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What You Take To The Grave

Summary:

While helping his mother clear out their childhood home, Noel stumbles across something he never thought Liam was capable of - a journal. He thinks it'll bore him after two or three pages but some things won’t let you walk away so easily.

Notes:

Hi! I love reading longer fanfics with heavy themes so I thought why not write one myself. I've had the idea for this story for such a long time and I somehow never got around to writing it, but now I thought, fuck it why not. It’s the perfect time to write a gcest fanfic, while the entire world is looking at them, we’re getting no interviews and nothing cause they’ve only got eyes for eachother. Everybody knows but no one’s saying nothing. I thought posting on here might motivate me to write more, let’s hope it does! I hope you enjoy the first chapter. If you like it, you could leave a comment if you want, i’d love to hear what you think (But please be nice).

Ps. Less than a month until the tour starts!!!

Chapter Text

Noel was about eighty percent sure that Liam wouldn‘t be there, but he still looked through the window of his Mam‘s house before knocking, his fingers brushing against the chipped paint on the doorframe. Cowardly, maybe, but he preferred to think of it as self-preservation. Or common sense. He wasn’t in the mood for Liam’s antics ruining what had been a surprisingly good start to the day. Yesterday, he’d dreaded the thought of helping Peggy pack for her move, every little ache in his back and wave of laziness convincing him he had better things to do. But today he‘d woken up to great weather and an adorable text from Sally, far too cool a woman for him, that made him smile at his phone like a little kid.

Hi Noel. Hope you have a good day. Let's talk soon. Look forward to seeing you soon too. Sally xxx

They hadn’t talked about what they were, not really. Maybe it was safer that way, labels that might complicate things made Noel quite nervous so soon after the divorce. But he liked the way she always seemed to know what to say without trying too hard, and he liked the three little x's at the end of her texts and he really liked the idea that she was looking forward to seeing him. So he was in a rather good mood, and he wanted it to last.

Peggy greeted him at the door with a “Morning love,“ and then she hugged him and Noel wrapped his arms around her real tight. Every time he visited nowadays she seemed skinnier and more worn. He thought moving in with her sister really was the right call. So that she didn‘t have to be alone in this old house all day. Of course Peggy hadn‘t been easy to convince, a stubborn irish woman after all, never one to give up or admit defeat easily. It had taken weeks of gentle persuasion before she finally agreed to the move. What baffled him most was what Peggy had ever seen in that old house to begin with.

For Noel, moving out hadn’t been hard at all. He could still remember the way his heart would race every time he sneaked a quick glance out the window before leaving, anxious to make sure their father wasn’t lurking outside the gate. Tommy had been obsessed with getting them back after they‘d moved, or well, escaped.

“You want a cuppa? Or some coffee? Did you get here alright?” Peggy asked him, as if anything had changed, as if he didn‘t know the way by heart. Noel let out a soft chuckle as he stepped inside the house, brushing past Peggy’s soft, fond smile, the kind that carried a hint of sorrow he didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Yeah. You started without me, then?” he asked, glancing around the hallway cluttered with cardboard boxes, stacked haphazardly as if the place was slowly being unpacked or dismantled. It already felt less like home than the last time he’d been here.

Peggy gave a small, proud nod. “Yes, I’ve been at it most of the morning. The neighbour’s son helped me too, such a sweet young lad,” she said with a wistful smile. “Reminds me of my Liam when he was that age.” Her eyes sparkled for a moment, as if recalling a memory she treasured deeply, and Noel noticed the “my“ and thought, no he isn’t yours, he isn’t. And he noticed that her smile was different than the ones she ever gave him or Paul. It was almost like Liam held a special place in her heart that no one else could quite reach. Noel knew the fucking feeling, he‘d been there. He didn‘t miss that manchild one bit but Liam wasn‘t Peggy‘s, Liam had been Noel‘s since he first opened his eyes and Mam wasn‘t there for him to see because of the way he was lying on her chest and Paul was home with their aunt and Dad was fuck-knows-where but Noel was there, really excited to be a big brother.

He shook his head at the memory. If only he'd known what he was getting himself into, he'd have stayed home to.

Noel tried to stop thinking about it, remembering what Peggy had said about the neighbour's son and swallowing a question he really, really wanted to ask.

If your Liam is so damn helpful and perfect, where is he now, hm? 

He understood, deep down, that she didn’t mean anything by it. She loved all her kids. It was just how things were: In her eyes, Liam would always be her baby, the youngest who needed protecting. Meanwhile, Paul and Noel were firmly in the “grown-up sons” category, expected to be responsible. Noel felt as if he'd been in that category since he turned thirteen, if he was being honest.

Peggy didn’t seem to notice his tone when he uttered, "Alright," because he wasn't sure what else he could say that wouldn't make her sad. He really just didn't have anything good to say about Liam anymore, so he'd say nothing.

Peggy rubbed her hands together, looking around the room nervously. “Oh, Noely. This old place… not much left of it, is there? Getting a bit emotional. How much the place has been through.”

Noel glanced around. “It’s just a house, Mam,” he said, feeling a little exhausted suddenly. He had never liked sentimental stuff like this, he couldn‘t cope with it. „What about upstairs?“

Peggy looked at him for a moment, like she still wanted to tell Noel that it wasn't just a house to her and why that was the case, but then she didn't. Because she knew her son would just scoff and mumble an apology. It had been years, she thought, since she'd had a proper meaningful conversation with him. She didn't mind too much though. Noel had always been this way, he rarely let his walls down. Her kids meant the world to Peggy. Talking to Noel, even if it was just smalltalk, improved her day greatly. “There’s just a few boxes left to carry out later. And I did find some things in your room, old bits and pieces I wasn’t sure what to do with. I put them all on the bed for you to have a look at," she said. “I’ll keep going down here while you’re sorting through that.”

Noel shook his head gently. “You don’t have to do that, Mam. You should sit down, put your feet up. Maybe watch some telly or rest for a bit.” He wanted her to take it easy, she’d done enough.

