared his lyrics and songs with them. And they'd loved his words. Even went so far as to compliment his voice. And they'd asked him to be up front, be the frontman, singer and lyricist of their band. And they believed in him, so he had to show them he was deserving of their trust.
So far it'd worked out alright. At least he thought so.
They had a bunch of tracks lined up, really cool tunes. They'd done a few demos too in a small studio, and soon they'd be getting up to getting to record their first album. All proper, like.
After the tour, Anton'd said, then the public would be ready. More people would've had the chance to find out about their music, more time to gather up some hype. And they'd have a bit more experience under their belts too.
And they were ready for it.
They'd rehearsed a full set of songs, and had played a few gigs at tiny pubs around their local area, but nothing quite to the scale of a proper tour.
The tour was coming up soon, everything set in place, and tonight they'd celebrate and let off some steam before it all began.
And now he had to deal with this guy?
Miles fucking Kane?
Of all the nights?
Couldn't a guy be allowed to celebrate in peace?
Please.
He was getting more and more annoyed by the second, fingers itching at his sides, for something, anything.
"Been a while, hasn't it? Been a couple of months since I last saw that little face of yours," Miles finally said, after what felt like a full fucking hour of silent scrutiny, fucking smirking like he was the fucking Joker or something.
"Alvin, was it?"
Alex was instantly fuming.
What a fucking prick.
How dare he?
It couldn't have been more than a month since the last unfortunate time they'd bumped into each other, and Miles didn't even remember his name?
They'd met at least four times!
Please.
Who did the Scouser think he was, coming here in his fancy getup, leather jacket on and pointy fucking boots looking like a right dolt!
Alex couldn't stand the fucker!
They'd somehow developed a precarious dynamic between them, always fighting for the upper hand, getting into it, and trying to find ways to rile each other up further.
Alex was almost keeping score of all the ways they'd managed to ruin each other's evenings by this point, ways they'd gotten under each other's skin. Arguments they'd each won, fights going their way and the other having to sulk away.
To his utter embarrassment he wasn't sure the tally was quite in his favour overall, not at the moment anyway. He'd never admit to that of course.
He'd get the chance to rectify that soon, he was sure of it.
It'd been a while since they'd last spoken, though.
Been a while since the last time he'd let himself get pulled in and hadn't been able to resist the temptation to fuck with the Scouser.
But he had a sinking feeling that he might not step out as the winner tonight, judging by the fierce look in Miles' eyes.
"A-lex, as it were," Alex enunciated, barely managing to hold back a fierce eye roll.
"Oh right, that's it," the Scouser mumbled casually around his own cigarette, leaning a shoulder against the crude bricks, apparently not caring about scratching that expensive jacket of his.
"Must've forgotten," Miles muttered unbothered.
He shrugged nonchalantly, as if it didn't fucking matter to him at all, and he was still bloody smirking.
Fucking hell.
Alex couldn't stand it.
He was such a fucking dickhead.
"Believe we've met quite a few times, mind you, gone through the introductions and all," Alex added pointedly under his breath as he took a drag on his cigarette
He wasn't sure he'd meant to say that part out loud, it'd just slipped, drunken brain and all.
Well, so what if Alex sounded like a dick too, he'd started it.
Alex would play nice if Miles did.
And Miles never did.
He blew out a cloud of smoke.
"Most people deem it polite to remember a name they've been told multiple times before," he rolled his cigarette between two fingers before taking another drag, not meeting Miles' eyes.
Miles just chuckled.
Fucking prick.
"'s probably true, must've slipped me mind."
Alex snorted.
"Whatever."
Alex shook his head, went back to his smoke, and looked down at his shoes.
He didn't care that Miles didn't deem his name important enough to remember.
He didn't.
He really didn't!
It didn't fucking matter that Miles'd forgotten his name. Not at all.
Who cared what he thought, anyway.
Alex wished he could forget Miles even existed!
Good one, that.
Alex chuckled to himself, one point for Turner.
"Thought I spotted a few of 'em in there earlier, the lads, I mean. Nick, Jamie, Matt. Guys' night out, eh?"
"'spose so," Alex muttered, not offering up anymore conversation.
He remembered their names alright then, huh.
