#oh just thirsted over a 53 year old man wbu :)
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i took a walk with my fame down memory lane (i never did find my way back) - chapter four
[ao3]
is it technically tuesday? yes. are we going to talk about that? no. everybody lives in at least gmt-1 now suck it upÂ
@tirednotflirting yet again...i cannot sing your praises enough for reading this ENTIRE fucking thing!! although it looks a bit different here to how it looks on the google doc because its not in bold and theres no âfinishhâ in sight nor my insane random words that i write down when i know exactly the words i want to say but iâm too lazy to write them. am i the worst writer known to man? possibly
we are getting to the juicy stuff now...its quarter to fucking malum oâclock...
also if you saw the title of this chapter before i went to check you didnât see it. close your eyesÂ
By the time Calum wakes up the next afternoon, theyâre already halfway back to Manchester, somewhere on the M40. Predictably, Liam's up, vibrating with that impatient energy heâs always got when he canât snort or drink it away, and Calumâs the second one to rise, padding into the lounge area sleepily, yawning loudly and rubbing his eyes. His headâs fucking pounding, and his mouth is dry and disgusting, but Liam, because he sometimes is the angel his doe eyes and full lips make him out to be, has already put out a cup of water and two paracetamols for him.Â
âHow the fuck are you never hungover?â Calum grumbles, throwing himself down on the sofa next to Liam and nestling into his side as he downs the paracetamol.Â
âLuck of the Irish,â Liam tells him, resting his cheek on Calumâs head. Calum makes a noise of discontent and turns to press his face into Liamâs shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut like itâs going to stop his head from hurting.Â
âYou deserve a hangover,â he mumbles. âYou were off your fucking head last night.âÂ
âAnd you werenât?âÂ
âNever said that.â Liam huffs out a soft laugh.Â
âNearly fainted in the fucking toilets, you did.â Calum scowls.Â
âFuck off,â he says, as his memory flashes back to last night - yeah, he did almost fucking faint in the toilets, but that was only because- and then his eyes fly open, because fuck. Jesus fucking Christ.Â
Michael.Â
âOur kid barely even made it back to the bus last night,â Liam says, and itâs just meant to be casual conversation, maybe a little contemptuous, but it makes Calumâs lungs collapse in on themselves with guilt.Â
Heâd spoken to Michael. Heâd come to some sort of a fucking understanding with Michael, something he canât quite remember and doesnât quite understand. Fuck, he might have even called Michael pretty. Jesus Christ. Heâs fairly certain any and all of that goes against his promise to Noel.Â
âOh?â he says, when he remembers to speak. Liam just hums, and Calum tries not to exhale too shakily as his mind races.Â
Itâs not his fault, he tells himself. Not really. Heâd been there first, hadnât he? Michael had been the one to walk up to him, and the one who hadnât walked away. And sure, maybe Calum had been the one to strike up conversation, but it hadnât exactly been friendly, had it? And Michael had been the one to ask questions, to change the topic, and to level the playing field when Calum had accidentally let something slip. Plus, Calum had been drunk and high, so he canât really be held accountable for his actions, can he?Â
Liamâs still talking, but Calumâs not listening, and it doesnât even matter because Liam cuts himself off when Tony stumbles into the lounge area, bleary-eyed and yawning. Thereâs no paracetamol set out for him, and Liam makes no move to get any.Â
âIâm looking forward to a fucking break,â Tony says a little hoarsely, and flops down on the sofa opposite Liam and Calum.Â
âFucking when?â Liam says. âWeâve got Top of the Pops in two days.â Tony groans, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.Â
âFucking Top of the Pops,â he mumbles. âWhy the fuck did we agree to that?âÂ
âFor the money,â Liam says.Â
âDonât even get to play the fucking drums,â Tony says, muffled by his palms.Â
âThank fuck for that,â Liam mutters.
 -------
 Top of the Pops is exactly the bland, boring nightmare Calum expects it to be.Â
Theyâre shepherded into some kind of studio for a rehearsal and informed that theyâll be recording a live track then and there which will be mixed together with the album version, and none of them will actually be playing live. Liamâs having absolutely fucking none of it, and for once neither is Noel, and Calum, Bonehead and Tony all decide to step back and enjoy the show that is both Gallaghers on the same team for once.Â
After a lot of shouting, swearing and a few threats of violence, itâs decided that theyâll go ahead with recording the backing track but Liam will sing live. Noelâs absolutely fucking furious about not being allowed to play live, but itâs almost entirely forgotten when he sees the setup for the stage - Tony on drums in the front, Calum and Bonehead on a step behind him, and Liam and Noel on another step right at the back. The BBC arenât budging on that, though, despite Calum, Bonehead, and Alan all weighing in to agree that itâs fucking stupid to have the stars of the band stood right at the back, and a nasty row breaks out between the Gallaghers and the production team, ending in Calum having to move at the speed of fucking light when he sees Liam tense into the all-too-familiar Iâm going to fucking deck you stance. A lawsuit with the BBC is still well beyond their budget, no matter how well the singles have been doing.Â
Calum manages to talk Liam down, and Liam manages to talk Noel down, and theyâre only ten minutes behind schedule by the time that the brothers have reluctantly agreed to do the show, which is pretty good going for them. They trail to the stage to the sound of screaming and cheering, which makes Calumâs head spin a little bit as he picks up his unplugged bass. Theyâre really fucking making it now, he thinks in awe, as he looks out at the sea of excited faces and spots a few white Oasis shirts. Theyâre really fucking doing this.Â
They get set up and pretend to play Shakermaker, and Liam sounds fucking gorgeous, like heâs making a point to the producers, and Noel slings his arm around Liam as they walk off, a protective, proud gesture that Liam grins at and leans into. Theyâre fucking unstoppable, Calum thinks, as he trails after them, Noelâs arm tight around Liam and Liam stumbling over his own feet as he tries to press as close to Noel as possible. The two of them on the same side is a fucking sight to behold.
