#oasis fluff

★ February 2014

2014 had arguably started off as of the worst years of Liam’s life. The divorce ripping through headlines;

“Betrayal at Britpop’s Heart: Nicole Walks After Liam’s Secret Affair Exposed”

“Love Child Bombshell Shatters Liam & Nicole’s Rock ‘n’ Roll Marriage”

Heartbreak & Headlines: Inside the Explosive End of a Music Power Couple

The memories of the hell that had been the past year of his life, the heartbreak, the screaming, the fighting, Gene cowering in his bedroom, trying to get away from the tidal force wave of the household crumbling around them where they stand. Each memory refreshed with each new splitting headline.

It seemed Liam had never made it out of the news, once again breaking the press with the split of his failed band, Beady Eye:

“Beady Eye Blindsided: Liam Pulls the Plug in Shock Split”

“Another Band Bites the Dust: Gallagher’s Post-Oasis Dream Collapses”

“From Oasis Ashes to Final Fade: Beady Eye Calls It Quits”

It had seemed, from the way his life was falling apart, that Liam was done in for. Nights spent in his flat, the sound of Nicole humming in the kitchen gone, Gene, who hardly saw him now, shouting at the tv no longer rang in his ears, there were no calls to his phone from production asking whether Beady Eye were going to get back in the studio, no arrangements, nothing.

Liam Gallagher, once so large, once on top of the Britpop scene, was now reduced to nothing.

Spending days in complete squalor, the temporary flat his management secured for him littered with stale unfinished beer bottles, laundry piling up at the foot of his bed that he never bothered to make.

He felt like a total failure, he couldn’t do anything right.

That was, until he met you.

It’d been another of those lonely nights, trapped in his own head in the pub, drinking his life away over some drink strong enough to knock a horse off it’s feet, he hardly felt it anymore. But what he had felt, was you, slinking into the stool beside him, ordering some daft cocktail in that sweet little voice that felt like something new. Something clean, something that rang out, opportunity.

You’d turned your head, the bartender busy shaking up your drink no longer captivating your attention, instead allowing your gaze to fall over the man sitting, brooding, knocking back drink after drink in the stool next to you.

“Who shit in your cereal?”

Liam’s head snapped up at the sound of your voice breaking through the wall in his head, finally lifting his gaze to meet yours, curious, youthful, a shocked laugh escaping his lips as he leans back, scrutinising you.

“You what?”

“You look like someone’s just kicked your puppy, cheer up a little”

You’d slid the fruity cocktail towards him, sliding away the bitter little shot glass that lay staring up at him like a threat, now replaced by some swirling blue drink. Liam couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe that someone was here, not treating him like he’d ruined the lives of everyone around him, not treating him like a failure. Just like he was human.

He managed another laugh, tilting his head as he looks away from the little cocktail in front of him, “Do you not know who I am?”

“You’re Liam Gallagher, right?”

He could only blink, sitting up a little straighter in his seat, stretching his arms in a feign of nonchalance just to do something, do anything.

“Uh, yeah?”

“You don’t sound so sure”

And with that, you sat there, the two of you, some of the weight lifted off his shoulders. He finally felt human again, somehow.

An hour had passed with the two of you sat there like that, chatting amicably, it wasn’t anything high tense, wasn’t anything for him to turn into a massive drama, just… talking?

It’d been a long while since Liam had met some pretty thing like you at the bar, and not taken her back to his house, the thought had approached him once or twice during the night but you were just so, nice? For once he just let himself sit there, let himself being entertained by you, by the idea of you.

“No one on the scene then? Valentines is right around the corner”

The way you’d said it sounded far too normal, like the fact that his wife had left him shouldn’t have sent him into such a spiral, but in his heart if hearts, he can’t help but feel oddly touched by that notion. But in true Liam Gallagher fashion, he can’t let himself seem pathetic, as he’d put it.

“Not really my holiday”, He’d shrugged it off, picking up the strange swirling liquid in the glass you’d extended towards him, sarcasm dripping off his words, “Bit commercial, innit?”

Dismissive, slightly cold. But what surprised him, was the way you’d managed to bounce right back off his words, a laugh bubbling from your throat as you shrugged right back, the action a lot less cynical on your end.

“That’s tragic. You could at least use it for discounted chocolate.”

You’d paused, faces meeting one another in the dim lighting of the bar, he’d looked oddly conflicted, like he’d wanted to say something, wanted to quip right back, but your words had him lost.

“You seem like the type to hate romance but secretly want it.”

It was almost like, you knew him.

It was late when either of you even began to think of moving, you’d rolled your shoulders, the couple of discarded glasses between you gathering condensation at the late hour. You’d rejected his advances, his probing hinting at ‘leavin’ this joint’, passing it off as crude, a man just wanting some emotional stimulation after what felt like a lifetime of everyone shutting doors in his face.

But, as you turned to leave, the sight of a paper napkin sliding across his eyeline caught his attention.

xxx-xxxxx-xxx – call me when you’re lonely x

And he just about managed to rip his eyes away from it, hand clenched on his knee as he watched you push your way out of the bar.

Maybe, just maybe, things could be okay for him from here.

★ September 2014

He hadn’t texted you, couldn’t face it, the words on the napkin slightly smudged from the wet condensation of the glass he’d rested it under. He pretended like it wasn’t for safekeeping, like he wasn’t thinking about that exact moment.

But as he made his way up to the pub, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his ridiculously oversized parka, he tried to rationalise it with himself.

It’s not like she’s going to be here- he knew it was a high possibility you would be, having done a late night snoop of your socials after Gene had declined coming round to his flat for the night, having seen consistent posts of the same backdrop you’d opened a new door to his life under,

He shook his head defiantly as he’d shouldered open the door to the pub, it’s been almost seven months, he thinks to himself, no way in hell you’d be there waiting for him.

Except, you were there, and it was almost like, you were actually waiting there for him. Sat on that same barstool, and he’d slid himself right into the neighbouring one, like nothing had ever happened. There were no sharp quips about him not calling you, no disappointed look on your face at the fact he hadn’t said a word to you in nine months. He wasn’t used to this level of non-toxicity. It was almost refreshing.

“Y’know,” You’d started, smiling up at him as he received his usual drink, “That shit’s like paint thinner, fucking awful”

“You tried it then did you?” He manages a tired dig-back, deep eyes sparkling with something new as he teases you, the banter having flown back and forth, “Thinkin’ about me?”

“You’re the one who must’ve missed me, Liam, coming back to haunt me all these months later”

You’d watched as he tried to down the shot without grimacing, laughing as you leant over him, ordering him a nice pint of larger to chase the burn, “You trying to pickle yourself?”

He found himself liking the sound of your laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners as he let the warm larger slip down his throat. The sensation growing on him throughout the night. However, he’d pretended it was his idea, the larger, the fact he’d come to the bar tonight ‘of his own volition’

“You don’t even know what ‘volition’ means”

Your eyes had sparkled like something magic.

You’d denied his request to come home with him.

However, you’d both promised, pinky promised, that you’d ‘hang out’ sometime, in your own words.

★ Late November 2014

It was cold, the day he’d opened his flat to you, he was somewhat startled at the sight of you in his doorway, blinking sheepishly as he stood to the side, watching as you bowled your way into his flat, into his life.

“Take your shoes off, keeping it spick and span in here” He’d teased, clearly a joke given the complete state of his flat, watching as you felt the stagnant air of a post-divorce male unsure where his life was going now. You’d just nodded, slowly unravelling the scarf from around your neck as you turned to look up at him, “Yeah, I can see that” You’d said, almost too bright for the flat to handle, already shining a little lighter with your presence.

He watched carefully as you stepped further into his flat, squinting past the stale light, eyes scanning the fortress of laundry and empty bottles, “Wow”, He laughed at the way you’d enunciated the words, rubbing gently at his stubbled jaw as he closed the door, remembering himself for a moment.

“This is ambitious”

He just managed a shrug, looking around the less than ideal living conditions, it wasn’t dirty, not to you, just…sad.

He tried to pretend like it wasn’t a complete disaster, strolling casually to stand next to you, the thoughts churning behind his eyes.

“It’s lived in”

“Lived in?” You’d repeated back to him, smiling softly as you picked up a crumpled shirt from the floor, holding it up with exaggerated disgust, a laugh bubbling from your chest, “I think you’re confusing it with ‘apocalyptic’”

Over the short couple of hours, you’d already managed to make him feel a little more at ease.

You’d moved to the window, pushing it open with a grunt of exertion. The cold breeze had rattled at the blinds. But you turned to him anyway, listing one hand to gesture at the cool air now flowing through into the flat, “Better?” You’d asked smiling slightly.

Liam didn’t answer for a second, just watched the room, the flat, and he seemed to finally breathe for the first time in months.

“Well, it’s no mansion I guess.”

“It’s depressing, is what it is, but it’s salvageable”

He’d finally kissed you that night, you’d been close to him, helping him tidy, just brief contact such as the bumping of shoulders, the passing of an article of clothing between the two of you, the gentle touch of your soft hand against his shoulder as you calmly reassured him. The way you’d laughed at his daft little jokes, and the way he’d noticed your presence differently than anyone else.

You’d started wrapping yourself back up in your scarf, slipping your shoes on. He caught himself, not wanting you to leave, watching as you opened his door, the cross breeze ruffling your soft hair in a way that made you look almost angelic.

He’d smirked as you turned to face him, batting away the hand you’d extended for a friendly handshake.

“Don’t be a fuckin’ weirdo, yeah?” Pulling you into a warm hug, arms tense around your shoulders, the both of you just letting yourselves stand there for a moment.

And then, he’d ducked his head, lips gently skimming over yours in the gentlest kiss Liam had ever given anyone, spurred by the appreciation of your assistance with tidying the flat, with the tension of the past couple of times he’d sat with you in the pub.

Neither of you pulled away for a moment, until he did. Looking down at you with a playful smirk.

“Thanks for your help, birdie”

That night after you’d left, he found himself picking up the bottles, tossing them with that self-appointed ‘Rocker’ carelessness, folding the laundry into as neat piles as he could manage, to push them into now organised draws, stacking things in their proper places.

The room felt lighter now, graced with the sweet, warm scent of your perfume still lingering in the walls, himself still buzzing slightly from the brief moment of shared contact you’d shared together. He feels weightless, leaning back against the wall as he surveyed the flat.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start. A small start.                  

★ December 2014

There wasn’t a label that could’ve been put on the two of you. It was something that was beginning to bud into something beautiful, brought from something so horrible, something that he’d almost began to forget about.

Almost.

The question came on another dark, cold night, Tucked in on the couch next to each other, blanket draped across both of your legs, glasses drained of the wine they once held now blushed red with the dregs of the alcohol.

But then, you lean forward, Liam’s sharp gaze tracks, as it’s learned to do.

“What are you going to do now?”

It’s a simple question, and to most, it wouldn’t even require any thought at all. But, given how his life had trajected over the past year, how he was suddenly lost within himself , he found himself unable to answer. But, your tone is careful, casual with that familiar undertone of curiosity and concern.

