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“It’s boss, don’t you think? Al, you still there?”
Eight am was far too early after the late night adrenaline of a show and after party, not to mention another row. The brutal final nail in the coffin of Alex’s relationship. Though in reality, things had been over since the start of the tour. They just hadn’t officially said it out loud, wanting to do it in person rather than over a crackling, long distance phone call. Afterwards, Alex had sauntered on stage, performance mode fully initiated. Just another day at the office.
But for Miles, back in London, it was two pm. He didn’t know that where there should have been a hollow ache in Alex’s chest there was nothing. Clearly all of his emotions, any semblance of feeling, had also withered and died over the last six months. Heartless, she’d called him. On many occasions, in fact. Maybe she was right. Maybe he didn’t have the heart to make it work. Maybe he didn’t have a heart at all.
“Sorry Miles, go on.”
“I’m just wafflin’. Are you okay?” Miles’s voice had that calming, inquisitive lilt that brought Alex back to himself. It felt like home, despite Alex being thousands of miles across the world in Texas. If it hadn’t have been for the heat of the phone in his hand and the slight whirr of the air con unit, they could have been sat opposite each other in their childhood bedrooms in High Green, or the Wirral, writing songs, eating chocolate biscuits, and laughing, without a care in the world.
Alex couldn’t bring himself to respond. It wasn’t that he was, or wasn’t okay. It was the thought of having to tell everyone “yes, we’ve split up, it was amicable, I’m fine, we’re still friends”. The prospect of sympathy and hands on arms and pitying looks turned Alex’s stomach. His mum clucking and fussing and secretly despairing at the added years onto her anticipated timeline for a grandchild. But Miles would know what to say. He always knew. It was his super power. Alex made a non-committal noise.
“You’re okay, but you feel like you shouldn’t be, so now you feel guilty on top of everythin’ else. But you said it yourself, it wasn’t right. Better to end it than let it limp on any longer. You did the right thing. And because you knew it was comin’, you’ve pre-grieved. So it’s alright to feel alright.” Miles and his telepathy.
Alex sighed. He lay back down and raked a hand through his sweaty, mussed hair. It was long and a bit shaggy looking; he always had to have it thinned out whenever he could brave a trip to the hairdressers, dreaded business. But Texas in August was no joke. A rain shower would be heavenly. “How’d you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Know what to say. Know what’s in me head. Express meself better than I can. Make me feel like a bit less of a dickhead.”
“Well, I am one half of a Mercury Music Prize nominated, platinum selling, supergroup duo, lauded for their acute intelligent lyricism and charisma. That and I’ve spent enough time with the other half of said supergroup duo, to absorb a tiny bit of his intelligence and to know when he’s being a dickhead and when he isn’t. My contribution to the aforementioned duo is mainly the charisma, see. And obviously the looks.” Miles’s grin was evident down the phone line; Alex could picture his relaxed posture and that warmth in his eyes whenever he smiled. A smile to light up any room.
Alex laughed and was surprised to find it was genuine. “Fair.”
“Do you wanna talk about it?” There was no pity, no expectation. Just a quiet, genuine offer. And that was more than enough.
“Nah. But thanks. Maybe one day. We were talkin’ about hair, right?”
“Right. Remember when we said we’d get matchin’ hair dos, only you backed out last minute?” Three years later and still, there was that accusatory tone.
“Think that were for the good of humanity, don’t think we could’ve managed a serious press tour with man buns.”
“The music speaks for itself though.”
“It does, but would’ve felt like a right pillock. More the ‘bent’ part than the ‘Beckham’.”
Miles sniggered. “Point is, next time we make an album we should do it. Really lean into the whole yin yang stuff.”
“Yin and yang would mean opposite hair though. Me with a slick back and you with a shaved head.” Somehow, Alex could picture it so clearly.
“Shave me head? God no. Love me hair too much. You can shave and I’ll have the slick back.”
