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The universe seemed to be on Graham’s side in some ways, at least, as the backdoor of the club was unlocked and gave way when he turned the knob and shoved through it.
The frigid nighttime air stung his eyes, teaming up with the alcohol flowing through his veins to send him stumbling back into the wall. He put his hand against it to steady himself as he doubled over from the churning in his stomach.
He sucked in a few shuddering breaths, trying his best to alleviate the feeling like his head was going to explode, but it did nothing to hold back the bile building up at the back of his throat.
His other hand came up to scrabble at the wall in a desperate attempt to hold himself upright as he vomited all over the weak smattering of grass growing between the brick exterior of the club and the concrete ground. He willed himself to keep breathing as he got most of it out of his system, but all it did was make him feel more lightheaded and drunk than before.
He leaned his head against the brick and groaned. In, out. In, out. In out. He’d be fine. He’d just rest here for a moment, and–and then he could go call a car to take him home, or something, or he could go back inside ( no fucking way ) and ask Damon to give him a lift ( absolutely not ), or maybe he could just curl up and spend the night here, on the ground, it wasn’t that bad of a neighborhood–
He sighed. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He shut them tightly. Why did he do this to himself? It ended the same every damned time, with him alone and in pain and disgusted with himself.
He sucked in another deep breath. He was vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps moving towards him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to look up, even when the stench of cigarette smoke surrounded him.
“Alright, mate?” He recognized the voice. A bloke. He couldn’t quite place him.
“Drank too much.”
“I can see that.”
Graham definitely knew that voice. He looked over, blearily blinking up at the man.
Noel Gallagher was standing beside him. A cigarette was hanging out of his mouth and his face was twisted with amusement. He had his hands shoved casually in his pockets, as if he had just happened upon the very alley that Graham was currently being sick in, but behind him Graham could see a load of cigarette butts littering the ground.
“What’re you doing here, Noel?” The name felt foreign in his mouth, but ‘Gallagher’ was just too much of a mouthful for him to force out. Plus he seemed more relaxed and approachable in this moment, like someone Graham could meet in a pub and share a few pints with. Maybe it was the fact that his brother wasn’t around.
Noel shrugged. “Guy can’t have a fag? It’s a free country.”
True. Graham supposed it wasn’t really fair for him to be questioning Noel when he was the one to come bursting out the door and empty the contents of his stomach right in front of him.
He turned his efforts to pushing himself away from the wall. He would have to figure out a way home eventually, preferably without having to talk to Damon and his sad, disapproving eyes, but this was a decent enough first step.
He ignored Noel’s curious gaze as he straightened himself out. A quick glance told him he hadn’t gotten anything on his clothes, though he did notice a few specks of bile on his shoes. Gross. He’d have to wash them off later.
He placed one wobbly foot in front of himself and held his breath. The world was still spinning, but he didn’t fall. So he took another step. And another. And only one more before gravity was suddenly turned way up, causing him to stumble forward.
He braced himself for the impact, hoping the concrete wouldn’t scuff him up too bad, before he was caught by a hand at his waist. He gasped.
“Hey, hey, take it easy, will you? Unless you like the taste of pavement.”
Graham grimaced. Noel’s grasp was firm and warm, anchoring him against the current of cold air sweeping down the alley. It was lovely, and Graham almost leaned into it before remembering himself. He stood up straight and, when he was certain he could retain his balance on his own, he stepped out of Noel’s reach.
“Thanks,” was all he could say.
Noel was too busy lighting a new cigarette to respond right away. He must have dropped the old one during his attempt to stop Graham from falling face first onto the ground.
He blew out a line of smoke once he had it lit. “So. The other gobshites in there?” He asked, jerking his head toward the club door.
“Yeah. Well…” Graham slurred, far too aware of the fact that he was still properly pissed. He counted on his fingers as he listed them off. “Dave’s stayed home with his missus tonight, he's not really much for this type of scene…um, I think Alex mentioned he was going home with some birds he met? Can’t really remember. An—and Damon said he ran into some friends…haven’t seen him since…”
Noel smirked and took another drag. “Seems they’ve abandoned you.”
