The door thudded with a heavy knock. Again. And again.

"Come on, open up! We’re not the paparazzi!" Liam’s voice slipped shamelessly through the crack.

Outside, the world had seen your face for the first time. A photo that someone—someone—had leaked. A picture of you, the ghostwriter behind Oasis. The one who worked in the shadows. The one who never went on tour. The one who gave them anthems scribbled on napkins, notebooks, cigarette paper, but could barely speak in public without feeling dizzy or judged.

And now, there they were.

"I swear on my fucking guitar, if you don’t open the door, we’ll knock it down," Noel’s voice was less chaotic, more dry. Annoyed.

You walked slowly to the door and opened it just a crack. Just enough to see the faces of the Gallagher brothers. Liam raised his hands. "It wasn’t us! Well, I didn’t do it. Maybe Noel. Was it you?"

"Shut up, you idiot!" Noel growled, pushing the door open. You didn’t have the strength to stop him. "It was a mistake. The photo was at the studio. Someone saw it, passed it along... We didn’t know they were gonna publish it."

Liam was already rummaging through your kitchen like he lived there. Noel looked at you more seriously.