— how it started 𔓘
pairing: prefame!liam gallagher x female reader
summary: you've known liam gallagher for years. technically. but spending your summer with him turns out to be a little different when he's suddenly got reasons to keep showing up at your house.
cw: none (yet)
a/n: if you haven't, please read the In Bloom masterlist every blurb/one shot belongs to the same timeline, though they wont always be posted in chronological order.
this might be a bit boring, but im just trying to get you in context, okay?
manchester, 1989
the pale morning light filtered through the curtains of your bedroom, spilling across the stack of introductory law books you’d been trying to get through since the night before. maybe it was too much, too soon, but you wanted to make the most of your last summer before uni and whatever adulthood had waiting for you.
by now, the words had blurred into meaningless lines of ink. you kept rereading the same paragraph over and over until you couldn’t even remember what it was supposed to be about.
the mattress had finally reached that perfect warmth, soft enough to pull you under and never let you go. by the time the sun had fully come up, you were too exhausted to keep pretending you were getting any studying done, so you slid the bookmark between the pages, left the book on your bedside table and pulled the duvet over your shoulder with a relieved sigh.
maybe you could finally relax… for exactly three seconds.
“oi! pack it in, would ya?”
a voice rang out from somewhere beyond your bedroom window. then a persistent bark.
“piss off, ya git.”
the dog barked again.
“yeah? keep yappin’. see where that gets ya.”
you buried your face deeper into the pillow, begging for whoever was outside to give up. instead, you heard the loud pull of a starter cord and the unmistakable roar of a lawnmower shattered your morning.
you groaned into your pillow and dragged yourself out of bed, over to the window.
of all people: liam gallagher. the same boy who’d sat right at the back of your year in school, always shouting, always getting told off, never doing a tap of work. and now he was mowing your lawn while the neighbour’s dog looked set on tearing his trousers clean off.
still half-asleep and dressed only in your nightgown, you stared through the glass, your brain too foggy to question why he was even there.
then your heart nearly stopped as the mower rolled straight over your tiny patch of pansies. your beautiful, beloved pansies you’d nurtured for months: watered before breakfast, every weed pulled by hand, waiting so long for them to bloom. all gone in less than five seconds because some lanky idiot couldn’t keep a mower in a straight line.
“oh, you’ve got to be taking the piss…”
your slippers slapped hard against the floor as you stormed downstairs, nearly tripping over the last step before throwing the front door open.
“oi!”
liam glanced over his shoulder without even switching the mower off.
“what?”
you pointed at what used to be your flower bed. he followed your finger, stared down at the flattened earth, then back at you.
“they’re a bit fucked now, aren’t they?”
you stared at him.
“a bit?”
“could’ve been worse. could’ve run over yer cat or summat.”
“i don’t have a cat.”
“there ya go then.”
“you’re an absolute knob!”
finally, he turned the engine off.
“bit dramatic, aren’t ya?”
“bit thick, aren’t you?”
“they’ll grow back. calm down.”
he grabbed the cord again. one pull. nothing. the engine coughed and died. you folded your arms.
“broken it already? thought you knew what you were doing!”
“i do.”
“clearly.”
this time he stopped. looked up at you proper, squinting against the sun, that stupid little smirk tugging at his mouth.
“you always this moody first thing?”
“you fucking killed my fucking flowers just ’cause you could!”
then your dad appeared in the yard with a mug of tea.
“oi! what’s all this noise about?”
“this twat just crushed my flowers and he’s not even sorry! you know how much i—”
for a second, liam looked proper worried, like he thought your dad would kick him off the house before he’d even finished half the job.
“leave the lad be, love. you’ll grow some more.”
alright, maybe you were being dramatic, but it still stung, seeing them act like all that time and care was nothing. your eyes burned as you looked at liam, and that stupid grin stayed on his face.
“they’re not just flowers—”
“i’ve got to get to work.” he kissed the top of your head, then nodded at liam. “mind the borders next time, son.”