Theyâre at a hotel that night, and Liam and Bonehead decide they want to go out but Tony and Noel want to stay in, and Calum decides heâs too tired to stay up for the length of time itâs going to take him to find someone willing to fuck him.Â
(âWhat dâyou think cokeâs for?â Liam says to him, and Calum rolls his eyes.)Â
Calum falls asleep almost as soon as his head touches the pillow, and he wakes up early to the sound of Liam stumbling into the room, high and drunk and probably something else, bruises blooming all over his throat and grinning giddily.Â
âGood night?â Calum says.Â
âThe best,â Liam declares, and then passes out on his bed.Â
They have to drive back to Manchester that day, though, because theyâve got a show in Leeds tomorrow, so Liam only gets about four hours of rest before Alanâs banging on the door and yelling at them to get the fuck up, lazy fuckers, didnât I fucking tell you bus callâs at twelve? To his credit, though, he only complains about a hundred times, and stops when Noel rolls his eyes, holds his arms open and lets Liam snuggle into him and have a nap while Noel chats to Alan about the setlist for America.Â
Calum tunes most of it out, because heâs not fussed about whatâs on the setlist and he trusts Noel to pick the best of his own songs, and spends two hours getting absolutely thrashed at chess by Tony. By the time theyâre back in Manchester, Calumâs lost a game of chess to literally everybody on the bus, including Liam, who's being taught the rules of chess by Noel and Bonehead as they play, and Calum decides heâs never fucking playing chess ever again.Â
(âWeâre fucking buying some new games,â he says moodily, when Liam flicks his king over nonchalantly.Â
âNo need to get so mardy,â Bonehead says, stretching out and grinning at Calum.Â
âFuck you,â Calum grumbles, sweeping all the pieces off the chess board. âWeâre getting a game that I can fucking win.âÂ
âAlright,â Noel says, grinning. âHow about Frustration?â)
Calumâs mum has dinner ready for him when he drags himself up the path and into the house, and she fusses over the state of his hair and his clothes and says really, Calum in a disapproving voice whenever Calum uses colourful language to describe exactly what he thinks about the production team of Top of the Pops. Calum rolls his eyes, but heâs smiling when she tuts at him for fondly calling Liam a silly cunt for the fourth time that evening, because itâs nice. It makes him feel like a kid again, but in the best possible way; warm, protected, like someoneâs still looking out for him.Â
His dad gets back from work around seven, and they sit down to watch the Top of the Pops performance together. Calumâs heart swells with pride when itâs their turn to play, because they look fucking cool. The stagingâs still shite, granted, but Liam looks every inch the rock ânâ roll star he claims to be, and the rest of them look lazily and effortlessly cool, helped enormously by the fact theyâre half in the shadows, lights focused on the Gallaghers.Â
Calumâs parents are polite about the song, and he can see theyâre beaming with pride, but he can also tell they donât really get it. Itâs okay, he thinks, unable to help the smile that creeps onto his face as he watches his parents watch him on TV. They like jazz. Itâs probably for the best that they donât think itâs good music.Â
Calumâs mum switches to some soap opera after Top of the Pops, and his dad grumbles not this again and pulls out his newspaper, but Calum can see his face popping over the top of the paper every two seconds. After three minutes he comments wasnât Sheila dating Mark last week? Sheâs not having an affair with Bertie, is she? Calum snorts, and his dad glares at him, opening his mouth to make a defensive remark about how he doesnât follow this show, itâs absolute rubbish, but then the phone rings.Â
âIâll get it,â Calum says, before anyone has the chance to say anything, mostly to avoid having to listen to his dadâs Iâm not watching this, Calum, donât be cheeky spiel, and his mum just nods absent-mindedly, waving a dismissive hand at him, eyes glued to the TV. Calum heads for the phone in the kitchen, just because itâs the closest, jogging to get there before it rings out.Â
âHello?â he says, when he picks up. Thereâs silence at the other end of the line, and he frowns. âHello?â he tries again.Â
âHi.â Calumâs stomach drops.Â
â Michael? âÂ
âYeah.âÂ
âWhat the f- how the- what? What? â Calumâs heart is beating out of his fucking chest, almost covering the embarrassment thatâs flaring up as foggy memories of their last conversation drag themselves to the forefront of his mind.Â
âSorry,â Michael says, and he sighs, and Calum can just imagine him running his fingers through his hair, a small crease between his brows. âFuck, I- sorry. I shouldnâtâve-â
âNo,â Calum says abruptly, clutching the receiver, dreading the fucking dial tone. âNo, I just- how did you get this number?â Thereâs a moment of silence.Â
âOnly so many Joy Hoods in the book,â Michael says, and Calum exhales, hoping the crackling static of the phone line will hide how shaky it is.Â
âOh,â he says. Michael had sought him out. Michael wants to talk. Michael still remembers his mumâs name.Â
âI saw you,â Michael says suddenly, into the uncomfortable silence thatâs blossomed between them, neither of them knowing what to say next. âOn Top of the Pops.âÂ
âYeah?â Calum doesnât trust himself to say any more, but the question on the tip of his tongue is evident in the eagerness in his tone, anyway.Â
âYeah.â Thereâs a pause. âSounded good.âÂ
âThatâs because itâs a backing track.â Michael huffs out a laugh, sounding a little surprised, like he wasnât expecting it to come out.
âI guess,â he allows. They lapse into silence again, loud and uncomfortable, before Michael sighs.Â
âIâm sorry,â he says, and he sounds a little regretful.  âI shouldnâtâve called.âÂ
âNo,â Calum blurts. âIâm glad you did.â The phoneâs warm against his fingers, slippery from his hot, sweaty hands, and heâs clasping it so hard he thinks it might break. He tries to focus on that rather than on what heâs just said, on the knife-edge he feels like theyâre poised on, each word a weight that could unbalance them.Â
âAre you?â Michael sounds a little doubtful, and a little sceptical.Â
âYeah.â Michael hums, like heâs mulling something over.Â
âDo your bandmates know?â Calumâs heart skips a beat.Â
âKnow what?âÂ
âThat we talked.â At Glastonbury, while you were drunk and high and out of your fucking mind. You called me pretty, by the way. He doesnât say any of that, but Calumâs mind tacks it on helpfully anyway.Â
âDo yours?â Calum says, deflecting, because his stomachâs bottoming out with the sheer weight of the guilt, of the broken promise. Or was it broken? Calum barely remembers, just remembers the look on Michaelâs face, the tiny microexpressions, the glassiness of his eyes.Â
âNo.â Calum inhales sharply, canât fucking help himself - Michaelâs talking to Calum, and the rest of Blur donât know. That's got to mean something, even if Calum isn't entirely sure what.
âOh.âÂ
âDo they know?â Michael asks again. Calum stares at the hob opposite him, weighing up his answer.Â
If he says yes, heâll be lying, and whatever the fuck him and Michael have going on right now is so fragile that one lie like that will send it all crumbling down, pulverise it so thoroughly that itâll never be able to be built back up again. If he says no, though, heâll be doing the same to Oasis, to his best mates, to his career. There's no right answer.
âNot yet,â he settles on eventually, straddling the line between Oasis and Michael. Itâs the truth - he hasnât told them, but they might find out at some point.Â
âAre you going to tell them?â Fucking hell. Trust Michael to pick at the loose thread.
