Chapter Text
Miles is in a meeting with Alex Turner. Alex is a bloody famous writer, Miles is a musician. They've got no reason to be having meetings, as far as Miles knows. But here they are, sat across from each other in tense silence, both hungover and irritated, waiting quietly for Miles' manager to come in and explain why exactly he called his meeting.
The thing is, Miles hates Alex.
Well, hate may be a bit strong but the two of them have clashed from the word go, to say the least. Alex is an attractive bloke, there's no denying it, but Miles still managed to take an almost immediate disliking to him. Largely due to the fact that Alex's reaction to meeting Miles had been a refusal to shake hands and a disinterested shrug, after which he'd fucked off to the bar and only bothered to return to their table an hour later, after what Miles assumes was heavy flirting with the cute bartender. Then he'd spent the rest of the evening in broody silence, hardly deigning to speak to anyone. Miles walked away from that encounter with the impression that Alex was an insufferably arrogant git and nothing Alex has said or done in the few times they've seen each other since then has proven that impression wrong.
Miles remembers a particularly drunken night where they'd wound up in something of a shouting match. It had ended with Alex calling him a fucking cunt and storming out in a dramatic huff. This is, perhaps, Miles' fondest memory of Alex- and it isn't particularly fond at all.
This morning Alex looks about as good as Miles feels, which is to say that Alex looks like he hasn't had any sleep in decades and that he'd rather be dead than sitting in a conference room right now. Miles infers all this from the bags under his eyes and the way he's glaring daggers at his complimentary water bottle.
Miles can sympathize. He knows Alex must be hungover- the two of them were both at Matt's birthday party the previous night, where the booze flowed freely. For Miles most of the night is a blur and he'd be shocked if Alex weren't in the same state. It seemed like every time he caught sight of the other man he was knocking back a shot.
They've sat in silence up to this point, with not even a greeting when Miles walked through the door, but Miles can only handle silence for so long. Eventually he breaks it with, “You look like hell, Turner.”
Alex shifts his glare to Miles. “I still look a damn sight better than you, Kane.” The name is practically a snarl, what with the way Alex's voice is still sleep-rough.
Before Miles can come up with anything suitably witty to say in return, his manager- a fella called Jones- slides in the door, takes in their disheveled, unhappy appearances, and awkwardly clears his throat. “Er, good morning, gentleman. Mr. Turner. Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice.”
Alex nods. That's it, he just nods, scowl still firmly in place. His lack of proper greeting throws Jones for even more of a loop. He clears his throat again.
“I'm not sure what your publisher told you about this meeting, Mr. Turner, but we're mostly here to discuss these,” he says, placing a small stack of papers onto the table and sliding it across to them.
The stack of papers turns out to be a collection of photographs. Paparazzi shots by the looks of them. They were all taken last night and feature Miles and Alex. Most of them are harmless. In one, it simply looks like the two of them are having a friendly discussion (Miles was actually commenting on the ridiculousness of Alex's pink blazer, if he remembers right) and in another Miles is in the midst of his toast to Matt, while Alex looks on from beside him, smiling slightly.
But others are a bit more... compromising, and it's these Miles assumes Jones is concerned about. In one, for example, the two of them are sat next to each other at the bar- too close, really. They've got their heads bent together and, since the picture is taken from behind, their expressions are hidden from the camera. If you could see their expressions, Miles knows, then you'd see that they were clearly in the midst of an argument. As it is, they just look like they've cozied up to each other.
The worst is the one taken just after the party, when they'd been stumbling to their respective rides. Miles was so drunk at that point in the evening that he's surprised any memories survived but he remembers Alex staggering into him. Of course Miles had snapped at him to watch where he was going but he'd also caught him, held him up even, and from the angle the picture is taken it almost looks like they're embracing.
“These are already all over the net,” Jones informs them. “In fact, you're trending worldwide on twitter.”