“yeah, alright.”
your dad pointed his mug at you. “go get dressed. ain’t proper, you standin’ out here like that.”
you glanced down. right. you’d been in such a rush to kill liam gallagher you’d forgotten you were standing in the front garden in nothing but a short cotton nightdress and slippers. your cheeks burned hot. dad chuckled and headed inside, the door clicking shut behind him.
liam leaned on the mower handle, and his eyes dropped slowly. first your bare legs, then up the hem of your nightdress, lingering just a second too long before he met your gaze again, grinning wider, no shame at all.
“an’ here i thought the dog was the annoying one. you done shoutin’ at me yet?”
you opened your mouth to snap back, but he spoke first.
“like what i see, though. reckon you can keep the nightdress on if you want. reckon it suits ya.”
you just stared. he smirked, tipping his head.
you turned and walked back inside, hoping he hadn’t noticed your glossy eyes or how hot your face was.
“careful, princess! wouldn’t wanna flatten you an’ all!”
he chuckled and pulled at the cord again as you left. even with your back turned, you could feel that stupid smirk on you.
☁︎
a week goes by.
saturday morning, the mower starts up again. you tell yourself you don’t care, stay away from the window. but eventually, you peek through the glass.
he’s careful this time, slowing right down by the edges.
when he’s done, he doesn’t leave. he drops the mower by the shed and pulls a crumpled bunch of daisies from behind his back, then drops to one knee right where he ran over your pansies.
he digs little holes with his thumb and pats the earth down clumsily. every now and then, he glances up at the house, then looks away fast. almost like he hopes you’re watching, but hopes you aren’t at the same time.
you watch until he stands, dusts his hands off on his jeans, and looks straight at your window.
you freeze.
he gives a lazy little nod.
a minute later, you hear the gate click, so you decide to go down and open the door. he’s still there, leaning on the post like he got caught loitering.
he nods at the patch.
“ain’t no pansies,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. “didn’t know what they were called anyway. asked me mam, she said they’re fussy buggers an’ i’d only kill ’em again. these don’t need nowt, see? tough little things.”
he adds fast, all defensive:
“didn’t nick ’em. well… only off the common. nobody owns ’em there.”
you step out a little, looking at the messy clump of white flowers. crooked, and only half buried. nothing like your old pansies.
but he hadn’t said sorry before, this felt like one.
“they’re daisies,” you say softly.
“yeah. whatever. they’ll stick around, won’t they? unlike them daft things.”
he shoves his hands in his pockets, already backing off like he’s scared you’ll laugh.
“right. that’s it then. won’t mow ’em over again. promise.”
“thank you.”
he nods, already turning away.
“i’m off then. see ya saturday.”
☁︎
it was rare to see liam so engaged in the same job for more than two weeks, but helping his mum pay for something or simply not asking her for cash was worth it. especially for someone who’d rather spend his money on pints and fags.
your dad would pay him to do the little jobs he never had time for because of his work. mowing the lawn once a week or sorting the gutters was easy money for liam, and today was no different.
you were getting ready to hang out with a friend for lunch. after all, you hadn’t seen her much since school had finished.
“love?”
you leaned back inside.
“what?”
“would you take that screwdriver out to the lad? left it on the counter.”
“can’t you?”
“hands are full.”
you looked at the ceiling for a moment.
“course they are.”
you grabbed the screwdriver and stepped outside.
liam was kneeling by the mower, one knee in the grass, muttering under his breath while trying to line something up.
“my dad said you needed this.”
he looked up.
for a second, he didn’t answer.
his eyes flicked over you just enough to notice.
the skirt.
the cardigan.
your hair.
“you actually own clothes that ain’t a nightdress.”
you rolled your eyes.
“disappointed?”
“little bit.”
you held the screwdriver out.
“here.”
he took it.
“cheers.”
instead of getting straight back to work, he turned it over in his hand.
“where ya off to then?”
“meeting my friends.”
“oh.”
he looked back at the mower.
“thought you never left the house.”
“funny.”
“’m serious.”
“i do leave the house.”
“could’ve fooled me.”
you leaned against the fence.
“you only see me on saturday mornings. can’t make assumptions based on tha’. plus, i’ve got study.”