âMaybe. I donât know.â Itâs true, and thatâs the best Calum can offer him.Â
Thereâs a moment of silence, neither of them really knowing what to say, and itâs fucking gut-wrenching because Calumâs never had that with Michael. Heâd never even had to think about what to say with Michael - heâd just existed, just been, and that was always enough.Â
âLuke and Ashton asked about you,â Michael says, and Calumâs breath hitches.Â
âOh?â he says. âHow are they?â
âGood,â Michael says. âTheyâre good.â He pauses for a moment, and then adds: âLukeâs a pilot, now. Or training to be, I think. I donât know. Ashtonâs a teacher.âÂ
âOh,â Calum says, voice small. Two of his best mates, in an earlier life; two spotty blonde teenage boys laughing on the beach at Calum splashing Michael in the water, shooting each other furtive glances across crowded rooms, getting high just for an excuse to shotgun. A fucking pilot and a teacher.Â
âYeah,â Michael says.Â
âDid they ever get their shit together?â Calum asks.Â
âWhat? Oh, yeah. Fuck, has it been that long?â Michael exhales heavily. âTheyâve been together for years.âÂ
âOh.â Calum doesnât know what else to say to that. Heâs trying to imagine it; a pilot and a teacher, fucking hell. Maybe Luke brings Ashton little gifts from his trips abroad. Maybe Ashton writes Luke postcards while his pupils work. Who does the cooking? Luke definitely doesnât clean. Or maybe he does. If Michaelâs changed this much, maybe Luke has, too.Â
âWhat about you?â Michael asks.Â
âWhat about me?â Calumâs not sure what Michaelâs asking. Michael knows what heâs up to - heâs in Oasis, spending all his money on intoxicants, trying to exist alongside the supernova thatâs the Gallagher brothers.Â
âYâknow.â Calum doesnât know.Â
âI have no id-âÂ
âAre you seeing anyone?â Michael says it all in a rush, like itâs taken a lot of courage to say it. It probably has, Calum thinks. He wouldnât have asked Michael. Itâs sort of reassuring, actually, makes something a little warm blossom in his chest, because thatâs still so Michael . Michael always blurted out questions, always demanded answers, always kept social etiquette and politeness as an afterthought.
âNo,â Calum says. He swallows, and then adds: âAre you?âÂ
âNo.â Good, Calum wants to say, but he doesnât. He doesnât have Michael like that anymore; he doesnât have the right.Â
âWhy did you call?â he says instead. Michael hesitates.Â
âI saw you on TV,â he says eventually. Thatâs not a reason.Â
âWhy did you call?â Calum presses. Michael inhales, and doesnât exhale for a moment. Â
âI donât know,â he admits eventually, on a long, heavy  exhale. Calum doesnât blame him. None of this really makes sense to him either; the fact he feels like this after five years of not seeing Michael, after four years of not speaking to him, after three years of not thinking about him. Heâs not sure why he wants this, whatever this is, not sure why he wants more of Michael, not sure why his heart feels drawn to Michael like itâs north and Michaelâs south.Â
âYeah,â Calum says, hoping it conveys I understand.Â
âI almost reached out,â Michael says suddenly. âA few times. Over the past year, I mean.â
âWhy didnât you?âÂ
âDidnât want to.âÂ
âWhy didnât you tell your band?âÂ
âDidnât know how,â Michael says. Calum gets that too; heâd thought about it as well, entertained the idea, turned it over and over in his mind, but heâd never known what to say. I fucked the guitarist from Blur - I was in love with him actually - and I donât know why I canât get him off my mind would probably have sparked even worse reactions than the way it had come out did.
âThey seem really protective of you,â Calum says.Â
âThey are,â Michael says, and thereâs a small smile evident in his tone. âNot like yours, though. I donât think all the money in the world could get Graham to start a fight on my behalf.â Calum canât help the startled laugh that escapes him.Â
âI donât think all the money in the would could get Liam not to start a fight on my behalf,â Calum says, and Michael huffs out a soft laugh.Â
"I'm glad you found such good friends," he says, and the smile is ripped off Calum's face at the jarring reminder that they don't know each other anymore. It sounds so distant, like Michael's content with this arm's-length distance between them, two people who used to know everything about each other and are now making polite small talk.
âYeah,â Calum says. âIâm glad, too.â He canât bring himself to say what he really means - Iâm sorry it was good enough to take me from you. He doesnât know if heâll ever be able to say it.Â
âI should go,â Michael says after a minute. Calum wants to say no, donât, stay, but he forces the words back down and nods, still staring blankly at the hob.Â
âYeah,â Calum says. âMe too.âÂ
âIt was-â
âDonât,â Calum says abruptly, as his stomach twists. It was nice talking to you. It was nice catching up. He doesnât want to hear the finality of the words, the forced politeness, the jarring dissonance that is the boy heâd known and loved for so long and the man he is now. Â
Michael doesnât say anything for a moment, and then he sighs.Â
âLook,â he says. âI- you donât-â he cuts himself off, takes a deep breath, and starts again. âDâyou want my number?âÂ
âDo I- uh, yeah,â Calum says, a little stupidly, glancing around wildly for something to write on.Â
âIâm on tour for the next few months,â Michael says, as Calum snatches up a recipe his mum had left lying out, and an incredibly unsharpened pencil. âBut Iâll- yâknow. When Iâm home.â Iâll call you. He canât bring himself to say it, and Calum doesnât blame him.Â
âOkay,â Calum says.Â
âYou got a pen?â
âYeah.â Michael rattles off a number, some area code Calum doesnât recognise, something starting 071. He writes it down hastily, hoping heâs heard it right because he doesnât want to ask is that five like hive or nine like fine , and then rips the corner of the recipe off and tucks it into his pocket.Â
âGot it,â Calum says, dropping the pencil onto the counter with a clatter. â071, whereâs that?âÂ
âLondon.â
âOh. Uh. Cool,â Calum says.Â
âWell,â Michael says, a touch awkwardly. âSee you around, then, yeah?âÂ
âYeah,â Calum echoes. Thereâs one more moment, the two of them listening to each other breathing, a second suspended in time, and then itâs broken by a click and a dial tone.Â
Calum puts the phone down a little dazedly, just as his mum wanders into the kitchen.Â
âWho was it?â she asks. Calum hesitates, and she raises an eyebrow, which means heâs lost the opportunity to say oh, just a cold call.Â
âMichael,â he says, and her eyes widen.Â
âClifford?â she says. He nods. Who the fuck else is it going to be, Michael the sound engineer that had mixed two fucking tracks in Cornwall? âI didnât know you two still spoke.âÂ
âWe donât.â Her face softens.Â
âOh, honey,â she says gently, and Calum swallows. He hasnât told her yet, hasnât told her about the awards ceremony and Glastonbury, and somehow, he doesnât quite want to. She seems to sense it, though, because she just sighs and pulls him into a warm, tight hug. Calum wraps his arms around her, closes his eyes and buries his face in her shoulder. Even though heâs half a foot taller than her, even though she only comes up to his collarbone, it still feels like sheâs the one protecting him, like heâs small and cocooned in her arms.Â
She lets go after a minute, fussing over him messing up his hair, and he groans at her and ducks out of the way of her meddling fingers, but the warm feeling stays, and when she smiles at him and tells him sheâs going to bake him his favourite biscuits tomorrow, he feels seventeen again.Â
(Or maybe thatâs just Michael.)Â
 -------
 July and August pass in the blink of an eye.
