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Never let it be said that Philippe couldn’t throw a raging new years party.
It was a fresh but not freezing 31st of December 2012, and by the time Alex pushed open the front door to the estate, the party was in full swing- Alex never showed up early to a party, and this year was no exception. He made his way through corridor after corridor, throwing away meaningless greetings to people who seemed to think they knew him, he swiped a drink as he passed a refreshment table and threw it back with a passionate flick of his wrist, the pleasant tingle of champagne on the back of his throat the only indicator of what he’d just drank. Of course Philippe serves champagne before midnight, he thinks drily, but not without spinning on his heel to grab another. The Guillet clan was a wealthy one, and despite Philippe trying his best to distance himself from the upper class in order to keep his soul, he never said no to borrowing the family estate for a banging new years celebration.
It was warmer inside, and Alex plucked at the heavy lapels of his bargain bin jacket. It was a horribly thick tweed thing, a little too large on him but not too shabby at selling the gangly impression of an 18-year-old Harry Styles. The heat of the jacket made the thin white t-shirt underneath stick to his skin, and by the time he pushed through the final doorway into the big ballroom (yes, ballroom, because the Guillet’s were those bitches). It was cranking inside, with a healthy population of about 40-50 people, some Alex knew, others he hadn’t seen in his life. The strobe lights were swinging wildly around the room, making everything almost surreal, especially when he took into account that ‘somebody that I used to know’ was blasting over the speakers. The first people he recognised was Peter and George, doing… something that might be dancing, towards the middle of the room. He didn’t even need to say hi to realise they were both thoroughly sloshed with new years cheer.
“Fellas!” he called out, twisting away to avoid an elbow to the nose by someone dressed as… Katy Perry? If so, that one definitely got away.
“Aleeex!” George howled, shoving his drink into Peter’s chest and almost bowling Alex over as he wrapped his arms around the much soberer man. “You One Direction again?”
Alex scoffed, patting the younger man on the back as he pulled out of the hug, “again- I haven’t done them that often- and it’s not my fault there might be some resemblance between me and one of them” he plucked at the front of his shirt again to unstick it from his skin. He was going to have to throw this out. “So what are you guys?”
Peter finished off George’s drink, hucking the plastic cup off towards a group of girls who retaliated in kind and ending up smacking Peter in the head with a cup of their own. Alex reckoned Peter was too hammered to even feel it anyway. “We’re Call Me Rae Jepsen… Carly Rae Maybe… Call Me?”
Alex squinted at the two- Peter might’ve once resembled Carly Rae Jepsen in the music video, he was wearing some flowy blouse thing with a fringed red singlet underneath- both these items of clothing doing the bare minimum for the imagination with the way they were practically glued to his skin in the heat of the room. George, on the other hand, was really selling the straight love interest look with his white tank top and blue jeans. “Very creative” Alex hummed, failing to hold back a chuckle at the site of the two, especially in addition with the way they attempted to dance together but ended up half grinding (in a non-sexy way) and half tripping over each other as the song itself started blaring through the speakers.
He continued to make his way through the crowd, and noticed Collins in a very convincing Justin Bieber outfit, before pointedly not approaching the man- both because he did not like Collins, and because Stella, Collins’ art history degree friend scared the crap out of him- even when she was dressed as Jessie J and drunkenly spinning with her Taylor Swift impersonating girlfriend. Then there was the obvious presence of ‘he-who-must-not-be-named’ who was lookin a bit too good as Calvin Harris- there was just a lot of variables that Alex didn’t feel like dealing with to talk to Collins of all people.
By the time he found Phillipe near the DJ booth, he’d downed another couple drinks- most of which were something fruity and sickeningly sweet. Philippe looked good, of course he did, and did Alex Turner the greatest service with his leather jacket, gelled quiff and blue jeans. He was engrossed in a conversation with the DJ, so Alex did the only logical thing and awkwardly hovered nearby, half partaking in a conversation with some bloke that might’ve been called Abernethy about how he’s fighting with his boyfriend at the moment and it’s probably all Venuses fault because how dare it interfere with Capricorn when it knows Mercury is in retrograde- or at least that’s what Alex thinks he was getting at, there was a lot of ‘oh my god, you know?’ and indeed, Alex did not know, he really didn’t know.
When Philippe finally turns away from the DJ, Alex quickly and expertly excuses himself from a conversation that was likely not even close to being over. Philippe looks cool as a cucumber when he turns to greet Alex, and the brunet is momentarily dumbfounded at how the hell Philippe doesn’t even look irritated by the heat in the room- and he’s wearing a leather jacket!
“Alex! Looking good- Harry again?”
“Why does everyone keep saying that? I dressed up as him one other time.” Alex huffs as he grabs Phil’s hand and pulls him into a hug- if only to try to leech some of his heat off onto the other man- god he even smells like what Alex imagines Alex Turner would smell like- leather and cedar and whatever the hell he thinks ‘bergamot’ would smell like.
“Eh, I think you pull it off- you seen Peter and George? They were diving headfirst into the Fosters when I saw them last,” he slides a hand up over his hair- curls straining against the product holding it in place and Alex would lie if he said Philippe wasn’t doing it for him in the slightest bit at that moment.
