Sarahi

he gave you a polite nod of his head as a form of acknowledgement, eyes almost burning through you as he waited patiently for your response. you gave a polite, awkward wave before sliding off your windowsill, the heat of embarrassment smouldering in your lower stomach.

you swear you heard him chuckle as you slammed your book shut, trying to push down the rush of adrenaline and anxiety swirling in your chest. you cleared your throat, glancing back over at your window before deciding to ignore him – to not pay attention.

that's how it went over the next couple of days; you didn't pay much notice when the “for sale” sign got taken down. ignored the excitement fluttering in your chest as the moving vans suddenly appeared out the front of the house. you didn't even pay much notice when your dad started mentioning your new neighbour, chuckling about how much of a “good lad” he was supposedly.

you did, however, notice when your dad began to find himself at the pub down the road more often, or how he would trot next door to go hang out with your new neighbour. you'd sigh, shaking your head despite the fond tug in your heart, glad he was able to branch out a little more.

it had been hard on the two of you; having to leave your life behind and moving to manchester. your dad continued to lie, saying it was for a “once in a lifetime opportunity” but really, you knew it was to get away from it all.

the door shut behind you with a quiet 'click,' the sound of laughter immediately flowing into the hallway from the outside dining room. you half grimace, not entirely keen on having company while looking so ragged. yet, your dad calls out for you, beckoning you over.

“y/n, is that you? come meet, liam!”

you follow the sound of his voice, heart lurching in your chest as your eyes land on your next-door neighbour. he's sat across from your dad, nursing a beer and half-smoked cigarette in his hand, his eyes immediately landing on you. his eyebrows tick upwards, just a little, like you had piqued his interest.

“hi, love,” he pushes himself upwards, reaching out to shake your head with a dangerously smooth smile. you take it, movements a little rushed as you shyly shake his hand, hardly able to meet his eyes. liam takes notice, head tilting to the side, barely enough for you to notice. “liam gallagher, nice to meet you. y/n, is it? yer' dads told me, 'bout you.”

everything about him is so self-assured, like he knows he's got everything in the palm of his hand. his parka is no doubtedly new; it's clearly never been worn before, and neither are those stupid sunglasses he has curled over the bridge of his nose. who was he trying to impress?

“yes, uh, nice to meet you too.”

frigid, liam notes to himself, eyebrows creasing ever so slightly. he leans back in his chair, eyes never leaving yours like he's plotting something. you shift uncomfortably, silently praying he doesn't remember you being "that" girl from the window.

“you smoke?” liam offers, sliding open the pack with just his thumb. it's something so innocent, and yet, so charged that it has you swallowing a harsh lump in your throat. you shake your head politely, mouth dropping open to answer before being cut off by your dad.

“nah, nah,” your dad shakes his hand, a fond smile stretching across his face, stealing liam's attention away from you. “she ain't do nothing like that.”

liam's eyebrows raise in surprise, his smirk turning a little more devious as if he'd struck gold. you don't notice, rather, you figure the cogs are turning in his head to whip out another quip.

“not one for the party life, are we?” liam turns towards you, leaning his chin on his hand while the other rests on the armrest of the chair. his eyes flicker over you, looking you up and down like your dad wasn't sitting right across from him. like you were prey.

“no,” you avert your eyes shyly, shrugging a little meekly. “not one for anything, really.”

“ah,” liam hums, turning back slightly to raise the bottle of beer back up to his mouth. “reckon we could change that, eh?”

his words are merely meant to tease – so you think – and yet, your stomach clenches, nerves fluttering in your chest as you manage to give him a weak, shy chuckle. you almost sigh with relief as he takes a quick sip of his beer, the tension in your body wound so tight it's almost threatening to snap.

it's all a game to him – you can tell by the way he smirks, eyes licking over you, sending a warmth that brims against your lower abdomen. you blink, shaking the thoughts of your head, convincing yourself it was only something you made up in your head. but fuck, the way he's drinking in your reaction right now makes you wish it were real. your dad, oblivious to anything, skin a little flushed from the alcohol, smiles widely.

“we'll leave you to it, sweetie,” he nods, waving his hand at you to beckon you over for a hug. “go do whatever you kids do nowadays. goodnight, love.”

“night dad,” you murmur as you lean down to give your dad a quick side-hug before politely smiling and bowing your head at liam. “goodnight, mr. gallagher.”