After Leeds, they have three weeks off. Calum finally fixes the garden wall, and for the first few days, he finds himself jumping every time the phone rings. Itâs never Michael though - most of the time itâs one of the brothers, asking whether Calum wants to go to the pub or get high or go out on the pull, and sometimes itâs Alan, reminding him that heâs got to be here on this day at this time and there on that day at that time and is he writing all this down because heâs going to be responsible for getting Liam there too since Noelâs going ahead this time.Â
They go down to London for a few days, record a few new versions of songs and one demo of a new song that Noelâs written but isnât sure about yet. As soon as heâs heard Liamâs vocals on it, though, his eyes light up, and Calum files the bassline away, because he knows itâs going to be on the next album now, no matter how much Noelâs pretending to hum and haw about it. He canât fucking let Liam have anything, though, so when Liam comes out of the live room, bright-eyed and desperate for Noelâs affirmation, Noel curls his lip and tells him that sounded fucking shite, Christ, youâre almost as useless as Tony. It culminates in a huge fight that Calum and Bonehead manage to duck out of before it begins, only finding out about it when they get woken by a sombre-looking Alan in the middle of the night and informed theyâre all being kicked out of the hotel because Liamâs trashed the bar and Noelâs chucked a TV out of the window of his room that landed on the hotel managerâs car.
They play their first show in America on the 21st - their first show outside of Europe - and it goes well. Noelâs not impressed by the country, having toured there with the Inspirals half a decade earlier, but the rest of them are in fucking awe, and Calum catches tiny, fond smiles playing on Noelâs lips when he sees Liam staring at the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building, lips parted and eyes wide.Â
Noelâs finally managed to get his way on Live Forever too, it seems, because theyâre shepherded into Central Park a few days later, half of them hungover and half of them still blind drunk, to film a video. The director seems to be even fucking higher than they are, because he comes up with ideas like Liam singing while sitting on a chair nailed to a wall, and the band take it upon themselves to start suggesting ever more ludicrous ideas, just to see what sticks. Liam throws in chucking a bucket of water over Bonehead, and Calum suggests burying the drum kit, and Noel goes why donât we just bury the fucking drummer? The director thinks thatâs a fucking brilliant idea, inspired, creative, and Noel shoots Calum a look and says wow, is that how easy this is? You just fucking randomly suggest nonsense and people just go and film it? Â
(He doesnât bother showing up for most of the second day of filming, and Calum canât really blame him.)Â
They fly back to the UK and play another festival on the 31st of July, and as Calum passes by one of the posters on the way to the stage he does a double take, because Blur are on there. Liam sees him looking, though, and taps the top of the poster wordlessly as he walks past - Sat 30th July. Calum canât help the way his stomach sinks at that. Michael was here yesterday, and Calumâs here today. Maybe thatâs a sign, he thinks. Maybe fate is trying to tell him something.
Live Forever comes out in early August, and people fucking love it. Calumâs getting stopped in the street in fucking Wolverhampton - Wolverhampton - and asked to sign autographs, which makes his head spin. Theyâre really fucking making it now, he thinks, when he calls his mum from a payphone and she tells him that theyâve had people turning up at the door asking for interviews. This is what the rise to the top feels like, powered by coke and booze and Noel's guitar.Â
They play a festival in Sweden which sees Noel, Liam and Bonehead smashing up a hotel bar with the guys from Primal Scream, who theyâd met at T in the Park, and Richard Ashcroft, who theyâve known for years, and once again Calumâs woken up in the middle of the night and informed that theyâve been asked to leave - not just the hotel this time, but the country. Heâs driven to the police station where Bonehead, Liam and Noel are being held, and has to stand with the harsh lights hurting his eyes while Alan tries to hash things out with the Swedish police, and then the three fucking delinquents come stumbling out, grinning and reeking of alcohol.Â
("Are you trying to get arrested in every single fucking country we visit?" Calum asks Liam, as they make their way to the car.
"No," Liam says, "but that's a fucking mega idea, that."Â
Shit.)
They have to film another music video in August, but since itâs for Cigarettes & Alcohol Marcus at the record label lets them bargain the video down from a full on shoot to the filming of a live gig at the Borderline in London and hiring a few pretty faces to mingle with them backstage. Itâs not bad, Calum thinks, as Liam hands him a beer and grins drunkenly for the cameras. Slap a fucking black and white filter on it and itâll look almost intentionally dingy.Â
A week after that, the album comes out.Â
Calum hadnât really realised what album releases would entail, but apparently, itâs a lot of fucking interviews. The first few are quite exciting - theyâre still not that used to interviews; a few radio shows, a few TV shows, the odd magazine - but after days on end of answering the same questions hour after hour, Calum starts joining Liam for his hourly smoke breaks, just for something to liven the mood.Â
They play a show in London the day the album comes out, and Calum finds himself scanning the screaming crowd for blonde hair, pale skin, sea-green eyes, a pretty smile, but Michaelâs not there. Calum hadnât really expected him to be - itâs a small venue, and apparently itâs been sold out for weeks - but it doesnât stop him feeling disappointed all the same, having to turn to the back of the stage for a minute to collect himself. Tony shoots him a strange look over his hi-hat, but doesnât say anything, and Calum sends up a quick prayer of thanks that it was Tony and not Noel that had noticed.Â
The album goes gold in three days - the fastest-selling debut album in British history - but they barely even have time to celebrate because theyâre heading to Sweden again the next day and Alan tells them with an unusually stern expression that heâs had to twist a lot of arms to get them back in and theyâre absolutely fucking not allowed to get drunk or high or fight anybody until theyâve been in and out of Sweden. Liam moans and bitches about it but accepts reluctantly, spending the entire journey to Sweden yawning and rubbing his eyes and making sleepy conversation until he falls asleep on Noelâs shoulder.Â