“alright, alright! didn’t think you had any mates.”
“that’s ridiculous.”
he gave a small shrug.
“just never see ya.”
“i’m usually busy.”
“with what?”
“studying.”
“you actually enjoy that?”
“i wouldn’t go that far.”
“could’ve fooled me.”
you smiled to yourself.
“so you just assume the worst 'bout people?”
“only the ones i don’t know.”
“you’ve known me for years.”
“nah.”
he shook his head.
“we went to the same school.”
“exactly.”
“that’s knowing someone.”
“it ain’t.”
he pushed the screwdriver into place before glancing up at you again.
“i know you sat near the front.”
“you sat at the back.”
“i know.”
“you got kicked out of english twice.”
“three times.”
“and mr thompson said you’d never keep a job.”
a crooked grin spread across his face.
“shows what he knew.”
you looked around the garden.
“i suppose it does.”
you watched him fiddle with the engine for another moment.
“does it happen often?”
“what?”
“you breaking things.”
“only with the fucking expensive ones.”
you chuckled.
“my dad still trustin’ you is a miracle.”
“proper desperate to get the job sorted.”
he bent back over the mower, tightening something beneath the engine.
you watched for a minute before speaking again.
“so? have you fixed it?”
he looked up at you as if you’d asked the stupidest question imaginable.
“’course i have.”
“you haven’t even started it.”
he shook his head, muttering something under his breath before wrapping one hand around the starter cord.
“watch.”
he gave it a hard pull.
nothing.
again.
nothing.
you raised an eyebrow.
“i’m watchin’.”
he ignored you and pulled again, but it was useless.
he shifted away from the mower with exaggerated reluctance, lifting both hands in surrender.
“fix it then, einstein.”
“i never said i could.”
“nah, but you’re actin’ like you can.”
you gave him an unimpressed look before leaning closer to the engine.
you reached inside carefully, trying to move a small lever you’d seen your dad adjust countless times before.
“it should just…”
you frowned, pushing a little harder.
behind you, liam folded his arms.
“need me yet?”
“quiet.”
“you don’t know what you’re touchin’.”
“i know enough.”
“you definitely don’t.”
you pushed again.
with a sharp hiss, a smear of thick black grease coated your fingers and fell straight across the front of your cardigan.
for a long second, neither of you spoke.
you stared at the stain spreading across the knit.
“…oh.”
liam bit the inside of his cheek.
you looked up slowly.
“don’t.”
“i’m not.”
“it’s bad, innit? gosh, i’ve just put this on.”
“told ya not to touch it.”
“you absolutely did not.”
“i was about to.”
“well, that’s very helpful now.”
he reached into the toolbox beside him and pulled out an old rag that was already stained with oil. he looked at it and then at your already ruined cardigan.
then quietly put it back.
“…yeah. that’s no use.”
he rubbed the back of his neck.
“i’ll… buy ya another one.”
you blinked.
“you?”
his ears reddened almost imperceptibly.
“if it won’t come out.”
you looked at him for a second before glancing back down at the stain.
“…you’re not buying me a cardigan, liam.”
“no?”
“no.”
a corner of your mouth lifted.
“it wasn’t your fault. i should’ve ignored your complete inability to fix a lawnmower.”
he scoffed.
“cruel.”
“true.”
he looked back at the stain for a moment.
“least i can do is buy ya a pint.”
“to make up for the cardigan?”
“yeah.”
“how charitable.”
“don’t get used to it.”
you smiled, shaking your head as you pulled at the damp sleeve.
“i’ll survive.”
“’course you will.”
you looked towards the house.
“i should probably get going.”
“right.”
you turned and made it halfway across the garden.
“oi.”
you glanced back.
liam was still standing beside the mower, spinning the screwdriver absent-mindedly between his fingers.
he looked almost annoyed with himself.
“…could make it tonight.”
you frowned.
“what?”
“the pint.”
he shrugged.
“if you’re free.”
“you mean… just us?”
“’spose.”
“i thought this was compensation.”
“it is.”
