It's tiny, the bedroom he shared with Noel all those years. It's small enough in his memory, but on those rare occasions when Liam sets foot in the door, he seems to fill all of it, all by himself. How was there ever room for the two of them? Two whole beds and two young men in them, each with his hand on his own cock, there in the dark? They'd choke back sounds of pleasure—Liam maybe didn't try all that hard, maybe let his brother's name slip now and again just to hear him gasp—and then never speak of it in daylight.
It was years later when Noel finally touched Liam, let him get off in Noel's grip instead of his own. It took success and a lot of gigs and a whole fuckload of cocaine, but they got there at last in some hotel room Liam can't really picture in some city he doesn't remember at all.
It started in this room, though. And now it's stuffed full of memories, stifling, suffocating, so numerous there's no room left for anyone anymore.