Chapter Text
Alex
Alex all but fled from the stage in a flush of panic. What the fuck was that measly side hug? Whatever had he and Miles been reduced to?
It was the last show of their tour. He and his band had preached to go out with a bang. Their music, well. It’d done exactly that. Alex, however, felt like he went out with less of a bang and more of a pathetic flail. He’d needed something, anything, to pick his feet up from the ground.
Back in the days of his fading memory, that thing had been Miles. The Miles who was still on stage, bowing and grinning from ear to ear from the applause of not only the Monkeys’ fans, but his own. Everyone knew that Miles coming for the rescheduled Ireland stretch of the tour was like a gift to the fans, to say the least. They loved him, that much was true. As for Alex, it was complicated. Or so he had convinced himself.
However, reality was in motion and Alex could not stop it. Miles had moved on. And so had Alex. Technically.
He found himself out of breath, head in hands, elbows rested on his knees, on a spinning chair in front of the mirror of his dressing room. His phone screen lit up in front of him.
“Turner.” A low, musky voice greeted from the line. He’d not even realised he’d called him.
“Rick, ’s it convenient timing?” He asked as if he gave a shit.
He sighed. “I told you I wouldn’t do this for you anymore, Turner.”
A potential moment of self-reflection, this could’ve been, thought Alex. But there was no time to dwell. “And I told you it was just a quick fix. Let’s not beat around the bush.”
“It’s the third day in a row, Alex”
It wasn’t, if he were to nitpick. He didn’t have a dealer in Belfast. He’d just asked Rick for an extra gram or two to get him through the next show. “’s not. If you say no I’ll just go and find someone else. You, of all people, know that.”
“Fine,” Rick conceded.
Rushing to his nearest exit, Alex clumsily grabbed his blazer and put one arm through the sleeve, pushing open his dressing room door in a hurry. Before him stood a flushed, and rather confused-looking Matt. “Where you off? Not joining us for a pint?”
“I’ll just be a sec, popping out for a cig,” it wasn’t half true.
“Right. We’ll be out by pub cross the road in 10. Save y’a seat.”
He nodded. “Right. Cheers Matt.”
***
Rick had been blunt, and honestly thankful to see the back of Alex after he’d gotten what he wanted from him after the promised ‘last time’. Funnily enough, it never was.
Very few words were exchanged. Rick had handed him the bag, and made a swift exit almost as though he was embarrassed to be seen in a 50-mile radius of Alex. He hadn’t given it much thought though; in hindsight, he didn’t really give a shit.
He internally debated going straight to the pub; he knew they were all waiting on the arrival of their beloved frontman - or cutting a line back in his dressing room. He’d gone for the former, to avoid any suspicion from his bandmates.
The pub was bustling; not his scene. Plenty of fans crowded the place, he suspected, but so long as he kept his head down he wouldn’t get stolen for endless fan selfies. Once one of them noticed him, the rest flocked along with them, and he’d never make it home by the end of this day. The crowd he squeezed through on his way to the hidden booth was overwhelming, though the shock that followed was arguably worse.
He’d heard that scouse drawl as soon as he’d stepped through the final obstacle. He knew. And he so very nearly did a 180 there and then.
Matt looked up first. “Hiya Al. Saved y’a seat. Brought Miles ‘long with us.”
He sat without a word. The silence that followed was painful. Nick was the first to break. “How ya feeling Al, end of the tour and all?”
“Mmf,” he grunted. After a pause, he knew it wouldn’t be a sufficient answer and he’d have to put up the act a bit longer while Miles was staring through his soul as he looked down at his hands under the table. “Am fucking knackered. Might head back up to high green, give me mam a call.”
Miles still hadn’t said anything. Thankfully.
Alex didn’t know whether he’d punch him in the gut physically or verbally. He’d be ready for either, though he knew which he’d prefer in the long run. He didn’t want to find out, frankly.
Continuing with their earlier conversation, Alex was thankful he didn’t have a lot of input. He’d hate to kill the group’s mood, even though his was already seemingly ruined. He kept up the facade, however.
After a while, he excused himself, rising from his seat in the booth. “Goin’ for a piss.”
Making all but a beeline for the restrooms, barging himself through the swinging door with a rough shove of his shoulder, he pulled out the bag of powder tucked in the pocket just underneath his right armpit and his wallet. A note and a credit card.
Tapping the white powder onto the flat surface between the sinks, he made a neat line with the card, rolled up the note and dove straight in.
The hit was tremendous. Necessary, to get him through this night, but still tremendous. He groaned. He was still vaguely aware of his surroundings, at which point he’d decided; ‘I’m not fucking out of it enough’.
The bathroom door burst open to find a very angry-looking Miles. Alex was still bent over the sink, and not in the seductive manner.
“For fuck’s sake Alex. I thought we’d left this in the past.”
“Oh piss off,” Alex drawled. The only time he’d ever spoken up to Miles was when he was fried off his face. Miles knew that. He’d liked it, in fact, it’d turned him on. Alex was usually never so brave as to disagree with him in anything but a joking manner. Only Miles was not in the same state, and so he’d appeared more agitated than turned on. Unfortunately, the latter existed in another lifetime.
“Al-”
Alex cut him off. “Don’t you dare, Miles! You don’t get to do that, call me that anymore” He cried. He was battling with the lump wedged deep in his throat, the one that’d always sabotaged him when he’d finally mustered up the words to attack. Maybe it was for his own good. “You don’t fucking get to. You don’t get to sit on that high horse, fucking hypocrite. You drove me to this.”
Miles stood there, looking through Alex as if he were transparent. Wordless.
“Drove you… to this? To being a fucking junkie?” What a dirty irony.
“It’s a quick fix, Miles. That’s what you said.”
Miles snapped. “Seven fucking years ago, Alex. It was different back then.”
Don’t have to fucking tell me, Alex thought to himself. “Get out” he hissed. “You don’t have to stand there and pretend to give a shit about me, I’m giving you a pass.”
Miles scoffed. Pretend to care! If only.
He snatched the bag from the side of the sink. Alex grabbed for it, but his senses were compromised.
“You’re going to clean yourself up. Figuratively and literally,” he brought his hand up to his own face, signalling to Alex’s. “You’ve got powder on your nose. The rest are waiting for you. Don’t let Matt see you like this.” He made a swift exit.
It wasn’t long after the door approached full closure that Alex swung with his dominant hand, aiming for - he wasn’t sure what - a hard surface. His fist came in contact with the door of the cubicle behind him. It bled. “Ow.”
Red dripped from his hand, but the rush behind his eyes had kicked in, leaving his bloody fist in the back of his mind. He wobbled on his feet, riding out the high.