“Don’t think I’ve got the face for a skin ‘ead. Too egg like.” Alex vowed then never to shave his head.
“Perfect for dippin’ me toast. Bet you’ve got a nice head, under all that mop.” Miles was always teasing Alex about his hair and would take every opportunity to ruffle it out of place. He grinned at the thought and wished Miles was there, irritating him in person.
“Maybe it’s nice ‘cos it’s covered up. No one has to be exposed to it.”
“Give over. Been really into quiffs lately, you know. Just something about one. Sexy and classy and stylish. The whole package. But me hairdresser says I don’t have the face for it. Would make me look ‘pudgy’, she said. Gutted.”
“You and your cute baby face.” Alex smiled, picturing the scowl colouring Miles’s face and the curled flicks of hair on his cheeks, thousands of miles away. It would be such a shame to lose them, chopped away in pursuit of a quiff. Of wanting to emulate someone else.
“Shut it, you. ‘M not cute. Anyway, that was me idea for matchin’ hair, but now we’re scuppered.” Miles sounded genuinely disappointed and the thought that he wanted them to match stirred an odd feeling in Alex’s chest.
“There’ll be somethin’ that suits us both, ‘m sure, if you really want to match.” Alex let himself be distracted by thoughts of being properly reunited with Miles; not just a brief catch up, or an unsatisfying phone call across time zones but the real prospect of making another album together.
Hopefully they’d find a gap in the midst of their busy careers to sit down and write again. It was so much easier having someone by your side; sharing the songwriting, the expectations, the press, even the stage. Someone to have your back if you fuck up the lyrics or miss a few chords. As a Monkey, a mistake would be a disaster, something Alex would kick himself for and would ruin the show, ruin his entire week. But as a Puppet, it was okay. Miles would slip a hand around his waist and Alex wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else, let alone worry about an, all things considered, minor transgression. And at times over the years when Miles had joined the Monkeys on stage for 505 it had been a safe haven in the midst of a frenetic set; a few minutes to take stock and appreciate that Alex really was living the dream, every night with his best mates. And Miles. Though feelings towards Miles had been a bit complicated of late.
“I’ll get me thinking cap on. But I spent ages looking at all these photos of quiffs. I mean it’s timeless. Elvis, early Lennon proper made it work in Hamburg. And now Richard Hawley up there rocking it. Had me heart set on it.”
“If you want it that badly, get it anyway. Pretty sure you could make anythin’ look good. That or get a new hairdresser who’ll tell you what you wanna hear.” Alex pushed his sweaty fringe back off his forehead. Miles could pull off any outfit, any clothing style. Why would hair be any different?
“Nah. Better to keep it real. Know me own limits. Like us, yeah?” There was just a tinge of bravado in Miles’s voice usually evident when he was showing off in a group setting, or was trying to act as if he didn’t care about something. But Alex seldom heard it when it was just them.
“What’s that s’posed to mean?”
“Oh, nothin’.” The bravado was gone; Alex pictured Miles’s easy shrug and half smile, covering whatever was on his mind.
“Okay.” Alex let the word linger, just in case Miles wanted to divulge further. But Alex was fairly sure what Miles was referring to. Miles was sick of all of the talk surrounding their friendship and how Miles was a cheat, a leech, simply attaching himself to Alex for his fame and talent. Nothing could be further from the truth, and Alex felt more as if he were the hanger on, the impostor, when Miles was so cool and confident and in control. The real rockstar. It was simply unspoken between them; Miles knew how Alex felt and that was the only thing of importance.
Miles’s intake of breath rattled down the phone line. “Reckon you could pull it off though. The quiff, I mean. Bet there’s a right angular jaw and cheekbones under all that hair.”
