warnings: none! literally just noel being a loverboy
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.
“Love you, too.” His dreams are shimmery, like they tend to be, and when she appears in them her face is clear, each eyelash accounted for, each blemish appearing like in real life. Maybe this is what it’s like to be inside her mind; an innate, intrinsic knowledge of herself that he longs to hold. Either way, he takes the dreams for what they are, and he doesn’t grumble when the glimmering fades into the sunlight of early morning, when even in his own deep sleep he can feel her gaze on him, her brush of his hair before she gets up for work. He smiles softly, in his sleep, and dreams about performing to a crowd of millions, only making out her face.
warnings: ongoing panic attack, very brief religious guilt, noel deserving more, no speech marks, pre fame noel
It’s strange, coming home for summer. Stalling your car on the hill because in London, nobody drives. In Manchester, nobody really does either, but it’s quiet, and you’re the one who gives all the lifts. Making awkward small talk with the girl who works at the pub, because you knew her when you were fifteen and had illusions of the world, and now you’re twenty-one and ‘gone soft’ down South.
And he’s there, of course. On the dole, Jess tells you, getting high and occasionally setting up gear for the Inspiral Carpets, a band Jess tells you has the worst name in all of music history. You don’t think that’s true, but you don’t tell her, not wanting to defend him.
You see him for the first time since New Year at the pub the girl works at. He’s with his mates, and his brother Liam, who you’ve always found to be a bit of a straggler, is sat there too, even though he’s not old enough to be drinking. You get ID’d, even though the barman’s your Da’s mate, and get a vodka coke, because you’re going out that night and Jess told you to start drinking beforehand.
He calls your name when he stands up, as if you’re a friend, someone who he’s used to seeing, someone whose memories of him aren’t stale and unpleasant, like the potato you found at the back of the cupboard that had gone green.
“You going out? Good to see yous, didn’t think you’d be back so soon.”
It is June, and the time for rebirth has been and gone, the desire of spring dormant for another year. The sun stays up until nine, ten, eleven o’clock, and an unwanted flush creeps over your cheeks like sunburn. You tell him that yes, you’re going out, with Jess actually, and would you like to come?
As soon as you ask this, you regret it, but you don’t take it back, because his face lights up as if it’s the offer of a lifetime, and he nods eagerly. Yeah, sure, he’s saying, and he buys you a drink, even though you know now that he’s on the dole and your student grant could cover it. You sit next to him, bare thigh pressed up against his jeans, and you wonder why he always wears jeans, because isn’t it so hot in here? Jess is sat on Nathan’s lap, always fucking sits on Nathan’s lap, and she jabbers on about some workplace drama, Woolworths assistant, and you’re pressed against his thigh like it’s normal.
He lights a cigarette, dragging the ash tray closer to him, not bothering to ask you if it’s alright. Never one to ask for permission, and his brother Liam looks at it longingly, even though he’s seventeen and old enough to buy his own, has been for a year. You take pity on him where his brother doesn’t, slide him a box of cigarettes and a lighter, and he has that same smile, his face lit up. Sweet, really.
“Are you coming out too, Liam?” You ask, and he shakes his head, makes an excuse about work in the morning, and smokes his cigarette quietly. His brother is getting daring, more pints down, a hand on your thigh, so light you barely register it. But you do register it, of course you do. He’s loud, interrupting Jess’ ramblings, talking about music- always music- his Beatles, his Bowie, his Stones. Jamie nicked Sgt Pepper’s from HMV on Wednesday, apparently, and they loudly argue over the best track- quietly, you think it’s She’s Leaving Home, but you don’t say that. His hand gets further up your thigh, before Jess announces the taxi’s here, and he snatches it away like he’s been burned, as if it’s embarrassing to be vulnerable. It is, here.
You pile into the taxi, all eight of you, and Jamie gives the driver an extra fiver so he doesn’t complain about road safety or anything like laws. You sit in Jess’ lap, laughing as the boys tell a story, your skirt shifting up your thighs but making no move to tug it down. The Hacienda’s in town, and you spend the whole taxi ride laughing. Nathan pays, because he wants to impress Jess, and you queue up, and Noel’s behind you, and you pay his entry. It’s midnight, now, no more summer sun, and in the dark he’s familiar, the music too loud, but louder than the thrumming of your pulse under your skin. You lose Jess in the first twenty minutes, and you push through crowds blindly, and he’s behind you, and his fingers on your pulse are grounding.
It’s only a club, he says, calm down. He says your name, right in your ear, and you don’t want to turn around, because turning around is facing what you did, what he did. It’s June, and 1989, and in this room, your life doesn’t stretch out in front of you like it does every summer. In this room, it stays with him, with Noel, his blue eyes knowing and his pale skin remembering. You turn around, because of course you do, because you will every Christmas, and every summer, and you imagine you’ll do it until you die. I missed you, he says, and because it’s loud you think he says I want to kiss you. Are those sentences really so different, anyway?
You’re waiting, then, expectant for something he never promised to give. He blinks at you, expectant of a response you don’t know you’re meant to give, and then shakes his head. Forget it, he says, and the surge of rejection feels hot in your chest, like bile, rotting in your stomach and up through your throat. You make a sign to smoke, and he follows you, out through the club until the sticky summer heat hits you again, even if it’s cooler now because it’s nighttime. Your pulse runs hot, and your cheeks flush, and you want to ignore him when he looks at you.
He says your name, once, twice, and your hands are shaking as you reach in your bag, cigarettes you rolled earlier, no lighter. You gave them to Liam, what were you thinking? Have you got a light? You ask, and your voice sounds underwater, foreign, closer to the Southern accents you surround yourself in at uni, and he’s saying your name again. Stop, breathe, stop. Have you taken anything? Have you mixed your drugs? No, you don’t think so, and you feel like a trapped animal. You can barely see him, and when you do, there’s an unfamiliar emotion on his face, compassion maybe? Understanding? His hand is on your arm then, and you almost fold into him, that feeling in your stomach burning.
Have you got a light? You say again, and he’s putting a cigarette in your mouth, one of the bought ones because he doesn’t like rolling, and he’s lighting it for you, thumb brushing your lips. He’s murmuring something to you, and you can’t listen, too focused on that nicotine rushing through your veins. I want to go home, you’re murmuring, and he says, okay. He leads you out of the smoking area, hand on your back, doesn’t bother to go inside and tell everyone where you’re going, an Irish goodbye is in anyway.