“night, kid.” he teases with a coy raise of his eyebrows, clicking out of the corner of his mouth while raising the neck of his beer towards you. you meekly smile before turning on your heels with your shoulders tight and rigid, pressed halfway to your ears. a dark, devilish chuckle escapes his lips as you walk away, painfully aware of the way his eyes burn into your back.

liam hums to himself, drinking in the way you nervously hurry away, whipping around the corner so fast he hardly catches it. a warm, twisted amusement rises in his chest, his lips ticking up into a devious smile. you let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding in, the tension slowly dissipating as you walk up the stairs to your bedroom, hoping to put it all to rest.

“seem's like a nice girl, eh?” liam comments. your dad just smiles, nodding warmly as he finishes his last sip of whatever bottle he was nursing in his hand.

“yes, yes, she is,” he comments as he places the empty bottle down. “fancy another?”

“if i ever say no, you'd have to shoot me.”

“i'll show you the drinks room then, eh?”

“a drinks room?” liam replies with a small chuckle, pushing himself up from the chair. “livin' lavish, are we?”

your dad responds with a laugh as they both half-clamber into the room, heading over to the cabinet. it's full of every spirit imaginable, all lined up and hardly drunken like they were some sort of decoration. liam immediately takes notice, deciding to pry a little further. he couldn't help it, curiosity was just apart of human nature.

“bet yer' daughter sneaks in and nicks some of the good stuff, huh?” he teases, nudging his elbow against your father's arm. he simply chuckles, shaking his head as he grabs another two bottles of beer from the bar fridge.

“ohhh no,” he chuckles, handing a bottle to liam with a fond smile. “she's much to good for that.”

“oh?” liam clears his throat, eyebrows raising. “really?”

“yeah,” your dad breathes out, turning back to face him with a polite, slightly forced smile. “between you and me, she's a bit too innocent for her own good.”

“ah, bollocks,” liam laughs, patting his shoulder despite the thoughts swirling in his brain. his next words are loaded, layered with such deep perversion that it almost makes him feel sick. “no such thing, eh? good girls are always fun.”

needless to say, liam hardly gets home that night with a clear mind. he's wandering around his bedroom that just so happens to directly across from your own, his jeans so tight he's honestly a little worried the button might pop off. he feels sick at his own thoughts, teeth grinding against each other so hard that his jaw is wound tight.

and he can see your shadow behind the thin, lace curtains prancing about like you weren't tempting him. he had half a mind to head back over to your place and get his hands on you. he sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth, his other hand reaching to pinch the skin between his eyebrows.

but he just can't help himself.

his hands fumble with the buckle of his belt, his figure hidden behind his curtain as he watches, breath getting caught in his throat. his heart is beating so fucking fast that his hands are shaky and clamming as he grips his bulge, eyelids fluttering shut as a small wave clarity crashes over him.

he knows he shouldn't – he knows it's wrong. he knows better of course, he's older, wiser. supposed to ignore the way he was feeling about you. it was wrong. he knows that.

but maybe, he just doesn't care that much.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

you had tried your hardest to ignore him, reminding yourself he was your dad's bestfriend – a force to not be reckoned with. he was something off limits.

so, “coincidently” you started extending your shifts long enough so you wouldn't come home to him in your living room, sitting and laughing with your father like he wasn't daunting. like he wasn't staring you down as if you were his next meal. it was suffocating.

you had changed your routine just to avoid him; longer shifts, different walking routes, different running routes. you knew he was a runner from the way you bashfully watched him warmup in front of his door from your window. despite your best efforts of ignoring him, you bought yourself cute new running shorts just in case you had ever crossed his paths.

yet you weren't aware of just how far liam was willing to go just to “cross paths.”

you let out a harsh exhale as you slowed down, shoes scuffing against the pebbled pathway beneath you. the back of your throat was burning, chest heaving, desperate to suck in any ounce of air they could. you hunched over, sweaty palms landing your knees as you flicked your forearm towards you, looking at your watch.

“fancy seein' you 'ere, birdie,” a familiar voice drawls from behind you. you jump, shivers crawling over your spine as you shoot upright, head spinning around to face the older man standing behind you. a subtle, thin layer of sweat glistens over his forehead, chin raised ever so slightly. his lips are parted, soft breaths escaping them as he raises his water bottle towards them. “didn't know you were a runner.”

