Archive of Our Own

As far as Graham could remember, they had always kissed. Quick pecks here and there, some during studio sessions, other ones in front of concert crowds, just to hear them roar with excitement.

The two musicians loved it. They loved the reactions others had when their lips met. How fans would scream in their faces to do it again, how their bandmates would laugh and roll their eyes at them, how journalists would eat it up, immediately grabbing a pen to write another “Are they ? Are they not ?” article.

They loved all of that, the playfulness, the game, the tension, the reactions.

Or at least that’s what Damon had always told himself.

Until tonight. Until he remembered that what he liked was how he reacted to it, not what other people could say or think about it.

 

Deep inside the backseat of the taxicab, they sat in silence, both looking out the windows as drops crashed loudly on them. The noise of the rain covered the sound of the old motor that had been coughing ever since the beginning of the ride.

Damon was tired.

Graham wasn’t feeling much better. The pressure of writing a second album that would be a musical revolution was something no one could have prepared them for.

But this was nice. Doing nothing, sitting with no other aim than reaching their destination. No deadline, no one to tell them to get up and do something productive. Nothing. Just, silence, and each other’s presence.

After a few minutes of silence, Damon broke the stillness of the car.

“Graham ?”

“Yeah ?”

Graham felt Damon shift on the opposite side of the car, straightening up a little to feel more comfortable.

Damon turned his head towards the brunette who was slumped on the seat, his head a little below his own, focused on the spectacle of lights blurring behind the window. He didn’t answer for a while, giving Graham’s voice time to settle around him. He definitely needed to make him sing more backing vocals on the next album…

Damon’s mind wandered as his eyes traced a path between his friend’s long lashes, rosy lips and pale collarbone. It looked so soft. Well, Damon knew how soft it was, the tingling feeling of his mouth against his friend’s neck coming right back to him. He licked his lips instinctively.

“Can I kiss you ?”

Even he was surprised by his own bluntness.

“Huh ?”

Graham’s mind stopped. The soothing fantasy (of finally going on holidays) he had been thinking about vanished as quickly as he had crafted it in his head. He could feel his best mate’s eyes on him and slowly shifted to face him.

Their eyes locked. Damon kept staring, his blue eyes filled with something Graham had never seen in him, or at least, not directed towards him.

Graham felt his cheeks flush as the realisation set in. Damon wanted to kiss him. And by the look of it, he seemed to be more than serious.

Damon’s mind wasn’t as straightforward as his expression let on. His skin had suddenly become over sensitive, the texture of the leather beneath his palms felt icky. His breaths had shortened. Thoughts were racing in him but he pretended everything was fine. He didn’t have time to wonder about what this meant for them, what it implied.

All he knew was that Graham’s rosy lips were calling out his name and he needed to shut them up. It was taking him all his willpower to not jump on him right at this moment.

Instead, he slowly moved closer to Graham, silently waiting for an answer. An answer he knew would be positive. Why ? Well because Graham was too honest for his own good. To Damon, it had always seemed obvious that Graham wasn’t aware of how his body reacted. And not just to him, but to everything.

His body spoke more than Graham ever did.

When they were performing and Graham’s mouth approached the microphone, Damon always paid attention to how he moved, how his hands glided on his guitar, and how his chest went up with each breath. He watched as the vibrations made his lashes flutter, no matter how faintly.

His body was a temple. And Damon knew to look out for cracks in his walls when things would become too much. The way he would bite his lips more often, how he wouldn’t look people in the eye as much, even Damon, how he found any excuse to slip out of a conversation.

Damon catched every little thing. Or at least he prided himself on that.

Graham finally caught up with what was happening. At least he thought so. Damon, him, in the back of a cab, a simple question. ‘Can I kiss you ?’

He hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to, because he really, really did, but because there was no audience. Something he thought was required for them to kiss (except for that one time, but Graham quickly put the memory away). But here, there was nobody reacting.

He sat very still, like somehow if he was quiet enough Damon would break down in a smile and admit it was a joke, that he wanted to see his reaction and mess with him.

But no. Damon still stared at him. And Graham even sensed the shift in Damon’s focus: not settled on his eyes anymore but lower, somewhere around his mouth.

What the hell ?

Damon was now closer than ever, his hand almost touching the brunette’s thigh. Graham exhaled. Why was his body so troubled by this ? It was just Damon. Only Damon. His mate. His friend. His straight best friend. Damon who had made it very clear that he didn’t fancy men. Damon.

He finally straightened up. The warm feeling that had been growing inside him had now reached every single corner of his body. He felt it in the tips of his fingers, around his stomach and all the way up to his roots. Warmth burning him, everywhere.

Damon’s hand moved up, grazing his friend’s leg gently. An electric feeling passed through them both and everything escalated suddenly. Damon crossed the small space that still separated them and purposefully crashed into his friend. Graham let out a soft noise at the sudden pressure on his body.

He didn’t have time to process anything his body was doing. He found himself with his hands on Damon’s body. His fingers clutched at Damon’s waist like he was afraid he would get away.

The blond let him. His face closing the distance between them and crashing their lips together. He let his hands roam around, grasping and caressing every bit of skin that happened to be under his palms.

Finally he settled them around Graham’s neck, tugging slightly at the base of his hair. The light ache did something to Graham. He closed his eyes in an attempt at hiding his reaction.

Their lips moved together perfectly. And it was weird, because they had never done it before. Not like this. Never this fully. Never since that day.

Usually, it would be pecks or even just light kisses on the cheek or at the corner of the mouth. This ? This was fire, tension, desire, need and so, so, so much more complicated feelings waiting to poison their lives.

And if you stopped them for a second right now and asked them what this was, they would probably not be able to answer you.

One, because they would be annoyed and way too dazed.

Two, because they had no bloody clue.

And three, because it was so unfathomable for Graham that he wouldn’t even acknowledge it.

Damon bit down gently on Graham’s lower lip and he understood. He opened his mouth to welcome his friend’s tongue and there began a waltz he would remember for a good amount of time.

Damon deepened the kiss (was this even possible with how close they were ? probably not). Graham responded by a short muffled moan, trying so hard to repress it. The sound only pushed Damon to give him more and he flushed their bodies together, tightening his hold on Graham's hair.