But Peggy gave him a knowing look. She patted his shoulder gently. It was sweet but it was also the kind of pat that said, I don’t want you worrying about me, but do not expect me to actually stop and relax. “Alright, darling,” she said, but the look in her eyes told Noel the truth: she had no intention of sitting still or turning on the television anytime soon.

Noel went upstairs and straight up to his old room, he looked at the little sign on the door that said Liam‘s and his name. They had put it up together. He remembered how Liam had grinned, so proud of his handiwork. The memory made him smile, though he quickly wiped it from his face, as if even thinking fondly of him was some kind of betrayal. Sometimes he wondered if it would all be easier if Liam had been horrible all the time, if they had never gotten along, if it hadn't started of great and then turned to shit.

That sign was sturdy now, nothing like the one they’d started with. Before the metal sign, for years there had just been a piece of paper. He remembered it, the two of them standing by the door, Liam clutching the scrap with their names scrawled in blocky handwriting.

“Hold it still, for fuck's sake” Noel had said, leaning in close behind him.

Liam had been laughing and giggling as he pressed the paper to the door. Noel remembered it, his brother's shoulders tensing when he had stepped closer, when he had reached around him, trapping him against the doorframe as he had smoothed the tape along the edges.

Liam had been on his tippy toes to see better, and in the motion he had brushed up against Noel’s crotch.

“Like so?”

“Yeah,” Noel had replied, low, almost distracted, his breath brushing the back of Liam’s neck. Liam had gone utterly still then, fingers digging into the paper, his palms pressing harder against the wood as if bracing himself.

When Noel had finally stepped back, it was only just in time to catch the look spreading across Liam’s face. “Got ya!” Liam had shouted, twisting around to grab at Noel’s ribs, fingers wriggling in an uncoordinated tickle attack. Noel had been ready for it, though. He'd caught Liam’s wrists, spinning him back toward the door and pinning him there.

"No ya didn’t.” He'd pressed just enough to hold Liam still, who'd started laughing again, all breathlessly, full of energy as he squirmed against the door. “Let me go!" he had yelled at Noel, his eyes full of tears from laughing so hard, but there hadn't been any real fight in him.

Now, standing in their Mam's hallway with the cool metal sign in front of him, he couldn’t quite shake the memory. Not the sound of Liam’s laughter or the way it had faded when Noel had leaned over him, how he’d stood still, waiting for Noel to do anything. Like pull away - or move closer.

Noel shook his head, cursed under his breath, then reached out and tried to get the sign off, but the nails were hammered in too deep into the wood. He gave up after a few futile tugs, the sign staying stubbornly stuck as if it knew it belonged there.

Resigned, Noel pushed open the door and stepped inside. His old room felt smaller than he remembered, maybe because he was bigger now. He sat down on the edge of the bed, which was stripped bare except for a pile of papers and miscellaneous bits and bobs that his Mam, and that wonderful neighbour of hers, had gathered from closets and the battered old desk. Noel flipped through the pile, the first few items immediately drawing a shake of his head. Old toys, brittle and forgotten; crumpled-up, yellowing maths tests with big red crosses marking every failure, reminders of long-forgotten school struggles from decades ago. It was all junk, clutter.

Then something caught Noel’s eye, an object he almost would have tossed aside with the rest, assuming it was just another school notebook, one of those boring exercise books filled with half-hearted scribbles and forgotten lessons. But this was different. It was thicker, much thicker than any ordinary notebook, its pages swollen and warped, clearly from being opened and closed over and over again. The cover was a deep, dark blue, worn and faded at the edges, soft from years of handling. The corners were bent, some pages sticking out at odd angles where they’d been folded over. What made him pause, and then smile, was the bold, scrawled warning written across the front in unmistakable handwriting that he immediately recognized.

DO NOT READ.

The words were written in Liam’s young, uneven scrawl, like a fucking secret code daring anyone to open it. He flipped it open, half expecting to find nothing more than doodles and half-finished song lyrics. The first page was a casual note, with all the careless charm of a teenager reluctant to be pinned down by anything as serious as a diary.

So I’m 13 now and my auntie gave me this. I guess diaries are for birds so let’s call this a journal. I’ll probably not write a lot cos I’m like really busy at the moment cos I’ve got a girlfriend now and also I play lots of footy so I’m not really home all that much. When I’m famous this will be really cool to read so yeah. This morning me and Noel and Paul played cards. Normally, cards are boring as fuck but with them, it’s a laugh. Noel kept calling me thick when I lost, but I won a couple of times, so he can shut it. It's proper rare they play with me so I’m happy when they do. They’re usually off doing whatever cool grown-up shite they do. I dunno what. Paul probably does cooler stuff than Noel cos Noel's into sitting around being sad playing guitar. He's such a weirdo. Why am I writing about him??? Cos I have to share a room with him!!! So I have to hear him be sad and play guitar all day all night!!! ALSO: I've got nothing else to write about!!! My auntie keeps saying I should write about me feelings. Does she think I'm a poof? Alright my Mam is calling me cause tea is ready so I’ve got to stop writing. Okay bye!!!! Liam.

If Noel had accepted that coffee Peggy had offered earlier, this would’ve been the moment he’d have dropped his cup, spilling it all over the floor. Because what did this even mean? Liam… writing… in a journal? The thought was so utterly unexpected it made Noel laugh out loud, his day had just gotten so much better.

Curious, Noel flipped the notebook open to a random page somewhere in the middle. His eyes immediately caught the sight of dense, messy writing, every inch of the paper filled with words, squeezed in tight like Liam had poured everything onto the pages in one sitting. What had possessed his brother to do something so unlike him? Noel never would have guessed that he had that kind of focus or patience, the kind it took to fill page after page with thoughts and feelings. His eyes settled on a small paragraph scrawled in the top left corner, the handwriting rushed but still unmistakably Liam’s.

The CHIEF is mad at me AGAIN. I dunno what I did this time. I’m sure I did do something but I dunno. He left. That’s never for long. Whatever, I’ll give him the silent treatment and he’ll come crawling back. I hope.

Noel snapped the book shut, his heart pounding. He felt a confusing mix of emotions tightening in his throat. Amusement, nostalgia? For how long had Liam used this?

