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Late at night, in some bar they couldn’t even recall the name, all of them went off with their drunkenness and wherever it would lead them. Alex was already with two women, somehow managing to flirt with both. Dave was in his own world, asking for another shot of vodka every couple of minutes. Meanwhile, Damon and Graham were chatting and giggling together, as always.
The two were entertaining each other enough so they didn’t feel the need to look for random people to flirt and maybe shag by the end of the day. On these occasions, after a few hours they would just go to another space, preferably a private one, and make out until they needed another drink for the millionth time. Oddly enough, they weren’t doing it for months.
Now, Damon was interested in other people that were not a weird brunette with glasses who happened to be his guitarist and best friend. Although Graham insisted that he shouldn’t feel bothered by this, he couldn't avoid the feeling, which just intensified when he noticed Damon looking for pretty women in pretty skirts, with their pretty curves and pretty features. Damon never had a problem snogging men; no, not at all, and that was a fraction of the reason of why Graham felt so weird and bothered about all of this.
Graham was laughing, sitting next to Damon and drinking his—he had lost count a long time ago—beer. He gave it a sip and got a little distracted, his eyes roaming to a woman on the entrance and his eyes kept following her as she passed by them. She was tall, had black hair and wore a tight black dress that accentuated her curves. He watched her for less than 3 seconds, but immediately felt himself getting tense, going quiet for a moment. He quickly tried to recover and went back to laughing at whatever Damon was telling him but still left pensive.
“Do you like Cheryl?” The man in the glasses asked out of nowhere.
Damon looked at him with his brows slightly furrowed, smiling back to think of an answer. “What’s- or, who’s Cheryl…? Are you asking if I like that fancy t-shirt of yours that says ‘cheryl’? Yeah, I do, it suits you,” the blond answered, gulping on his beer one more time, as Graham shook his head languidly in denial.
“No, no, Cheryl’s a woman. A real woman,” his smile slowly grew as he emphasized the word. “She’s got, like…” he hiccupped, “Loooong dark hair… and big curves.” He giggled all by himself as he described the figure of Cheryl, whoever that was.
“Do I know her?” Damon sounded confused but interested at the same time, trying to use the best of his inebriated head to remember someone like that.
“Noooo… you don’t know her.” Now that got the blond completely lost. “She’s got big tits and a great arse, y’know?”
How am I supposed to know about someone I have never seen in my life? Damon asked himself.
“She’s pale and elegant,” Graham went on, his eyes now lost on his beer as he fidgeted with it, and hiccupped again, “and she’s so pretty you’d want to kiss her all the time.”
It seemed that the strange description of the woman had ended, so Damon thought it was his turn to speak.
“And who is she, since you’re describing her so eagerly?” Damon wondered if it was a new girlfriend of his, which would make sense if he wasn’t questioning if Damon liked her. Graham never asked directly what he thought of his girlfriends, not interested in his opinion and knowing he’d still say whatever he thought of them anyway.
The guitarist glanced sideways at his friend with a little smirk on his lips, a gesture Damon couldn’t read with precision now, but he knew it wasn’t up to any good.
“You’ll see.”
★
On the next day, Damon got a call from Alex in the afternoon, asking him to go over to his house later because he wanted to ‘introduce him to a friend,’ according to his words. Damon was confused by the invitation, and although he asked what Alex was planning to do, he couldn’t get any clue.
At 8pm, Damon left his house and drove over Alex’s. He didn’t bother thinking about what the hell he was doing, convinced it would be just a boring meeting that he’d left after a couple of hours. After a few minutes, he arrived at Alex’s house, a place he never entered on his own will for the genuine disgust of the mess it would be most of the time, and for the sad fact that all his food was served with cheese—almost literally all his food.
He knocked on the door and was soon greeted by the bassist’s huge and almost mocking smile on his face.
“Hey, Dames, come in!” Alex gave space on the doorway, and Damon entered unbothered.
“If you’re wasting my time…” Damon tried to talk, but Alex interrupted him.
“My friend’s already here, so…” Alex seemed to hold back a laugh, making the blond suspect something strange was going to happen, “just sit on the sofa and wait a minute.”
As Alex went further inside the house, the singer sat where we were told to, and in front of the sofa was the coffee table, full of beer cans—some were smashed and others still closed with the droplets of water around them wetting the table—, a glass of water and an old ashtray.
He heard distant murmurs in the other room, and it sounded like Alex was trying to call his friend to the living room. Damon looked around for a bit, waiting, and took a sip of the water as he heard steps getting closer. There were the sounds of Alex’s sneakers being accompanied by the unmistakable click of high heels. Alex showed up first, smiling like it was the best moment of his entire life.
“Damon, I want you to meet my friend, Cheryl,” he said as the woman got on his side, and the vision surprised Damon.
He assumed it was the woman Graham was talking about the other day, though the description didn’t match completely. She did have long dark straight hair, being almost black—as her eyes—, passing her bust and with a cute fringe. The dark red dress she wore was tight enough to accentuate her slim waist and tits, which were, in fact, small to medium; it had two thin stripes on her shoulders and was long enough to cover most of her thighs, showing off her knees and nude legs. She was pale, indeed, and the way she held her hands behind her body gave her a delicate visual. The black high heels gave her more height, as she got almost taller than Alex walking on them. She wore a dainty silver necklace and had simple makeup on, dark but subtle eyeshadow that gave her a seductive look, faint pink blush on her cheeks and red lipstick finished her look.
She was indeed very pretty, but that was because it was Graham behind all those feminine features.
It took him a few seconds to digest all of this. He knew Alex was planning something, but he would never expect something like that. When he got out of his thoughts, Damon laughed, finding the situation hilarious.
“What… Graham, why are you dressed like that?” He spoke as his laughter minimized.
“I don’t know any Graham,” she said, her brown eyes staring at Damon, intense and soft at the same time. He noticed her voice was a little more high-pitched (Graham didn’t need much effort to sound like that, Damon knew) but it didn’t sound annoying. She walked closer to Damon, extending her hand to him, a small smile adorning her face. “I’m Cheryl, nice to meet ya.”
As if it was a joke, and he thought it was, Damon decided to go along with all of this and treat her as Cheryl, the pretty woman he didn’t know until this moment. He shook her hand with a gentle and funny smile.
“Damon. Pleased to meet ya.”
She smiled with the warm contact and shamelessly sat close to his side, reaching for a closed can on the table, opening it without much ceremony and gulping down its content. Damon and Alex watched it with a certain amusement. Now that she was next to him, the blond could feel her scent, it was a pleasant but faint perfume of what seemed like strawberry.
“So, Alex told me you’re in a band with him?” Cheryl turned her head towards him, batting her lashes—that Damon now noticed were fake eyelashes, but well placed.
Alex sat on the floor at the other side of the coffee table and opened another can of beer for himself, watching the scene develop attentively.
“Oh, yes, it’s called Blur, we’re quite famous,” Damon responded, looking at her almost enchanted, or at least pretending, as they were creating a scene of him and this girl flirting. “It’s me, Alex and our mates, Dave and Graham, ever heard of them?” He joked in a teasing manner.
Cheryl placed a finger on her chin and pretended to think for a moment, her face lighting up after a few seconds. “Graham is that nerd guitarist, right? I think I saw him before… I don’t like him, really,” she smiled sarcastically and gave her beer another sip. It unsettled Damon for a moment. “But I’m starting to like you,” Cheryl spoke as she got closer to Damon, their legs now brushing tenderly.
Damon noticed the dress being ridden up a little on her hips, showing a bit of her thighs, and as quickly as he put his eyes there, he tried to focus his sight on another thing in the room as an attempt to avoid staring. Nothing Damon had never seen before, but it was even more arousing now.
He laughed again. It was kind of weird; he could see this ‘Cheryl’ talking and touching him, and even though it shouldn't bother him, it was indeed. Not because he was uncomfortable, but because he knew graham was somewhere at the core of that character and couldn't find him.
Damon tried to forget all about this and join in the fun, pretending to flirt with Cheryl while Alex left a comment every now and then and giggled whenever she made a flirt so obvious it left Damon speechless, but every time they’d mentioned Graham or something he did, she depreciated it, meaning she definitely hated him but didn’t want to be rude.
It was worrying to the point that, at Cheryl’s third beer, Damon had to excuse himself and ask Alex to leave the room with him for a minute. Even bewildered, Alex agreed and followed Damon. In the kitchen, Damon turned to him and looked almost frightened.
“What is happening?” Damon whispered so only Alex could hear.
“I don’t know either,” Alex shrugged, “I mean, I do know, but I have no idea why he’s acting like that.”
“And would it kill you to tell me?” He rushed, seriously trying to resist the urge to hit Alex on the face.
