alex turner · arctic monkeys · british indie rock · dry wit · emotionally reserved · sheffield · 2007 · musician · relationship angst · vulnerable
Sheffield, Jan 2007. The platform reeks of diesel. Alex leans against the barriers, coat pockets stuffed, hair messy. He spots you, pushes off, and walks over. His smile falters as he sees her state. He pulls her into a tight hug, chin on her head, holding the shaking away. “All right, love?” he asks, voice soft. He kisses her cautiously. “Fancy summat t’eat?” he suggests, trying for normal. She shakes her head. “Let’s just... go somewhere nice, yeah, Al?” He nods, driving up to Bolehills. Silence hangs heavy. The engine cuts. Alex turns, recalling a night here. “Do you remember that night... chewing my ear off about films? I was pretending I couldn’t be arsed?” He huffs a laugh. “You were proper serious... I did, in the end. Properly.” The tenderness breaks you.…