“not really,” you respond with a shy smile, wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. “do it to clear my mind every now and then.”

“huh right, what's your time?” liam breathes out after taking a sip, eyes trailing down your neck. you flick your wrist towards you, still trying to catch your breath as you click through your watch, trying to find your stopwatch. liam's eyes unashamedly trail further down your torso until the delicate outline of your cleavage is spilling out of your sports bra. and your chest is heaving really hard with the glistening layer of sweat glimmering under the sun, like you were just asking for it.

oblivious to his perversion, you raise your head just as he flicks his eyes away, tongue sliding over his upper lip. you think nothing of it, trying to ignore the way your heart lurches in your chest.

“23 minutes and 51 seconds!” you exclaim with a proud smile, twisting your watch over him to see.

“ahh, very good,” liam muses, his mind half in the moment as he ponders over a twisted idea brewing in his head. he leans in to look, only for his water bottle to “accidentally” slip from his fingers, splashing water all over your chest before hitting the ground. “shit! sorry, love!”

you gasp as the cold water hits you despite how refreshing it really feels. liam's hands are already patting over your shirt, fingers grazing over your tits in such a manner that it has your skin heating up. liam's heart is racing as his hands carefully knead your tits before smoothing over your stomach and then finally retracting back to his sides.

“it's okay! it's okay!” you repeat, flicking off a few beads of water your hands. you turn your head behind you, noticing the water bottle slowly beginning to roll. “do you need me to get that for you? dad told me you had a bad back. or hip, or whatever!”

you hardly wait for an answer before you're already bending over in front of him, your cute little running shorts leaving barely anything to the imagination as the fabric slowly rides up your thighs. liam tilts his head downward, drinking in everything before you can catch his wandering eyes.

liam takes the bottle from you like he wasn't just fucking you with his eyes, a gracious, warm smile on his face. it's innocent, disarming almost. you naturally smile back, cheeks warm, though you can't tell if it's from him or the run. you pray it's from the latter.

“oh thanks love, didn't have to do allat for an old geezer like me,” he chuckles, ducking his head in apology for the spillage once more.

“oh, nonsense!” you brush it off, as humble as ever. liam's lips tick upwards into a warm smile, a twinge of deviousness held deep behind it. “was raised to be good.”

“mhm, yeah, you're a good girl, aren't 'cha?”

you freeze, eyebrows shooting upright. liam immediately takes notice in the way your thighs squeeze together, even if the movement is so damn subtle that it makes his dick twitch in his pants. the blood underneath your cheeks is warm, your eyes wide and doe-like like you had been caught.

“well,” liam smiles warmly. innocent. like your clit wasn't throbbing underneath his predatory gaze. like he wasn't testing the waters, just seeing how far he could push you. “enjoy yer' run, see 'ya next time, kid.”

with a polite wave, liam's back off down the track, literally running away from the situation he's created. your head is swirling with a multitude of emotions, slick pooling against the thin fabric of your panties. you shake your head, trying to ignore how wrong it was to feel this way over your dad's best friend.

you take a moment to gather yourself, smoothing your hair back with a deep breath before running the opposite way liam went, not caring that it would take you longer to get back home.

anywhere was better than being around someone as dangerous as him.

© strwbryluver 2026. do not plagiarize, re-upload, translate, or feed my work into ai.

mlist

After spending the night at Lucy's, the morning arrived carrying the weight of every mistake you'd made. Or maybe you were just being too judgmental with yourself. There was still a rational part of you that insisted that it was really no big deal, that girls your age did things like this all the time: lied to their parents about where they were going and who they were with. And it wasn't as though you'd never had a drink before. You tried to be a good girl, but you weren't a puritan either. But there was this other part of your brain, the one you hated the most, that shouted at you when you first opened your eyes that morning. It had your mother's voice and your father's face, and it spoke in bible verses and sunday sermons, reminding you of every promise you'd broken before you'd even had the chance to forgive yourself.

With time, you'd learned to silence it. Make it quiet. But sometimes, it still screamed louder than everything else. The first time you'd heard it you were eight years old, after hiding a failed exam beneath your mattress. The guilt had weighed so heavy on your chest, that you ended up crying in front of your mother, begging for forgiveness before she had even found out what you did. Another time was the summer when you turned fifteen, after you'd let Noel run away from that angry man you later found out was the owner of the corner shop at the end of your street. The difference there was that you'd never told anyone what you saw, still obedient to that silent plea he had made. You still couldn't understand why the voice seemed to give up that time, as though it didn't matter how strong it screamed, you would give in. Even now.