After a bit of time, Damon broke the kiss. Not for long, though, as he pulled his hands from their spot on the brunette’s neck and brought them up to his face. Gently but with haste, he grabbed the sides of his glasses and slid them off his head.

Graham didn’t have it in him to protest. He didn’t want to. He probably looked pathetically aroused, eyes dilated, mouth parted and coated with his best friend’s saliva.

Without thinking about it, he licked his bottom lip in an excruciatingly slow movement. Damon’s eyes flickered at the sight and it didn’t take long before their lips met again.

It was wet, rough, and fucking amazing. Desire burned through them. Whatever this was, Damon cursed himself for not having indulged in it much sooner.

They didn’t even think about the poor cab driver who had to deal with the lewd noises of two British lads snogging in his cab. God bless him, he stayed silent.

At this point, they were all hands and no brain. Well, when it came to snogging, Damon was never brain. Graham did overthink stuff like that though, so this was a first for him. Although he would really think about this only later.

Damon backed away. His eyes were halfway closed, way too pretty for Graham to handle without breaking something (that something being himself or the car handle he had his grip on, he had no idea).

Arms tangled and bodies still pressed too close, Damon’s breathing started to stabilize again.

 

When the cab finally pulled up in front of Damon’s house, time stilled. And before either one of them could start to process what happened, Damon fled. It was a pathetic and cowardly behavior. But in his head, Graham thanked him profusely.

The door closed after him with a loud thud. Graham still felt his lips, the tickling sensation of Damon against him, his hands around his neck. He brought up his hand to gently touch the spot where the ghost of Damon’s fingers still lingered.

And he closed his eyes while pressing his head against the headrest.

Fuck…

The world was way too fucking loud for what had just happened. It should have stopped, Graham thought. The earth should have stopped its rotation and killed them all.

Because fuck. He didn’t expect to react that way to Damon again.

And it was messing with his head.

 

Under the porch of his house, Damon was on the verge of a breakdown. He didn’t expect that. He had not given himself time to reflect on the implications of such a gesture and the consequences were now falling on him like a bloody grand piano from several floors above.

At least, his heart felt like it, for what it mattered.

He pushed the door open and crossed his living room, not bothering to take his jacket off, and fell onto his sofa.

Why the fuck did he do that ?

A kiss was one thing. It didn’t have to mean anything. Or if it meant something, it was that young girl fans would go crazy about it all around the world if they knew. Nothing more. That was why they usually kissed. For the laugh of it, for the reactions. They kissed because they were mates in a famous British band and they needed to keep the audience on edge. They had to give them something, it didn’t matter if it was music or a fantasy.

Obviously, they did it because they were friends too. He wouldn’t have done that with anyone to begin with. In fact, he could only do that with Graham. The others… it didn’t feel right.

But nothing felt quite right at the moment.

Damon was gazing at the void, arms loosely sitting next to his body, skin hot, feeling way more sensitive than he should. His eyes weren’t looking at anything in particular. They were hovering over the small table of the living room, staring at a blurry spot that sat in between a large plant and his television. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the spot, because it would mean that the replay of the kiss they’d just shared would vanish. And he didn’t want to.

He didn’t want to think about anything else. All he cared about was the ghostly sensation of Graham’s hands on his waist. And fuck, why didn’t Graham try to slip his hands under his shirt ? He would’ve let him…

He knew damn well that if he moved even just a tiny bit, the memory would remain just that: a memory. And not something likely to happen again.

For now, it was still a tangible moment. It was still the fulfilling sensation of his hair between his fingers. It was still that visceral need to hear again the sweet sounds his mouth had let out. And it was still the invasive and all-consuming image printed in his mind of the look on his best friend’s face when he had taken his glasses off.

Damon could still visualise everything. How his lips parted easily for him, how needy he had been, how surprised he was at first. Damon was drinking the memory up like it would end his thirst. But every time he remembered a detail about that kiss (fuck, it really happened ?), his body only thirsted for more. More of him. He wanted Graham to give him more. To give him everything, just like he used to before.

But Damon didn’t quite process all of this while replaying the scene. No. He just knew he had never reacted that way to anyone before.

And this meant trouble.

 

…

 

Obviously, there had been other kisses here and there ever since that first (real) one. Because once they had rediscovered that the reactions that mattered weren’t those of other people but each other’s, they couldn’t find any good reasons to not indulge in it from time to time.

Graham loved how Damon held him.

Damon liked to hold him.

The contrary was also true.

And, if that wasn’t clear enough, they liked the feeling of their lips moving together.

Their bodies felt weirdly linked. And not like any kind of fleeting link, but something strong, something none of them were able to ignore. Or if they did, it always came back to haunt them. Even when Damon was still with Justine, there had been several… nights, that they had never properly talked about.

There was just nothing to discuss, really. It simply happened.

When there was nothing better to do, when they took the same cab to go home, when their eyes met in a certain way. It happened.

Not a lot of times, just a few occurrences, nothing important.

At first, there were only gentle touches, pecks, kisses, Graham’s hands on Damon’s waist. It was almost too pure, too innocent, too schoolboy-like (God forbid Graham slipped his hands under the blond’s clothes !). The day when Damon pressed his mouth eagerly along the younger’s neck and sucked a bit too hard was probably the riskiest thing they had ever done.

And while they both internally screamed for more, they never dared asking. Until, there was that shift. Progressive and slow. Way too fucking slow.

Damon had knocked awkwardly on the brunette’s door. He felt weird, and he quickly plunged his hands back in the pockets of his jeans, false confidence on like always (for fuck’s sakes, why did he feel like he was about to go on stage ? It was just Graham… ).

It was the first time that one of them came with the explicit aim of… well… they didn’t have to say it out loud to know. Never before had either one of them pronounced the words “kiss”, “snogging” or “shagging”, although they had never gone that far (yet).

Everything was subtle; implied references, indirectly conveyed feelings, half-jokes, falsely ironical questions. So much for masked desire…

But there he was, standing in front of his best friend's house because he had called him up in the middle of the night. His hands were annoyingly clammy and he wanted to kill himself for it. How could he touch his deliciously soft skin with clammy hands ? His heart was jumping in his chest. And they were not cute jumps but bloody somersaults all around his organs like he was an Olympic athlete. But Damon was nowhere near being an athlete, and all of this turmoil inside him was rendering him breathless. He hated this. But he loved what was about to happen. His lips tingled at the memories, at how much he longed for it…

It had been longer than usual. Maybe it was because of the tour, or maybe it was just because life got in the way, but still, Damon had noticed the wait. A wait he wouldn’t even admit he was experiencing.