Graham was suddenly reminded of the fact that they were supposed to be enemies. He never really bought into the whole ‘Battle of Britpop’ between them, but then the Gallaghers had never really been all that pleasant to be around. He would have much preferred to let the music do the talking, and while Oasis’ style of music was pretty different from theirs, he still enjoyed what they had to offer—he even had a copy of Definitely, Maybe at home.
There was no doubt in Graham’s mind that their bands could coexist peacefully, despite what the media wanted everyone to believe. But for whatever reason, Oasis took the whole ordeal as a sign to be unnecessarily cruel to Blur.
It occurred to Graham that this was the only time he had ever spoken to Noel one-on-one, just the two of them, and he…didn’t hate it. An odd feeling tickled the back of his mind, like he was doing something he knew he shouldn’t.
But he knew Noel was right, as annoying as it was. He sighed. “It does seem that way, doesn’t it.”
“You heading home?”
“I guess so.”
Noel dropped the remainder of his cig and stubbed it out with his shoe. He clapped a hand on Graham’s shoulder. He probably would have flinched if he had been slightly more sober. “C’mon. I’ll call you a cab.”
As odd as that offer sounded coming from Noel Gallagher’s mouth, Graham just nodded. No use in fighting him on it. And he wanted to see how long this version of Noel would last. He looked the same, sounded the same, felt the same…but he was somehow more real to Graham than he had ever been before. He blamed the close proximity.
They fell in step as they made their way, side by side, to the nearest payphone.
“You don’t have to do this, y’know. You could have left me there.”
Noel rolled his eyes. “I’m not that much of a cunt, am I? And it’s not like any of your bandmates were offering to help you out.”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “You’re not so bad for option four.”
Noel snorted. “High praise.”
…
The ride home was relatively short, but Graham still found time to fall asleep. He woke up, face pressed against the window glass, as the car rolled to a stop outside his flat.
He opened the door and carefully made his way out of the car. His nausea was back in near full force. Taking a deep breath, he pressed his fingertips into his temple and closed his eyes as he waited for Noel to pay the cabbie.
The original plan was just for the car to come take Graham, but once he rattled off his address to the cab driver, Noel quickly slid right into the backseat beside him. Apparently, their flats were within a couple blocks of each other. Small world.
The car drove off. A hand closed around his wrist and pulled it away from his head.
“Think you can make it from here?” Noel asked. He was very close to Graham now. The heat pulsating from his grip on Graham’s wrist was spreading slowly down his arm and through his body. The moonlight made his eyes look bright and almost unnaturally blue. It was almost too much for Graham to bear.
He used all his last remaining willpower to stop himself from reaching out and laying his hand on Noel’s cheek. He was sure if he did, it would end the same as the trip he took to a museum with his mother when he was a boy. They had been in a room full of Greek statues, some only busts, others full-bodied. They were all white, yes, and lifeless, and many were cracked or had limbs missing, but one had called out to him. A man, clothed in armor, mouth and eyes drawn into tight lines, standing still and determined. A warrior.
There hadn’t been a single crack on him.
It was probably a trick of the light, as his mother would later insist to him, but he swore that he saw the man blink. And he knew you weren’t supposed to touch the exhibits—that was the whole point of museums, wasn’t it?—but he just had to check, had to make sure that there wasn’t really a live person trapped in that marble prison—
He had barely laid his hand down on the statue’s stone shoulder when an alarm suddenly went off. He ripped his hand away as if burned, cringing in fear as a security guard marched up to him and his mother. The tears fell instantly, guilt clawing at his throat, even as the guard explained that he wouldn’t ask them to leave as long as it didn’t happen again.
Graham hadn’t gone back to that museum since then.
“Coxon?”
He shook himself out of the memory. Right. He was here, just outside his front door, inebriated, with Noel.
Noel Gallagher.
“Can I ask you something?”
“You just did, but go on, then.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“What?”
“Why are you being nice to me?”
Noel blinked. It was a blunt question, Graham could admit that, but one he had been thinking about since Noel saved him from falling earlier. He hadn’t expected himself to actually ask it out loud, but now that it was out there, he wondered how Noel would answer.
Unfortunately, it just seemed to bring out a bit of the Noel he was used to. He dropped Graham’s wrist and scowled.
“I’m—I don’t know, what’s it fucking matter anyway?”