Liam just freezes, hand stilling where it had been rubbing soft little circles over your knee, mind racing yet at the same time, completely empty. He just shifts, tapping his fingers against the soft fabric of your leggings, briefly shifting his eyes away from yours.

“Do you really wanna know?” He says it, soft, hushed.

“I think I already do”

He swallows. Nothing much follows, the silence stretching heavily around him. Were you, encouraging him? Trying to get him out of this slump? Or just accusing him, like the press had been doing, like his wife had done.

The question lay heavy in the air, without the band, without his marriage, his kids, he doesn’t know who he is. Failures. Headlines. Empty flats, loneliness, brief fragmented thoughts running rampant through his mind.

But then, all he can do is kiss you, leaning over with a heavy hand on your jaw, lips locked together like you’re the air he needed when he was drowning. You reciprocate, arms coming around his shoulders to anchor him down to earth as his tongue intruded your mouth, eyes screwed shut like he just wants to be here, wants to feel this moment.

The way he carried you to the bedroom was completely effortless, dropping you down onto the bed as he hovered over you,

“God, you’re a sight”

He murmured, kissing desperately down the column of your throat, hands sliding up over your sides as if he couldn’t get enough of you. His hands made their way to the soft edge of your leggings, eyes catching yours just for a moment, a silent bid for your consent, blue eyes electric under his heavy set brows.

He let out a shuddering breath as you nodded, eyes half rolling into the back of his head as he tugged your leggings and panties down in one swift thrust. Gently, he settled himself between your legs, thumbs pulling your drooling folds apart as he stared down in awe. A tentative kiss pressed itself to your clit, spurred on by the breathy little moan that shot from your lips, he wrapped his lips around the throbbing little bud, making eye contact as you gasped.

He stayed there for a while, licking languid stripes up your folds, holding you down with big hands splayed across the tops of your thighs where they met your hip bones, thumbs rubbing loving circles into the skin there as he lost himself in your taste, your scent, the way your soft thighs clenched around his stubbled face. You were both equally as messy as each other, you, hands running over his recently shorn hair, desperate to hold onto something, back arched off the bed as Liam slurped crudely at your folds, and him, face flushed from the heat of you, shaking his head side to side as he sought to bring you to your climax.

As you came with a shuddering groan, Liam’s hips thrusting gently against the silken sheets, your purchase, below him, he leaned back, thumb coming to rub gentle little circles over your twitching clit, cooing softly as you whine in overstimulation,

“Too much for you then, bird?” He whispered softly, one arm wiping away the slick spread of your juices dripping down his chin, but his eyes softened as he watched you giggle, tilting your head up for the eager kiss he leant down to press to your lips, smiling as he hears your muffled laughter ring in his ears, “What’s so funny, eh?”

“You”

When he finally pushed into you, it felt like home. Him, propped up on strong forearms digging into the sheets either side of your head, foreheads pressed together as he hiked your leg up onto his hips, slowly thrusting into you.

He snickered as you gasped loudly, hands coming to clutch at his back as he slowly began to move inside of you. It felt intimate, yet intimidating. Holding you, this soft little thing, that had already done far too much good in his life, feeling how his dick stretched your gummy walls out, him moaning pathetically as he let his forehead, slightly clammed with the sweat of exertion, fall down onto your clavicle.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful”

“Like it when I touch you there sweetheart? No g’on, tell me” Slowing his thrusts when you didn’t immediately comply.

And he definitely couldn’t handle it when the softest, sweetest little mumble of, “Please, daddy”, tumbled from your lips, thrusts slowing slightly as he groaned, brows furrowed as he tried to not cum inside you then and there like a teenager. Instead, he just let himself feel this, let himself feel you, picking up the thrusts again as a calloused thumb came down to rub gentle circles again over your clit, smiling, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

He stayed there for a moment, one hand coming to cup the other side of your face, pressing your cheeks together in a rare show of intimacy from the usually brash man, nodding desperately against you, kissing the height of your cheekbone, “Yeah, sweetheart, daddy’s got ya, I know”

Then, later in the night, when all you can do is fight off sleep pressed against the warmth of his chest, he realises, he doesn’t have an answer to your earlier question.

But he wishes he did.

And he’s going to learn how to find it.

For you.

★ New Year’s eve 2014

This time last year Liam couldn’t have imagined a worse time in his life, no wife, splitting band, the complete works. Last year, Liam, in his own true fashion, would’ve been in the pub by now, knocking back reckless shots, singing boisterously to the amped up tunes of the bar, getting ready for the turn of the new year. He lived a rockstar’s lifestyle after all, or at least, he tried his best to fill that role.

However, that’s not how he’s spending it this year. He’s spending it with you, since little by little you’ve slowly begun to take over his life. Your toiletries in his bathroom, the spare  toothbrush he bought you, brushed off with a quick joke, “Don’t want you using mine, no clue what you’ve got, insanitary, innit?”, but you’d just both laughed as you tapped his shoulder,

“It’s UNsanitary, you idiot”

“Same difference”

The night in is warm, the tv low in the background, playing some rerun of a new years eve special, the music floating into the now peaceful atmosphere. He’s sat laying on the couch, legs spready comfortably, like a king. He certainly felt like one now.

The sight of you dancing to yourself through the crack of the kitchen door was almost too much to handle, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched you flutter about.

“Daft fuckin’ mare”

He muttered to himself, but he still couldn’t help but be completely captivated by you, his Beatle’s shirt hanging large off your frame, barefoot against the cool tile of the kitchen as you moved effortlessly, pouring drinks for the two of you, separating the Chinese onto different plates for the both of you to eat in front of the television. It was so domestic, it made his heart clench.

But then, he hears it. The radio station shifting over to some ‘All Saints’ tune, the sound of his ex-wife’s voice carrying through the flat, making his heart beat a little faster, the memories of the arguments, the horror of last year all flooding back to him. However, your sweet little voice manages to completely wash away all those negative feelings, humming through the tune as you danced about, completely careless, carefree.

His chest tightens, expecting the grief of his past relationship to hit him, bracing for it. However, instead of the crushing sadness, the betrayal of memory he was expecting to fall down on him like a ton of bricks, he feels something else. Warmth. Calm. Amusement. A quiet sense of feeling alive, the room suddenly less hollow.

It doesn’t hurt the same way anymore, he’s waiting for an ache that doesn’t quite come. Instead, the ache could be something he feels akin to affection. Softer, duller, more manageable. He clears his throat, snapping out of the trance he’s found himself in as you walk through, plates balancing precariously on your hands as you set the larger one down in front of him.

You notice the strange expression on his face, shooting him a weird look as you link your arm with his on the couch, smiling as you press a kiss to the tense bulge of his bicep beneath the short sleeve he’d chosen to wear.

“Don’t brood, its unattractive”

The mess that was his life still flashes before his eyes, trying to seem nonchalant. He almost pulls away, almost shuts himself down at the soft contact of your warmth pressed into his side, his mind spinning just slightly.

But in the end, he chooses you. He thinks now, he always will, moving to kiss you softly, gently, just the fleeting press of lips to one another.

“You’re unattractive” He’d muttered back, but his big arm still made its way over your shoulder, pulling you into his side.

★ January 1 2015

You both almost missed the time the clocks chimed, and the year changed its digits.

He was too preoccupied with the sight of you, on your knees, choking on his dick.

He cooed as you looked up at him with the sweetest teary eyes, drool dripping from either side of your mouth, his hand gripped in your hair was tight, a little hiss escaping you every time he pulled, rolling his hips lazily into your mouth.

“Y’take it so well f’me”

“Fuckin’ gaggin’ fer it, ain’t ya baby?”

His eyes roll into the back of his head as you hum shyly, laughing at the sight of your poor little face as his head tips back against the couch, hand stoking your hair, so gentle, it could make you cry, yet the roll of his hips against your mouth is so downright filthy, you can’t help but feel the wetness dripping down into your panties.

And as he looks down, steely gaze cool as he watches you swallowing everything he’d just unloaded into your mouth with a soft little smirk, the clock strikes on the telly, catching his attention for a moment.

Sitting up, he leans down, cupping your face in his big hands as he knocks his forehead against yours, You’re both panting slightly, slightly sweaty, hot air mingling between the two of you as he huffs out a gentle laugh, tilting to press his own lips against your parted ones, hand stroking your hair with such gentle care,

“Happy New Year, gorgeous”

He whispers, the words slightly muffled between the panting between the two of you, the quick succession of hurried kisses pressed to the others mouths.

He’s starting to realise now.

You might just be the best thing in his life, the best thing that’s happened to him in a long time., and with that thought, he pulls you up into a hug, tugging you onto his lap as warm, strong arms that have finally begun to feel like home wrap around you, his heart clenching as he feels you nuzzle right back into him.

“New Years resolutions?” You murmur quietly into his neck, grinning as his chest shakes with laughter underneath you, “I think we’re just lucky I actually made it to the New Year, darling”

★ Early January 2015

The sanctity of the budding relationship between you and Liam was broken that one cold Sunday morning. The peacefulness, the beauty of the way you slowly impacted his life shattered as he stares down at the paper, still warm from the press, splayed out across his kitchen table.

“Gallagher’s New Flame: Rebound or Redemption?”

His jaw tensed as he stares at it, the terrible onslaught of press attention resurfacing from last year., Below the abrasive title, was a picture. Slightly grainy, shot form the back.

It was you and him, he’d finally worked up the courage to take you on a ‘proper’ date in the daytime, just a short stroll through Hyde Park, your hand clasped in his as the two of you walked. You’d been blissfully unaware, alone.

At least you thought you were.

The picture captures this sweet moment, your head turned slightly, looking up at him, the height of his cheekbone raised, head tilted back slightly as he assumingly guffaws at something you said.

He remembers it clearly.

Swinging your hand in his, acting all daft as he brought the cigarette to his lips, shrugging slightly as a flock of pigeons flapped out of your way,

“Funny little fuckers, pigeons, eh?”

“Y’know, you kind of look like a pigeon” You’d commented, the both of you just stared at each other for a moment. And then, his jaw went slack as you’d started bobbing your head like a pigeon, smiling up at him like it was meant to impress him.

“God, you’re a right fuckin’ weirdo, kidda” He’d laughed.

 But now, stood in his kitchen, the sound of you shuffling In the other room as you got dressed fir the day, it didn’t feel funny anymore, this was the exact thing he’d wanted to protect you from. Sure, he was in the press all the time, but the negative media attention last year had really screwed with his head. You’d been the only thing that could’ve got him out of it. He didn’t quite know if he could live up to your standards in the same way.

But then, he feels the dig of your sharp little chin against his shoulders, the way your slim hands came around to wrap around him, resting them on his stomach like you always did, peering down at the paper. He half expects you to pull away as he watches you scan the paper, expects you to feel used.

You surprise him when you shrug, tilting your head to look up at him,

“You’ve had worse”

Simple, but then you grin.

