lainey

Noel woke up with a pounding headache, bile rising in his stomach, a nasty bruise forming in his temple, a scratchy throat, and the ominous sense that he was forgetting something quite important. And Noel swears that if it was his wallet that he’s forgotten, he’s going to end it all. He groans, thinking of calling the bank so early in the morning to tell them that he needs his cards frozen because he had been so black out drunk the night before that all that remained in his mind are a few hazy memories. 

He remembered the lager, the shouting, the bright-eyed blonde he had set his sights on — which in turn makes him sigh at the thought of not having her in his bed right at that moment. God knows he could use a good shag right about now.

And that’s pretty much all his mind could muster up. Did the thought of that freak Noel the fuck out? Of fucking course, he’s not a complete idiot. But does he have to get up and get to the studio right at that moment before everyone starts running around like headless chickens without him? Without a doubt.

So Noel rolls out of bed in last night’s clothes, convincing himself that it was a rock & roll thing to do. He washes his face, brushes his teeth, takes a quick wee, then breathes a sigh of relief as he spots his wallet by the foyer, before grabbing it alongside his keys and a baggie of coke. He dons the largest pair of sunglasses he could see before setting off to the studio.

He manages to piss himself off in the drive over, stewing in his own hungover misery — the driver hits every single pothole that makes Noel’s stomach go queasy, the radio’s playing that shite tune about all that she wants is another baby, the sun is suspiciously bright for a London morning, and Noel manages to spot Liam walking into the studio before Noel could. Great, now the kid’s gonna get it in his head to start dragging Noel over the coals for being late, as if he himself didn’t play by his own clock. Wanker. Absolute fucking wanker.

All in all, the ride over was utter shite, and Noel was in the mood to yell at someone. And who better to yell at than your baby brother?

The studio grows silent as Noel’s scowl enters the room, ripping the door open by the hinges and closing it with a loud bang, making a few roadies jump in surprise. He resists a smile at the sight, a bit of energy coming back to him as everyone looks at him expectantly, all as he surveys the room with all the boredom of a man that knows that everyone hangs on his word. Then, he sets his sights on Liam who’s chattering away to Guigsy on the couch, sprawled out and his hands gesticulating wildly, looking worse for wear with cuts and bruises all over. Noel wrinkles his nose and drawls, “Why the fuck do you look like you’ve been ran over by a fuckin’ twelve-wheeler?” he says, making Liam shut his trap and roll his eyes at Noel who shakes his head in exasperation as the full view of Liam’s mysterious injuries show themselves under the bright fluorescent lights. “Jesus Christ, Liam,” Noel tuts. 

To Noel’s growing ire, Liam’s smile doesn’t falter one centimeter, only growing stupidly as he waves at Noel, “Good morning,” he greets, a bit too jolly for a man that looks as if he should be hooked up to a life support machine. 

Noel crumples his face in distaste and starts to roam around the room, stoking the fear in the sound engineers as he does so. “Good morning?” Noel repeats incredulously before pointing at Liam’s beat up figure. “Mate, did you knock a couple of screws loose in ‘yer head? You’re half fuckin’ dead!”

Still, Liam just shrugs. What the fuck was this kid on? And could Noel maybe have some? “Nothin’ a bit of painkillers can’t fix,” says Liam. 

“A bit?” Noel asks skeptically. 

Liam’s smile grows even wider, displaying his split lip. Noel winces at the sight, stomach churning even more. “A lot,” Liam says. 

Noel tightens his lips and sits, legs splayed wide on a leather armchair, humming with contempt at Liam and his goofy fucking smile. “Hm,” Noel says, expressing his distaste without even opening his mouth. God, Noel needs a bump. 

Liam rolls his eyes good naturedly, bumping shoulders with Guigsy as if to say Get a load of this guy, eh? “Oh, don’t be such a fuckin’ sourpuss, r’kid,” Liam says, as if Noel was the one acting like a lunatic with a beat up face. “‘S’not like it’s your face that got mashed in, yeah?” Liam waggles his brows before hissing in pain at the action, another one of his cuts getting the brunt of his stupidity. 