“and now it’s not?”
he scratched the back of his neck.
"dont make it fucking weird, i didn’t say that.”
you laughed quietly.
“alright, then.”
he looked at you.
“alright what?”
“i’ll go.”
his eyebrows lifted.
“that easy?”
“don’t get excited.”
“wasn’t.”
you glanced towards the house.
“but you’re coming to get me.”
he frowned. “i can walk.”
“i know.”
“then what’s the problem?”
“what problem?"
he stared at you for a second, finally catching on.
“oh, you’re havin’ a laugh.”
“maybe.”
“you want me to come round yours?”
“you invited me.”
“yeah, i know.”
“and i’m not showing up at the pub by myself.”
he rolled his eyes, though there was already a grin threatening at the corner of his mouth.
“alright. i’ll come round.”
“eight.”
“eight.”
“and don’t be late.”
“bossy thing.”
“otherwise it’s a no.”
he pointed the screwdriver at you.
“yeah, yeah. eight.”
you started towards the door.
“see you then.”
“oi.”
you looked back.
he was still watching you.
“…wear somethin’ nice.”
you raised an eyebrow.
“was planning on it.”
his mouth twitched.
“good.”
you turned back towards the house before he could see the smile you’d been trying not to let out.
☁︎
you grabbed your bag and headed downstairs, giving yourself one last look in the mirror before opening the door.
liam was already outside.
he was leaning against the wall beside the steps, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, looking down the street pretending to be completely unbothered and just casually there.
you stopped when you saw him.
“you're early.”
“am not.”
“you are.”
he glanced at the watch on his wrist, then shrugged.
“clock's probably wrong.”
you laughed softly as you stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind you.
his eyes dropped to your clothes before he could stop them. the skirt, the little jacket, your hair done differently than it usually was when he saw you on saturday mornings.
“what?” you asked.
“nowt.”
you gave him a look and he pushed himself off the wall.
“just didn't know you had all that.”
you looked down at yourself.
“all what?”
“don't start.”
a smile tugged at your mouth.
“you were staring.”
“wasn't.”
“you were.”
“come on, we're gonna be late.”
“late for what?”
“the fucking pub.”
he started down the pavement before you could answer, and you followed, still smiling to yourself.
“you haven't even told me where we're going.”
“you'll see.”
“very helpful.”
“you ask too many questions.”
“and you answer none of them.”
“works out, then.”
-
for a little while, you walked without saying much. every now and then your arms brushed, and neither of you made a point of moving away.
then, as you turned onto the next street, liam glanced sideways at you.
“so these mates you're always going on about…”
“what about them?”
“they gonna be gutted you're not seein' 'em tonight?”
you looked at him. "probably not. i saw them a few days ago.”
“right.”
he nodded, apparently satisfied with that, and carried on walking.
you didn't think much of it until a few seconds later.
“what?”
“nowt. just wondered who you were always disappearing off with.”
“i don't disappear.”
“you do from where i'm standin'.”
“you only see me once a week.”
“exactly.”
you let out a small laugh.
“that's your fault.”
“how's that my fault?”
“you could've said hello at school.”
he looked at you like you'd just accused him of something ridiculous.
“i did.”
“no. you probably just shouted 'move' to me a couple times.”
“see? that's hello.”
you laughed again, and he smiled to himself, looking down at the pavement.
after that, the conversation drifted somewhere else. you told him about something stupid your friend had done at school, and he interrupted twice to tell you that your friend sounded like a dick. you told him he hadn't even met her. he said he didn't need to.
by the time the pub came into view, you'd stopped noticing how close you were walking.
-
the pub was busier than you'd expected, and you ended up staying longer than you'd planned.
you'd spent most of the evening beside liam, sometimes talking, sometimes listening while he got carried away with stories about people you didn't know. he'd introduced you to a few of the lads, disappeared to the bar more than once, and somehow always ended up back beside you.
by the time you left, it was late enough that the streets had gone mostly quiet.
you walked together, taking the longer way without really discussing it.
at one point you mentioned university again. liam asked what you were actually going to study, and when you told him, he made a face that made you laugh.