The show in Sweden goes off without a hitch, and theyâre in Dublin the next day - their first Irish show - and the brothers go fucking mental. Calum joins in for a bit but canât keep up; two Irish Mancunians in Dublin is far too much for his Australian stomach to handle. Belfast is no better, and the day after that they play the Haçienda in Manchester - one of the most famous clubs in their hometown - and after the three-day-binge even the Gallaghers are worn out and sleep for the majority of the two days they have off before heading to Europe and then to Japan.Â
Japan is fucking insane. Fans are swarming around them the minute they step off the plane, drunk off the free little bottles of booze, and the crowd sings their songs back at them louder than any English fans ever have done. Calumâs glad heâs not singing, because he gets choked up when Liam steps away from the microphone for a second during Live Forever and the crowd scream did you ever feel the pain in the morning rain as it soaks you to the bone? He sees Liamâs eyes widen, sees the way he swallows before starting the chorus, sees the way his gaze flits to Noel and they hold each otherâs gazes for a split second, something that only the two of them can read in it, and his heart swells with pride and love. God, he fucking loves his job, he loves the music, he loves his band, he loves the fans, he fucking loves it all.Â
Theyâre riding off the high of Japan when they get to America again, due to play a whole host of shows throughout the rest of September until the end of October, when it all goes wrong.Â
Theyâre not made for America, Calum thinks. They gets thrown out of a radio show for swearing live on-air; they get in a fight with the bouncers at some famous club in Hollywood; and one night in LA they even get a visit from the police, who arrive with their guns drawn, because Bonehead wonât stop playing Supersonic with his amp on full volume at six in the morning. Noel cackles when he sees them and tells them to fucking go ahead, shoot the cunt, and Maggie, their poor, overworked, underpaid tour manager, rushes out in her pyjamas and bargains with the police, tries to smooth things over. Calum thinks thatâll be it, thatâll be the big story of the tour, but itâs all overshadowed when they get to the Whisky a Go Go, some famous club that theyâre told repeatedly itâs an honour to be playing.Â
Oasis being Oasis, theyâre looking for coke. Someone procures a bag of white powder at soundcheck, and Liam grabs it greedily and starts cutting it into lines as the rest of the band circle around it like vultures, and as it goes up Calumâs nose he thinks fucking hell, this feels a bit fucking different. He shrugs it off, though, and hands the rolled up dollar bill to Bonehead - maybe American cokeâs just stronger. Â
It hits him like a fucking train. Heâs buzzing with the kind of energy that heâs never had from coke before, higher than heâs ever been before, more euphoric, feels fucking unstoppable, but thereâs a dirty edge to it, something gritty and nasty that he just doesnât like. Itâs too late, though, because itâs gone down, and he thinks fucking hell - well, at least itâll wear off in about half an hour. Â
It doesnât.Â
Heâs sweating, heart pounding in his chest, vision sharp and blurry at the same time when they get on stage. Everyone else seems to be in a similar situation - Boneheadâs eyes are wide and flitting left to right, right to left, and Liamâs jittery and bouncing on his heels. Noelâs somewhere else completely - he starts playing fucking Bring It On Down when the rest of them start up with Fade Away, and he plays the solo of Supersonic during Cigarettes & Alcohol. They have to play Roll With It one-and-a-half times, because Calumâs bass amp explodes a minute in, and Liam starts shouting at the audience after a crowdsurfer knocks his mic stand over, and then starts shouting at Noel for fucking God knows what, yelling at him to fuck off, until he launches his tambourine at Noel, hitting him on the shoulder, and storms offstage as the set ends.Â
Calum heads off dazedly, trying to slow his pounding heart and thinking fucking hell, what the fuck was in that coke? The brothers are still yelling at each other backstage, pupils dilated and faces red, and donât stop yelling as theyâre herded into a car to get back to the hotel, are still screaming at each other as Maggie ushers them up the stairs and into their separate hotel rooms. They each shout a venomous fuck you, you fucking cunt at each other before slamming their doors, and Calum, whoâs due to room with Liam that night, decides heâd rather sleep on Bonehead and Tonyâs floor than brave that.Â
He canât fucking sleep, though. The high just doesnât stop. Heâs so wired, feels so fucking strung out and awful, barely cognisant of whatâs going on around him but hyperaware at the same time and he just wants to fucking sleep, just wants to rest. He canât, though, and neither can Bonehead or Tony, and they just pace around the room, vibrating with energy, muttering what the fuck do they do to the coke over here, eh? every few minutes.Â
Time passes so fucking slowly, every minute inching by painfully, and by the time itâs morning Calumâs starting to finally, finally come down. He feels semi-human by the time the knock on their door for breakfast comes, and wrenches it open, still dressed in last nightâs clothes, to find a serious-looking Maggie, a crease between her brows.Â
âWhat?â he says, because he knows, he just knows somethingâs happened.Â
âNoelâs left,â she says. Oh. Well. Thatâs hardly grounds for a face like that.Â
âWill he be back for soundcheck?â Calum asks.Â
âHeâs gone, Calum.âÂ
âWhat dâyou mean, heâs gone?â Calumâs not quite getting it.
âHe asked for his passport and some money,â Maggie says. âAnd heâs gone.â Calum stares at her. Noel canât be gone. He might have left, sure, but he canât have gone.
âWhaâs thaâ?â Bonehead calls groggily, from across the room. Heâd come down a few hours ago, managed to force himself to sleep, and he sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.Â
âNoelâs gone,â Maggie repeats, a little louder. Tony turns from where heâs sat in the corner of the room, twisting his fingers this way and that, eyes wide.Â
âGone where?â Bonehead asks.
