camera girl {alex turner x femme reader}

alex x yn part 17

trigger warnings: alcohol and tobacco depictions

"ye need anything to eat?"

"no, i ate earlier."

"coffee doesn't count as a meal."

"i'm not hungry."

"pick a food, i'll get it."

"alex i'm not hungry."

"i'm picking then."

he gets off of the couch, grabbing his keys off of the coffee table. you're in his apartment now, sitting on the couch that he referred to as a settee. you weren't quite that british yet. your knees are tucked under your chin and your hands wrap around your legs, holding them close.

you guys went to his apartment after allen got taken away. alex promised he would figure it out. you thanked him, but there was still some tension from earlier in the day. you think about the coffee still spilled across the counter back at your place, and the coffee cups knocked over everywhere.

"let me clean you up first then," you quickly mutter, shifting your position. he nods and walks into the bathroom; you follow. blood has dried across his face, making you shudder every time you look at him.

as he switches on the bathroom light you reach under the sink and grab some rubbing alcohol and cotton pads.

"do you not own bandaids?"

he shakes his head, slumping in the closed toilet lid like a tired child.

"hold on," you say. you run over to your purse and pull out some emergency bandaids. when you get back to the bathroom, alex is peeling open the protective cover on the rubbing alcohol. he gingerly brings it to his nose, recoiling like a cat at the smell.

he looks over and sees you laughing at him.

"in me defense i've never needed to use this before," he claims.

you smile and walk over to him, sitting on the counter.

"c'mere."

he walks in front of you, a few inches above you since you're sitting. you dab some alcohol onto the cotton pad, pressing it against a scrape along his cheek.

he strains to keep a stone cold face, focusing on  staring at your bracelets 

"it's supposed to hurt alex, it's okay," you whisper.

"it doesn't hurt."

"alex."

"it feels like me skin is boiling get it off," he admits.

you smile and take the pad off, grabbing a towel and damping it in the sink. you hold his face with one hand as you wipe down the blood on his nose.

"does your nose still hurt?"

he shakes his head as much as he can while still stuck in your grip.

once all of the blood is cleaned, you patch his face with a bandage.

"yn your face."

"hm?"

he picks up the same damp towel and flips it to the other side. now he takes your face in his hand, wiping down the gashes along your cheek.

"oh i forgot about those. they really don't hurt it's fine."

"neither did my cheek until you put that acid shit on it," he jokes. he places the towel back on the counter, staring at your cheek. or maybe at you. it was hard to tell.

"oh your hair! my beautiful masterpiece," you cry, reaching out to his hair. "how do you want it?"

"however you want it. oh my god," he jumps.

"what," you say, pulling away.

"my face is fucking jacked! what about that interview?"

it wouldn't be quite as bad if your face wasn't messed up along with it.

"there's bound to be hundreds of articles on the fight already. no point trying to hide it."

he looks reluctant but nods, placing the cloth down.

"i'm gonna go. i'll be back in a few minutes; call me if you need me."

"ok," you whisper. he pulls his boots on and walks out.

you sit back down on the couch, taking in the silence around you. you've been in his apartment a few times but you never really looked around. letting your curiosity win, you push yourself off of the couch and walk into the kitchen. only a small orange lamp sits on one end of the island, which is cluttered with half drunken coffee cups and notes.

you hoist yourself onto an empty space on the counter, looking around. a dark hallway leads into his room. you shouldn't.

before you can do anything, you hear the front door open. alex couldn't be back yet. you recede into the darkness of the hallway, getting a view of the front door. a girl walks in.