 

After a few seconds, the door opened, revealing a tired Graham. The eyebags under his eyes would have almost scared Damon if his mate’s face wasn’t such a pretty sight, even sleep deprived.

“Hi.” Damon said softly. He didn’t like being like this and why was he so anxious ? This was just Graham, his mate, his best friend. The words kept circling around his head like a bloody phenakistoscope stuck in motion, endlessly moving and yet, the image remained clear as day.

“Hey.” Graham’s lips stretched into a gentle smile and he shifted to let the blond enter. “Come on in.”

Damon slid past him, his arm brushing against the other boy’s t-shirt on the way. He could feel the shivers passing through his entire body and he promised he would curse himself if Graham ever happened to see the goosebumps along his skin.

If only Damon knew that Graham always noticed the shifts in his behavior, no matter how tiny and irrelevant they appeared to Damon. If he knew that, he definitely wouldn’t ever feel the need to hide.

But Damon didn’t know, and so he brought his arm behind his back and held it tightly with his other hand. Graham absolutely would think this was a weird move, but he wouldn’t say anything, for the blond’s sake.

Once inside, Graham invited him to sit in the living room as he went to the kitchen to prepare something to eat, or drink, or whatever Damon would prefer. The conversation was light, nothing deep, funny remarks about the state of the upcoming album and some snide comments on Alex’s recent outrageous behavior.

At first, they didn’t acknowledge Graham’s earlier call and the fact that Damon coming to him that late in the middle of the night, without asking questions, meant more than what they had been letting on for a while. They ignored the lingering thought floating above them like the sword of Damocles, that their relationship wasn’t just about kissing anymore. They knew all too well that it had become intrinsically linked to trust, care and letting go.

They knew. Of course they knew that. They fucking overflowed with fondness and love for each other. They had since the beginning of time itself. Although only Graham realised it at the time. How could they ignore it ?

How ironic that they were, in fact, ignoring it.

After almost two hours, jokes and banter had progressively morphed into silence. Graham had suggested they watch TV for a bit and had sat on the floor, his back against the small ottoman next to the sofa, his socks gently rubbing along the carpet. They kept a weird distance between them, a sort of ‘security’ line that they both feared crossing because they knew too well what would happen if they did. And from where he was sitting, respecting the unsaid agreement, Graham could admire the blond clearly.

Damon was sitting on his old leather sofa, arms spread out, legs opened. He looked like a dream. Strands of his blond hair fell into his eyes in a I-didn’t-comb-my-hair-and-still-look-perfect style which should have annoyed Graham, but his chest only felt heavy. His heart seemed to have grown legs of its own and it was wandering all throughout his organs. And that was probably what made him so sensitive to everything around him. He felt as if his recently awakened heart had screamed at each of his cells to wake up because Damon was here and he needed to be the most perfect version of himself for him.

He was way too aware of how his friend’s breathing was stretching his thin t-shirt, and of how a bit of his skin was showing above his jeans’ waistband. His fingers burned to not be able to touch him.

Well, he could. It would not be the first time and Damon would be more than happy to let him, in fact.

But Graham was convinced that if he let himself indulge in this exact fantasy, he would not be able to stop. He would keep touching and feeling and caressing him until there was nothing left of Damon. And the crash back to reality would hurt more than stomping on glass shards.

He wasn’t sure if it was worth the risk.

And even though that ‘risk’ was the reason for his phone call, the fear of Damon’s reaction was blurring all other possible outcomes.

 

On his side of the sofa, Damon’s mind was working overtime. His eyes were glued to the television in an effort to pretend he didn’t notice Graham staring. But this was useless as each time the screen turned to black, Damon could see Graham’s silhouette standing out in the darkness and, very clearly, staring at him.

And on top of that, the bloody collar of his striped shirt had moved and was now blatantly exposing his collarbone. Sinful vision, Damon thought. But Damon wasn’t a believer so it probably didn’t matter, right ?

Right ?

 

It made his mind circle back to a conversation he had with his mum back when he was still in college. Damon came home, one day, with a fresh black eye and a bloody eyebrow. He would rarely come back home at this age and, looking back on it, he wasn’t sure why. He had knocked without much will, like when he was a little kid and he knew he had messed up big time. His jacket had been left open despite the pouring rain outside. His mother opened the door with a smile and a small ‘Hello’ but promptly closed her lips when she saw the state he was in. A whispered “Oh, sweetheart…”escaped her lips before she let him in and rushed to the kitchen to prepare him some kind of hot beverage.

Damon sat at the kitchen table and, as he did, the chair made a squeaking noise that threw him over the edge. He slammed his head in his hands and groaned loudly, letting out an overflowing sound of pain, frustration and anger. His mother turned around at the sudden noise, making her drop the kettle back onto the stove and adding on to the already tense atmosphere of the room.

“Okay, enough Damon. Tell me what happened !” She stepped closer to him, a hand nervously fixing a strand of her hair. “You come home in the middle of the week, you’re drenched, you don’t even say hello, and you’re bleeding ! You’re bleeding ! You’re bloody hurt, Damon, in case you somehow don’t remember ?” The look of worry on her face would have made Damon confess to everything if he simply looked up to meet her eyes. He did not.

“Mum… drop it. It’s nothing really !” His voice was low, so low, so distant and muffled by his palms covering his lips. He felt like he was hearing himself from afar, like he was witnessing the scene through a window. ‘What could these people be screaming about in their kitchen ?’

But it was not nothing. It was fucking everything. It was Damon’s entire life that had come crumbling down in his hands like bloody sand in an hourglass. Everything he thought he knew about their friendship was slipping away from him.

“Damon.” Her tone was firmer now, sharper too. “Damon, I don’t need to know everything, okay ? I just need to know if you’re safe.”

“I am !” He shouted, finally straightening up in his chair, although he still didn’t seem able to look her in the eyes.

“No you’re bloody not !”

“I- It’s nothing ! Leave it, okay ?”

“You came here. You decided to come here, I didn’t force you, did I ?”

