Chapter Text
Chicago - 2016
It’s not like that... The amount of times they’d fended off questions: were they a couple, did they fancy each other, was something going on between them? Miles gave everyone the same answer – they were best mates and he wasn’t shy about telling and showing Alex he loved him. Miles was confident enough in his own skin, always had been, to be himself and he didn’t really care what anyone thought. As long as he and Alex were ok, that’s all that mattered.
Alex, bless him, cared a bit more what people thought, not always as confident on a personal level as his many stage personas led people to believe. But it didn’t stop his open affection whether they shared a stage, or a sofa. Only occasionally, in the early days he’d let a more private thought or sentiment slip out in an interview, then worry he’d shared too much of himself, of them, with the world. Miles would curl an arm around his shoulders, or waist, distract him with jokes, flirt with him, until he was reassured and secure, or simply didn’t care what people thought. As they’d got older and moved on in their careers, particularly after making their first album, their relationship had got less intense as they were often touring or recording on opposite sides of the world. They were still emotionally as close as ever, and when they did see or speak to each other they fell back into their familiar rhythm, finishing each others’ sentences and being eerily in tune, often communicating with a single exchanged glance or the quirk of an eyebrow.
They were over half way through the tour in Chicago, and had spent the past hour being shunted from interview to interview at Lollapalooza, questions blurring in a haze of cigarette smoke. Miles felt himself grow restless, trapped in a backstage artist area between journalists when there was a vast expanse of music, creativity, and fun to explore. Finally, they were onto the last interview of the day. Miles could tell Alex was feeling similarly uneasy, and this was confirmed as he decided to howl like a wolf within the first 10 seconds of the broadcast. Ever the ally, Miles merely rolled with Alex’s odd behaviour. The interview was due to be mercifully short until Cat (Alex had such a fixation on calling the interviewers by their names multiple times, as if to prove his disdain was for the interview itself, and not the person merely facilitating it) had decided to ask some questions about their ‘bromance’, concluding with a Buzzfeed quiz for newlyweds. Miles found he was past caring at this point, brain barely registering the questions and already fixated on the people milling around on the grass before him. It wasn’t until Cat posed them one final question, about how they’d express their love to each other on Valentine’s Day, that the mood shifted slightly.
“Uh, it’s not like that, Cat," Alex had said, perturbed. Miles found himself momentarily stunned.
Cat tried to backpedal slightly, offering that it could be friendly, brotherly, or platonic love, but how that could be possible in a quiz for newlyweds, Miles didn’t know.
Alex sighed and tried to maintain his composure, “I feel like Valentine’s Day is reserved for a different kind of love,” and went on to describe how it was an “excuse to sell balloons and cards anyway."
Cat tried to maintain her position, “Maybe someday you’ll be exposed to the romance, but not yet."
Alex was noncommittal and finished the interview, but Miles wasn’t really paying attention any more, his fingers itching to light another cigarette, hoping the rush of nicotine would quell the sudden race of his uneasy thoughts.
Cat thanked them and left, along with the crew. Miles blew out a breath and patted his pockets down for his cigarettes and lighter. Wordlessly, he offered the pack to Alex who accepted with a nod, and Miles lit both and watched the smoke curl off into the sky.
They smoked in silence for a little while; they had several hours before they were due on stage and had planned a wander around the festival. Miles’s mind was constantly pulled back to Alex’s words “it’s not like that. It’s not like that…" but he found he couldn’t quite recall the exact intonation. Then Cat’s “maybe someday you’ll be exposed to the romance". What?
Miles felt around for something to say, he felt the silence drag on into something uneasier, the jumble of thoughts in his head pulling him in multiple directions. Would humour work? Should he ignore the whole thing? Complain at the stupid questions? In the end, it was Alex who broke the silence.
“Bloody interviews eh? Come on, let’s go ‘ave a look at some of the weird tents." He stubbed his cigarette out and curled his fingers loosely around Miles’s wrist, standing him up and leading him away from the small seated area.
All the way round their tour of the festival, Miles’s thoughts were adrift. They finished each others’ sentences. They told each other everything. Alex knew things about him he’d never told any of his girlfriends, let alone his other mates. They had amazing chemistry on stage which they massively played up for the fans, but when the stage lights were off and the crowds shunted home, they still gravitated towards each other, arms around shoulders or waists, knees nudging, ankles touching. Lips brushing ears sharing a private joke, hands in hair in a hug hello or goodbye, kisses to cheeks or temples with pride, with a smile, or just plain, giddy affection. Miles had always been so sure of himself, of his deep love for Alex but all that had somehow been destabilised by a few simple words. What did he feel? What should he feel? Had he been 'exposed to the romance' without realising? And what did Alex think of it all?
