"𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗘, 𝗱𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗼𝗹 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳. 𝗦𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗰𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝗮𝘄 𝗵𝗲𝗿."
𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒, the greatest rock band the generation has ever seen, the bona fide rockstars of their time.
𝐌...
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✧ 8th December 1994 ✧ Manchester
TYPICALLY hangovers were bearable, and she could endure the pounding in her head and the endless nausea.
Yeah, typically, that is.
Maia should have learned her lesson the last time she spent the night with Oasis in Bonehead's hotel room, the same night she and Liam ended up retching together in the bathroom before slipping into bed, unclothing the other. She was already far too hysterical the night of her show in Manchester, and having Liam around meant that she had to down even more substances in order to bury away any form of doubt—–not wanting to think about her father's anniversary, nor her concerns in regards to the two Gallagher boys, who much to her dismay, had the abilities to slowly nail open her shell.
She could hardly remember that night, but all she did recall was the immense excitement that everybody had, with Liam seemingly getting along with everyone else.
"Mai, pick up the bloody phone before I toss it out the window."
The front woman groaned as she adjusted to the light, almost cussing the sun for blazing through her skin. She briefly eyed the drummer, whose face was buried into her pillow.
Somehow, as the band reached back their hotel, Anette realised that she had lost her key card, and she was too out of it to go back down to the lobby and ask for another card. And so she settled on sleeping the night at Maia's, which only meant that they hardly got any sleep because they chatted and laughed for as long as they could remember.
The Norwegian girl thought about moving, but haltered with a scrunched up face. "I'm going to throw up if I move a limb."
Anette threw a head over her shoulder, observing her friend. "And i'm going to throw up into your mouth if the phone doesn't fucking stop ringing."
"Please refrain from any dirty talks right now." She complained, holding a hand up to the Londoner, so as to get her to stop talking. "And watch your tone because it sounds like your screaming into my ear."
"Mai." Anette said sternly, frustratingly dropping her hands down to the mattress. "Answer the god damn call."
With a heavy sigh, the drummer watched as Maia weakly shifted nearer to her bed side table and throwing a hand out for the telephone, lazily brining them up to her ear. She answers with a rasp—–too dehydrated, and evidently hungover.
"Maia here."
"Have I got the wrong number then?" A Mancunian voice spoke into her speaker, instantly making her groan into her pillow. "This not Lyla?"
"Fuck off William." She pierced, mumbling into the phone. She could already tell that Anette was now intently eyeing her from behind, her arms holding herself up as she tried to listen.