“Yeah that tracks, they’re probably not going to make it to midnight without throwing up in a priceless vase,” he chuckles, turning to look off into the crowd and thanks to Peter’s ridiculous blouse, he spots them almost immediately literally jumping to the music- which is ‘Glad You Came’ by The Wanted at that moment. Alex is offended in One Direction’s honour.
Philippe has started walking, and Alex follows, both out of habit and out of not wanting to have to make conversation with another random. “Have you met Tommy yet? He deferred from a Uni up North a couple months ago, does English Lit?” Philippe is straining to talk over the Maroon 5 filling the room and Alex has trouble hearing him, even though their pressed together at the shoulders as they walk.
“Nah man, unless you introduced us, doubt I seen him” he shouts back, they’re almost in the centre of the room now, Alex isn’t really sure where they’re headed but he’s able to swipe a drink off a server and toss it back, so he doesn’t really care. “Why? You hoping he’s into Alex Turner? If not, I am, so do with that information what you will.”
Philippe snorts, elbowing Alex and shaking his head “no, he’s just late as hell, we’ve only got an hour until midnight and he said he’d be here…” Philippe trails off, and Alex stares dumbly at the other man’s open-mouthed stare adorned face for a few seconds until turning to see what has his brain fried. He figures it out quickly, especially as the music fades from screaming Adam Levine to the moody purr of Lana Del Ray.
She wore blue velvet
Bluer than velvet was the night
Softer than satin was the light
From the stars
He’s dressed like a dream Alex didn’t know he’d had- it’s a sleek royal blue velvet jumpsuit, something that may sound ridiculous in theory but from where Alex was standing it was the stuff of heart-stopping, dick-hardening dreams. Long legs wrapped in the wide leg, shining material, tied at the waist with a satin belt. The top half clings to his shoulders, with a v neck so deep it ends under his pecs, meeting with the tied material around his midriff. Long sleeves down to his wrists make him look endlessly elegant- and Alex could not fathom he’d just used the words ‘endlessly elegant’ to describe someone. The twinkling of the disco ball, which had hit Alex rather unceremoniously in the eyes all night danced across the man’s figure, making the soft material sparkle almost as much as the blue and purple eye makeup smudged across his lids like little galaxies.
“I’m guessing that’s him?”
Philippe can only nod.
She wore blue velvet
Bluer than velvet were her eyes
Warmer than May, her tender sighs
Love was ours
Tommy is even more to take in up close, where Alex can see sweat lightly sparkling on his sternum and down his chest and can see the long dark lashes against pale skin. Philippe is trying to introduce them to each other but he’s significantly discombobulated too for the first time in forever and Alex is kind of loving watching him fall apart.
“Harry Styles, right? Live while we’re young music video? I remember the dreadful jacket t-shirt combo” Tommy laughs, running the back of his index down a horrid tweed lapel and Alex is praying to Jesus, God and also Satan that Tommy can’t feel the waves of heat radiating from under the heavy jacket.
“Yeah, that’s right- people always make fun of me for kind of looking like ‘im so I thought he’d be perfect for Phil’s famous new years eve dress-up parties.”
Tommy looks over him briefly, and Alex swallows, his eyes look ridiculously hazel surrounded by the blues and purples covering his eyes. “I don’t see it” he hums, and Alex wonders if he’s saying it because he severely lacks observational skills, or if he’s trying to be nice. He turns away from Alex to Philippe and they hug right in front of him. Rude. Then Philippe does the gentlemanly thing and keeps his hands high on Tommy’s waist. Ruder.
“Alex Turner! Did he thank you for the great service you’re doing him?” that’s what I thought earlier, Alex muses with a sniff, and now he feels clunky standing next to leather-jacket clad Philippe Hugo fucking Guillet dressed in a tweed jacket and a saturated white t-shirt.
“Thought you’d never show, Tommy- you showed up even later than Alex.”
Tommy sighs with a shrug and Alex shifts uncomfortably- he needs to be way drunker than he is to deal with what he’s dealing with right now. “Had to fit my arse into this thing, that an excuse enough?” he laughs, and holy fucking shit, someone call the police because Tommy was committing character assassination against Alex and he didn’t even know it.
“Who are you?” Alex asks, feeling a little dumb, but Tommy’s looking at him again and his confidence is stoked enough that he doesn’t care.
Tommy nods towards the DJ booth, “Blue Velvet- Lana Del Ray, figured nobody else would pick it- wouldn’t want to be one of the sixteen Taylor Swifts I’ve seen tonight.”
“I don’t think you could get lost in a crowd looking like that anyway” Alex blurts and he’s about to melt into a puddle of embarrassment when he sees the amused glint in Tommy’s eyes and the twitch of a brow, and the humiliation dies on his tongue.
By 11:30, they’re all four champers a piece deep and swaying to some miscellaneous David Guetta song, Philippe has finally broken a sweat but still looks like a fucking Rockstar under the lights, and Tommy looks… yeah, Alex still isn’t drunk enough to think too hard about that one.