Miles was consumed by his inner turmoil, as Alex dragged him from stage to stage, gawping at the poets, the DJs, the comedy tents, stopping to point out things of interest, admiring outfits and voices and beats with a warm hand on the small of his back. Alex was surprisingly relaxed and at ease; the sheer size of the festival and everything on display gave him the chance to blend into the background and not worry about being stopped or recognised. Miles knew, without malice, he was unlikely to have the same issue, unless people noticed Alex first and recognised him by association. It was something he’d gotten used to, and was bound to happen when your friend was one of the world’s biggest rock stars. It wasn’t as if Alex could help being enormously talented, not to mention extremely easy on the eye. After a loop of the main attractions, they made their way to the backstage area to get focused for the show.
“Everything ok?"
Miles felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He jumped, eyes staring back at him surprised in the full length dressing room mirror, lost deep in the muddle of his mind. Alex was half dressed and sleepy, hair mussed from his pre show nap. He leaned forward and draped his arms over Miles’s shoulders and around his neck.
“Fine yeah. Best get ready for the show."
“You seemed a bit lost in your head, ‘s all. Not like you. More of a me thing actually."
“Reckon it’s my turn then, time you shared," Miles said with a grin, though he saw the look on his face reflected back at him, the emotion that hadn’t quite reached his eyes. Miles noticed that Alex’s arms around his body hadn’t moved.
“You can talk to me Miles, about anything, yeah? ‘M always here for you." Alex leaned in and pressed a brief kiss to his cheek. Miles felt heat rise up his body at the sensation and the mirror image in front of him, Alex’s stupidly toned arms holding him, comforting him, and the easy, open affection between them. He watched Alex study their reflections curiously for a second before he withdrew his arms.
“Right, shift from the mirror now, you hog. Need to do me ‘air, don’t I?" Alex tapped Miles playfully on the rear.
Somehow, just from those few words, Miles felt a little lighter, and more like himself again. Alex always seemed to have that effect on him without even trying.
“Yes, half of Lollapalooza has paid good money to see the great Alex Turner’s ‘air. And his tambourine skills. Can’t keep them waiting can ya?"
Alex stuck two fingers up at Miles and started preening in the mirror. “Get some music on, get the party going."
Miles took a deep breath, determined to lock his muddle of emotions away and turn his focus to the task at hand. There’d be time for contemplating everything later. For now, he had a job to do. And if that involved spending half the night making eyes at Alex, then so be it.
-
They were all happily buzzed after the show and had a few drinks before heading back to the hotel. This had been their first hotel stay for a while, and after so long on the bus Miles was looking forward to some time and space to decompress. If he was being totally honest with himself, Miles was also relieved for a brief break from Alex. Their friendship was intense, and given the earlier interview, the odd feelings that had been stirred up before the show and their on stage antics, Miles knew he would benefit from time to think things through. They collected their key cards and were whooshed up in the fancy lift to their floor. Miles’s room was first on the corridor and he swiped himself in and turned to say goodnight to Alex, to find he was right behind him, waiting, bag slung over his shoulder, stifling a yawn.
“Come on Mi, ‘m tired."
Miles pushed the door open and Alex followed him in, locking the door behind them. Miles looked at him quizzically, but Alex seemed non-plussed and dumped his bag on the floor. ‘Thought you were tired, aren’t you going straight to bed?" Miles asked.
“Yeah, thought we were. Your room’s closer so…" Alex shrugged.
Miles ran a hand over his face as the tiredness, confusion, and his inner turmoil from the day muddled with the drop in the post gig adrenaline hit him in a wave.
“So what, Alex? A grown man who can’t spend a night in a bed on his own, or you just want everything that’s mine? Or is it both?" As quickly as Miles’s anger had flared, it was gone, and he stood breathless, shocked and ashamed at his outburst.
Alex took a step back and Miles could see the hurt on his face for a second, before his mask slipped into place. Miles wasn’t used to seeing this Alex, the Alex that concealed his true feelings from the world, keeping everyone and everything at arm's length. Everyone except for Miles. Until now.
