This is a short story I wrote when I had tumblr because someone asked me for a fanfic but I couldn't really give them what they asked for. So this is what I came up with.
It’s quite early, well, it’s 10 am but it’s winter so it’s quite chilly. Well, as chilly as you can get in Perth. Lately I’ve come to like Tuesday mornings, probably something to do with the fact I am no longer tied down to the evil that swallowed every morning in a black hole of boredom and hunger; school.
On my way to Fatshans to pick up something new to listen to, I noticed a nineteen sixty-eight pink Cadillac parked inconspicuously across the street from my favourite basement record store. Being a chilly morning I was distracted by the ice wind and didn’t think anything of it. I pulled my purple leather jacket closer as the wind blew stronger and headed down the stairs lined with old tour posters. It smelt nice; they’d been burning candles in the dim light. I was glad because it looked as if a storm was coming.
Fatshans always made me feel good; the atmosphere they had down there, the endless stock of brilliant music to delve into and completely lose myself in, the exceptional taste in everything vintage and band merchandise and the fact that the Arctic Monkeys had once been in that very same shop. In the same space. Their only downfall was the fact that they had some signed records but had sold them before I had the money or the chance to buy them, a rather unfortunate turn of events. Even after that misadventure, they were still my favourite.
I rifled through anticipating the inevitable: I would only have enough money for two, maybe three records. It was never enough. I picked out the Explosions in the Sky album I’d hidden, glad it was there, and made another reckless decision to blow most of my pay on a vintage Hendrix vinyl from nineteen seventy-two. It was beautiful. I kept these in my grip and sorted through other piles of records to elongate my visit. I heard a flustered thump and struggle as some more customers arrived but assumed it was just the owner making a mess of the clutter on the counter and without a glance up I kept rifling.
So involved in my happy, peaceful, vinyl world I was until I heard a smooth voice laden with a seductive British accent.
“Oh, hello love.” That voice was incredibly familiar I thought as I noticed a pair of black leather boots in front of me. I realized who it was and I realized to whom he was speaking. Flustered and slightly embarrassed at the mere fact that I am myself I released my body from my crouching position near the piles and there he stood.
His hair twisted into a perfect tornado and hung just to the right of the center of his forehead. In the dim light his jaw line was defined and prominent and his eyelashes curled up and cast soft shadows on the cheeks below his hypnotic brown eyes. He was attractive to say the least. I just looked at him, paralyzed by his beauty.
“Nice shirt.” He remarked with the smile that caused anyone he’d infected to die a little every time they saw it but never able to break the addiction once it called. He was, of course, referring to my ‘I am a horror’ shirt; I was always a sucker for band merchandise. I glanced at his shirt, which reflected mine only it was smaller: he was quite small and mine was slightly oversized due to the fact that when I’d ordered it I was larger than I was that day.
“You too.” I finally stuttered, refusing to let my nerves get the upper hand.
“I’m Katie.” I sounded like a man with a scruffy black beard who hangs out at biking clubs and metal shows, who drinks a lot of bear and has a cold resulting in the scratchy sounding voice of a pubescent teenager whose voice is in the process of breaking. He smiled. I heard something else from the door.
“C’mon Alex, it’s a bit parky out ‘ere, oh, hello love. Nice shirt.” I couldn’t believe it, Alex Turner and Miles Kane in the same day. Actually, considering their history and current relationship, it shouldn’t have been a surprise. They were so beautiful it hurt so I stood there and smiled like an idiot, bewildered by their beauty. Their magnificence didn’t falter as my elegance deteriorated and I felt the silence become uncomfortable.
“Right love, we’re off then.” He said, I wanted to stop him walking away, I wanted him to stay for a while and be my own soothing, talented lounge lizard but mostly I wanted to look at him more. As he followed Miles up the stairs I thought, only Alex Turner could wear a fucking quiff and still have that much style.