âI donât know,â Maggie says.Â
âWhat dâyou mean, you donât know?âÂ
âHeâs gone, Bonehead. Took his passport, took some money, and left.â Thereâs a moment of stunned silence.Â
âDoes Liam know?â Tony asks. Maggie bites her lip, and shakes her head.Â
âI thought Iâd tell you first.âÂ
âShit,â Bonehead breathes. âHeâs gone? â Maggie nods.Â
âYeah,â she says. âSuitcase and all.âÂ
Fuck.Â
Fuck. Â
âOh, fuck,â Calum mutters, and sits down on the bed. âHeâll come back, though, wonât he?âÂ
âI donât know,â Maggie admits. âHe sounded pretty certain about it.âÂ
âWhy the fuck did you let him go?â Bonehead demands.Â
âI canât hold him hostage, can I?â Maggie says. âHeâs fucking twenty-seven years old.âÂ
âShit,â Tony says. âOh, God. Shit. âÂ
âIâm going to tell Liam,â Maggie says, sounding a little nervous about it. She probably should be, Calum thinks distantly, staring unblinkingly at the carpet. Noelâs gone. Â
âIâll come with you,â he finds himself saying, more for Liamâs sake than Maggieâs. He stands up robotically, completely on autopilot, and follows her out of the room, leaving Bonehead and Tony in shocked silence.Â
Liam answers his door on the first knock, already awake and showered, and his face falls when he sees itâs not Noel. Oh, God. The kidâs going to be fucking beside himself.Â
âCan we come in?â Maggie says, aiming for sweet. Liamâs eyes narrow.Â
âWhatâs happened?â he says. Maggie hesitates.Â
âNoelâs gone,â she says softly, after a moment.Â
âWhere to?âÂ
âHeâs gone, Liam,â Calum says. The words feel strange on his lips. Noel canât be gone, not now, not when theyâre finally getting somewhere. Not without fucking saying anything to them.Â
âWhere?âÂ
âWe donât know,â Maggie says, still gentle, still kind, still trying to soften the blow. Liam looks about five years old, damp hair plastered to his face, eyes wide and shining with something that looks like fear, maybe, or loss, or rejection. Or maybe all of them with a sheen of anxiety.Â
âFuck,â he says, but he doesnât sound angry. âIs he going to be okay? Is he alright? Did you speak to him?âÂ
âHe just asked for his passport and some money,â Maggie says.Â
âBut heâs okay?âÂ
âI- he seemed okay, yeah, but-â
âOkay,â Liam says, like heâs trying to steady himself. âWhenâs he coming back?âÂ
âI-â Maggie cuts herself off, and takes a deep breath. âI think heâs gone for good, Liam.âÂ
Calum can see it, the moment it registers in Liamâs mind, sees it in the way his eyes widen and his lips part, in the panic that rises in his eyes.Â
âHeâs not,â Liam says, like heâs trying to convince himself. âHe wouldnât fucking do that.âÂ
âHeâs gone,â Maggie says again, softer than before, and then reaches inside her coat pocket. âHe left you a letter.â Liam stares down at the folded envelope in her hand, and then snatches it and shuts the door in both of their faces.Â
They stand there for a moment, and then Maggie turns to Calum.Â
âWell,â she says, like sheâs bracing herself. âThat couldâve gone worse.âÂ
âYeah,â Calum says vaguely, still staring at the door.Â
It couldnât be worse, though.Â
 -------
 Alan tells them not to worry, for the first few days. Noelâs disappeared before, and heâs quit before, and he always comes back.Â
So they try not to worry. Bonehead starts drinking at eleven in the morning, and Calum tries not to worry. Tony and Maggie have hushed conversations under their breath, and Calum tries not to worry. Liam doesnât leave his room, and Calum tries not to worry.Â
They get a fucking bollocking about the gig from Alan, from Marcus, from fucking Maggie, even, but it feels hollow because they all know theyâre not going to get the only bollocking that really matters - the one from Noel. They sit there silently while Alan rages about how embarrassing it was, while Marcus runs through numbers and statistics about sales and how theyâre going to be affected, while Maggie gives them disappointed looks and says really, snorting meth hours before a concert, what were you thinking? Â
Yeah. Theyâd snorted fucking meth. Some absolute fucking idiot - William John Paul Gallagher - had mistaken meth for coke. Itâs why they were absolutely out of their fucking minds, why Calum hadnât been able to sleep that night, and why Liam and Noelâs argument had been more ferocious than usual. It might also explain why all of this feels even more overwhelming than usual, why the comedown feels like itâs just not going away, why whenever Calum walks past Noelâs empty hotel room he feels like heâs suffocating.Â
By the third day, even Calumâs at a loss. Heâs been getting out of the hotel, going for long walks and getting lost and having to ask for directions to get back, standing by the sea and breathing in the salty air to try and clear his mind. Heâs worried about Noel, more than anything - Noel doesnât usually leave without saying anything, without getting the last word in, which is what makes this feel all the more real, like this is the time itâs going to stick.Â
Although, Calum thinks, maybe Noel did get the last word. Heâd written a letter to Liam, after all; maybe heâd said something in there about where he was going, what he was doing, something that makes this whole situation make any sort of sense. Maybe Liam knows something the rest of them donât.Â
He knocks on Liamâs door after he doesnât show up for lunch again, and Liam answers, looking a little dishevelled, and a lot drunk.Â
âWhat?â he says dully.Â
âWhat did the letter say?â Calum asks. Liam stares at him for a minute, and then opens the door enough to let Calum walk in.Â
The roomâs a fucking tip. Liamâs clothes are strewn all over the floor - which, granted, isnât exactly new - and Calum can see white powder residue on the coffee table, the desk, even the fucking bedside table. Next to the smudges of powder on the bedside table is the letter Noel had left, rolled up tightly, but creased all over. Liamâs been reading it, using it to snort drugs, smoothing it out and reading it again, rinse and repeat.Â
Calum sighs, and sits down on the chair next to Liamâs bed, throwing him a doleful look. Noelâs Calumâs best friend, sure, and Calumâs not got a clue what to do without him, but heâs Liamâs brother. His flesh and blood, the boy who held Liamâs hand while he crossed the road, who nursed him through his first black eye, who writes songs with lyrics like please, brother, let it be, after a fight. Liam's never not had Noel looking out for him - through exasperation and curses and fists connecting with jaws, but there nonetheless. Liam hasnât got a chance without Noel.
Liam throws himself down on the bed and stares up at the ceiling, and Calum puts his hand on Liamâs shin, fingers resting lightly against rough denim. Iâm here, heâs trying to say, but it feels hollow to the both of them, because heâs not Noel.Â
âWhat did he say?â Calum asks again. Liam stares up at the ceiling, blinks once, and then opens his mouth.Â
âHe told me he loved me,â he says. Calumâs stomach twists. Thatâs not a good thing, not from Noel. Heâd never say that, least of all to Liam, unless what he was trying to say was goodbye.Â
âOh,â Calum says, and tries not to let the panic seep into his voice. âDid he say where he was going?â Liam shakes his head.Â
âJust a bunch of shite about how can we be brothers anymore, blah blah blah,â he says, voice rising mockingly on Noelâs words. Anger works for Liam, especially where Noelâs concerned. Itâs the only way he knows how to feel about Noel. âCanât do this anymore, itâs not me itâs you, all that breakup bullshit.âÂ
âWhat about your mum?â Calum says, even though he knows the answer to that, because Alanâs been calling Peggy pretty much every hour. Liam shakes his head.Â
âSheâs fucking beside herself,â he says, fury licking at the edges of his tone. âI get doing it to me, up and leaving like that, because thatâs us, innit, but to mam? Iâll fucking kill the prick myself if I ever see him again.â He doesnât mean it, but Calum lets him pretend that they both believe it.Â
âYou should eat,â Calum says, after a moment of silence.
âProbably,â Liam says, to the ceiling. He blinks up at it one more time, and then rolls onto his side.Â
âHeâs a fucking cunt,â he announces, but he doesnât sound convinced, and his voice wavers a little. Calum sighs and reaches his hand out, and Liam extends his own to lace his fingers with Calumâs, blinking at him with glassy, tired eyes.Â
âI didnât mean to,â he says, and his voice is definitely wobbly now. âI didnât mean to push him away. I love him.â
âI know,â Calum says, and squeezes Liamâs hand in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. âHe knows, too.â
âI wouldnâtâve said it if I knew,â Liam says, swallowing hard. âI wouldnâtâve been such a cunt.âÂ
âYeah, you wouldâve,â Calum says, but itâs not unkind. âThatâs how you two are.âÂ
âCain and Abel.âÂ
âDoesnât Cain kill Abel?âÂ
âIsnât Noel killing me?â Calumâs not really sure what to say to that. He supposes, in a way, Liamâs right. One of themâs got to fall off the tightrope at some point, and Liamâs never going to push Noel. And Liam would be all too happy to fall off, if it were for Noel.