Fucking prick, he was.
He pulled another drag of his smoke, which was mercifully almost burnt down to the filter.
Then he could leave this conversation behind and get back to the lads and the pint he'd left sweating on the table back in their booth. He'd go back to ignoring Miles Kane and perhaps his night could still be salvaged. Jamie'd probably already returned with the second round of shots he'd gone to fetch for them.
Miles continued smoking his cigarette, and Alex felt the weight of his eyes on him a few times, but didn't say anything.
He wouldn't give Miles the satisfaction.
He didn't deserve Alex's attention.
He'd promised himself not to get into it. Alex wasn't gonna start anything with the Scouser. He wouldn't give in to the temptation. Wouldn't let himself get riled up this time.
Silence stretched between them once more.
Alex just kept smoking the last of his cigarette, even though it was burning his fingers by now and the taste had long since gone stale.
He let the thudding of the bass from inside and the inane conversations of people around them fill his mind instead.
He was still swaying slightly against the wall.
"Are they as well off as you seem to be?" Miles noted with a dry chuckle.
Alex looked up.
There was that fucking smirk again, and what was it to him if Alex was a bit drunk, eh?
There was nothing wrong with that!
Miles himself, the fucker, was up swaying against the bricks just as well. Probably just as pissed as Alex, possibly even more so, judging by the dark swimming look in his eyes.
"That's not really any of your business, is it Kane?"
He looked up to meet Miles' gaze, and found him staring straight back at him, his words slurring perhaps a bit more than he would've liked for them to have the desired effect, but he couldn't be arsed to care.
After all, it seemed like Miles didn't care much anyway. He simply hummed in reply, that infernal smirk still firmly in place on his stupid lips and his dark eyes were sparkling in the low light of the dark alley.
Fucking Miles.
He tilted his head, curiously watching Alex, like he was trying to figure him out. Like he wanted to rile him up, looking for the best way to do so.
Perhaps he was thinking up insults to throw at him.
His eyes narrowed and then an odd smile curled on his lips. He looked almost sharklike then, and Alex had to suppress the oddest shiver running down his back.
It had to be the chill of the night air getting to him, even in his drunken state.
Miles stood up a little straighter, taking a step closer.
Alex held his breath. This was it, he was about to get an earful, he was sure of it.
But Miles didn't say anything.
Alex wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. And that damned smirk was still firmly planted on his face as he watched him closely.
Alex watched him right back, not stepping down.
Miles moved even closer.
And then his eyes dropped an inch and then jumped back up, boring straight into his.
His tongue darted out and slowly swept across the curve of his own bottom lip before disappearing just as quickly as it had appeared. And then he chuckled.
Alex's eyes widened.
What the fuck was he up to? Was he looking for a fucking fight or what?
Alex pulled another drag of his almost burnt out cigarette.
He felt a little shaky and oddly self conscious for a second under that penetrating gaze, and then Miles spoke.
And Alex immediately wished he hadn't.
"No need to be snide, like. You're funny, Turner. A spicy little one, aren't you?"
Alex choked on the smoke in his throat.
What the fuck–
"It's– interesting, is all," Miles continued, seemingly unaffected by Alex's spluttering and pulled a drag of his own smoke.
And he kept staring as he did it, what was his fucking problem.
"Quite alluring, even," he breathed after a beat, the words slipping out smoothly along with the smoke from his lungs.
And then Miles chuckled again and fucking winked, and pulled a final drag of his cigarette.
Alex gulped nervously, frozen on the spot.
What did that mean?
They didn't say shit like that to each other.
They never did.
He had no idea what it meant, and he didn't know how to respond so he just didn't.
He ignored the rapidly quickening beat in his chest. Ignoring Miles was usually the safest option, lest he got pulled into something he'd come to regret.
He didn't want to end up in yet another argument, not when he'd been doing his best to stay out of it. He tried keeping the anger bubbling in his chest under control.
How dare he go and say something like that? What the hell was that even supposed to mean?!
"I'd better go say hiya to the gang, then," Miles said casually, breaking the spell, apparently unaware of the raucous he'd caused in Alex's chest.
Miles stubbed out his cigarette on the wall, letting it drop to the ground to join all the others. He stepped on it with his fancy boots to make sure it was out.
