internet safety we were taught as kids: don't share ANY personal information with ANYONE EVER
the british government: you don't want to give these random third parties your photo or driving licence showing your name, birthday, address and signature? are you perhaps a nonce?
Summary: coming home to Liam restlessly sitting over a song he cannot finish, she decides that bed is the only way out of his misery
Warnings: fluff
Wordcount: 1k
Masterlist, Britpop Masterlist
Every bone in her body felt ready to be wrangled out from beneath her skin the moment she let the door fall into the lock and silence encapsulated her. The wind brushing by her from the force a bit too harsh for a usual afternoon. Kicking her shoes off to the side, bag left abandoned and thrown against the wall, she didn't notice the light coming in from the living room. Guiding her through the dark though not giving out a warning of the pair of sneakers that weren't there when she left the house that morning.
Kicking them further into the light, the beaten-up fabric seemed more familiar to her. Slumping against the doorframe, watching his silhouette sit on her sofa, head thrown back and eyes closed in frustration, the exhaustion seemed to wash away by the simple act of his breathing flowing through her space.
"Don't look at me like that," he tutted without looking up. Sensing her stare on his figure by pure nature and instinct.
Letting his arms fall from covering his eyes, his vision wasn't only flooded by light but also by her. Slowly waltzing over, swaying in a tired manner until she fell close to his side. Head nuzzled into the cushion of the pillow, legs pulled up to her chest. Nudging his thigh with her foot, catching notice of the piece of paper laying in his lap. It was left untouched, a few crossed out sentences decorating the edges but nothing seemed of value to him.
"Noel's been on me arse again," he shrugged. Taking her ankle and softly massaging the tension out of her muscles, wincing every time it cracked under his touch and she sighed in relief. "Going on 'bout how if I want to write it should at least be decent. I'm gonna shove him his decency up his fucking arsehole."
"You're not," she objected him. Eyes already closed, head still with him. "What did you have so far?"
"Nothing," he huffed out. "Been sitting here for over two hours waiting for youse and nothing's come to me mind."
One eye peeked open at the confession he let slip past his lips. "You've been waiting two hours for me?"
"Don't act like that, I've been up waiting for way longer than that. So have you."
"I know," she said. Sitting up, head still heavy as she let it rest close to his shoulder. Taking in his scent as she let her eyes drift over one of the sentences half-hidden behind streaks of blue ink and his anger. "It doesn't sound too bad, regarding that you're not typically the writer."
"I've got nothing to say."
"Everyone's got something to say."
The rain was slowly losing it's patience with the outside world. Growing heavier as the world behind the window fainted from them.
"Maybe you're just too tired to say anything," she offered. Yawning as the words left her mouth, burying her head in his shoulder. Mumbling her next words against the fabric of his shirt. "We should go to bed and you can try it again in the morning when your head's free from Noel being a cunt."
Standing up, slowly dragging him off the sofa and towards her bedroom. Opening the drawer designated for him whenever he stayed over, either knew that what they had wasn't casual anymore. Whatever they were, it was something worth remembering in the future. Handing him over an old shirt he gave her to keep and taking one for herself, they undressed in front of each other like they'd been doing it for years. Liam guiding her to the bathroom by her shoulders when she wanted to fall into bed without having brushed her teeth.
"You'll regret it the moment yer laying in bed, all snuggled up to me and feel the dirt in yer mouth," he said, lips close to her ear. Proving how he knew her better than she knew herself.
Getting her toothbrush ready, handing it over and standing behind her in the mirror. His arms wrapped themselves around her waist, pulling her close to his chest.
"Tried writing about you," he confessed, swaying their bodies to imaginable music. Humming a tune she couldn't recall having ever heard before. "Wanted to do it like Noel does when he tries to get his birds 'round to ignoring how big of a twat he is. Couldn't find the words for you though, love."
"You're not a twat," she retorted, "and you don't need to write me songs for me to stay with you. I'd do it anyway, even if you were still working at that painter thing in Burnage. I don't need you to be more than what you are."
"Still wanted to do something nice for you," he shrugged like her words didn't twist his heart with the most affection anyone ever gave him in the quiet he found himself in one too many times for it to still be uncomfortable. But she made him nervous. She brought the colour from his youth back into his face.
"You don't need to be Noel for me to want you," she said again. Her voice steadier as she looked at him through the reflection in the mirror. Holding his gaze with every word she spoke in honesty. "You can just be Liam with me. You're enough for me."
And he never dared to look away, wanting to make sure that she was still real and not a made up version in his head that was too good to be true. But she was real and she was true and she looked at him like she never wanted to look at anything else again. It made his knees buckle beneath him.
Slipping under the covers in silence, he swore he never held anyone as precious as her and the words for what he wanted to define her as never came as easily as the next morning when she woke to hear him hum beside her in bed. Two pages full with scribblings and ideas.