“Uhm… he’s been talking about this Cheryl for a few days now, and tonight he just asked for help to dress him up like that. Said he wanted to… show her to you,” Alex confessed, innocent of what was actually going on inside Graham’s head.
Damon sighed loudly after being in silence for a moment, shifting his focus to the wall behind Alex.
“The way he- she is talking about him,” Damon corrected himself, unclear if he should call Graham by his persona or his regular self, “is very upsetting.”
“Yeah, definitely… but, I mean, this is Graham we’re talking about, right? He’s always been like this, self-deprecating and all that jazz.”
Damon silently agreed. It was true, unfortunately. Graham wasn’t well-known for his confidence, so all he had was shame (something that deeply hurt Damon to see, but he couldn't change it), but still, he couldn’t avoid the strangeness in all of this.
“Also, how’d you help him to dress like that?” He decided to ask after letting his thoughts wander a bit, looking at Alex again.
“He brought everything, man. I just did his makeup and helped adjust the dress.” The answer just left Damon with more questions, like where did he get those things? and since when does he know how to walk in high heels so easily? but he kept them all to himself. Damon has walked in high heels a few times before, and he remembers how hard it was to balance himself in them, but he doesn't remember ever seeing Graham walking in them, so it was intriguing to say the least.
Alex smirked as he watched Damon’s troubled face, and added, “but he’s pretty like that, isn’t he?”
The blond immediately gave Alex a death glare and rolled his eyes, going back to the living room. The bassist followed through and they all went back to their former positions, Damon on the sofa, Cheryl right beside him, and Alex on the floor. They chatted for a couple more hours when Damon decided to go back to his house.
He didn’t know if Cheryl left after a while or if she decided to stay with Alex, but whatever happened in there, he was sure it wouldn't be happening again.
★
Damon has been watching Graham for a few hours now, monitoring him working as usual. but Graham didn’t look at him any differently, as if last night never happened. That distressed him, and though he hesitated, he felt like he should ask him directly.
When everyone settled for a quick pause, Graham left the studio to have a cigarette, and Damon went after him after a minute. He walked and stood still half meter distant from him. Graham glanced at him from the small distance, blowing the smoke as he took the cigarette out of his mouth. They stared at each other in silence for a moment.
“What was all that about, Gra?” Damon questioned vaguely, looking directly into those intense brown eyes.
It took Graham a moment to answer, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Last night at Alex’s. I met Cheryl.” He explained, hoping to see at least a bit of expression on the other’s face, but he didn’t react at all. Actually, he did react, but completely different from what Damon expected. Graham’s eyes grew and he showed a side smile, like he was glad for some reason.
“You met Cheryl? And what did you think, did you like her?” He lifted his cigarette to his mouth and took a peaceful drag. Damon was taken aback with the indifferent demeanour.
“Well…” he pondered for a second, confused, and hesitated to add, “I think I did… but, seriously, what was that?”
“I don’t know, Day, I wasn’t there,” he inhaled on the fag again.
So, he was trying to pretend that Graham and Cheryl were different people in different bodies. That wasn’t a joke, was it?
“Of course you were! You asked Alex to help you, he told me-” Damon was getting unquiet but was promptly cut off by Graham putting out the cigarette and walking past him, ignoring what he tried to say. His eyes were empty and dark.
“Let’s go back, Day.”
Damon stayed there for another minute, even after Graham was gone, just thinking.
Who was Cheryl after all? Was she some kind of character he created all of a sudden? Damon knew Graham was far from having some kind of split personalities case or something like that, so if he was acting strange, it was because he wanted to. He would’ve understood and accepted it, if it weren't for the glaring differences between them—she was confident and he was shy, she would hit on Damon blatantly and he couldn't hit on anyone, not even Damon, unless someone hit on him first or he was heavily boozed, she was pretty and he was… in Damon’s eyes, he was more than that. He was beautiful.
Fucking hell, he thought out loud before going back to the studio.
If it wasn’t a joke, all Damon could do was wait to see what was happening next.
★
Truth be told, it was Graham’s last resort to get Damon to kiss him. It was weird somehow, he knew that: it wasn’t exactly going to make Damon kiss Graham, but he would be glad anyway.
Noticing the pattern Damon had been following on the last few months, Graham questioned himself why Damon would be kissing him all this time, if he even liked it. It would be better if he was with a woman, right? And that’s why he created Cheryl. She was nothing like Graham, so Damon wouldn't mind, and if she was the only way through to get the singer’s hands on his body again, he wouldn't mind either.
He wasn’t uncomfortable being her if he drank at least one or two drinks before. The booze always helped him loosen Cheryl up so she wouldn’t feel or seem too weird in front of Damon, and he felt less troubled, so he had less thoughts trying to anchor him down to the black whirlpool that insisted and shrieked how Damon would never chase him for who he was. It was depressing and made him feel miserable, which he may be, but wouldn’t let it affect the girl.
It was nighttime already, and Cheryl walked to the bar where Graham’s bandmates were drinking again. She walked fast, her stilettos clacking on the ground, avoiding looking at other people, turning her head to the other side or trying to hide it in her hair to turn down any possibility of someone recognizing her. She held a handbag with the house key and lipstick inside and dressed the same as the last time—except for a black leather jacket, since there was a cold breeze that night—, it was the only clothes she had, and that was the most perfect she could look anyway.
She got in the establishment and quickly scanned the place, looking for Damon and finding him in a table with Alex, still lacking the presence of any woman on their sides. She went in their direction immediately, shame vanishing from her body.
“Hello, Damon!” She smiled as she sat on his side. Damon and Alex exchanged looks, both dumbfounded.
Damon glanced at Alex as if asking if he was involved in this act again, and Alex glanced back, shrugging his shoulders as if saying he didn’t know anything, and it was true.
“Uh, hello,” Damon greeted her awkwardly, “I thought Graham was coming.”
“Why would he?” She scoffed right away. “He’d just be a pain in the ass, blabbering ‘bout some boring shit.” She crossed her legs under the table and rested her arms on her lap, showing that the slightest mention of that man displeased her.
Damon fell in silence, refusing to create a scene just to defend Graham in a place like that. He was looking forward to drink with Graham again tonight, so seeing Cheryl and hearing her say these things was really letting him down. He waited until she asked for a drink.
“So, why’d you come?” Damon asked, looking directly at her, curious.
“’Cause I wanted to see you,” she moved even closer to him, leaning forward so their faces would be just a few inches apart, seductively staring at his blue eyes, which stared back with a little shyness or unfamiliarity.
She knew he was beginning to feel attracted to her somehow. Cheryl knew how Damon worked, and his timidness was expected in this situation, though nothing like him. He turned his face away, clearing his throat, and she smiled perversely. “What, you saying you don’t like me?” She pretended to be sad.
“It’s nothing like that, I-” Damon tried to answer but was interrupted by Alex.
“If he doesn’t like you, I do!” The bassist said, trying to hit on her. Both Cheryl and Damon looked at him, the blond trying to kill him with his eyes. Alex recoiled, “just saying…”
As time passed by, the three stayed there, drinking and laughing. Damon was starting to let go of his embarrassment and have actual fun with Cheryl. She was funny, entertaining—just like Graham, but somehow not introverted—, and she could fill the brief gaps of silence by seducing him somehow, letting her leather jacket fall from her shoulders for a moment or pulling the hem of the dress slightly, always attracting Damon’s eyes.
At some point, Damon was fully drunk on his sixth beer, Cheryl still on her fourth, and Alex had left for a minute or so. Damon hadn't noticed the brown-eyed girl getting physically close to him, but even if he did, he wouldn't mind, feeling less bothered now. The singer took the last gulp on his beer and smiled, leaning forward to Cheryl without noticing thanks to his drunken balance. They stared at each other for a moment, until the man let out without thinking.
“I might be starting to fancy you. You’re really pretty.” He said and blinked slowly.
Cheryl tried to hold back a smile. Damon was into her in a way, and it made her so glad her heart almost skipped a beat, wanting to say the same to him.
She felt like leaning towards him too, to kiss and make out with him right now, and although she wasn't thinking very straight too, Cheryl felt like she shouldn't do it; it was difficult to decide whether to do it or not.
In an unsure act, she raised her hand to Damon’s face softly and pulled him closer but only left a kiss in the corner of his mouth. The girl retreated and looked at him a bit hesitant, thinking for a second she just did something wrong, but he looked at her with a type of hunger in his eyes, ready to dive in and kiss her properly, but Alex got back out of nowhere with another drink in his hand and sat where he was earlier, laughing loudly. Damon turned away from Cheryl, making her recoil her hand.
Alex looked at them and noticed something strange. He frowned and analysed briefly.
“You guys just snogged when I left?” He leaned to look closer to the blond and asked imprudently to both. “Dames’ got lipstick on him.”
The blond flinched and ran his hand over his mouth to take out any remnant of the red tint that was there. “Just shut up, already,” he insulted, eliciting another laugh from Alex.