My mam’ll pick us up, you’re saying, even though she won’t, never will. He nods, knowingly, guides you into another taxi that always wait down the bottom of Deansgate. Fog Lane, he says, and you watch the city fly past, still in some kind of a daze. Sorry, you say, and your eyes fill up with tears. You can go back to the club, Jess said you’ve not been out in ages.
It’s fine. I only came out because I wanted to spend time with you, he tells you, and you sink into the car seat, can’t look at him. He says your name again, almost pleadingly, like you’re eighteen again and the kisses he gives you are like freckles across sunny skin, and you didn’t do it and he’s yours again, you and him, him and you. You take a deep, gasping breath, and he swears under his breath, for fucks sake, and rolls the window down, so you can lean out of it and throw up, right on Wilmslow Road.
Guilt, your parents would say, Irish Catholic and disapproving. God knows what you did. Noel knows what you did, and he’s like a kicked puppy, coming back to you because he doesn’t know anything else. The taxi’s kicked you out, and he pays, and you burst into tears, right in the middle of Withington, that feeling in your chest making you want to explode.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, you’re saying, but it doesn’t mean anything, not anymore. He’ll take everything he can get from you, desperate for attention, and you can drip feed it to him like morphine. You take big, gasping breaths, and he’s holding onto you, close and warm and trusting, even when you broke it.
Let’s go home, he says, walks the rest of the way, knows where you live still, the semi detached off Fog Lane that he used to be jealous of. The living room light is on, your mam sat up for you, and your face is in his shoulder, gasping for air, as if he could give you anything more.
I know. He says it softly, stroking your hair, and you’re gripping onto him so tightly it’s leaving crescent shapes in his forearms, and still he takes it. I know. It’s summer, and he might be yours but you’re not his, not after it all. You go inside, and he waits until your bedroom light turns off before he walks home, your curtains shutting without you looking out. It’s June, and the cycle begins again, never really ends with him. He walks home, hands in pockets, and thinks about when you were eighteen.
i bet you look good on the dancefloor - l. gallagher
where they have a one night stand (18+)
minors dni 🎀
pre-fame liam x female reader
warnings: mentions of alcohol, mentions of drugs, high sex, oral sex (f recieving), protected (!) sex, based off of an arctic monkeys song
The club is thick with cigarette smoke and body heat, sweat dripping from the walls and evaporating back into the air, some cycle of life dictated by alcohol and the house mix the DJ is spinning. He’s made eye contact with her once, twice now, both times prolonged, until she turns away, and is swept back into the crowd. He’s making his way to the bar now, his head not spinning as much as he’d like it to, and he swears under his breath as he weaves through the crowd. This is what he gets for being sorted out by Big Mike down the road, because he could swear on his mam’s life that at least sixty percent of a half gram was sugar, but he just can’t prove it.
“Vodka coke, please, mate,” he says to the bartender, folding his arms against the bar and fishing in his pocket for coins, stacking them up and sliding them over. It’s more expensive, but the gear’s not hitting like it should, so he needs something that’ll make the experience more enjoyable. He’s surprised, for some reason, when he turns his head to the right, and sees her leant against the bar, swirling a straw into her drink and staring him down.
“You’re making the eyes at me,” she tells him, leaning in close so he can hear her over the music. Her mascara is dark, and slightly smeared under her eyes, and he thinks he could potentially be talking to the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. He shrugs, taking his drink from the bartender and turning fully to face her, watching as she takes him in.
“Maybe. Can’t help it if you look that good on that dancefloor, can I?” He takes a sip from his drink, lips curling up as she grins. She knows she’s fit, and she’s looking up at him like she knows exactly where she’s going to end up tonight.
“Are you gonna go back to your mates or do you want to dance?” She’s forward, in a way not a lot of girls are. He shrugs again, downing his drink and putting the empty glass back on the bar, waiting for her to do the same before taking her hand, dragging her back into the crowd. The DJ’s playing some naff Happy Mondays tune, but he’s beyond complaining when she’s dancing on him like that. He’s got his hands on her waist, and her arm is around his neck, and there’s no space between them. She tells him her name, lips pressed against his ear, and he feels as high as a kite even if he’s only had dodgy gear.
“Liam,” he shouts back, by way of introduction, and she’s kissing him then, arms tight around his neck and hips pressed against his. He kisses her back just as hard, the taste of vodka and rollies intoxicating. His mates are somewhere, they won’t mind if he leaves, and his family’s in Ireland anyway, visiting family on a trip he was too skint to warrant missing work for. In short, he’s determined to get this girl home. She’s mean with the way she kisses, tongue and teeth making sure she’s in control. He’s gripping her hips hard, and the second she lets out a soft whimper, he’s done, pulling away and grabbing her hand again. “Come back to mine?” He asks, loud enough that she’ll be able to hear him over the music.
Yeah, she says, and they’re leaving then, pupils blown and lips swollen. Liam near enough yanks her through the crowd, not looking back, an Orpheus in all senses of getting this girl back. He slows down a bit when the crowd thins out, but stays holding her hand, weaving through cigarette smokers and people vomiting in the corner before they’re outside. It’s raining, as it tends to be in October, and he stands to look at her in the night air. A street lamp illuminates her gold, shoulders immediately freezing, but she makes no move to complain.
“Are you cold? We can get a cab. I’m out in Burnage, it’s a bit of a walk,” he says, watching as she rolls a cigarette, thinking over her options.
“Cab’s fine, yeah. Let me smoke this first,” she says, her voice quieter now she’s not contending with the DJ for Liam’s attention. He leans against the street lamp, cupping his hand around her lighter as she tries to light it, shaking from cold. The walk to the taxi rank is short, but he slings his arm around her bare shoulders anyway, toying with the strap of her top just because he can. They kiss in the cab, her lips still mean, and then they’re paying and stumbling into his bedroom. He flushes at the state of it; nineteen and still sharing a room with his brother. At least he’s not here, the bed neatly made, a contrast to Liam’s, the duvet hanging off the edge and the pillow flat and sad-looking, bunched up against the headboard.
“Sorry for the state,” he says, and she shakes her head and tells him it’s fine. They look at each other for a couple of seconds, and he sits down on the bed, looking up at her. “Do you want to fuck?” It’s about as subtle as an earthquake, but her lips curl up into a grin again, and she settles onto his lap, knees bracketing his thighs.