Alex picked up his bag and unlocked the door; at the last moment, he whipped around as if to say something but seemed to think better of it. Miles watched him leave the room and pull the door closed with a soft click.
Miles sighed. Not how he envisaged the night. They’d make up, they always did after their spats. But Miles was used to having barbs hurled at him, snarls and shouting and sarcasm. Not this silence. If Alex had nothing to say, then that meant he wasn’t saying what was really on his mind. Shit. Miles dumped his bag and took a quick shower, getting himself ready for bed but his mind wouldn’t shut off. As much as he’d wanted some space from Alex to think things through, he couldn’t concentrate; he kept seeing the hurt in his best friend’s eyes before he left, without a word.
Miles slipped his shoes on, rubbed his eyes and threw on his glasses. He wouldn’t be able to sleep until this was sorted. Miles left his hotel room and realised he’d been so zoned out on check in, he had no idea which room was Alex’s. It was the middle of the night. Miles screwed his eyes in frustration and padded quietly down the hallway. “Al," he shout-whispered. “Alex, Al?" To his relief, the next door opened. Of course, why wouldn’t their rooms be next door?
“Shh, you’ll wake everyone up. What do you want?" Alex whispered, visibly annoyed.
“Can we talk?"
“We are talking. I’m going to sleep now." Alex tried to close the door, but Miles’s foot slid into the doorway just in time.
“Come on, Al. Please? Let me in."
Alex shrugged and opened the door, gesturing Miles in. “It’s only so we don’t wake the entire floor up. What do you want, it’s 3am."
“I’ll take it." Miles wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted. Maybe honesty was the best thing to start with.
“Look, I’m sorry. I’m tired and me head’s all over the place after that interview today. But shouldn’t have taken it out on you. We had a great show and I’ve gone and ruined it. I’m sorry, Alex. I don’t mind where you wanna sleep, just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all."
“What about the interview?" Alex said. His face wasn’t giving anything away.
Miles sighed. “The couple stuff. The weird questions, I’m used to all that. But then Valentine’s Day, and you said…"
“I said, it’s not like that."
“You did."
“Because it’s not."
Miles sighed again. “Alex, I’ve brushed everything and everyone off since we first met. But hearing her say that. We’ve been sleeping in the same bed for weeks, we’re always touching, you spent a good minute breathing into my mouth on stage tonight. We’re more ‘like that’ than I have been with any of me girlfriends."
“Right." Alex seemed to be processing everything Miles had just said. “Well I were right. It’s not like that. Valentine’s Day is a bloody scam holiday. Don’t mean that I don’t love you though."
“I love you too Alex, course I do. But….“
“But what?"
“She said ‘maybe we haven’t been exposed to the romance yet’. What on earth does that mean?"
“Mi, why does it matter what other people say or think? You never used to care." Alex’s hands were folded tightly across his chest, biceps tensed. Miles didn’t find this a particularly helpful observation.
“I care what I think. And what you do, o’course."
“And what do you think?" Alex tipped his head in challenge, but Miles had none left in him.
“I don’t know, that’s the problem. I don’t know what we are." Miles ran a hand over his face, trying to dull the ache in his head.
Alex shrugged. “We’re us."
“What does that even mean?"
Alex put a hand on his hip. “We’re not having this conversation now Miles. Go to sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow alright?"
“But…"
“It’s late, better to sleep on it yeah? Before we say anything we might regret." Alex’s brow was furrowed, showing deep lines from years of worries, overthinking, and expressive stage performances. Despite everything, especially his own muddle of emotions, Miles had the urge to smooth them out with his thumb, soothe Alex’s stresses, let him rest his weary head in the crook of his neck. Instead, Miles nodded, deflated. Stubborn git that he was, once Alex had made his mind up about something, there was no changing it. How had he managed to make things worse?
“Night Alex," Miles said, as he slipped out of the room. He suspected neither of them would get a restful sleep tonight.