Jokingly, the bassist apologized and went on another subject, ignoring the clues of an almost romantic case happening in front of him, probably for the tenth time.
As he told a story of the last time he saw a gun and how it reminded him of the weird and brief moments he’s been threatened with one, Damon secretly creeped his hand to Cheryl’s waist, keeping it there for a while, caressing and feeling the dress’ cloth upon her body. She kept a smile again, but every minute his hand continued there, she’d get more excited. All she wanted at the moment was to be alone with Damon, but she couldn't—at least, not yet.
★
After that ‘almost kiss incident,’ they never came back to that moment. They didn't kiss anymore, but continued physically close, their legs touching under tables, Cheryl sometimes caressing his thigh and Damon sometimes holding her waist.
Now, whether it was Graham or Cheryl who would appear each day was an unpredictable bet. Now and then, in a random way, it was Graham drinking with Damon, with his thick glasses and timid smile, or it was Cheryl, with her charming makeup and teasing manners, but she would only appear at bars late at night and usually avoided other eyes that weren’t Damon’s or Alex’s.
So that would explain why not only Damon, but everyone was staring stunned at her. Cheryl showed up instead of Graham at the studio.
Alex had to explain the situation to their producer, Stephen, and Dave, who were completely unbeknownst to Cheryl, and Damon explained superficially to the sound engineers so they wouldn't bother much. Their excuse was ‘it’s just a joke between us, so don’t worry.’ Still, the singer was the most bemused to why she was there, and when he called her aside to ask and understand, all she said, with a pure grin on her lips, was that she was there to watch them record a song.
That day was Graham’s turn to record his guitar parts, but with Cheryl’s presence instead, they had to skip to Alex’s turn instead. The song in question had a looping bass, so it didn’t take them more than a few hours interrupted with brief pauses and Damon’s usual way to say that it sounded rubbish until he could say Alex was playing it properly.
They all noticed the difference with the woman’s attendance. Graham would usually be noticeably quiet during record, but was very punctual in his critics and suggestions, and Cheryl was almost a force contrary to it, always commenting on unrelated things like how the bassline was cool or she wanted to listen to Damon sing, never cooperating with the work. Graham’s force of nature was gone and gave space to the chaotic and uncomprehensible existence of her own instead.
It was an implicit rule that Damon would only record the vocals when the instrumental was done, but they still had plenty of time with the studio for today, so they were all waiting for something to happen, clearly tense and unsettled. In a poor attempt at being discreet, Alex and Dave glanced sideways at Cheryl, who was sitting in one of the chairs in the studio, attentively watching the commotion. It was only when Damon stared at her too that she got up and smiled gently.
“Well, Graham’s not here, but for your luck, I can also play the guitar,” she said and Damon sighed in relief.
The clacking sounds from Cheryl’s stilettos echoed as she entered the recording booth. There was already a guitar waiting for her inside, so she quickly took it and sat on the bench to put the headphones on.
“Are you sure it’s okay, Albarn?” Stephen asked, looking at the blond in the corner of his eye.
The rest of the band was beside Stephen, all watching the woman in the other room, the producer and Dave still insecure about all that. Damon waited, analysing the way she rested the guitar on her crossed legs and adjusted the headphones.
“Yeah, just go on with it.”
Streetie (how they affectionately called the producer) shifted uncomfortably on his chair, clearly strained with the situation. He pressed a button and communicated with Cheryl—focusing on the song and avoiding calling her in any way, still confused about how to deal with that unexpected situation.
Dave searched through his pockets for a pack of cigarettes, eventually pulling one to his mouth and then searching for his lighter. “I don’t know how he did it, but the tits are weirdly good,” he said as he turned to leave the room.
Dave wasn’t much of a speaker, even in the weirdest situation, so it surprised them to hear him say something about this (but it was true, the tits are good, it took Damon a few meetings to understand the volume came from the dress’ bodice). Damon sighed again as the ginger left the studio, leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.
in a couple of minutes, the guitar started playing the song they were recording, and when Damon opened his eyes, who he saw playing it wasn’t Cheryl, but Graham. Cheryl could try to surpass all of his traits, tucking her hair behind the ears instead of messing with it anxiously, fisting her hands instead of picking on her nails and saying funny and flirting things instead of closing herself and laughing at what others said, but she could never even try to replace the way he strummed the instrument, with huge passion and a way only his charming and adorable hands could.
It wasn’t for no reason; Cheryl had left the place as soon as she picked up the pallet and played. She couldn't play in her own way, not in Graham’s body and that was her only limitation. Thankfully, the booze he had before sank his shame, so he didn’t bother being Graham Coxon in a dress and a wig for some time.
Damon felt incredibly attracted to them, Graham and Cheryl. Mostly Graham. He looked beautiful in every way, even as a woman, and it just reminded him how painfully in love he was with that man. The things Damon did were rough to understand, he knew it because it was hard for even himself to understand (to forge a distance that was never between him and his guitarist because he’d fallen so hard it was unbearable, it was indeed complicated), but Cheryl’s sudden appearance was complicating things more.
Alex approached Damon and whispered to him, “if you’re not gonna shag her, I will.”
The singer avoided his frozen gaze on the woman through the glass to look threatening and annoyed at the bassist's mocking smile upon him. “Alex… just shut up, for fuck’s sake,” he rubbed his eyes, exasperated with the other's playful ways.
★
It took Damon a while to notice things getting out of control. For the last couple of weeks, he saw Graham less and Cheryl more, and he didn’t feel strange about it for no reason.
Since Cheryl’s advent in the studio, whenever Graham was present, he felt distant from Damon, as if they weren’t close enough to talk. Contrasting the guitarist's actions, when Cheryl was present (and she made herself even more present overtime) she was close to Damon, constantly touching him and smiling at him, like she was his girlfriend. He fancied her personality, but he definitely missed his friend even more. He missed the shy and talented guitarist more than he liked that woman who suddenly tried to take his place.
For most days, she’d get in the studio and, opposed from the first time, refuse to play or help in any way to dismiss any trace of Graham on her, or be just in the bar at night, when neither Graham nor her appeared earlier on that day, and the singer was growing tired of it. He just wanted to finish the album and things to go back to normal, but for some reason Graham and Cheryl kept making things difficult.
It was the day Graham should record his guitar for another song, and thanks to a miracle, he was there, but not for free. He was painfully quiet and anxious, as he was growing to be the last few times he met the band, picking on his nails even more and sometimes scratching his thighs through the fabrics of his jeans, trying to relief some tension of the awkwardness he somehow felt from being there, like he didn't belong, but it was so obvious it was infecting Damon, making him nervous whenever he had to turn and look at him.
The guitarist wasn’t on his best day, constantly making mistakes and forgetting the chords, and it was bugging Damon. He was irritated, of course, but mostly worried—he knew this behaviour had to do with the situation they were entangled in for the last week, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't help Graham because he was closing himself to everyone, because he was doing it all to himself alone.
“Come on, Gra, you can do better than that,” Alex was leaning against the production table and played with Graham when he left the other part of the studio and joined the others. Stephen had left for a few moments, so only the band was there.
Graham didn't reply, only gazed in silence at him, frustration spilling from his eyes.
“He can, and he should do better than that,” Damon disparaged, his words unexpectedly turning spiky.
Everybody tensed up a bit and gazed at the blond, who was acting nonchalant, sitting on a chair in front of the production table writing something in his notebook and refusing to comment on Graham’s performance until now.
“Easy, Dames, ‘s just a joke. Maybe Gra’s not having it right now.” Alex tried to calm him down, but everyone knows, it would be easier if he just shut his mouth and avoided Damon’s attacks.
“He’s not having it? Well, I guess he’s not having it for a while now, he’s not been here most of the time and we need to finish the album soon,” Damon answered and looked up at the bassist, huffy with every word he said.
“Technically, he’s been here…” Dave was leaning against the wall next to the exit door and he intervened on the conversation, avoiding his gaze to the ground while messing with his short hair. He didn't want to be part of the discussion, but it was like a second job for him to try and ease things a bit, as if he were the most responsible among them.
Graham glanced sadly at the drummer through his lenses. He wanted to agree with him or thank him for defending him, but it wasn’t true. Graham hadn’t been here, no—it was all Cheryl, with her own beauty and extravagant personality. He was conscious whenever being that woman, but it has never been him. He didn't even know who he was anymore, how could he be anywhere at this point?
Damon didn't know it, but he agreed with Graham, he knew it was never himself there anymore.
Damon now looked at Dave, “for the least, he’s been here like a woman who on her first day did a better job than he did last week… has he even been here for the last week?” He mocked the disastrous situation.
Graham felt rage trying to blind him as he clutched his fists, he never expected Damon to say those things about him, but in his twisted mind, it would be for the best. If Damon hated him, he could disappear, go away from himself and let Cheryl take over completely. Damon seemed to like her better anyway. This is about her, he knows it, Graham thought.