By 11:59 they’re pressed against a wall and Tommy is sighing again, but this time it’s into Alex’s mouth, and Alex isn’t enough of a gentleman to keep his hands from dipping to rest low on the other man’s back. They’re grinding against each other (in a plausibly sexy way) and are too invested in the lips of the other to notice the countdown, let alone be aware enough to pull away and join in. He’s so going to owe Philippe later for pilfering his very attractive friend, but Alex is too drunk and too distracted to care about that right now. He was too busy quickly falling in love with the royal blue velvet under his hands.
Ours a love I held tightly
Feeling the rapture grow
Like a flame burning brightly
But when she left Gone was the glow of blue velvet
He did end up owing Philippe big time- but how were they supposed to know they’d stumbled into his room? He didn’t even live there live there and there were, like, one hundred rooms in that goddamn mansion. How did Philippe expect him to take note of his surroundings when Tommy’s thighs were right fucking there in front of him? On him? Bit unreasonable if you asked him.
They met up a couple more times after the party- Tommy never brought the velvet jumpsuit out again, but even in the light of day he was gorgeous. Alex introduced him to Peter and George, then vowed to never let the three near each other again after Peter started going into lascivious details about Alex and his brother over a game of foosball at Alex’s house- he’d only had two beers as well! Fucking lightweight Dawson runt.
Philippe was jealous as hell of Alex, even though he insisted he wasn’t and ‘would never’ date a friend of his because it was ‘bad practice.’ Right, and holding a grudge over some dirtied sheets and a sacrilegious act in a room he didn’t even live in wasn’t ‘bad practice.’
They meshed well together- Tommy may be quiet but he was a quietly chaotic, and he didn’t say no to watching The Room with Alex when he asked- so Alex supposes you could call it true love. If it wasn’t then, it certainly was after Tommy dug the satin belt out of his nightstand halfway through the film and rolled over, slipping it over Alex’s head and pulling him into a kiss that’s three times more interesting than anything unfolding on screen. And yes, Alex did ask, and yes he kept the belt.
Then, time passes as it does- even in the monotonous wax and wane of university and filling out ridiculous ‘Trenti ice coffee with 12 pumps vanilla, hazelnut and caramel, 5 pumps skinny mocha, a splash of soy, coffee to the star on the siren's head, ice, double-blended, with a side order of your number’ Starbucks orders, and Alex finds his free time lacking severely. Tommy is chivalrous about it- not like he had free time either, up to his figurative tits in schoolwork with seemingly no end in sight. By the time they call things off they’ve practically escorted themselves to the friendzone, but it doesn’t stop the breakup from being any less painful- especially for Philippe, who was kinda caught in the middle of it all, and Alex is sure if you asked he’d say he preferred being third wheel than whatever he’d turned into when they broke up.
It’s tough, still spending time around Tommy- they didn’t have the mercy of an angry breakup- the ability to get back together dangling right in front of them, but with both knowing anything serious would just turn into history repeating itself. Whenever Tommy wore blue Alex took it personally, and now he’d never be drunk enough to see Tommy in a rich royal blue without crying, coming, or both.
But in my heart there'll always be
Precious and warm, a memory
Through the years
And I still can see
Blue velvet through my tears
Sometimes when he was lonely and didn’t have any mindless homework or anything of the sort to distract him, he pulled that satin belt from his wardrobe and fell back on his bed, winding the sleek material around his fingers. God Tommy was electric that night, Alex never stood a chance, especially when he found out after that the outfit was such a small part of it, and Tommy was just like that. He was… he was it.
He loved him, still does, and they hang out sometimes but it’s not the same and Alex would be a knucklehead if he tried to say otherwise. Tommy and Philippe will probably get together before the year is out, and Alex can’t even be ma-
No that’s bullshit he would totally be mad- he would be mad very loud, and very obviously. Philippe was the gentleman; Alex was the rabid raccoon that bites you when you try to feed it the crusts on your pizza.
It’s a bitterly cold 31st of December 2013, and Alex is nursing his fifth glass of champers and watching Tommy and Philippe dance like two people who’ve known each other forever and loved each other for even longer. He’s dressed in a douchey suit like Robbin Thicke, throwing back drinks with Eminem and Sam Smith, and longingly watching James Blunt softly press a kiss to Olly Murs’ mouth and this whole night is so fucking ridiculous- of course James Blunt is a gentleman.
By 11:30 he’s making eye contact with Macklemore across the room, and he thinks briefly I’m not drunk enough for this. Flicks a middle finger and turns back to where Sam Smith is handing him a cup of Foster’s and trying to cheer him up in a voice that sounds a lot like George’s. He sniffs back tears and drains the cup so fast his throat burns.
By 11:59 he’s dancing with a heart twistingly familiar looking Macklemore, staring into eyes that are blue, but not the right shade of blue. As the clock ticks down, he realises how hot his suit is, especially with that ridiculous faux fur jacket he’s dancing against, and his eyes flicks between blue irises and pink lips and he thinks I’m definitely drunk enough for this.