Damon stayed silent. His mind was running around like it wanted to participate in a bloody marathon in a week and hadn’t prepared. He closed his eyes after a while but the memories came back right away: the church’s carpark, the latent desire, the fist on his face, the smell of rain, and that shared humiliating void in his heart.

He inhaled deeply before finally meeting her stare.

“Mum… why do people believe in God ?”

She stopped for a split second. Damon’s upbringing had definitely not been linked to any kind of religious practice, except maybe that one year when he got suddenly interested in buddhism and asian spiritual cultures. But still, that sort of philosophical inquiry on the nature of religion was a question to which Hazel had no fixed answer.

“That’s a good question.” She paused. “I believe it’s partly because it gives meaning to their lives. I think it’s also because of the beauty of it. I mean… I think religion can help people find beauty everywhere, if they truly seek it.”

Damon sat still. His throat was cut, his face a frozen mask. The worried look on his mum’s face was cutting through him.

“Why are you asking me this, Damon ?” Her voice was soft, like she didn’t want to push him too much, like he would shatter if she asked the wrong question.

“I was with Graham. And I…”

He couldn’t say it. It wouldn’t be fair to Graham. He felt the room was spiraling around him as his mind was slowly closing in on him. “Nah, forget it… It’s stupid.” He said as he suddenly stood up. The room instantly tilted 180 degrees and the ground slipped away beneath his feet.

Damon couldn’t get the image out of his brain.

 

He was near one of Colchester’s local churches, in the middle of the afternoon, sun blasting everywhere in that heavy way that signalled an upcoming summer storm. He had been sitting on a bench, alone and lonely.

He knew people liked to differentiate the ‘physical’ with the ‘feeling’ as if the two words had nothing in common. He didn’t. He was alone, thus he was lonely. And when he was lonely, he made sure, most of the time, to end up alone too. But it wasn’t something he liked to dwell on. He would tell himself that life still goes on, because it had to.

Still, there he was, sitting, or more like, slumping on the old wooden bench. A cold soda can in his hand, half-empty, much like himself. It had been a while and he didn’t know what he was doing here. Well, it wasn’t entirely true. Damon had hoped that coming back home would feel the void in his heart. It had not. Or at least, coming home to sit in front of an old, decrepit church for an hour had not helped yet. And, yes, maybe he should try ringing his parent’s house, or an old friend’s. But he stayed exactly where he was. And for a moment, he felt alone in the world. For a moment, he was the only one to be able to feel, to see, to hurt, to believe and to matter.

Nothing else mattered more than him. He was the world and the world was him, and fuck anyone who didn’t believe that too.

“Damon ?”

The shock and surprise was immediately tangible in both the voice that had just spoken and in Damon’s whole body. He sat up like he had been caught cheating during an exam and swiftly passed a hand through his hair.

He stood up quickly and took a few steps before awkwardly embracing the man who had called his name.

“Graham, mate, it’s been too long ! What’re you doin’ here ?”

“Visiting family, you know. You ?”

He almost choked. No chance he was admitting to anything that had really been happening in his head.

“Yeah, same.” He smiled faintly.

Yet there it was again, that easiness between them.

“Wanna grab a beer or something ?” Damon asked, secretly hoping he would invite him to his parents house or into a spaceship, or anywhere that was far away from the noise of the world. No such luck.

“Actually, I have something to do first. But I can join you later.”

The small seed of hope that had been planted in Damon a second ago died. Not enough water.

“Hum, yeah, okay, sure.” Damon’s almost non-existent smile felt harder and harder to maintain.

“Unless you want to come with me ? But it’s nothing fun, I'm warning you.” Graham laughed a bit, like he knew Damon wasn’t himself and that he needed to support him, as any great friend would.

He was trying so hard to compensate for what Damon was lacking. He didn’t really know or understand why, but he felt like he had to keep him afloat. It was like he had stumbled upon Damon in the middle of the ocean, trying desperately not to drown. And Graham was there, on a boat, holding him up by the arms but unable to get him on it. And all that because Damon made no efforts to climb up, or, maybe (and he deeply hoped that was the case) Damon didn’t have the strength to climb anything anymore.

But still, he held onto him.

“I mean, sure, got nothing to do right now.” Damon smiled but the corners of his eyes didn’t fully follow the movement. Neither did his heart, and he hated himself for inflicting his sorrow onto Graham.

“Right. Well, this way, then.”

Graham started walking at a weirdly slow pace, followed by the blond. But Damon stepped aside after a second, remembering he was still holding the can in his hand. He threw it in an overflowing bin on the side of the pavement. It made a pathetic metallic sound as it hit an empty kebab box and fell to the ground, spilling everywhere.

Graham had stopped to witness the scene.

“Wasn’t empty.” Graham wasn’t really asking. Or at least he wasn’t speaking about the can, more like wondering what was wrong with his friend.

“Nope, wasn’t.”

Neither of them commented, much to Damon’s liking. And they continued walking.

Graham led him toward the church that stood on the other side of the street. They crossed the gate and the tiny garden filled with graves. A shiver slid down Damon’s spine. As they entered, Damon felt this weird feeling he always had when he was in a religious setting, whether that be mass or simply visiting a cathedral. He had tried to describe it to himself before, but the words never came easily, especially when he tried to use them for a song. His music was probably too heretic for god’s liking. Ah, well…

And yet he could get lost in the stillness of the building, the silence, the quiet understanding that it meant something for some people and wonder about the missing link that would open his eyes on the beauty of religion. He wasn’t particularly invested, though. He just wondered what this was all about, how this could bring something to those who had nothing anymore.

But right now, he was mostly asking himself why Graham had brought him here. Was Graham a christian now ? Had he become a priest ? Had he missed that much of his best friend’s life ? There was no way. Well, now that he was actually thinking about it, it had been a long time since the two had had a proper talk. Maybe this was just Graham’s new life. He suddenly pictured Graham in a priest's robe and wondered how long he would need to get used to it.

“Damon ?”

Graham was standing near the altar. Damon looked down from the paintings on the high ceilings. His eyes landed on him. The brunette’s jacket was open, his blue shirt hung loose, collar unbuttoned, no tie. His pupils were dilated, reflecting the darkness of the eyebags he always wore. As Damon continued to walk up the aisle, he saw the reflection of the stained glass on the brunette’s glasses. And he thought, for a moment, that Graham definitely deserved a place between the saints.

