rpf heals <3, cheating, emotional infidelity, mutual pining, lost in translation au, angst and hurt/comfort, implied/referenced alcohol abuse and addiction, 2000s, female character has a name.
He doesn’t want her to give him the keys to the mess. And yet he can’t wait for the precise moment she decides to burn her own life, too.
Read on AO3
started editing had a breakdown bon appetit
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Friday, March 3rd
Fukuoka
The earthy scent of rain has filtered through in the reception and mingles with the sweet tang of her cigarette. Noel stands in the middle, letting minutes pass, trying to see if he can stretch a feeling, wondering if that will be enough. He was supposed to be leaving, steady on his way out of the building, until he saw her. And now he is frozen, unsure of what to do. His resolve whisking away by the minute.
Standing close by the window, Grace hasn’t seen him yet. Noel observes how she touches her pinkie finger with her thumb as she stares outside, the repetitive motion a way to soothe the queasy nostalgia in her stomach. Her plans of walking around the neighbourhood had been delayed by the black clouds looming above the hotel. Now, she was hypnotized by the group of Oasis fans gathered around on the opposite sidewalk, equipped with raincoats and umbrellas, not willing to give up and go home.
Grace shifts in her place, and suddenly there’s something different in the air.
"You should have seen the crowd when we first came here in '94," his gravelly voice cuts the morning silence, and she turns around to find Noel standing by her side, also looking across the street. "Fuckin' massive,"
Grace clears her throat slightly, shifting with a bit of surprise, suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of vetiver, deep and smoky.
"I was coming back the other day, and I saw one of them crying, sobbing. She was holding something signed, I think. You must have gone through before I got here."
"Yeah, yeah. I wouldn't be here without them." Grace’s eyebrows twist slightly at the answer, but she figures it's fine; they are not friends, and he doesn't owe her any sincerity. Last night at the bar was a simple conversation between strangers. They remain silent, their gaze fixed on the rain as it turns the entrance pavement from gray to near-black. Grace takes another drag of her cigarette. After a moment, Noel scoffs a laugh and turns to her. "That sounded too much like an interview answer, innit? Yeah... It gets a bit tiring some days. But I guess it's part of the gig,"
"Who am I to judge?” Despite the tenderness she finds in the fans’ gesture, she is sure she would be far less graceful about having people sleeping outside her door for days. But what does she know about fame? Noel meets her eyes for a moment. The lobby is almost empty. She has a difficult time bearing how different his heavy eyes feel now in the daylight, now that they can't hide behind their drinks. She won't ask what he means by that slightly quizzical glint in his eyes. Grace can feel how the heat of her cigarette begins to reach her skin. She reaches out to put it out and crosses her arms. “Have you gotten any sleep yet?"
"Nah. Not any good sleep at least. Keep rolling around in bed," he scratches the back of his neck, the movement lifting his already short shirt. The wind outside howls against the building, making the glass vibrate.
"You must have a whole album penned by now."
"Actually. I'm watching these movies on cable. All dubbed in— well, Japanese. I think I'm starting to get the gist of it,"
"Hontou?" Noel looks at her like she is an alien, and Grace can't help but laugh. He shakes his head in disbelief.
"So you speak Japanese too?"
"Not really. I talk to Kiro. He is teaching me some. He is the closest thing I have to a friend around here.”
Grace hasn't even finished the last syllable, the echo of the word friend still hanging in the air, that Noel is already asking, voice low and sharp.
“Oh, what about me?”
He regrets the words immediately. Like a bad habit he can’t quite get rid of. But casual flirting hasn’t killed anyone yet, has it? Grace's face is one of surprise, though she covers it well, a small smile hanging on the corner of her lip.
“I thought maybe we were starting as acquaintances. I don't think my English is that bad."
“Nah. We can work on your accent. You definitely sound a bit too posh. And I already considered you my friend, seems we have different concepts of staring out the rainy window together,”
Grace feels the heat rush to her cheeks, and Noel actually searches for the sight when she turns towards the window again in an attempt to hide the embarrassed smile that he elicited.
“Do you play tonight?" she tries now, clearing her throat again, second time in only a few minutes, trying to shake off the warm feeling the casual flirting has stirred up in her core.
"Yeah. Fukuoka. Did I say that right?"
"You fly in and out of Tokyo every day? That must be exhausting."
The change of subject helps to settle down the crazy rush. The noises of the hotel begin to reappear around them. Noel remembers he has a place to catch, a band waiting for him, a wife on the other side of the planet.
"Depends. I've gotten used to it," he shrugs. He had purposely avoided going to the airport with the whole band because he needed those minutes to himself. He needed this. Suddenly, this thought comes back to him, a thought that has been tugging on his chest the moment since he first saw her in the lift a few days ago. Something that doesn’t really mean anything, a casual invite. The way compatriots usually gather together subconsciously in foreign countries. He wishes he had some alcohol in his blood to blurt it out, but he doesn’t want to ruin the moment and decides he has to get away from her before he keeps this — this thing he absolutely cannot get into, especially not right now — going. "I should head there, actually."
"I can walk with you to the door," Grace blurts out like electricity rushing to the tip of her fingers. Her thumb drags slowly across her wedding band, the gesture barely visible, as Noel looks at her. Now, it’s his turn to be surprised.
"Sure. Yeah,"
Noel follows her lead, and they eventually fall into a nice side-by-side walk towards the doors on the left. It's a brief distance, but they both seem to take slow steps. The concierge is with them quickly, calling for Noel’s car. As they wait, the next words come out mostly on their own, like he cannot, or will not, help himself.
"Will I find you in the bar tomorrow?"