“But you’ve also definitely had better pictures taken, look at that beak”

You smile as you point to his noise, and Liam just laughs, the tension in him already ebbing away as he turns to face you, one of the brightest grins you’ve seen on his face in a long time as he nods his head, lips pouting as he takes in your words,

“That right, yeah?”

And you both dissolve into fits of laughter as his hands come up to dance along your sides, tickling you relentlessly. It’s warm, it’s domestic, the paper abandoned on the counter as he takes off after you once you free yourself from his grip.

You make him feel young again.

Make him feel alive.

★ Mid January 2015

The flat was still quiet, just not completely empty anymore. You were everywhere now, Liam’s extensive parka collection shoved aside in the wardrobe to make room for your own dresses and skirts, your slightly smaller trainers in a pile with his at the door.

He’d started waking up earlier, little pad flipped open in front of him, rubbing his jaw as he scribbles down lyrics. There’s no sudden inspiration, or genius return to the musical world, just effort. For the first time in the past year, Liam feels stable enough to even bother picking up a pen.

He strums one chord on the acoustic twice. Scratches out a lyric, muttering softly under his breath. Takes a pause to stare at the page,

“Just spouting utter shite”

But whilst he’s writing, you’re simply… existing. Curled up on the other end of the couch, reading, Liam’s jumper slipping off one shoulder,

“Yeah, sounds about right” You turn to smile at him, grin widening as you see him, smiling his own wolfish smile beaming right back at you, “Fuck right off”

“What?” You say softly, the soft sound of a page turning, the radiator ticking, Liam had been saying for the past month it needed to be bled, but naturally, he brushed it off with, “Can’t hurt the poor thing” You’d just laughed.

“Oi, listen to this for me, yeah?”

He strums once on the guitar, hands finding their positions on the strings. He’d really been trying his hardest to get to grips with the guitar, riffing out a melody that probably would’ve sounded more fitting on an electric guitar, his rough voice barely shifting above the melody as he sings to you. It’s so soft, softer than the man you met almost exactly a year ago, his edges less sharp, world more open to you. He was just Liam to you, just yours.

“Does it sound, I don’t know, off?” He watches you warily as a calloused handrests on the strings, quietening them as he shoves the notebook roughly into your hands, “Be honest, yeah? Don’t take the piss”

You pause for a moment, eyes flickering between his expression, clearly hiding his eagerness behind a mask of indifference,

“I like the melody, but the second verse feels like you’re hiding”

“It’s good, doesn’t sound like you just yet though”

Gentle, truthful. He doesn’t snap like he might’ve at one time, just nods his head, once, taking the notebook from you as he sighs, leaning himself into your side, lounging back on the couch as he peers down at the notebook again.

“Fair”

★ Late January 2015

He had mentioned that Gene was coming round, but Liam himself didn’t seem quite… prepared. Walking around the flat, straightening a vase on the kitchen island, moving the guitar out of view, checking his phone once. Twice. He wants this to go well, and that’s new for him.

You watched him from the sofa, book resting open against your chest, tracking the restless energy in the room. He flitted about like a clumsy bull in a china shop, adjusting things that didn’t need adjusting, nudging cushions half an inch to the left only to move them back again.

“You’re pacing,” you said lightly.

“I ain’t.”

He absolutely was. It was in the set of his shoulders, the way he kept exhaling through his nose like he was bracing for impact.

The knock came before he could argue further. Just for a fraction of a second, long enough for you to see it, before he dragged a rough hand over his mouth and swaggered confidently to open the door.

Gene stepped in, all long limbs and quiet scrutiny. Thirteen, but already carrying himself with that careful awareness children of split households seemed to learn too early. His eyes swept the flat quickly.

“Hi, Gene,” you prompted gently. “Good to see you.”

You didn’t move to hug him. Didn’t make a fuss. Just offered him the same tone you always used, steady, unassuming.

Liam hovered awkwardly for a beat before clapping a hand to his son’s shoulder, shaking him lightly with that gentle gruffness only he could quite manage.

“Alright, lad?”

Gene gave a small shrug that could’ve meant anything.

The flat felt smaller with the three of you in it. Not tense, just aware. Like the air had thickened slightly, waiting to see how everyone would move.

“I’ll put the kettle on,” you said after a moment, already stepping into the kitchen, allowing father and son to catch up, to resolve all the deep rooted tension that had been brewing inside Liam

From there, you let the sounds drift toward you, the shuffle of trainers against the rug, the dip of the sofa cushions as they sat, the television flicking over to football highlights. Liam’s voice carried through, softer than usual.

“You still playin’ up front?”

“Sometimes”

“Scored?”

A shrug. “Couple.”

“Couple’s decent.”

You could picture the way Liam nodded at that, like it was a stat worth memorising. There was a pause, then a quiet snort of laughter from Gene at something Liam muttered under his breath about defenders being useless.

It was small, but real.

You stood there for a moment longer than necessary, letting them have it.

When you came back with tea, you handed Gene his first.

“Careful, it’s hot.”

“Thanks.”

His fingers brushed yours briefly, shooting you a slight glance before he took the mug.

You chose the armchair instead of squeezing onto the sofa. Gave them the middle ground, let their shoulders knock naturally as they leaned forward over the screen. Liam’s knee bounced once, twice, then eventually stilled.

At one point he glanced at you, almost as if he was searching for reassurance, he felt so pathetic, he was a grown man checking in with his girlfriend to see if he was doing an alright job with his own kid.

You just offered a faint smile and looked back down at your book, but that small glance back at him allowed him to move more confidently.

The afternoon unfolded in easy fragments. Takeaway cartons on the coffee table. A debate about some referee decision that grew animated but never sharp. Gene asking, almost casually, if the guitar in the corner was new. Liam shrugging, trying not to sound too eager when he said he’d been “Just tryin’ something out, kid.”

You didn’t interject, just stayed that same calming presence Liam had grown to silently depend on, and when Gene left a few hours later, it was easy.

“See ya’,” he said, giving you a small wave this time.

The door clicked shut, and the flat seemed to settle around the two of you.

Liam stood there for a second longer than necessary, staring at the wood like he was replaying the afternoon in his head. The quiet that followed wasn’t heavy, just reflective.

You rose slowly from the armchair, setting your book down.

“Well?” you asked softly.

He turned, hands sliding into his pockets like he didn’t quite know what to do with them. “Well what?”

He huffed out a breath, rubbing at the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed, slightly… unsure of what his stance should be on all of this.

“Was it weird?”

“A bit,” you admitted. “That’s normal.”

He studied your face carefully, searching for something, discomfort, maybe. Regret. A sign that it had been too much.

“You were good,” he said after a moment. “Didn’t, y’know, make it all weird, in proper you fashion.”

You shrugged lightly. “I wasn’t trying to be anything. He’s your son.”

The words settled between you. Simple. Uncomplicated.

Something in his expression shifted. Not dramatic, just softened at the edges, calm in a way he hadn’t felt in years, a relaxed smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah,” he murmured.

He stepped closer, warm hands settling on your hips with a low sigh, forehead dropping against yours. The tension that had carried him all afternoon seemed to leak out through that small point of contact.

“Thanks,” he said, quieter than usual. No joke attached. No deflection.

You brushed your thumb along his jaw, feeling the familiar scratch of stubble beneath your skin. “You did fine.”

He let out a small breath, something between relief and disbelief.

“Didn’t bolt,” he muttered. “That’s progress.”

You smiled. “Told you. Stable’s not boring.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. He just chuckled warmly, shifting closer, pressing the softest kiss to the corner of your lips, unhurried, grateful more than anything.

“Don’t push it.”

But his hands lingered at your waist a second longer than necessary, like he was finally beginning to trust that the things he cared about didn’t have to collide.

They could just fit. Just like this.

★ February 14th 2015

This time last year, he’d been drowning. Barely keeping his head above rolling waves crashing down on him, the media, Nicole, Beady Eye. It’s almost as if now, none of that happened.

But now, you’re sat on top of him, legs bracketed either side of his waist as you roll your hips down onto his dick, both of you smiling like idiots into the kiss,

“G’on then, ride me proper”

He whispers, flinching with a playfully raspy laugh as you swat at his chest, breath coming out shaky as you lean back, hands planting themselves on his thighs.

“You don’t get to speak to your girlfriend like that on valentines day”

He just grins, big hands coming down to wrap around your waist, pulling himself up as gentle hands begin manoeuvring you up and down on his dick, cooing playfully as the teasing expression on your face melts away at the harsh feeling of his dick digging into the walls of your cunt, the slight bulge of him, so deep inside you, pressing, building out against the soft skin of your stomach.

All he can do is groan softly, pushing you down so you’re laying on your back, hair spread out around your hair like a halo as he rolls his hips against yours, leaning down to whisper, hot breath billowing across your cheek,

“Like the sound of that, my bird”

His voice is dark, possessive almost as he grips your hips, lifting you effortlessly off the bed, the feeling of him utterly manhandling you almost intoxicating as you manage a moan, hands coming to grip thick wrists as he bullies his dick into you.

“Yeah? Y’like that don’t ya? Like being mine, my pretty, soft fuckin’ thing I can ruin however I like”

His words are dangerous, the perfect juxtaposition to the way his hips land, hard, yet still soft against yours, the little trail of public hair leading up to his belly button tickling against your clit, making your head spin as you clench around him playfully, earning a hiss from him in return.

“G’on, say it”

“You’re my filthy. Little. Bitch”

Each word is enunciated by the hard roll of his hips into yours, the dizzying movement of his hips against yours making you whimper desperately, head rolling back against the bed,

“Yeah… y-yeah daddy, all yours”

“Yeah, s’right”

His hips speed up their pace, setting you down onto the bed properly, hands gripping your hips, hard, fucking into you with an almost animalistic pace, the two of you groaning as you chase your highs,

“God, you’re so beautiful”

He stares down at you, hips bullying into yours as he watches the way your face contorts in pleasure, face a little flushed, clinging to him like your life depended on it, the ruthless thrust of his hips into yours melting your brain, turning you to mush beneath him.

But then, he lets the softest little phrase escape his lips, a shuddered little groan as his head falls down onto your neck,

“Fuck, think- think I’m in fucking love with you”

There’s no awkward pause, no slowing of his hips, just the intoxicating feeling of your legs clamping around his hips, pulling him in deeper, the sweat beading on his forehead as he hears you whimper in reciprocity,

“Love you, god, I love you too Liam”

He swears, in his heart of hearts, that he could cry pure tears of joy at the sound falling from your lips, mumbling a quiet, “Oh, God”, leaning back to grip your hips once more, fucking into you at a brutal pace, groaning as he hears your moans get louder, conscious of the neighbours,

“Shut- shut up darlin’” He groans, one hand trailing up to slip a thumb into your mouth. He snickers appreciatively, but the way your lips wrap eagerly around his thumb, sucking harshly as you glance at him teasingly, he can’t help but let his breath catch in his throat, eyes sparkling as he pulls his thumb out of your mouth, speeding up his thrusts to pull you right to the edge, delivering a couple of gentle little slaps to the flushed skin on your cheek,

“Messy fuckin’ thing”

★ February 14th 2015, Evening

Liam arrived before you, shaking his head at the way you were flapping about, trying ti get ready, claiming you, “Had to look good, what if the press want a bit of me?”, he’d laughed.