“Yeah,” she murmurs, looping her arms around his neck again. Her pupils aren’t as blown anymore, and his heartbeat is starting to correct itself, but they kiss anyway, her lips mean and his touch daring as it slips under her top. His thumb brushes the top of her ribcage, and she leans back and pulls her top off, braless after all. Fuck, is all he says in response, lowering his lips to her neck and sucking his way down it, his hands cupping her breasts and thumbs brushing her nipples.
He’s hard now, can feel her wriggling on top of him, and he breaks away from her neck, looking up at her with dark eyes. Her hair has fallen across her face, and she’s looking down at him, skirt riding up her thighs as her skin flushes. “So pretty,” he whispers, kissing her again, this time being the first to introduce tongues. He can tell she’s coming down, because she’s not as fierce as she was before, allowing soft moans to slip out of her mouth and sharp stings to his scalp when she grabs at his hair. He moves back down to her neck, lifting one of her breasts to his mouth, wrapping his lips around her nipple and dancing his tongue across it.
“Liam,” she gets out, breath shaky, so he keeps going, only stopping when he flips them round, letting her sit on the bed as he sinks to his knees in front of her, tugging at the waistband of her skirt, a silent question to take it off. She nods, raising her hips, and he slips it off.
“So wet already,” he murmurs, as if he’s not rock hard himself. His thumb brushes over the cotton of her panties, not hard enough to give any kind of pressure, but just enough to feel how soaked she is. He doesn’t bother taking them off, just pulls them to the side and leans in, his breath hot against her. “Can I?” He asks, and when she nods his tongue darts out, licking her clit just enough to make her feel it. She inhales, sharp, and he takes that as an invitation to keep going, spreading her thighs further apart and pressing his thumb to her clit, licking a long stripe downwards.
“Liam,” she says again, voice pleading, hand tangling in his hair. He keeps going, swapping his tongue and thumb for kitten licks and hard circles, revelling in the taste of her. No drug he’s ever taken has made him feel as good as he feels right now. He slips a finger inside her, mouthing at her inner thigh and sweating under his breath at how tight she is. She moans, loud, head tipping back and chest heaving as soon as he starts to move, lips wrapped around her clit again.
“Can you take another?” He moves back just enough to ask the question, slipping a second finger in as soon as she nods. It’s a strange feeling around his fingers, but he moves slowly, letting her adjust before licking at her clit. It’s obvious she’s close, and he moans into her as he looks up to see her brushing her fingers over her own nipples, lip pulled between her teeth.
“I can’t-“ she whispers, hand tightening in his hair. “I need to come.” Her head tilts back, and he nods, not even considering the possibility he could deny her. He scissors his fingers inside her, and sucks hard on her clit, and then she’s coming, thighs locking around his head and both hands grabbing at his hair. “Shit. Liam, Liam, Liam,” she cries out, legs shaking when he doesn’t let up. He only pulls away when he’s satisfied, and she lays back, hitting the mattress hard as her hips twitch.
“Good?” He asks, wiping at his mouth and crawling onto the single bed, kneeling in front of her. She’s coming down from more than the drugs now, and she opens her eyes, chest heaving hard.
“Good,” she echoes, catching her breath and propping herself up on her elbows. He pulls his shirt off and starts to unbuckle his belt, groaning as she opens her legs again and pulls her panties off. He’s quick to undress, even quicker to rip a condom open with his teeth and roll it on, even the feeling of the rubber against his tip almost too much. “I’m ready when you are,” she tells him, face scrunching up as he brushes his fingers over her still-sensitive clit.
“You’re ready?” He asks, even though she said she was, because he’s scared to hurt her. She nods and says yes, Liam, and he’s lining himself up then, pushing in slowly. She gasps, and his head drops to her shoulder as soon as he’s fully in, because it feels so good. “Fuck,” is all he can say, and when she tells him he can move, he pulls back slowly, pushing in quicker. He feels dizzy, unsure if he’s still on a comedown or if she’s just intoxicating.
“You can-“ she cuts herself off, scratching at his back as he hits some spot inside her. “Shit. You can go faster,” she gasps out, and Liam pulls out quicker, hitting that spot inside her again. Her nails are digging into his skin, but he doesn’t care, not when he’s the one making her feel this good. He lets out a low, choked moan when she clenches around him, her name pouring off of his lips as he attaches them to her neck. He’s messy with it, dragging his teeth across her skin, his hips snapping up into her, moans swirling around the room like cigarette smoke.
“Feels so fucking good,” he grits out, positioning himself so his lips are above hers, his blue eyes almost black with the way his pupils are blown. She leans up, kisses him, and slips her hand down between them, rubbing at her clit and clenching around him. He moans at the sight, at the feeling, dropping his head back down to her neck as his hips grow erratic. “‘m close,” he admits against her skin, feeling a familiar fire start in his lower belly.
“Me too,” she gasps, fingers speeding up between them, a brutal pace matching the way Liam’s thrusting into her. She whines, head tipping back and back arching, and then she’s warning him she’s going to come, walls fluttering around him.
“Come, then,” he says bluntly, hips jerking as she tightens to the point of being painful, mouth falling open and his name leaving her lips as she comes, her legs shaking. He thrusts again, once, twice, and then he’s coming too, biting down on her collarbone and driving his hips into her as he empties into the condom, gasping for breath against his skin. “Fuck,” he says, for what could be the fiftieth time tonight. He pulls back, pulls out, looking at her underneath him as he ties the condom up. She’s shaking still, and she presses her thighs back together, eyes fluttering shut.
“Good?” She asks, leaning against the pillow, making no move to cover herself up. He gets up, throws the condom away, and pulls his boxers back on.
“Good, yeah,” he answers, and he’s certain then that no drug could ever make him feel better than he does now.
posting a tiny snippet of what i’ve written so far for part two because i’m proud of it and im hoping it’ll convince me to actually finish it 🥲
warnings: none really, mentions of cheating and london (ahh)
November on the Heath is quite a morbid affair, really. It’s too far from Christmas to have lights on the trees, and too far from Halloween to have red leaves and giggles of children in costumes. The branches above his head are bare, reaching out like hands, criss crossing as if their souls are intertwined. He stares at the ground as he walks, the once-green grass patchy and brown under his feet. The cafe, if you can call it that, is a tiny little hut by the mixed pond, wooden shutters dark with age and the roof bowed by the weight of the lichen and moss that’s sat on it for years. She’s standing there already, hands in her pockets, watching him like she’s surprised he actually showed up.
