Chapter Text
Damon must have been on the road for at least three hours when he realized he was overwhelmed with restlessness. This was not the calm and relaxing trip he thought it’d be when he got on his trusty steed and headed out.
Britain may not have as large a frontier like North America or Siberia, but the conditionally welcoming presence of so many fir and oak trees was starting to tire him early into his travel. The pine needles, unaffected by winter's incoming brutality, seemed to grow languished and lost all vitality the closer Damon got to his destination.
The wind that blew calmly through the foliage now seemed to sulk at odd angles and meaningless direction.
Perhaps he had reached a point of the woods where the nature could no longer bother to look appealing or pleasant. His eyes grew sore as he scanned his tiresome surroundings every few seconds. There were no forest animals or small creatures for him to look at. Instead he focused on his horse, which carried a pair of eyes so locked on an imaginary horizon that Damon wondered if the horse, too, was as restless as him.
A snort proved him right.
Soon enough, the shrubs growing underfoot started to decrease in their abundance, and Damon exhaled in relief. He was almost there.The long journey had almost made him forget where he was even going, but he did not remind himself with excitement in his heart.
No, instead he felt quite dreadful.
His lifelong friend, Graham Coxon, had written to Damon with a desire to see him. Apparently he had been afflicted with some sort of psychological illness, one that made him unsure he could take care of himself.
In their childhood, Damon and Graham had been very close, closer than any other acquaintances either of them had made. But that was a long time ago, they were now grown and separate. Damon went to study and live in Greater London, but Graham stayed in his Essex residence that resided in the deep countryside.
Nevertheless, they kept eachother in their thoughts; at least enough for Graham to consider Damon in his loneliness.
So Damon left London in haste, not wanting to keep his friend waiting. Now he was starting to feel that he wished Graham had asked someone else to come as he made his poor horse keep trotting through the endless forest.
His annoyance was on the verge of turning into suspense as the dull, dark trees seemed to stare into the back of his head.
Fortunately they reached a turn in the woods, and he looked up.
The Coxon estate was guarded by a large iron gate that shielded a ghastly manor. To say it was homey would be laughable. To laugh in the face of this mansion would be considered dark humor.
‘I guess that this must be the place’, thought Damon.
As he urged his horse to pass through an opening in the gate, he looked up at the intimidating sight: multiple roofs of slate, windows of thick glass that varied in color, and an archway that led to a courtyard.
It was no doubt Gothic architecture. Damon was not fond. Perpetually alarmed by his friend's condition, he slipped off his horse, took his suitcase from the saddle extension, and went towards the high archway. There was no wind, a misty fog that condensed on his boots replaced the breeze.
Shivering not out of coldness, but out of unease, he walked through the courtyard and knocked on the large door of aged wood and rusted iron.
"Albarn?" a weary voice from inside the building asked cautiously, as if it were fearing someone else. It was achingly familiar, albeit melancholy, and invoked a sense of elation in Damon’s chest. It had been a while since he heard that voice, so sweet and gentle to his ears.
"That's Damon to you, mate. How are you?" he grinned, doing little to hide his joy and his previously foreboding mood slowly dissipating as he waited for his friend to open the door.
"Oh." said the voice. It did not sound disappointed; more-so relieved.
And so he did what Damon was waiting on. Graham slowly unlocked the latch, breaking the barrier between the house and the outside world.
Graham Coxon stood at the entrance of the doorway, staring at Damon as if he didn't expect him to actually come, looking like a starving beggar given bread. A thrill spread throughout Damon’s spine, making him realize just how much he had missed him.
Graham’s thin lips curved into a lukewarm smile, surely the most warmth a man that looked so cold could muster.
Damon stepped closer, taking in the details of Graham's face.
It was marked with exhaustion- dark patches of misery under his eyes, pale lips and skin, and he had wild yet utterly empty eyes that were glazed over with a layer of nothingness. Nonetheless, his pupils began to shine as he looked back at Damon.
Acting upon instinct, Damon stretched out his arms for a warm hug. Graham widened his shy smile sincerely, hiding his desperation in an honest attempt. He accepted the hug gratefully, dragging it a bit longer than necessary for his own personal benefit.