“Noel, what are you taking so long for? Did the nostalgia get to you after all? Come back down and help me, darling" Peggy’s voice called up from downstairs, soft but carrying that hint of gentle insistence Noel knew well. He decided then and there he’d take it with him. After all, secrets had never really existed between him and Liam. Besides that, he was heading off on holiday with Sally next week, and bringing something to read might be good.

“That’s what you get for writing in a diary like a ten-year-old schoolgirl, our kid.“ With that, Noel slipped the journal quietly into his bag, tucking it between his belongings. It wasn’t like Liam would miss it. Hell, he probably didn’t even remember it existed.

Still, the act felt strangely invasive, like leafing through someone’s pockets while they weren’t looking. But Liam had never had a problem being invasive either, so Noel didn't feel too bad. If he was being honest, he was very excited to read everything. He'd always been very curious and, though it was hard to admit, especially when it came to Liam. Not talking in over a decade had it's advantages - lots of advantages actually, but there was also the downside of not knowing what was going on with his life anymore. He'd only know the bits and pieces he'd hear from Mam sometimes. And she was biased, Liam could do no wrong in her eyes. And then Noel had Liam's twitter account which was also not the best news source. Liam was quite the unreliable narrator when it came to his own life.

He very much doubted that Liam had used the journal recently since it looked quite dusty and unused, but even if he had only written in it up until the early Oasis years, it could still be interesting to read. Initially Noel thought this could reveal lots of shameful secrets, some embarassing stuff Liam did as a teen maybe. How fucking fun would that be? That's what Noel would use a diary for - not that he would ever own one, for writing down proper iconic nights to remember. Especially the ones where the remembering gets difficult were usually the ones that should have been written down.

But Liam wasn't a writer like Noel. There would probably be nothing like that, and no songlyrics either, nothing with depth. He shouldn't get his hopes up for this to be a gripping read, Noel told himself. Most of it would most likely be doodles and Liam talking about booze and about girls. Which were the two topics Noel had always hated talking to Liam about the most. Noel wasn't against drinking, not at all, he couldn‘t imagine giving it up himself. But when it came to Liam and alcohol, everything he remembered was negative. He basically turned into their old man when he had too much, he became way too loud and dumb for Noel's liking. And he was always loud and dumb anyways but booze took it to another level.

And Noel didn't like Liam talking about women either. It had always ended badly when Liam had told him he'd found the one. He'd stopped being happy for him after he'd dumped his third girlfriend in a year, when he was 16, for absolutely no reason. Liam had unbelievably high standards for someone so flawed and it bothered Noel immensely. Bothered as in, made him feel bad for the girls. But it also made him feel very special because Liam was on his voice mail every other month rambling drunken apologies and whining about how he wanted him back. And he'd never do that for any of his girlfriends. Was Noel cruel for liking it? Maybe. Was he cruel for not calling him back? He didn't think he was. Liam would contradict himself the next day on Twitter and talk shit about Noel and his kids again. So which one was the truth? The voice mails were too exhausting to get involved in. But they were too intense to pay no attention to. So Noel listened to them whenever he was feeling down. It made him feel powerful and important. Needed. It reminded him that there was someone there who loved him. He didn't feel too bad about it, Liam probably wasn't expecting a call back anyways, not after so many years, and at least this way the messages he left were of use somehow.

Chances were high that this notebook wouldn't reveal a lot of new information to Noel, after all he'd been there for pretty much all of Liam's life and he'd always been easy to read. An open book, someone who carries his heart on his sleeve and just tells people his real feelings even when all it causes is confusion and unnecessary hurt. Noel knew him better than anyone else and he was completely different to Noel, which was probably why they didn't get along too well. For example, Liam had been a crybaby as a kid - while Noel was getting the living daylights kicked out of him and always tried to just get through it with gritted teeth, Liam had cried at every-fucking-thing. His ice-cream falling down, his belly hurting, his brother not paying attention to him. Tears. Noel smiled a little at the memories, yeah, he decided, even if he knew it all, reading back on it and how he felt would be fun. 

He made his way back downstairs. Peggy was humming an old song as she folded a box closed, her voice thin and sweet and her eyes a bit teary. All of this was clearly very emotional for her. Noel stood in the doorway, feeling like the journal was burning a hole in his bag and not knowing what to do.

He should’ve said something to her, about the house, about the memories, about how much she’d done for them and how she had every right to feel emotional. About how her sister would take good care of her, about how he’d visit all the time. He should’ve said something to her then. Something kind. Something real. But the words felt stuck in his throat. He picked up another box, offering the only kind of help he could manage.

Chapter 2

Notes:

Appreciate you reading. Feel free to let me know what you think in the comments xxxx

Chapter Text

Noel was in the back of the car and he was really happy he'd never seen a reason to learn how to drive. Because this way, now he could close his eyes a little. Seeing his mother like that, looking a little frail and emotional, it had exhausted Noel. He would have felt better about himself if it hadn't, if seeing her and talking to her about nothing of importance, and listening to her talk about her wonderful neighbours, her wonderful house and her wonderful other sons hadn't tired him. But it had. He loved his mother but he was happy that he lived pretty far away and didn't have to come visit her all the time. The thought sounded cruel to his own ears and he thought, maybe it did because he was.

He’d noticed, for the first time, how thin her wrists looked. Like she was starting to shrink in places, becoming the kind of woman who needed help with heavy grocery bags. It unsettled him. She still spoke with the same voice, still had opinions about everything, but something about her had seemed smaller today. His stomach turned. He hadn't eaten all day, but remembering how thin his mother had looked somehow made his throat tighten and his hunger disappear. He could eat later.

The windows fogged a little at the edges, the radio was on, quietly, some bland pop song humming under the sound of wet tyres on asphalt. A song his daughter would like, Noel was certain of it. Noel had his bag on his lap. It was late enough that the streetlights had flicked on, but he had rested his eyes enough. It was difficult, being extremely lazy and extremely curious at the same time. Noel sighed, part of him really did want to read in that damn journal. He leaned his head against the window for a while. His reflection looked tired. He reached into his bag, half without thinking. His hand found the soft, scuffed cover of the old diary.