“Alright?” Noel stops about a metre away from her, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. She’s got a hat on, a red one with a bobble on top, and he gets punched square in the chest by a memory of when he was nineteen and watching her pack to leave Manchester.
“Hi. I didn’t think you’d come, like.” She rocks on her feet slightly, her voice muted and quiet, grey like the winter that surrounds them. Her face hasn’t changed at all, and he has to take a deep breath to avoid the memories that are bubbling under his skin like a geyser, ready to reminisce at any moment.
“I didn’t think you’d want to see me.” His voice is stiff, and they order a drink each before starting to walk, the heat from the paper coffee cup seeping into his bones and easing the anxiety that’s been crushing him since she called. “You look good. I mean, really good.” She looks at him and sighs, smiling crookedly like she always does.
“I know. It’s classic me, init? Came to London and got pretty.” They’re walking around a bench, and she visibly slips into a thoughtful kind of mindset before sitting down, tucking her legs underneath her. He sits down next to her, awkwardly clutching his coffee cup as he leaves about a metre of space between them.
“Well, you were always pretty. Very pretty.” She looks at him again, the weight of the world on her shoulders as she does. He takes in her face, the slight puffiness of her eyes as if she’d cried before she came out, the way her fingers clutch around her cup as she takes a sip. She presses her lips together, looking away from him and across the Heath. He frowns slightly, looking into his cup, certain the biting wind isn’t the only thing that’s adding to the frosty atmosphere between them. And then-
“Why did you do it, Noel?” Well, there’s the million-dollar question. He opens his mouth for clarification- the cheating, or the friends with benefits?- but closes it again, not sure he could’ve even called them friends. He doesn’t even know her middle name, and he knows- knew- her body so intricately.
“I don’t know.” Noel Gallagher doesn’t seem to know a lot these days, not really. He doesn’t know why he’s sat here, doesn’t know why she wanted to meet him at all. He doesn’t feel guilty for what he did, because he’s sure the only person he wronged in all of this was his wife. If everything he was touching before was gold, it’s now ice, frost curling around their conversation and freezing him into place, all of the feelings he felt towards her locked into some kind of glacier. She shakes her head, as if she’s about to leave, but she just sighs instead, and he thinks that’s worse.
“I thought you might apologise.” His brows furrow further, and he leans back on the bench, shivering slightly in the cold. The wind picks up, and he watches a crisp packet flying across the ground and landing in the pond.
“For what?” The way that she looks at him then is nothing short of hate. She sets the cup on the bench, in the gap between them, and he just watches. She looks like she’s going to say something, her eyes cold. He doesn’t know if it’s better or worse that she just gets up and leaves, not even bothering to say goodbye. That heavy feeling settles in his chest again, and he holds onto his cup until it stops being hot, and her cup left next to him is icy too. Maybe, just maybe, he’s in the wrong. He could’ve treated her better, he supposes, or could’ve been more honest. He gets up and throws the coffee cups into the bin and starts the walk out of the Heath, the wind in the branches above him whispering like it knows what he did.
noel gallagher x paul 'guigsy' mcguigan (requested)
summary: things aren't going so great after all that happened along '95, but it still managed to have a good outcome. guigsy is back and so far he's been okay. or so he thought. a few reminders of the past put him off to the point of losing his usually calm temper, which results in an honest talk with noel.
tags: sentimental, angst, friendship, shared fears, reasoning, a little AU, sfw
word count: 1.5k
author's note: for this week, i'll probably come up with two posts. this is gonna be the first one, based on a request by @ngmyfav, and then i'll go for the next requests :)) as i had a few ideas during the week, i might start mixing my on-going drafts with the requests for the next posts, if writer's block™ don't pay a visit. anyways, i hope u like it! xx
p.s.: this one was a bit under-revised as i tried not to overthink too much. i'm super sorry if u find a typo or a misspelling along the way.
Even after crossing the exit door and being received by the chilling air of the night, it was still possible to hear something playing inside the pub, along with the chattering and clinking of glasses. On the usual day, being around people didn't bother to the point of having to go outside to get some air. It could even cause a bit of stress, but having known faces around — as for the lads that Guigsy knew for a big part of his life or at least shared so much time with — helped social occasions become less shitty. Still, no matter how much he tries, he still needs to leave for a minute or more, just to recover. Just to not be swallowed by anxiety yet again.
This time, though, it was more than just bottled up emotions. Deep down, he hated those little inconveniences of life, being recognized from more than just the regular memories people would have of him, but also from the diverse media, the gigs, the news. People couldn't even just be assholes anymore, they had to go all the way down to 'oh, wait, I've seen you on TV before'. Distressing as fuck.
Even if the air was cold at this time of the year, it helped Guigsy with the knot that surged in his stomach. Doesn't matter if for five seconds or around two hours on a stage, being the center of attention was always hard. On stage, at least, it was easier to deal with; playing his lines and allow the music to flow was far less difficult than any direct glances, words whispered or just straight at his face, the consequences of every fucking step any of them took, etc.
Guigsy's hands were trembling just slightly when he lit up the joint he took out of his pocket. Some things just had to be resolved with a drag or two, as all the worries felt like vanishing for a second. It didn't always work, but it worked faster than counting to ten or writing on a journal, whatever people had taught him — without being asked, many such times — to do while he was on a break.
As the young man's thoughts were finally quieter, despite the occasional startling caused by the constant noise of people leaving the pub. Well, it was on him to stick around the exit door. Maybe he wanted to be found, after all, because it didn't take long to see a familiar face stepping out. Of course he'd go check on him. If he wasn't in a worse situation, he'd definitely go check on him during their hangouts in large groups.
"Here you are, thought I'd lost you, mate." Noel said casually as he got close enough to be heard. The tone almost managed to hide the worry, almost. "Everything alright?"
Sometimes, just a nod would be an answer when it came to Guigsy. A 'not right now, but soon I'll be'. Or, maybe, not too soon. It was a constant between them, a silent understanding and maybe the realization that it wasn't just about the insane level of fame in such a short time span, it was also about the struggles everyone had to face in the late twenties. It's the industry, but it's everything else too. People don't usually address those feelings. They don't, either, but it's as clear as looking in a mirror and immediately picking on what is going on. Even without the details.
It took Guigsy a while to come up with an answer. "Jus' came to chill out here. Way too many people inside."