âHe needs you,â he says eventually. âHeâs always needed you.âÂ
âDoes he fuck,â Liam says flatly.Â
âHeâd never let anyone but you sing his songs,â Calum says. âThatâs the highest praise you can get from Noel.â Liamâs silent for a moment, because he knows Calumâs right, and then he sighs again, loud and heavy.
âIâm hungry,â he says, and Calum closes his eyes in relief. "I want fish and chips."
âOrder room service,â Calum suggests. Liam blinks at him.Â
"Do they do fish and chips?"
"They will if you offer them enough money." Liam hums, like he's thinking about it.
âWill you stay?â he asks lowly. Calum hesitates, and then nods.Â
ââCourse I will,â he says, and gives Liamâs hand another squeeze. Liam smiles at him, small but genuine.Â
âLove you,â he says. Calum smiles back, soft and fond.Â
âLove you too,â he says.Â
âEnough to find me good fish and chips in LA?â Liam says hopefully, and Calum laughs.Â
âNowhere near enough for that,â he says, and Liam sighs dramatically, but heâs smiling too, which is the best Calum can hope for.
 -------
 A few hours later, while searching for a pack of cigarettes, Calum comes across the spare room key to Noelâs room that Noel had pressed in his hand wordlessly on their first night. Calum hadnât really been sure what to make of it - was it an invitation for late-night songwriting, or the first acknowledgement of that night a few years ago either of them have ever made? - but it hadnât even mattered, because Noel had left so soon anyway.Â
Heâs heading to the room before heâs even really thought about it, unlocking the door and taking in the too-empty, too-clean room. The bedâs been perfectly made by the staff, nothing like the slapdash job Noel usually does, and thereâs no suitcase with clothes spilling out of it kicked in the corner of the room, no shoes strewn across the floor as Noel had kicked them off on his way to the bed. Itâs almost overwhelming, to know that this room housed the decision that could end Calumâs career, and that this is the last connection he could ever have to Noel. It feels almost suffocating, like the walls are too big and too white for Calum, and he finds himself sitting down on the bed and reaching for the phone before heâs really thought through what heâs doing.Â
Heâd memorised the number, of course. He hadnât really meant to; heâd just read the little scrap of paper so often that it had stuck. He barely even hesitates as he dials, chest so heavy with the crushing weight of the empty room, of the silence Noel's left in his wake.Â
The phone rings four times and Calum doesnât even realise his fist is clenched until thereâs a click and a shuffling sound, and his fingers relax.
âHello?â Michael sounds casual, relaxed, a little sleepy. Calum clutches the receiver to his ear. âHello?â Michael repeats.Â
âMichael.â He hears a sharp intake of breath.Â
âCalum?â Michael says. âArenât you in America?âÂ
âYeah.âÂ
âFucking hell. Youâd better make this quick, then.â He doesnât hang up, though, which is something. Calum just listens to him breathing for a minute, not really sure what he actually wants to say, or if he wants to say anything at all.Â
âCalum?â Michael says, jolting him back to reality.Â
âNoelâs gone,â Calum says.Â
âWhat dâyou mean, heâs gone? Where?â
âDunno.â Thereâs a pause.
âYou lost your songwriter?âÂ
âHeâs gone. Left.â Michael inhales deeply.Â
âWhere? Whereâd he go?âÂ
âWe donât know.â Michael exhales.Â
âOh, Calum,â he says, and he sounds sorry and sad. Calumâs eyes flutter shut, trying to soak in the sound of his voice.Â
âI-â Calum cuts himself off, because he doesnât actually know what heâs trying to say.Â
âIâm sorry,â Michael says, and he sounds like he means it.Â
âAre you?â Calum canât help but ask, a little bitterly. If Michael rang him and said Damon had left Blur, Calum would probably feel honour-bound to tell Noel. Or, he wouldnât, now. Fuck.Â
âAre you seriously asking me that?â Michael says, tone a little hard. Calum puts his head in his hands.Â
âI donât know,â he mumbles.Â
âWhy did you call me if you think that?âÂ
âI donât know,â Calum says again, hearing the hopelessness in his own voice. âI just- I donât know.â Michael sighs.Â
âHowâs Liam taking it?â he says. Heâs trying, Calum can tell. Heâs trying, for Calumâs sake.Â
âFucking terribly,â Calum admits. âNoel wrote him a letter.âÂ
âA letter?âÂ
âYeah. A- a fucking, like, goodbye note, I donât know. Heâs a mess.âÂ
âJesus.â Michael hesitates for a moment, and then adds: âWhat happened?âÂ
âHim and Liam had a fight,â Calum says. âAnd we played a fucking awful gig in LA.âÂ
âDonât they fight all the time?âÂ
âYeah.âÂ
âWhy this time, then?â Calum shrugs.Â
âWe did meth,â he says.Â
âYou- you did meth? â Michael sounds horrified. â Calum, fucking-âÂ
âWe thought it was coke,â Calum says.Â
âHow the fuck- âÂ
âI donât fucking know, Liamâs a fucking idiot,â Calum says, even though heâd put the stuff up his nose too.Â
âFucking hell,â Michael breathes. âAlright. Jesus. And Noel just- just, what, took off?âÂ
âYeah,â Calum says, gut twisting at the words. âTook his passport and some money and left.âÂ
âPassport?â Michael says. âDid he go home?âÂ
âNo.â Thereâs a pause.Â
âFuck.âÂ
âYeah,â Calum agrees, and it sounds listless, but he means it with every fibre of his fucking being.Â
âIâm sorry, Calum,â Michael says softly. Calum blinks at the wall.Â
âYeah,â he says again. âThanks.â Michael sighs.Â
âWhat are you going to do now?â he says.Â
âI have no fucking idea,â Calum says, the words acrid in his mouth. What the fuck are they going to do now? None of the rest of them can fucking write, can they? Not like Noel, at least.Â
âAre you going to finish the tour?âÂ
âI donât know, Michael,â Calum says. All the questions are making his head hurt. He hasnât even thought that far ahead, hasnât really considered anything beyond where the fuck is Noel, I hope Noelâs alright, Iâm going to fucking kill Noel. He doesnât even know if theyâd be allowed to play Noelâs songs - thereâs got to be some kind of legal bullshit about royalties involved, hasnât there? God, Noelâs always handled that stuff. Calumâs never read a fucking contract in his life, just signed where Noel told him to sign. Noel had been the one to sort out their management, to negotiate the record deal, to get the contracts for the tours. Who the fuck are Oasis without him?Â
âHey,â Michael says gently. âItâll be alright.âÂ
âWill it?âÂ
âYeah.â Michael has nothing to back his words up, no events or facts he can point to and say see, itâll be fine, but somehow, Calum believes him. Maybe because he wants to believe him, with every scrap of his soul, or maybe just because itâs Michael.Â
âThanks,â Calum says, and it comes out tired. Michael just hums in response, and they lapse into silence. Itâs not uncomfortable, though, not like the last time Michael had been at the other end of a phone line. Theyâre existing in tandem, and it feels like something slotting into a place that Calum didnât know was empty.