Miles pulls out his mobile and opens twitter, just to check. It turns out there are two tags about them trending. The first is simply #milex while the second is #milexgetmarried. He clicks the first, just out of curiosity, and is greeted with even more photos, and plenty of speculation about whether or not they might be a real couple. There are a few old pictures of them too, dating all the way back to the first time they met nearly two years ago. These follow much the same pattern- the ones where they look least hostile to each other are the ones that get all the attention while the others (the one where Alex is flipping Miles off, for example, or the one where they're yelling at each other in a pub- the list goes on) get ignored.
“Well,” says Miles. “I'm still not sure why I should care.”
“'s not like we were snogging,” Alex grumbles.
Jones gestures towards Miles' phone, still open in his hand. “Tell me, does most of that feedback look positive to you?”
“Er... yes?”
“Right. These pictures- which, as you may have noticed, are quite innocent- are generating a huge positive buzz about you two online. I've even had calls from gossip rags asking for a statement. And we thought, if all this comes from a few measly pictures of the two of you together...”
“What're you getting at?” Miles asks, afraid he already has an inkling.
Alex sighs. “Isn't it obvious? They want us seen out together more. Right?”
“Actually we were thinking of taking it a step further,” Jones says, speaking slowly, cautiously, like he's afraid of spooking them. “A few pap shots of the two of you looking chummy are all well and good, but if you were an actual couple...”
“We're not an actual couple,” Miles points out.
“No, I know. But if you pretended, just for a while-”
“You want us to fake a relationship for PR?”
“Precisely.”
Miles and Alex exchange a glance.
“No,” Alex says, at the same time Miles says, “Hell no.”
“Look, just hear me out,” Jones pleads, hands raised to placate them. “Mr. Turner, you've got a book due to come out in a few months. The publicity couldn't hurt- your publisher thought it was a great idea when I pitched it to her. And Miles, your second album will be released soon. You're already successful but the press from this could make you a household name. And it will allow you to come out, as you've been wanting to do for a while now. In fact, it's the only way we'd allow you to come out right now. If you're seen as being in a long-term, monogamous relationship with an already out and well-respected individual, it's far more likely to go smoothly for you.
Besides, it would only be temporary. After the press dies down from the initial coming out, after the two of you are done being the 'hot new couple', we would stage a breakup. High profile breakups garner plenty of press. Then, if you'd prefer, the two of you never have to see each other again.”
Miles and Alex exchange another glance. This one is hesitant, considering.
Miles doesn't like Alex but he could probably fake it, at least for a while, if it meant finally getting to come out. If it meant an end to all the lying and hiding. Granted, it would mean trading one lie for another... But who would this lie really hurt? Not the fans- they'd never know it was a fake relationship. No one would ever have to know. And afterward, Miles would be free to date whoever the hell he wanted, bird or bloke.
“If,” Alex begins, choosing his words carefully. “If, hypothetically, we agreed to this... What exactly would we have to do?”
It's not another no, Miles notes.
“We'd present you to the press as an already well-established relationship,” Jones says. “Perhaps going as far back as the first time you met, so you'd have to appear as one. Meaning you would need to seem comfortable around each other, comfortable with affection. And you'd need to be seen living together. Alex, we'd ask you to move into Miles' flat temporarily to make this easier. We'd schedule interviews, photo shoots, public outings, that sort of thing. But we wouldn't pack your schedule too much, of course. We're aware that you would need plenty of time to work on your novel.”
“...Right.”
Alex stares at his hands, Miles stares at Alex.
They'd be living together. What if Alex is a complete twat who's up all hours? What if he's a neat freak? What if he's a slob? Could Miles handle being around him twenty-four seven without killing him? That's the real question.
“Well,” Alex says slowly. “I think, if Miles wants to do it-”
“I do,” Miles' mouth says before his brain has really had a chance to decide anything. His mouth has a bad habit of doing that, actually. “Er, I mean. I think it could be good, you know. Good press.”
