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It’s late evening when Liam wakes. His eyes snap open suddenly, taking in the familiar cracks and watermarks in the ceiling. His heart is racing, but it takes his brain a moment to catch up with his consciousness. He blinks, swallows, slowly becoming aware of the sound of music playing softly, and Mr Green’s alsation barking down the road.
He shifts slightly, frowning at the groggy ache in his head. It’s as bad as it had been the morning after he’d downed a bottle of vodka over at Bonehead’s, then thrown up all down the stairs, Noel watching him amused and unsympathetic as Peggy had berated him.
But their room isn’t lit by rays of morning sun; instead, it’s the muted yellow tones of the lamp between their beds. It’s quiet, the daytime bustling of the street long since passed. Liam feels disorientated, like he’s been asleep too long.
It comes back to him in a flash. The gleam of the hammer in the boy’s hand, the blinding pain in his head, blood clouding his vision. His heart picks up again, an echo of the surge of rage which had flooded him, kept him standing long enough to batter the cunt. But as Liam and his mates had watched the retreating backs of the rival group, the world had begun to erupt in dark spots. He’d found himself on the ground, his mates clustered around him with stupid worried expressions on their faces. Liam had opened his mouth to tell them to fuck off, but a wave of nausea had rushed over him, vomit splattering the concrete. It had got a bit blurry after that, his head lolling in the back seat of his mate’s car, then the bright white light of hospital corridors. His mam there in her work clothes, fear sharp beneath her matter of fact tone. All because of that twat with the hammer, too scared to face Liam like a proper man. He feels his mouth twist down again, just thinking of the cunt.
Judging by the light in the room, he’s been asleep all afternoon. He’s not used to sleeping through the day. Not like Noel. Lazy cunt. Out all hours, sleeping all day.
Tonight though, it seems it’s one of the rare times that Noel hasn’t buggered off, as Liam slowly begins to identify the soft music as the Smiths. Familiar irritation fills him as he takes in Morrissey’s whiney voice. Worst day of his life when that cunt down the record shop sold Noel his first Smiths record.
“Turn that fucking shite off,” Liam says, his voice coming out rough as he sits up, a little too fast. “Doing me head in.” He buries his head in his hands as the room spins, just a little, then he looks up again.
Noel is sitting cross legged on his bed, his skinny shoulderblades jutting through his t-shirt. He’s hunched over the joint he’s rolling, his hair falling forward over his face. He looks sideways at Liam, his eyebrow slightly quirked. Liam stares at him until Noel just shakes his head slightly, and turns his attention back to the joint, nimble fingers packing it into a neat little roll.
“What are you doing here, anyway?”
Noel turns to look at Liam, staring as if he has some nerve asking that. “I fucking live here?”
“You’re never in,” Liam fires back.
Noel shrugs, looking away and reaching for a lighter. Liam’s t-shirt, a little baggy on him, makes him look even skinnier than normal. Liam feels a flicker of smugness as he takes it in. His clothes are beginning to dwarf Noel, and he’s not even seventeen yet.
“What, your mates ditch you or summat?” Liam presses.
“Couldn’t be bothered,” Noel says impassively, shrugging as he takes a sip of beer from one of the cans on the windowsill. Liam doesn’t know how he keeps track of them. He’d swiped one when Noel went to the toilet once, and ended up with a mouthful of cigarette ash and flat, days-old beer. Noel had nearly pissed himself laughing when he’d come back to find Liam retching on the carpet, eyes watering. His eyes had gone all squinty, that real smile that chased the grumpiness from his face, took it over completely.
“They definitely ditched you,” Liam says smugly, then frowns, rubbing at his forehead. “Turn that fucking noise off, my head is splitting.”
“I reckon it might have more to do with that hammer to your thick skull.”
“Nah, it’s that. Whiney fucking poof,” Liam says with venom, staring daggers at the stereo. Then he adds, cheeky grin starting on his face, “Morrissey too.”
Usually that’d earn him a slap, or Noel storming out of the room, all sensitive like. But today it seems to catch him off guard, and he lets out a huff of laughter before he can catch himself. Liam grins, delighted.
There’s something about the atmosphere in the room tonight that feels fragile; the kind of quiet in the air that comes after heavy rain. It’s nearly dark outside the window, blues smudging into black, the stars beginning to gleam behind the clouds. Noel seems…less uptight than usual. Less guarded, somehow. It’s like he’s stepped out of the shower and forgotten to put one of his layers back on. His shoulders are less tense, his whole stance looser. His cheeks are rosy.
