catfish and the bottlemen imagines for rainy days + mondays

Angel in Lothian / Sam Fender

Youd been friends forever, for as long as you could really remember. He'd lived on your road when you were kids and when you'd been old enough to play out with the other kids when they came knocking, he'd been just a little older than you. Softer than the other lads on the street, a little less rough with you and the younger kids when you were playing Chambers or footie in the curve of the close where the road came to a sudden hault and the houses there were all empty and abandoned.

Your mam hated you playing near those houses, the ones with the sofas and mattresses rotting in the front yard, the ones with the broken windows and doors coming off their hinges. But she didn't mind you running off to play with the other kids when Sam was with you.

She'd always send the two of you off with something like, "ey Sam pet, you be good and look after my little lass,"

And he'd always be polite, always grin and nod enthusiastically, "Course a will Miss," he'd say and then he'd drag you off up the slope of the street, get you on the handlebars of his bike and away you'd go.

And growing up you'd only grown closer, you weren't one of those girls who fitted in particularly well with other girls and you'd remained a firm member of the little gang of urchin lads who lived on your road. You'd had your fair share of scrapes and bruises and bloody noses and your whole childhood was a fond memory, even the not so pleasant bits. Even the days you looked back on as an adult and understood with that grey truth which comes with growing up. You and Sam hadn't had perfect childhoods and you certainly hadn't had the most perfect teenage years, both of you had suffered your fair share of knocks, but every trouble you'd seen through you'd seen through together. It was why you were still best pals after all this time. 

And you were. Or so you thought. 

Lately Sam had been getting busier with his music, you'd gone off to uni, hated every second and dropped out, started working nightshifts in the carehome his mum worked at, now you heard more of Sam from his mum than you did him. And every time she asked you if youd spoken much lately, you would say know and she'd shake her head, tell you that was a shame. 

Then she'd tell you you were always welcome round theirs, whenever you fancied dropping in. And sometimes you thought about it, occasionally you took her up on that offer and if Sam was home things were just as they always had been. The two of you unwaveringly close, talking as though you talked everyday, messing around in the kitchen washing dishes after tea, fighting over the television remote. Sometimes he'd be excited cause he'd been working on a new song and he'd drag you up to his old childhood bedroom so he could play it to you. 

And every time the evenings always ended the same, with the both of you staying later than you'd intended, falling asleep on the floor, leaning against one another, in that old bedroom which had barely anything left of Sam in it now. You feeling stupid for ever questioning whether you were still bet pals or whether he'd forgotten you. 

And always, always, they ended with you wondering why you'd only ever been best pals. 

Why he couldn't see who it was loved him the most. Why he couldn't see what you and everyone else saw... that you were perfect for one another. Soul mates as his mam had once said. 

Well this was one of those evenings, you'd finished the night shift that morning and caught Sam's mum at reception as you left. She was clocking in and you were clocking out, she'd asked you how the night had been and you'd smirked. 

"Full moon, always the same," you'd said and she'd smiled. 

"Wish me luck then," 

"Aye, you'll need it," you'd said about to say goodbye when she had caught your arm.