“Right, good press,” Alex parrots, sounding distant. “It's just, er. I've never- I don't like being in front of the camera, like. I've never done a live interview... Well, one, but it were a disaster, so.”
“We could train you up,” Jones assures. “And Miles will be doing most of the talking at any rate.”
Alex fidgets. Jones adds, “You don't have to decide anything now. The two of you can go home, sleep on it, and I'll contact you tomorrow. How's that sound?”
“Yeah. Good,” Alex mumbles.
They end the meeting with an awkward glance and a mutual refusal to utter the word goodbye. Miles can't believe Alex would consider this- he can't believe he's considering it, for that matter. And yet... Perhaps the pros might outweigh the cons in this case.
-
It's four in the morning and Miles is on the cusp of sleep when his mobile buzzes. It's bright in the pitch black of the bedroom. It takes a second for his eyes to adjust as he squints at the screen. It turns out it's a text from an unknown number but Miles has a feeling he knows exactly who it is.
You really think we could pull this off?
Alex has never texted him before. Hell, Miles isn't even sure how Alex got his number. Matt, maybe? It doesn't really matter. It's weird, receiving a text from Alex bloody Turner at four in the morning, and it strikes Miles that, if they go through with this, they'll probably be texting a whole lot more. Talking, too. And they'll have to be civil to each other at least some of the time. Strange concept, that.
u don't?
Alex's reply is slow in coming. Miles can picture him sitting in bed, thinking entirely too hard about how to respond. Unless he's just fallen asleep. That's always a possibility.
I don't know. You called me a no-talent hack once, comes the eventual reply.
Miles remembers that night. What he doesn't remember is what exactly Alex did to incite the insult but he's sure it was something. Besides, Alex got his revenge by pouring soda in Miles' lap. Truth be told, Miles never read Alex's first novel, despite being told repeatedly by critics and friends alike that it was amazing and definitely worth a read, so Miles has no firsthand knowledge of Alex's level of talent- or lack thereof. Still, Alex doesn't need to know that.
A second message follows the first.
Can you make convincing moony eyes at a no-talent hack?
I could make convincing moony eyes at a fucking tree stump turner. it's not my acting skills we need to worry about.
Another long pause between texts. Then:
Didn't expect you to be up.
Can't sleep.
why not?
Bad dreams...
When not face to face with him it's easy to forget it's Alex on the other end of these texts. Miles very nearly expresses sympathy- after all, he's been haunted by nightmares before. Nightmares that kept him up for fear of repeating them. But then Alex spoils it with his next message, which serves as a stark reminder of exactly who Miles is dealing with- a prick.
Not that you'd care, eh?
Miles doesn't even bother replying. He rolls his eyes and tosses his phone onto the nightstand. Alex clearly doesn't think very highly of him. The feeling, it just so happens, is entirely mutual.
-
Miles is in the midst of writing when his mobile rings. It's not anything important, nothing that he'll ever show to anyone. Sometimes it just helps to write down his thoughts. Still, it's something of a bother to be interrupted.
“What?” is his greeting of choice, irritation leaking into his voice.
“Never thought I'd be someone's fake boyfriend.”
Miles makes a face. He pulls the phone away from his ear to take a peek at the caller ID and- yep, it's the same unknown number that had been texting him last night. Definitely Alex, then.
Miles sighs. “I take it that means you've agreed?”
“More or less. Weren't given much choice, if I'm honest.”
Miles leans back on the settee and kicks his feet up on the coffee table. “Well, you could do a lot worse than me as far as fake boyfriends go.”
“Do worse than a notoriously flirty party animal rockstar? Hm, doubtful.” Alex sounds different on the phone. Miles couldn't say how except that maybe he's stumbling less over his words. And he sounds distracted. Which is just rude. He's the one who called Miles when he was in the middle of something, the least he could do is give the conversation his full attention.
Miles scowls. “You know, most people find the rockstar thing attractive.”