“Yeah, right.” Alex didn’t really spend much time concerned with his looks. He’d seen terms thrown around in the press like “indie darling”, and “rockstar dream”, and there were always girls eyeing him up in the front row of shows. But he’d only got media attention due to his ex and her fame, and it had coincided with the time when she’d encouraged him to stop dressing in polo shirts and take better care of himself. And there were just as many men on the front row of their shows as women. Plus his nose was too big for him to ever be considered attractive. Not to mention his weird Dracula-esque widows peak that Alex was so self conscious of.
“I mean it. Proper sexy.” Miles had always been Alex’s biggest supporter and had never been shy about expressing his feelings of pride and admiration over Alex’s musical ability, his song writing, his friendship. But appearance was something they’d never discussed unless it was in relation to an outfit choice, or whether a girl one of them fancied was out of their league or not (in Miles’s case the answer was never, in Alex’s, it was more fifty fifty).
“Oh, err… thanks.” Alex swallowed and tried to quell the ripple of hope that had just been unleashed in his stomach. Miles was talking about the hair. Nothing more.
“Right, better get off. You can have a few more hours kip. See you soon yeah, at Lowlands? Though I’ll text you before then. Probably call too.”
“Yeah, okay. You playin’ 505 with us?” Alex knew Miles would be too big to play with them soon, he had to grasp every opportunity to share the stage while he still had the chance.
“Course, if you want me, like.”
“Always.” In so many ways.
“Boss. Later then, Al.” Miles was gone, the shrill beeps ringing in Alex’s ear a harsh reminder that they were still thousands of miles apart.
Alex knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep; the early morning heat was becoming unbearable despite the air conditioning and he couldn’t shake Miles’s words from his head. They didn’t mean anything, not really, but they felt significant somehow.
Alex stood up and shuffled into the bathroom, studying his reflection in the mirror. He ignored the dark circles under his eyes and the faint layer of stubble across his cheeks and pushed his fringe and long pieces of hair back off his face. He couldn’t see it. But Miles knew about all things fashion, and as his nan always said “a change is as good as a rest”. That is why, Alex told himself, he’d boot up his laptop and find a highly rated hairdresser in the area. No other reason. None whatsoever.
-
17 days later – The Netherlands
Alex’s new haircut had garnered quite the fuss. He didn’t know why. It was just hair. He was still singing and playing to the same standard; his performance hadn’t changed. Okay, maybe there was a tiny bit more swagger in his movements, a strut across the stage rather than a walk. He’d unveiled his quiff at their second show in Texas a few weeks ago to squeals and screams and a roar from the crowd and the heat inside the club had been so stifling, Alex was immediately relieved he’d had as much hair chopped off as he had.
The rest of the lads had nudged him when he’d turned up to soundcheck that day back in Texas; Matt asking him who he was trying to impress, Nick giving a smile and nod of approval, and of course Jamie had hugged him and given him a playful tap on the backside. But Alex was desperate to see what Miles thought. He hadn’t mentioned it, wanting it to be a surprise of sorts when they were reunited. Which was silly; why would Miles care if Alex had changed his hairstyle? But once the idea had got into Alex’s head, it had consumed him completely; no matter how casual he tried to appear, loitering in the backstage area of the festival waiting for Miles to finish his soundcheck, Alex was on tenterhooks.
“Alright, Al? You had a haircut? It’s…” Miles’s voice was coming from behind. Alex turned to face him. “Oh.” Miles sounded taken aback, a slightly shocked look on his face.
Not quite the reaction Alex had been hoping for. He tried to ignore the wave of unreasonable disappointment washing over him and willed himself to focus on the time he had together with Miles. “Alright. Yeah, thought it were time for a change. Take it you’re not a fan?”
Miles pulled Alex into a tight hug, hand snaking into the back of his hair, fingers stroking the shorter strands, lips thrillingly close to his ear as he spoke. “No, it’s great. Suits ya. Wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.” Miles stepped back and turned Alex this way and that; he was being subjected to some kind of full visual appraisal.