Noel nodded, walking a few more steps closer to that spot where his friend was chilling. He lit up a cigarette, resting his back against the wall. It felt weird to be so at ease in any place at this point, but that pub in London remained like a ‘safe spot’. They used to go there every now and then before the band became a thing, and it held a few nostalgic memories already. Still, never too safe as to forget they’re in the real world.
"Listen, I kinda overheard… What the fuck was goin' on before you left to smoke? And out here, of all places?"
"I was jus' finishing, not a big deal." Guigsy didn't address the other question.
"Not tryin' to be a buzz killer, y'know that, right? It’s been ages since I saw you like that."
"Yeah." he paused for a moment. "Eh… I think I messed up. Like, earlier. That guy was pissed at me for somethin' I did in the past, years ago. Fuckin’ twat."
Noel scoffed at that. "Shit, and you're jus' tellin' me that now? Should’ve called me. I would kick his arse if you asked me."
"There was a bird with him, guess she talked him out of it."
Noel rolled his eyes, taking another drag of his cigarette. "What, did you steal a bird or somethin', Guigs? Cuz if you did, it will fuckin' surprise me, tell you that."
“Wouldn’t call that a steal, they were broken up.” he joked.
For a few seconds, they just stood there, a comfortable silence filling the lack of words to be said. Many such times, Noel felt like saying something to Guigsy, especially after the temporary quitting. Easier said than done, as he always struggles to find the right timing to do that. Even in that moment.
"You know that, um… You don't need to hide, y'know? I'm here for you whenever you need to talk. If you even want to, I mean."
It was hard to say that and even harder to not know how Guigsy would react, but it was out. No way to take it back.
"I know, and I'm fuckin' happy to be back, even if it still scares me. Better to face some fears than just run from 'em, right?" his voice sounded a bit restrained, unsure if he should be talking that much, even if it was Noel. Even if they know each other for years and it shouldn't feel so foreign to open up. "Don't you miss the past sometimes? Like, not the bullshit and the struggles, but feelin' like you still had a lot to achieve. That you still had 'later on' or whatever." he paused for a moment, shaking his head. "Fuck, what am I sayin'…"
"That's really deep, yeah." Noel chuckled at the thought, but more out of understanding this feeling than finding it ridiculous. The mind is a tricky thing, even when you have enough self-esteem and confidence to never let anyone think otherwise, it's still there. The doubts, the 'it's too late now'. "'Course I miss it. Guess that's what keeps us makin' art, no? We can't go back in time, neither we want to, but we can keep bringing it to the present in other forms."
"Ah, sure, go all songwriter on me right now." Guigsy said with a soft smile. "Let's say you're right, then. How do you not go nuts with all the changes?"
"Lots of escaping routes, y'know 'em." he shrugs. "But hey, you should stop keepin' it all inside. People definitely won't hate ya for expressing what you're feeling."
It's obvious that bottling up would just lead to another burnout, another stressful path that would swallow him up, but Guigsy learned that old habits die hard in the worst way, as it's not just a question of switching a button. "I'm fuckin' tryin'. Don't know if I'll manage that."
"That's the thing, mate. You don't really need to manage anything. We got you, for as long as you're up to keep makin' music with us." Noel said more calmly this time, as he got rid of the cigarette that was practically finished by this point. "We all have ups and downs, y'know? You've been there, saw that I had mine too."
Guigsy sighed, taking a look around that spot behind the pub they were in and, for some reason, it reminded him of all those other moments during late teenage years where they'd go for the most random hangouts with people he didn't know, in situations he wouldn't ever take part if it wasn't for the fact that Noel would be there too. The classic 'I'll go if you go' situation. It was slowly becoming a rare thing, as becoming an adult implied in knowing other people, fitting in on different groups. Still, it felt good to know that after so many years they were actually exchanging more than a few words.
"You sure you don't wanna go back inside and have another pint, maybe even play pool against those morons that are still there from the moment we got here?" Noel asked, passing an arm around his friend's shoulders. "It's startin' to get a little sad out here. And freakin' cold too."
"Do I have a choice?"
"Um… No, you don't, everyone noticed you were gone. They're gonna start thinkin' weird stuff if we don't go back quick." Noel joked.
"Ah, fuck off."
It might not change a thing, maybe not even be memorable enough for both of them to cite this years later as a game-changer moment of their youth, but it surely made Guigsy feel like he made the right choice to open up, even if just a little. He knew he belonged in the band and with the lads he considered as friends, even though everything else that came with it was a fuckin' compilate of all that made him want to just disappear.
noel gallagher x f!reader (written in third person, she/her pronouns)
also on AO3
tags: wife!reader, established relationship, discovering pregnancy, fluffy, family bond, requested by @ngmyfav
word count: 4.5k
summary: with the recording of the sophomore album, noel has been busier than usual, spending more time in the studio - while still squeezing a way to return home at least during weekends. he cannot control how things are changing quickly as the band gets more recognition across the country and globally, but it wouldn't ever get on his way to spend the free time with his beloved wife. during a particular day at the studio, though, noel's concentration quickly vanishes when you call to share the news - the lads are there when it happens, so it's definitely not a dream. after a few days scared of taking a pregnancy test, the two lines appeared. what does it feel like to step into parenthood zone?
author's note: hellooo! just wanted to give a quick thanks to each and everyone that's been interacting here, it's really a nice thing to be welcomed into this space and hopefully i will be able to post at least weekly updates. as i'm putting the requests into priority now, i'll have these posted first. i really hope to do an extra part of this oneshot of their trip to celebrate the baby, as i think it would feel rushed to insert it here.
two observations: it's been revised, but it might have a typo or a syntax mistake i didn't catch, so i ask for your understanding. the historical/90s references were based on researches, but they can also be not 100% right. hopefully it won't get on the way of immersion <3
After stepping in the game with the debut album, 'Definitely Maybe', the recording sessions became an even bigger deal for the upcoming projects. Everything seemed to be falling into the right place, life felt good. The sophomore album was shaping up smoothly, as the long hours at the studio in Wales were paying off.
Lively conversations over cigarettes and whiskey, note-taking on the edges of the lyrics sheets, mild arguing over key-points and melodies… Sunset after sunset, leaving the building at the end of the night with that sureness of going forward, each step at a time, it all managed to make Noel proud of everything that was going on. The reception of the first album paid off for the time they spent going on gigs all around the country.