Those fucking boots.
Alex’s blood boiled just looking at them. And he couldn't think–
"You comin', Turner?" Miles said over his shoulder after a beat, and turned to meet Alex's gaze.
Alex quickly cast his eyes down at his own shoes, the rubber sole of his trainers scuffing on the ground, kicking about some of the butts littering the alley.
"No," he answered curtly, absentmindedly reaching into his pocket to light another cigarette, avoiding Miles' eye.
He always went through his packs so fucking fast when Miles was around.
He wasn't proud of his behaviour.
He wanted to go back inside and join the lads.
But not with Miles. Not under any circumstances.
He couldn't.
Perhaps it was a bit immature. But indeed absolutely necessary. He couldn't go back in now, could he. Not with Miles. Not when he'd be there.
He didn't want yet another night of needing Matt or Nick to pull them apart after they'd inevitably started screaming their heads off at each other. They wouldn't be very pleased with him if that were to happen once again.
Miles shrugged and smirked.
"Suit yourself, then."
Alex rolled his eyes and turned his back as Miles walked back inside the pub.
Alex was halfway through smoking his second cigarette when it dawned on him.
Miles had called him Turner.
The fucker did remember his name then, he'd only been messing with him. Playing that fucking game Alex thought they'd left behind.
Fuck!
Miles had once again, with only a few choice select words, succeeded in riling Alex up to the point of frustratingly ending his night early.
Fucking point to Kane, apparently.
Fucking hell.
Miles fucking Kane.
####
They didn't have the best track record, him and Miles.
He wasn't quite sure why, but it'd gone wrong from the get go.
First time they'd met had been at some party or another. At someone's house. Or perhaps some night out in town at a club, he didn't remember exactly.
But he did remember that he'd been right off his head, been having the most wonderful night, dancing with some bird, and he'd even gotten to make out with her on the dancefloor, hands clasped firmly around her waist as she'd let him come in close. It'd been quite nice, that.
He'd had plenty of drinks resulting in a pleasant fuzz rushing through his veins, had a table with all his mates around, good banter with the lads.
He hadn't even been off sick.
All in all a very satisfactory evening.
Until he bumped into someone on his way back from the bar. With full force even, almost toppling them both over, his full pint spilling forcefully over the edges, splashing all over the floor.
Alex reached out to grab hold of the stranger to stop him from falling over, apologising and giggling, trying to make light of the embarrassing situation.
"Ah, didn't see ya there, love," he quickly uttered, holding on to the stranger's arms to steady him.
He'd given him a quick once over, letting his eyes wash over the longest pair of legs he'd ever seen, clad in tight black jeans, leather jacket, fancy mod do.
Round eyes a nice, warm, sparkling brown.
Alex's lips curled into a pleased smile at the sight.
Stupid, that's what he'd been, looking back.
He must've been off his head.
He was probably still a little riled up from snogging that bird earlier, yeah, that had to be it. That explained it. The feeling in his chest. The heat in his cheeks. The warmth tingling in his fingertips where they were wrapped around the stranger's arm.
"Y'alright? Didn't mean to bump ya, darlin'," he slurred, trying to equip his most charming and winning smile.
Alex had perhaps, and he wasn't proud to admit it, had a bit too much to drink at that point.
And by that he'd managed to spill his entire beer all over the stranger's footwear. Some fancy boots, suede or leather or whatever.
He'd dropped the plastic cup in effort to grab the lad, an attempt to help!
Really, it wasn't his fault!
But the boots had been soaked through, beer seeping into the expensive material. And suffice to say, the owner of said boots wasn't too pleased about it. Not at all.
He was staring at Alex, those dark eyes boring into his in perplexed surprise. Alex felt bad, he did, but it was an accident. Couldn't be helped, exactly, could it?
It was an accident.
“Shame with those boots,” Alex said awkwardly as he looked down at the stranger's wet feet.
He was horribly embarrassed, feeling quite sorry for what he'd done, but his body had the oddest reaction to it.
He wasn't able to cover the stupid bubbles of sheepish laughter that erupted from his throat.