Start of the Tour - 2016
It wasn’t like they hadn’t shared a bed before. Who hadn’t crashed out on a bed next to their best mate in a drunken stupor and woken up the next day with the hangover from hell, mind trying to cling onto the scattered fragments of a conversation, a feeling so vivid that had faded into a dull ache of nausea in the eye splitting light of the morning. During the early days, when they were in the throes of song-writing, ideas pouring and flowing between them with an unguarded intensity until the early hours of the morning, it simply made no sense for Alex to go home when he’d waste time making his way straight back in the morning. And the sofa was so old and battered it had no support left in it –it was a miracle it hadn’t collapsed altogether during one of their play fights. Miles would insist Alex take the bed lest risking any strain on his neck, which had always led them to a ridiculous standoff at 2am. Miles had learned, even in a short time of knowing Alex, once his mind was set on something, there was no going back. So as he felt the exhaustion seep into his bones, Miles conceded, like he always did and agreed to share his bed.
And France, the actual recording of the album after all their hard work. Well, France was France. The best time of Miles’s life by far. So that didn’t count.
And then on this tour, bored of waiting for the tour bus to collect them, they’d been distracted in one of their private conversations, Alex’s fingers stroking at the sleeve of Miles’s jacket as he spoke lowly in his ear. When the bus had finally arrived and they were out of their own world, everyone else had piled on and chosen their bed, leaving the back, cramped corner bunks the only remaining spot. Alex had huffed to Miles, but hadn’t wanted to look like a ‘diva prick’ to the rest of the band or the string section by asking to swap, so had tried to guilt Miles into giving up the top bunk.
“Come on, Mi, you know how I fidget in me sleep, this sloping corner’s so small I’ll smash me head into the bed above."
On that particular day, Miles had felt like pushing Alex a bit, rather than giving in to those puppy dog eyes as he usually would. “Snooze you lose, Alex love. Need my beauty kip and all you know, can’t have you snoring above me for weeks on end."
Alex pouted and Miles could see his brain working on a way to convince him to give in. “I’ll get you those new loafers you were eyeing up online this morning."
“Alex Turner, trying to bribe me to get his own way, the absolute scoundrel." Miles said, in a faux affected voice. “I’ve got me own money, thank you. And I’m simply weighing up me options. Happens that those websites email you a money off voucher if you wait long enough, not that you’d know with your limited technological skills and abundance of funds." Miles’s lip twitched in an effort not to break character.
Alex looked fake-offended and thrust a hand on his hip, the other fluffing his hair. “Miles Kane, not only are you making baseless accusations, I find you to be a coupon connoisseur and resistant to me wily ways."
Miles shrugged. He couldn’t help but notice that Alex’s hand was still in his hair, and somehow he’d lost the witty retort that had been poised on the tip of his tongue. The driver had finished loading their belongings and gear onto the bus and they’d started the slow roll down the motorway.
Miles wasn’t really fussed about the top or bottom bunk, he was at least afforded some privacy in the back corner, as cramped as it might be. In all honesty, he’d just felt like winding Alex up a bit, to see what would happen.
“How’s about this then, we’ll alternate. And as I’m a gentleman and a scholar, I’ll let you have the top bunk first."
Alex’s face lit up and he threw himself into Miles’s arms, planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek, before slinging his bag onto the top bunk and scrambling up the ladder, bouncing experimentally on the soft mattress. “Not much head room up ‘ere," he said, measuring the gap between the top of his head and the ceiling with an open palm.
“Good job I’m here to keep your head normal size then," Miles chuckled, “otherwise you’d be permanently relegated to the bottom bunk due to your massive ego."
"And what of your ego Mr Kane?" Alex said in his pseudo posh voice, peering over the edge of the bed.
"Well, I’m as boss as everyone thinks so it’s exactly the size it needs to be." Miles winked and went to unpack his coffee supplies in the tiny kitchen, not before spotting Alex’s slight flush high on his cheeks as he tried to hide his head in his stack of reading material for the tour.
There’d only been a short drive to the first show which had gone without a hitch and they stumbled back after a few post gig drinks, high off the energy of performing together after so many years: bouncing off each other, crowding into the microphone, dancing and laughing. They’d piled onto the bus and Alex had clambered happily onto the top bunk, still wired from the roar of the crowd and the alcohol thrumming in his veins.
"Mi, come sit up here wi’ me. Can’t talk to you if you’re down there. Don’t want to disturb everyone else."
"Alright, move up then." Miles climbed up and Alex scooched along the bed, patting the space beside him giddily before sliding an arm around Miles’s waist.
"You were amazing tonight, mean, y’always are but…. ‘S’different playing with you. Everyone’s looking at you, ‘stead of me, I can just relax and go wild."