The lighting of the restaurant was low, amber. It almost reflected the pub setting, however, a little more refined, the rose on the centre of the table unassuming, like he was pretending it wasn’t there.

He tries to act casual as you make your way over to the table, standing a little clumsily, gentle smirk resident on his lip, covering the way his heart races at the sight of you, leaning down to brush a gentle kiss to your cheek, hand coming to rub your arm, whistling appreciatively at the sight of your outfit as he deftly pulls the chai rout for you, the two of you seating at the same time. You just smile warmly, hair resting bouncy over your shoulders as you gesture to him, clad in his traditional parka,

“Nice rain jacket, trying not to spill the fancy wine all over yourself?”

He scoffs, offended as he stretches his arms out, showing off the sleeves of his parka as he leans back in his seat, pointing at you, with mock accusation, “It’s called class, yeah? Not like you’d get it”

Appetisers come quick, he brushes your hair back from your face gently after the waiter leaves, knees brushing under the table as he, apparently accidentally, lets his chair gravitate a little more than close to yours. But you just grin like absolute fools.

You steal a bite of his appetizer, much to his objection as his brow furrows, sliding the plate away from him, lifting a hand up to halt your movements, “Oi, that’s my fancy starter, don’t eat it all before I’ve had a go”

You just wink, tilting your head with a sweet smile, hands held up in mock surrender.

“Relax, just making sure it’s safe for consumption, never know with these money hungry sharks”

“You’re lucky I like you, otherwise I’d call that assault, darlin’”

However, he leans closer than necessary as the words slip easy like honey from his lips, you don’t pull away, you both share a smile as your hand makes its way back to his plate, stealing yet another bite of his starter. The air between the two of you crackles.

Dinner runs smoothly, the two of you a little drunk, Liam complaining boisterously about the holiday, echoing the beginning of this, when he’d brooded alone in the pub, mumbling about how commercial it all was.

“Valentines?” He’d started, pouting as he shakes his head, “Overpriced tacky shite, soppy couples, I hate it”

“Yet here we are” You quip back, leaning a little into him, “Grinchy Gallagher with a table for two”

“You know I booked it for the wine, darling” He delivers, a smooth wink, but of course, you’re right there with him, always the perfect match, his better half, “Oh don’t be a twat, you know it’s for me”

Your hand covers his gently as you say it, but he doesn’t pull away, instead his fingers slip smoothly through yours, flipping your hands over so his calloused thumb can rub the back of your hand.

Back in that pub, now over a year ago, feeling so distant, he’d finally felt human again after talking to you. But now? He felt alive, grounded, a little restless, wanting more of you, wanting to touch you, but restrained.

You laugh at his joke, nudging him under the table.

He pretends to grumble, whispering lowly in your ear about the couple “Trying to each other’s faces” on the table opposite. But his hand has playing with your fingers now, sitting across from each other as you lean into one another, slowly trudging your way through dinner.

You smile, narrowing your eyes, “Getting’ all soft on me now?”

“Soft? I’m fucking menacing, you remember that”

Laughter, shared smiles.

You pretend to check out other diners, setting your fork down as you narrow your eyes playfully, “Y’know, you might not have said anything, but you think anyone else notices how good I look tonight?”

Sarcastically, he hits right back, “Nope, but everyone’s jealous of me for being here, innit”

You just laugh, shaking your head as you glare mockingly at him from over the rim of the wine glass, “Don’t let it get to your head love”

Then, dessert, something chocolatey, of course, your request, and he’d just let it happen. Teasing glances shared across the table, you locking eyes with him as you suck the remainder of chocolate off your thumb. He inhales once, sharp.

“Careful, keep that up and we won’t last five more minutes here”

You leave at some point to head to the toilet, to ‘freshen up’ which Liam had, of course, rolled his eyes at. But as you got up to leave, hand brushing his shoulder gently, a small napkin dropped it’s way into his lap, brow furrowed as he picked it up, peering at it, confused,

It’s your number again, the same one that you’d slipped him that night you first met, the little message you’d scrawled that time crossed out, instead, written underneath is a simple message.

‘You’re mine tonight’

He just chuckles, running one rough hand down his head, ignoring the swelling feeling of content spreading warm through his gut, “Fuckin’ cheeky”

Later, he chastises you for the amount you’re drinking, snatching the wine bottle back, childish, “Don’t hog the booze, love”

“You ordered it for two, don’t be stingy”

Dinner ends, eventually, hours spent at that table, chatting, teasing, your heel sliding up his leg one too many times to be an accident.

After he pays the bill, he swaggers effortlessly to your side, hand extended for you. It’s not the end, it’s opportunity, he wants you to come, needs you to, keeping you close to his side. It’s different from the first time, no longer watching you leave, now leaving by your side, the two of you content, equal. Happy, finally.

His arm makes it’s way around your shoulders, steering you deftly out of the pub, smiling cheekily as he turns to you.

“Don’t get too comfy, yeah? M’ still dangerous”

He smiled at the way your nose scrunched in disgust at his words, but of course, you teased back, as always,

“Dangerous? You? I’m terrified”

But your elbow still dug itself softly into his side as you walk in step.

“In the best way”

He grins, pressing a rough kiss to the side of your temple, squeezing your shoulder lightly.

“Love you, yeah?”

“Unfortunately” But you’re smiling, you both are. How can you not? After the most perfect few months together, everything feels normal, more stable.

And then, the two of you walk off into the night, leaning against each other. Warmth, safety, love, playfulness, wrapped up in each other, in the best way possible.

And now? The headline the next morning doesn’t shock either of you, it just reads, simply:

“After a Tumultuous Year, Liam Gallagher Finds Love Again”

𑣲⋆｡˚ you waddled back over to your seat, wrapping your arms around yourself in a meek attempt to keep yourself warm. part of you figured it’d be easier to rein noel back over to relax before performing at their biggest gig yet — although, part of you just knew to let him be.

𑣲⋆｡˚ time slowly dwindled by, your bones beginning to soak in some warmth as you flicked through another magazine, boredom beginning to swirl through your mind. you had wandered over to a small mirror hidden off to the side for his “touch-ups,” deciding to twirl around a little, admiring how the jacket fit you, completely unaware to the fact that noel was mere feet away, silently admiring you.

𑣲⋆｡˚ noel was no stranger to you “borrowing” his clothes — his supply of sleep shirts slowly dwindling down, until he coincidentally finds them tangled in your laundry, hell, even his boxers had began to slowly go missing.

𑣲⋆｡˚ he pretended to hate it, but really, he loved nothing more than seeing you tangled in his sheets, his slightly oversized shirt draped over your torso as the morning light poured through his flat. even when you would wake up, with your hair tangled and strands of hair flying everywhere, noel couldn’t help but smile as the collar of his shirt slowly dangled down towards your chest.

𑣲⋆｡˚ noel had honestly started offering to give you his shirts to wear to bed. always telling you it’d be better “so your nice shirts don’t get ruined”, and that it’d be “easier for laundry day” and even debated that his were “comfier” to sleep in. you would always roll your eyes and scoff…while slipping on yet another one of his bed shirts.

𑣲⋆｡˚ “stealing jackets too now, are we?” he’d quip softly with no real bite to it, a dorkish, sly smile spreading over his cheeks. you gasp, jumping at the sudden intrusion and whipping around to face him. “are my poor jackets the next victims of your thievery?”

𑣲⋆｡˚ “it’s not thievery if you offer,” you repute, ignoring the flush of embarrassment heat through your skin. “and sorry, i thought you’d be back later—”

𑣲⋆｡˚ “nah, nah, nah, nah,” noel interjects, hands shooting out to rest on your shoulders and you try and shrug his jacket off. “don’t get all shy now, aren’t you gonna put on a little show for me?”

𑣲⋆｡˚ “ugh, shut up,” you groan playfully, rolling your eyes at his teasing. “don’t you have a gig to play?”

𑣲⋆｡˚ “it can wait,” noel steps back, his grin turning cheekier by the second. “not lyin’, just wanna see how pretty you look in my stuff, eh?”

𑣲⋆｡˚ your mouth twists into a half-hearted scowl, embarrassment burning hot underneath your skin as you shyly turn yourself side to side, rather rigidly. noel just laughs at your awkwardness, sitting down on the chair and raising his chin a little.

𑣲⋆｡˚ “a proper one, love.”

𑣲⋆｡˚ you huff before obeying him, silently twirling in front of him. noel chuckles softly before beckoning you over with a quick flick of his fingers, his hand warm and gentle as he caresses your cheek, pulling you into a quick, soft kiss.

𑣲⋆｡˚ “tomorrow, i’ll buy ‘ya a matching one, hm?” noel says absentmindedly as he pulls away, his thumb slowly stroking against the soft skin of your cheeks. “since ‘ya keep stealing my things.”

𑣲⋆｡˚ “it’s not thievery—”

𑣲⋆｡˚ “yes it is!” but he loved it.

𑣲⋆｡˚ p.s after seeing how much you loved getting a matching version of his jacket. he started doing it with everything; from socks to jewellery, he had you covered and styled personally by him each time you went outside without him, always matching in some sort of aspect. your boyfriend w no swag gap 💜

LIAM:

𑣲⋆｡˚ liam had a habit of being a gentleman with you — which was rather surprising after his track record. he had always offered/given you his jacket in the cold or the rain, offered to swap shoes with you after a long night, and always offered you a fresh pair of his clothes that he deemed were “comfier” than your own. but you never took him up on his offer, knowing that your clothes were perfectly fine — if not better than his own.

𑣲⋆｡˚ you had been left alone backstage with liam's jacket draped over your forearm as a consequence of him leaving it behind. he scurried off to do god knows what with the rest of his bandmates before being dragged by his brother into some media interviews.

𑣲⋆｡˚ truthfully, you had always been jealous of liam's wardrobe; as much as you hated to admit, your boyfriend really did have a good sense of style. and you knew if you said it, you would never hear the end of it from him.

𑣲⋆｡˚ you stared down at your loose white sweater, fingers slowly picking at the hem as you contemplatively looked down at liam's similar white jacket draped over your arm. you were honestly starting to feel a little hot with the afternoon heat beginning to seep through the air, and being backstage was unnecessarily stuffy — especially with the amount of busy bodies moving equipment around.

𑣲⋆｡˚ you carefully slipped your sweater off before trying on his own jacket. the material had a nicer finish and was honestly a lot cooler than your own. you meekly slipped into a more private zone, wanting to escape from the noise and to escape the chance of liam catching you.

𑣲⋆｡˚ "well, well, well," you froze as liam's cocky voice floated through the hall, a scummy smirk already stretched across his cheeks. "what're you doin' out 'ere wearing my jacket?"