When the blond eventually caught up to him, Graham was already climbing up stairs that had been hidden behind a heavy door on the right side of the church. He followed him closely, without asking questions.

Graham’s skin was burning. He wasn’t religious but he felt like he was doing something terribly bad. If he didn't know better he’d think he was committing a sin. Which one ? Ha, that was one hell of a question.

His months apart from Damon had freed him from this feeling. And he had thought it was gone for good. But it was evident that the problem came from Damon and not himself. Never before meeting Damon had he felt these sensations and he never felt them when Damon was away. He was the common denominator of this nightmare. And for some reason, he felt the need to get rid of it, of him.

Once they were both in the small room, Graham closed the door with his right hand. He left it there for a moment, pressing softly against the cold, white-painted wood of the door, before turning around.

Damon followed his movements across the room, like a dog watching his master at work and waiting for him to finish so that he’d take him on a walk. He imagined himself at the end of a leash for a second before shaking the image of his mind.

“Do you need help, or something?” Damon asked awkwardly. The whole thing was making him way too nervous. The church wasn’t his comfort zone, and especially not this unknown part of it that felt way too intimate. Not that you could really be intimate with a church…

Graham laughed without looking up at him. His hands were going through piles of papers and files.

“No, but thanks.”

“It’s alright. I’ll just, I’ll sit here until you’re finished.” He pointed to a chair in the corner of the room, knowing very well that Graham wasn’t looking at him. Silence settled around them as Damon looked around. The room was small, it smelled like fresh paint and rain (or more likely humidity) but what struck him out the most was that it was fucking freezing cold.

“Hey, do you remember the day you came to my house and destroyed my miniature spaceship model ?” Graham asked after a while, watching as Damon slipped his hands under his thighs to fight hypothermia.

“Huh, yeah ?”

“Well, I tried to hate you after that.”

“Okay…” Damon smiled confused, he didn’t really get where he was going with this. “Do you want me to say I’m sorry ? Because I’m not but I can pretend !”

Graham only laughed as he finally looked up to meet Damon’s eyes.

“You just have this way of being a huge asshole and, at the same time, I can’t seem to be able to hate you. It’s like magic.”

Damon genuinely smiled this time. “Yeah, I know, I’m terribly annoying and terribly cute. My mum always buys me biscuits because of my adorable face.”

“Shut up, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Well what did you mean ?”

“I don’t know…” And he really did not. He didn’t know how to explain what he made him feel. He was a storm in Graham’s life but he was also his peace. He could say whatever he wanted, whatever thought roamed in his head without being judged. But at the same time, being near him meant action and adrenaline and fireworks. It was tiresome but so fucking electrifying that he had never once wanted it to stop.

“You have this thing about you. It’s like… When I see you, my mind stops being so full, so stuffed with empty shit, you know ?”

Damon simply hummed.

“It’s like music. When I listen to a good CD, it gets quiet. It’s like that with you. And I like it.”

“Woaw, Gra, this almost feels like a confession. I’m honoured.” He smiled. Graham was staring, he knew he was, but he couldn’t help himself from looking at the stars in the blond’s eyes. They were like soft sparkles that appeared only when he was truly happy. Graham loved them.

Damon suddenly stood and stopped in front of him. Graham froze for a bit before relaxing his shoulders.

“Come on Gra ! It’s been too long !” Damon was standing, jacket opened and arms spread wide, inviting him. Graham finally dropped the stack of papers he was holding and stepped closer, going in for the much-awaited hug.

“There, doesn’t if feel good ?” Damon asked, his arms pressed tightly around Graham.
Graham’s face was buried in Damon’s neck. He didn’t answer, lost in the feeling of Damon’s skin against his. Damon said nothing, he could feel how much his friend needed it, needed him. And so the hug that was only meant as a recognition of their friendship turned into a longer, deeper symbol of their singular connection. Graham needed him. Damon needed him back.

After a while, Damon’s arms started to feel numb and he stepped back. Graham reluctantly let go of him and as he did, Damon catched the quick, almost imperceptible glance that Graham shot at his lips.

And then it crashed into him. Graham was attracted to him. Graham liked men, and more importantly, he liked him.

It was so evident that Damon felt stupid for not having understood sooner. The way Graham always noticed pretty boys at parties, the way he would get wasted and kiss them for ‘laughs’ (when the guy he wanted to kiss wasn’t Damon), the way he looked at him. It was so clear now.

“Graham.” He blurted out before pausing, eyes wide open, genuine shock spreading across his face as the realisation was setting in. “Are you…?” He moved his finger vaguely back and forth, pointing successively at Graham’s rapidly moving chest and himself.

“I-” His eyes opened a tiny bit wider. “What ? I don’t- I’m not !” But terror had already stepped in and got a room for the night. Damon knew that he was in love with him. How and why ? He didn’t want to know. He just needed to get out of this situation.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m not judging you.” Damon said as he stepped closer and pressed a hand on Graham’s right shoulder in a stupid attempt to steady him. The brunette flinched. His eyes darted to the floor. He couldn’t look him in the eyes. He couldn’t face whatever was happening. And god, why was that bloody shaking not stopping ?

“Shut up Damon !”

“Gra I just-”

“Will you just fucking shut up ?” Graham shouted before clashing their mouths together in a sudden kiss that did not allow either one of them to relieve the tension of the situation. Instead, Graham’s anger and fear started to fill them both. And as Damon’s lips started to move together with his, a bubble of conflicting feelings started growing and growing furiously and neither of them dared acknowledge it. To be fair, neither of them completely understood what was happening.

Graham parted for a tiny second before capturing the blond’s bottom lip between his teeth. He grabbed his collar with one hand and Damon stumbled backwards. They both couldn’t help but let out small noises of pleasure. Graham was exactly where he had always wanted to be, all the while ignoring the painful fact that Damon would probably hate him after that.

Damon, on the other hand, had no clue how to react. His primal instinct had been to kiss back, to accept it. It was the same as being kissed by random girls at parties, he told himself. He always went along with it if they were pretty enough. Graham was pretty, he thought. So he didn’t care if he wanted to kiss him. Besides, Graham had already kissed him a few times, though they were only pecks.