"Think they’re looking at you too love, I know I was." Miles pressed his lips softly against Alex’s cheek and felt Alex’s giggle vibrate through him.
"Nah, not when Miles Fuckin’ Kane’s on the stage wielding his whammy."
Miles smirked and spoke lowly into Alex’s ear, "Honed through many years of practice."
As the bus rumbled on through the early hours of the morning, the post gig adrenaline finally started wearing off, leaving them both yawning.
"Time for bed, I think," Miles said, shifting sleepily out of Alex’s grasp. "Night, Al," he said as he hopped down the ladder, stripped his clothes and crawled into the bottom bunk, pulling the curtain shut behind him.
-
The next day passed in a blur of travel, soundcheck, and laughter – and before they knew it, it was time to take to the stage. After another roaring success of a show, where one of the festival roadies remarked in an obnoxiously loud voice, "they spent more time looking at each other than the crowd" they headed back to the bus. Miles went straight to the kitchen in search of a drink, and Alex flopped down on the sofa in the small living area. Drinks made, Miles started to strip the beds and methodically remade the top bunk, tucking the corners in neatly. ‘I’ve put your bedding on the bottom bunk.’
"Hmm, wha’dya mean?" Alex was deep in thought curled on the sofa, a far cry from his usual post-gig wired and talkative state.
"That was the deal, we take it in turns on the top bunk. It’s mine tonight, not sleeping on your sweaty sheets, pillow covered in hair gel and god knows what."
"Hm? Alright, yeah."
"What’s up, Al?" Miles sat down on the sofa with his mug, nudging him knee to knee.
"Nowt." Alex didn’t turn to look at Miles, staring straight ahead, but pushed his knee a little closer and Miles felt the warm line of contact between them increase.
"You seem a bit lost in your head there. Show not go how you’d hoped?" Miles thought they’d done a good job; it was only the second one of the run but there hadn’t been any major hiccups and the crowd seemed to be having a good time with them, or at least Miles thought so.
"Nah, show was good." He finally turned his head and smiled. "Just me overthinking things, as per. Want another?" Alex gestured his mug and Miles nodded. Second round of drinks made, Alex started to loosen up and seemed more like his usual self, chatting and laughing, reminiscing about the handful of gigs they’d performed for their first album, not expecting the reception to be as huge as it had.
"Your hair was so fluffy then, not like now." Alex said, brushing his hand over the short strands on Miles’s scalp.
"Yours was fluffier, proper little Beatle, innocent look. Not the sexy swine you are now." Miles ruffled Alex’s hair affectionately, messing up the effortless, fluffy style.
Alex ducked his head. "Best clear out and let someone else have a go of the sofa. Top bunk?"
They relocated carefully, drinks in hand, legs dangling over the edge of the bunk.
"Four months of this." Alex said, with a strange, faraway look on his face. Miles found Alex’s eyes and expression unusually blank, he had no idea what was on his mind.
"Four months of you hoggin’ the mirror with your new ‘air-do you mean." Miles said. That drew a smirk out of Alex, and Miles felt the slight tension in his chest ease a little.
"I’ll have you know there’s a crowd paying good money for this ‘air, amongst other things, Mr Kane." Alex said in his affected voice, smoothing a hand through his now rumpled locks.
"Other things being the music then?" Miles said, with a grin.
"Other things being you, mostly. I contribute the ‘air and me tambourine skills."
"Alex Turner, tambourine master extraordinaire."
"That’s me. Top of the CV, that."
"When your name’s mentioned in conversation globally, they go ‘ah yes, Alex Turner, the one with the ‘air and the tambourine and his better lookin’ mate." Miles nudged his shoulder into Alex’s and stayed there. "You can tell me anything, you know."
"I know, thanks Mi." Alex’s gaze was warm and he curled a hand around Miles’s arm, resting his head on Miles’s shoulder.
Miles waited for Alex to continue, but no more words came, just a comfortable silence and the warmth of his best mate next to him, with the low rumble of the bus pushing them onwards through the night.
"Time for bed, I think," Miles said eventually, giving Alex’s knee a squeeze. "Down you go." Alex nodded and sleepily disentangled himself, landing on the floor with a thump.
Alex groaned. "Mi, bed’s not made."
Miles stuck his head over the side of the bunk. "I know, I said your sheets were down there."
"’M not making it now. I’ll sleep on the sofa."