“Stop staring, kid.”
Liam makes his eyes go a little wider, focusing all the more intently on Noel for a minute before sticking out his tongue. Noel shakes his head, taking a drag from the joint. “Fucking immature…”
“Give us a bit,” Liam says in his best wheedling tone. Then, when Noel doesn’t react. “Come on, my head hurts.”
Noel sighs, shaking his head, but he stands up, crossing the narrow space between their beds to sit down on the edge of Liam’s bed. Liam shuffles over to sit next to him, catching the scent of him in the air, sharp and unmistakeable. Magnetic.
He passes Liam the joint, his skinny forearm brushing Liam’s. Liam leans into the touch for as long as Noel lets him, before he withdraws.
“Don’t reckon that’ll help your head much, our kid,” he says smartly as Liam takes a drag. “Might fuck you up even more up there. If that’s possible.”
Liam flips him off weakly, his head dropping down slightly as a wave of dizziness passes over him. It’s hitting him faster than usual, and much harder. Must be his head, unless Noel somehow managed to get his hands on a good strain rather than the normal shit Burnage weed. It’s a less benign disorientation than Liam had expected, heavy and a little sickening. His heart is thumping away, his head too light.
“Take it easy, kid,” Noel says, his voice a little softer than he usually allows it to be around Liam.
Liam takes another drag in response to that, holds it in his lungs. Dizziness swells through him, all encompassing. He feels hazy, out of kilter with the spinning of the Earth. His head falls sideways, meeting the steady warmth of Noel’s shoulder. He rests his cheek there, breathing in sweat and deodorant, the scent of Noel’s skin through his t-shirt. He expects Noel to shove him away, but he just takes the joint from between Liam’s fingers, raising it to his own lips. His shoulder rises beneath Liam’s cheek as he inhales.
Liam closes his eyes, letting himself drift. The dizziness doesn’t diminish, but it feels…safe, in a way. Like there’s something anchoring him to earth as he drifts. Noel keeps smoking, flicking the butt into a slightly mouldy cup of tea when he’s done. Liam stiffens, waiting for Noel to get up. But he doesn’t move. Rain begins to hammer against the window, fades, then picks up again. Liam feels himself relaxing, the adrenaline draining from his muscles until he’s somewhere between sleep and consciousness. Noel’s warm against him, the jut of his shoulder digging into Liam’s cheek. He’s in a complete stupor, drifting away, when the record scratches to a halt.
Noel tenses slightly, then begins to move. Liam groans, the dizziness returning in sickening waves as Noel gets up. He puts his head in his hands, a raw, flayed open sadness swelling in his chest at the feeling of loss. It’s been a long time since Noel allowed Liam to be so close. And Noel never just sits still like this these days; he’s always jittery and irritable, bouncing his leg, chewing at his thumb. Always trying to get away.
“Got a new record today,” Noel says.
Liam groans. “If it’s more of that shite, I won’t be the only one with a concussion.”
Noel laughs, a breathy little huff of air. “I think you’ll like it, our kid.”
“Fucking unlikely,” Liam snorts. He hears Noel rustling about with something, then the snap of another can of beer opening. He keeps his head in his hands, letting the darkness soothe the ache. Soft, indecipherable sounds begin to drift from the record player, before slowly melting into the steady pulse of a bassline. He waits to hear the squeaking protest of Noel’s mattress when he sits back down on it. Instead, the mattress beneath Liam shifts, dipping under Noel’s weight, and he feels the warmth of Noel beside him.
The music filling the room is soft, a little magical. Rising notes cascading above the bassline. Soft, but not soppy like some of Noel’s records. It feels like the fluttering in Liam’s chest, the warmth rising in his cheeks. He lets out a sigh, feeling the sick disorientation receding again as Noel settles, letting Liam rest against him again. He feels Noel’s arm move as he raises the beer to his lips, hears the noise his throat makes when he swallows. Liam looks up, heavy lidded in relaxation, and imagines pressing his lips to it, just beneath the line of patchy stubble.
Instead, he sits up a little, feeling the warmth in his cheeks. “Give us some of that and all,” he says, reaching for the beer. Noel raises his eyebrows, but hands it over after taking another sip. Liam lifts it to his mouth, lips pressing to where the can is still slightly warm from Noel’s lips.
“Take it easy,” Noel says. “You’ve been in the wars.”
Just for that, Liam finishes the can, swallowing loudly over the sound of Noel’s quiet protest. It isn’t the best idea he’s ever had. The beer fills him with a syrupy blurriness, his head going dizzy again. He tries to breathe deep, settling back on Noel’s shoulder and chewing fretfully at his thumb.