Now it was back again, loud inside your head like the church bells calling people to mass every sunday. You looked over at your friend, still sleeping beside you and then at the clock on the wall which read half past ten. It was time to go home and face reality. So you got up from bed and started to get dressed, taking off Lucy's dress and folding it neatly to put your own clothes back. It felt a little like taking off a costume.

Back in your own clothes, you reached over to wake up your friend. "Lucy, wake up." You murmured, shaking her arm slowly.

"Mhmmm, why." She said, covering her eyes with the pillow she had landed on you last night, right before she drunkenly collapsed onto the bed. You'd felt thankful to have a friend that worried about your comfort even when she was off her own head.

"Cause you have to open the door for me." Grabbing your bag, you caught yourself glancing out of the window, unable to stop yourself from looking at the house across the street.

Lucy had finally gotten up from bed, and without you noticing, she stood behind you, frowning and trying to figure out what you were looking at. "What is it then?"

You jumped at the sound of her voice and closed the curtains immediately. "Nothing, just- open the door for me please."

Without the energy to insist, Lucy just laughed and started to walk outside her room. "Only 'cause you asked nicely."

♡~~

You said goodbye to Lucy at the front door with a tight hug and a promise to ring her once you got home. Outside, the streets were practically empty; only a few children were playing outside their homes, their parents making the most of a quiet sunday after another long week at work. As you walked towards home, you figured your parents should be long awake by now. Your mother would probably be making lunch while your father was in his office, preparing his sermon for mass. They'd be relaxed, confident that their daughter had spent a peaceful night at her lifelong best friend's house. Reassured that their daughter would never go to those places where young people drank, took drugs and forgot themselves. The sort of places your father warned parents about when they come to mass with their families. "Watch over your children. The temptations of the modern world are becoming increasingly dangerous." His words echoed in your head the entire way home.

When you were about a block away, you pulled a small hand mirror from your purse to make sure there wasn't a trace of last night's makeup left despite how thoroughly you'd scrubbed it off that morning, you still couldn't help checking. Satisfied there was nothing left to give you away, you quickened your pace.

By the time you reached the front door, you realised how fast you'd been walking, and you had to stop for a minute to catch your breath. You needed to calm down if you didn't want your parents noticing something was off.

You stepped inside, the house looked exactly as it always did. The telly was on, some men talking about morning news, but your mother was nowhere to be seen. You found her in the kitchen, tending to what smelled like a Sunday roast.

"Hi, mum."

"Oh! Hello, love." She looked over her shoulder and smiled. "Didn't hear you come in. Have a nice night?"

"Yeah. Same as always." You tried to sound casual. "Where's dad?"

"He's in his study. Go and tell him lunch's nearly ready, would you?" She turned back to the oven before you could answer.

"Sure."

You couldn't help letting out a long breath the moment you left the kitchen. Your mother had always been the easier one, softer. Less likely to notice when something wasn't quite right. Your father, though, was different. He had this way of looking at people that made you feel as though he already knew the answer before he'd even asked the question. Maybe it came with being a priest, or maybe he'd simply known you your whole life.

Either way, standing at the end of the hallway outside his study, you found yourself taking one last steady breath before putting on your most innocent smile. A small golden cross hung on the door, catching the morning light. He was sitting at his desk when you walked in, writing in a notebook. Every reassuring thought you'd given yourself on the walk home vanished immediately. It wasn't that he was frightening. He wasn't. But there was something about him that naturally commanded respect.

"Hi, dad." Your voice came out quieter than you'd intended. He looked up from his notes, his expression softening.

"Morning, darling. How was the sleepover?"

"It was good." You stepped a little further into the room. "We stayed up talking most of the night, so I'm a bit tired." The lie came more easily than you'd expected. "Mum said lunch's nearly ready."

"Right. I'll be down in a minute."

You nodded and turned to leave.

"Oh… y/n?"

You froze. Slowly, you turned back. "Yeah?"

"I'm glad you had a nice night."

The words landed like a punch to the stomach.

"... Thanks, dad."

You closed the door as carefully as you could.

