âmes pétillantes ~ classic rock imagines

• Liam Gallagher •

After writing my last little piece, I am suddenly on another writing roll. Guess you could say that I gotta roll with it 😉 (sorry)

Anyway, as someone from Manchester, I feel qualified to write this. However, I'm not sure Liam deserves it 🙃 still, I got Oasis tickets, so here we are - enjoy if you would like! 

Warning: There's quite a bit of swearing in this one (of course), so buckle up!

Female specified reader

--☆--

1993

Manchester Cathedral. Liam had asked you - no, commanded you - to meet him there at 9 o'clock. By your watch, it was now 9:27. It was dark. It was cold. Your patience was worn so thin, it was held together by threads. Being in the centre of Manchester, alone, on a Saturday night wasn't your idea of a good time.

You'd wait there until 9:45, you decided, and if there was no sign of the strutting Gallagher, you'd push off home sharpish. He certainly didn't deserve a 45-minute window. But still you gave it to him, huddled into your second-hand Afghan coat with your arms crossed as you leant against the sacred wall.

You couldn't remember the last time you'd been to church. Liam's mum always snubbed yours for that. Her boys may have gone out rough housing or, let's face it, stayed in rough housing, but she made sure they went to church. The thought made you ache for a fag and a glass of wine, and you promised to repent later as you pulled out your pack of cigarettes. You'd have to find the wine when Liam turned up. If Liam turned up. 9:36. Less than ten minutes.

As you smoked slowly, hoping it would make the time go faster, you watched with weary eyes as silhouetted groups of people careened past, hearing them shout and laugh to each other before they came into view. It wasn't even kick out time, and people were already stumbling home.

One thing about being alone in Manchester—drunk boys looking for a good time. Fortunately, you'd huddled yourself into the shadows of the towering steeple, illuminated just enough by a nearby streetlight to be seen by those who were looking for you, but blurred out of everyone's general vision.

With your cigarette burnt out and tossed carelessly to the ground, you checked your watch again. 9:44. He had one minute. One minute to waltz around the corner, or you were leaving. You were certain of it. If Liam Gallagher didn't materialise in front of you in one minute, you were leaving.

9:46. Any second now. You'd fasten up your coat and vacate the looming shadows of the city centre.

9:47. Yep, you were definitely going. No second chances. You were not hanging around.

It was 9:58 when he finally turned up. Heaven only knew why you were still hanging around. You'd been seconds away from storming off and meaning it. The spring winds were unseasonably harsh at night, and the temperature unforgiving. Besides, a few minutes more and you would have missed the last bus home.

You heard him before you saw him. Of course. Of all the groups who had passed your hiding place, Liam and his bandmates were by far the loudest. Numerous voices pierced the darkness, but his was easy to differentiate, cocky and booming as it was. They were gloating, seemingly about a song. Noel must have been busy.