"Um. We have this dinner with the company… I don’t thi—"
"Oh. Of course. Sure," The drop of his stomach at the word we doesn't come as a surprise, but it does feel him with a sense of being a disappointed boy again. Get a fucking grip, he thinks. His car's arrival saves him before he has the chance to chastise himself any further. He turns to her again, hands in his back pockets. Grace doesn't move, and he will never see that she still has a few improper words stuck on her tongue, too. Yes, I would love to have a drink with you again.
“Alright, this is me. See you around,” Noel turns around, needing to get away from her immediately, afraid she will see right through him.
"Rock on tonight!” she says as he turns, wincing immediately at the awkwardness of the phrase. What was she even thinking? Noel turns again to stare at her, his lips curling up. Grace can’t help but burst out laughing with him.
"If you feel restless after that dinner, I'll be in the usual spot,"
He doesn’t wait to see her reaction, nor regret it; he will have plenty of time for that later. He has places to be, and he is running late.
──────────────────────────────
Saturday, March 4th
When she wakes up the next morning, the rain still drums against the windows and drapes over Tokyo with quiet resolve. John is by her side, still fast asleep. She lies on her side, watching him; her fingers run tenderly through his short blonde hair as she lets her night dream dissolve naturally with the morning; she can’t remember much of it, but forgetting the few glimpses that linger makes her feel relieved.
Grace goes through the motions with John. Breakfast in bed (at her insistence and despite his reservations), casual conversation about life back at home (he suggests that she should call one of her girlfriends, tell them about Japan and how she’s been liking it), and before he is out the door, he reminds her that tonight’s important for him, that she should wear something nice. By the way he looks at her, Grace thinks there’s something else he wants to say.
“What?” she prompts nervously, looking for something in his expression that gives it away.
“You look really nice today,” he smiles, deflating the tension. He gives her a peck on the lips and steps out, leaving an uncomfortable silence reigning after the click of the door.
She doesn’t call any of her girlfriends or her sisters or anyone. She could, but she knows that speaking about the trip over the phone would only bring uncontrollable tears. Grace doesn’t want to explain her tears and suspects they wouldn’t notice. Lately, everyone back home had been so consumed by their own lives that she’d found it increasingly difficult to have someone listen, or perhaps she wasn’t speaking loudly enough. In the end, she figures everyone has their own self to take care of.
Yet, the need to clear her mind, to escape the weight of the previous day and the unstated truth behind John’s important dinner, was too strong to ignore. Grace takes a cab to Shibuya despite the rain and enters the first record shop she comes across.
She doesn’t go straight to it, although it's not difficult to find it. There’s a whole section dedicated to it, the place is crowded with posters of the brothers and the cover of their new album. A helicopter shot of the Empire State during dusk, the lights of the buildings casting a dazy blur across. If you looked closely enough, you could see the band on a building below.
But first, Grace wanders the aisles, flipping through thousands of CDs, barely paying attention to what she is doing. She tries not to think of the conversation she had with Noel the day before; his soft eyes and the genuine laugh he gifted her, those little details about his sleepless nights, but the whole thing keeps playing over and over in her head. At this point, it seems almost as something she made out of loneliness. At the end of the J-Pop aisle, a listening station awaits with the singles of the latest albums released. She stops there for a moment, perched on a corner as she listens to a couple of songs, one by Laruku and another by Ayumi Hamasaki, before making up her mind and daring to press play on Go Let It Out.
A few minutes later, she thanks the clerk in her little Japanese and leaves the store with a copy of Love Me by Poison Girl Friend and one of Standing on the Shoulders of Giants tucked under her arm, and then stops in an electronics store to buy a Walkman.
By the time she is done with lunch and then the shopping— a few presents for her mom and her sisters back home, something nice for John— the rain has subsided, and she has listened to the entirety of Love Me. There are a few small rays of sunshine filtering through the clouds as the afternoon hours begin to reach their end, which makes her feel bold enough to walk all the way back to the hotel.
When she enters her room, she finds that the view of the Tokyo evening through her open curtains seems funnily familiar. Grace rushes to toe off her shoes and pads barefoot through the space to find her disposable camera. She holds the album cover against the dusk of the Japanese skyline that lies outside her window, both holding the same tones of blue and purple, and snaps a picture that she can't wait to develop. An hour later, John doesn't ask what she is listening to when he walks through the door, yet somehow she finds herself hiding the Oasis CD case under the pillow as he greets her with a kiss on her forehead, something that only dawns on her when the sound of the shower fills the quiet room and he is shouting something about how he can't find that burgundy tie he likes so much. He needs it for dinner.
John spends the first hour at dinner with an arm around her waist, introducing her to the Kaientai executives. She listens and speaks dutifully, almost robotically, until she can’t stand the dull chit chat anymore and escapes to wander boredly and alone through the organized, pristine gardens. Gardens that, no matter how bad she wishes for it, offer no comfort. Her mind is constantly drifting back to Noel. It’s only twice they’ve spoken, and yet she can't stop thinking about his I’ll be in the usual spot. The simple phrase has made the hours drag, refusing to let her think straight, making her skin itch with anxiety, as if by being here she is missing something. She is missing everything. It's like she is functioning on a promise alone. On something they both know they can't commit to. But it's there, unequivocally and irresistibly pulsing with a fatal but thrilling life of its own.
The rain had left a cold breeze over the city, the carefully cut leaves of the round shrubs rustle softly in the chilly night, and her husband's jacket weighs heavily on her shoulders.
Back at the hotel, Grace's pulse quickens when their elevator makes an unfortunate stop on the bar floor. Beside her, her husband is ecstatic about the success of the night and keeps going on about how the Kaientai opportunity is a game-changer for his company. Grace half-listens, her eyes quickly scanning the room to see if she sees him, though that would be impossible from this spot. The guests enter, and the doors close. John doesn't notice a thing, because there’s nothing there to notice.