“Nah, but it hurts to fuckin’ look at ‘ye,” Noel shoots back drily. Then, having had enough of trying to put down a jolly Liam, Noel turns his gaze around the room and says, “Right, now why’s everyone standing around with their cocks in their hands, yeah? Don’t we have a fuckin’ album to make?” And that has the desired effect of snapping the room back into focus, the blur of motion and business enveloping them and their busy morning. 

Noel does what he does best — he bosses people around. He tells Bonehead to stop drinking lager because it makes his hands all fumbly. He tells Whitey to get his shit together and stay on beat before Noel boots him out of the band. He tells Guigsy to roll him a joint after Liam stresses Noel out so much that it makes his jaw ache with how much Noel’s clenching it.

Eye twitching behind his sunglasses as Noel surveys Liam, prancing around the studio like a right geezer, singing some daft ABBA song under his breath. “What the fuck are you hummin’ for?” snaps Noel.

Liam shrugs easily. “I’m a singer, aren’t I?”

Noel grits his teeth in pure annoyance, Liam getting on ever possible nerve ending. “Why are you so fucking chipper?” Noel spits. 

Liam smiles, Noel could swear that he could see a bit of blood dripping down Liam’s chin as his cut reopens. Noel grimaces in pure disgust. “Can’t a lad not have a spring in his step?” asks Liam.

“No, not really,” replies Noel. For the past how many hours spent trapped in that studio, Noel has had to deal with Liam’s boundless energy, nearly bouncing off the walls as he disregards his injuries in favor of a good time. Liam’s smile hasn’t faded once the entire time, no matter how much Noel has tried to make it disappear. Squinting with suspicion, Noel asks directly as he surveys Liam from his chair. “‘Ye get laid?”

Noel’s suspicion is all but confirmed as Liam tries to fight a smarmy grin. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” says Liam, short of giggling in Noel’s face, the smug git. 

Noel frowns. “You’re far from a gentleman, Liam,” he shoots before shaking his head, letting the sounds of Bonehead plucking strings fill the space. “So, that’s why you’re so smiley, hm? Patsy gave you the ride of your life?” he asks before a lightbulb flashes above Noel’s head, the bruises making much more sense as Noel looks at his brother with utter disgust. “Beat you up a bit and everythin’?” 

“Nah!” Liam protests so loudly that heads turn in their direction. “Nah, nah, nah. Got into it with a bunch of lads, it was a whole thing. There was this wanker pissing in a pub alley who was getting his shit sorted by a couple of geezers. Stepped in and helped him,” says Liam. “Y’should have seen this lad, yeah? Like a wet fucking paper towel stumbling over his own feet as he was about to get beat up.”

Noel barks out a short laugh. “You?” he says with so much doubt that it finally makes his brother frown. Noel digs deeper into it, “So you get your cock wet and suddenly you’re ready to play superhero?”

A flash of something flickers in Liam’s face, so quick that Noel didn’t get a chance to fully understand it. And just like nothing, Liam shrugs and rearranges his features to say, “Got my dick wet after,” corrects Liam. “It’s a whole timeline, like.”

Noel shakes his head and lets his chair swivel back to face the recording booth again, gesturing to Bonehead if he was ready to record. “I don’t even wanna know,” Noel says under his breath. 

Liam hums so jovially that it rankles Noel once more. “You’re missing out,” he singsongs. “Lots of secrets you’d love to know,” he croons. 

Noel grits his teeth, and without even looking at Liam, he punches out, “Just get in the goddamn booth, Liam.”

And without preamble, Liam forges forward and heads for the recording booth door. But instead of opening it like a normal fucking person would. He extends his wrist outward and lets some mysterious substance attach to the door before using that to pull it open. Then with a wink at Noel, Liam places himself in the booth. 

Noel blinks, staring at the door. His eyes shift quickly from the door, to Liam who was already preoccupied with his lyrics sheet, to the ambling crew that didn’t seem to see anything odd. Noel feels his mouth dry up, whole face screwing up in utter confusion. What the fuck did Noel fucking snort?

He must still be drunk or something like that. Shaking his head, Noel sighs and trains his gaze back onto the booth and glares at an unsuspecting Liam mumbling lyrics to himself. Lots of secrets you’d love to know, the kid told him. Well, joke’s on fuckin’ him because Noel doesn’t have time for his brother’s bullshit. He’s got an album to make and a hangover to suppress, so help him god. And if Liam wanted to faff about and play the mysterious lad starring in Paul’s old comics, then do be it. 