Crazy how it went from a far away dream to reality. Fame is often a double-edged sword, and it clearly came with consequences, but putting his compositions out to the world made it all worthy. Something about hearing the crowd chanting back the words written back then, when Noel had songwriting more as escapism than an actual concrete idea. Achieving all of it along with his baby brother, even with ups and downs, mattered a lot as well.
There was another layer to his happy state. After a few days, no matter how many hours on the road he had to face, Noel would return to what was 'home' for around two years now. Not a place, a person. Just like music, she was a constant as well - even if, sometimes, he'd be amused with how unpredictable she could be.
Home was coming back home and finding his 'Mrs.', forgetting about the awful coffee in the studio, the scribbled drafts, nonstop double-checks in sound mixing, leaving it all behind the front door and wrapping his arms around the woman he loves.
If that's not the point in being alive, well, Noel doesn't really want to know what is.
He found her a bit distracted by the balcony, looking at the city lights outside as if they held an answer, whatever it was. It's not unusual for the young woman to hide from the world and get introspective. Her personality just isn't like that. Yet that was the picture painted in front of Noel's eyes.
Couldn't help but hug her a bit tighter this time, his chest touching her back as if he could protect his loved one from any harm. "Missed me?" Noel's words were soft, yet he still sounded tired.
"Fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't hear you comin' in." she answered after a second, a weak smile on her face.
He laughed at that. "Good thing you knew it would be me then, luv."
She was craving a cigarette, honestly, but wouldn't go for one. Something kept her from sleeping for a few days now, a thought that was both scary and a telling fact about how far her relationship with Noel was going. The marriage changed a lot of things, but at the same time it still felt like simply dating with a few more steps. Maybe because it's still recent.
"Somethin' happened? You're weirdly quiet. It's freakin' me out, y'know?" Noel broke the silence after a while. He knows she'll only tell anything when she wants, it's an old habit that he's grown used to by now. His grip around her didn't falter, though. No problem in being there, giving at least the reassurance that he wouldn't go anywhere. At least for the weekend.
She shook her head, turning a bit to be able to see his face. Sometimes she'd forget about his features when work and trips would keep them from really seeing each other for weeks. "Ah, y'know, same old. It gets freaky by this time of the year. Many news popping up."
"Sorry, can't help it. They make every fuckin' step we give turn into a headline." he chuckled, leaning in to plant a kiss on her forehead. "You'll do great. Best journalist in this freakin' country. And maybe in the whole world, who knows?"
"Ok, now you're jus' going to inflate my ego. Stop."
Everything would be alright. Of course it would. She was just glad that Noel wouldn't be asking a lot of questions, not when they had this silent agreement pre-established. Something between the lines of 'let me reach out to you when I'm ready'. Even if it ended up being too agonizing to wait, it never came off as a problem.
"I jus' know you'll do great, no matter what. Always did, right?"
Noel would say those words looking into her eyes as if it was crazy to think otherwise, and made this fact alone was one of the reasons she accepted his proposal back then. It wasn’t just about the passion, the chemistry or how they had enough in common to make it last forever, it was also about how he’d trust her before anyone else would.
"Well, yeah… For now…” she started, sighing as she tried to get back in a seemingly good mood. Enough of overthinking on the balcony. “I, fuck, I just wanna pretend there's nothing to worry about, if you don't mind. You don't right? Fuckin' need a bath and the next eight hours of sleep. We both do, I guess." she poked him on the side.
"For real, now? Think I need it that much? If I get some coffee now, I mean… think I could stay awake all night." he joked lightly, pushing back just enough to give her space to walk back inside. Noel had his fingers intertwined with hers, as if not able to fully let her go.
"Doin' god knows what…"
"Oh, you know what."
"No, I don't! Because you promised me we'd watch that movie…” she smiled, walking into the living room and pointing out the VHS tape over the VCR device. “That one with Sandra Bullock, well… found it at the video store downtown. I stopped by to rent it after work."
"And nobody recognized you? You gotta teach me that.”
Noel wouldn’t argue on the movie choice as he knew she’d make him watch whatever she put her mind into. Deep down, he enjoyed being pulled out of the comfort zone with the random choice for sci-fi or romcoms, sometimes even horror; even if he ended up complaining for the first fifteen minutes — that would never change, honestly.
Anything that could’ve thought through tomorrow, she’d leave it for tomorrow. Right now, while they’re acting sweet and having a pleasant time that is so rare with both of their schedules, it’s hard to think of anything else.
As the first sunrays seeped through the windows on Monday, she knew it before she opened her eyes. That doubt couldn't go on unresolved for another night. The weekend was enough of escapism, and even that was too much time, looking at it now. Anxiety and fear of the result held her back, but ultimately there was no choice but to go through and find out, one way or another. Even if the idea of seeing two lines coming from the pregnancy test scared her, it also caused her heart to do this weird thing. Something akin to hope, almost like she knew it before actually knowing.
For a Monday, the morning seemed way too calm, which offered her the opportunity to stop by the nearest pharmacy. After confirming that her period was indeed late, it took a few days to accept that it could've been an indication to be alert. Of course, this was always a possibility, even before the marriage, but it never came across as a real possibility until now.
It isn't scary because it'd be the first time. Throughout the whole drive to the pharmacy, she kept thinking about the earlier conversations she had with Noel. It always felt like a natural outcome to what they had, yet the scary part is when a plan for the future suddenly seems at arm's length. So many fuckin' questions about how to raise a kid. Of course one would go insane if thinking about it too much. That was the reason why she needed that solid proof, because the last time she had a pregnancy scare, it lasted minutes before she got the evidence that it was a false alarm. Now it hasn't come for days.
It happened too fast. There weren't a lot of people in the line, the woman behind the counter was actually pretty nice. God knows if she recognized her from one of the paparazzi pictures that would come out every now and then — points for being married to one of the most recognizable men in the country —, but in the end she didn't have to face any major problems. Stares are just a natural consequence of being a woman in her late twenties, standing in a line with a box that could hold answers about her entire future — not just hers, Noel's life, their families, friends and everyone else that mattered would be a part of this somehow. It felt both frightening and exciting, not the right time and the perfect time.
Noel had left early that morning to head to the studio. She noticed when he was leaving, reluctant while pulling away from her, careful not to wake her up. He groaned and, a few seconds after opening his eyes, ended up accepting that life had to exist outside the comfort of their bed. Some minutes after — or, maybe, more than a few minutes, as the sun was higher when she heard the click on the front door, announcing almost too loudly that she was alone in the house. At this point, this was routine.