He told himself just one more. One entry.

He opened it on the second page, right after that strange bit of Liam saying he'd gotten a girlfriend now and that all Noel did was be sad and play guitar. Noel almost rolled his eyes just thinking about it again, his brother always found a way to see only the most one dimensional version of Noel, great to find out he's been that judgemental macho at 13 already.

Dunno what's going on in school lately. Can't concentrate for shit. It's like I try and I try but my head just runs off. It’s like there’s bees in there or something. Swear I read the same line six times and still dunno what it says. Mrs. Boyle gave me a look today like she already knew I wouldn't get it. Everyone thinks I’m thick. Maybe I am. Maybe I just am now. Guess better thick than boring as fuck, right? Noel’s become un-fucking-bearable lately. He’s barely ever home anymore and when he is all he does is argue with me. Like I’m breathing wrong. Or blinking too loud. And yeah, alright, most times I start the argument but only cause I want him to hug me or talk normal or just not be a dick to me for once. It’s fucking embarrassing. I know it is. But I can’t help it. His hugs always calm me down. Like even if everything else is shite, if he hugs me then I know I’m still sort of loved by someone. Even though I am thick.

The words started to feel heavier the further down the page he went, like every sentence was pulling something ugly up from the past, not in a flash, but slowly, painfully, like a tooth being worked loose. Noel couldn't put his finger on why that was, but he didn't like reading any of it.

And then:

But lately Noel looks so angry when I ask. Like actually disgusted. He says stuff like, “You know what you’re fucking doing. You’re so fucking twisted. D’you know what? I’m doing you a big fucking favor by tryna stay away from you and your stupid fucking puppy dog eyes and all you do is run after me and ask for hugs, can’t you be fucking normal?” Then he just stares at me. Like he hates me. Like he wishes I wasn’t even there. Then he slams the door. Every time. But later, he usually looks sort of guilty. He’ll ruffle my hair like nothing happened. He never says sorry but I think the ruffling is supposed to mean that. Or maybe it means shut up. Dunno. I just don’t get what I did wrong. Why he’s so upset by me wanting a hug. Or what it has to do with my eyes. Or why I’m “twisted” now. I don’t feel twisted. I just feel weird. All the time. And last night I realised there really is something wrong with me. I’ve wondered about it before but now I know. I’ve been hiding it even from myself but Noel sees it because he's Noel and he's older so he knows more stuff than me. He can see through me and he figured it out. He can see it in my eyes that there's something wrong with me and that’s why I’m never allowed to just give him a normal hug again. That’s why he knew what I needed last night even before I did. It’s because he knows how I feel. It's not Noel's fault, it's my own but sometimes I just want to fucking die.

Noel stared at the words like they might change. But they didn't. He felt something inside him. Worry, maybe. Shame. Or recognition. Or some horrible mix. He didn't fully understand what Liam was saying. But sort of. He remembered lots of times, it must’ve been in their early childhood, when Liam had run to him after scraping his knee in the garden or something like that. Noel had hugged him without thinking. It had felt normal, natural. But he did also remember that something had shifted. Somewhere along the way, Liam got older, and hugs started to feel... different. Like they meant more than they used to. Or maybe Noel just thought they did. Maybe that was the problem.

He stared straight ahead at the back of the driver’s seat. “What the fuck do you want from me, Liam?” he muttered to himself, like the fucking thing would say something back. Like Liam was trapped in there or something. He held it in one hand. His other hand itched toward his wrist, scratching absently at the skin just below his sleeve. When he realized he’d made a small welt, he pulled his sleeve down quickly. He was losing his mind. For fuck's sake he should have thrown it away with the rest lf the junk.

He shoved the journal back in his bag, roughly, like it had insulted him. And for a while, he just sat there, jaw clenched, hand gripping the strap of the bag. Undecided if he wanted to admit to himself that he knew what his brother was talking about.

It kept repeating in his head, even though he tried to think about something else, like a broken fucking record.

He can see it in my eyes that there's something wrong with me and that’s why I’m never allowed to just give him a normal hug again. That’s why he knew what I needed last night even before I did.

He didn’t touch the diary again for almost a week and told himself he'd never open it again. He left it zipped in the front pocket of his bag.

Then, on the evening before their holiday, he was meant to be packing. Sally was in the bedroom doing the same thing. Noel stood by his half-open suitcase, holding a shirt he hadn’t worn in months, and couldn’t for the life of him remember what weather they were even flying into because he hadn’t been sleeping right.

What Noel would never know was that after they had put up the paper sign on their door and he'd gone back downstairs, Liam had lingered in their room and thought about him for a long time.

-

Liam was sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring up at the open door where the paper now hung, the official sign that this was their room. He wasn't sure why it was stuck in his head, that feeling of Noel leaning over him, pressing against him as he reached up to pin the paper to the wood. But it was there, and no matter how hard he tried to shake it loose, it clung. Had it really happened? Had Noel’s joggers been pressed against him, or was his mind playing tricks? It couldn’t be real, Liam told himself. Because Noel wouldn’t do that. Noel wasn’t like that. He wasn’t a bad person. Only bad people did things like that.

Still, Liam couldn‘t stop feeling weird. He decided he wouldn’t think about it anymore. There was no point. After all, he hadn’t really minded, had he? They’d both been wearing clothes. That made it different. Didn’t it?

The thing was, the first time someone had pressed against him like that, it had been nothing like this. He hadn’t felt warm, the way he always felt around Noel. He hadn’t had the guts, or the freedom, to turn around and tickle the person behind him like he had done today with Noel. No. The first time, his pyjama pants had been yanked down so fast he barely had time to cry out. He’d been shoved hard against the wall, and before he could process what was happening, he was filled with a pain that left him breathless, tears streaking his face as he bit down on his sleeve to keep from screaming too loudly.

He hadn’t known how to describe it then, and he still didn’t. Words felt too sharp to describe the foggy nightmare of it all. But if that was the sort of thing boys did with their girlfriends, then Liam was glad he wasn’t a girl.