So that night, when the clock strikes twelve and there isn't any trace of sleep behind her eyes, she heads downstairs once again. To check. To see. Hoping and praying and begging, he is still there like he said he would be.
And he is.
The routine is much like the first time. They have a few drinks, they light up each other's cigarettes, and joke with half-hidden truths. Noel makes sure she learns how to pronounce a few words in his mancunian accent, their knees brushing subtly as Grace tells him he is terrible at teaching, and Noel jokes that she clearly was the class know-it-all when she was younger. The bar eventually empties. The glowing Tokyo night outside makes the place feel like a limbo. Untouchable and entirely theirs.
They only realize the time, 3 a.m., when Kiro's shift is over.
The walk to the elevator is slow, dragging out the minutes, and the silence that stretches over the sleeping hotel lingers with an unspoken oppression as he presses the button. This time, they don’t have to split; they get in together. A brief ride that neither wants to end.
"Gig tomor– I mean tonight?" she asks, arms behind her back, palms flat against the cool wall.
"No, no. I plan on getting my much-needed beauty sleep. Tomorrow, yes. Back to making money. You? Doing anything special?"
"Not really. I figured I could sleep in."
"Good. I won't feel guilty of keeping you up all night then,"
"Oh, I would do this all day if I could,"
It could be a flirty line. Grace knows that under everything, after everything, that’s what it is supposed to be. But it comes too suddenly, pulled from the pit of her stomach. At this time of the night, it doesn't sound like just a line at all.
──────────────────────────────
Monday, March 6th
It’s her fourth Sunday here, and Grace still can’t shake the feeling that a month ago might’ve been her last Sunday in New York. The unease is unsettingly familiar, the same dread she’d felt the Sunday before her wedding: this is my last Sunday in London, she had thought. Back then, it had been a mutual decision, and crying nonstop was just a way to release the anxiety that comes with leaving the place that is your home. Now, she knows crying might feel good, but it wouldn’t change a thing.
She had chosen a table in the middle of the room, which she regretted the moment she sat down on it. The waiter had already taken her order, and she thought it would be rude to suddenly change tables, so she stayed there, feeling the brush of careless guests rushing past her.
In front of her, her late teatime— a cup of coffee and a dorayaki— sits untouched. She quietly hums a melody as she raises the cup to her lips, or rather a lyric, one she has been repeating over and over for the last 24 hours, and in your head do you feel what you're not supposed to feel? And you take what you want but you don't get it for free, trying to imitate the quirks and the dragging of the vocals in her mind. A day had been enough to grow obsessed with their new album, a way to get her mind off things for a while, and the perfect excuse to think about Noel Gallagher without the guilt becoming too obnoxious.
When she sees him enter, Noel is joined by two other men. One is his height, sharing the same haircut—though Grace remembers that at least the ones playing instruments all did. God, she had missed English fashion. This one has a more round face than Noel, making him look almost boyish. The second man is clearly not a band member; he is shorter and is wearing a two-piece suit without a tie—not the look of a musician, but probably one of the executives from the label. They pick a table a couple of meters away from her, and though they seem to be talking animatedly, tiredness taints their features.
"Noel finds her eyes among the crowd and smiles, but his attention is instantly drawn away by the arrival of his brother, sunglasses inside and all, at their table."
If speaking with Noel under the influence feels intimidating, she can't imagine what it's like to speak to Liam sober. Or the two of them together at the same time. She eats her dorayaki way too fast, racking her brain for a way to avoid them. There’s no easy escape: she will have to pass their table if she wants to leave the room. If this were one of John's dinners, he would tell her exactly what to do, and everything would be so much easier.
Twenty minutes later, Grace finds herself raising a hand, waving shyly at Noel, who leans closer to the table, visibly excited to see her.
"Grace,” he says. “Let me introduce you. This is Gem, Mark, and r'kid, Liam. Lads, this is Grace."
Before continuing with their conversation, Gem gives her a tired but friendly nod, while Mark offers a practiced, fleeting smile, but Liam doesn't move. He doesn't even bother to look up. The quiet murmur of the guests having breakfast feels overwhelming, and Grace shifts, forcing herself to mutter something.
"Nice to meet you all."
"Are you a fan, love?" Liam begins, casually unbothered as someone like him would be. The question makes her want to scoff in laughter. Is that what she looks like? And though Liam is completely aware of the comedic timing of his question, a funny little trap, that much is obvious, he lifts his sunglasses slowly, setting them on his head, making it feel like the most serious thing in the world.
“Don't be a twat, Liam," Noel snaps, and nudges his brother rather harshly under the table, making the plates on the table jump softly on the surface, and Liam shifts in his seat, finally giving Grace that cheeky smile he is known for.
“Don't worry, I'm just fuckin' with you, love. Noel told us you've been here for a few weeks. Maybe you should tell us a nice place to have a few drinks and a party.”
The words send a hot, embarrassing wave flushing across her cheeks.
"Mostly, I just drink here at the bar," she stammers, and her eyes meet Noel halfway. Liam watches the exchange with a smirk.
“Have you seen us live, Gracie?” he asks instead. Noel’s gaze turns to his brother, recognizing the mischief in those eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, shift the conversation elsewhere before it’s too late, and things get out of control.
"I never had the chance,"
“Well. Would you like to? Tomorrow. Yokohama. You. Us. No funny business. Just plain, simple rock ‘n roll. What do you say?”
“I don’t know…”
“Come on. It’s only the best band in the world,” Liam adds.
“I wouldn’t want to be a bother," she manages to say. She can manage late-night conversations at an empty bar, fueled by a few drinks to fight the insomnia, but this is something else entirely. This is asking for trouble, and she's learned in only a couple of days that sometimes she has a highly addictive personality.
