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 Lyla. 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 Lyla- 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 Lyla was upset, or scared, some kind of unnerved, and could come to her 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. But nobody appreciated nor understood Noel Gallagher's character more than Lyla. And vice versa. It was only one part of why they were so close.