𑣲⋆｡˚ liam's hands were already sliding over your waist before you could turn around to answer him, the warmth of his body pressed against yours as he let out a soft snicker. you huffed, the heat of embarrassment warming your cheeks as you slightly craned your head to look up at him.

𑣲⋆｡˚ “my sweater was getting too hot but i was still cold and—”

𑣲⋆｡˚ “no need to stress babe,” liam pressed a tender kiss against your temple, his smirk dripping with smugness. he took a step back, his hands still on your waist as he spun you around to face him, looking you up and down. “looks good on 'ya...maybe a lil' too good.”

𑣲⋆｡˚ “really?” you asked, flushing at his words. he nodded wordlessly, his smirk shifting into a small affectionate smile. he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear before pressing a delicate kiss against your forehead.

𑣲⋆｡˚ “'ya gonna give me a private show in this tonight?” he says with a cheeky grin, wiggling his eyebrows at you. you roll your eyes with a scoff pushing him off you as he giggles.

𑣲⋆｡˚ “ugh, don't you have a gig to play?”

𑣲⋆｡˚“not until i hear 'ya finally admit i have better style.”

𑣲⋆｡˚ “over my dead body.”

𑣲⋆｡˚ “right, well,” liam’s voice dropped off for a moment as he pondered for a second. “where's yer' sweater then? don't want none of these lads sniffing 'round my girl...and plus i think i wear it better than you.”

𑣲⋆｡˚“you're such a cunt.”

𑣲⋆｡ p.s he stole your sweater and never gave it back 💜

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

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

you and noel decided to go away for your three year anniversary to spain this summer. it was perfect weather, the water was the most beautiful shade of blue, and he rented the most fancy villa you have ever seen in your life.

“noel, are you kidding me?” you exclaimed as you dropped your bags down on the cool wooden floors of the villa.

he shrugged his shoulders, putting his luggage on the side of the sofa. 

“i told you i would spoil you.” 

you gave him a gentle smile, running over to drape your arms around his shoulders, giving him a soft kiss.

“you're the best.” you whispered into his ear. 

he blushed, picking you up by your hips, getting you to wrap your legs around his waist. you shrieked as noel lifted you off the ground, settling you on his body. 

“lets go take a tour, yeah?” he offered, kissing your shoulder.

you giggled, nodding your head as he carried you through the villa, your long yellow sundress swayed over the polished floors. 

“oh. my. God.” you said, completely astonished by the size of the pool just outside you and noel’s bedroom.

“you happy, darling?” he smiled.

you stared at him blankly. he was trying to get you to react. 

“of course i’m happy, babe. you’ve done too much.” you brushed your fingers over the white covers on your bed, as soft as a cloud.

“wanna go for a swim?” you grinned.

“sure.” he shrugged, already bringing his luggage into the bedroom to unpack. 

you slipped on your adorable pale yellow bikini, swinging the porch door open. you rushed down the steps, desperate to feel the cool water and hot weather after the horrible winter months.

“noel! hurry up!” you yelled to him inside the bedroom.

he was applying his sunscreen, rubbing it over his face as he squinted his eyes at you.

“chill out. i don’t want to get burned.” he darted back.

a few minutes later, he came outside, sighing at the sight of you still on the steps of the pool, not even fully in. 

“why aren't you in?” he crossed his arms with a furrowed brow. 

“it’s cold. im getting used to it.” you swirled your leg around in the water. 

he shook his head, taking this opportunity to jump in the pool. you screamed as the remaining water splashed you, and you covered your face. 

“noel! i’m gonna kill you!” you yelled, glaring at him.

he ran up the steps to the pool, grabbing you by your hips, slung over his shoulder.

“stop it!” you smacked his shoulder while he cackled.

“you're so cute when you're angry” he replied, dropping you in the pool.

you fell underwater, now even more cold from the pool’s temperature. 

“i hate you” you said simply, crossing your arms over your chest.

“no you don't, i bought you this whole villa for the week” he swam over to your area of the pool, giving your jaw a soft kiss. you had your arms still crossed, not letting up to his cute attitude. 

“you look so good in this color” he kissed your cheekbone. 

you sighed, finally giving up. he chuckled, knowing he would always get away with things.

“this is the last time i'm letting you get off easy.” you pointed a finger at his chest as he nuzzled his nose into your neck. you felt him smile into your skin. 

“you said that last time…” he murmured.

“yeah well, i mean it this time” you shot back, both of you knowing you would not live up to this promise. 

"we should go down to the beach later" he mumbled against your neck.

"i heard there's a nice restaurant on the shore," you suggested, rubbing his back.

"do they have red wine?" he shot an eyebrow up.

you cackled, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"we'll have to check" you smiled.

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

you and noel spent the rest of the afternoon together, picking out fancy outfits, playfully arguing about the dresscode of the restaurant. you finally settled on a white sundress, a strapless one (to show off your tan lines of course), and it flowed with the wind as you walked across the beach, your fingers intertwined with each other, slowly swinging your hands together. you and noel were a few steps away from the restaurant, taking your time with walking on the warm sand.

his free hand held your heels by the cream colored straps, swinging each time he took a step.

"noel?" you asked, looking at the overhead lights at the restaurant in front of you.

"yes, darling?" he addressed you sweetly, slowing his steps.

you looked him in the eye, turning your body to face him.

"i don't think i ever said thank you." you admitted, toying with your fingernails.

"love," he started, cupping your cheek.

"you don't have to say thank you, i know you intended it when you told me you were happy" he brushed a stray hair behind your ear.

"thank you, noel." you smiled sweetly.

"yer welcome." he smiled back, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

"im serious. you're so nice and i couldn't ask for anything more." you confessed.

"i know." he rubbed along your arm, placing his hand low on your waist.

you arrived at the stairs of the restaurant, and you stopped by the wooden ledge of the stairwell.

"stay still a sec." he got down on one knee and opened the clasp of your high heel, gently sliding it onto your foot.

you smiled down at him, unable to hide your authentic heartfelt feeling.

"you're being awfully sweet." you jested.

"dont push it" he responded, giving you a smirk.

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

after you and noel finished eating, the waiter kept coming back to offer you more wine, and you and noel couldn't stop joking about if he might be a fan since he would not leave you two alone.

"i bet he'll be back in two minutes" noel laughed, taking a drink from his wineglass. you chuckled, bringing your hair to one side of your face to rest on your shoulder.

"you look so beautiful today." he gently grabbed your chin, giving you a soft kiss on the lips. you couldnt help but blush at his tenderness.

"thank you." you replied, shying away even though he was your boyfriend of three years now.

"you always look beautiful either way" he added softly.

he leaned in to your ear, scooting closer on his squeaky wooden chair next to you. you giggled as he draped an arm around your shoulder, trying to seem secretive.

"did you bring your swimsuit?" he asked, voice low.

you smirked, giving him a teasing look.

"yes." you nodded, unclasping the buckle on your purse to reveal the same yellow bikini inside.

"the one i like?" he raised a brow to make sure.

you rolled your eyes. "yes, noel. don't have a heart attack"

"good. brought mine too" he laughed.

"really?" you tilted your brow.

"yeah, i told you we should head down to the beach later" he stated.

"i didn't know you actually wanted to go for a swim, but incase of emergency i brought my bikini" you smiled sweetly.

he didn't respond, just kept eyeing you and your lips back and forth.

"well what are we waiting for then?" you teased when he refused to answer, your chin in your hands as you leaned on the table.

he didn't break eye contact with you.

"check, please!" he waved over the same waiter.

you giggled to yourself.

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

"i'll be one minute." you excused yourself, heading towards the bathroom to change into your swimsuit.

when you came outside, you remained in your dress, the strap of your yellow bikini peeking out a little bit. noel smirked, not bothering to ask where your swimsuit was. he grabbed your hand, and you started walking towards the shore.

"wait." you pulled his hand back, something not making sense to you.

he raised a brow, confused. "hm?" he asked.

"where's your swimsuit?" you questioned.

"i'm wearing it." noel snorted.

"oh" you giggled, rolling your eyes.

you walked outside of the restaurant and returned to the warm sand. your eyes widened.

"woah, when did it get so crowded?" you asked.

all of a sudden, you had noticed all these people on the bay, tents and umbrellas set up as families played ball on the sand, and couples covered the water. you had been so wrapped up in the lunch, and noel, you had forgotten about everyone else. that made you laugh to yourself.

"dunno. its only five o'clock." he checked his watch.

"weird." noel mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

"its fine. lets go in." you challenged, tugging noel's wrist as you led him to the ocean.

"slow down, love" he chuckled.

you paused on a spot in the sand near the shore, a perfect distance from the water so the waves wouldn't wet your clothes. he unzipped the back of your sundress, and you ran straight into the water, your yellow swimsuit being the star of the show.

he chortled, pulling out a mini bottle of sunscreen from his swimsuit pocket. you glared back at him.

"you cannot be serious, baby." you shook your head.

"the sun is still out" he rubbed the white cream over his face.

"do not come whining to me when your face looks like a tomato tomorrow" he added.

you rolled your eyes, stepping into the ice cold water.

"holy shit!" you shrieked.

"what?" he laughed.

"it is cold as fuck in here, noel-"

"stop giving me reasons to throw you in then" he shot back, throwing his bottle of sunscreen on your forgotten white sundress laying in the sand, running towards you.

"if you do that I will spray sunscreen in your eyes, I swear to God" you pointed a finger at him.

"you cant, I only brought the cream" he smiled.

you clenched your jaw.

"don't even try me, mate" you grunted. you knew how much that got on his nerves.

"you are not my mate" he grumbled, grabbing your hips as you shrieked once more.

"noel, put me down!!!!" your fists bunched up as you punched his upper back, asking for him to drop you.

"your me missus" he finished his sentence, travelling deeper into the cold water with you over his shoulders.

"noel, i'm serious!" you argued.

"be quiet i'm not even hurting you" he chuckled.

"if you drop me I will yell so loud" you threatened.

"love, that won't do anything for me, since this whole beach already thinks ive kidnapped you." he smirked.

"put. me. down." you demanded, still slung over his shoulder, as you tried to get your best view of looking at noel from behind.

"fine" he shrugged, placing you down gently in the water. the water was cold- really, really, cold. noel had taken you out up to waist length, so when he put you down, it made a loud splash, and you screamed, punching his chest.

he didn't take any offense to it, just silently mouthed to the little child watching you two in horror "shes fine" as he rubbed your back.

"you are such an asshole" you shook you head, nose nuzzling his bare shoulder.

"then...why'r you hugging me?" noel raised his brow.

you pulled away from him, stomping away from him, not minding how each time you crashed your feet against the sand, the water would splash you even more. your hair was already dripping since your loose blowout dipped in the water when he had you upside down over his shoulder.

"oh, come on." he laughed, swimming further out to get to you.

when he finally reached you, he pulled you back by your hips, forcing you to land on his lap.

"what are you doing?" you asked, deadpan and still upset with him.