"My brother's friends are not a bother. Maybe a few of them, not you, though. You are far too pretty,"
Noel watches as Grace looks down briefly, a soft smile touching her lips. She takes a step back, crossing her arms on her chest. He leans forward again, elbows planted on the hard surface of the table. Her hesitation rings in his ears like an alarm. He studies her features, trying to read the calculations written there, and is surprised to find himself sincerely hoping she would just say no.
He doesn’t want her to give him the key to the mess. He has created enough trouble for himself to last a lifetime. He is supposed to be a new man. A good man. Focused on his work and his family. He can’t let this happen. And yet he can’t wait for the precise moment she decides to burn her own life, too.
"Is it okay if my husband comes too?"
The question lands on the table like a silent, suffocating explosion. Noel looks down, scratching his neck, a subtle sardonic curl lifting the corner of his lip. The ultimate self-preservation measure, of course, not just for her, for both of them, and though he needs it, it doesn’t soften the blow. Liam casually glances at Noel, mouth already open to say something stupid, Noel is sure.
“Fuckin’ ball—”
“Not a problem, love,” Noel cuts him off sharply, giving Grace a strained smile, while avoiding her gaze
“Yeah. Yeah. It's alright. He can come too, of course. He can hold the coats!” Liam finishes, sealing the moment with a playful wink. “Leave your details at the front desk, and our team will send you the passes. Alright, darling?”
Grace manages a polite smile, but her eyes flicker unconsciously back to Noel’s, his right hand pressed against his mouth in a clear gesture of annoyance, not at her, of course. Or maybe yes. But mostly at his fucking brother. Their eyes lock for a long second. The raw excitement drained out of them both, leaving a flat, heavy expanse of weary resignation.
“I’ll do that then. Thank you for the invitation,” she manages with a firm nod, before turning to scramble out of the room.
“You got yourself a nice bird,” Liam checks Grace out until she disappears around the corner before turning to his brother with a cheeky grin. “Haven't ya?”
“What are you on about?”
“A married one, even. Ah, but that hasn't stopped you before, has it?” Liam shoves him softly. Noel doesn’t react.
“The saint speaking. Shut the fuck up, Liam,”
“You like her, I can tell. Though you’ve always gone for party girls, I reckon. What’s goin’ on, huh? First the lifestyle change, now the birds? You just gotta figure out how to get rid of the husband before tomorrow's gig, eh?”
Noel scrapes his chair back, getting up to leave, not before telling him off.
“You are a fuckin’ asshole,”
“I did you a favor! What about a fuckin’ thank you?”
//
John is going through his briefcase on the bed when Grace hops onto it and kisses him on the cheek.
“Oh, hi to you too,” Her fingertips skim the back of his head, thumb dragging softly against his skin as she reads some of the papers he is working on. “That feels nice. And ticklish,”
John gives her a quick peck on the lips, his metal-framed glasses bumping against her nose, before returning to his work.
“What if I told you a top international band has invited us to their concert?”
“No way? Oasis? How did that happen?”
“Um… I took your advice. I said a quick hello and um, we kinda chatted a little, and they invited me,” Grace pauses, the name Noel burning right behind her teeth. She could mention him, rip the band-aid off, and leave things clear; she knows John is not a jealous guy. But what is this thing that she has to come clean about? It’s just an invitation to a concert. They are acquaintances. Friends.
“You are so lucky, babe. When is it?
“Tomorrow night. You are coming too. Maybe we can go shopping together? What do you say? Find you something cool to wear,”
“Grace, I'm flying to Morioka in a few hours,” John’s fingers skim across her arm, a flash of a confused expression tainting his eyes. He gathers the documents by his side and places them in a red binder. Grace shifts back on her shins. “The Kaientai deal? Remember?”
“What? Wasn't that, like, in a few days? I thought—” goddamn it, is she doing this to herself on purpose? She knew. He had told her, when they were coming back from that dinner, and she was too occupied inside her own head.
“The meeting is tomorrow. I need to be there early to have a good night's sleep. I come back on Wednesday. We talked about this.”
“Oh fuck. I totally forgot. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”
“What’s going on with you? You’ve been off since you arrived.”
“Nothing,” she says quickly, her tone dry and sharp. “The jetlag, probably.”
“The jetlag? It’s been a month, Grace,”
“I don’t know. I thought maybe it could be a nice night out together. Do something different, you know? I really wanted you to go.”
“We can. We will. Just not tomorrow. It’s a shame, I know. But you go okay? It’s good that you made some friends, even if they are rock stars. Have fun. And don't do anything I wouldn't do.” John takes his pen out, the one she gave him as a present the Christmas before they married, and doesn't look up from signing a few documents as he says this.
“I wouldn't dream of it,” she assures him with a heavy sigh that John doesn’t register. He steps away from the bed, zipping his briefcase shut. “Can I at least take you to the airport?”
“They are sending a car. Don’t worry,”
──────────────────────────────
Tuesday, March 7th
Yokohama
Noel knows this is a bad idea the moment his knuckles touch the door of her room. He knew that to invite her was a bad idea, too, but that had been Liam's doing. This is him, getting himself into trouble.
Grace had left him a message at the reception. One of the production assistants had given him the square piece of paper. Underneath the hotel logo sat her neat, tilted handwriting, briefly explaining that her husband had a business trip and couldn't make it, that she was going alone. He arranged to have the pass brought to her room, but an hour before, unable to think of anything else but her, he simply found himself going five floors down, his knuckles hitting the polished wood of her door as he mumbled to himself that this is definitely not a good idea.
