Chapter Text
Act 1
"Why do me arms hurt?" Liam winced, bringing a cigarette to his lingering pout. "M'not even fuckin' using 'em like."
"You're holding the handles."
Huffing, Liam let the smoke leave his lungs, passing the fag to Damon. They'd only been riding for a few minutes before Liam asked to stop, letting his bike fall from under him, nearly causing Damon to crash. If the rest of their journey was going to be like this, it was going to be a long day, and it was only 11am.
It was a rare moment where they both had spare time, enough of it between them to warrant a little break away. No substantial anniversary, no cause for celebration (they do enough of that anyway), no mental breakdown they needed to escape from; just a simple 'why not?' and the plane tickets were booked. For a week, they could exist in the middle of fucking nowhere along with the sheep and highland cows and bitter, bitter cold. Well, not that cold, not enough for a jacket, and certainly not considering they'd be cycling.
Damon suggested it, because of course he fucking did. Liam would be more than happy doing pub, pub, pub and different pub with a side of ooh, is that another fucking pub? for the entire holiday, but of course Damon found two rusting bikes in the shed of their little rented cottage. What he was doing pottering around in the shed in the first place was another question. The worst part of it was that Liam was excited.
"There's a loch nearby," Damon had pulled out a massive map, letting it take over the whole coffee table, tracing along roads with his finger as Liam peeked over his shoulder. "And I think there's a cycle path straight to it, look. A couple of miles but nothing too bad?"
"Yeah man! Ain't been biking in fucking yonks."
And in all honesty, he's still excited. There's nothing like the feel of wind speeding past your face. It's exhilarating! It's fun! But, "Me arms never used to hurt when I did it."
Taking a drag, Damon held up Liam's bike and shook it. "I told you your seat is high up, and I did try to get it lower, but it's not budging." He passed the fag back over and tried once more to lower the seat. "You're at an odd angle, but-"
"Can still swap, y'know? S'not like I own this one and you that."
"Yeah well, you're shorter than me." Liam whined, tutting, much to Damon's amusement and frustration. They'd already had this conversation about three times by now. "No but really, if I sat on your one, I'd tip over. I did tip over." He put the bike up against the wall of the bridge they found themselves on, stood with his arms crossed next to it. It's not like he didn't understand Liam's angst, his own arms weren't doing well either, but he really would fall over if he were on that bike, and it's more than a bit dangerous with the amount of sharp declines up ahead. "C'mon, we can rest more when we get there."
Liam whined, taking one last smoke of the shared fag and blowing the smoke in Damon's face. Damon smiled, smacking a kiss on the Mancunian's lips and getting his own bike ready. "'Ang on, hang on," he heard from behind him. "Don't fucking move. Jus' put yer hat on bit more."
Tugging his beanie down, Damon held his position, assuming what was happening. "I regret getting you that fucking thing sometimes, I really do." The snap of a camera told him he could move again.
"Get to fuck, you lying cunt." Liam began to hype himself back up to riding again, jumping up and down before putting his camera back round his neck. Sometime between them being unlikely friends and unlikely friends with benefits, Damon had noticed that Liam had a good eye when it comes to photography or film. A polaroid Liam had taken had found its way to Damon and it was, actually, beautiful. There was no denying it. When he'd found Liam to give it back, Liam had seemed beyond chuffed at it; proud, even. Sometime between them being unlikely friends with benefits and unlikely lovers, Damon had gotten him a proper camera, not expecting the main object of Liam's inspiration to be himself. Ultimately, that's on him, considering the original polaroid Liam had taken was one of him staring right at the camera, a dopey grin on his face. "Yer mad fer it."
"Oh am I?" Yeah, yeah you are. Adjusting his rucksack, Damon went to peddle off before Liam zoomed passed him, yelling a beep beep as he shot way ahead. "Oi! Fucking careful!" He shouted out, peddling hard to catch up with Liam, smiling at the serene face on the other when he did. "Thought your arms hurt?"
Snarling, Liam adjusted his grip on the handle bars, as if just being reminded of what he'd just been complaining about. "Wind in me face feels better than me arms hurt, y'know? And wind in me ears and hair and eyes." He glanced over at Damon briefly, a twinkle in his eye. "I like it. Always did. A little natural rush, like, phwoar."