"You can’t sleep on that Alex, your neck."
"Be fine."
"Won’t. I’ll have to listen to you gripe about it for days. I’ll make your bed, hang on." Miles swung his legs back over the top bunk and felt a warm hand curl around his ankle, holding him in place.
"You’re not gettin’ up on my account." Alex’s voice was determined, even through the haze of his tiredness and the alcohol.
"It’s no trouble Alex."
"‘S fine. I’ll make the bed, just bein’ drunk and lazy. Thanks, Mi."
Miles lay back down and closed his eyes, listening to the shuffling of sheets, stumbling and the occasional insult directed at the bed. Everything went quiet.
"Sorted now Al?" Miles whispered.
"Given up," Alex said. "Bed making on a moving bus, half pissed, in the dark is apparently not one of me strong suits."
Miles sighed. "Just come back up here and get some sleep, we’ll sort it out tomorrow." Miles shifted further into the corner and was greeted by an elbow in his ribs as Alex lay down and tried to get comfortable in the confined space.
"D’ya have to be so pointy?" He grumbled. "This is what I get for being charitable and letting you into me bed."
"Miles Kane," Alex mumbled, sleepily. "Philanthropist and seducer. Seductor. That the word? Y’know what I mean. Tired and drunk."
"Not sure I do," Miles chuckled. "Night Al." Miles was met with a sleepy snuffle as Alex buried his face into the pillow.
-
It was never meant to become a regular thing. On nights that Miles was due the top bunk, Alex didn’t change the sheets until they were winding down post show at a ridiculous hour of the night, even though he’d had all day to do so. This inevitably led to Alex’s puppy dog eyes and a sigh from Miles, as he let Alex clamber up the ladder and squash him into the hard edge of the bus wall. Miles knew he should just offer the top bunk to Alex permanently to save the fuss, but found on days that Alex did have the top bunk, Miles climbed into the bottom one ready for sleep but was regularly kept awake by Alex’s tossing and turning above anyway. Maybe it wasn’t to do with the bed at all. In the end, Miles gave up the pretence, permanently claimed the top bunk without changing the sheets and waited expectantly for Alex to crawl into bed beside him. At least this way, Miles wasn’t kept awake, as Alex seemed to fall asleep relatively quickly.
Not in his arms, of course, it’s not like that… Apart from the occasional time Miles had woken up, bleary eyed in the darkness to find Alex curled into his side, head resting on his chest and a hand splayed across his toned stomach. Miles was a little surprised, but Alex looked so peaceful in the gloom, dark hair curling at the ends, pale skin and rosy lips fluttering soft breaths. Especially with the way Alex struggled to get restful sleep, his busy mind always overwrought, Miles didn’t have the heart to disentangle the two of them. So Miles had just taken in the sight of his best friend contentedly, and closed his eyes again. On the tour bus, sharing a bunk became something else added to the long list of things they did together, it wasn’t a big deal. When morning came, daylight seeping through the edges of the tour worn blinds, Miles was roused by the wafting scent of herbal tea and found the space beside him empty, as if they’d never shared a bunk at all. Miles didn’t know if this was simply Alex’s nature as an early riser, or to avoid any potential awkwardness between them. And Miles found he didn’t have a pressing need for an answer, until now.
Exeter, United Kingdom - May 2016
They’d been heralded off the stage after the first festival of the tour, for BBC Radio 1’s Big Weekend, given 5 minutes to cool down and then shoved into seats with 2 TV presenters. They were still giddy, adrenaline coursing through their veins; Alex had insisted on giving the nation a close up of his dirty knees from crawling over the stage. He had been extra showy that day, lying on his back doing bicycle kicks. Miles half thought it was in retaliation to his microphone swerve in Standing Next to Me. He loved playing up The Beatles vibe and it was fun to be silly and share the mic, but something about that day and it being broadcast live on the radio, TV and on the red button, plus it being in the UK…. It had been a split second decision to move away, but he’d seen the tiny glint of hurt in Alex’s eyes before he’d turned away too, and the performance mask was in place.
"You’re on a tour bus right, do you have one each?" The interviewer said.
"No, we share a bus. In fact, we share a bunk."