âI canât believe you did meth ,â Michael says after a while, in disbelief, and Calum canât help the way his lips hitch up in a faint smile.Â
âI didnât mean to,â he says.Â
âYâknow, the tabloids arenât wrong about you,â Michael says, and thereâs a smile in his voice too. Heâs teasing Calum. âAlways calling you a bunch of hooligans. Taking meth because you think itâs coke, fucking hell.âÂ
Calum huffs out a laugh, fingers curling around the receiver as his heart flips in his chest. Michael reads about him in the papers.Â
âThatâs just Liam,â he says.Â
âSo you werenât deported from Sweden?âÂ
âWell-â
âExactly,â Michael says, and Calum can hear him grinning.
âThat was because of Liam,â Calum says. He pauses, and then adds: âAnd Noel. And Bonehead.â Michael laughs, soft and melodic, and for one split, giddy second Calum thinks fuck, I want to spend the rest of my life hearing you laugh. Heâs sure he doesnât mean it, though. Itâs probably the fucking days-long comedown, and the fact heâs feeling Noelâs absence like nothing else. It's the first time he's heard someone laugh since Noel left, after all.
âI canât believe thatâs what Iâm up against,â Michael says, and itâs still soft and amused, but Calum can hear the slight tinge of sadness to it.Â
âYeah,â Calum says, smile fading. âThatâs your competition.â Michael exhales heavily, and Calum thinks they might be thinking the same thing. How did we go from us to competition?
âWhy did you call me?â Michael asks. Calumâs fingers twitch against the phone.Â
âI donât know,â he says. âI just- I donât know.â He hesitates, and then adds: âWhy did you call me? After Top of the Pops, I mean.â
âI donât know,â Michael says. Heâd said the same thing two months ago. But, two months ago he hadnât added what he does this time: âDâyou really want to do this now?âÂ
âDo what?â Calum says.Â
âTalk about this. Us. Now.â Calum swallows.Â
âNo,â he says. He never wants to talk about it. He wants to walk the edge of this precipice forever, doesnât ever want Michael to say câmon, letâs jump, because he doesnât know what heâll find at the bottom. He doesnât know whether Michaelâs just biding his time, waiting until they can have their big what happened to us? talk to say everything that heâs thought for the past five years, get it all off his chest, and then fuck off and leave. Heâd be well within his rights to, Calum thinks, but that doesnât stop the mere thought of it from making his heart ache.Â
âOkay,â Michael says. âBut we-â heâs interrupted by Calum and Liamâs door slamming open. Calum starts in surprise, phone slipping out of his fingers, and whips around to see Bonehead standing in the doorway.
âWeâve found him,â Bonehead says breathlessly. âHeâs in San Diego.âÂ
âYouâve found him?â Calum repeats. âWhat? How?â
âMaggie got his phone bills and traced all the numbers,â Bonehead says. âFound one in San Diego. Remember that girl, whatsherface, Leah? Dunno, doesnât matter, weâve found him. âÂ
âAnd?â Calum says, heart in his mouth. âDid you talk to him? Is he okay? Is he coming back?âÂ
âYeah,â Bonehead says, grinning widely. âHeâs coming back.âÂ
âOh, thank fuck,â Calum mutters, stomach somersaulting. âDoes Liam know?â Boneheadâs smile falters.Â
âYeah,â he says. Oh. Noelâs going to have fucking hell to pay.Â
âOh,â Calum says. Bonehead looks at him for a moment, both of them thinking the same thing - thereâs going to be fucking fireworks - and then he grins again.
âWell,â he says, âat least weâve got our fucking songwriter back, eh?âÂ
âYeah,â Calum says, and laughs, a little lightheaded. Fucking hell. Noelâs coming back.Â
âBonehead!â he hears someone yell - Liam, he thinks - and Bonehead sticks his head back out of the door.Â
âAye?âÂ
â...go out...fish and chips...you ask Calum?â is all he can make out. Bonehead casts a glance over at Calum.Â
âFancy going out for tea?â he says. âLiam reckons heâs found a chippy.â Calum raises his eyebrows. Fucking hell. Might as well have one last supper before Noel gets back and all hell breaks loose.Â
âAlright,â he says, and gets up to leave, making the phone clatter to the floor. He picks it up hastily, and Bonehead frowns at him.Â
âWhoâve you been talking to?â he says. Calum clutches the receiver to his chest.Â
âNo one,â he says. âWas going to ring my mum.â Boneheadâs face doesnât clear, and his eyes narrow, like heâs trying to work something out. Shit, itâs fucking three in the morning in England, isnât it? Fuck.Â
âBonehead!â Calum hears Liam yell again, sounding more aggravated this time, and Bonehead sighs in exasperation and turns back around.Â
âFucking hell, who the fuck are you, my missus?â Bonehead yells back. âIâm fucking coming, donât get your knickers in a twist.âÂ
âIâll just-â Calum motions at the bed vaguely, hoping itâll come across like heâs got some final organising to do - fucking make the already-pristine bed, or something, anything to make Bonehead leave so he can hang up on Michael - and Bonehead just nods, already halfway out of the door and on his way to Liam.Â
Calum brings the receiver back up to his ear, ready to make some excuse to Michael, but all he hears is a dial tone.Â
Michaelâs already gone.Â
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chapter five
#malum#5sos fic#5sos fanfic#5sos fanfiction#5sos slash#god do you know how long it takes to format fic on ao3 because of how i write it in google docs#a solid 15 minutes of deleting line breaks#anyway i hope everyone is well i have been busy but i will be back on my bullshit#imminently might i add#might even write some more of soulmate au but don't hold me to that#odds on i put some cheeky britpop references in#everyone will hate me but you know what! its my fic! i can make them hear dlbia in costa if i want!#anyway now that i'm safely at least 8 tags down i can mention noel gallagher#i can't even tell you how much i fancy this man its actually uncouth#like yall thought richard madden was bad this is richard madden but x834273472349234#and its NOEL FUCKING GALLAGHER#can my brain make a SINGLE good decision please i'm BEGGING you#this is going to be my quarantine memory#like in years to come when people are like what did you do during quarantine!#oh just thirsted over a 53 year old man wbu :)#anyway off topic i have missed being here#im signing off for the night now but i'll be back tomorrow#please leave inane shit in my inbox and especially comments about noel gallagher#although if i see ONE submission of that picture of his feet this blog is getting deleted
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