Everything went to shite when Noel was a teenager. Just a bit after they'd escaped the clutches of their abusive old man into this new house, Noel, his mam, Paul, and little Liam. At around 16, Noel had grown moodier than every before. Took to staying home most days (after being expelled for the last time), listening to music and messing about on guitar. At least the tunes he bought from Sifter's were good. The Smith's, The Jam, The Beatles- good shite, all in all. But music can only do so much socially, for a lad who spends most of his time stoned. Brooding made all the worse by having to share a miniscule bedroom with the child that was Liam- becoming more of a daft thing day by day. Too chatty, too mouthy, too popular, too beautiful, too everything-. They fought more than Noel liked to admit, for a man approaching his 20s.

But sometimes, it were like when they were small again. Back when Liam was upset, or scared, some kind of unnerved, and could come to his brother for comfort. A hug or a kiss or a cuddle, a gentle punch to the side. But Noel didn't think he knew what he was doing when it came to that sort of thing. Not anymore.

A few more years, and Noel had more or less gotten himself out of that hole he'd been in. Just a bit. He had a job now. Nothing proper, but it paid. Working as a roadie for The Inspiral Carpets, mostly just messing about with the band rather than getting his hands dirty. They liked him, and he liked that they liked him. Through them, he'd gotten to date around, make more friends, shag with no real worries and try drugs a bit harder to obtain their side of Manchester. Though, he was still the same Noel. Odd. Offputting, to most who met him. Some found that mystery enticing. Like..

Liam. Liam had not changed very much in those few years, aside from taking after Noel more and more, music and fashion wise. Drug and drink wise, too- but Noel never liked admitting his bad influence. Personality, Liam was the same. All his little quirks and attitudes frozen in time. And still so horribly bright and beautiful. Too beautiful, Noel thought. Because if the right light caught him some afternoon when they'd come back from the shops, Noel swore the boy looked like a Renaissance painting. Or an angel. Or a really, really pretty girl. Fantasy only marred by his brash speech, and scrappy behavior. Sometimes Noel liked to imagine Liam, quiet. Staring intent with those baby blues just like his own, pale skin laid back with ease against some clean linen, maybe. But that were a sick thought for him to think, weren't it-? One's not supposed to think about their brother like that, least of all one who's still an idiot kid. But Noel couldn't help it. Like an intrusive thought, Liam came to him. And it didn't help one bit that the boy, much too grown for it, still practically begged for attention and love the way he had as a tyke. Noel often had half a mind to tell him he couldn't act like that no more, it were more suggestive now- but that'd only out him, wouldn't it? Instead, Noel took to just avoiding him whenever he could. Running away into music, or work, substances, drink, birds and blokes and all of it-

But it's real hard avoiding what's waiting for you at home.