(The best day of my life)

𐙚 𓏵 𓏵 𓏵 𐙚

The air still vibrates, even though the last chord faded a while ago. Your ears keep ringing sweetly, as if the crowd's screams and the electric guitars had been tattooed there forever. It smells like '90s nostalgia mixed with something entirely new.

Oasis is back. And it wasn’t a dream. It was real. You were there.

His eyes search for you through the crowd, find you, and a barely crooked smile slips out. Like he’s been waiting for you this whole time, and now he can finally breathe.

𐙚 𓏵 𓏵 𓏵 𐙚

You walk toward him and he welcomes you with open arms, but instead of hugging you right away, he covers your face with kisses. One on the cheek, another on your nose, one more on your forehead. As if he needs to make sure you’re real, that you’re not a dream. As if kissing your skin is his way of staying grounded after floating for nearly two hours between anthems and ovations.

“It was a fucking wonder, wasn’t it?” he murmurs, his voice still hoarse from the singing—. “We did it, darling.”