Selfishlytinyoath

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the venue is loud as always, in a way that even outside you can hear the laughter and when someone shouts occasionally. these events are always like that, too many celebrities in one place – and it’s mostly the annoying ones that always make you wonder that maybe, just maybe, you would’ve been fine doing whatever the fuck it was if you weren’t a musician.

maybe a teacher, maybe a nurse. fuck me, even a ballerina. it was one of those nights where you’d rather wear pink tutus and spin around for a living instead of having to pretend like damon albarn checking you out wasn’t painfully obvious, or having to listen to liam gallagher’s obnoxious voice yelling for another round.

oh, and noel gallagher’s annoying face as well. he hadn’t really said anything yet, unlike the other nights. it seemed that he didn’t want to be an annoying prick tonight and wind you up just for the sake of it.

and somehow, that was even worse.

those english assholes. yuck.

your forearm were rested over the railing as you blew the smoke out, watching the sight of london at too late in the night. the cold air bit your cheeks a little, and before you could even stub the dying cigarette out, the door opened. too abruptly.

you looked over your shoulder and immediately sighed in annoyance. you really weren’t in the mood for this right now.

“well, well, well. didn’t think i’d be seeing the little american bird tonight”

he sounded drunk, and as annoying as you remembered. it made you curse every single life decision that led you to his bed a couple of months ago. he was mediocre, obviously.

the least he could do was be a nice guy. he wasn’t, of course.

you replied with a flat “hm”, hoping it would shoo him away back into the venue, back into his fucking stupid soho flat you unfortunately ended up in after one of those fancy industry parties with too much champagne.

he huffed out a laugh, walking closer and putting his hand on your waist and leaning closer to your ear. “still got that attitude, huh?”, he whispered, smirking.

you rolled your eyes, taking a step away. “fuck off, mathew. will you?”

he smirked even wider, mockingly pouting and grabbing your waist even harder. “aw, cmon, darling. pretty sure you had a lovely time that night, didn’t you?”, he teased. prick.

you huffed, and before you could say anything, his hand drifted down to your ass and he continued in your ear. “how about we do it again, huh?”

you pushed his chest away, already turning to walk off. he grabbed your arm before you could actually do it. not painful, but firm enough to make you stiffen.

“alright, don’t—” you started.

he cut in, still smirking. “what, love? gonna tell me you don’t wan—“

“oi”

noel’s voice isn’t loud, but it’s stern enough to make the musician’s head snap towards the door. he lets go as he watches noel walk closer, and the blonde scoffs anyway. “what the fuck do you want?”

“want you to get your head out of your fuckin’ arse and let her go. she told you to piss off, mate.”

the man scoffs again, walking towards noel and stuffing his chest like he’s trying to seem bigger. “and who the fuck asked you?”

noel didn’t do the same. he just stood in the same place, still carrying that tone – and that shook the guy up more than if he shouted.

“no one,” noel said. his blue eyes stuck to the man’s expression, fully missing the way your chest heaved as you watched the interaction. the guy still hesitated, weighing whether this is worth it. noel just carried on as if it wasn’t already clear enough that it wasn’t worth to keep pushing it. “just me tellin’ you to fuck off now, innit?”

the blonde mutters something under his breath and backs off, disappearing through the door at the same time someone else pushes out for a smoke. the music swells for a second, then it’s quiet again once the door shuts – it feels even more deafening the moment noel looks back at you. you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in.

he steps closer, he tilts his head still looking at you and watching the way you rub your arm up and down absentmindedly. “you alright?”, he asks quietly, pulling out a cigarette pack from his pocket, like he doesn’t trust himself to not reach out if his hands aren’t busy.

you let out a small breath. a weak nervous and shaky laugh as you nodded. “yeah. i’m fine”

he nods in response, watching you for a second longer than necessary, cigarette between his fingers as he finally lights it. the flame lights his face for a second, you pull your gaze away at it.

“right,” he says quietly, like he’s accepting your answer even if he’s not entirely convinced. he exhales a thin stream of smoke into the air. “he’s a fucking knob.”

you huff out a quiet laugh at that, still rubbing your arm. “that’s… one way of putting it.”

he huffs, nudging his head in agreement and silently offering you a cigarette. you just had one, but the way he spoke to the asshole just a few seconds ago for your sake did something strange inside your head – especially in comparison to the way he’s speaking to you right now. like he read the room and figured out that it wouldn’t be a good time for the usual bickering.

it makes breathing a little harder. it makes something deep in your gut twist in a way it probably shouldn’t. it makes you snap your gaze back to his face the moment you realize how pretty his hands are as he offers you the pack of cigarettes – only making it worse once you notice how good he looks right now.

how pretty he looks when he’s not being a little shit. bastard.

so you take it. of course, because anything else would just be stupid.

you slowly shake your head to yourself as you take the cigarette. “sorry… about that,” you say quietly.

his brows furrow slightly. “what for?”, he asks, already reaching out to light your cigarette.

you inhale. “dragging you into it”, you reply, smoke coming out as you do.

he snorts. “didn’t drag me into anything,” he takes another drag, then gestures vaguely toward the door with the cigarette. “bloke was bein’ a prick, wasn’t he?”

you nod slowly, looking down at the your shoes. and he notices. that you’re quieter, that you seem nervous. he thinks it’s just because of what happened, so he tries to lighten up the mood.

“would’ve punched him in the gob, if you wanted”, he says casually.

you furrow your brows, only then looking up at him and meeting his unimpressed and slightly confused at your reaction stare. “what?”, he says.

you huff out a small laugh, eyebrows still furrowed. “the what?”

he smirks at you like you’ve just said something ridiculous. “the gob”, he repeats.

you stare at him for a second before a laugh finally escapes you. his brows raise softly, a small smile growing on his lips at your reaction.