With the sense that there was still a few puzzle pieces missing in his mind, Noel shakes the whole thing off and begins to queue up the backing track, placing his headphones on his ears to make sure that everything runs smoothly. God knows he was the only one with enough responsibility in his body to do so. 

The day doesn’t turn brighter, Noel’s mood only sours each passing hour, but they get things done. The vocals are polished and to Noel’s liking, the guitar riffs are clean, the drums are finally fuckin’ on beat now that they’ve gotten rid of McCaroll’s ugly mug. It isn’t much, but it’s a day well spent. That’s what Noel tells the crew as he instructs them all to take a quick break, everyone sagging into the nearest surface like a weight has been taken off their shoulders. Noel nearly snorts. Amateurs.

He takes out a pack of cigarettes and heads for the door, swinging it open only to find that Liam was already out by the alley, leaning against the rough brick with a cigarette in his mouth and a bereft look in his eyes. Noel sighs, of all the ways he could think of spending his break, this one has got to be scraping the bottom of the barrel. 

But it’s no matter. Noel’s quite used to occupying the same space as Liam. So he lights his cigarette with a few flicks of his lighter, leans on the wall opposite to Liam, nearest to the door, and inhales the smoke like it’s his first breath of fresh air. 

Then because Noel can’t really help himself, he surveys the catalogue of injuries that Liam’s sporting. The kid looks like he’s been through the fucking ringer, each bruise and cut looking like it throbs just by looking at it. Noel’s even pretty sure that Liam reopened a few cuts while singing, making Noel screw his face up in disgust, catching Liam’s attention who rolls his eyes and says simply, “Would’ya stop lookin’, ‘ya fuckin’ freak?” he rasps, as if he’s got any room to talk with all the gashes he’s got. Unbelievable, that kid. 

Noel’s quick to reply, smoke billowing out his mouth as he spoke, “Only if you stop lookin’ like a freak, freak,” he says before shaking his head and asking with less vitriol and more concern disguised as curiosity. “Seriously, what happened to you?”

Liam shrugged as if it was just a normal day and a normal fact of life that he looked like a corpse brought back to life. “Told’ya already, didn’t I? Got into a fight try’na defend this lad in a pub.”

Noel shakes his head. “And what’s it to ‘ya, anyway?” he asks. Because that’s what’s been bothering Noel. Why would Liam even care about this bloke, about justice, his moral compass, or the heroics that come with it? A fight is a fight, sure. But defending a random lad in a pub alleyway and coming out looking the way he was, Noel had to know if it was all worth it. 

Annoyingly, Liam shrugs again as if that’s the only action he could muster up. “He looked pathetic in that alleyway.”

Noel rolled his eyes before narrowing them at Liam in suspicion. ‘You just wanted a scrap, didn’t you?” he asks. Maybe Patsy had somehow instilled some sense of morality in the kid, taught him how to love thy neighbor and all that bullshit. 

The first reaction from Liam — a frown and the furrow of his thick brows. “Is it so hard to fuckin’ believe that I could save people, like?” he says through his pout. 

“A bit, yeah,” Noel says truthfully before taking a drag of his cigarette, surveying the way that Liam’s shoulders sunk. 

Liam takes a violent inhale of his own cigarette and punctuates it with a muttered, “Wanker.”

Noel shakes his head, choosing to ignore him in favor of finishing off his cigarette. Because in no way was Liam about to ruin his precious break all because he was getting defensive about a pub brawl. But something in Noel just can’t help it — call it a big brother instinct to just prod at a purpling bruise, but Noel just couldn’t leave it alone as he starts up again, “Because you mean to tell me that you put down your pint, stopped yammering about whatever it is you love yammerin’ about, headed out into the alleyway, and stopped this fight from happening by beatin’ up … what, a herd of angry men?” Noel asks rhetorically, voice dripping with condescension. 

Liam doesn’t even look at him as he corrects easily, smoke coming out of his mouth, “Three men.”

Noel smiles in disbelief. “Three men! Ha!” he laughs, shaking his head. “You expect me to fuckin’ believe that you took on three men while drunk off your arse?”