The thought of returning to that silence after going out to buy the test didn't feel as heavy as before when she opened the front door of the apartment and for the first time decided to picture what it would feel like to do it a few years in the future. If the future would be just a little bit like they talked about in late night conversations. It was easy to imagine a little human that'd look exactly like a perfect mix of the two.
"Fuck, what am I doin'?" she muttered to herself, taking a deep breath to avoid the tears threatening to fall. If she hasn't been postponing this for so long, the best way to handle it would be just waiting for Noel to return — luckily later on that same day, if the recordings were as advanced as he claimed to be.
At least, by taking off the weight of the expectation, she'd be able to think it through while she's left with nothing but her own mind to deal with it. Whatever the result would be, it'd be information only she would know for a short period of time. It was a rare thing to have lately.
"No, for fuck's sake, that's not it. Something's missing here."
"I've been sayin'…" Guigsy pointed out to a certain point at the music sheet they were taking notes on. The paper had marks all over at this point, but they were getting closer to finally reach a common ground on what to do for Champagne Supernova. "Think we could expand the bass lines here, then-"
While they kept rearranging, Liam was pacing back and forth, rolling his shoulders to distract himself. He wasn't even impatient, just observing and throwing a comment here and there. Safely hiding behind a cigarette that he lit up the moment Noel and Guigsy said 'cut' like freaking movie directors from the outside of the recording booth. Liam's part, for now, was delivering the vocals and charisma.
"For fuck's sake, are we gon' try one more time, then?" Liam asked the pair, who was definitely too engaged in the discussion. His part being recorded or not wouldn't interfere in the instrumentals, but he'd still take the breaks as they decided what to change and how that would affect his part later on.
"Just one sec. You won't die of boredom." Noel muttered mindlessly as he scribbled a few words around the edges of the pages, then got up to grab his guitar and test the changes.
Guigsy smiled and shrugged, feeling more confident after being right. Though he didn't really comment further on that. It was enough that he'd managed to share his thoughts and be listened to, which even got a proud tap on the shoulder from Liam. "Sound! Now can we-"
Before Liam could even finish his sentence, though, a staff had knocked on the door. It rarely happened, especially when they were already in full concentration, so it made all of them turn their heads to the same direction.
"Who died?" the words came out of Liam's mouth before he could avoid it.
It didn't really surprise the staff, though, as he kept an expression that didn't give away any hints. "Sorry to interrupt, seems like your wife's been trying to reach you out, Noel."
Even if tech was slowly changing things in daily life, the good old way to contact someone by calling the landline of where they are is still safer than sending a pager message — which, in Noel's case, would never be an alternative, as he barely touched the pager he got 'for emergencies' a few months prior.
"Ah, yeah, so we're definitely makin' a break now. You'd never leave your Mrs. waitin', would ya?" Liam smashed the butt of his cigarette in an ashtray and flopped down on the leather couch of the control room.
Noel placed his guitar on the side and got on his feet before Liam did that, shaking his head. Deep down, the worry started to get to him, but on the outside he was still managing to keep a neutral expression. "Oh, funny, look who's sayin' anything."
The staff handed the cordless phone to Noel. Not really an option to turn down the call, as it was already happening. He wondered what could've happened and for how long she'd called before someone picked up.
Oftentimes, Noel didn't feel the need to go outside to talk to her. After a few years in the marriage, all of the lads already know her enough for any subject to be more or less possible to be discussed without much secrets.
"Were you tryin' to speak with me love? Is something wrong?"
Noel could hear the muffled laughs of Guigsy and Liam even if he had his back turned at them. Fuckin' bastards, but he ought to admit that they had a point in finding it funny. Even his voice would change an tone and pitch when he spoke to her. More soft, a side he usually wouldn't show too easily on daily life.
On the other side of the call, she couldn't tell which emotion was prevailing. Maybe a mix of all human emotions, who knows. It was as much of a first-time experience for her as it was for Noel.
"Can't believe I'm tellin' this by the phone, but fuck… I really can't wait 'till you're back." she started out, passing a hand over her face. It was still shaking, her voice was nowhere near the confident and steady rhythm it usually had. But it was clear that what she had to say wasn't bad news. On the contrary. "Remember how I was worried about something-"
"'Course I remember. It wasn't work, then? What is it?"
It's not hard to start picturing what it might be, as all the hints are quite telling.
"I don't know how… How sure is it, but…"
The expectation is so big that Noel can feel the stares on him as he waits for her to confirm what he already guessed. Before anything, he needed confirmation. Needed to hear the words coming out of her mouth, even if over a call.
"You don't need to be sure, you can tell me, y'know?"
"No, no, I… I need to. I mean, I went to the pharmacy and, y'know, I got a pregnancy test. No, actually, I got two, because I don't think this is fully trustable-" she cleared her throat, closing her eyes for a second. It could always be a false alarm until the moment she did a blood test or got it confirmed by a doctor, because that is the level of fear that it might not be for real once again. Yet, there's also this other side of her that made her know it was for real. No matter how hard to believe it may be.
Noel went silent for a few seconds on the other side, trying to process the words, to maintain a certain level of composure, but it's useless as he feels like something shifted the moment he was informed about the call. Something shifted earlier in the morning, when somehow he could see through her worry. Just couldn't get himself to believe it was happening until she shared.
In a good way, because the idea of being a father, as terrifying as it might be, was something he wanted to live. And not with just anyone, but with the woman he loved, the woman that was there for him through all of the changes that marked the last year.
"Tell me what you think. Please." she said quietly, biting her lip, wondering what was going through his mind as if it'd be the key to how she feels about it too.
"I think that's fuckin' wonderful, that's what I think." he said after that long pause, his breathing coming out a bit harder now. A mix of happiness and many, many questions — not on the 'how did it happen?' department, but certainly on 'why were you afraid to tell me about it sooner?'.
At this point, she wasn't worried about the tears running freely down her cheeks. It was way past that. "God, this is really insane, innit? I'm… Fuck, still can't believe it's real."
"Oh it is real, cuz I'm definitely gonna be a dad." the words seemed so foreign in his mouth, but spitting it out helped making it real. And, to match the growing feeling of excitement, he was reminded of the fact that he wasn't alone. There were very curious little bastards hearing everything, who didn't hesitate to react like it was the freaking turning point in a football match.