"don't be mad at me" he kissed your neck.

"i'm not-" you giggled, your hands fisting in his hair as he pressed kisses across your face.

"your such a loud mouth" he murmured.

you pulled away with a loud scoff.

"and i love you for it" he added sheepishly.

"yeah right" you chuckled at his playful tone.

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

you and noel spent the rest of the day on the beach, you having a golden tan and noel a bit sunkissed, even though he was covered in white sunscreen bits.

"cmere." you grabbed his cheeks, ignoring his protests.

"what- what's wrong with my face?" he raised a brow.

"you forgot to rub this bit in" you focused on rubbing in the excess sunscreen into his cheek, and when you finished, you laid back down on your towel, continuing to tan.

he smiled in return, appreciating how caring you've been.

"I love you even though you are very stubborn" you spit out.

he made an offended face. "and where did that come from?"

"you are very stubborn, noel." you repeated, pulling your sunglasses over your eyes and returned to the comfy spot on top of the sand.

"yeah, you are too." he mumbled.

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

you spent the next few hours on the beach relaxing, and then you decided to go back to the house to take showers and rest. you replayed your lovely beach day with noel, remembering each word he spoke and cherishing it close to your heart. then it hit you.

"your me missus" he finished his sentence, travelling deeper into the cold water with you over his shoulders.

you smiled at that, knowing you would immediately confront noel about it. "baby?" you asked sweetly.

noel looked up from his phone, sat on the armchair across from you.

"yes?" he smiled, looking at your cute figure laid down on your stomach, kicking your legs.

you got up off the sofa, walking over to him. "you said something today" you started, straddling his lap. he laughed at your sudden change.

"did I?" he raised an eyebrow, squeezing your hips.

"mhm." you bit your lip. "you called me your missus." you leaned in until your lips brushed his ear.

he sat there smiling, a little relieved that was all you said. for all he cared, he could have said he stole your shampoo again while you were drunk on the airplane.

"did I?" he repeated.

"yes, noel. you did" you widened your eyes.

he let that sit.

"did you mean it?" you added shyly.

"of course I meant it." he comforted you.

"the real question is if you want to be." he held your lower back.

"for real? like your-" you started.

he interrupted you by nodding his head energetically. "yup." he kissed your cheek.

"are you serious?" you were surprised by how fast this information was processing in your mind.

"yes, love. im serious." he leaned in to kiss your cheek, and you pulled him in to give him a big kiss on the lips instead.

"i love you. so so much." you confessed through kisses.

"ah, i know." he giggled as you pressed kisses all over his face, his cheeks, and his jaw.

"well, what do you think?" he rubbed circles on your stomach through your loose t-shirt.

"what do I think?" you drew out the words, testing this decision on your tongue.

he nodded slowly.

"i think we're perfect for each other," you started, kissing his nose.

"i think your the sweetest-grumpy person I've ever met" you added, kissing his jaw.

he enjoyed this, taking in the sight of you so excited.

"i think ill be very happy" you cupped his cheek.

"and...i think im gonna say yes." your foreheads touched at last.

he gave you a big grin, pulling you into a deep kiss.

"you think?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"i know." you corrected yourself, continuing to stay as close to noel as possible.

"well, then. if you're so sure, then I think it would be a great time to give you this." he pulled out a velvet black box from his jeans pocket, making you immediately tear up. he was so sneaky. when had he managed to get a ring?

you covered your mouth with surprise, and tears filled your pretty eyes.

"don't cry." he rubbed your lower back, opening the box with his free hand.

inside was a beautiful crystal, laying on a small white pillow. it wasn't too big or very small, but to you- it was the perfect size.

"noel" you breathed out, shaking your head.

"do you like it?" he widened his eyes.

"i couldn't ask for more." you sighed, wrapping your hands around his neck.

"well then, baby, will you marry me?" he asked with a gentle smile.

"yes! yes! yes!" you exclaimed, hugging him tightly.

he reached for your wrist, sliding the gleaming ring onto your finger. you pulled back and almost gasped at the sight of the jaw-dropping crystal on your finger.

"oh my God." you breathed out again, your voice gone from everything that was shifting.

"shhh..." he pulled you close, silencing you with a soft kiss.

"i'm yours. you have me." he comforted you, noel's lips at your forehead now, as your head was tucked in the crook of his neck. his words were sweet and genuine, and it made you melt into him even more.

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

the rest of the trip was spent at the beach, at fancy restaurants, and cute moments like fighting over what movie you would watch each night and how much wine you two should be drinking even though you both never stopped. it was truly the best vacation of your life, because you were with noel.

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

a/n: hellooo! thank u for reading ;)

ily mwah please cherish vacation noel as much as you can <33 bonehead's bank holiday was on repeat the whole time i wrote this 🤭

Hair pulled back in a lazy half-up bun, one slipper missing. Your notebook was half-full, your textbook cracked open like a spine, and your fingers ink-smudged from the same paragraph you have re-written twice already. You were supposed to be finishing your English essay on King Lear no less, but your eyes kept drifting toward the dusk outside, where the sky was that familiar Mancunian bruised grey.

You sighed. Your parents were out celebrating their anniversary. Dinner at that overpriced French place your mum always pretended to like, and you were supposed to have the place to yourself. Peace. Quiet. Space to think. And yet, the phone on your desk rang. Loud, sharp. The coiled cord danced like a snake as you snatched it up.

“Hello?”

There was a pause, then Noel’s unmistakable voice came through, dry and fed-up as ever.

“you need to come get your twat of a boyfriend.”

You blinked. “…What?”

“He’s bein’ a right prick, I swear to God. Thinks he’s fuckin’ Bono all of a sudden.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “What’s he done now?”

“Just come. Before I bury ‘im in the back garden.”

It was always like this. You, the peacekeeper. Them, the chaos. Liam and Noel Gallagher. Your oldest friends. You’ve known them since they were kids, scraping knees and scraping egos on the back steps of the football pitch. You’d been there when Liam took that dramatic tumble during Year Nine PE, limbs flying like a broken puppet, landing flat on his arse in front of the whole class while you stifled a laugh from the bench, pretending to tie your shoe. And Noel, awkward and lanky, his fringe falling in his face the day he got his first date with the girl who worked at the record shop. Noel couldn’t stop shoving it into Liam’s face the next day.

Now here they were—older, cockier, and somehow still tangled up in each other’s lives. The boys had a new idea every week: a band, a gig, a plan to “change everything.”

Lately, Liam had been rallying the others. Bonehead, Guigsy, Tony, to form something real, something electric. All they needed was Noel. And Noel, of course, was resisting.

You pressed your pen against your lip. “I’ve got homework, Noel.”

He scoffed. “It’s Friday night.”

“So?”

“So you’re comin’. Bring that attitude with you, yeah?”

He hung up before you could argue. —

The Gallagher house was quiet from the outside, but you knew better. The kind of quiet that only came before a storm. You stepped up to the front door, still familiar under your fingers, and gave it a small push. It creaked open, never quite shut right. Same old. The moment it clicked shut behind you, the illusion of peace shattered.

“You’re such a dickhead, Liam!” Noel’s voice came charging through the hallway like it had been fired from a cannon, thick with that sharp, irritated Mancunian edge.

“I said I don’t feel good, alright? Fuckin’ hell,” Liam snapped back, his voice lower, lazier, like he couldn’t be arsed but was still giving enough to wind his brother up. “Stop shoutin’ at me like I give a toss.”

“You should give a toss! I’m tryin’ to help you, you knobhead. “

You stepped carefully out of your shoes by the door, eyes drifting across the hallway wallpaper you’ve stared at a hundred times over. Same old peeling corners. Same faint scent of cigarette smoke and something warm, leftover curry maybe.

The yelling continued. Noel again. “You think being in a band’s just you singin’ and people clappin’, don’t you? Like magic. Like you don’t have to do anything. You’re a lazy dickhead, that’s what you are.”

“Fuck off, Noel.”

You didn’t even flinch. This was standard fare. A regular performance.

As you padded toward the living room, you passed the small mirror on the wall. Your reflection was slightly warped, too narrow at the sides, always making you look like you hadn’t eaten in days. Following the sound of your presence being tossed casually in the mix.

“No point in even talkin’ to you,” Noel was saying now, audibly moving, shoes on the stairs maybe. “she’ll see what a mess you are.”

And there he was, right on cue. As you turned the corner into the living room, Noel brushed past you without a second glance, dragging the back of his hand across his forehead, like the sheer existence of his brother was enough to cause physical exhaustion. “I’m done,” he muttered, almost to himself. “He’s all yours.”

You gave him a quick look, more amused than concerned. “You off to sulk?”

Noel didn’t even pause. Just sighed and just like that, up the stairs he went. Probably to his room, where he’d shut the door, tune his guitar, and pour all that rage into something brilliant.

you turned to the couch.

Liam was half-sprawled across it, one leg up, the other hanging lazily over the edge. He looked miserable. Hoodie half-zipped, face pale, hair sticking out in too many directions. A throw blanket was draped over him like someone had done it in haste or half-sarcastically. His arms were crossed tight over his chest, but when he saw you, something shifted in his face, just a little. Not a smile, not even a smirk. Just a softening around the eyes, like the edge of a blade dulled by familiarity.

“Hey,” you said gently, stepping further in.

He shifted a little, making space as if you might sit. “Hey,” he muttered back.

“You alright?”

He sniffed, then scowled like even that took too much effort. “Feel like shite, if you must know.”

“You look like it,” you teased lightly, setting your hand bag down by the armchair.

“Cheers,” he muttered, voice rough but not cutting. “Always makin’ me feel dead handsome, you are.”

“You are,” you said, with a gentle smile. Then after a pause, “Just not right now.”

That coaxed the faintest upward twitch of his mouth. Not quite a smile. Not quite.

You sat on the edge of the coffee table, facing him. “Headache?”

“Throat. Nose. Body aches. The whole lot,” he groaned, letting his head fall back dramatically against the couch cushion. “Woke up feelin’ like I’d been hit by a bus.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “So that’s why you were giving Noel the worst attitude?”

“I wasn’t,” he said, trying to defend himself before immediately sighing. “Alright. Maybe I was. But he doesn’t listen. Always on at me about this band thing. Can’t even think straight right now and he’s up my arse about guitars and rehearsals and… bloody ‘saving British music.’” Liam rolled his eyes. “He says it like he’s already in the fuckin’ Beatles.”

You rolled your eyes playfully before you stood, brushing off your jeans. “You eaten anything?”

“Had a bit of toast. Tasted like cardboard.”

“Well,” you said, glancing toward the kitchen, “what if I made you some soup?”

He blinked. “You’d do that?”

You shrugged. “Don’t act so shocked.”

Liam sat up a little, sniffling again. “Yeah. Alright. If you’re offerin’. Not gonna say no.”

You gave him a look, something soft, something knowing, and headed toward the kitchen. Your voice trailing behind you.

“You’re lucky I like you.”

And behind you, his voice, a little quieter now.

