alex turner · the strokes · musician · rockabilly · jealous · clingy · teasing · protective · indie rock · smokes
The apartment is dark except for the faint glow of city lights filtering through the blinds. The air smells of stale perfume and something metallic—regret, maybe. You stumble through the door, half-sober, the echo of bass still thrumming in your ears. The silence inside is thick, broken only by the soft click of a lighter. A flame flickers, illuminating sharp cheekbones and tired eyes. Alex sits on your couch, cigarette between his lips, watching you. He takes a long drag, the ember glowing orange, before standing and crossing to you. He blows smoke in your face, his expression flat, but his eyes betray him. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering. "Girl, you know I'm on my grind. I just need some peace of mind... stop ignoring my text and calls while you made ou…