“law?”
"yeah. what about it?"
he started walking again, shaking his head.
“nowt. suits you. tellin' people what to do and that.”
you laughed.
“that's not what lawyers do.”
“sounds like it."
he was quiet for a moment, then talked again “what sort of lawyer?”
you told him.
this time he didn't make a joke a about it. his eyebrows were slightly raised, occasionally asking something that made it clear he hadn't really understood what you were talking about but you explained anyway.
by the time you reached your street, he'd somehow managed to make you talk more about university than you'd talked about it all week.
your house came into view.
you slowed at the gate, suddenly aware that the walk had gone quicker than you'd wanted.
“well.”
“well.”
neither of you moved.
then liam nodded towards the house.
“your dad's got me sorting the gutters next saturday.”
you looked at him.
“again?”
“apparently.”
“he's got you doing everything.”
“told ya. easy money.”
“you'll probably break something.”
“probably.”
you smiled and pushed the gate open.
“fine. i'll see you saturday.”
he looked down at you.
“yeah?”
you realised what you'd just said.
“for the gutters.”
“course.”
you rolled your eyes.
he was still smiling when you reached your gate.
you'd barely made it two steps towards the house when you heard him behind you.
“oi.”
you turned.
liam hadn't moved from the gate. his hands were buried in his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched against the cold.
“what?”
he looked at you, then away.
for once, he seemed to be thinking before he spoke.
his eyes dropped briefly to your skirt.
“wear that again saturday.”
you stared at him.
“excuse me?”
“you heard.”
a smile was already threatening at the corner of your mouth.
“why?”
“dunno.”
“liam.”
“what?”
“you just told me to wear the same thing again.”
“yeah.”
“and you don't know why?”
he shrugged, looking down the street.
“looked alright.”
it was probably the closest he'd get to admitting he'd spent half the night looking at you.
you folded your arms.
“that's your idea of a compliment?”
“don't push it.”
you laughed.
he started backing away from the gate.
“night.”
“goodnight, liam.”
he was already walking away, laughing under his breath.
you stood by the gate, watching him go.
then, just before he reached the corner, he looked back, and you were still there.
he lifted his chin once, and you flushed as he caught you doing something you shouldn't.
you rolled your eyes at his smirk and finally went inside.
☁︎
when you heard him working outside your house, you tried to wait a bit so you dont look to excited, but eventually dragged yourself downstairs with your hair still half-done and pretending you hadn't been waiting for him.
liam was already halfway through the gutters.
your dad had left him a ladder, a bucket and a list of things that needed doing. judging by the amount of swearing coming from the garden, he wasn't particularly grateful.
you tried to study.
you really did.
you sat by the kitchen window with your book open, got through perhaps three pages, then realised you'd been staring at the same sentence for the last five minutes.
outside, liam moved the ladder.
you looked up.
he glanced towards the window at exactly the same moment.
you immediately looked back down, frowned at the book, but still heard him laugh.
prick.
by late morning, your dad had gone out and liam had finished the gutters. you were in the kitchen making tea when the back door opened.
you turned.
he stood there with dirt on his hands, a leaf caught against the shoulder of his jacket and a look on his face that suggested he already knew he was pushing his luck.
“your dad said i could wash me hands.”
“congratulations.”
he ignored that and went to the sink.
you watched him scrub the dirt from underneath his fingernails, then reached for the tea towel.
he dried his hands on it.
“that's clean.”
“not anymore.”
“liam.”
he looked over his shoulder.
“what?”
“give me that.”
he held onto the towel.
you stared at him.
“seriously?”
“ask nicely.”
“you're such a child.”
“yeah.”
you reached for it.
you tugged again, mostly because you refused to let him win over something as stupid as a tea towel.
he didn't move. neither did you.
you became suddenly aware of the fact that you were standing far too close to him. close enough to see the tiny crease between his eyebrows when he looked at you, the damp strands of hair falling over his forehead, the faint smell of soap still clinging to his hands.
his eyes dropped to your mouth and your grip loosened.
“liam.”
