Work Text:
Secrets I have held in my heart
Are harder to hide than I thought
Maybe I just wanna be yours
I wanna be yours, I wanna be yours
Of course Miles saw it. How can anyone miss it. All new performances in whole or in fragments with minimal delay, and maybe live are uploaded to social networks. So it's not strange that Miles hears those lines again. Not from the stage like all the fans, but just from Alex's mouth.
Wanna be yours
It's been so many, too many years in fact, since those lines were sung in his ear. In a languid, quiet whisper.
Wanna be yours
They're even on the same continent now, but they haven't been this far yet.
Wanna be yours
He also addressed songs and phrases with absolutely no hints of "I miss you so bloody miss you." But his hopes for a joint performance were not destined to come true. Even for simple meetings, he stopped hoping. A couple of messages and proper meetings at friends' weddings or general meetings in pubs.
Even then, he learns about the arrival of an old friend in London from the Instagram of his French girlfriend. Who doesn't even want to know Miles himself. Kane himself doesn't really care about that. On all these relationships only for the sake of the image and managers of the group. But which Turner takes too seriously for PR. Which they essentially are.
He himself ran out of the same ones quite recently. For the same reason of artificiality and tension. As if the press cares about his girlfriend. In every interview, there is more interest in the Puppets than in Kane's new album. And Kane himself no longer sees the point. So is sweet Nadya, too.
Therefore, bumping into a recording of such poor quality that it really looks like the times of AM, Miles stops even breathing for a minute.
I just wanna be yours
"Yes, Alex, I want to be yours too," Miles exhales indistinguishably from the movement of the air.
After a couple of minutes and another viewing, he pulls out his phone. Alex's contact is still in Favorites. Several months have passed since the last message. And it's "join me on stage in Paris. Olympia" hurts more than it should.
But he's still typing.
«Al, I wanna be yours too»
Then he erases it. Too wrong.
«Baby I'm yours»
Without giving himself time to change his mind, he presses the arrow key to send.
A moment passes before the message delivery icon, reading it, and finally the call. And even less than a second of answering it. "Miles, I miss you so much.»
I just wanna be yours (Wanna be yours)