He was a giggling mess throughout the whole thing, couldn’t help it. Perhaps to distract from his pink cheeked embarrassment at mucking up so heavily, in front of a guy this pretty no less.
He tried to diffuse the tension and make himself more endearing perhaps to the handsome stranger.
But the stranger didn’t give two shits about any of that. He’d decided to just be a rude fucking prick right off the bat.
Alex'd been getting ready to whip out the ol' charm for a quick second, appreciating the view and all, but it plummeted to the ground faster than a ton of bricks, and buried itself deeply beneath the earth's surface as the stranger opened his fucking mouth.
"The fuck you're laughing for, you fucking dickhead?! You think this is fucking funny, ruining my shit? Do you have any idea how fucking expensive these are?!"
Safe to say, he wasn't able to see the fun or light of the situation.
And he didn’t seem to find Alex charming or endearing at all. And he wasn't acting nearly as nice as he looked, Alex thought. His sparkling eyes quickly darkened over, as he realised the damage Alex'd done with his beer.
The stranger was drunk off his head too, slurring and screaming at Alex about the fucking boots, like it was the end of the world or something. He made a very rude point of how Alex should watch himself around other people and act his age.
He kept going, made some daft comments about Alex not being old enough to be let out on his own or some shit, some remarks regarding Alex being immature and young looking or something.
There was a dig at Alex's fashion sense, or lack thereof, in there at some point as well.
Proper shit he spewed, that angry handsome stranger.
Alex didn't remember most of what he'd said, but he remembered getting proper mad at this random stranger who'd given him a fucking earful out of nowhere for no fucking reason.
If only Alex had known then that it was only the beginning.
Alex quickly grew tired of his shouting, and tried to leave him to his own devices, but the stranger followed him, and soon Alex started taking offence at being yelled at like that.
Like he was some drunken idiot who didn't know how to mind himself among others, like he didn’t know how to behave himself. It'd been a simple mistake, nothing more. The decent thing would be to just move on.
But the stranger wasn't having any of that. And Alex, he was a well behaved boy, usually. Not out looking for trouble. The stranger had obviously seen it differently.
And if trouble was what he was after, trouble was what he'd get.
Everything became a bit blurry after that. Perhaps Alex got a bit lost in the whole thing, letting his temper get away with him at some point too.
It was just– the stranger was so fucking infuriating.
The details of the whole encounter were fuzzy, but Alex was pretty sure in the end he'd let him have a piece of his mind in return, giving as good as he got, the Scouser not taking too kindly to it.
Alex made some remarks about how any person with even a tad of self respect would never wear such horrid boots in the first place. Something about them not being that nice anyway, and that he looked ridiculous in the rest of his getup too, by the way. And that he should be grateful Alex'd done him the favour of ridding him of the ugly bloody things.
Not Alex’s most shining moment, he could admit that, and he'd said even worse after that, he was sure of it, just couldn't recall most of it.
But Alex did recall them having to be pulled apart from each other in the end, Nick dragging him back with an arm around his waist, after a small gathering of people had circled around to watch their little screaming match.
He wasn't sure if any of them had actually swung fists at each other or not, but he remembered the stranger'd been such a fucking arse.
Prancing about on his long legs like a fucking peacock, cold and prissy, almost getting into a fight all because of some bloody boots.
He'd taken it way too far out of nowhere, for no fucking reason too.
Stupid stuff like that wasn't enough to get Alex riled up, he knew that much for sure.
If it'd been the other way around he'd simply shrugged it off, accepted the apology and moved on.
Perhaps he'd even had the time to turn up the charms and get his flirt on a bit. After all, he'd been feeling a little frisky after making out on the dancefloor, and he wouldn't have minded another dance or two with that stranger.
But not after the way he'd acted, fucking stuck up drama queen, like the world was all his, like Alex was nothing more than a worthless piece of shit who couldn't be trusted out amongst others.
He'd been a fucking dickhead, and what little charm and allure he'd possessed, had quickly worn off as he'd spent his night screaming Alex's bloody head off.
Alex was having none of that.
And the night was pretty much ruined after that, his mood completely spoiled.
Alex went home soon after, luckily avoiding the stranger on his way out.
Nick got him a taxi and sent him on his merry way back to High Green.