Thankfully, Grace doesn't give him too much time to mull the thought over. She opens the door suddenly, in the middle of putting on a pair of earrings.
"Oh. Hey. Am I late? Come on in,” she says, leaving the door open as she disappears into the bathroom. Noel takes a few steps inside, hand lingering on the edge of the door. His posture unsure, he leaves it ajar. “I was just finishing up,"
“Oh, you're going barefoot? Is that the new fashion?” he teases. A soft giggle comes from the bathroom. When he looks up, the reflection shows Grace is dabbing perfume on her neck. It makes him look away instinctively, fingers tapping the side of his leg nervously.
"You needn't come to look for me."
"Uh, I was bored," he shrugs, looking around the space.
Her room is different from his. Same size and distribution, but it's much more lived in, a cozy mess, and if he didn't know she was married, he wouldn't have noticed the presence of a man there at first sight. There was little that gave John away: a Rocabar perfume, a burgundy tie hanging from the closet doorknob, yesterday's copy of the Financial Times on the left bedside table. Otherwise, everything else seems so her. The bed unmade, the scattered shoes under the bed. Books and bags of presents. Noel sees a pair of earphones lying between the sheets, but it’s the empty CD case that commands his attention. It's his album. The Standing on the Shoulders of Giants booklet is open to the Sunday Morning Call lyrics.
"Oh, you saw that," she says as she emerges from the bathroom. She walks past him and sits on the bed to put on her shoes.
"You didn't have to buy it; I could have just given you one. Michael has thousands in his room. I don't know why he carries so many around."
"You need to make a living, don't you?"
"Cheeky," he laughs, flicking through the pages.
"I hope this doesn't make anything weird."
"Don't be daft. Why would it? This version has a bonus track, Let's All Make Believe. So you are a lucky lass," Noel hands it to Grace, who grabs it and observes it for a second. "Did you like it?"
"I do. It's different,”
Shoes finally done, she stands.
"Different as in bad?"
"No, not at all. I really like the one... what's the name, um. Gas Panic! I feel like it's… what’s the word? Grittier. Your first albums had this sound of messiness, and this sounds more organized, but grittier. I really liked that. But I'm not a music critic. I really, really like it."
"So you like our stuff," he says proudly. Grace likes how the smile makes his eyes crinkle. It gets a smile out of her, too.
“Yeah, I do. I would have said, but I wanted to keep talking to you so I couldn't burn my chances by making you uncomfortable from the get-go," the admission is sudden, unexpected even to her. She immediately crosses her arms over her chest, the raw honesty leaving her suddenly exposed and self-conscious.
“If there’s anything I like, praise is probably there in the top five, so don't worry about that, love. So this will be the first time you see us live?"
Grace nods. Noel takes the all-access pass from his pocket and hands it to her. The laminate is a picture of the four of them in front of a sleek, silver motorhome. Grace glances down at the scrawled letters of her name in thick, black ink, beneath the Yokohama Arena concert dates. She runs her thumb over the hard plastic and wonders if it was him who wrote it. When she looks up, his gaze is fixed on her.
"You are in for a ride."
"I'd better be ready then,"
+
Thank you for getting all the way down here and if you liked it, I would really really love to hear your thoughts!
rpf heals <3, cheating, emotional infidelity, mutual pining, lost in translation au, angst and hurt/comfort, implied/referenced alcohol abuse and addiction, 2000s, female character has a name.
He can’t help but think of back home when he lies his eyes on her. It's a nice thing when you are half the world away.
Read on AO3
Uh. I guess I wasn't careful with the Challenger wind that makes you cheat... This is a Lost In Translation AU set in the Japan leg of the Standing on the Shoulder of Giants Tour in 2000, a few months before Noel temporarily quit the band.
I tried to make the dates match the concerts as best as I could but this is fiction and ultimately it doesn't really matter (the name of the city underneath the date is the place where Oasis is playing that night). Kinda follows the events of the movie, I don't know, it's weird.
This will be a couple of chapters long which I'll probably be slow to update, however, I do plan on finishing it all.
It was the Rina Sawayama title or a 1975 one, Noel you win.
+
Sunday, February 27th
He sees her before she sees him.
Amongst the Japanese men and women that crowd the lift, Noel finds in her presence a comfort he didn't know he was looking for. She is leaning against the side wall, her eyes lost in whatever world she has created for herself. Noel tries not to stare, he does. He isn't one to ogle women. But as stupid as it sounds, he can’t help but think of back home when he lies his eyes on her. It's a nice thing when you are 9,438 kilometers away from Manchester.
He had first seen her in passing during the welcome the hotel staff and the production group had prepared for them. After so many tours in Japan, he was almost used to them. A routine he wouldn't have imagined 10 years ago. He enjoyed the traditional welcome gifts and hearing words he couldn't possibly understand; and if he hadn't been so bloody tired and jetlagged, he would have enjoyed it rather than watch it with a resigned fascination. She passed them casually like any other hotel guest trying to get to their room would have done. There was nothing overly particular about her, but she stuck with him. At least until he plopped down on the carefully made bed and slept so little and badly he was afraid he was experiencing another one of his phantom coke hangovers.
His mind drifts to his brother. If he were here in the lift with him, Noel thinks he would have already talked to her. It's a thing people do, cling to the familiar when you are half the world away. Liam would have asked where she was from and what she was doing there. If he had found her really interesting, despite the two-minute conversation, he would have already invited her to their first concert at Yokohama. But Noel doesn't say a word and the lift stops in the lobby, allowing each to go their separate ways.
Noel finds himself turning back around for a split second before he meets the rest of the band for practice.