They didn't need to stop until they reached the loch, though there was no less compaining about the matter for the full amount of time. Damon had only brought one bike lock, so they put their bikes against one another on the rack and stretched their limbs out, Damon cracking his neck and knuckles. That always annoyed Liam, who was convinced as most were that cracking your knuckles on the daily gave you arthritis. He took the opportunity to school Damon on it, but he couldn't care less; some old wives tale with no basis in anything. Ironic as he's very sure he picked the behaviour up from his mother.
"Right," Damon began, fishing his sunglasses from his rucksack he's very glad he brought. That's when he saw how Liam was squinting as he looked antsily around their surroundings, and handed him his sunnies, a light thank you falling from the other in the form of a grunt. "This is the loch, I guess."
And to be quite frank, that's all there was nearby. Right around them was a third lake, a quarter shop, and the rest where they just came from. In the far distance was some of the most beautiful sights either had ever seen, but again, that's far away. "What are we gonna do, then?" Liam put Damon's sunglasses on, somehow still squinting through them at Damon. "My arse is fucking killing me."
"So you've said." Damon looked around, a hand shielding his eyes. "Many times."
"No, but it really does. It's worse than after..." Liam trailed off, his arms swinging at his side. "Y'know."
Leaning on the bike rack, Damon cocked his head. "Worse than what?"
Staring, Liam widened his eyes. "Y'know..." He waited a moment before holding his hands out and miming shagging someone from behind. "'Cept when it's-"
Damon rolled his eyes, grabbing Liam's forearm and laughing along with him as they moved towards the shop. "Did you complain this much when you'd go riding before?"
"Right well, that makes me sound like a slag." Liam caught up with him, shrugging Damon's hand from his arm and brushing their hands together on the way down. "And I was only biking round the estate when I was a kid, an' only if Stewart Foy was at his mams house, and only if the fucker could be arsed to get 'em out." He patted down his pockets for his cigarettes, pulling out two and handing one to Damon. "Nowt like this. Feel like I could keel over 'n die."
Arriving at the little shop, Damon waited before lighting up his fag to get two bottles of coke from the till. The young woman behind either didn't recognise them, or didn't care, and neither were sure how thankful they were for that. Of course, having no one around gives them some alone time out in the open like any normal couple would. It's genuinely quite sad how much of their time together has been spent under artificial lights, between four-ish walls, breathing in pre-circulated air. A garden is no different. To be able to be under the sun, boundless land around you, real polluted or crisp air alongside someone you love? You don't realise how much it's worth until you don't get it at all.
Being said, they'd likely never get a day where they can be seen doing normal couple behaviour in public, in front of other people. Part of it is the homosexual thing, but part of it is that it's them. So much of them is known to the public these days, even owned by the public, but never this part. Whilst yes, that selfish part of each of them revels in getting to have the other all to themselves, wouldn't it be nice if some random fuck walking down the street could see them and think, 'nice, they look cool together. on with my fucking life'.
But maybe that's too much to ask.
"Can I have a curly wurly?" Liam snuck by Damon to ask the shopkeeper, pushing Damon's sunnies back up his nose. He took a drag of his fag and blew it away as she smiled at him and added one to the total. "Actually, can I have three?"
"You want the shop too?" Damon beamed at him, not lighting his own cigarette until they start to walk back after paying. "Why three."
"Two for me, one for you." Handing one over, Liam twirled his two curly wurlys between his fingers before gripping them tightly and using them to point vaguely forward. "Can we sit on that bench?"
"Didn't think you'd want to sit down." He jested, though Damon's was aching too. "Thought your arse was killing you."
Flicking his cigarette away, Liam opened one of his curly wurlys and powered on. "Yeah, but me legs are killing me too, and I don't wanna collapse 'n roll over into the lake and drown."
It would be a nice lake to drown in, anyone could admit. The way the sun hit the water caused a glittering motion reminiscent of paparazzi flashes at an awards show. Not as blinding, nor as ill-intentioned, just their for the sake of natural beauty. Liam clearly thought so too, snapping a few pictures and asking Damon to stand in his line of sight to get some of him too. "I can take one of you if you like."
Shaking his head, Liam heaved himself onto the bench, putting his arm around the back of it and gesturing for Damon to come over. Which he did, plopping himself alongside Liam who tucked his hand onto Damon's shoulder. "Nah, y'alright. Just wanna chill for the rest of the day like. Soak everything up. Look at it man. Beautiful." He craned his neck to look into Damon's eyes, their slight height difference a bit more pronounced now they're both sat. "And you're not half bad yourself."
"Well this is only half the journey." Damon said, tapping at his fag and letting Liam have a puff. "We've still got to get back."