“Y’don’t have to be embarrassed or anything.” Graham gestured at himself. “Not with the state I’m in.”
Noel frowned and crossed his arms. He bit his lip and looked away. He seemed to be thinking it over. Graham coughed.
He looked back at Graham with a new determination in his eyes, mouth curled into a sneer. “Alright, fine. I—and I’m only saying this now because you’re drunk off your arse and probably won’t remember any of this in the morning. I like you, Coxon, okay? You’re a bloody fantastic guitarist and you’re not stuck up like those other twats in your girly band.”
Graham’s mouth fell open. He blinked slowly. His brain short-circuited while he tried to process the compliment. Strange to be hearing nice things in such a venomous tone, like Noel was disgusted with the thought and was spitting it out as quickly as possible. But it was nice, even so.
He cleared his throat. “Dave’s not stuck up.”
“I’ve never actually met him,” Noel said, arms still crossed in front of him.
“Yeah, well, he’s…nice,” Graham said, lamely.
Noel didn’t respond. Graham wondered if now was his cue to turn around and shuffle towards his doorstep. He pictured himself doing it, leaving Noel without a word on the pavement and disappearing into his flat, only to wake up without a clue in the world how he got himself home. It wasn’t a nice thought.
He wanted the Noel from earlier, the one who was pleasant and who could actually make decent conversation. They might have been friends in another life, without the press getting in their way and squashing any attempts and opportunities for camaraderie.
The silence was stretching thin between them. Graham bounced awkwardly on the balls of his feet, trying to think of something interesting to say before Noel left and he never got to see this side of him again.
Noel had other plans. “I should get going.”
He turned without waiting for Graham to respond. Graham couldn’t have that.
“Wait, Noel.”
He paused, looking back at Graham over his shoulder. The bags under his eyes were more prominent than they had been all evening. “Yeah?”
Graham faltered. What was it that he wanted to say, again?
He opened and closed his mouth, well aware that he probably looked like he was doing his best impression of a fish out of water.
Noel raised an eyebrow. Graham steeled his resolve and fumbled out the only things coming to mind.
“Just—I like you too.” He paused, before adding, “And I like your songs. Although frankly you’re not that much of a guitarist.”
Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud. His face immediately burned and he cringed into himself as Noel’s eyebrows shot up. He prayed to whatever gods that were feeling the most sympathetic to him that the inevitable beating wouldn’t leave him even more out of sorts than he was already.
His soul nearly left his body when Noel started shaking—from anger, no doubt. But to Graham’s incredible surprise, he realized Noel was actually laughing.
Graham tentatively let out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding.
Noel shook his head, grinning. “I’ll have you for that one later, when you’re not pissed, yeah?”
Graham nodded. Noel’s grin was as bright as the sun. He was having a hard time staring directly at it, as brilliant as it was.
“Get some sleep, Coxon,” he added before taking a step backward, away from Graham.
Not yet.
“Noel?”
“Hmm?” He stopped in his tracks.
Graham breathed out slowly. “Thanks for tonight. For helping me out.”
If it had been anyone other than Noel Gallagher, Graham would have described the look on his face as downright bashful. It was odd, but endearing.
“Anytime.” Graham seriously doubted that, but he appreciated it nonetheless.
He took one last look at Noel, absorbing the shape of his small hands, curved nose, and heavy brows, all illuminated by the streetlights around them.
He once again found himself wanting to just reach out and touch.
He settled on letting him leave, instead. “Good night, Noel.”
Noel smiled softly. “Night, Graham.”
Graham watched as he turned and started down the road. He leaned against his door and didn’t go inside until Noel disappeared around the corner, even when his fingers went numb from the steadily decreasing temperature.
He sighed, watching the steam from his breath dance and dissolve into the night, and unlocked his door.
…
The morning found him groggy and hungover, but in oddly high spirits.
Stripping off the trousers he hadn’t bothered to take off the night before, he found an unfamiliar slip of paper in his pocket.
Written on it was a phone number, followed by:
If you need help getting home again, or whatever else.
-option four
Graham’s lips trembled as he tried to hold back a smile. His heart fluttered and he traced the clunky line of digits scratched deep into the paper with his thumb.
‘Whatever else’ could include getting a cup of coffee, right?