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Monday, February 28th
He sees her again at the hotel bar the following night after a long day of inevitable interviews and press conferences. He isn't particularly interested in thinking about the band, for all he knows they are away at some stupid club, getting pissed. He, instead, is drowning in fun, nursing a whiskey between his hands like an old movie star would do, trying to block out the sound of the completely unbearable jazz band that's playing near the windows. Outside, the city of Tokyo glows and Noel doesn't remember seeing such a pretty sight in ages.
The nameless girl is with people, but disinterest taints her face. He thinks she looks lonely. She will imply it later, when they finally gather up the courage to say hi to each other in actual words, but he sees it right now in how her eyes wander across the restaurant and land on each couple and person that somehow has found their way down there. Before she can reach him, one of the women she is with touches her arm and takes her out of her seemingly trance.
If this were a couple of years back, right in their prime, he would have had the courage to send a drink her way. But he has a wife, a daughter barely a month old, a band that is falling to pieces with every day that passes by, and a body that keeps the score. Weighing things up, a normal person wouldn't complain. He has an easy, good life. But this is right here, right now and ironically, some things just can't be fixed with money. So when his eyes drift to the drink in her hand and he sees a gold band like his, only slimmer, shinning against the fine glass, he decides to gulp down the rest of his drink and make sure nobody sees him miss his first step on the way to the elevator.
Noel doesn't press the buttons for the doors to close, instead, he leans back against the wooden wall and waits, hopes, and begs for her to hop in. Three days without sleep or a call to unreason, call it what you want.
He absolutely hates the sight of the doors closing after a few seconds, until he sees her walking up to the lift. He doesn't wait for her to say something, he stops the doors like his life depends on it.
“Oh, thank you,”
“S'alright,” he mumbles, tingly from the whiskey or the fact that she has a really nice voice.
She presses her floor and leans her back against the side wall. Like this, they can see each other clearly. He keeps his gaze forward but from the corner of his eye, he can see how she takes a few glances at him until they meet eyes and both let out an awkward laugh. At least she doesn't think he is a creep. Noel itches to say something. He wants to ask where's she from and what's she doing there. He wants to invite her to their first gig at Yokohama. But these Japanese machines are way too fast they are already on her floor and she shyly waves bye at him and he doesn’t sleep for the fourth night in a row.
Meg calls him at 5 in the morning. He answers at the first ring because what else is he supposed to do? As they go through the usual questions and naggings on both sides, he flicks the pages of the notebook he uses to write his songs, words crossed out, written, and rewritten over and over again. The pages he ripped out of his notebook are scattered around the bed and he can't for the life of him find the pen he was using. The call doesn't last more than 6 minutes, he is irritated because of his lack of sleep and she is annoyed because the baby keeps crying and he feels guilty for being away for almost 8 months and he wishes he could take some drugs now just to dull it all out.
When he hangs up and finds himself surrounded by the darkness of the room and the night outside, he allows himself to think of her instead. Another kind of addiction.
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Tuesday, February 29th
Yokohama
It's one of the rare nights she has John to herself. Away from his business partners and investors and whoever else joins those tedious hotel dinners he is always dragging her to. She had started to tell herself that at least here she could see him every day, unlike in New York. Still, she hadn't had John to herself in probably, weeks. She missed him every day. She did . She had even ordered a bottle of good wine beforehand to celebrate that this was their first dinner alone in Tokyo, although, by the look of it, she was probably going to be the one doing most of the drinking.
"This is a good wine, isn't it?" she tries. It takes a moment for him to acknowledge her. The only movement he allows himself to make as he keeps reading from his 'very important' briefing is a faint raise of eyebrows. As she waits, Grace touches the foot of her glass, rotating it slowly with her fingers. "I remember you said you liked the Rhône blend,"
"Yes... Yes. The rhone blend," Grace's lips curl upward when she hears him say it. The way his American accent always butchers the foreign words he comes across. She finds it amusing, and as she watches how he takes a sip that's too brief for a wine like this one, her mind drifts to her mother back in London for a second. She would have corrected him right away, but Grace had never gambled on an action like that. Not with him, not with anyone. "Yeah, it's good,"
"They offered it to me the other day when you were away. I thought I'd order it for our first dinner alone," The restaurant is quite busy, and Grace has to correct her posture so her voice comes up a bit louder. They are still waiting for their food, and the alcohol on her empty stomach is starting to weigh heavy on her limbs. That first night as she lay in their hotel bed for the first time, it had felt like stepping into a heavy dream. She had blamed it on the jetlag, but she was finding it hard to shake out of the feeling, even after a few weeks.
John finally closes his folder and reaches out for her hand.
"Thank you, baby. I appreciate it," Grace allows herself to let out a breath, guiding his hand up to touch her cheek. His touch is barely enough to tether her back to the moment. However, it doesn't last long. He drags his thumb over her cheekbone just once— Grace can tell what's coming right away— before he gives her his usual I'm busy smile. "I have to get up early tomorrow so, I don't think I can drink too much,"
"Of course," Of course. How could she have not thought of that? This is not a leisure trip for him, it's work. She is the one drifting around the city without anything to do, embarrassingly yearning for a touch that won't come.
It had been unexpected, the invitation. Or maybe not so much. Since she was still figuring out what to be and had nothing else to do in the city— despite the little white lies she told John about it— she had accepted to fly out to Tokyo and stay with him the rest of his stay. When he called, she had been excited by the prospect of spending more time together and had said yes almost instantly.
She didn't want to be the waiting wife, eagerly ready for her husband to come home to her after weeks abroad, bored out of her mind in her East Village apartment he had bought before the wedding. Yes, she had some friends in the city and things to do around. She had money, that was supposed to be enough. But she wanted to be with him. Her husband. The man she married because she loved him so.