It wasn’t normal for boys, though. He knew that much. He wasn’t stupid. It had only happened to him because that other person had been bad.

And Noel wasn’t bad.

So Noel wouldn’t.

Liam curled his fingers into the carpet, grounding himself as he repeated it over and over in his head. Noel wasn’t like that. Noel was good. The thought soothed him, even as his body tensed with memories he didn’t want. And when he finally climbed into bed that night, he told himself he was lucky to have a brother like Noel. If Noel was good, then there was nothing to worry about.

-

Almost forty years later, Noel zipped up his suitcase, pressing the corners down to make room for one last item. The journal slid into the side pocket, he couldn't help himself. He let his hand rest on the zipper of the suitcase for a moment. Not all the entries will be like that one, Noel told himself. The first one had been funny. He couldn't throw the fucking thing away now because of Liam being sad one fucking time. Who wasn't sad sometimes? Oh, so what, Noel didn't hug him back. Clingy cunt.

He could stick to that narrative.

To his plan, flip through a few pages while sitting by the pool, maybe letting Sally read some bits. He really could. She’d laugh and call Noel a stalker and tease him about his weird fascination with his little brother’s younger years. It’d be lighthearted, something to laugh about over cocktails.

But there was another voice, and that one was louder: Don’t let her see it. Don’t let anyone see it.

The weight of it felt heavier than it should have. He told himself it was guilt, not wanting to explain why he’d taken it in the first place. But deep down, he knew that wasn’t the real reason. The truth was harder to admit even to himself. It was about the stuff Noel remembered, the moments he hoped Liam didn’t. The things that had been easier to pretend never happened. He hated that Liam might have written these things down. The thought of it not just being about football and girls was ruining the book for Noel.

He was about to step out of the room when he nearly collided with Sally. She let out a small laugh, steadying herself against him.

“Whoa! You alright? You look like I just caught you hiding a dead body.”

“Never been better."

Sally tilted her head, giving him a curious look.

“You done packing? Packed any national secrets by chance?”

“I‘m done, yeah. You too?” Noel asked quickly, leaning closer to kiss her. She smiled against his lips, her hands brushing his shoulders and she didn't answer the question.

“Mhm. You’re hiding something.”

Noel laughed nervously. “Yeah, right, I'm hiding fucking socks and T-shirts.”

She rolled her eyes but dropped the subject, turning to head downstairs.

“Alright then, Mr. Mysterious.”

“You eat anything today?” she asked, her tone casual. Noel shrugged. “Yeah, earlier.” It was mostly true, he’d had crisps. She nodded, not pushing. He loved her for that. For not making him explain things he didn’t have names for. She never made him talk about his childhood either. She was nothing like Sara.

He followed her out of the room, in the doorway he glanced back at the suitcase. For a brief moment, he considered pulling the journal back out, leaving it behind. But while he still felt nauseous from the last entry he'd read, he had to uncover what else Liam had written, about them, he just had to. Maybe he should try to pay more attention to the positive things in the text, rather than the negative ones. Like for example, how Liam had seen Noel as a good person. How he had believed in him.

-

It became increasingly difficult for Liam to believe Noel was a good person the very night after the day when they'd put up the paper sign on their door. Liam had crawled into Noel’s bed after waking from a nightmare, seeking comfort like he always did, knowing he was too old for it, but also knowing that Noel always let him sleep in his bed when he had a bad dream. Noel had been avoiding hugging him for months. Shoving him away. Calling him names. Saying stuff like I’m trying to stay away from you, like Liam was something poisonous.

So when they'd been putting up the sign, had Liam just been imagining things? Because why would he get so close? Liam thought he'd take the opportunity of Noel not being as big of a dick as per usual to climb into his bed and cuddle with him. He missed being close to him. Noel had always been the one who cared for Liam the most, he felt like. Well Mam did that too, but Noel just had a way of making it feel even more special.

Noel was supposed to be the one who cared.

He climbed into Noel’s bed, burying himself under the covers without saying a word. His brother stirred beside him, half-asleep.

“Liam? You alright?”

“Yeah,” Liam whispered, lying flat on his back.

“Just… couldn’t sleep.”

“Hmm,” Noel hummed.

“Is that what you call it? S’alright.”

Then Noel moved a little. At first, it was subtle, a small movement, almost imperceptible. But then it happened again, and this time, Liam really felt it. The press of Noel’s hips against his bum. He lay stiffly on his side, staring into the dark, thinking that Noel must believe he wanted this because he’d come into his bed. And maybe that was fair because when a girl comes into a boy’s bed, it always ends like this. That’s just how it works. Liam had seen it in movies, and no one ever said it was wrong. The girl wanted it.

Liam’s stomach twisted at the thought. Somewhere deep down, he’d started to understand that he could be the girl, even though he wasn’t one. Somehow, it was different for him, and he hated that he just… fit into that role, apparently. There must be something wrong with me, he thought. Was Noel punishing him for something? Would he never get a normal hug or a cuddle ever again?

Noel kept moving, silent except for the small, shuddery breaths puffing against Liam’s neck. Liam didn’t know what to do. His face burned, and he bit his lip to keep silent, his heart hammering against his ribs. The warmth of Noel’s body against him wasn’t entirely unpleasant, and that made Liam’s chest ache and his belly feel warm. But he felt wrong for not hating it. He felt wrong for being here at all, because he'd never wanted a man to touch him like this again.

Noel jerked up against him one last time and let out a soft noise, then stilled. A moment later, Liam felt a wetness soak through his pajama pants, spreading uncomfortably against his skin. Noel shifted away a bit, rolling onto his back, sighing like he’d just had a good stretch. Liam stayed frozen, staring wide-eyed into the darkness.

Finally, he managed to croak, “Can I go back to my own bed?”

Noel’s voice was barely audible, he sounded half asleep. “What? Course you can,” he mumbled.

Liam climbed out of the bed, his legs unsteady. He stumbled back to his own, climbing under the covers and pulling them up to his chin. He stared at the ceiling, every breath shallow and uneven.