Miles sensed Alex’s words were coming before he heard them, and could only watch as if in slow motion, as Alex’s eyes widened in horror. He tried to recover and pass it off as a joke, but ended up trying to retract it a bit too enthusiastically. Miles felt the need to try and help, adding a mellow "we don’t" to Alex’s cacophony of panic and denial. Miles wasn’t fussed, if anything he thought it was funny. But given Alex’s mood was wobbly before the interview, he didn’t want to make him feel any worse. The interviewers ignored the statement completely and the interview carried on.
The interviewers had asked them to stay there and made them watch some of their performance back, but Miles was more interested in sneaking glances at Alex, trying to gauge his mood. Miles thought he’d make it up to him, just in case, so he laid his usual level of affection on a bit thicker, commenting in front of the presenters on Alex’s hair, his toned arms after he’d whipped his kimono off, anything to try and get that smile back on his face. Miles knew they weren’t being filmed, so had happily slung an arm round Alex’s shoulder, hand snaking into the bottom of his hair, teasing the soft strands gently. He’d felt Alex relax slightly into the touch, even though they were with the presenters. Despite not reacting outwardly, Alex proceeded to lavish the compliments back on Miles’s general appearance, even saying “I fancy you a bit” at one point. Miles hoped and prayed the presenters didn’t notice the flush that was surely colouring his face, not that he knew the reason why. This was no different to their usual carry on.
Miles had been slightly annoyed to find out later that day, the presenters had relayed their conversation on air. It was nothing particularly noteworthy, just them complimenting each other as they normally would, but Miles couldn’t help but feel it was an invasion of a private moment nonetheless. Alex wasn’t online much and certainly didn’t search himself or their work, so Miles was fairly confident he wouldn’t see it.
Alex had seemed ok though, or at least he hadn’t mentioned anything, and they’d gone on as they always had. But maybe after the constant interviews, questions about their relationship, reports on social media, Alex had held that panic in the back of his mind which led him to shut Cat down.
France - 2007
The converted farm house wasn’t the most obvious place to stay to record an album. But it was definitely idyllic; secluded away in a rural part of the countryside, the nearest signs of civilisation a good bike ride away. It was like their own private slice of heaven, Miles had thought. Writing and recording with James during the day, pouring their hearts and souls into every note and strum of their guitar. Eating home cooked food and drinking red wine in the cosy kitchen, the air warm with laughter and contentment. Lying on their backs in the field, gazing upwards, dazzled by the stars as Alex pointed out the constellations, his wine sweet breath ruffling the hair behind Miles’s ear as smoke curled between them, flickering embers of cigarettes forgotten in awe at the sky before them. Then retreating to their room to listen to the owners’ collection of classic French records and talking into the early hours.
When they’d first been shown around the farmhouse, they assumed they’d be sharing a room as it wasn’t a large place, and naturally James would have his own room, being older and more important. As the wife of the slightly stern French couple pointed out their room, Miles took in the vintage record player and record collection, soft, chintzy furnishings and the gorgeous built-in window seat, the perfect place to curl up and gaze out into the French countryside and put the world to rights. He was so taken by the room, he’d failed to notice one key feature, until the owner had briefly nodded and closed the door behind them.
"There’s only one bed, Mi." Alex’s voice sounded slightly strained.
Miles dragged his attention away from the window and turned. So there was. "Oh yeah. Hang on." Miles lifted the bed covers and peeked underneath. "It’s alright, it’s two twin beds pushed together to make a double, they do that sometimes in hotels, don’t they. We can move ‘em, and ask for some more bedding. Know any French?"
Alex peeked under the covers. "It’s barely a double, these beds are tiny. Nah, did Spanish at school and don’t even know any of that. Do you?"
Miles shook his head. "German. And even that’s mostly where’s the swimming pool or the contents of me pencil case."
"So what do we do then?" Alex chewed his bottom lip worriedly.
"Ask James? Or try and mime it out somehow."
"Nah, don’t want James to think we’re bein’ awkward. I’ll sleep on the floor."
"Al, you’re not sleepin’ on the floor for 2 weeks, we’ve done this in my flat already. We’ll share the bed tonight, and if you really can’t stand bein’ that close to me, I’ll get new sheets in the morning, alright?"
Alex raked a hand through his hair, about to waver. "Course, sorry Mi. Just tired and wound up from travel, wanna get started on recording."
"I know, it’s ok." Miles slung an arm round Alex’s shoulder. "Now, let’s look through these records."