"Fuckin' hell am I gonna be an uncle now, that it?" Liam literally jumped from that leather couch to go hug his big brother, trying to be heard through the phone call as well. "You better let me be this baby's godfather, heard?"
Guigsy's congratulations were way less loud, but he helped Liam 'sandwiching' Noel into a hug while it was impossible to hear anything from the other side of the line as it all sounded like a second New Year's. For God's sake, it took some good seconds to finally be able to say anything again.
"Shit, we got a hell of a crowd out there." she said between laughing and sniffing, trying to get down of the rollercoaster of emotions through humour.
"Fuck, yeah, see that? Now you have no choice but stop worrying, love." Noel said softly while he tried to get off of the 'love showering' he was receiving. Deep down he loved that he got to have this while in the studio, with at least a good part of the people he cared about. Though nothing could top the need to be around his wife right now.
"Are they killin' us if we push the deadline so I can go back home right now? Didn't think so."
"Oh god, no… I'll have work after lunch, you keep bein' there and makin' music, if everything goes alright you come home later. Then we'll be waitin' on you." she said jokingly, the thought of using 'we' to refer to herself and the baby was still quite new, but it made her feel happy in ways she never thought possible.
"Can't believe you're goin' to rationalize this now, but… Fine. Alright. Either way I'm leavin' earlier, you have no choice." he said back with that same soft tone, before she could hang up.
The call barely ended before Liam gave him a light tap on the back. "Lucky bastard, y'know you're gonna be a great dad, right?"
"No doubt." Guigsy agreed, sitting back on the chair he was on before the commotion started.
"Real sweet, you two, but I was kinda commanded to keep workin' here." Noel joked.
"I give five minutes. He's gonna give up and go to her." Guigsy said.
"Two." Liam crossed his arms, leaning against the mixing desk.
"Fuck this." he muttered as he got up and got his coat. "It's not like I'm bailing on you, I mean, she's carrying my child so we're gonna call it quits for today. Agreed?"
Noel didn't really wait on an answer, though. He was way past the door before Liam and Guigsy shared a look and even managed to comment on that. "Not even two minutes, guess it was seconds."
The trip back to Manchester wasn't as quick as Noel wished it to be, but at least the early afternoon would allow him to get there by sunset. The three hours and a hand in the train can be the only opportunity to truly think about all that happened up until now. What does it really mean to them, being parents. To raise a kid, to protect them from the world and the media's bad intentions, maybe going as far as wondering — would he be able to be a better father than the one he had? It's a common worry, but it held a deeper meaning for Noel.
Through the train windows, he could at least watch the landscapes changing quickly, from the natural glimpses to the re-emerging of the houses and buildings. The silence and the much appreciated lack of disruption made the hours fly, and when the train got in the station, Noel was graced with the orange-toned sky and the nervousness growing higher as he still had a couple of minutes before getting home.
On her side, work had finished earlier — for some reason, it seemed to be one of the rare days where the actual time to leave was respected. The deadlines were still there, all over the place, but she tried not to think too ahead of time. For the first time in ages, the present seemed to matter more than the future. And the future seemed even more uncertain now that a baby would change many aspects of it.
The way back home was way less peaceful as earlier in the morning, but driving was still one of the things she'd do willingly to stop thinking too much and focus on only one task. The closer she got to the destination, the faster her fears seemed to melt. Climbing the stairs instead of taking the elevator didn't feel like a bad idea. Entering home and not finding it empty was just what she already expected, but still managed to make her smile happily.
"You don't look like you worked at all."
Noel was sitting on the living room couch and looking like he just got there a few minutes prior. He had that same 'still not believing this was happening' expression, and honestly, seeing how he also had no idea what they'd do next comforted her.
"Can you blame me, really?" he pulled her softly to sit beside him, holding her hand. More to keep his composure and not go all emotive before anything. Even though it was clear by the way he just dropped everything temporarily to be there with her, when time isn't a copious supply in none of their lives.
"Well, fuck, I'm glad you here." she ended up saying. "I needed to be sure before tellin' you anything, so… I had to do this alone, y'know? But you won't be left out of anything from now on."
"Good, 'cuz I'm gonna keep being present, no matter what."
She nodded, trying to focus on the warmth of his hand over hers while the other side of the emotions started to accumulate. The expectations for the next few months, the sweet feeling of loving a baby that doesn't even exist yet. It's something she hasn't been able to understand until now.
"Don't know what exactly we should do next, honestly… This is all so fuckin' intense, and it's not like that other time… It's for real."
"All that I said the other time was real, you know that, right? No matter what'll happen next, you won't regret choosing me to be the father of this baby. Serious."
"That's not even in question, silly." she said with a soft smile, cupping his cheek for a moment. "What makes me worried is me, 'cuz I know hormones hit hard, it ain't exactly easy to go through a pregnancy. But I'm willing to go through it. You know why?"
Noel just waits for her to complete the thought, really trying to listen to what's going on through her mind.
"Earlier, I came here when the house was all silent and there was jus' me and my thoughts. And, fuck…" she paused, trying not to let the tears rolling down her cheeks stop her. Noel reached out to clean that tear away and it almost made her heart melt completely. "See? I'm not one to cry and look how silly I'm bein', hate it. Um… Let's say I was, well, here. Thinking about how nice it'd be to have a baby in the house, to fill the place with colorful things and go through ups and downs together. And maybe movin' to a bigger house 'cuz raising a kid in an apartment? Hell no."
"Fuckin' hell, you didn't just thought about how it'd be, you created the problems too? We're really goin' to be parents." Noel chuckled, shaking his head. "Shit, we're gonna start discussin' the whole lot of dangers we have around this place. I kind of agree that it's not the place for a toddler."
"No, no, but we have time. I guess. Nine months, possibly." she said, shrugging off that thought. "You know what? We should take some time off. After you guys finish the recordings and get less busy."
"Don't know if we'll ever get any less busy but, hey… I can make that happen. Even if it's just for three days or whatever." Noel pulled her closer into his arms, resting his chin over her head.
There was so many things to think about, but it could wait. They could sort it out little by little, could take a few days off and pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist, that it's just the two of them. Even if they never have all the answers, even if the future turns out to be nothing like the expectations tell, they'll still have each other to hold on to, and a lot of stories for when the baby grows up and ask about how they were in their youth days.