He had asked because… Well, it was just polite to ask, wasn’t it? That’s what you did. He hadn’t wanted to make Noel mad by leaving. People didn’t like when you left right after. Then they got angry.

Liam squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the thoughts creeping in. The first time someone had done something like this, it had been different. Worse. Like about a million times worse. And he hadn’t been allowed to leave then. He felt his chest tighten, the same way it used to when he was younger. Back when someone bigger and stronger had trapped him, not in a soft bed but against a wall or on the floor, pressing against him, holding him in place. Back when it hurt, and he cried, and the cries just made it hurt more. His throat burned with the memory of it, the roughness, the words he didn’t understand but could never forget. “Stop squirming, you little shit.” He’d learned not to squirm, after a while. He’d learned that being quiet and being still, made it go faster. That was the only power he’d had.

Liam buried his face in his pillow, forcing the thoughts away as best as he could. He told himself that Noel wasn’t like that. Noel wouldn’t hurt him, not like that.

Noel had come home looking all wrecked. Had mumbled something bitter about some girl and how he deserved better. Liam hadn’t really been listening, he didn’t give a fuck about Noel’s girlfriend. But he’d been able to tell that Noel was sad. Frustrated. So maybe he’d just been thankful. For Liam helping with the sign. For Liam being around. For Liam coming into his bed, to sleep with him, now. Maybe that’s all it was. Maybe Liam should be grateful for the closeness. After all, he’d been begging for it. Thinking about it. Writing about it. And now here he was, sulking about it.

He decided that Noel knew him better than he knew himself, because it was an explanation that worked and one that excused Noel's behaviour. Liam forced himself to smile as he fell asleep.

At least Noel had touched him again.

Chapter 3

Notes:

Sad one. I apologise. But oh my fucking God, at least what's happening in real life isn't sad! I'll never get over them hugging and holding hands on stage, what is this time we're living in.... anyways, enjoy x

Chapter Text

Noel sat up in bed, careful not to make too much noise. He wasn‘t sure what time it was, but it was late, it felt like he‘d been trying to fall asleep for ages. Beside him, Sally was curled toward the wall, one arm flung over her head, her hair tangled across the pillow, breathing evenly. They were only on the second night of their little escape down to the South of France. And it was nice. Lovely, even. This morning they’d wandered the market in town. They’d found a little place for lunch, wooden tables under a striped awning, with the help of some local rosé sweating in the bottle, they had both been slightly drunk by four and then they’d had sex with the balcony doors open. It had been a good day. Better than most.

But now, lying in the dark, that lightness had drained away. He wasn’t exactly unhappy. Just… distant. Tilted slightly off-center in a way he couldn’t explain. Sleep wouldn’t come. His mind wouldn’t still and he just felt uneasy.

Noel glanced toward the nightstand, where the damn journal sat under the glow of the reading lamp. It had been sitting there since they got here, untouched. He hesitated, then reached for it. Moments later he was hunched over the thing, elbows digging into his thighs and, once again, the more he read, the worse he felt.

Today I hurt my ankle real bad playing tag. It hurt like mad, but I didn’t cry, not even when I fell. I thought maybe I’d try a warm wet paper towel on it, but it didn’t feel good at all. Didn’t work like I thought it would.

Noel frowned, thumb twitching against the corner of the page. The image was strangely specific. Familiar, even.

He kept reading.

I don’t get it, though. It always helped me back then when I got hurt, putting a warm one on my belly. Dunno why it doesn’t work for my ankle.

Warm one on my belly.

Back then when I got hurt.

Noel exhaled slowly. It wasn’t just the odd phrasing or the way it was thrown in there like it meant nothing. It was the tone. Like Liam had just assumed it would make sense. Like it was a fact of the world, this weird ritual no one ever taught him. But why? He stared at the sentence again, unsure what to make of it. It was just like it had been with the first entries: There was something there, something just out of reach.

And then the memory started to rise. Their old house. Noel had been lying in bed, stiff with pain, his body aching from a beating their dad had given him over something so trivial he couldn’t even recall it now. Just the usual explosion, a shout, a sudden backhand, a kick to the ribs. He couldn’t even remember what he’d done. Maybe he hadn’t done anything. He knew his ribs had burned when he'd tried to breathe too deep, and his leg had throbbed so badly he remembered thinking it might be broken. But then he had tried to tell himself that it was most likely just sprained or fractured or just badly bruised, but it made him feel sick when he moved it. So he'd been lying there as still as he could, his arms clamped to his sides, biting down on the inside of his cheek until he had tasted blood.

He’d been trying hard not to cry.

That had felt important at the time, like the only bit of control or dignity left to him. As if not crying made him tougher than the man who hit him.

“Liam,” he’d called out, voice so shaky, so far from tough, that really, he might as well have been crying. “Yeah?” came the little voice from where Liam slept, too quickly and too alert for how late it was. He had definitely been awake through all of it. Then just seconds later he was stood next to Noel‘s bed, in his pajamas, bare feet pale against the wooden floor and his eyes wide and frightened. Noel had winced as he turned his head.

“Get me a cold wet paper towel. I feel half dead.”

Liam had looked unsure, “I’ll get you a warm one, Noely. Warm one‘s better.”

“No, you fucking idiot. What the fuck would a warm one do? You fucking do what I say. I know what works.”

He remembered the clench of his jaw, the taste of blood where he’d bitten his cheek from the pain. Liam had recoiled slightly, but then something strange happened. He hadn't just gone quiet or sulked like he usually did. He had been shaking his head, fists balled at his sides.

“I do know what works! I do know!” he’d shouted back, his voice shrill with frustration.

Noel’s head had pounded even harder at the noise, and he had hated Liam at that moment. For being loud. For not understanding. For making everything worse when Noel could barely fucking breathe.

But now, sitting with the journal in his lap, Noel stared at the wall, as his mind raced, and he didn‘t hate Liam. He felt something he hadn‘t felt about his brother in many years - he felt really fucking worried.