The duration of their stay was unknown up to that point, though she started to figure out that it was also possibly infinite. She had heard the head of development at one of the company parties say something about getting John a nice apartment in Azabu. The comment had made her feel so homesick she had to excuse herself for a moment, afraid she was going to throw up. Deep down, she knew it was coming. John spent more time in Japan than he did at home, but she had been reluctant to accept it. She had left London and followed him to New York with little complaint, without thinking too much of it, unaware of how much she would miss it. And now, it was happening all over again.
The only comfort comes in the thought that after all this time, she is already used to his absences. She pictures herself wandering the streets of this foreign country by herself, doing groceries and everyday tasks, coexisting with a language she can't speak at all. Maybe, it would be better like this. She can't imagine spending a whole day with him, at least this will allow them to miss each other and at the end of the day, to be together. It's a stupid reasoning and yet it works. Her mother had called it the curse of marriage when she mentioned this casually in one of their conversations over the phone but provided no comforting counter advice to it, it was simply something that was and that was it. Grace wondered when her relationship had become so uninspired.
Now, as he takes his hand away to keep on reading his file, her fate seems to be that of the waiting wife, just in another country.
Barely an hour later, the bottle is less than half empty when the waiter brings them dessert. Dessert that will involve another 20 minutes of trying to carry a conversation that doesn't revolve entirely around business deals and international laws.
"Have you noticed we are sharing hotel with Oasis?" Grace interrupts John suddenly.
She is trying not to stare too much, but as she takes a bite of the chocolate souffle she allows her eyes to move casually over the table the band is sitting. They had arrived at the restaurant sometime before she had finished her third glass of wine, so she was already pretty distracted, her attention drifting, compelled by the exhilarating vibrance of their presence. Like a secret too good not to share.
She had seen the fans gathered around the hotel during her ins and outs. Their shirts plastered with their faces, it was impossible to miss them, though it had happened all of a sudden, like the sprouts of beans appear overnight, lively and eager. Before she had seen them, she didn't have any clue about the band's arrival. Grace had been coming back from a walk in Kyu-Furukawa Gardens one night when she caught a small group sitting on the curb singing together one of their songs. It had been a nice end to her day.
"Who?" John asks after a few seconds, finally lifting his eyes to meet hers. Grace scratches her neck nervously, trying to mask the obvious excitement the wine has brought up in her cheeks.
"Oasis, John," she presses, waiting for him to know what she is talking about. It's only the most famous band in the world for the last 7 years. John had never been one with an acquired music taste, he didn't waste time in fruitless matters like that and as far as she was concerned, he didn't even have a favorite band. Maybe if you asked him he would probably say Eagles . Easy , harmless choice no one in his circle would argue with. " You know, I say maybeee …"
"Oh! That annoying song, right!"
"Come on, it's not annoying. It's a good song," she blurts, the defensiveness in her tone surprises her and she is suddenly hot with embarrassment.
"Are they here?" he turns around to take a quick glance at the room, unapologetically rude for her taste. She reaches for his hand to stop him, but it's too late. It's not hard to miss them, they are loud and they make themselves known. Her mother would say that is rude, but to Grace it just seems like a lovely, fun dinner.
"Don't do that. I don't want to make them uncomfortable,"
"What about it? If you like them so much, go say hello. Ask for an autograph. It's not like you are a crazy fan or something like that,"
Grace thinks about his words, her eyes lingering a bit too long on the source of a loud laugh that resounds across the dining hall. Noel Gallagher doesn't see her, he is too focused on the story that one of his mates is telling. The moment she shared with him on the lift comes to mind, and Grace quickly looks away, avoiding John's gaze too. The feeling in her stomach too strong, too damning.
"What?! No, I wouldn't know what to say," she shakes her head, scoffing at the idea like it's a crazy thing to do. What if she embarrasses herself again like in the elevator? No. No way. Even if it is the only thing she wants to do. "I would be mortified,"
"Suit yourself, sweetheart," John says.
Grace feels even worse about the whole thing when she sees he leaves the last bite of the soufflé for her.
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Wednesday, March 1st
Nagoya
Jonh wakes her up the moment sleep finally comes to her, and drags her to early breakfast. He has a long meeting and will probably be out all day, so. It's our only moment together, he tells her as he shoves a couple of toasts in his mouth and then kisses her forehead goodbye in the middle of the reception, while she stifles a long yawn, too tired to even try to argue against the comment. Another day maybe.
People come and go, the light of the bright morning day filters through the enormous window panes. When John is finally out of sight, she turns around and finds Noel Gallagher surrounded by some of the band and their crew. They seem to be waiting for someone or for something. She thinks that he looks tired when he locks eyes with her and there's a sudden, involuntary movement shooting through her limbs. The motion of waving at an acquaintance you cross on the street on a busy day. Second nature. Something which she regrets immediately as she tries to suppress the silly smile that appears on her face.
Still, he gives her a wave and a smile back and Grace can sleep peacefully at least for one or two hours more.
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Thursday, March 4th
Outside, the city seems to never ease down. When she first arrived, she thought it was worse than New York.
Grace gets off the elevator and lets her feet take her to the bar. There's a special type of quietness that drapes over hotels at night. Most of the time it depends on the part of the world you are in. In Japan, it's a very still quietness. The way pressure in your ears feels. Life away from England, away from home , had taught her that it doesn't take much for a beautiful place to become lonely.
She sees him sitting behind the bar, alone, like the first night she saw him. There are not many people around, the jazz band that is usually playing is not there. It's too late. She hadn't checked the clock before she left, but she figures it's probably a little after 2 a.m. and the image of John fast asleep like a baby in a hotel in Sakai crosses her mind like a silent alarm.