“So you'd rather she appears here?” Graham said as Alex tried to relieve the situation again, silence filled the studio when he opened his mouth.
No, Damon thought, you’re better than her. I need you. I want you. He yearned for Graham internally and he could never say it in front of others, never in this moment. but he could try to imply it.
The frontman looked at Graham for a few seconds and breathed out, focusing on his notebook again while saying “I don’t want a woman I don’t even know, for fuck’s sake.”
Something else was clearly going on, but the whole room was oblivious of it. Damon had the impression that what he just said came out wrong and would be misinterpreted, and he was right, because Graham couldn't recognize his emotions and true intentions on that, leaving him feeling offended somehow. Cheryl was the last thing he had to make Damon his in a way, if he hated both him and Cheryl, all his efforts would be in vain. He couldn’t hate her.
The atmosphere in the studio became heavy, though the discussion was brief, and Alex and Dave exchanged uncertain looks as Graham stared at Damon with fulminating eyes, both confused but sharing the idea that something else was going on behind the scenes (Dave had a vague idea of what was happening, he was more of a spectator so he could tell from the last few events, but Alex was way too out of touch to notice anything, taking all of it as a joke or an act that was just getting too weird).
“Fuck you,” Graham murmured irrationally as he stamped his foot out of the studio, slamming the door behind him. Damon didn't seem to bother.
Alex glanced at the blond and spoke carefully, “we haven't finished recording.”
“If that’s all he could do, we finished it. You can leave now, I’mma stay here a little longer,” Damon responded coldly.
“’That what you gonna say to Streetie when he gets back?” Dave then asked.
The silence was his answer, and that was enough. Dave and Alex grabbed their things and left the studio. Stephen did get back after a few minutes, and after Damon’s poor explanation, he just sighed and left too, clearly bothered with the band’s attitude. He disapproved of it, but didn't say anything this time, leaving Damon all alone with a dim light upon him, his notebook and thoughts.
Damon knew he upset Graham though it wasn't his intention, but he was upset too, preoccupied and angry with the way his friend would rather disappear than say what he was really thinking to him. His heart ached thinking about it, so he tried focusing on the lyrics he was writing. He tried, but all he could do was tap his pen on the paper monotonously as his mind kept drifting back to Graham—and Cheryl, why not. What was Graham thinking? Why couldn't he leave things the way they were? What exactly was Damon doing wrong that made things take this turn?
When he stopped making out with Graham, he did it because his feelings for him were becoming too much bigger than he could process. Whenever they got too close, all Damon could think was touching him, feeling him, hearing, and seeing what effect he would have on the guitarist.
Now the singer was lost in his own mind, remembering how he missed feeling Graham’s lips on his, the taste of his mouth, the sweet scent intoxicating him, his light skin getting easily coloured when Damon left a love bite on his neck and how he groaned while the blond did it. He loved feeling his calloused fingers on him and how it tickled and burned wherever he touched, the sensation of Graham’s adorable teeth buried on his skin, how he never wanted to back off, just going further and touching every part of their bodies. Great, Damon was getting turned on thinking about Graham.
He shook his head, trying to sweep away all those distracting thoughts and focusing on the lyrics again, determined not to fail at it this time.
In an hour or so, someone entered the studio again. Damon didn't notice the footsteps, too absorbed in his work, he was only startled when he heard the door close. He looked back and saw the last person he wanted—and expected—to see.
There she was, Cheryl in all her glory. The hair, the makeup, the necklace, dress and high heels, all the same as always, but with a somewhat worried look in her eyes. Damon’s eyes laid on her with fury, practically saying he didn't want her there, her presence irritated and bothered him. He didn't want to see that face in any means.
“What do you want?” Damon said, returning his eyes to the notebook in front of him, only wishing he could ignore her.
She said nothing, slowly walking in his direction and sitting on the vague chair on his side. She peeked at his notebook, trying to make something out of the scribbles there of what he may have in mind, but rapidly lifted her eyes to stare at Damon for a minute. It really pestered him, and he still tried to ignore her, but couldn't take much more of it. He dropped his pen on the desk and glared at her, visibly stressed.
“I don’t wanna see you right now, please leave,” he sighed.
He met these brown eyes, looking at him so carefully and somehow gloomy. They stared at each other, and it took her a while to respond.
“I’m not Graham,” she almost whispered.
Then it clicked on Damon. Although he wanted Graham, he knew at this point he wouldn't have him, and the closest he could get from him was Cheryl. He was angry, but he still loved Graham anyway and didn’t want to lose him for good. If it was what he could have at that moment, he would get it.
He seemed to soothe for a moment and whispered back, as if afraid someone else would listen.
“Yeah. You’re right, you’re not him,” and that’s good, he completed in his mind, pulling Cheryl towards him and kissed her.
It tasted like Bloody Mary with a beer aftertaste, possibly what she or Graham was drinking before getting here. His hand got on the back of her neck, pulling her closer to maintain firm contact. He slipped his tongue to her mouth and now he could savour her. He’d never done that to Cheryl, but he knew exactly what she’d taste like. How long he had missed that.
Cheryl was surprised, she certainly wasn't expecting it, but she didn’t resist. She was having Damon to herself, and she was happy about it. She quickly dived into the kiss and strolled her hands on Damon’s neck and shoulders, clearly excited. She drowned in it, the sensations and the feelings, and though it wasn’t very tender, it made her heart race.
For a moment, Damon interrupted the kiss, but only to slightly bend over, take off the woman's heels and stand up, asking her to do the same. She didn't understand at first, but Damon’s just didn't want her to fall for what he would do next.
When he got on his feet, Cheryl saw the remains of her lipstick on his lips, a little mess of red all over that delicate mouth. If Graham saw this, he’d laugh remembering the times Damon applied lipstick and would be smug when praised or slur when mocked, but Graham was far away from that moment, it was just Cheryl and her complex persona.
As she stood up, Damon pushed her against the wall, cornering her and resuming the snogging. He travelled his hand over the side of her neck, naked arms and body throughout the dress. He was losing himself on her waist, maybe the part of her that he loved the most, never hesitating to hold there whenever they were together, mostly at the bar.
Things were starting to heat up, they could hear their wet mouths colliding as they licked and sucked each other's lips and he felt her whole body, while her hands rested on his neck. Damon unconsciously led his dominant hand to the hem of her dress, ready to lift it and do whatever he was used to doing when having a woman, but as he placed his hand between Cheryl’s legs, she stopped him. One of her hands went to the almost threatening hand of his at the bottom of her dress and the other on his chest, moving him away.
Damon opened his eyes, confused to why they stopped, and all he could see was Cheryl’s (also) messed up lips by the smudged lipstick, her chest going up and down due to lack of breath amidst the kiss, and her eyes staring at him wide and scared, almost saying that she didn't want him to touch there or see, like it was a secret she could never tell anybody and he was about to discover.
He stared back at her as it returned to his mind, it wasn’t Cheryl’s true body, it was Graham’s all along. The eyes he loved looking at, the smile he could look at for hours and never get tired of, the waist he loved hugging, the legs that provoked him when he knew he shouldn’t look. It was always Graham. That man would haunt him forever, even when he tried to forget him for a couple of minutes.
That thought infuriated Damon again, and without a word, he quickly turned Cheryl to the wall, forcing her to show her back to him, and positioned his hand between her legs again, going up slowly to feel her inner thighs. She tried calling him, insecure.
“I’m not gonna touch you there,” he whispered in her ear, and then gently squeezing one of her buttocks, making her shiver and whimper almost silently, “only here.”
She nodded in understanding. Damon finally raised her dress just so he could see her ass, and—though he didn't know exactly what he was waiting for—it surprised him to see she wore a black lace pantie. His mind flooded with thoughts like has she been wearing that since the first time they met? What does it look like in the front? And suddenly his jeans felt too tight and painful.
Damon left a bite in Cheryl’s earlobe, noticing her flinch again as he teased her, massaging her buttock and waist under the dress. He waited a few more seconds to act, raising his hand to his mouth and licking his fingers. Cheryl saw the motion in the corner of her eye, and her heart raced even more, feeling it beat in her throat. The blond then got his hand down back on her, now entering her underwear and leisurely placing the tip of his finger inside her.
She shifted, squeezing her legs a bit and lowering her head, keeping a moan of pain. Damon shushed and advised her to breathe easily, and as she started to relax, he moved his finger.
He did it slowly, feeling the warm insides of her almost failing not to restrain him, and suddenly bite her again on the right shoulder, watching her shut her eyes panicky in answer. He admired her features, enjoying the reactions he elicited from the woman, and then inserted a second finger. Her legs grew weak again as a whine escaped her throat.
