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Graham sighed. “Figure i should take my ‘tar, fuck around till it sounds like something worth listening to?”
Damon looked up at him from his book. He had in hand some sort of extended Aesop fable collection. A curiously niche pick from the nearby bookstore. He had gotten it as a light read to skim through on days like this, when there was nothing to record and no interviews to attend. Graham however, did not plan ahead, as always.
“Are you asking me for my permission?”
Graham sighed again, hoping the action would take some time away from his day, and lessen the need to find a busying activity. “No. I’m asking you for your advice on what to do.”
“I take it you’re bored, then?” Damon asked as if there was any other explanation. In no other situation or circumstance would his stubborn Graham ask for any sort of advice. Graham stumbled over to where Damon sat with his novel. His movements were slow and lenient, feet almost dragging across the worn carpet. He stood there for a while, like the journey was exhausting enough to be worth a lengthy stay at his destination, at the foot of Damon’s occupied armchair. Lifting his head, Damon locked eyes with Graham, inspecting the dark eye-bags and general weary appearance.
“You look like you haven’t slept in days, Gra. Have a lie down.”
“I’ll wake at 4am, in that case,” mumbled Graham. “Have you seen my guitar, Day?”
Damon folded his book and set it aside. “No, sorry Gray.”
An immediate groan came out of Graham, who knew Damon just put his guitar somewhere and forgot about it.
“I haven’t seen your guitar, Gray,” insisted Damon. Graham grumbled under his breath and looked around the room, deciding to stare at the carpet. He took a step towards it, and Damon stuck his foot out to touch Graham’s knee.
“Then sing me something.”
“I’m not a singer,”Graham replied in a dry tone.
“Yeah, but you can sing. You can sing quite well. I’ve heard it a few times.” Damon stretched his arms out, displaying his wide wingspan and inviting Graham into one of those random embraces they liked to share.
“What would you even want me to sing?” asked Graham as he plopped into Damon’s open arms. The sudden pressure on his chest made Damon let out a loud grunt. Still, he returned the hug that his best mate offered.
“I dunno. Oasis?” Damon suggested with a sly smirk that Graham saw in the corner of his eye.
“Wanker. Never, ever…” he mumbled into the fabric of Damon’s soft, warm sweater. Damon fondly tangled his fingers into the thick tufts of hair that stuck out from the top of Graham’s head, now exposed as he buried his face into Damon’s sweater, nuzzling it.
“I always took you for a fan of theirs,” Damon said with a touch of adoration in his voice as he kissed Graham’s dark locks back into place.
“Wanker.” The word came out muffled by the fabric. He nuzzled more into the sweater and repeated it with sleepy certainty. “Wanker.”
“Wanker.” Damon whispered in mock disbelief. “Is that really what you think of me?”
Graham replied with some incoherent mumbling that vibrated into the cloth. So he chose to take that nap, after all.
“See you at 4am, Gra,” said Damon as he reached for his book.