“what the fuck is a gob, noel?”

he shakes his head, amused now. “a mouth.”

“since when?”

he laughs, shaking his head and taking another drag. “since forever. in manchester”

“jesus. that sounds disgusting.”

he scoffs, but there’s still a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “just a normal word, that”

you shake your head, still smiling faintly, and take another drag of your cigarette. the tension eases a bit at that, replaced by the familiar rhythm you two always seem to fall into.

you exhale, looking at the view, only looking back at noel once he calls out your name.

“hm?”, you say softly as you look at him.

“sure you’re alright?”, he asks.

“yeah,” you say. “i’m okay”

he studies your face for a second like he’s deciding whether to believe you, then finally nods slowly.

“good.”

your eyes flicker to his mouth, and you clear your throat as you catch yourself, being able to brush it off as your gaze falls to the floor. “he, uh… it’s this guy i went out with once. he is a jerk, but…” you say quietly, shrugging. “this is the first time i’ve ran into him since”

he nods, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette. “s’alright”

you nod, still looking at the floor. then a small sheepish laugh escapes out of you before you can even stop yourself, resting a hand over your eyes. the words run as freely, maybe it’s the drinks. or maybe it’s your head doing that stupid thing it shouldn’t. “worst sex of my life”

noel huffs a tiny through his nose. you just miss the way his brows raise a little and the way his throat bobs softly as he swallows. “right”, he says casually, already guiding the cigarette back to his lips so he can take another drag.

you glance back at him.

the way he’s standing there beside you, hair a bit messy, jacket undone enough to expose a little bit of chest hair, cheeks flushed from the cold, his neck. the way he looks like he’s completely unfazed by what just happened and the way he looks like he would’ve done more if it had been necessary.

god, i wanna kiss him right now.

“you want me to keep you company for a bit?” he asks, tone casual. it snaps you back to reality. “just in case the prick comes back.”

you know there’s no chance he will, the guy practically ran inside.

still.

you shrug, like it’s not a big deal. “yeah,” you say. “alright.”

noel nods, shifting to stand a little closer beside you. both of you still looking ahead, and it takes seconds until the conversation starts to easily fill the atmosphere between you two, it even makes you both realize how easy it is to not pretend to hate each other – but, isn’t it so much fun, though?

tonight, you allow yourself to laugh at some of his jokes. tonight, he allows himself to take the piss like you’re just some mate, not some annoying bird he hates.

tonight, the moment the door of your house closes behind you, you allow your drunk self to pick up the pen, sit down on your couch and pour some stupid thoughts in a notebook page.

stupid. stupid. stupid.

you scribble down the lyrics like they’ll make you feel any less borderline pathetic. but it’s the kind of moment no one knows what’s going through your head, is it? it’s the kind of moment where you allow yourself to not pretend that you don’t know he actually has a girlfriend.

you usually just scoff and turn your face away whenever they’re in some stupid magazine, like it’s just for the sake of not standing this obnoxious music journalist. but right now, you can curse the poor girl out for just having stupid perfect blonde hair. and stupid perfect blue eyes.

hm. are they actually blue? you’re not even sure. just bitter.

whatever.

am i attractive? am i good enough? am i pathetic? ha. yes.

that’s must be the only reason stupid fucking noel gallagher has driving you up the wall just because he just told a drunk asshole to fuck off.

that’s… the bare minimum. and that’s noel, which you’re not supposed to feel like this.

and it’s just such a fucking cliche too, isn’t it? the good guy saves the girl from the mean man. and she— what? lets him have her?

god, that’s the worst part. you so would have let him.

you stare down at the pen pressing in harder into the page, the tip scratching against the paper as you chew the inside of your cheek. because you’d never admit out loud – not to your bandmates, not to your friends, not even to yourself most days.

you wanted him to grab you tonight.

not in that savior way. not in the good guy rescues the girl nonsense your brain keeps mocking you for.

you wanted him to press you back against that stupid railing once the guy disappeared. lean in close enough that you could smell the smoke on his jacket and whatever fucking cologne he wears. you wanted him to kiss you. drag you somewhere dark where no one from the party would wander in and interrupt his hands from pushing your dress up.

or, fuck me, take you right there against that fucking railing. his hand on your throat as he whispered in you ear how everyone in london could see you taking his cock so pretty.

jesus.

you’re just writing a song. that’s all it is. a stupid song about a stupid night that shouldn’t have meant anything.

not about a stupid fucking noel gallagher.

or about wanting him fuck you stupid.

ha, word play. that’s why i’m not a ballerina after all.

you sighed, out loud. into the empty room.

jesus, i am pathetic.

he felt different tonight. quieter. and god, he looked good. and he sounded so good being a fucking decent human being – even worse with the accent that, fine, is very hot.

great. now you’re horny and writing songs about it. you rub your face with one hand, letting out a quiet, disbelieving laugh.

“at least i’ll monetize it,” you mutter to yourself, shaking your head.

you sigh for a moment, hands dropping to your lap as you stare at the messy handwriting on the page.

that’s a whole ass song. fuck. i kinda blacked out writing this.

your leg bounces. you keep staring at it, you sigh again.

you hand twitches right over your lap, because your mind drifts again. to his smell, his voice, the way he said your name.

you swallow, but your throat feels a little dry. you stay there for a moment, just staring at the notebook.

then you sigh quietly.

“fuck this.”

you lick your fingers before sliding your hand between your legs, head falling back on the couch with a small sigh as they trail further up.