Cheryl knew she couldn't be provoked like that and do nothing in return, so she blindly guided her hand (until now resting against the wall) to Damon’s crotch and pressing against his hard cock under the firm fabric. The blond wasn’t impressed by the attitude, more used to it by the other times he shagged someone, but he enjoyed it more than before. Cheryl knew how to arouse him, and at the same time it was good, it also meant hell to him—the ghost of the bespectacled guitarist and every time they snogged returning to his mind.
Until the moment, Damon moved his hand in a rhythm slow enough for the long-haired woman to grow familiar with it and avoid making any noise, which displeased him. If he was having her, he would have her completely, so he didn't think twice before moving his fingers faster. Cheryl squirmed again, an almost desperate cry leaving her lungs, disconcerting her to the point where she had stopped moving her hand on the singer's trousers, who smirked, delighted with the reaction.
The woman’s mind went blank for a few seconds with the speed applied abruptly, but she quickly composed herself, glanced sideways at the blond noticing his expression and reciprocated with an equal smile. She was naughty and they knew it, but Damon seemed to forget it now, which gave her the perfect opportunity to slip her hand down and grab his balls rudely, with enough pressure so he could feel compressed in her hand.
“Fuck,” he whispered in her ear.
He noticed the game they were playing, of who dominated who, and so he wouldn't lose—people knew how competitive he could be over the smallest things—, he buried a third finger inside Cheryl.
She couldn't contain her this time and moaned loudly, which clearly pleased Damon, as he felt her interior try to close on him while he stimulated her continuously. She turned her face to the wall, hiding herself as she struggled (and failed) to keep her involuntary sounds, but she retaliated again: she quickly unzipped the fly of his jeans and shoved her hand inside his underwear, masturbating him directly. Damon left a low moan while Cheryl moaned loudly, both arousing one another nonstop. If they kept things going like that for a few more minutes, she’d reach her limit soon.
Both were surprised when the blond reached a specific spot inside the woman, a strange shock running through her body which eliciting an uncontrollable, almost scandalous whine from her.
It made Damon stop for a moment and stare at the exit door, trying to discern any sound that would give away someone else coming up. The way the long-haired girl moaned loudly, it wouldn't be strange for someone to check the room to find out where the sound came from and what was going on. Cheryl glanced at him again, her wide and dark eyes afraid that she’d done something wrong. Damon didn't look back, instead searching around the room and then locking his eyes on the other door in the studio—the one that led to the soundproof room.
He quickly took his hand off the woman, pulled her to that room and closed the door. Cheryl reached for the stool, panting disorientated for a few seconds, but as soon as those blue eyes turned back at her, luxurious and hungry, she understood and smiled when he spoke.
“You can even yell here, you know that.” In a step, he was close enough to hold her waist and turn her back on him again, making her bend a little over the stool and hold onto it to maintain her balance. The last person that sat on that stool was Graham, just a couple of hours ago, Damon recalled.
He lifted Cheryl’s dress once again, meeting the provocative panties she wore and lowered it to her thighs, now having a complete view of her naked ass. Like a few minutes ago, Damon spat on his hand and positioned it on her entrance, this time without penetrating. Both knew that she should spread her legs more than they were, to facilitate the access and make it less hurtful, but Cheryl refused to do so, like she was ashamed, hiding her cock so Damon wouldn't see.
“Damon…” she whispered, flinching with the contact and kind of unconfident again.
“It won’t hurt, just relax,” he whispered back, carefully massaging her private parts.
It didn't take long, Damon freed his pulsating cock from his trousers and spread his saliva through the length of it, creating a type of lubrication, and placed it between her legs. Without any command, Cheryl breathed deeply, preparing for what was about to come, and so Damon slowly entered her.
When the tip of his cock got inside the girl, he made a pause to let her adjust to the sensation and recover from the dragged-out whimper she let out. For a moment, Damon wanted to see what expression she had on her face. He smiled at her reaction.
Cheryl felt her ass burn more than hurt, the sensation of being almost split in two was new and unsettling on some level. She squeezed her eyes shut and lowered her head as she groaned, doing her best not to squeeze her legs too much, knowing it would worsen the pain. All she needed was a brief minute, sighing as an advice when she finally got used to it, which Damon followed and pushed his hips against her in response, going even further.
Cheryl choked down another moan. She was getting even more excited knowing it was Damon inside her, and so other cries eventually escaped her (though she didn't bother keeping or muffling them anymore) as she adjusted to him again. She got chills all over her body when the singer whispered close to her ear again.
“You’re very tight, you know that?”
Listening to it aroused her even more, but she could give it back. She got accustomed to the cock inside her faster this time, so she answered with a snobbish laugh. “Is that all you can do?”
Damon was surprised, he didn't expect her to say something like this, but she got what she wanted, she provoked him even more, and he buried himself entirely inside her as a retort. Cheryl shuddered and squirmed, she was already out of her mind just feeling that length deeply. Her fingers whitened by the force she applied on the bench and she moaned once again. The man observed her behaviour delightedly, just listening to her noises could get him off.
Damon wrapped his hands around Cheryl’s hips, and without any previous warning, he moved himself gently. Every time he got deep inside her again, she would let out a loud, high-pitched whine of pleasure, pleasing him more. He saw her long dark hair spread out upon her shoulders, exhibiting the back of her neck holding the fragile silver necklace. A similar vision came to his mind, when he gifted Graham with a love bead necklace he made to look like his own, when Graham was in the hospital, and asked for his help to put it on.
He gazed down, watching their hips collide as he breathed lightly. In a couple of minutes, he wanted to speed things up, so he depended on any sign Cheryl would make for him to do it. Like they were in perfect harmony, the sign he needed came quickly, a sly moan calling by his name.
The deeper and faster Damon penetrated, the vaguer Cheryl’s thoughts became, focusing only on her indulgence. Moments ago she was drunk and felt nothing but the entire world spinning around her, now she felt everything with wise; the wood of the seat that she was gripping, the cold floor under her feet, her hot and panting body, the sweat running down her neck and chest, her insides being pressed, the warm hands on her hips, their breaths filling the stuffy room.
A faster pace has been established, but still not enough for either of them.
“Damon… faster,” the woman groaned.
Without replying, he pressed his body on Cheryl’s, getting upon her and rested one of his hands on the seat too—this position facilitated the rapid movement, Cheryl noticed it when the blond began pumping inside her without caution.
If she felt any pain, she couldn’t notice it anymore, her mind fixated on pleasure and Damon, noticing his groans escaping from his irregular gasps close to her ear. Now he was hitting that specific spot again, nonstop, and she could see stars floating above her eyes, a sign that she was about to cum, unfortunately sooner than she would like.
Damon wasn't different, he was close too, his moans more often giving him away. The loud cries from the girl also influenced his senses, she’d do it like he was all she needed and could think of now.
“Damon… Damon!” She groaned eagerly and trembled all over, her fingers almost buried on the stool, her knees almost giving away, her toes contorting and a last howl emptying her lungs, announcing she came. He followed her and came right after, shoving all his dick inside her with a sound of pleasure.
For a few seconds everything went silent and just their uneven breaths echoed through the room. Damon was the first to act, backing off from Cheryl—who groaned in disapproval—and leaning back on the wall behind him. He watched the girl, her head down, her shaky legs, the white and viscous fluid dripping from her ass, the black panties now fallen at her feet.
The woman took a few seconds to lower the dress and pull up her underwear, slightly embarrassed to do so in front of the blond, and turned to him, who was expressionless, and smiled satisfied at him. As soon as he saw that adorable, genuine, and (perhaps unintentionally) perverse smile with traces of a red lipstick, his mind warned him: he shouldn't have done this.
In slow steps, she approached Damon, still smiling, and when her face was next to his, he rejected her, turning at the other side, avoiding looking at her. It didn't bother her, perchance she hadn’t even read the attitude, so she just left a soft peck on his cheek.
“See you later, Day,” she said as she left the room, now Damon watching her until she fled the studio.
Few people called him 'day,’ mostly fans and journalists who met them constantly than close friends, but Graham still called him that sometimes. He remembered when he called Damon like that, and a few times he would retort calling him ‘gray,’ a nickname that matched him in a way and always brought a silly smile to his face.
He repeated to himself, he shouldn't have done this, because he realized he didn't do it for Cheryl, but for himself, out of pure anger and selfishness. She had mistaken his true intentions for love—Damon was attracted to her, of course, but he didn't love her like he loved Graham. He had taken her because he was chasing Graham. If he loved her, he’d be more careful, he’d kiss her and please her more, but he treated her rudely, the way he shouldn’t—, and that was why she wasn’t upset or angry at him.
The last things Graham told him returned to his thoughts, “so you'd rather she appears here?” and his actions seemed to say yes, when he thought the opposite. He realized Graham was about to disappear completely, and it was all his fault.