“'s not practical,” is all Alex says. Then he abruptly switches the subject. “Do you have any, like, good tea there? Only I'm not sure if I should bring me own. And- soap. Right. Going by your smell you buy the cheap shite that breaks me out.”
Miles' scowl only deepens. “What the fuck are you on about?”
“I'm packing. Nearly done, now.”
“What, already? I haven't even talked to Jones yet, he was supposed to ring me-”
“He said he did and you didn't pick up. But I figured, you seemed so keen yesterday-”
“Keen? In your dreams, Turner.”
“-so I thought I'd go on the assumption that you'd agree as well. Am I wrong?”
Miles huffs. “No,” he admits. “But I'm not bloody keen. If anything I'm dreading it.”
“Right. Well Jones wants me over there tonight. Says we're to hash out a believable story and 'get comfortable with each other' before our big outing.”
“So soon?” Miles asks, glancing nervously around his flat. It could stand to be tidied up.
“Yep.” Alex pops the 'p'. “Why put it off, eh? The sooner we get started the sooner it'll all be over.”
Well, if Alex is going to be so nonchalant about the whole thing then Miles intends to affect that attitude as well. He tries to sound as if he doesn't really care in the slightest when he says, “So I'll see you tonight, then.”
“You will,” Alex says. Then, “Don't sound so excited.”
He hangs up before Miles can come up with a suitably sarcastic reply.
Miles sets his phone down and takes another look around the flat. He doesn't really care what Alex thinks but his mum would have a heart attack if she knew he was planning on having a guest over and he left his flat in this state. He should at least clean up a little.
-
By the time Alex turns up that night Miles' flat is spotless. He's spent hours on it. Not because of Alex. It's just that once he started- why stop? Cleaning was cathartic in a way. It kept him from worrying overly much about this PR scheme he's agreed to and it made the time go by. Now that he's finished he's sort of proud.
He couldn't do anything about the sparse furnishings and lack of decoration, though. When he lets Alex in he still finds himself watching his face, looking for any sign of negative judgment. Alex gives nothing away. Bag on his shoulder, he surveys the flat with a blank expression.
Miles will admit that the flat isn't much to look at. It's probably not what one would expect from a rockstar like Miles. It's spacious, sure, but plain. It's just that he's been on tour so much since he moved he hasn't had any time or inclination to personalize it. Now he sort of wishes he had. Still, he refuses to make excuses to Alex. Let him think what he wants.
“Guest room's this way,” Miles tells him, directing him down the hall.
“Oh, good. So I won't be sleeping on the couch, then.”
Miles ignores that comment. Mostly because he can't tell if Alex is being snarky or if that was a genuine concern of his. “It's the one at the end on the right. Bathroom's across the hall. We're sharing that so don't be an arse and hog the shower.”
“No promises.”
Miles rolls his eyes. “Are you going to be a prick the whole time? Just asking so I know what to expect.”
Alex frowns at him over his shoulder. “I'll stop when you stop.”
Miles doesn't take the bait. They can't start arguing the very first night. That wouldn't bode well for the rest of their fake relationship. Instead, he watches in silence as Alex sets his bag on the bed and takes in his temporary room. Like the rest of the flat it's plain and sparsely furnished but the floor-to-ceiling windows provide a nice view of the city when you pull back the curtains and there's a desk against the wall that Miles assumes Alex will appreciate being able to write at.
“Needs some color on the walls,” is all Alex says.
Well, Miles can't contest that point. They're still the same boring eggshell white they were when he moved in. He shrugs. “I ordered take out,” he says, changing the subject. “It's in the kitchen.”
Alex is famished, it turns out. He practically inhales his food and at Miles' wondering look he shifts uncomfortably in his chair and mumbles, “I, er. Guess I forgot to eat today,” which raises a whole new set of worries about living with him. Is Miles going to come home one day and find him dead at his computer, having forgotten to eat for several days in a row? Does he often forget to bathe? Miles is friends with enough writer-types and artists (and is, in fact, one himself) that he understands getting so absorbed in your work that you forget to do and take care of basic things. He just hadn't factored that into living with Alex.