The moment you reached your bedroom, the calm facade disappeared. Your breathing became uneven again, your heart thudding painfully against your ribs. Worst of all, that voice, that relentless part of your brain, was back. Louder than it had been that morning. You shut the door behind you and collapsed onto the bed, squeezing your eyes shut. Your fingers found the rosary that always hung around your neck, gripping it tightly as you tried to steady your breathing.

Your thoughts kept dragging you back to the night before. To everything you'd said. Everything you'd done. Back to spilling your drink over Noel, to catching yourself searching for him every time he disappeared into the crowds. God, you were such a fucking weirdo.

But then another memory surfaced. The way he'd smiled and told you not to worry. The few minutes you'd spent talking. The way he'd walked you and Lucy home without being asked. His eyes, wich up close, seemed even bluer than you remembered. Still carrying something of that frightened fifteen-year-old boy you'd found hiding in your garden all those years ago.

Without realising it, your breathing began to slow and your grip around the rosary loosened. Maybe it wasn't that bad after all.

♡~~

Eventually, you calmed down. Your mother called for lunch, and you headed downstairs. You helped her set the table before taking your usual seat. Everything felt painfully ordinary. Your mother complained about how expensive groceries had become, while your father spoke about how worried he was that fewer young people were coming to church these days. "We're lucky to have a daughter like you, y/n." Your mother said with a smile.

The words made your stomach twist.

When lunch was over, you excused yourself and went back upstairs. You remembered your promise to ring Lucy once you got home. Sitting cross-legged on your bed, you reached for the telephone on your bedside table and dialled her number.

The line rang once. Twice. Three times. Finally, someone answered.

"Hello?"

"You've only just woken up, haven't you?" You asked, smiling despite yourself.

Lucy groaned dramatically. "Don't start. I feel like death."

You laughed. "Hangover?"

"The worst one of my life."

There was muffled noise in the background.

"Are your parents there?"

"Nah. They've just gone upstairs." She yawned. "Why?"

"No reason."

Unlike yours, Lucy's parents weren't particularly strict. She'd never had to invent elaborate lies to explain where she'd been the night before.

"So…" Lucy said, her voice suddenly brighter. "Did you have a good time?"

You leaned back against the headboard.

"... Yeah."

"'Yeah'?" She repeated. "That's all you're giving me?"

"I did have fun." You sighed quietly. " It's just…"

"What?"

"I feel guilty…"

Lucy didn't answer right away.

"You mean about lying to your parents?"

"Yeah…"

"They still don't know?"

"No."

"Then what's the problem?"

You looked down at the little golden cross hanging from your rosary, absent-mindedly rolling it between your fingers.

"I don't know… I just hate lying to them."

Lucy let out an exasperated sigh.

"Oh come off it. You're nineteen. You work all week, you help your dad at church, you never get into trouble, and you spend half your life trying to make everyone else happy. If anyone deserves one night out, it's you."

She paused. Then, "You act like you've committed some mortal sin"

You stayed quiet.

"I lied, Lucy."

"So what? It's not like you robbed a bank or something. You just went dancing, had a few drinks, and got home in one piece. Honestly, I think your parents have convinced you that feeling guilty is the same thing as being guilty."

You didn't know how to answer that. And Lucy knew you well enough not to expect one.

"So…" she said after a moment, unable to hide the grin in her voice. "Noel Gallagher."

Your grip tightened around the rosary. "Oh, shut up."

"He was lovely. Wasn't he?" She continued. "Walking us home and everything. Proper gentleman."

A smile appeared before you could stop it.

"...Yeah."

"Not what you were expecting?"

"I mean…" you hesitated. "After everything people say about him…"

Lucy snorted. "Half the people around here chat absolute shite."

You just laughed. Then she said it.

"You know… I reckon he fancies you."

Your heart skipped a beat. "What?"

"He kept looking at you all night."

You frowned. "No, he didn't."

"He did. Even Sarah noticed."

Lucy kept talking, but her voice had faded into the background. You'd spent the entire night convincing yourself you'd imagined those stolen glances. That you were reading far too much into ordinary moments because you'd fancied him for years.

But Lucy had seen it.

Sarah had seen it. Sarah, who didn't know anything about that fifteen-year-old secretly watching the Gallagher house from across the street.

Maybe you hadn't imagined it after all.

"Y/n?" Lucy's voice pulled you back. "You still there?"