And he wasn’t mad. He was unsure and startled, yes, but not mad. It was weird but it didn’t feel wrong. Although, deep inside, he was afraid of what this meant. Was Graham in love with him ? If so, he’d have to reject him and the mere thought felt like a dagger tearing his heart apart. He couldn’t do that to him. And what if Graham started to resent him for kissing him back and not going along with it after that ? What if Graham wanted more and Damon wasn’t able to pretend ? Maybe that was why they didn’t speak as much anymore. Maybe Graham hated that he had fallen in love with him. Well, he wasn’t sure how Graham could hate him when he was so eager to eat his mouth like that, but he wasn’t going to complain. The only thing that mattered right now was Graham’s lips on his. If he needed to let Graham kiss him to admit he was attracted to men, he’d let him.

His train of thought was suddenly cut short as Graham pushed him violently across the room, tearing their lips apart.

Damon slowly stabilized himself, eyes darting to the floor and up to meet Graham’s gaze again.

“Gra, what the fuck ?” He said, more upset that the brunette broke the kiss so violently than being pushed. But the look on Graham’s face had nothing to envy to those of innocent children in horror films and Damon’s expression faltered immediately. If Damon didn’t know better, he’d think there was a creepy smiling doll standing behind him with a bloody knife. The truth turned out to be even more terrifying.

He slowly turned around and was met with the silhouette of a tall and bulky man, standing awkwardly in the doorframe, looking at them like they had just killed a child and were drinking his blood in Satan’s name. Damon would’ve preferred that option.

And before he had the time to think about a clever thing to say (not that anything he could say would fix the situation) the man, who Damon rightfully guessed was a priest, stepped forward and punched him straight in the face with a strength that no human should possess.

He heard Graham let out a small scream. He didn’t register if it was “No !” or “Damon!”, though. After one or two seconds of him stumbling quietly between Graham and the priest and blinking furiously as a sharp pain made his eye and forehead throb, he catched Graham’s eyes again.

The man was still there, his shadow a painful reminder that the 70s “peace and love” movement had been useless. Damon turned around to see the tall man looking, or more like staring angrily, at Graham.

“Graham, I am so disappointed in you.” The priest almost looked sad. His fists were closed tight and trembling along his legs. “I thought you were a good kid. Not a… fag.”

Graham stood still. His heartbeat was all over the place. He wished he wasn’t here. He wished he had suggested that they went to his parents place or on a planet far, far away. He wished he was invisible, just for a second, just until the moment was gone. But there was no going back, no rewind button. Only time endlessly going and going and going before his eyes.

His eyes blurred. He knew he was going to cry. He didn’t want to. Not in front of Damon and not for this.

He was not gay.

Yes, there was this warmth throughout his body when he looked at him for a bit too long, but it was mere admiration. Not attraction. It was nothing more than their deep friendship manifesting through his body. He loved him so much, as a friend, that his body needed to physically reflect it.

He wanted to believe it. So badly. He needed to hold on to this idea. Otherwise, the twisted truth would blow up in his face.

And so, without thinking, he took one step forward. The old wooden floor creaked under the weight. He didn’t see Damon’s eyes following him nor the furious yet shocked expression carved onto the face of the priest.

Why was he here ? Graham felt a mix of rage and sadness at the thought. He was supposed to be a ghost of his past, a friendly figure of his childhood, someone he associated with childlike innocence and happiness. He wasn’t supposed to become the antagonist of his (love) life. Well… Obviously, Graham had always known about his views. But it was never supposed to bring fear and shame to the table. Especially because it was a table Graham had never planned to eat at. But here he was, fleeing the scene after having succumbed to temptation. He was escaping, not only a random room but a holy place, after having tasted the forbidden fruit. That sinful, perverted, mesmerizing, beautiful fruit.

When he eventually pushed past the priest, he felt his heart split. It split in two separate, unique, entirely antisymbiotic parts. One was the reflection of a Graham he wasn’t anymore, or at least not often. It was the 'good boy’ part he had to play when he went home, the mask he wore in front of old acquaintances, bank administrators and, well, old family priests. And then there was this other part. The one Damon had always seen, the freer, funnier, yet slightly more anxious one. The one that had fallen for his best friend and that didn’t know what to do with it.

When Graham looked around him again, he was already halfway across the church, not far from the door. He didn’t remember going down the stairs into the main room. He hadn’t paid attention to the shift in resonance, though it seemed obvious to him now. He thought, without a hint of humor, that his thoughts had too become louder, amplified by the high ceilings.

“Graham !” He heard as his hand reached for the door handle that he knew would be freezing cold. “Graham, wait ! We need to talk !”

The voice was loud and agitated, but it was firm. Damon always seemed so sure of himself, even when he wasn’t, he seemed. And Graham believed that ‘seeming’ was better than whatever he always did, this weird mix of anxiety and hiding that had never convinced anyone, last of all him.

He still opened the door but stopped and waited for Damon to slowly reach him.

“Not here.” Graham said quietly when he could finally feel his warmth radiating near him and Damon seemingly understood. He understood that the moment was gone. Graham had done something in secret. Thus the moment would remain a secret. Whatever it meant, it was nothing now.

They stepped outside, the loud blue of the sky had now been replaced by a sea of darkening clouds. Graham was fidgeting. His arms and legs shivered the moment his body was met with the sudden heavy atmosphere.

“Fuck it’s hot…” Damon let out. Graham’s eyes darted to his face quickly before he turned around even quicker. He could feel his face flush at the memory. He could excuse it on the weather, he thought. Not that Damon would have taken this explanation but still, he needed a defence, a barrier, something to create distance. However, he could try all he wanted to chase it, the distance shattered weakly the second he felt Damon’s hand around his forearm. He felt like a fucking house of cards, always on the verge of caving in.

His grasp was light, like he was only gently pressing into him. He wasn’t trying to cage him. The touch only aimed at signalling his presence, but for Graham, it burned. Even through the fabric, he felt the warmth and the memories flooding his entire being.

Damon remained quiet (for once) and guided him around the corner of the church, hidden from the street by a couple of green bushes and trees. Once there, he made sure nobody could see them before talking.

He felt his lips part, bits and pieces of questions and sentences piling up in his mind, crowding it like a brimming cornucopia.