He could keep telling himself it didn’t mean anything. Of course Liam had been clumsy as a kid, always falling off something, crashing into things, covered in bruises he waved off like they didn’t hurt. Maybe he’d had a stomach bug. Maybe a warm towel had been something Peggy did once, something that stuck. Kids made associations like that all the time. But it didn’t feel like nothing. It felt like something. The way Liam had yelled at him that day... I do know what works! Liam’s insistence. The specificity of it. The way it hadn’t left Noel’s mind for over thirty years. His hands shook slightly.

Why had that moment stuck with him? Out of the thousands of meaningless fights they’d had as kids - why that one? Maybe he remembered it because it hadn’t been unimportant after all. Noel’s chest went tight. A pressure built in his throat like he was going to be sick, but nothing came.

“Fucking hell,” he whispered, dragging a hand through his hair, his eyes locked on the page but not seeing it.

-

It took about four more entries like that one before Noel gave up. He hadn’t planned to read more. Honestly, he hadn’t even meant to read that one. But once he’d started, it had been like falling through a fucking trapdoor. Down and down, page after page. Hints of fear so casual they made Noel sick. A line about being glad he could sleep in peace now that they had moved into the new house. Then, the worst of them all, what finally got Noel to stop reading.

It wasn’t written in pencil like most of the others, this one was in pen, blue ink, half-faded, with certain parts underlined hard enough to leave dents in the paper. It was an entry in which a teenage Liam wrote down a strategy on how to get a girlfriend. It could have been sweet, really. Until it wasn‘t.

How to Get a Bird

Step 1: Be cool.

Step 2: Have good hair. I‘ve got that already.

Step 3: Say funny stuff, like sex jokes. The jokes have to sound like you have a lot of sex all the time.

Step 4: Don’t be too nice all the time. I think that girls are supposed to like it when you’re mean.

Step 5: IMPORTANT! Don’t tell her that you got hurt lots at home!! And if you do DON’T TELL HER HOW!!! No talking about it to any birds. But fuck that… no talking about it to ANYONE EVER EVER EVER. No one wants to hear about that shite

The rest of the sentences for step 5 had been crossed out violently with thick scribbles. As if Liam had wanted to write more. As if he’d panicked and changed his mind. Noel didn’t read Step 6.

Throughout the many entries Noel had read so far, Liam never said who hurt him.

But it didn’t take a genius.

“That…” Noel muttered to himself, almost breathless. “Piece of shit… fucking…-” His voice caught in his throat. The room felt too close and too hot. He stood up without thinking, stumbling a little as his legs untangled from the duvet. The journal slipped off the bed behind him, landing on the floor. Sally stirred slightly, shifting onto her other side, but her breathing was still slow. Still asleep. Noel froze and held his breath.

The last thing he needed was to wake her. She’d ask what was wrong. She’d touch him and try to comfort him. And he wouldn’t be able to keep it together. Not now.

His own breathing sounded too loud in his ears, sharp, uneven. He clutched at the edge of the nightstand like it might steady him, but the pressure building in his chest only grew worse. His skin felt tight, like it didn’t fit right, like if he stayed in the room one second longer he might fucking explode, and his head was pounding like someone had taken a hammer to it.

So he slipped out. Careful. Barefoot. Quiet as he could manage. He didn’t even know where he was going. He just needed out.

The living area was dim. Noel stared out of the big glass doors for a bit, arms folded, but he felt too uneasy to stand still for long. He turned away, started pacing. One lap. Two. He rubbed the back of his neck and then he saw it. His phone. Just sitting there on the table. Of course it was there. Where else would it be? He’d left it out here because Sally had asked him to. No emails, no calls, just us. He hadn’t minded at the time. He wasn’t addicted to the bloody thing like some other people in his family. Thought he was better than that, above the twitchy reach-for-your-pocket reflex.

But now, it might as well have been glowing. Magnetic. He stood over it for a second. His hand hovered. Then he grabbed it. The screen lit up. Liam’s name was still pinned in his favourites. Still had that ridiculous old photo. He’d never changed it.

Noel stared at it.

If he’d even pick up?

No, of course would. It was him. Liam was always desperate to talk to him, he'd wake up from open heart surgery to take a call from Noel.

He hovered his thumb over the red button. Then moved it away again. Coward. Just fucking call.

He nearly hung up after the first few rings. Then the fourth. Then- A click. And silence.

“…Uh, hello?” Liam. Groggy. Disoriented. Older than Noel remembered but still him, that voice, rasped and rough from sleep or years or both, still shot through with that low snarl like he could start a fight or start laughing at any moment.

Noel swallowed. For a second he almost laughed, out of sheer nerves.

“What the fuck, Noel? Is that you?” Liam asked. Sharper now, waking up. He sounded a bit excited and it made Noel feel good, made him almost forgot the reason why he called for just a second.

"Say something- Are you serious? Noel?”

“Yeah,” Noel muttered. “Didn’t think you’d pick up.” That was a lie, of course.

“You haven’t called me in a fucking decade. I thought it was a wrong number.”

“Yeah, well. It’s not.”

The silence was longer this time. Noel could feel Liam trying to catch up, feel the whirring in his brother’s head even over the line.

“You alright or what?” Liam asked eventually.

“No,” Noel admitted.

"Couldn't sleep," he added.

"Yeah, I know, I know. But why are you calling me?"

"You know?!”

“I mean, yeah. I couldn’t sleep either. I just figured…” Liam trailed off. “I dunno.”

Noel pressed his palm hard against his chest. That thing, that thread between them, they hadn’t talked in years but it was still there, tight as ever. Fucking unbearable. Probably had all the same dreams too, still. He shook it off.

“I was at Mam’s. Sorting through some of her old shit.”

Liam didn’t say anything.

“I found a notebook,” Noel said. “Yours. From when you were a kid.”

“What? And you read it?”

“Your name was on it,” Noel said, defensive. “I wasn’t snooping for fun. Was just going through stuff at Mam’s. There was this box. Yours. Some of your old school shit.”

“…What kind of notebook?” But the change in Liam’s voice gave it away. He already knew.

“It had that daft list in it, ‘How to Get a Bird’,” Noel said. Tried to sound amused. “Real genius stuff. Hair, sex jokes, don’t be nice. That ring any bells?”