Damon trailed his hands through his face and hair, messing with it and wiping the sweat from his brow, frustrated and even angrier, this time only with himself, sighing loudly. He really shouldn't have done that.
As soon as Cheryl got on the flat, her smile died. Her sentimental was a complete mess because she didn't know who she was anymore. Was it still Cheryl or Graham had come back? Was Graham still there somewhere? The wig has gone, just like her makeup and clothes (somehow more intact than she suspected. Cheryl went to the loo in the studio to clean herself, she was a naughty girl, but not a slut), and it shouldn't be Cheryl anymore, but it was still uncertain Graham was there instead.
Should he feel sorry for himself now that he knew Damon didn't love him, or glad for Cheryl for confirming his initial theory and being chosen?
He left Cheryl's clothes in the wash and got into the bathtub, diving into the warm water and into the uneasy hollow he felt inside.
As he let his body relax, he felt pain, he had a headache, his arms and legs were so tired he thought he could never move again, his ass also hurt thanks for the last moments, but that was something he should be glad for, more or less; his feet were agonizing and slightly red because of the high heels. He recalls when it all started, when he decided Cheryl would be a real person, and bought everything she needed. Not much, only the necessary for her to show up from time to time, but he miscalculated things; everything was escalating extremely fast and he didn’t have the time to buy her anything else, now she had to deal with the same clothes every day. Graham had a talent for self-sabotage, and sabotaging Cheryl as well. Who was he, again?
For a moment, a weird inkling took over his mind, that if he sank in the water, he’d disappear. He’d stay there, his skin bare and raw, and the one that would leave there would be Cheryl, and thinking too much about it, he could feel his body descending into the water, covering all his limbs and suffocating his breath as it tried to take him away, and he quickly got up before he was completely submerged, panting desperately. He didn’t know if he should have risen, he felt awful about everything that was happening and that he was going away, Cheryl could overpower and manage things by herself, it would’ve been easier.
He spent a long time staring at his own body, reflecting about what he saw, whether it was himself or her.
★
The very next day, Cheryl was so close to him it disturbed him and she’d make sure to give everyone around the impression they were together, which made Alex laugh like it was the funniest thing in the world.
“Are you two dating?” Alex questioned with a fun tone, monitoring Cheryl’s behaviour over the last couple of hours.
“No, we’re not,” Damon answered humourless in the same second.
“Why not? I thought you liked me,” the woman said, pretending to make a pitiful face while holding the blond man’s hand, who avoided answering her.
Cheryl still had a bite mark on her shoulder, faint but obvious due to the fact she rarely covered her arms. Alex didn't seem to notice, or else he’d turn it into another laugh, but Damon knew Dave noticed, but he said nothing about it.
A week has passed, and each day Damon’s patience exhausted a bit more. He worried, so he started giving Cheryl a lift home after the studio or the bar, forcing him to drink less than he wanted these days. Graham never showed up again, and it was a big pain in the ass, even for the other bandmates.
They couldn’t record properly, and though Cheryl always got along well with Alex, he felt like the ‘joke’ was dragging the whole band and making him uncomfortable. In his perception, Graham was just acting way too weirdly, but only Damon knew exactly what was going on. Dave never intervened, only watching the act unfold before him from a distance.
Ten days since Graham’s gone, and Damon wondered how he managed to get through it without collapsing—though he was getting fewer hours of sleep, dark circles appearing under his eyes giving it away. Once again, the band was in the studio, Cheryl instead of Graham, always following Damon here and there. She was kind of obsessed, everyone could see it.
They were all holding cigarettes or boozes, trying not to freak out over Cheryl’s unbearable presence and actions at this point. Damon tried talking to Stephen about what was going on so he would take it just a bit more, but he simply ‘wouldn't buy any more of this shit,’ as he said. They were having a private conversation outside of the studio.
“Albarn, I don’t have any idea of what’s going on,” Street was usually a nice and relaxed guy, but he was clearly angry this time, and it felt like a punch into Damon’s stomach, “but I’m not coming back until Graham can play the fucking guitar. That’s all I'm asking.”
Damon couldn’t fight back, all he could do was respect Street’s choice and try to fix things (though he had no idea how) because he knew they couldn't finish the album without him. As Street left the place, the blond man went back to the studio, huffing. The whole band looked at him, slightly worried.
“Where is Streetie?” Alex asked, sitting on the small sofa with a cig hanging from his mouth, as always.
“He's out,” Damon answered, careless, looking down as he shoved his hands in the pocket of his jeans.
“What, why?” The bassist was now frightened. They were all startled, once they liked the producer and knew him enough to acknowledge that if he left them all of a sudden, it was serious business.
“He said he’s not coming back… until Graham plays the guitar,” he sighed.
A deafening silence filled the room. They all knew Cheryl was guilty of it, but no one dared looking at her.
“Shit,” Alex whispered to himself, inhaling on the cigarette. He lowered his head, feeling disorientated.
“So, what you gonna do?” Cheryl innocently asked as if she had nothing to do with it, staring at Damon.
She was sitting next to Alex, on the same sofa, and everybody instantly gazed at her, shocked by the absurdity of it. The bassist was horrified by what she just said, the drummer, on the other side of the room, still quiet, knowing where things were going and he couldn't avoid it. The frontman felt his blood boiling.
“‘What we gonna do?’” Damon let out, clearly growing furious. “Is that what you’re asking? Don’t you know you’re the reason we can’t record anymore?”
“How is it my fault? I didn’t do anything,” she answered, now solemn.
“You fucked up everything, Cheryl, that’s what you did. We can’t record because Graham’s not coming back and you refuse to play,” his voice was getting louder with each sentence.
“Well, Graham’s not important, anyway,” she looked away without caring much. Her despise for Graham was so shameless and unmasked it was revolting.
Damon could feel the oppressive atmosphere growing in the room and he knew it was his fault (not only for fighting with someone like he always used to do, but for letting things get to that degree when he could have avoided everything since the beginning), but he didn't care anymore. He had reached his limit with Cheryl, previously irritated with her actions, but hearing her say anything about Graham was crossing the line for good. He wanted Graham back, and his absence was taking him to the edge.
“And in this place, neither are you! You’re a fucking pain in the ass, and it’s pissing me off!” Damon yelled, now all eyes were wide, turned at him like he was a spectacle. Damon enjoyed being the centre of attention in most situations, but now he could feel nothing but remorse. He didn't want to make another show of his problems with Graham and Cheryl, but it was necessary for him to throw all his feelings and thoughts out as soon as possible or else he’d be out of his mind very soon.
Cheryl watched him scared, confused, and sad. Her mind began flooding with worried thoughts she didn’t know she could have and her heartbeat went crazy. Before she could say anything, Damon sighed loudly and spoke again, in a lower tone.
“You don’t understand, Cheryl, we… I don’t want you.” It was just like last time, about her and their feelings again, but Damon felt like he was being even harsher this time, causing his voice to sound shaky and he avoided eye contact, lowering his head and closing his eyes. His heart was beating fast, too. “I don’t want you—to say the least, I want you gone. Now, can you just… fucking leave this place?”
As always, he was bad with words. He couldn't simply come out with them whenever he wanted, he communicated better through songs—Graham knew this better than anyone—, so as he uttered these words, he forgot to make it explicit he wanted Cheryl gone, and Graham back.
It took seconds but felt more like minutes for someone to act again, and that someone was Cheryl. She got up and walked over the frontman, still quite nervous and frightened.
“Day… I’m not Graham, remember?” She whispered, as if it would fix things, as if Damon was angry at Graham again, not at her. And there was that nickname again, sweetly calling the vulnerable and weak man.
He breathed deeply, eyeing her again and noticing those brown eyes, so melancholic and sensitive, sparkling with tears that dared to form. “Exactly, you’re not him: and that’s the problem,” he whispered back.
Now Cheryl gazed at him, her eyes seemed weirdly vacant, like she didn’t know how to feel, then confusion came on them. The tears finally formed rivers in her eyes. She couldn’t respond, so she just walked away. Cheryl left the studio, just like Graham did the last time they saw him and never came back.
It would happen again. She would leave and never come back, Damon knew it, and a terrible feeling of unease dominated the pit of his stomach. For a few moments he had forgotten about his bandmates watching the whole scene, until Dave opened his mouth. “I think you should go after her,” he said, holding his cigarette. Damon looked at him virtually offended, he wanted to throw up.
“I don’t want to,” he answered, simply, when he actually felt like he shouldn’t.
If he never saw Graham again, it could mean the end of their friendship, of his love of years, of the band. All he needed was go after Cheryl for once in his life, but he just couldn’t find the strength enough to move and do it.
They all stayed quiet, each alone with their own thoughts and worries. Damon sat on the chair in front of the production table, as he was used to, and just stared at the whole layout of buttons in front of him.