Alex blushed as Miles studied him, slowly running his thumbs across the lines of Alex’s jaw, his cheekbones, and up along the tips of his ears. “If you’ve quite finished, proddin’ me, that is,” Alex said, grinning. He’d let Miles touch him all day but the silence – save for the chatter of the roadies as they unpacked equipment – felt rather loaded. Charged. Like something was lingering just below the surface.
“I s’pose. Can I touch it?” Miles looked away, like he hadn’t intended to say anything. But Miles was never shy in getting what he wanted, especially when it came to them.
“Yeah, ‘f’you want.”
Miles reached out, tentatively at first, and ran his fingers gently through the long fringe. “Soft.”
“Like me,” Alex said with a smile, but Miles didn’t laugh along.
Miles stepped closer and ran his fingers through Alex’s hair again. This time Miles approached with more confidence, his movements unhurried yet decisive. Miles teased the long strands, curling them around the tip of his finger and gave them a little tug, watching them unravel and flop back in to place.
Alex focused intently on suppressing the moan threatening to escape from the back of his throat. Apparently he liked having his hair pulled. That was something new he’d learned about himself today.
Miles repeated it twice more, gently curling the hair and pulling, before letting it flop back across Alex’s forehead. Alex swallowed and it was taking an enormous effort to appear unaffected. Any sudden sounds or movements would surely give the game away, startling Miles and causing him come to his senses.
Alex knew he should say something; the silence was stretching again, the tension mounting to an unbearable degree when…
“Oi, lovebirds. Stop fondlin’ each other and come ‘ere.” Matt.
They turned to see him smirking at them and as Miles stepped forward in greeting, Alex knew he should have been relieved. A lucky escape before he got any silly ideas or gave into any reckless impulses he only seemed to feel around Miles. But the louder part of Alex’s mind was irritated. Somehow, it felt like something had changed between them, even though it wasn’t possible.
Matt turned his attention to Alex. “Soundcheck time. Come on Al. Good luck for your set Miles, we’ll be watching at the side of the stage. Won’t be able to tear this one away.”
Miles chuckled. “Ta. See yous later.”
Alex held up a hand briefly in goodbye as he was ushered away by Matt.
“Just tell him,” Matt said, pausing at the entrance to their Winnebago.
“What you on about?”
“Miles. He won’t bite.” Matt sniggered. “Well, not unless you ask him to. Imagine he’d do anything you asked.”
“What? I…” Alex thrust his hand into his hair, fingers falling away. He still wasn’t used to the back being so short. This hairstyle meant frequent trips to the hairdressers to keep its shape. What had he done?
“There you go. Always touchin’ your hair whenever Miles is around, or when you talk about him. Preening like a posh bird. Now it’s gone full circle and he’s touchin’ it too.” Matt shrugged.
“I dunno what you’re sayin’, I mean…” Alex had no end to his sentence and his face was burning with embarrassment. If Matt had figured it out, then surely Miles knew too. And if Miles wanted something, he went for it. Which meant…
“No overthinkin’, time for soundcheck. I’ll get Nick and Jamie.” Matt went into the Winnebago, the door closing behind him with a thunk.
-
Alex had struggled to focus during soundcheck, going through the motions and zoning out, needing the lads to call him repeatedly to get his attention. All he could think about was getting to speak to Miles before he took to the stage to sort things out. Tell Miles he’d been mistaken. That Alex only liked him as a friend. Let everything go back to normal. Alex would find a new girlfriend soon enough – a distraction. Miles would too and Alex could put all of his confusing feelings to bed once and for all. Quash them.
Soundcheck finally over, the lads were dawdling over to the main stage with Alex storming on ahead. Miles was stood in the wings, his band behind him, deep in thought in his pre-show ritual. Alex had half a mind to interrupt, but what was his plan? Butt into a sacred pre-show practice to tell Miles he didn’t fancy him? Ludicrous. Or tell him the opposite – the truth? Even worse, and potentially more distracting.