The bartender, Kiro, who she had befriended rather quickly like you befriended a respectful bartender, sees her coming and gives her his usual nod and court smile. This makes Noel advert his gaze from his drink to her. Grace knows it's delusional to think there's something even remotely akin to excitement in his eyes. She blames the illusion of it on the lack of sleep, on the pulsing need for a drink, and in a move she doesn't see coming, she takes the empty seat next to him.
"Hello, Kiro,"
"Mrs. Howell, what can I get you?"
"Uh. The drink you made for me the other day. Amargo and soda?" the foreign drink had worked wonders, sweet enough to lull her to sleep nicely for a few hours. Kiro had been kind enough to suggest it to her a night she couldn't quite decide what she wanted.
Grace doesn't look to her side, but she figures she can't pretend she hasn't noticed him, that his presence is like any other in the bar. They have aknowdleged each other before, thanks to her sudden burst of confidence, so it's common courtesy to say hi now too. Only he beats her to it.
"Never heard of that drink. What was it that you said?"
"Amargo and soda. It's from Argentina,"
"Sounds exotic. At least you cut it down," he raises his glass, showing her he is drinking his whiskey neat. Grace hears the way his rings clink against the glass.
"I'm Grace," Noel tries to remember the last time someone had the courtesy to let him introduce himself. He enjoys the formality of it, the akwardness.
"Noel,"
"Nice to meet you, Noel. What brings you around here?"
"Here to the bar or here to this country?" Grace shrugs, urging him to continue with the innocent game. "I'm on an incredibly long tour that starts here in Japan. And I am here because I haven't been graced by sleep since I arrived,"
Kiro hands her her drink. Noel takes the opportunity to linger his gaze on the line of her nose, the lift of her lips when she smiles and says a quiet thanks .
"That makes two of us,"
"You are on an incredibly long tour as well? Funny coincidence," he says quickly, trying to be funny because, honestly he is nervous as hell. Grace laughs softly and takes a sip. There's a pause, then, and he takes it. “Is this your first time here?”
“Yes,"
“Do you like it?”
“I do. Yeah.” It feels lonely , she thinks but Noel seems to know about that without her even having to say it. "I've been to some of the temples, I've visited Osaka's castle. I like it. Mostly I just ride the subway. What about you? I'm sure this isn't your first time,"
“Probably, the third or the fourth? I don't really remember most of it, you know. Fuckin' passed half the time we were here,”
“I bet you had fun.”
“Yeah. We did. It's different now," Noel isn't sure what compels him to continue his confession. "Half the band is gone, we are married, we have kids. It's like something is off this time."
"I've been feeling like something is off since I arrived too,"
"Glad I'm not alone," Noel raises his glass and she joins him in a toast to a shared feeling. The clinking of the glass is comfort enough for a couple of seconds. "What do you do?"
"Um. I'm kinda... how do you say it? In a rut. Or- just, in between jobs, let's say. So it doesn't sound so depressing," she chuckles awkwardly. She had always been embarrassed by her inability to figure her life out. So many opportunities gone to waste, so much fear of fear itself. "For the moment I'm just here with my husband,"
"Right?" Noel nods, and Grace's eyes land on his wedding finger.
"Is your wife here with you?"
"Uh. No. She is back at home. We have a month-old baby,"
"Oh. Congratulations. I'm sure it must be hard for you to be away from them,"
"Yeah. Yeah," Noel takes another sip of his glass and feels how the image of Meg and the baby sink heavily on his stomach along with the whiskey. "I miss them, but the job is the job,"
Noel palms his sides for his pack of cigarettes. When he finds it, he offers one to her. He observes how Grace looks at it longingly.
"I'm supposed to be quitting," She hasn't had one in days, trying to keep her promise to John that she would quit it. But the whiskey has loosened her up in a way she can't say no, especially when it's a man like him offering. She takes one to her lips and watches Noel flick the lighter to light up hers first and then his own.
"The secret one is always the sweetest," She exhales to the side, watches how Noel squits his eyes as he takes a long drag. Grace rotates the crystal on its spot, the condensation in the glass leaves traces on the polished wooden surface, her fingers feel cold.
"How long have you been together?"
"Uh. Good question. Probably, 6? 7 years. We got married in Las Vegas in '97. Crazy fucking party. You?"
"2 years. Actually, our anniversary is in a couple of days,"
"That's why you are here? Anniversary trip?"
"Uh, no not really. John is a corporate lawyer. He's here for work," she breathes out, hiding a rueful half-grin with her drink.
The silence that drapes the conversation is not uncomfortable, but rather resignedly tired.
"Do you want to try?" she asks.
"What does it taste like?"
"Uh. Very herbal. The name means bitter but I find it very sweet, kinda like liquorice,"
"Oh. Girly drink, then?" he teases.
"Not at all. Look at the label," she points to the bottle on the bottle shelf. Noel squints. On the label, there's a worker's hand holding a sickle, alluding to the labor movement. Grace hands him the drink, which is half full, and Noel tastes it.
"Bloody hell. This is fucking great," He turns to Kiro. "Next time I'm here remind me to order this,"
Kiro nods politely and Noel turns to look at her then, both wearing a tipsy smile on their faces. It's the moment where both of them realize that it's only a matter of a simple movement to trigger things into action. It's in that second that Grace decides she has to get out of there.
"I think it's time to try to get some sleep," she says suddenly.
"Yeah, you should do that,"
"What about you? What will you do?"
"I'll stare at the ceiling, maybe write a song,"
"Sounds fun," Grace's eyes travel across his face. The warm light of the bar falls nicely on his heavy eyes. She has the sudden, well-founded fear they will show up in her dreams tonight. "Well. I'll see you around then,"
Noel gives her a firm nod and watches her disappear. He passes a hand over his face and asks for another whiskey. He'll leave the Amargo and soda for another night.
+
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