“I think… I’ll look for her,” the bassist interrupted the tense silence when finished his smoke, getting up immediately. The singer couldn’t dare an effort to look at him. “Him? Her? I don't know which is it.”
“She left a few minutes ago, how are you gonna look for her?” Dave asked behind the blond.
“I know where she is.” It caught Damon’s attention but still wasn’t enough for him to look away from the table.
Dave sighed, “well then, call us if you find her, and take care of her,” he said, and a few footsteps and the clacking sound of the door announced Alex’s exit.
The two remaining in the studio stayed there, quiet and still for a long time. At some point Dave asked Damon if he was alright but got no answer. Damon was way too drowned inside his own thoughts, worried about Cheryl, about Graham, what he just had done and what it would cost him.
If he had just successfully pushed Cheryl away, he had pushed away any reminiscent of Graham from his life as well, and it made him reflect on what effects it would have on him. Damon has been friends with Graham for over a decade at this point, knowing each other since they were kids, and he couldn’t imagine a life where Graham wasn't his friend anymore, or a life where they never met. His inexplicable love with music flourished because of Graham, his first experiences were always with Graham at his side, and if not, he’d be the first person Damon would tell him about how it was.
Damon had fallen for Graham since the first time they met, and he didn't know what Graham felt back—kind of. He could take something from the latest events, but he’d never know for sure if he didn’t ask him directly. He was afraid that now Graham hated him, or Graham thought he hated him, and he’d never have a chance to explain himself. Every thought in this matter made Damon want to smash his head against the table and stop when it was completely broken or his head began to bleed severely.
Somewhere in time as he drowned in his own mind, Dave had left the studio, and Damon only noticed when he got back and touched him to get him out of his own mind. Damon looked at him, startled.
“Damon, Alex found her,” Dave said, his voice sounding uncertain, “but… there’s a problem.” The blond man’s heart almost got to his throat hearing it. “Alex’s still on the line, if you wanna talk with him.”
He hadn't finished talking when Damon got up and ran outside the room. He took the telephone next to the reception and placed it in his ear.
“What’s wrong, where are you?” He asked when he got the telephone.
“Damon?” Alex sounded hesitant on the other side of the line, “Dames, I’m at the bar. Cheryl… Graham’s drinking and… there’s a guy trying to hit on her. I’d take her out of here, but I really don’t wanna pick up a fight with a drunk stranger… Is it ‘she’ or ‘he’? I don’t know anymore!” He started discussing with himself.
She was at the bar, obviously, where else would she go? How could Alex know this and I didn't? And then, it hit him. Jesus, he had forgotten Graham was still there and was only perceiving Cheryl, a completely different and unknown person. This whole situation was so tiring he was hardly reasoning all the facts.
It was all he needed to hear, immediately throwing the telephone back to wherever it was and running out of the building to his car. Dave had to run after him and ask to go with him, which Damon quickly agreed, trying not to waste any second. If Damon couldn't move just a moment ago, now he needed to go after Cheryl and take her out of there. The worst that could happen was her getting a few punches if the stranger noticed who she really was and thought it was a perverted act. He needed to take care of her, he needed to help her, even if she didn't want to see his face.
The bar wasn’t far, in a few minutes they got there, and the first face he saw when entering there was Alex’s, preoccupied while taking a shot of vodka—because, of course, Alex couldn’t help his friend, but he could get shit-faced.
“Damon!” Alex shouted, his face not very pleasant about the situation, “you have to do something… they’re right there,” and he pointed at the counter, where Cheryl was swallowing her Bloody Mary as if it was water and a strange man by her side, trying to talk to her though she kept ignoring him.
Damon could see, that wasn't Cheryl anymore, but he wasn't sure. The posture she usually had, erect and leaning slightly against the counter with her legs crossed, wasn’t being assumed. She was practically thrown onto the counter, her back curved, head down, but legs shut. It wasn't much like Cheryl, it was more like… Graham.
He didn't think twice before walking towards them, looking at Cheryl carefully.
“Cheryl, let's go… you’ve had too much,” Damon tried talking with her. He didn't want to touch her, hoping he could just talk her out.
She glanced up at him, her eyes, manners and voice showing how drunk she was. “Sod off…” she mumbled. Her voice wasn’t high-pitched as it usually was, it sounded low, exactly like Graham’s.
Damon could see the stranger smirk mockingly at him in the corner of his eye, “mate, I don’t think she’s into you.” He stared at the stranger like he could and would kill him.
“Who the fuck are you?” The blond asked.
“No one you should bother. Now, didn't you listen to her? Sod off,” he referenced Cheryl. Damon saw he was very drunk too, and that was why he tried hitting on her. When your vision is blurry and you can’t think straight, the small faints that gave away it wasn’t a feminine body were unnoticed.
“Cheryl, please, let me take you home,” his focus got back on her, but she didn’t seem to bother.
“Oi, I thought she didn't want you around?” The drunk man shouted.
“She doesn’t seem to want you around either,” he responded, once again, looking angrily at the man.
It was enough to offend the man, who got up from his seat and tried to pick a fight with Damon, approaching him. The singer didn't need to make much effort, he clenched his hand into a fist and punched the drunk one. It was a mild punch, but enough to knock him down unconsciously for a moment.
Cheryl called Damon, a bit startled, and he quickly focused on her again.
“Come on, I’ll take you home,” he said softly.
He picked up her high heels, which were thrown beneath her feet, and helped her to get up, holding onto her waist, though she didn't really want to leave the place and it was clear, complaining and telling him to let go.
“You can pay for her drinks, right?” Damon asked Alex when he was about to leave, and the bassist nodded in response. “Also, you’re a fucking pussy.”
“What did I do?!” Alex took offense, widening his eyes.
“That guy was shorter than you, you could've taken care of the situation instead of drinking, you dickhead,” he insulted again and left the establishment.
He helped get Cheryl in his car, taking care not to hurt her in any way, got into his seat and drove to her flat.
Dave was outside the bar, trying to watch what was going to happen, but nothing to be alarmed about. A minute before Damon and Cheryl left, Alex got out of the bar too, joining the drummer into the faint and cold breeze of the night.
“What just happened?” The tallest asked, staring blankly at the street in front of them.
Dave searched his pockets for a smoke and a lighter. He picked up two cigarettes and gave one to Alex, lighting both. “I don’t think you should be bothering about this right now,” he said after inhaling the cylinder.
They smoked together in silence for an instance, and Alex interrupted the peacefulness with a loud sigh.
“Seriously, sometimes I think you guys know some things I don’t and I’m missing something, like you guys hate me, but I know you don’t.”
“Who told you we don’t?” Dave held his cigarette and felt Alex perplexed gaze upon him. He looked back with a silly smile, “I’m just kidding.”
The relief in the bassist’s eyes was genuine when he heard the last phrase.
“You berk,” they giggled.
★
When Cheryl heard those words, it felt like a dagger ripping off her heart from her body. She was hurt and needed a bit of comfort elsewhere. She didn’t know if it was another unfortunate flaw she had or if she hid herself in that mind, but that sorrow made her end up in a bar. If the drink made her feel better, it wouldn’t fail this time.
She only noticed how lost she was after minutes, when she got up to the loo and found herself in a dilemma: which one should she enter? She didn’t feel she was Cheryl to go into the woman’s bathroom, but she didn’t feel exactly like Graham to go into the man’s, like they were both mixed up in this little theatre they created, or like they were both absent in that moment, and all that remained was a deep and miserable void. She wanted to cry, but walked back to her seat, defeated, and drank more until she forgot all of this. Until she forgot herself and Damon.
Cheryl had fallen asleep in the middle of the trajectory, which calmed Damon’s nerves. She seemed at peace, and she was safe with him, so he drove to her flat without much hurry. It also wasn't too far, but Damon took a time to get there, driving slowly so she could relax more.
As they got there, he admired her for a moment. Her head was almost leaning against the window, her features at ease, her hands resting on her lap, holding the high heels and handbag lazily. He felt bad for hurting her feelings earlier.
He carefully woke her up, her heavy eyes nearly refusing to open. She batted her lashes slowly and tried leaving the car by herself, but Damon hurried and helped her to stand, afraid she might hurt herself. He walked Cheryl inside the building and let her go when they got to the elevator, clicking on the button to her floor. They stood on opposite sides of the elevator, Damon looked at Cheryl, worried, as she rested on the wall, with an empty stare on the ground. Didn't take long for the door to open on the determined floor, and she left straightaway, staggering a little, and he followed her.
“Go away,” she mumbled, never looking at him, as if resting her eyes on him would hurt both of them profoundly.
“Just let me help you…” he said quietly.
She ignored the answer and neglectfully searched for the keys on her handbag. She took a grip on it and as they got on her door, she had difficulty unlocking the door, hardly putting the key in the lock.