“I wasn’t drunk, me!” Liam protests, scuffing his trainers as he kicked at the gravel below him, smoke wafting around his figure as he began to erratically move his hands about. “And I could easily take on three men in a fight, yeah.”

Noel chuckles and stubs his cigarette onto the brick before letting it fall. “Back in the day you used to come home screaming and crying to me after you pissed off the kids at the local park,” he tells Liam.

“And that was, what? Twenty-somethin’ years ago?” spits Liam, stubbing out his own cigarette with less grace than Noel had. “Things change, Noel,” says Liam. 

Noel shrugs, getting ready to reach for the door as he tells Liam, “But you don’t.”

Three things happen in the span of time that Noel turns around to face the door; his shoe gets caught on something gripping him by the ankle, the door is pressed shut with a thick mound of spiderwebs, and when he turns his head to ask Liam if he was seeing this shit, the boy had vanished. 

“What the —” Noel bites, tugging at his foot to no avail, searching for Liam both ways in the alley. “Fuckin’ weird,” Noel grumbles before deciding to call for Bonehead. 

If only Noel had looked up, then maybe he would have seen his brother scampering up the brick wall.

Noel doesn’t dismiss things so easily after that, his brain working overtime as he records his own vocal tracks and guitar fills, pretending like he meant to mix verse one and verse two up instead of just him being too preoccupied with the thought that something was wrong. 

He thinks about it as he mixes songs, as he speaks with their manager, as he records his vocal track, as he scolds Bonehead and Liam for being too noisy. He thinks of it so much that he can’t stomach the thought of being back in his flat with a big fat question mark hanging over his head. So he goes to the pub. And he brings the whole damn circus with him — monkeys and all.

Predictably, everything becomes a whirlwind of chaos in the hands of the lads. Just what Noel needs to get the questions off his mind. That, and a few more lagers to abate his hangover and keep last night’s high going. So Noel drinks like a champ, snorts a few lines in the bathroom, flirts with a redhead over at the bar, gets a drink thrown in his face when he calls her by the wrong name, and resorts to sulking by the pool table where Liam’s the reigning king. 

He never knew that his brother was so precise with pool. He used to be all fumbles and no grace, just knocking the balls about with no direction. But tonight, Noel observes that Liam keeps sinking the balls with precision, his hands steady and his eyes unwavering as he shoots them all in the pocket one by one. And when the game’s finished, none of the other players getting their turn, they all explode with raucous laughter and cheering, a few teasing jeers here and there. Liam stands tall amidst it all, sipping his drink coyly as he waggles his brows. 

Here’s the thing about Noel’s brother; he had always been an odd duck. There was no questioning that Liam had always had his quirks. But tonight, Noel was beginning to think that there was more to it. When was the last time that he had taken a close look at Liam and all his cuts and bruises? When was the last time Noel questioned where the fuck he had been? When was the last time that Noel had been ‘round at Liam’s place?

Noel’s brows furrow, focusing so much on the way that Liam favors his left leg as he stands and walks that he doesn’t even notice that he’s placing his glass of beer on thin air instead of on the wooden surface of the table. Noel winces as the glass goes down, already prepared to bust out his wallet and pay for the damned thing, when out of nowhere, Liam swoops in and catches the glass, not spilling even a single droplet. 

Noel blinks. “Since when have you been Mister fuckin’ Reflex?” he says, accepting the glass with a grateful little nod. 

Liam smiles at him and does that tiny salute he loved doing. “It’s just my little party trick,” he shrugs before disappearing again.

And Noel’s left wondering once again. He stares at the glass in his hand, at the unmarred spot on the floor it was supposed to crash on, and Noel lingers on the fact that Liam had caught it just as it was about to shatter all over the floor. 

What an odd duck. 

Liam follows that same pattern for the night, Noel notices. A girl drops her glasses by the bar, Liam catches them swiftly in his hands and gets a sloppy kiss on the cheek in return. A guy dusts his jacket off before leaving, his keys nearly fall to the ground before Liam’s catching it in his palms and handing them back. Bonehead slips over a freshly mopped piece of tile, and Liam’s quick to set the man to rights even as Noel swears that he was on the other side of the pub. 