Noel cracks open another beer, but Liam doesn’t try to nick any of this one. He stays glued to Noel’s shoulder, soaking in the feeling. He feels drunk on it. Noel never lets them be close like this. Not anymore. It’s like he can’t stand Liam these days. Always snapping at him, always out with his mates. A gnawing absence that unsettles Liam as much as it irritates him. Even with his throbbing head and the dizziness washing through him, being close like this is bliss. It’s like finally being able to take a full breath. Liam’s always running at full pelt, a restless, boundless ball of energy, nothing to curb him. He misses the days when he and Noel would just lie in the dark together. When Noel would pull back his covers, and let Liam curl into the warmth of his body just so he’d shut up. That feeling of being whole, of being still. Losing it has been like having a part of him ripped out. They’re not meant to be separate. They’re meant to be like this.
The music filling the room is rushing through him, intensifying the feeling in his chest. It doesn’t get under his skin the way some of Noel’s records do; this mixes him up just the same, but instead of sending him into disarray, it solidifies something within Liam, externalises it in a way. It exists outside them, he can hear it. He can hear the aching want in the melodies drifting from the record player just the same as he can feel it all the way through him. It’s real.
Liam feels his breath hitch as he tries to quell the sudden, choking swell of emotion. Noel goes still at the sound, and Liam holds his breath, closing his eyes.
Noel sighs. “Liam…”
Liam’s starting to shake. His face is hot, and he’s seized with the blinding urge to grab onto Noel and not let go. He buries his face in Noel’s t-shirt, wrapping his arms round Noel tight. He’s breathing too fast, tensed up against the fear that Noel will tear himself away.
Noel hesitates, and then his fingers are winding gently into Liam’s hair, petting through it carefully to avoid the swollen row of stitches. Liam shivers, feeling hot tears leaching from his eyes into Noel’s shirt. He clenches his jaw, but the feeling is consuming him.
Noel strokes down Liam’s back, same as he’s done a thousand times before when Liam was hurt or scared. And Liam lets himself cry, same as he’s always done. There’s no better comfort than this. He keeps his hands fisted into Noel’s t-shirt, but eventually his tears dry, and his breaths even out. Noel makes to pull away, but Liam tightens his grip.
Noel sighs. “Come on kidda, it’s late. Get some sleep.”
Liam shakes his head against him, but Noel firmly detaches his grip and gets up off the bed. Liam slumps down a little, putting his head back in his hands. The dizziness has waned, but he feels miserable. He hears Noel moving around the room, closing the curtains, taking the needle off the record. He leaves the room, and then Liam hears the creak of the floorboards in the landing, water running in the bathroom. It’s too silent in here now, without Noel’s breathing, without the music binding them together. The silence is buzzing through him, pressing in on him. He takes his hands away from his face and stares down at the carpet, stretching his feet out in front of him.
Liam keeps his eyes fixed on the ground when Noel comes back in, watching his holey socks, his ridiculously tiny feet as he walks by Liam, getting into his own bed and pulling the covers over himself. Something flickers out in Liam’s chest. He’s sinking under a familiar blanket of heaviness. Trapped under an inexplicable feeling of loss without the music, without Noel wrapped around him. Liam picks at his lip absently, vaguely thinking of nights like this when he was a kid, and Noel would let Liam creep into his bed, let him cuddle close until the warmth of his body lulled Liam out of the frozen numb and into sleep.
Noel sighs, shifting restlessly, and then sits up a bit. He looks over at Liam, and then sighs, pulling one side of his duvet down. Liam’s eyes snap up; he stares intently at Noel. Noel rolls his eyes, then shifts over, still holding up the duvet. Liam scrambles up at once and lunges into the space, pain shooting through his head at the sudden movemement. He burrows under the covers, breathing in the smell of Noel, pressing as close to him as he can. Noel huffs about it a little, but he lets Liam settle, then reaches across him and turns off the light.
Noel’s heart is beating hard, Liam can feel it through his thin t-shirt. He buries his nose in Noel’s neck and breathes a contented sigh. Noel’s arm settles on his shoulders, and Liam lets himself relax, the bassline of that song still thrumming through his bloodstream. The electricity that had laid latent for so long has been sparked, and now it’s everywhere, Liam can feel it. He can feel it between them. The lyrics are still swirling through him as he drifts.
I don't have to sell my soul
He's already in me
I don't need to sell my soul
He's already in me
I wanna be adored
I wanna be adored