Damon, on her side, carefully took the key from her hand and opened the door for her. Cheryl got into the flat, threw the high heels anywhere and sat on the sofa, the man going along with her and closing the door.
She didn't bother turning on the lights, so he did it, the living room rapidly illuminated with a yellowish and comfortable light. He looked around and it was the exact same as Graham’s flat had always been, a mess of papers with drawings and songs, some old vinyl records, things for his guitars and random clothes scattered all around.
“I’ll get you some water, okay?” He quickly went to the kitchen, which seemed to be the tidiest part of the apartment, and got back with a glass full of water, handing it to the tired girl thrown on the furniture. She took it and stared at it, without doing anything else. He sighed, “Cheryl, just drink it, please. You’re too drunk—”
“Cheryl’s gone, Damon,” the soothing voice interrupted him and said nothing else.
Damon felt so relieved to hear that because it meant Graham was back. He still wasn't sure Graham still liked him in the least, but he would be glad to be with him just for today, if he’d let him. He stopped for a second and said again.
“Graham…” he said hesitantly, waiting for any reaction. Silence. He continued, “drink it, or you’ll vomit. Please.”
He waited again, and this time, Graham obeyed, taking the cup to his mouth and gulping on it a bit. Damon felt peace growing in his chest again.
The blond sat next to him, looking at him attentively, as Graham stared at the cup in his hands. With a level of care he had never shown before, he raised his hands to the guitarist's hair, gently pulling off the wig and showing his real hair. It was a mess, as if he didn’t care about it at all, and a little longer than before all this started. Damon shuffled his hand through his hair, moving it around to put its strands a little in place.
He didn't want to make him uncomfortable by getting too closer, so he leaned in a bit, but still left Graham his personal space, just so he could carefully take off his necklace and hold it in his hand.
“You need a bath…” Damon almost whispered, ending the loud silence upon them, “I’ll fill the bathtub, you take off your clothes, alright?” he got up and walked to the bathroom.
There, he found a small eyeshadow palette and a blush next to the sink, thoughtfully put with a few brushes laid upon them, he felt like peeking through the makeups, but ignored it, leaving the necklace he held next to them and went directly to the bathtub, filling it with water at a weak temperature. He stayed there for a few minutes, watching it getting full, worried thoughts coming to him.
He knew Graham resented being treated like this, like a helpless child who didn’t even know how to brush his teeth correctly, but Damon needed to look after him, he perceived it as the only his way through to apologize to Graham and making sure he wouldn’t disappear again, and he’d have to understand it in a way.
Damon had a particular feeling over Graham that led him to believe he should protect him, and that feeling was now tormenting him, chiming as a bell loudly inside him, but he still needed to be careful and not do much to weigh him down. He didn’t want Graham to be any more offended by his actions, on purpose or not, but all he could do now was showing him how he wanted Graham to stay with him, not anyone else.
He smelled a faint smoke coming up to his nose, and went back to the living room to investigate, finding only the guitarist completely naked on the sofa, the wig abandoned by his side, the dress and panties on the ground, next to his feet, the fake eyelashes on the arm of the furniture, next to the ashtray graham left there, and a cigarette in his hand instead of the cup, which Damon guessed he’d got up in the meantime and left it in the kitchen.
“Come on, Graham,” he called cautiously.
He got up from his place, clearly feeling worn out, and passed through the blond, ignoring his presence and going to the bathroom, and Damon followed him again. Graham sat in the bathtub, his knees close to his chest, almost curling up in a ball, and Damon sat on the floor next to him, looking down.
The brunette shivered, feeling a bit cold. He took another drag of the cigarette and handed it to Damon, who took it and put it out, he didn't feel like smoking now.
“You can leave now,” Graham told him, not shifting his eyes from his own body.
Damon looked at him, serious. “I’m not leaving until I make sure you’re okay.”
“I am,” he simply lied.
Graham didn't know exactly how he felt for a while, all he knew was that he wasn’t sure where he or Cheryl were since Damon yelled at her, a strange sensation that she just faded but he still wasn't himself. The blond said those things to Cheryl, and it didn't seem like he was lying, but if he hated Graham, he couldn't hate Cheryl, and it messed with his head.
He rubbed his wet hands across his face and hair, melting his makeup into the water. He didn’t bother much, still leaving remnants of the makeup on his face. Damon watched it and dipped his hand into the bathwater, bringing it to his face to help and take off the makeup, which was fading easily. Graham didn’t hesitate, just let Damon touch and clean his face. Everything Damon was doing was so mindful and attentive, like if he acted a little less cautiously, Graham could break in a thousand pieces.
“Can I ask you something?” Damon said softly but only earned silence. He inquired anyway. “Who is Cheryl? Why’d you turn into her out of nowhere?”
Graham shivered again but scared of the question. He thought for a second—if he said the truth, Damon would hate him, but he was convinced Damon already hated him. He’d rather ignore all those tender and careful actions than think Damon liked him at all. So, whatever, he could answer honestly.
“I thought you’d like me better if I were a woman. Cheryl’s better than me, prettier, hotter, and funnier. I fancy you… but you’d never fancy me if I were me,” he mumbled and hugged his legs closer to him. “It’s weird, but I never wanted to stop kissing you. When you stopped, it felt… I don’t know. Awful.”
Quietness filled Damon, he stopped moving his hand on the water, staring at Graham blankly as his heart raced and his mind rushed through incessant thoughts of what that meant.
“Damon,” Graham finally looked back at Damon, darting those blue and sweet eyes, “did you fancy Cheryl?”
The blond was confused for a few seconds, those dark and curious that targeted him almost distracting him from the question. He sighed.
“I did,” Damon smiled, going back to cleaning his face kindly, “but I fancy Graham even more.”
The answer caught the guitarist off guard, his cheeks blushing and an unknown glow appearing in his eyes as he lowered his head again. He felt weird, knowing that those repressed feelings he had were in fact, reciprocal.
When the makeup was completely gone, Damon dropped his hand on the bathtub again, now resting it there.
“I really missed you, Gra,” he looked down too. opening his heart was hard when he wasn’t angry. “I missed you whenever Cheryl was around, and I think I only liked her because she was you, somehow,” his breath was becoming shaky, but he kept trying to seek for the words.
“I… love you, Gra. I loved you for a long time, and I’m sorry. I think I hurt you—more than once—and I never meant it… if I’m being honest, I never wanted to stop kissing you, too, I just forced myself to do it ‘cause I thought it’d make things better… that what I felt for you could become irrelevant and you’d never find out.”
Graham looked at him again, and Damon immediately looked back, noticing a feeling he couldn't quite place in his eyes.
“I was afraid that you’d hate me for this and you’d run away, and you’re the only thing I can’t lose.” His heartbeat was loud in his ears, so loud he thought Graham could hear it too.
“So that’s what’s gotten into you,” the brown-eyed said, almost lifeless. “It really hurt me.”
Damon felt his stomach twist and turn; hearing Graham say he upset him made him feel like the worst person on earth, but he should, and he was going to deal with it in any way.
“I know…”
“That was really selfish of you.”
“I know, Gra, that’s why I’m sorry,” he breathed loudly, anxious. “Can you forgive me, please?”
“I’ll think about it.” His eyes didn’t change, but Damon chose to believe his words. Graham went through a lot of stress emotionally just because of that, just because Damon loved him. He tried to acknowledge it wasn't his fault but couldn't avoid feeling hatred to some degree.
Damon tilted his head, looking like an abandoned dog. “Can I kiss you? Just this once.”
He waited as Graham stared at him, thinking on what to say, then he just turned his face directly to Damon, as if giving him a better angle to do it. “Make it quick,” he said toneless. Graham could be angry, but with the chance of making things right with Damon, love him and be loved the way he wished, he couldn't exactly say no.
The frontman gladly and slowly approached him, like he was waiting for Graham to change his mind and avoid him, but he never did, so their lips just touched tenderly. He wanted to hold Graham, pull him closer, not caring if he’d get wet, just finally happy that he could kiss Graham with his true intentions, but he wanted the guitarist to forgive and love him even better.
Damon moved away, staring at Graham with loving eyes. He could spot a similar feeling in the other’s eyes too. Graham tried pretending it was nothing, but there were at least a hundred butterflies fluttering in his stomach.
Damon knew Graham would forgive him, sooner or later, and he would wait for it, but all he could think at the moment was how to avoid hurting him ever again, and how glad he was for (apparently) sorting things out with him, relieved by the thought he could continue seeing Graham every day.
He showed a lovely smile at Graham, who let out a faint and shy chuckle in response, and Damon felt even happier for it. It’s been a long time since the last time he saw Graham smile. He hoped to see that smile more in the future, now with another meaning; that it wasn’t just a dream. Graham loved him back all this time, and if he was lucky enough, would never stop, just like he never stopped loving him.