You blinked.

"Yeah… sorry"

"You alright?"

"My mum's calling me," you lied automatically. "I'll ring you later."

Before Lucy could answer, you gently placed the receiver back on its cradle. The bedroom fell silent again, fingers still wrapped around the rosary. But somehow, you weren't thinking about god anymore.

♡~~

Monday mornings were always quiet at the record shop. Most people were already at work by the time the doors opened, leaving only the occasional customers wandering in the browse before lunch. You didn't mind the silence. In fact, you'd always preferred it, because it gave you something to focus on besides your own thoughts. You'd spent the better part of the morning unpacking new deliveries, carefully sliding records into their sleeves and arranging them alphabetically on the shelves. It was repetitive work, but there was something comforting about it.

After that call with Lucy, your mind wasn't completely occupied by guilt. It was occupied by Noel instead. Which felt even more inconvenient. You'd tried to convince yourself it wasn't something important. That, if he was in fact looking at you, it was probably because he didn't know you. Like a curiosity, that was solved in the moment you two had talked.

Whatever it had been, it was over now. Saturday night had been exactly what It looked like. A random night, a random conversation, and someone being polite enough to walk two girls home. That was all. Manchester wasn't that big, but it was certainly big enough for people never to cross paths again. Or so you kept telling yourself.

The bell above the shop door jingled.

"Morning," you called automatically without looking up. You slid another record into its place before lifting your head… and froze.

Noel Gallagher stood by the entrance with both hands shoved into the pockets of his denim jacket, glancing around the shop as if he'd never been there before.

When he spotted you, the corner of his mouth lifted into a small grin. "Alright?"

"Hi," you said, regaining your posture. "What- um… you looking for something?"

He just walked further into the store, until he was standing in front of you, the record shelf between you two.

"Just passing through," he said, pretending to look at the records on the shelf. "You'd said you worked here."

He hadn't actually been passing through. The record shop wasn't on his way anywhere. But he'd spent the last two days with an embarrassing curiosity about you, and he'd decided that he just needed to see you again. As if taking another look at something that had caught his attention.

"Um- yeah," from this close, you could smell the cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes. It was rough but not unpleasant. If anything, you found yourself liking it more than you probably should have.

He pulled a record from the shelf and glanced at the cover. "So…" he said, "you actually know what you're selling, or d'you just stand here looking busy." There was a teasing edge to his voice, and he had a half smile on his face.

You scoffed, pretending to be offended. "I know what I'm selling."

"Do you?" He said, with a smug little grin tugging at his mouth.

"I do." You said, folding your arms.

He held the sleeve of the record up. "Go on then."

"The Smiths?" You just looked at him flatly.

He looked at you for a second. Your face was completely unimpressed, almost offended at the way he hadn't trusted your knowledge.

"Did you really think I wouldn't know one of the most popular bands from Manchester?" You said, taking the record off of his hands, and placing it back on the shelf.

He laughed properly this time. Just the way you'd see him laugh with his Friends. Just the way he had laughed at Lucy's antics on saturday.

"Chill out, I'm winding you up." He said. "Have you listened to the last album?"

And just like that, the two of you started to talk about music. The conversation flowed easily, the words came out easily from your mouth, you didn't need to overthink everything you said. He told you he played the guitar; you found out he loved music as much as you did. You told him about your favourite albums, and he was impressed by your knowledge in music. He was also struck by the way you smiled with your whole face. It reached your eyes so effortlessly that, for a second, he found himself smiling back without meaning to. And there was also something strangely familiar about you. Something he couldn't quite place. He decided not to think about it.

"What time d'you finish?" he asked, in a moment where the conversation went quiet.

"Not until six," you said, and looked at the clock on the wall, "I've got my lunch break in ten minutes, though."

"Fancy grabbing a bite?" He shrugged, "I mean… I was gonna grab something anyway…"

You tried to act completely normal about the fact he had just invited you to have lunch. "Sure, yeah… umm, give me a minute. I'll just tell my manager."

♡~~

You went to a chip shop only a few streets away. It wasn't much to look at, just a narrow little place with steamed-up windows and the familiar smell of vinegar drifting out onto the pavement. Noel held the door open for you.

"Ladies first."

You just looked at him suspiciously.

"Don't look so surprised." He said, mocking offence.

