it was 1993, right before oasis’ big break, before the proper shit, right now their just playing in small pubs across Manchester. but liam promised on any god or being that he was gonna make it, liam was gonna be famous. but for now, he was just your boyfriend who got drunk before his gigs and lived in the same city top for five days running.

it was late, like usual for the time liam comes over, you’re laying in your bed, liam taking a drag of his blunt before putting it out, the room stinking of marijuana as your nose wrinkled with the smell. it smelt horrible, you complained about it alot but a high liam was always a sweet liam. so just a bit of room spray and youll be fine.

he slowky climbed under the cover, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, laying stomach first, his chin on your chest looking up at you.

“arent you pretty?” he teased, smiling. the weed hadnt set in yet.