What was that ? Do you like me ? What the fuck ? I like you but I’m not gay, I don’t want to lead you on. I love you, you’re my best friend. I don’t want to hurt you and I feel like I am. Do you need help ? Are you even gay ? Do you still like girls ? What about that girl you were going out with ? Are you still with her ? Does it matter… Fuck. Do you want to talk about it ? I don’t know what to say. Are you alright ?

Nothing seemed right. Nothing was.

“Damon.”

“Damon !” He repeated louder when it became obvious that the blond was too deep inside his own head. “Nothing happened, alright ? I don’t- I don’t fancy you.” He almost believed it. Almost.

Damon paused for a second. Had he been reading too much into it ?

“Alright...”

“Yeah, right.” Graham punctuated. He wanted to be done with the painful aftermath of the mistake he had made.

It eventually occurred to Damon that maybe he got it all wrong. Maybe it was all in his own head. The questions followed him all the way back to his mother’s house, under the rain. He spent the walk fazed out, eyes unfocused, road blurry. He did feel the wind and the drops of rain on his face, but they didn’t feel as violent as he had hoped. Everything was sobered down by the loudness of his thoughts. The same raging questions tormented him, but one kept coming back.

Was Graham alright ?

He didn’t have the answer. And as time passed, it got lost amidst everything else. Life got in the way of things and questions about his best friend’s sexuality ended up in the background.

It didn’t mean that Damon forgot about it right away. Obviously not. How could he ? But it slowly became a detail, something he didn’t think about each time he saw him, something he ended up classifying as a college folly, an ‘experience’. Damon had had plenty, so he didn’t judge, especially not Graham. He thought about the priest too, sometimes, because of the feeling of his fist against his face. But then, that too became a blurry memory, an event he stacked with all the other fights he got into as life went on.

And then there were those pecks and kisses they still did.

It began when the band started to get famous. When adrenaline (or maybe it was drugs, who knows) took over Damon. They were in the middle of a gig, a good one, and Damon had gone up to the brunette and crashed his lips on his.

The crowd became louder. It masked the beating of their hearts.

And they never stopped.

 

…

 

So… Damon wasn’t religious, no. But now, when he looked at Graham, he sometimes wondered if God had access to his thoughts. And right now, sitting on Graham’s sofa, he didn’t mind God having access. He liked the idea of God seeing how much he cared, loved and worshiped Graham instead of him.

And so here they were, in the brunette’s living room, pretending that they didn’t have history. Their roaring thoughts were dancing in the air around them, both unaware, both too aware. Damon’s skin was burning. Graham’s clothes felt tight, almost suffocating. The fear was eating them alive while desire kept them afloat. Both knew they needed each other. And of course, it meant that, in order to have the other one, they needed to speak their heart out. But god, the anticipation could break them. So many things could go wrong. So many unsaid feelings and buried truth would snap out of whatever stifled cage they would be opening. This was either a ticking bomb or the happiness they had always sought. And the two options had terrible implications.

Everything came down to one choice, one gamble, one risk. Either they tried and what could happen, would happen. Or neither of them tried and… nothing.

Graham reached the conclusion first, and it twisted something in him. He kept turning and turning the question in all kinds of ways in his mind and each time the conclusion stood here, final, dark and hopeless. How could he live without Damon by his side ? Or worse, how could he live knowing that the missing piece of his life was with someone else ?

After a moment of silence broken only by whoever was speaking on TV, Graham was finally the one to find in himself the courage to speak.

“Damon, I will tell you something and I need you to know that I’m not joking, okay ?” He paused for a long time, his dilated pupils staring intensely into Damon’s eyes, asking him the same question without words. And if you took the time to look closely, there was probably a really thin, almost invisible string linking them both on which unsaid feelings were dancing like tightrope walkers.

Damon’s gaze shifted from Graham’s hands to his (beautiful) face and the rapid movements of his left leg that he hadn’t seemed to be able to contain until now finally stopped. His throat was tight. He eventually detached his back from the sofa and bent over a little, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Yeah, of course, go on mate.”

“You… You are probably the most intelligent, funny, creative and honestly, attractive person I have ever met.” He let out a short and nervous laugh at the admission. Damon smiled proudly but couldn’t hide how his cheeks immediately flushed. He parted his mouth to answer but changed his mind when he saw the weird determination painted on his best friend’s face.

“And, and I don’t know about you Day… But I think if we never try to be, whatever this is, fully, we would be missing out on something important, something vital.”

Graham’s eyes darted away at the end of his little speech, choosing to avoid facing his own confession and all that it implied for them. The fingers of his right hand played nervously with his left hand’s skin.

Silence danced around them like a ghost poking at their thoughts.

More than tight, Damon’s throat seemed to have become fully closed off like those kinds of mountain roads after a landslide. Except in Damon’s case, the landslide had caused a traffic jam of feelings instead of lined-up cars.

“Vital ?”

Graham looked up, he didn’t expect that to be Damon’s first question after having finally opened his heart to him. He furrowed his eyebrows slightly before answering.

“Yeah. I never really understood what we’re doing half the time, you know, but, hum… But I feel like it can’t stay in this… weird, unnamed state.”

The brunette exhaled a shaky breath as Damon watched closely. He wasn’t sure what to do, or what to say. Graham continued, looking up to meet Damon’s stare.

“I need us to have a name. I need us to be something real. Or at least something more than whatever is this shit we keep doing.”

He held his palms up in front of him like he was trying to grasp something. They were shaking. Damon’s hands, who had been sitting in his lap, twitched, almost like he wanted to mirror his gesture.

“What do you want us to be ?” Damon asked slowly.

The brunette froze.

Damon knew what he, himself, selfishly wanted them to be. He wanted Graham for himself. It had not been that long since he admitted to it. Seeing someone else with him, especially when it was a girl, made him sick. He needed to be the only one to touch him like he did, he needed to be the only one to have access to him.

But this revelation had not been instant, like Graham’s had been. It had only started with what he noticed five or six days weeks ago, which was simply that what he felt for his best friend was definitely more than what a friend was supposed to feel.

It was the day Graham had called him in the middle of the afternoon and asked if he would come with him to pick up a package in a town outside of London. Why Graham needed him to come for such a task, he didn’t know. And he didn’t care. Because he cherished every tiny moment he could share with him, and that since forever.

 

He had said yes immediately, of course he had, but he had expected them to be alone, the two of them.

