Stay | Arctic Monkeys Fanfiction

Two- Talking The Same Shite

2001

"Hurry up, Dav," Alex whispered to me, opening his window. "My parents are going to wake up."

"Well maybe if you hadn't made so much bloody noise in the kitchen, then this wouldn't be a  problem, Turner," I said, shoving the bottle of whiskey we'd stolen from on top of the fridge at him.  He climbed through window first, and I quickly followed in suit, closing it shut behind us.

It was pitch black outside, so finding footing on Alex's roof was nearly impossible.  And it was probably extremely dangerous.  But we didn't really care.  We were 15.  We lived for danger.

I held onto the back of Alex's shirt as we stumbled along the roof until we made it to our spot.  It was the part in the roof by the chimney that went flat and over looked all of High Green.  There were a couple beer cans we'd left up there from the previous weekend when the rest of the lads were with us, and blanket made dirty and stale by this weeks rain.  

We moved the stuff out of the way and sat with our backs up against the chimney, taking turns talking while the other took swigs from the whiskey.  

I didn't really drink much alcohol unless I was around Alex, so the whiskey burned my throat and made my skin grow hot much quicker than it did for him.

"Someday, we're gonna go to town every night and get trashed," Alex said, pointing out toward the central part of town. 

I took another swig.  "You just want to go to town so you can shag drunk birds."

He took the bottle from me, playfully hitting his shoulder with mine.  "Maybe.  But what I really wanna do is play at the Hellcat."

I looked over at him.  His skinny arm was resting on his knee, and his messy brown hair was hanging low into his eyes.  

"You mean you wanna play that guitar your mom got you?"

He shrugged.  "Well Jamie has a guitar, too.  And Matt plays the drums, and Andy has that bass..."

"So like a band?" 

"Yeah," he said simply.  "Like a band."

"Who's gonna sing?" I laughed.  "You?"

He gave me a look and my laughter stopped.  

"Wait.  You're going to sing?"

He shrugged again.

"You, Alexander David Turner, want to sing in a band?  Al, you didn't even sing at our concerts in primary school."

"It's different," he said, shoving the bottle at me.  "I'll be singing songs that I actually like.  Songs I wrote...

"So that's what you've been doing in that notebook during Hudson's class," I said, grabbing him by the  shoulder.  "Sing one to me, Al.  Go ahead.  Sing one, please, please, pleeeeaaaaseeee-"

"Shut up, you git," he said, pushing me away.  "I'm not going to sing one until you show me one of the stories you wrote."

"That's not fair," I said defiantly, the thought of him reading my stories causing my cheeks to catch fire.

He grinned.  "It is though.  So when you decide that I'm worthy to read your writing, I'll sing you a song.  Deal?"

He spat on his hand and held it out to me.  I narrowed my eyes at him reluctantly before spitting on my own hand and slapping it to his.

We both wiped our hands off on our jeans and he ruffled my hair, causing me send a hard punch at his bony shoulder.

And so we spent the rest of the night up there on his roof, talking shite and getting buzzed as the warm spring air wrapped around us.  There was something about the simplicity of it all, just sitting there with my best friend and talking a whole a lot about nothing. 

And even then, when neither of knew what future laid before us, I knew perfectly well that I would remember that night for the rest of my life.