Liam let out a tiny laugh. More air than sound. Then: “…So? Why the fuck are you calling me about this?”

“Because,” Noel said, voice rising a little just thinking about what he read again, “I think you’ve got some fucking explaining to do.”

“You think I-? You fucking lost it now? You’re fucking mental for ringing me in the middle of the night about this.” Liam’s voice was louder too now, confused and exasperated.

“You were reading my diary. From when I was fourteen. Are you serious? Still obsessed with me, I see,”

“Yeah, I was reading it,” Noel said, consciously ignoring that last bit Liam had said. “And I haven’t fucking slept since.”

Liam went quiet again.

Noel’s voice cracked slightly. “You wrote some really fucking strange stuff in there, Liam. Just… Just strange shit. You remember. You’ve got to remember."

“I was a kid, Noel. Kids write mad, dramatic shit all the time. You don’t know what it means.”

“Well, I certainly know what it sounds like.”

“That doesn’t mean…-” Liam cut himself off.

“You said no one wanted to hear about how you got hurt,” Noel said. “Well, but I’m asking. I want to hear it. I need to know. Tell me.”

“Why?”

“Why?! Because if-” Noel swallowed. “If it was him. If Dad… if he did something to you-”

“You think you’re so fucking smart.” Liam’s voice was low and sudden. “Leave it. You don’t know anything."

“Because you won’t fucking tell me.”

“Yeah, and I don’t have to. I don’t want to,” Liam snapped. “I’m not doing this. Not at- Jesus, it's like three AM. Not now. Out of nowhere? You disappear for a decade and then phone me at three in the morning to interrogate me about something I wrote when I was fourteen?”

Noel clenched his jaw. “I didn’t plan this, Liam. I found it and now I can’t- can’t even fucking breathe right. I can't sleep.”

“Oh, so you still found a way to make it about you. That explains it. No way you're worried about me. Worried about your fucking beauty sleep, eh? Well maybe that’s not my problem.”

Noel didn’t say anything for a second. He pressed the heel of his hand into his eye socket like it might make the headache stop. These headaches, he remembered them, he'd always got them a lot when Liam spoke to him this way. Like Noel was a horrible person and like Liam could see right through him.

Because he didn't feel like fighting and making it worse, he asked, “So it wasn’t just me then?”

Liam didn't curse him out again, which surprised Noel. The line was silent except for the sound of his breathing, shaky and uneven in a way that really fucking unsettled Noel.

“I always thought he only hurt me,” he added. “I thought that was the deal, yeah? I’d take the beatings, you’d be safe. That’s how I made sense of it. That was the trade.”

Liam sighed, “Noel…”

“What did he do to you?” Noel pushed. “You tell me, right now."

Liam didn’t answer. Noel hated that apparently didn't have that control over him anymore that he had assumed would never go away. He just wasn't going to tell him. Just seemed to breathe louder with every second passing and Noel could hear other sounds, like he was pacing back and forth.

“Christ, Liam. You have to telll me.”

“…I can’t believe you,” Liam said finally, voice hoarse. “I don't have to do any-fucking-thing. First time you call me in, what, ten years? And this is all you give a shit about. No ‘how are you’, no nothing.”

Noel curled his hand into a fist. “Fine,” he snapped. “How are you?”

Liam didn’t even dignify it with an answer.

“Just tell me the truth and I’ll leave you alone.”

Liam exhaled, tired. “Think you figured it out already. You’re the smart one, aren’t you.”

Noel froze. “What? What the fuck do you mean? Explain that.”

“No. I won’t fucking explain it,” Liam said. “It’s three in the morning. I want to sleep. It’s been decades, Noel. I’m over it.”

Noel had no idea what to say to that. There was a silence again.

Then, softer, Liam asked, “…Are you okay?”

Noel let out a bitter little laugh. “Nothing about this is fucking okay.”

“…You want me to come round?” Liam asked, unexpectedly gentle.

Noel swallowed hard, “…No. I’m not even in England.”

“Right.” Liam sounded like he didn’t believe him.

“I’m really not.”

“It’s alright, Noel. You don’t have to.” A breath. “Bye then.”

“Wait, don’t hang up.”

“Why not?” Noel leaned his forehead against the window.

“I’ll stop reading it, alright? The notebook. I’ll stop, you're right, it's not right for me to read it.”

“…I don’t care, Noel,” Liam said. He sounded exhausted. Then he added, quieter: “You can’t just not speak to me for ten years and then do this.”

“I know,” Noel said. His voice dropped. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Can you…” Liam’s voice cracked faintly. “Can you come over? Tomorrow? I swear I won't make it weird.”

Noel’s heart skipped about five beats. His mouth opened, but he didn’t get the chance.

“I didn’t mean that,” Liam muttered quickly, sounding almost ashamed. “I don't know why I said that. I’m just tired. I need to sleep.”

Noel didn't like that tone at all.

“I’m in France. I swear,” he said softly. “I really can’t.”

"Alright then."

He heard the flicker in Liam’s voice when he replied. Like he thought Noel was lying.

Like he didn’t believe Noel would ever choose to come, no matter where he was.

“…Can I call you tomorrow?” he asked.

Liam was quiet again.

Then, softly: “You know you can always call me, Noel,”

“I will then,” Noel muttered. “Good night, Liam.”

And then Liam said, “Have…” his voice cracked slightly. “Have a nice holiday, yeah? Have a fun summer and… yeah.” His voice trailed off.

He said it like he was wrapping a whole decade into one goodbye. Like he wasn’t sure he’d ever get to say it again. Like he expected to not hear from him again for a long time.

Maybe rightfully so?

And then Liam hung up before Noel could say another word. He cursed under his breath as he slammed the phone back onto the table. It made a sound so loud it might have woken Sally up, and he wondered how the fuck this didn't get him anywhere. How the fuck he felt worse now after talking to his brother, than he had before. He just felt like crying and had no idea where to go from here, or what to make of the stuff Liam had said. He didn't go back into the bedroom. He didn't want to be near the journal or his perfect girlfriend, whom he didn't love enough to be honest with.