The pub noise, the warm lights, the drugs and drinks in his system all mix together in a cocktail of confusion. So Noel steps out into the chilly night, wrapping his arms around himself and cursing the fact that he had forgotten his lighter at the studio. 

“‘Ey!” he calls out to a gaggle of women about to enter the pub. “Got a light?”

Noel suppresses a smug smile as their eyes light up in recognition and they steadily scramble inside their tiny purses for a light, muttering to themselves in tones that they think Noel can’t hear. Is that …? Fuck, he’s so hot. And to his ire, there were mutterings of Does this mean Liam is in there? and He’s smaller in person, eh?

But what catches his eye the most is you, at the outskirts of the group of women, staring at Noel like you’ve just seen a ghost. Noel blinks once, twice, thrice, before his brain reminds you of where he knows you from. 

“Reporter chick!” he cheers jovially, the drinks in his system making him more jolly than the saint he was named after. Noel throws his hands up and lets his eyes crinkle at the corners as he greets you. “Surely you have a lighter, birdie.”

You press your lips into an awkward smile and fumble in your jeans pocket before pulling out a sleek blue lighter, handing it to Noel as he crows in triumph, cigarette already at his lips as he tells you, “Go on,” he urges, signalling for you to light it for him. You frown with crinkled brows but do it anyway, flicking the lighter on as the end finally catches and smoke finally fills Noel’s lungs. “Ah,” he breathes gratefully before smiling at you. “Long time no see, eh?”

Noel doesn’t spend much time or attention on the tittering girls behind you, but he sees the way that your feet shift in its heavy boots, the way that your smile tilts in a wrong angle, the way that your eyes dart nervously to the pub window as if you were waiting for something. Or someone. A light bulb erupts in Noel’s head as he says, louder than he should;

“Liam’s inside!” he says. “I’m sure he’d be glad to see you, yeah?” The past few months, Liam had been smitten with this reporter girl. Even more so when you began writing that big article on Liam, spending what felt like every waking hour with him. Noel would roll his eyes every time Liam would ask Can she hang out here? Can I invite her to the pub with us? Maybe she’d enjoy going to the red carpet, yeah? Just pathetic. 

And with the article that you had wrote, a lengthy in-depth piece about a day in the life of Liam Gallagher (which seemed more like a public admission of your love to him than anything else), Noel figured you’d be glad to see Liam as well. 

But with the way you stumbled back from Noel as if burnt, snatching the lighter away and tucking it back into your pocket, Noel figured he must have miscalculated. You take one last look at the window, at Liam’s back facing the both of you as he lines up another shot at the pool table, then you bid Noel good bye and bring your fit friends along with you. 

Another odd thing that Noel doesn’t have the strength to deduce, really. So he just shrugs and watches you walk away, not paying any attention to the world around him anymore. Noel was exhausted, last night’s hangover was still somewhere in the pit of his stomach, and all that really mattered in this moment was his cigarette. 

So Noel smokes it until it’s nothing but a stub, then he pulls out another and lights it with the end of the one in his mouth, right before taking it out and stubbing it off, replacing it with a new one. Then, he smokes that one under the lamplight as well, the chill of the night not bothering him as much anymore. 

He’s midway through his second cigarette when the door behind him is ripped open violently and Liam’s voice travels to his ears. 

“You think you can just do that, you wanker?” Liam challenges, all bark. Noel turns slowly to survey the scene, with Liam’s fists flying in the direction of a man much taller than his brother, the two of them barrelling out the door in a violent whirlwind. “Think ‘ya fuckin’ own the place, huh? Goin’ around and just doin’ whatever the fuck you want?” Liam bites. 

Noel sighs but doesn’t let go of his cigarette. No, he just stands under the lamppost and watches as his brother dodges each and every hit aimed at him, kicks out at the guys ribs, delivers a sickening punch to the man’s jaw, and finally knocking him out with a swift hit on the nose. 

“Nice,” says Noel as Liam breathes heavily over the guy.

As if woken from a trance, Liam’s head perks up as he blinks towards Noel. “Thanks,” he says simply before standing next to his brothers, bloody knuckles and all, and asks for the cigarette in his mouth. “Just a drag.”