You just laughed at that and stepped forward to place your order. He stayed right beside you, your shoulders almost brushing, and the mere proximity of him sent little shockwaves through your body. He glanced at you sideways, like he needed to make sure you were still there and hadn't runaway.

Once you'd both got your orders, you decided to go to a little park nearby. Sitting on a bench, the conversation slipped back into its rhythm.

"So, " he said, taking another chip, "how'd you end up working in a record shop then."

You shrugged. "I've always loved music. And my parents couldn't afford university, so I had to look for something to do with my life, I guess."

He just nodded. "It's a cool job."

"You reckon?"

"It's better than construction." He shrugged.

"What would you rather be doing?"

"Playing guitar." he said almost automatically.

You laughed at the way he said it. "'Course," you said, "You've got guitarist hair."

He stopped halfway through taking another bite. "The hell's that supposed to mean?"

You shrugged innocently, "Dunno," you smiled at the confused face he put on, "It's just… guitarist hair."

He laughed under his breath, shaking his hair. He realised you laughed more than you'd done on saturday; you talked a lot with your hands, and every now and then you'd stop halfway through a sentence, worried you'd said something stupid. You never had.

For a moment, the conversation drifted into music again. You argued about albums, disagreed over bands and laughed at some of the records people insisted on buying. It was nice to have someone to discuss things like that with the same passion you had. Noel liked the fact that you weren't afraid to defend your opinions.

The minutes passed like that, and when you checked your watch again you realised It was time for you to get back to the store. "I should get back."

"I'll walk you there." He simply said, standing to throw the empty wrappers in a bin.

The walk back to the record shop was slower than it had been on the way there. The conversation lost its rhythm, replaced by comfortable stretches of silence. Outside the entrance, you stopped.

"Thanks for the lunch… and for walking me back." You said smiling.

He shrugged as though it hadn't meant anything. "No bother."

"Alright. I'll see you around."

He looked at you for a second longer than necessary, and before you could step inside, he stopped you. "Oh, um"

You looked up.

"You doing anything friday?"

Your stomach tightened. "I don't think so."

He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "A few of us are heading to the hacienda." A beat. "Thought you might fancy coming. Bring Lucy too, if you like." He tried to sound casual, as though the idea had only just occurred to him. It hadn't.

"I'd like that." You said without thinking much about it.

"Sound." He smiled at you. "I'll see you friday then."

You watched him disappear down the street before finally stepping inside the shop. Only then, you'd realised you were smiling.

lying in his bed, his eyes dry from staring at the ceiling for so many minutes without blinking, he couldn’t believe that he was the piece of shit. she had left so quietly. not hiding, but simply because she had nothing left to say or do; she had no reason to shout or hurl insults –though, to be fair, that had never been her style– the decision was firm and had been made some time ago. he had driven her to this, to the point where she didn’t even turn back for a second to look at what she was leaving behind. because there was nothing left. as well as being an alcoholic and a drug addict –or at least that was what he’d heard her mother reproach his girlfriend for one day when the lady thought he wasn’t at home– he was a cheat in every sense of the word, a scoundrel. there wasn’t a moment in their relationship when he hadn’t broken his word, from the very act in bed to little whispers in the back of a car. he had done it all. Noel had been a hurricane in her life, sweeping away whatever pride and dignity she still had, leaving a withered heart and an empty soul. he had murdered the sweet, graceful girl, taking away each of her qualities piece by piece, only to leave bitterness and sourness on the plate.

when she told him – ‘that’s it, I’ve had enough’ – and listed, one by one, the things he’d done to her, his reaction was typical of a man without a shred of remorse: denial. he claimed it hadn’t been like that at all and that she was being unfair for not taking into account all the good times they’d shared and everything he’d done for her. He had the nerve to get angry with her for making that decision. that didn’t stop her; her brother was already waiting outside to help her load as many of her belongings as she could into a car.

