𝐱𝐱𝐱𝐢𝐱. 𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫

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✧ 24th July 2004 ✧London, England

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✧ 24th July 2004 ✧
London, England

LIAM GALLAGHER was a shell of his very own customised nuclear weapon, which, terrifically enough, was one of the few things that he and his Norwegian girlfriend seemingly had in common.

Their actions guided a horrendous sense of destruction, a gesture that emerged due to their inability to voice things out, in spite of being fluent in the familiar language ever since they crossed paths again. Now, they hardly had the time in the world to utter a breath of a word. And it was not exactly described to be because they were unhappy with one another, or that Liam was significantly frustrated with her (even though he was), but rather there was nothing to be said. At least not one they knew how to say. It was as if their tongues were intertwined with a barrel of numbing medicine that prevented them from pressing it against the roof of their mouths. Nothing would come out, no matter how awfully hard they stared at one another, feeling the quiver of their lips try to force something out, anything at all.

They lived amongst people who were inevitably capable of deciphering the distance that had been mysteriously lodged between them, witnessing Maia's fright to somehow even graze her shoulder to Liam's, or the Mancunian's droopy eyes that ran in despair whenever he watched her speak to somebody from across the room. The sense of knowing was there. The both of them acknowledged it. Liam was hauled to accept that as they attempted to go on with their lives, waiting around for the girl to come to her senses and see that it was him all along——him, Liam, Liam, Liam, and not Noel, he could wait and pick apart Maia's visible guilt that planted on her face and still.. still, Liam thinks, it's not enough.

It was hardly ever going to be good enough. His children came and went from the house, more typically they went when things between him and Maia were tense and awkward that it did not feel right to have the boys be caught between them. And it came as a thought that maybe with them not around, Maia might find the tension in her shoulders waver and perhaps it would open her eyes and heart to what was real. Him. He was real, and he was right there, waiting and sulking like a man who had lost a part of himself.

Liam felt ill and he acted like it too. They spoke of nothing and even nothing was frightened to be confined in a room with them. The detectable tension clumped on their clothes and skin as the stench of cigarettes often did, only regardless of how deadly those cigarettes tend to be, Liam was sure that nothing came close to how fucking insufferable it was to lose sleep for days on end, the image of his girlfriend's landslide falling out of his grasp and landing right in front of another man. Sleep was a matter that he did not take much interest in, more than willing to sacrifice them for the sake of Maia——comforting her late nights of continuous distress and restless turns.

It still occurred, but Liam would turn his back, and Maia tried her hardest to keep her movements at a minimum.

Their voices became small and unheard of when together. The days were filled with minimal conversations, which mostly appeared to be blank words tending to the empty spaces around them. Their mouths said one thing whilst their hearts ached for something so much more, so out of reach.

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