Noel lets his mouth twist with disgust as he rolls his eyes and pulls out one more cigarette from his pocket and lights it with the end of his. He unceremoniously hands it to Liam who takes it with eager and bloody hands and practically inhales it.

It was after a few beats of silence that Noel spoke. “So, what’d he do?”

Liam heaved a heavy breath. “He was perving on these young girls at the pool table,” said Liam. “Just wasn’t right, man.”

Noel hums and makes no further comment, just looking out across the lively street as him and Liam stand in silence and ignore the slumped over man behind them. 

“What’re you doin’ out here?” asks Liam after a while. 

“Everythin’ was gettin’ too loud,” said Noel, truthfully. “My head’s still spinning.”

Liam hums. “Yeah, it must be from that night you had last night,” he chuckles before taking a drag.

Noel’s brows furrow. “I told you about that?” he asks. Noel could barely even recount the story to himself, let alone tell the story to his brother. 

Liam blinks for a few moments before saying, “Nah,” he drawls. “Y’just have that look about you.”

Noel relaxes. “Yeah? What look?” he asks, taking the bait.

“Like you’re hungover and hiding it,” says Liam. 

“Well, you have the look of a man that’s halfway out his grave,” grumbles Noel sourly. “Maybe that’s what scared her off,” he mutters. 

“Scared who off?” asks Liam.

“That reporter girl you used to fancy,” says Noel, taking a drag of his cigarette, too focused on that action to see the way that his brother’s eyes widened into saucers. “She was here just a few minutes ago. I told her you were inside and everythin’. Then she looked in the window and hightailed it out of here.”

“Huh,” was all Liam had to say. So Noel left it at that, not wanting to prod even more into stuff that he wasn’t even sure that he cared about. So he smoked his cigarette until it was nothing more than a stub, threw it to the ground and waited for Liam to be done with his. He didn’t take much stock in Liam’s devastated expression, the way his hands twitched at his sides, and the way his eyes darted both ways on the street as if they could still catch traces of you. No, Noel didn’t want to see any of that. 

In silence, Noel watches his brother and the blood that was dripping down his knuckles, observing the way he winces at every drag, the cut on his lip surely irritated by every single thing he’d been doing this entire day. Then just as Liam’s about to stub his own cigarette, Noel finally asks the question that’s been burning in his mind since this morning. “Are you …” he begins before clearing his throat. Liam watches him with a raised brow and more than just a little bit of judgement. “Are you in a gang again?”

Liam’s face twists so much that Noel’s sure that a few cuts reopen once more. “What?” he spits out. “The fuck are ‘ye talkin’ about?” he asks, face still twisted in pure confusion. 

Noel shrugs. “It’s just that …” he trails off, feeling stupid. “Y’know, the fighting, the bruises and cuts, the weird substances you carry around to open and lock doors.”

Liam’s face still doesn’t untwist. “Have you gone mental?” asks Liam. “A gang?”

“Jesus Christ, let’s just get in the pub,” Noel mutters, wrapping himself up in his coat and shouldering past Liam, stepping over the unconscious guy Liam knocked out, and ignoring Liam’s sputtering as Noel took hold of the knob, ready to be rid of the headache beginning to build beneath his temples. 

But of course, his brother had to ruin it.

“Why do you always see the fuckin’ worst in me?” Liam says, Noel’s back to him tensing up as he inhales sharply, already anticipating a row on tomorrow’s front pages. 

“Liam,” Noel scolds carefully, not even turning around. “Just get in the pub,” he repeats. 

“And whaddya even mean by again?” asks Liam indignantly. “I’ve never even been in a gang, me!”

Noel huffs and turns to face his bedraggled brother, the unconscious man still between them like a barrier. “Well then, my fuckin’ mistake, yeah? Just get in the fuckin’ pub.”

“Nah,” says Liam with a shake of his head, pointing to Noel accusingly. “You need to answer my question first.”

“Liam,” is all Noel says but it’s enough to set Liam off, the lad nearly jumping up ten feet in annoyance as he declares;

“Stop calling me that!” he yells, arms flailing wildly, blood flying around from the wound in his knuckles, his split lip opening in a way that Noel can’t look away from. 

“It’s ‘yer name!” shoots back Noel, annoyed as well. 