Tutting, Liam flung his head back. "Let's not chat about that, please and thank you." He blew the smoke directly upwards, a smoke signal of no distress, just pure serenity, that no one would see anyway. "We're going nowhere 'till my arse can withstand the pressure and intensity that is held within the seat of that shite fucking- fucking bicycle over there, man. M'not having it. If I wanted my arse destroyed I'd put on me tightest boxers 'n get into bed."
Damon grinned madly at the younger man, shame nowhere to be seen. He twisted his body so he was entirely facing Liam, unabashedly staring at the man he should hate. That he very well could. But that he simply can't, not when he's afforded so many moments like this. So much vitriol is placed between them by the press, but Damon's honestly surprised that with all the events they've both been to, no one has managed to capture the pure adoration that adorns his face whenever he looks at Liam.
He supposes no one could. No one but Liam.
"What?" The manc asked.
Plucking the dying remnants of the cigarette from Liam, Damon shook his head. "Nothing."
He asked more insistently, patting his hair down and wiping at his face, sunglasses nearly falling off before he pushed them back up. "What?"
"Nothing!" Damon laughed, reaching a hand forward to stop Liam's freting. "You just have a way with words, is all. No one can craft a sentence like you do." His words dripped with sincerity as ash dripped from the fag. "Would you ever consider writing?"
"Course they don't." Liam completely ignored his question. "It's proper John Lennon poetry that floods out my gob. If I were born, what, 3000-odd years ago, I'd have me own book in the Bible, me. The Book of Liam, chapter 19, verse 72; cunts get what cunts got coming to 'em. A proper fuckin-" He clicked his fingers by Damon's shoulder, brushing against the fabric. "A proper fucking bollocking from the lightning, y'know what I mean? Straight to ash, no playing about. One zap and you're your own dirt for your funeral."
Deciding not to let Liam get away with that, Damon perservered. "Have you written anything? Songs or-"
Liam leant away, taking his arm away abruptly from where it had been brushing Damon's shoulder. "Why would I do that? Noel lets me sing his songs, and they're better than anything that ever was or will be." Pausing for a moment, eyes locked on the loch even through Damon's glasses, Liam looked deep is concentration. Thick eyebrows thickened, and his lip curled ever so slightly. Damon placed a hand onto his thigh, smoothing down into the crease; a comforting move, and understood as such. "I've got some things written down, but they're a bit too... I already know what Noel'd say about them, so no use getting slated about it." His hands fiddled with Damon's fingers still lingering on his thigh as he adopted a lower pitch, throaty voice he only put on when taking the piss out of Noel. "Fuck is this, man? You're hanging around that Albarn too much. It's all 'I want', 'I want', 'I want' our kid, but what are you fucking doing about it?"
They both sat with Liam's words for a while, wincing at the ever flashing lights bouncing at them from the Loch. Liam continued to play with Damon's fingers as Damon continued to let his fingers get caressed. Letting nails embed themselves into his nails and his fingers get pulled in all different directions.
It wasn't really for Damon to tell Liam he was wrong, or that Noel was wrong, or would be wrong. He knew that wasn't his place. The reason Liam was saying any of it wasn't because he wanted to be told he's wrong, not that he'd accept it if anyone did. He was being honest, or at least, what he knew to be honest to Damon's question. Of course, there could be no absolute truth until the crux of the problem was tackled, and the likelihood of that happening soon iss slim to none.
But Damon understands. And he knows that Liam knows he understands to the best capacity he can. He could never understand fully, certainly not when the problem lies with the little Noel that slightly bigger Noel had planted in Liam's head from the day he was born. There's no changing instinct. Perspective, however, can be monumental. "I think the fact you've written it down says something. That's the doing."
"Yeah you would say that. That's the difference between us and Blur. S'why Noel'd say I'm hanging 'round you too much." Credit where it's due, Noel really has got an echo in this world that bounces off that back of Liam's head and comes out of his mouth. It's almost uncanny. "But if Ringo Starr can like to be under the sea in an octopuses fucking garden with you, then I think I can like to request a house with a garden and three floors that'll cost a fucking fortune."
As much as Damon would love to ask if that's what Liam's song is about, if he can see it, or hear it, or anything about it, he tucked the information away for another day. It'd be a futile move. Not after Liam pushed the other man's sunglasses further up his face, putting his arm back around Damon but being the one to lean in. If not for the woman in the shop, he'd rest his head on his shoulder, letting the humming of an unknown tune be enough said to the beautiful sights ahead of them.