Alex sets his plate aside and clears his throat. “So. We're meant to come up with something believable to tell the press.”
Miles pokes absently at the remnants of his chicken with his fork. Truth be told he's put about zero thought into what they'll say in interviews. “I take it you have some ideas?”
“Jones wanted us to say we'd been together from the start but you've been papped kissing birds since then. So I thought we'd say, you know, we met that night, at that godawful party, liked each other, but didn't start dating until a bit later. Sometime after that publicity stunt you did with that model.”
Miles tilts a brow at him. “Have you been googling me?”
“Like you haven't ever googled me.”
Miles shrugs. “Touche.” His google results hadn't actually turned up much, though. A few articles about Alex coming out, several boring written interviews, and heaps of glowing reviews for his book. Alex doesn't have social media of any kind, apparently. Good on him but it meant there was no dirt for Miles to dig up.
He sits forward. “Alright, so say an interviewer asks about our first meeting, what you thought of me. What do you say?”
Alex bites his lip as he thinks. “Hm. Well, I couldn't tell them the truth- that I thought you were an obnoxious, poorly dressed twat.”
“Oi.”
“I guess I'd say...” He gets a far off look in his eyes, like he's remembering. “I noticed you as soon as you entered the room. You were dressed rather, er, flamboyantly. Every eye was on you. You were utterly charming. When it came time for us to be introduced I let me nerves get the better of me- I was tongue tied. You were so... outgoing, so sure of yourself. It was intimidating. I avoided you for an hour, sure you thought I were a git. But when I came back to the table you smiled at me like we were friends. You had a lovely smile. Bright, happy. I knew then that, at the very least, I wanted to be your friend...”
Miles could almost believe every word out of his mouth. Perhaps he was wrong about being the best bullshitter in this fake relationship.
Alex does kind of spoil it with what he says next. “I suppose if we wanted to lay it on really thick I could say it were love at first sight.”
“Ugh. No. It's meant to be believable.”
“Alright. What about you, then? You'll be doing most of the talking.”
“You were an arrogant, broody snob who didn't say two words to me the whole evening. The end.”
Alex looks unimpressed.
Miles sighs. “Fine. I'd say something like...” He trails off as he tries to conjure up his memories of that night. He remembers getting butterflies in his stomach when he'd first laid eyes on Alex. He was beautiful. There was an instant attraction there. An attraction that was stomped out almost immediately by Alex's poor attitude.
But Miles clings to that feeling. He tries to spin it into a love story. “When I saw you I knew right away I wanted to have you. You were bloody gorgeous- you put everyone else in the room to shame. You were quiet the whole night, reserved, but I was determined to draw you out of your shell. The more I watched you, the more you spoke, the more I realized you were something special. I knew I had to see you again.”
Maybe it's the light but Miles would swear that, by the end of his tale, Alex is blushing.
Miles tries to imagine what life might be like if the lies they've just spun each other were true. What might've happened if their first interaction had gone as swimmingly as they said? Would they be friends now? More?
Alex clears his throat, pulling Miles out of his own thoughts. “Sounds good to me,” he mumbles.
They both seem to come to the unspoken agreement that that's enough for tonight as they start to clear the table. To Miles' surprise, Alex helps with the dishes. It's a task they go about in silence. How does one treat their enemy turned fake boyfriend? Miles has no idea, and it's probably safe to venture a guess that Alex doesn't either.
After the dishes are done Alex immediately disappears into his room. At first Miles is relieved but as he sits alone watching telly he can't help but think some company might be welcome. Even if it is in the form of Alex bloody Turner.
Still, he can't bring himself to actually go and speak to Alex. He's not even sure how to have a real conversation with him. As in, a conversation that goes beyond trading barbs and glaring at each other.
He supposes he'll eventually have to learn if they're to pull this off.