“You keep actin’ like — like …” Liam says, frustrated. Noel scoffs; it was just like him to do that. When he was younger, Liam used to whine and get red with annoyance during his tantrums whenever he couldn’t quite get his words out. “Like …”

“Like …?” prompts Noel, in the exact tone and cadence that he knew would rile his brother up further. The same cadence that would turn Liam a nasty shade of puce as a child. 

It has the same effect to this day. “Fuck!” he spits out in pure frustration, kicking out at the lamppost with so much aggression that the pole begins to shake terrifyingly. Jesus, since when had Liam gotten that strong?

“Calm down, rkid,” Noel says, hands crossed over his chest as he watched Liam huff and puff himself into a frenzy.

“Stop acting like you know me!” Liam finally explodes, spittle flying everywhere and his hands clenching and unclenching in unexpressed rage. “Just … fuckin’ stop!” he cries.

Noel blinks. Now, where the fuck had all that come from? Sure, Noel may not be the best brother on this side of planet earth, but he was still worth something. What, had Liam taken some bad coke and started tripping over his balls again? 

That was probably it. Just the coke, the drinks, and if Noel thinks about it — maybe even the reporter girl too.

So Noel just shrugs it off and shakes his head. “‘Yer me brother,” he says simply, turning back around to head back in the pub. Of course I fuckin’ know you, goes unsaid. 

But as Noel takes his unoccupied seat and flags down the barkeep for another lager, he turns to see Liam, still outside with his head in his hands and the blood on his knuckles soaking his jumper.

So maybe Noel doesn’t know his brother all that well. Turns out, he hasn’t ever been in a gang (Then what was Liam doing when he was sixteen …?), he wasn’t currently in a gang (What was Liam doing now?), and he was actually quite the hero with the reflexes to match. 

Maybe he was just going through some crisis. Fame was a heavy weight to carry, and while Liam walked like it didn’t bother him, Noel could see the way that he’s slowly changed. It may just be his brother finally growing up, but Noel puts his money on the fact that the recent attention has been burdening him in a way he hadn’t expected. 

If his brother’s having an identity crisis, then it’s best to just leave him to it, isn’t it? It wasn’t like Noel would be any much of a help in that area. 

But still, something possesses Noel in that morning after the pub, his head pounding like a jackhammer as his mouth felt drier than the Sahara. Because two hours after waking up, Noel finds himself at Liam’s door with greasy take away, sunnies on his face, and a passive frown on his face. 

And of course, Noel doesn’t knock. Why would he, when he’s spent all his life sharing a room with the knob? Privacy’s a fickle thing between the two of them these days, so Noel takes the emergency key he’d snatched from Liam, slots it into the keyhole, and nearly fuckin’ drops it when he sees the sight waiting for him inside.

In his massive living room, Liam spins at the center of it all, his eyes shut in meditative bliss as he rotates like a rotisserie chicken, held up by webbings on his ankles as he hangs upside down from his ceiling. 

Noel balks, shuts the door quietly, and blinks to himself. What?

Then, deciding that he’s probably still on a leftover high from the night before, he opens the door again, with more resolve than what he should carry, and nearly cries when the sight that greets him is just Liam sitting on his couch and watching the telly.

Noel’s head whips up to the ceiling so fast that he thinks he gets whiplash. No webs. He looks to Liam’s ankles — pristine as can be in socks with little daschshunds printed on them. 

“Mornin’” garbles Liam.

“The fuck?” greets Noel.

lainey’s delivery service: @strwbryluver @gxnyadavid @bigbluedoeyes @highflyingcami @invinsabel @bunnyhopella @anjalfc @akasheselectric @simoneeyy @ngmyfav @ghostinyourhome @alicehighflyingbirds @veruschkaaaa @shesselectricc @youretheoutcast @connieloveslove @meggyboots @noelgallagherswifee @sonnyangel11 @babywewereborn @glaeiv @dirtyshirtgirll @charmlessgrrl @thegiriinthedirtyshirt @dilfliamgallagherishisbestera @oasisswag @d8isyann @letgotstyles @halftheworldawayy @celestialgallaghers @oliverwoodsravenclw @oliviastring @pugatr0n @xerxeneea @dancinginredshoes11 @wtsthstrymrnglry (join thru the link/ dm to be removed) 💋