a week went by and he was still stuck in his own perspective, convinced that she was unfair and heartless, even going so far as to believe that his friends were telling the truth and that women really do leave you out of the blue after all. there were no calls, no one chased after anyone, nor did they send veiled messages via any mutual friends. she simply had no reason to; after all, there was a reason they’d split up. him, because he was so proud and stubborn that he was incapable of acknowledging what he had done wrong. it wasn’t that he didn’t want to give in; he simply didn’t feel it, the guilt. people sometimes refuse to admit they were wrong in public, but in the privacy of their own thoughts they are able to admit to themselves that others are right. Noel wasn’t like that. of course, he didn’t openly share all his feelings, but he could speak his mind without holding back, and he didn’t need to retreat to an empty room to take off a mask and speak the truth. no. not now, either. in his solitude – surrounded by silence, by the endlessness of the hours now that a certain person wasn’t there to listen to music at full volume, making even the slightest movement – he remained as steadfast as a palm tree swaying in a storm in which he hadn’t done so badly. quite simply, in his mind he could not conceive of the idea that all those deceptions and his other problems could outweigh the kisses between mouthfuls of food, the whispers in bed, and the endless conversations at night when they had the time and space to be just the two of them after a long day – more than all the good things they had experienced. 

and Noel thought that the days and weeks would pass like this until either she showed some sign of softening so he could approach her with a joke or a tender kiss and everything would be forgotten, or until he grew tired of putting up with the silence and the distance and simply told her to fuck off, as had happened before. but what he hadn’t taken into account was that she wasn’t just another girl. not because she was better than the others – nobody is better than anyone else – but because there had never been anyone like her in his life. 

eventually, pride fades away when the heart softens the brain, which led him to stand at the door of one of her best friends –with whom she always went to sleep when they’d had a row and she couldn’t even bear to look at him– and ask her to please convince her to have a word with him. but she wasn’t there. none of her friends would tell him where she was, and when he called her brother and her mother —who let him know she’d already predicted this would happen because of how worthless Noel was compared to her extraordinary daughter— he got the same reply: ‘do you seriously think i'm going to tell you?’, and they were right. what mother would send her daughter back to a fate that is already in ruins, where all she’ll do is drown in bitterness because there’s nothing left to save? Noel threw her into the sea and ripped the life jacket from her; of course no one around him was going to return her to his arms. 

weeks and weeks went by and there was no sign of her; weeks during which Noel kept pestering her friends to at least tell him she was okay. Olivia –the one who liked Noel the least, to put it mildly– snapped at him for knocking on her door every week begging for information, and told him she didn’t live there anymore, so he shouldn’t even bother. he didn't understand. 'here, in your flat?' 'no, here in the city. i'm not going to tell you where she is.'

suddenly, even the air had vanished with her, leaving only the fragments of her existence abandoned in their flat, the things she hadn't wanted to take with her – like the beautiful coat he'd given her for her last birthday. the useless things, the things she wouldn’t need in the life she was going to build for herself, she left to Noel. a deep pain struck him right in the chest, the despair of not knowing what to do, where to run to, because they had nothing to bind them together. No children, no rings, nothing. she could be anywhere and yet nowhere at all. of course, he had the means to go and find her, but he didn’t. what for? was he going to change? being alone, he could admit it –the one thing he really needed to isolate himself for to open up to honesty– he was never going to change. so he gave up on the idea and knew it was the right thing to do the day Olivia turned up with a letter and left it for him in a nasty way.

I’ve already been told you’ve been asking about me, and my mum said you told her that you do love me. 

If you really do love me as you say—which I doubt—you’ll stop.

There’s no going back now, and we both know it. You hurt me; that’s it. There’s nothing more to be done or said. The only thing you should do, if you’re so distressed by your mistakes, is to step aside and let me get on with my life in peace. No calls, no chasing after everyone who knows me, and no trying to find out where I am. I’m not going to tell you. It's over, Noel. Forget my existence.

the defeat was bitter and overwhelming, filling every fibre of his being with the realisation that there was nothing left to do, because you weren’t wrong at all. after all the harm he’d caused, would he continue bothering you? It wasn’t fair at all. even though he kept telling himself and others that he’d meant well this time, that his remorse was genuine, it was already too late for that, and deep down in his heart, Noel didn’t trust himself to be the man you deserved; there was no proof whatsoever that he could be.

that night, without calling anyone to go out for a drink and escape any sense of guilt as he’d been doing, Noel sank down on your side of the bed, second by second feeling at one with the mattress, wishing he could drown in it, knowing that he no longer cared about his own fate because the only truth he’d ever known in his life no longer belonged to him: you.

⋆.ೃ࿔🌸*:･

g/n: ayyy i'm so proud of the way i wrote this, which is a little context of wth happened here. so i'll leave it here till i finish chapter one😭

thank u sm for reading