“Yeah… I know.” —

The kitchen was dim, lit only by the amber glow of the small bulb above the cooker and the early-evening light slipping through the window. You moved around quietly, like muscle memory, you’ve been in this kitchen more times than you could count. There were the old tea towels hanging off the oven door, the spice rack Noel swore he didn’t touch, the chipped mug with a flower that Peggy always used for tea.

You found a can of tomato soup near the back of the cupboard, half-covered by a bag of crisps. It wasn’t much, just tinned. Cheap, but it’d be warm. The kettle went on for the water, and the pan warmed over the hob. You stirred gently, watching the red swirl slowly bubble. A small glass of water sat beside you, ready. Not perfect, but something.

When you brought it back into the living room, the smell came first, simple and familiar. Liam opened one eye from where he lay slouched on the couch, blanket tugged higher over his chest like he was trying to vanish beneath it.

You placed the bowl on the old wooden coffee table, the water beside it. “Here we are,” you said gently, tucking your sleeves up as you crouched beside him. “Made it with extra love, obviously.”

Liam looked at you with a lazy sort of appreciation, his voice rough when he spoke. “Cheers, love.”

You gave a half-smile and reached for the damp cloth you brought from the kitchen. “Let me just—this’ll help, I swear—” but before you could press it to his forehead, he lifted a hand, batting you gently away, like swatting a leaf.

“‘S alright,” he mumbled, not harsh, just tired. “I’m not made of glass. Just feel like I got kicked in the head.”

“You look it,” you teased, folding the cloth back in your lap. “Was gonna bring some medicine too.”

“Already had some.” He paused. “Or maybe that was yesterday. Dunno.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned back against the couch. “You’re hopeless.”

“And yet,” he croaked, reaching slowly for the bowl and spoon, “you still love me.”

He took a tentative sip of the soup. Then a second.

There was a long pause.

Your brows lifted. “Well?”

He looked over at you with that boyish, crooked grin that was always just half a breath away, even when he was sick. “It’s class.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Don’t lie. I barely stirred it.”

“No, swear down.” He took another spoonful, bigger this time, swallowing it with a wince that he tried to hide behind another grin. “It’s the best shite soup I’ve ever had.”

“Liam,” you groaned with a laugh, burying your face in her hands. “I knew it tasted bad. I’ll go make you something else.”

But he was already shaking his head, mouth half-full, waving you off. “Nah, nah. Don’t. It’s proper good. Promise.”

You looked at him, unconvinced. “You don’t have to pretend—”

“I’m not. You made it for me. That’s what makes it taste good.” He shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal, like he hadn’t just punched you right in the chest with something so strangely sweet.

He leaned forward just a bit, bowl set aside, and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. It caught you off guard. Warm, slow, like something out of sync with the rest of the room, the sound of the spoon clinking in the bowl, the soft hum of the telly still on mute in the background. For a second, you forgot the heavy blanket on his lap, the redness around his nose, the hoarseness in his voice.

And then you laughed quietly, pulling back just enough to shake your head. “Liam—”

“What?”

“You’re sick. You’ll get me sick.”

He just leaned back into the couch again, smug despite the way he sniffled right after. “Worth it.”

You stayed beside him on the floor, resting your head gently against the side of the couch, eyes drifting toward the soup bowl still half-full.

She’s asleep, and he watches the way her chest rises and falls, the way her eyelashes flutter as she reacts to a dream. The moonlight filters into the bedroom, silvery and ethereal, and dances across her pillow, a privilege only granted in the middle of the night. She shifts, murmuring something in her sleep, decipherable only to the dreamworld she occupies. He watches, running his hand through her hair, touch featherlight. He imagines what she could be dreaming of; whether his face appears, blurry and hazy in the way faces in dreams tend to be. Her mouth opens slightly, and her face tilts towards him, as if she seeks him out, even whilst asleep.

Noel doesn’t try and wake her up, doesn’t disturb her, but he doesn’t try and sleep, either. She’s always so busy, so stressed that to see her at such peace, frown lines cleared by deep sleep, stirs something inside of him that reminds him of the feelings he experienced when they first got together. He recalls his own dreams, the ones that feature her. His favourite is the one where she wears a white dress, the ring he keeps in the safe in his wardrobe finally adorning her finger. He’s never been married before, but he imagines it can’t get any better than it does now. The clock ticks over to two a.m, and he hears the big Vienna clock downstairs ring out twice. In five hours, she’ll be up and getting ready for work, kissing him on the forehead before slipping out for the day. He’ll be asleep, entirely unaware that she watches the early morning sunlight bathe his face, the starched white bedsheets turning golden with the rays.

Two in the morning means that he gets to sit and think. He watches as she frowns slightly, mouth moving as if her dream-self is arguing with something. The silver moonlight ebbs as a cloud covers the moon, and he thinks that they should probably buy curtains sooner rather than later. It never seemed too high on their priorities, but the room does get awfully hot in the afternoon, when the sun beams straight into the glass. As the cloud clears and her face reappears in the darkness, he wishes his camera didn’t have such a flash, so he could take a picture to look at whenever. He can’t, though, so he commits her face to memory, taking in every facet of her skin, counting each individual eyelash. Her voice, the accent she carries, is memorised already; whenever he hears an accent like hers, he turns, expecting to see her. The way she moves, the way she walks, is perfected in his mind, too. The way she silently slips her hand into his, the way she always puts her right foot forward first and takes wider steps to make up for the longer strides he prefers.

With all of this memorised, he turns to what’s inside. Her brain antagonises him in a way he’s never been able to comprehend; the most private thing in the history of the world. He wonders again what she’s dreaming about, and if the dreams have the shimmery, fairy-dust quality that his dreams tend to. He’s never been one for philosophy, not really, but he thinks about her mind and her brain as two different entities. Because, surely, her parents couldn’t have created such a mind. The mind that’s dreaming now, but dictates his waking hours; he doesn’t think he laughs quite so much whenever she’s not around. He wonders what would happen if he cracked open her skull, just to see what was inside. Would her brain be doused in the silver moonlight that’s flared up again, beams swirling across her face like smoke? Would he find some iridescent energy, some pulsating dream that he could definitively say was her mind? He doesn’t think so.

“I love you.” He knows she can’t hear him, but he says it anyway, because it feels good. Hours like these, when the home phone doesn’t ring and her face is clear of difficulties and his mind is free of distractions are rare, and he takes it and holds the moment for as long as possible. He knows his mind and brain are intertwined, since he sorts her characteristics into different pockets of his brain, making sure he’ll remember each one forever. Memories of her shimmer in his mind, distorted by his old dreams. He sorts through each one methodically, trying to sort them into some kind of mental cabinet. The one of her at the beach- real, iridescent in the nighttime.

The only option he has, he thinks, is to take her brain, her mind, to some kind of futuristic scientist that could tell him everything about how she thinks. He imagines he has some kind of right to her thoughts- after all, she is laid beside him, entirely trusting in her sleep. He wants her to know his thoughts, anyway, which is why he talks so much, spewing intimate nonsense that she rarely tries to make sense of. She has a way of smiling, nodding as if she’s filed it into her own mental cabinet, and moving him onto the next thought that captivates him. He thinks again about her dreams, and imagines colours, jewel bright and beautiful, swirling around her mind, figures like ghosts popping up as and when needed. He thinks about the moonlight, flickering now as clouds roll in, and the silver that coats her eyelashes and rising chest, preserving her in molten metal like some kind of statue.

He thinks about the metaphysics of her mind again, thinks about the concept of being. Is it enough to be here now, in this moment, or do memories suffice? If he were to know her mind inside out, no secrets, would he like her just the same? She probably wouldn’t like him if she knew everything there was to know about him. Maybe it’s a good thing, then, that they can only express so much out loud, a finite amount of knowledge allocated to each other. Her chest continues to rise and fall steadily, her mouth closed now, her eyelashes stilled as sleep takes her fully.

He closes his eyes himself now, images of his guitar, his band, crowds, cocaine, and panic attacks swirling around his head, each one poised to attack. He thinks of her, imagines her as colours swooping around like tropical birds, painting his brain- his mind- with jewel tones that mirror his perception of her dreaming. Perhaps, soon, he will know fully what’s inside her mind. But for now, he’s content with what he has; he wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her into him gently. She stirs, humming softly.

“Love you.” Her voice breaks into the silvery moonlight, and he kisses the back of her neck, hearing the way she smiles against her pillow.

Chapter 3

“Ticket to Ride”

_________

Previously…

“Yes, Catherine.. We can pray.”

_________

The day was long and strenuous. Being the overachiever I am, I’ve placed myself in the highest level courses I possibly could. Therefore, the workload is heavy and detailed. Not difficult, I wouldn't say that. Just meticulous. Nothing, however, was as heavy as the thought that I would have to go home to my father today. He’d been out for about a week, leaving my mother to fend for herself. I’m not quite sure what he does, something to do with managing. Whatever it is, it makes him angry. Usually, when he’s home, I try my best to stay out of his way. I would go out with Ellis most of the time, but I guess that really isn’t an option right now. I wonder what it is that made him so upset. I hope he’s doing okay.

The school bell goes off, and a stampede of teenagers pushes me out of the classroom like a boat on rough waters. In the thick air of the hallway, Liam somehow finds me. 

“Right, so what you doin’ March 5th?” I whip my head to face him.

“You talking to me?” I point to myself in disbelief. He just looks at me with his same tired eyes. They look a bit more exhausted than usual. I’m sure it has something to do with his late night mixed with an early morning. 

“Ya. Just got a festival, had an extra ticket I thought you could ‘ave.” My brow knots in confusion. But before I can answer, I get a tap on my shoulder from a smiley girl to my left, 

“Who’s tha’?”

Sarah is my best friend, though she’s also very nosy. She’s just gotten back from a trip to America. Her parents are well off; they have a timeshare, whatever that is, in Hawaii. This all means that she’s missed a lot, and her chronic fomo is killing her.

“Is that your boyfriend? I thought you weren’t allowed to have one of tho–” I shoot her a glare that could cut through metal, which shuts her up quickly. At this point, the three of us have made it to the bus stop. 

“Nah, just Liam.” He extends his hand in a polite gesture. Sarah looks flushed and immediately takes his hand in hers. 

“You said something about a festival? You have an extra ticket for your favorite gal?” Sarah bats her blonde lashes my way. She’s the perfect image of beauty, she has kind eyes that shine hazel-green and almost platinum hair. 

“I don’t know, do you?” I turn to Liam, Sarah hanging off my shoulder, gazing at him.

“That could be sorted, I reckon…” He taps his face methodically. “I’ll ask the guys if they’re willing to give one of their plus ones up, yeah?” Sarah and I lock in on each other as the corners of our mouths raise. I hit her arm with the back of my hand, and we both drop into neutrality. 

“Sure… ya… s’cool.” we reply. I break a bit from my chilled-out facade and giggle, “Just write down the address and all that, ya? We’ll be there.”

“What’s the band's name?” Sarah questions, “You famous yet?”