A few drinks later, Alex seemed back to his easy, relaxed state, carefully reading and trying to make sense of the lyrics to one of the many French LPs, as the music flowed gently around them. Miles didn’t know why Alex had been so opposed to sharing a bed, it wasn’t the first time they’d done it. He tried not to let the prickle of hurt get under his skin. Alex was normally so open with him, there must be a good reason for his reluctance. Miles was sure Alex would tell him, when he was good and ready. They were soon splayed over the covers, turned towards each other, too hot to sleep in more than boxers, whispering like giddy boys at a sleepover.
"Well, technically we are boys at a sleepover," Alex had said with a giggle.
"Last time I was at a sleepover, when I were about 14, 2 of the lads decided to have a wank, to see who could finish first. And before you start Al, it weren’t me or my idea. Besides, got the stamina of a horse, haven’t I." Miles chuckled. "So think we should make it clear now, all wankin’ to be done in the shower, ok?"
Alex’s gaze shifted to the window behind Miles’s head, as if hoping a response would come to him through the dust laden curtains, a line of pink sat high on his cheekbones. "Yeah, course. No PDW, public displays o’wankin’, got it."
Alex rolled over towards the edge of the tiny bed, turning away from Miles, one hand tucked under the pillow, one reaching straight out in front of him over the edge of the bed.
"Everything alright Al?" Miles placed a gentle hand on Alex’s shoulder.
"Mmm. Just too ‘ot."
"Not overwhelmed thinkin’ about me cock then?"
"Nah."
"Good to know." Miles relaxed slightly. It had been on Miles’s mind to talk to Alex for a while, nervousness curling in his stomach. They told each other everything, and Miles felt like they’d known each other long enough for him to be honest. Alex was his best mate, and as much as he hoped nothing would cause an issue between them, he couldn’t be certain until he told the truth. Maybe Alex was feeling uncomfortable about the bed arrangement because he’d figured it out. Miles often felt like they knew each other better than they knew themselves.
"Alex, been wanting to talk to you for a bit now. I err... I dunno how to say it, really, you’re the one that’s good with words." Miles tried to hold his voice steady in the darkness, despite the insistent thump of his heart.
Alex rolled back over and his face dropped at Miles’s fraught expression. Miles's teeth were gnawing at his bottom lip, a bead of sweat making its way through his fringe.
"Miles, is everything ok?" Miles heard the rustle of bedsheets before his hand was being stroked soothingly by a reassuringly calloused thumb. This was Alex. He could tell him anything. "Talk to me, let me help."
Miles squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. "I’m ok. I just, been thinking for a while. Maybe I’m not quite…. Straight. Might’ve kissed a few blokes when I were drinkin’ and sometimes when I weren’t. Was wondering if that’s why you didn’t want to share a bed, in case…"
Miles felt Alex’s thumb cease its careful movement and he sighed a little. He shouldn’t have said anything. Then, his hand was being squeezed full force, Alex’s other hand snaking behind Miles’s head and up into his hair.
"Oh, Miles, nothing you could do would change how I see you." Alex’s hand slid round to cup Miles’s cheek, calloused thumb softly stroking his cheekbone. "I’m sorry if I gave that impression. Thank you for telling me."
"So you still want to be friends, band mates, make the album?" Miles tried not to let the hope bloom too brightly too quickly, lest he come crashing down to reality.
"There’s nothing I want more right now, trust me."
Miles felt relief flood through him and smiled, Alex’s thumb shifting in place on his cheek.
Alex hummed. "Makes sense, now that I think about it though."
"What do you mean?"
"You have too much love in you Miles, just bursting to get out. Everyone loves you, so makes sense you’re capable of loving everyone in return. Plus you’re a bloody great flirt." Alex elbowed him in the side to emphasise his point.
"Oh Alex, you big sap." Miles pulled him into a hug, the tightness gone from his chest despite the temperature of the room. "I really love ya, you know? And I’ll get those bedsheets tomorrow, promise."
Miles felt Alex smile into his shoulder. "Love you too. And don’t bother, as funny as making you mime at the owners would be, I kinda like having you this close. I know we won’t always have this."
Miles felt a warmth glow in his chest. "Couldn’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be. Now, you need your beauty sleep so we can get up tomorrow and smash this recording. G’night Al." Miles pressed a kiss to the top of Alex’s head and rolled over, oblivious to the maelstrom of emotions he’d casually caused within his best friend.