But Damon didn't mind, of course. He took the time to slide his hands to Graham's waist, which had always been notoriously slim. It seemed thinner now, to an almost frightening degree. Damon frowned behind Graham's shoulder.
As they ended the hug, Graham tousled his hair nervously and chewed at his lip, like a pestering child that had finally gotten the attention of his mother and now didn’t know what to say. His breathing was irregular but measured, meticulously trying to keep a rhythm between hyperventilation and labored respiration. In his weakened state, even a mere hug knocked the wind out of his delicate lungs.
Further observation of his body’s condition proved he was underfed- his wrists were skinny and angular, his collarbone protruding, and pallid muscles appeared taut under his sensitive skin.
Damon felt the urge to hold him in his hands like a moth or a canary and attempt to blow life back into the feeble creature. Shaking off the concern and pity, he resolved to break the ice best way he could.
"I'll ask again, Graham,” he announced in a pretend stern voice. Graham did not catch on the satirical intention.
He looked up at Damon with questioning eyes. Curious eyes, they were. Eyes can be curious and bold, or curious and apprehensive. Graham had the latter. Damon thought they looked beautiful. Doe-like and soft.
"How are you?" Damon repeated, tilting his head a bit as he continued to study Graham's face. It was still young, for they had grown up together not too long ago.
The only signs of aging seemed to be acquired from possible malnutrition and general lack of self care. His cheekbones casted a faint shadow on the side of his jaw, which tensed up as he thought about how to answer the simple question. The typical answer would be 'fine, thanks, how about you?' but Graham looked like replying with that would be dishonest.
"Considerably...well. I've uh, been better, I suppose. But I'm all right. Thank you." he looked down at his thumbs, which were rubbing against each other as he fidgeted. His voice was quite soft, smoother than Damon had remembered it, due to his fatigued state.
"Yeah?" Damon responded as he continued to make long glances at Graham's features.
The next target was his hair, which hung from his head in suspended webs, as if there was no gravity to pull it down to his forehead. It looked soft yet solid at the same time, wet as driftwood and dryer than firewood.
Damon brushed it down with his fingers, sifting through the fragile material and noting with disdain the way Graham slightly flinched at the touch.
As kids, physical touch was not at all an issue. In fact, they cherished their loving intimacy, hugging, tickling, and teasing whenever they pleased. This was completely normal given their age and their affection for each other.
Even though they have grown, Damon did not expect any change.
Perhaps Graham was more mature and aloof now. Perhaps something was really wrong. Or perhaps it wasn't to do with him, and he just stopped liking Damon.
With this in mind, he retracted his hand from Graham's hair and flashed him an innocent, reassuring glance, although he was really the one that had to be reassured right now.
A sigh came out of Graham, leaving his throat with a shaky stuttering of his shoulders. Suspiring seemed to be Graham’s main method of breathing, as it was the most energy-efficient way to expel carbon for oxygen. With this newfound air in his lungs, Graham could afford to speak clearly.
"I really wanted to see you. Thank you for coming. Sorry about the location... it's a bit of a journey." Graham said all of this in earnest, which made Damon feel a little better.
"A bit? Gra, my legs must've fallen asleep by the hundredth mile. Why do you live across the country from civilization?"
"Nonsense...just a slow horse you have, I expect." This earned Graham a friendly slap on the shoulder, and he chuckled.
The moment did not last long, and Damon saw all the happiness drain from Graham’s face and become replaced with horror as he slowly turned to the interior of the house.
“Well, here you are. My humble abode.” he sniffed, rubbing his nose as a reflexive response to the dust that is visibly gathered all over.
Damon stepped further inside and looked around. Tall ceiling, cold stone floor, and pieces of furniture soaked in the undeniable sadness that overlapped every shadow. The mist from outside did not seem intimidated by the door, as it lay suspended throughout the room, shining in an eerie tint. Everything looked cold and felt dark.
It was like the house was a sponge for dismay, and Graham was becoming a part of it. An unmistakably blue hue shone through his fine skin, bunching up under his eyes and in his hands, which he had brought to his mouth to chew on the skin around his fingers.
He looked at Damon solemnly, as if to say ‘I don’t blame you if you want to leave’
But Damon wouldn’t leave Graham lonely. Not there.
He was here now, ready to take care of Graham and make him feel happy again.