Miles looked up, face furrowed in concentration and smiled as their eyes met. He winked and blew Alex a kiss, before striding out onto the stage, guitar in hand.
Alex’s stomach flipped. Cheeky flirtation was nothing new between them, but his senses were on high alert. Did Miles know something? Was he pretending that everything was normal between them? Was everything normal, and Alex was just entrenched in his usual overthinking quicksand, that threatened to pull him under once again? The other lads joined him at the side of the stage and as the first riff rang out, Alex was drawn in by the music.
Miles was as electric as always, laughing and joking with the crowd, swaggering and sauntering, note and word perfect. Effortlessly cool. Everything Alex wished he could be. And just like that, Miles was thanking the festival and heading in their direction, and Alex had no clue what he was going to say. Would he even get the words out before he had to leave, to prep for their own set?
Miles hugged the rest of lads in turn and they drifted off to get changed before they were due to perform. Alex watched each hug, heart skittering waiting for Miles to approach and he shouldn’t have ended things with her. She’d been a convenient reason to obscure his feelings, even from himself. Perhaps especially from himself. Alex got a devastating whiff of heavy cologne, sweat, and hair product and this was it…
“Alright?” Miles was looking at Alex curiously, with that small smile on his face.
“Yeah, you smashed it up there, as always. Not jealous at all.” Alex laughed.
Miles didn’t respond. His gaze flicked left and right behind Alex’s head and Alex turned to follow its trajectory. Miles grabbed him by the arm and dragged him around a backstage corner.
“What’re you…”
Miles grasped Alex’s jaw with both hands and they were kissing desperately; pure passion, and feeling, and lust and this was everything Alex had been hoping for. Dreaming of. But…
Alex broke the kiss, panting. “You don’t want this. Me. It’s just adrenaline. It’s just the ‘air. I’m…”
Miles kissed Alex gently on the lips. “You’re you, Al, which means you’re bloody perfect.” Miles tangled his fingers in Alex’s hair. “Your hair just made you impossible to resist.”
“God, I…” There was so much Alex wanted to say, but how was he supposed to find the words? “Miles…” Alex settled for pulling Miles in by his collar and kissing him furiously, hands winding up into his hair and then roving back down his shoulders, arms, and lower. What would it be like to touch Miles? And have Miles touch him in return…
“Oi, lovebirds. Thought I’d find you here. Stop… Oh.” Matt again. He cleared his throat, voice sounding a little strained. “We’re on stage in half an hour, don’t be late.” His footsteps retreated.
Miles laughed, pulling Alex into his neck. “Think we’ve traumatised Matthew.”
“Who cares? And who cares about bein’ on stage in half an hour. You’ve got me fully distracted, Miles Kane.” Alex went in for another kiss and Miles dodged his lips, speaking lowly into Alex’s ear.
“Me? Only gig of me life I’ve wanted to rush through. Don’t remember playin’ a single note, was just desperate to get here and do this. God, you’ve no idea.” Miles kissed Alex again but slowly this time. Like he was savouring the moment. Savouring them. Alex felt as if he was dreaming. He’d get to go out there on stage with his best mates, living the rockstar high life. And with Miles. But now, Alex had total clarity of his feelings. Of both of their feelings. What more could he ask for?
Miles’s fingers were stroking through Alex’s hair, curling the strands gently, teasing them. He nudged their noses together. “Come on, you. Better get yourself ready for the show.”
Alex sighed dramatically and wrapped his arms around Miles’s back, pulling him in tight. “If I must. Bet me ‘air’s a right mess now though.”
Miles laughed. “A bit. Soon sort that out. Best take your comb on stage with ya later, in case I can’t control meself and feel like messin’ it up again.”
“I’ll hold you to that one. If not on stage, then in the hotel later.” Alex winked and strode off towards the Winnebago, Miles giggling at his side.