“what?”
he didn't move closer, and just stared at your face, waiting for any sort of reaction from you.
you could've stepped away, but didnt.
his hand loosened around the towel as he leaned in.
the first kiss was almost nothing.
just his mouth against yours for a second, soft and tentative in a way that didn't suit him at all.
then he pulled back and you stared at eachother.
you could practically see the moment he started wondering whether he'd fucked it up.
which, annoyingly, made you want to laugh.
“what?” he muttered.
“nothing.”
“you're smirkin'.”
“i'm not.”
“you are.”
you were.
his eyes dropped to your mouth again.
this time, you didn't wait for him.
you caught the front of his jacket and pulled him back in.
his hand found your waist almost immediately, and the kiss lost whatever awkwardness the first one had had. you could feel him smiling when you kissed him, which only made you pull him closer and bite lightly at his lower lip.
he stopped smiling.
“oh, shut up,” you murmured against his mouth.
“i haven't said anything.”
“you were about to.”
“wasn't.”
“liar.”
he kissed you again before you could keep going.
your hand slid higher into his jacket, fingers catching against the collar as he backed you half a step into the counter. the edge pressed against your hip, and you let out a quiet little sound of surprise that made him pull away just enough to look at you.
you suddenly remembered exactly where you were.
your dad could come back at any minute.
you glanced towards the window.
liam followed your eyes.
“what?”
“my dad.”
“he's out.”
“he's going to come back.”
“probably.”
you looked back at him.
“then maybe don't-”
he kissed you again.
you broke away with a laugh, pushing at his shoulder.
“liam.”
“what?”
“you're fucking impossible.”
“you were kissin' me.”
“you kissed me first.”
“and you did it again.”
you opened your mouth and when nothing came out, his grin appeared again.
☁︎
there was something particularly embarrassing about how quickly you'd started recognising the sound of him turning up.
you'd hear the gate, the mower being dragged across the grass, his voice carrying through the garden when he inevitably started arguing with the dog next door.
you'd wait a few minutes before going downstairs.
usually.
sometimes you didn't bother pretending.
your dad did ask him back. sometimes for the gutters, sometimes for the garden, sometimes for things liam swore he'd been asked to do and you weren't entirely convinced existed.
once, he showed up with a screwdriver in his back pocket and no explanation whatsoever.
“what's broken?”
“nowt.”
“then why are you here?”
“your dad said—”
“my dad's at work.”
he'd looked at you for a second.
“right.”
and then he'd come inside anyway.
it became like that.
he'd sit on the kitchen counter while you studied, steal bits of whatever your mum had left out, complain about being bored and then get annoyed when you told him to leave you alone.
sometimes you'd actually get work done.
sometimes you wouldn't.
sometimes he'd kiss you halfway through a sentence and act like that was somehow your fault, or you'd end up arguing over something stupid for twenty minutes and he'd leave without even touching you.
☁︎
there was never a conversation about the first kiss, so there wasn't one about the second either. after a while, asking what you were doing together started to feel more awkward than simply carrying on.
you weren't dating.
at least, that was what you'd tell yourself if anyone asked.
your parents didn't know, either. your dad trusted liam with his garden, his tools, his gutters. you weren't particularly interested in finding out how he'd feel about the rest of it.
one afternoon, liam was sprawled across one of the kitchen chairs while you tried to read.
“your dad coming back soon?”
you glanced towards the clock.
“why?”
“just asking.”
“you're nervous?”
“fuck off.”
you smiled.
“you are.”
“i'm not nervous. your dad's just a miserable bastard.”
“he likes you.”
“yeah, 'cause i do a good job.”
you looked over your book.
“do you?”
he looked at you for a second.
then his eyes dropped to your mouth.
“usually.”
you barely had time to roll your eyes before his hand caught your waist and he kissed you.
you pulled away first.
“liam.”
“what?”
“my dad could walk in.”
“then don't make so much fucking noise.”
you stared at him.
“you're unbelievable.”
“so? want to snog or not?”
you opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out.
his grin came back immediately.
“thought so.”
༝༚༝༚