But when he arrived at the corner of the street they were supposed to meet at, there was only a blond girl standing aimlessly against a lamp pole. No Graham in sight and he dumbly thought for a second that he had left without him. And like a kid, he felt something stinging in his chest, something he hadn’t felt since his college days. But, that was only until Graham came out of a bakery a few meters down the street, with a box of pastries in one hand.

Damon’s pace slowed down as he witnessed his friend approaching the pretty girl and handing her the box. From where he was, Damon should not have been able to see that their fingers touched. But he did see it. And he wished he had never had eyes to begin with.

He stopped, suddenly feeling the urge to go home and cry. And maybe he should have, because his behavior during the ride had been nothing less than pitiful and sad to Graham’s eyes, and probably to the girl’s too. Though he didn’t care much for her opinion.

Here was Damon fucking Albarn, buckled in the backseat of a car like he was the only child of a perfect, freshly married little couple. He felt stupid. Because all of this was fucking wrong. The brunette sat behind the wheel, awkwardly joking with the infuriatingly pretty blond who didn’t laugh enough at what Graham said, if Damon was honest.

He didn’t speak. Not once.

Well… That was a lie. He answered the blond girl’s questions politely, but only because Graham was there. He felt stuck, like he couldn’t be himself with a random woman around. And he felt that, as his best friend, Graham should know that too.

In all honesty, what bugged Damon wasn’t really the girl. She was nice enough although not funny enough for his taste.

No. The thing that was throwing him off the most was that he didn’t understand why Graham would try to hurt him like that. Bringing a bird to do a random task with him and still inviting Damon ? He didn’t get it.

Was it to make him jealous ? Jealous of what ? They only kissed from time to time… they were nothing worth this trouble. If Graham wanted to shag someone he didn’t need to rub it in Damon’s face.

He had thought, while the two “lovebirds” had gone into the shop to retrieve the package, that maybe this was payback for the fact that Damon had stayed with Justine a bit too long. But something was still off. Damon had been very honest about their relationship and how he couldn’t end it just like that. He had tried to take into account everyone’s feelings and experiences. He knew the situation was fucked from the beginning, from the moment their lips had touched in that damned taxicab and from the moment he had remembered that afternoon in Colchester’s church.

He thought Graham was okay with how things were. Maybe he was wrong.

He couldn’t keep his mind from wondering, but all he scratched was the surface. He didn’t want to dig. Because as much as he tried to ignore it, seeing his Graham touch her hand, hold the door for her, laugh at her jokes and listen to her like she was an angel sent to earth was burning him alive.

And for a second, standing in the fire seemed like the better option.

 

“What do you want us to be ?” The question echoed through the room, bouncing off walls and coming back into their ears like the first listen had not been enough.

“Anything you’re ready for.”

“Come on now, you know that’s not an answer, Gra…” Damon smiled. He didn’t want Graham to settle for what he, himself, wanted. He wanted to know exactly what the brunette was ready to give him so that he could selfishly take it all. But also because he knew, now, that Graham had wanted him for a long, long time. And maybe, just maybe, he felt the need to finally relieve him from this unrequited love. What kind of lover Damon would be if he didn’t take into account the years of silent yearning that Graham had gone through.

The brunette paused again.

“Okay. You want honesty, I’ll give you honesty.” Graham let out a soft laugh at Damon’s tone but it disappeared rather quickly as his heart rate started to increase. He inhaled deeply before finally admitting. “I want exclusivity.”

“Okay.” Damon didn’t even try to contain his smile. That was maybe more than the confirmation he needed.

“Hold on, I’m not finished.” Graham said as he slowly stood up to take a seat on the sofa next to Damon, but not quite close enough. “I want loyalty, obviously. And I don’t mean faithfulness. Well I mean that too. But, hum, I want us to stick together too.”

Damon only hummed, afraid of Graham cutting him off again if he dared talk.

“I want us to laugh, as long as we can.” He admitted with a shy smile before a slightly long silence settled between them. It was like there was an invisible sheet hanging above them, in the middle of which wordless feelings were clustering, threatening to fall through.

Graham’s eyes were full of Damon. His ruffled hair, his stupid skin showing above his blue jeans, the laugh always hiding behind his stupid grin.

“I want your stupid lips.”

Graham’s eyes darted to the aforementioned parted rosy lips, almost entranced, if not completely.

“I want your eyes…”

His stare trailed up to meet Damon’s eyes.

“I want to be able to touch you, and… I- I want to feel your touch on me.”

And if the temperature of the room wasn’t high enough, Damon could have sworn that it tripled after this exact sentence. Or maybe that was simply his body reacting to the man in front of him.

They both shifted slowly towards the center of the sofa, the fake leather making weird squeaky noises as they moved. Once close enough, Damon’s hand moved up to Graham’s cheek, caressing it softly before pulling away. Too soon for Graham’s taste.

“Like that ?” He asked smugly. “Or is this not enough ?”

“Shut up.” But he couldn’t deny that he had leaned into his touch anyway. “You know what I meant.” His cheek felt cold without the sensation of his hand.

Fuck it, he was injured by how much love he carried for the other man, like a soldier on the ground, unable to get up. That was, if he ever wanted to get up again. Because for the moment, Graham absolutely did not feel the need to fly away.

And so without a second thought he passed his hands behind the blond’s head and kissed him. It was hungry and needy. The softness and gentleness they felt for each other would wait another time. For now, Graham needed to make him understand how much more he needed to be with him.

Damon reacted quickly and moved his lips in unison. They really had no business fitting so well together. After a few seconds, he parted his lips and slid his tongue in the other’s mouth. It was wet and sloppy but it felt like a bloody dream.

Damon’s hands held him by the waist, nails digging in his shirt. Suddenly, and to Damon’s surprise, Graham slid his hands beneath his shirt, trying to lift it up slightly, and breaking the kiss.

“Damn, took you long enough.”

“Please shut up.”

Damon laughed a little but obliged when he saw the dazed look painted on his “best friend’s” face. Graham looked breathtaking. And Damon didn’t smile anymore. Because there was nothing funny about this. Graham’s heavenly glow was something absolutely serious, something he couldn’t and wouldn’t take for granted anymore.

He was so unbelievably grateful to be able to witness an angel in his own pitiful living room. And he wouldn’t throw the chance away. Not anymore.