âmes pétillantes ~ classic rock imagines

• Noel Gallagher •

Liam makes it so hard to admit I'm a fan of Oasis sometimes, so here's Noel 😭 less than 24 hours before I'm in an audience of piss-throwing BritPop fans!!!

--☆--

You watched Noel through the glass of the studio recording room with a warm smile, admiring the effortless way his fingers flew along the Epiphone's frets. That song had kept him awake half of the night, and, in consequence, you'd been up half of the night, listening to it being written. You revelled in seeing it being finalised, even though it was nearing three in the morning, and everyone else had long since disappeared into the sinful night.

"You're puttin' me off," Noel said into the microphone, smiling. You hadn't realised that he'd been stealing glances your way while you'd admired his playing. Sheepishly, you met his gaze, weighed-down eyes squinting as he considered you for a moment.

"Sorry," you said, with little truth behind it.

He nodded his head to the control panel you were sat behind, his gleeful expression only growing. "Can't hear you, love."

The control panel was a mess of buttons and switches that made your head whirl. Watching the bands engineer work at it was like watching a magician work the Zig Zag illusion. With so many controls, you doubted that even labels would help you find the link-up to the recording room.

When you'd fruitlessly given it the once over, you looked back up only to be met with Noel's ridiculous grin. Considering him for a second, you stood from your stool and took the few steps to the recording booth door, which you flung open and leant against.

"I said sorry," you repeated in a haughty tone that conveyed the complete opposite.

Noel shook his head, laughing. "Don't ask why, but I just don't believe it. You abandonin' that producer credit already?"

You shrugged. "Hey, I never said I wanted to work on this album." Noel tilted his head, curiously watching you slink towards him. "I'm here for emotional support."

Circling him, you placed your hands on his shoulders, beginning to gently massage at the tightness that had knotted its way there. He rolled his neck, letting your deft hands travel along his skin. Still, the ghost of a smile twitched at his chapped lips.

"Yeah, anythin' but pushin' them buttons, right?"

"Believe me, love," your hands travelled gently across the taut muscles of his back, "you don't want me pressing any of 'em."

Noel huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, the roof'll probably cave in on us."

You poked at a particularly rough knot in his shoulder, and he groaned.

"Ow, you cow." But his voice was soft, and he turned his head towards you, bumping his crooked nose gently against your cheek. Your hands drifted down his back, along his shoulder blades, allowing his lips to find yours.

Kissing you gently, Noel held his guitar against his body, using his free fingers to brush across your flushing cheek. Your hands slid from his warm shoulders, so you brought them up to cup his face. It had been a long day for the both of you - the brothers had been fighting, of course, and none of the 'so-called musicians' (as Noel had blithely called them over tea) had managed to get the instrumentals quite how he wanted them. But it was so easy to melt into one another that the tiredness and anxiety of the day dissipated in the puffs of your mingled breath as your lips separated.

Noel sighed heavily, chin falling to his chest as he turned from you. He kept his eyes closed, unaware of your worried attention. It had been a long day. Your hands settled on his shoulders again, and you pressed a kiss into the side of his forehead.

Seemingly spurred on by your affection, Noel straightened himself, shuffled in his seat, and gripped his guitar once again. He strummed quickly through several mismatched chords. "Gotta finish this now."

On the music stand in front of him was the creased piece of notepaper he'd stayed up scribbling on, snatches of lyrics and riffs coming to him in the soft, silent night.

The song had, quite literally, kept him awake. Despite his efforts not to disturb you as you'd lulled yourself to sleep, the absence of his warmth had immediately alerted you when he'd slipped onto the floor, where his discarded guitar lay waiting for him.

Although you'd pretended (for the sake of his sad, guilty eyes and sleepless voice) to go back to sleep, instead you'd stayed up and listened to him quietly strum a rough melody, singing beautiful jumbles of words.

In the past hour or so, he'd compiled the littered lyrics and basic chords together. The scrunched-up paper now held what you were sure would be the band's next hit.

"What's it about?" You ask, plucking it up and smoothing out the folded corner as you read through the lyrics.

"Don't know," Noel mumbled, rubbing at his nose with his thumb, gaze on the intricate metal back of the music stand. He sniffed awkwardly. "Me mam."

You couldn't resist the teasing grin that made its way onto your face. "Soft arse."

"Fuck off." He snatched the sheet back without force and set it back up on the stand, tired eyes crinkling.

You chuckled. "It's good, love, really. Show it to the lads tomorrow."

Noel scoffed, saying nothing as he pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket. He rattled the packet at you, but you shook your head, and it disappeared before he retrieved his lighter. His first exhalation of smoke released into the dimly lit studio, floating above his latest masterpiece and out of the open door like smog. Beneath your fingers, Noel's shoulders relaxed as he exhaled.

"Why don't we go home?" you mumbled.

The world froze for a moment, save for Noel's pondering expression and his second puff of smoke disappearing into the air.

"Yeah, alright," he murmured eventually.

He stood, stretching out his back with a pop and a wince, guitar neck clutched tightly in his hand. Yawning obnoxiously, he set it into its stand. Once it was fixed, he turned to find you struggling to fold away the music stand, his ripped-out sheet of paper placed delicately on the stool he'd just vacated.

"Nah, leave 'em, darlin'. Someone'll sort 'em tomorrow."

You blinked at him. "Even your guitar?"

He nodded curtly. "Just you and me tonight, yeah?"

Freeing your hands, you approached him, letting his tired arms wind around you tightly. Together, you shuffled to the door, stopping for only a moment as Noel flicked the light switch.

The overhead bulb flickered before finally turning off, and Noel, holding you close to him, shut the door behind you, leaving the host of his music, finally, in quiet darkness.