“Oasis. We’re the greatest band in the world, the world just don’t know it yet.” The same crappy car from last night pulls up behind the school bus, both arriving at the same time. In the driver's seat is Bonehead, “This is the last time I pick you up, mate. Me dad’s taking the car back tomorrow.”

“Bobbins.” And with that, Liam gets into the back of the beat-up buggy, leaving Sarah and me in the dust.

“Your friend’s kind of cute… mind if I steal him?” I sigh dramatically, then we begin loading into the back of the bus. “I mean ya, but you would be sharing with every other girl in Manchester, I’m sure.” I take a pause, “Maybe some birds in London, too.”

“Oh, he’s that type, is he?” I nod. “You going to confession hours today, love?” Shite. I forgot my journal at home. It had everything I was going to say to Father Makenzie inside. When I get in the box, all the thoughts in my head are nowt, so I refer to my notes to remember everything I did wrong this week. 

I have a lot to say, just in the last two days.

“Hell, I forgot my booklet.” Sarah goes into her backpack, tearing a page out of her pretty pink notebook. The margins have hearts, and the paper is scented with strawberry. “Here you can just use a page of mine!” She finds a pen in her bag and hands it over to me. It’s one of those that, when you turn it upside down, glitter and charms spin down the barrel.

“Don’t look, alright?” I grab the page. Sarah laughs and brushes me off, “Trust me, I would never. You have no clue what I say in my confessions.” I skew myself in my seat, we’re sitting in the back of the bus, and I’m up against the window. I prop my knee on the seat so I can have a solid surface to write.

SINS:

Lustful thinking, swearing, not obeying my mother…

I finish writing a rather lengthy list, fold up the paper, and stuff it in my jacket pocket. The scent leaks out and hits my senses. If I do this again, I might Pavlov dog myself into feeling guilty when I smell strawberries. 

As we ride down to the church, I see someone I recognize on the side of the road. My brother’s girlfriend, Willow, is sitting and reading on a park bench. She’s wearing a baggy sweat set and looks rather focused. 

“I think I’m going to get off at this stop, I just want to walk the extra block. Get my steps in and allat.” I get up and make my way to the front, shooting a thank you to the driver and starting a short journey to the bench. As soon as she sees me, Willow hides the cover of her book in her lap. Only the back of the book, showing the author and a short blurb along with reviews, peeks out between her hands.

“Oh um… Hi. How are you today?” Willow says, mechanically. Like she didn’t really care about whatever answer I was about to give.

“I’m okay… things have been better. But, I just scored Sarah and I got free tickets to that festival in a few months” I smile, trying to peek at her reading. “You?” 

“Just an okay morning I suppose…” I sink into myself, she clearly doesn’t want to talk to me.

“I just had a question for you,” Her shoulders stiffen, “I haven’t seen Ellis in a while, and I tried to call him–” Willow starts to gather her things in a tote bag beside her, slipping a water bottle inside. She’s rushing to get away from me.“Do you know why he’s left?” Her breath hitches and her eyes grow a tad wider, she rips herself from me. 

“I’ve got to go.” She pats her hand on mine, a quick comforting gesture. Her hand reveals part of the back cover of her book, which she then hides in her bag.

“Amazing parenting book for expectant mothers, 5 stars… ‘Times Magazine’”

_________

LIAMS PERSPECIVE

“You’re all bout to be out 15 pound.” Bonehead quirks his head, still keeping his eyes on the road.

“What makes you say that?” His eyebrow raises, I cross my arms with pride.

“Got her and her friend to come to the show, maybe we should double the bet. I’ll make out with her friend too. She’s fit.” Bonehead rolls his eyes and groans an “oh my god” under his breath.

“Don’t cause too much shite.” He goes silent for a split second. ‘You know, I was thinking about it, and maybe—“ 

“Nah we’re not calling it off” 

“Right.” 

Bonehead sighs, the grey landscape rolling past us. We’ll be out of this grim town soon enough, it might take a little but i believe in it.

We get to Ellis’ place and file out of the car, gathering some equipment from the back seat. The front door creaks, Guigs holds it open to make bringing everything in a tad easier. Nice kid. 

“Have they finally got here?” Tony yells out from inside, meeting us when we get to the living room. Having space to rehearse is nice, now that it’s not in the blistering heat of a garage. Ellis had agreed to let us play here ever since he moved out of his place. “What took you so long?” Tony pats me on the back while I walk by, carrying a new guitar pedal.

“I went to school today.” The room, previously buzzing with conversation from the other boys, abruptly ends. 

“You what?” Noel pipes in.

“I know.” Bonehead says, placing down an amp.

“I bet it was to see the girl, wasn’t it.” Noel adds.

“What girl?” Ellis comes in from a smoke break outside, the smell of cheap tobacco follows him in. “You got a little girlfriend, Liam?” He looks amused and stuffs a snuffed out half smoked cigarette behind his ear.

“It’s nothing. They’re just talking shite.” I shut down the conversation, focusing on getting everything plugged in.

_________

YOUR PERSPECIVE

Confession was met with a bit of a side eye, you can always tell when that’s the case. No matter how much Father Makenzie goes on about the “judgement free zone” I know that he’s silently condemning my every action. Maybe I should stop going, I wonder if he’d notice. 

I’m sure he would, though. He would probably be sad about it, since I’m sure he’d be losing out on the extra gossip time he could be having with god about my life. Telling him all my secrets. Fucking loud mouth he is.

Sarah couldn’t hang out after, so I took the bus back home. I cursed whatever plans she had, probably something sweet like dog sitting, and opened my front door. My father is sitting in his chair as usual, scanning a newspaper. Beside him is a glass of water and a beer. Got to have the best of both worlds I suppose. I try to sneak past without him noticing, but his chair faces the door at an angle, so he has a straight shot of me. 

“Teacher tells me you’ve been rolling up your skirt.” His eyes are trained on the TV screen, playing some type of comedy special. An audience’s laugh track leaks into the air.

“Uhm. Not true. That's utter shite.” My fathers eyes glaze over and meet mine. “I mean, I haven’t.” I turn and quickly remove my mary janes. 

“Well then why would they say that?” while I’m turned around, I roll my eyes. I don’t know dad, they must be blind. I wish I could say.

“I think it’s just that I’ve gotten taller. Just a trick of the eye s’all.” My voice is quiet and sheepish. I feel like a cat backed into a corner, my father holding a metaphorical bucket of water over my head.

“Right. Well I better not hear much more about that, understand?” I’m impressed, he seems in a better mood. Usually he would break out with much more anger. Perhaps he’s saving it for later. “Yes, sir.” I bow my head slightly and head up the stairs. When I get to the hallway, I see Joan’s door ajar. I peek in to see her sitting on the edge of her pink-sheeted bed by the phone. She hangs up the oddly shaped receiver, she had saved up for one of those kitschy phones that look like a pair of lips. After she bought it, I mentally added it to my Christmas list. After the click, she began staring blankly at the wall, covered in movie posters. 

“Y’alright?” I knock on the frame to alert her of my presence.

“Ya. Just a fuck up.” She gets up, running her hands down her face. “S’nothing really. Don’t ask.” I wondered if maybe it was one of those moments when someone says don’t ask but they really mean look at me look at me!!! Ask what’s wrong!! But by the look on her face, I knew that wasn’t the case. She walks over to the door, shutting it in my face. 

Rude. That's okay. I have CDs to listen to on my own anyways. I didn't want to talk to my dear sister and tell her about my day or anything. I spin on my heels and head into my room. Shutting the door angrily behind me. I can hear the garage rattle beneath my feet. My mom must have just gotten home from work, she picks up my little sister on the way, so I lock my door. I love her, but I don’t want her bothering me. 

I mosey over to my cd player, beneath it is a stack of discs. I pick “Bridge Over Troubled Water” and lay down on top of my sheets, not bothering to change before I close my eyes and begin to think about my day. The image of the book in Willow’s lap crosses my mind. 

“Amazing parenting book for expectant mothers, 5 stars… ‘Times Magazine’”

Maybe I read it wrong. Perhaps it said:

“Amazing preaching book for making excellent monks, 5 stars… ‘Times Magazine’”

Maybe she’s having a change in lifestyle. 

I doze off…

_________

DREAM

I look around, I’m in a crowded record store. It’s like bumper to bumper traffic with human bodies. There's no music I recognize anywhere around me. I try to sift through some vinyls, but can’t seem to move against the grain of the customers. Everyone seemed so familiar, but they were all missing features that would allow me to place them in my memory.

The store has multiple floors, as seen by a poster on the wall showing every floor that I can see over everyone’s heads if I go on my tip toes. It’s labeled with nonsensical genres and artists, but the 5th floor shows a name I know. 

Oasis

“The elevators are broken, you have to take the stairs,” a woman holds my left shoulder, looming behind me. She has long curled brown hair and her face is blurry, but comforting. She sounds like someone I once knew, but I’m not sure who.

“I’ve never been here before, where are the stairs?” The woman points to a wall, which has no stairs by the way. Very helpful, thanks girl. “Right…” I shrug off her hand and make my way over to the wall, a ringing in my ears grow louder the closer I get. I look behind me, everyone watches my careful steps. Some laugh, whisper, and some are completely silent. I turn back around and ram into a scruffy teenage boy with striking baby blue eyes. Liam. 

Unlike anyone else in the dream so far, I know who he is immediately.

“You lost?” He looks down at me, “Thought you were smarter than that.” He holds out his hand, I take it quickly. We are transported to a long hallway, images of my family line the walls. However, the images are all missing me. Liam and I arrive at two doors. “It’s one of these ones to the stairwell, I dunno which one though.” He drops my hand and nods his head for me to try a door, placing his hands in the pockets of his deep blue jacket.

One is on the left, bright red with a golden knob. I can hear someone talking inside, the tone is serious. The other is on the right, dark green metal, with a long handle that you have to push to open. A dead lamb on the floor lays beside it, bleating and leaking blood. I step back, alarmed at the scene. I assume the way to the stairs is the green one, it seems more industrial stairwell-like, but the lamb detours me from stepping any closer. So instead, push open the cherry colored wood.

 It’s my kitchen, all the lights are off but a dim lamp in the center of the table. It projects a warm hue onto the people sitting round the square table. My mother and father sit facing me. They have almost cartoonishly disappointing expressions. Ellis and Willow sit parallel to them, backs turned to me. It’s too quiet. All too quiet. Joan stands in the corner, hiding in the shadows. Ellis stares at her, while my parents glare at him.

She raises her arm slowly, pointing straight at me. My brother slowly pivots to see who she’s pointing at. Tears running down his porcelain skin, Willow hides her face in her hands. She cries almost silently.

I get pulled back aggressively, the door slamming in front of me with no sound. “Not that one, try the other one,” Liam takes my hand again, the sheep from before is now still, its soul is no longer here. A pool of blood making a reflection below it.

“But the lamb…” Liam squeezes my hand slightly and gives me a smile. “S’alright. I’ve got you.”

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

_________