Chapter Text
Clutching his freshly warmed, authentic New York classic bagel and an empty bag of nothing, Graham entered an auspicious record shop. His eyes lazily hovered over every inch of the space before pausing to turn to his bagel, giving him the ultimate concentration needed to take a delicious bite out of it. Back to scanning the perimeter. There weren’t many people in, surprisingly.
It was his first week in New York, but he had already come to terms with the overflowing population. It wasn’t too different from Boston, but there was a certain personality of the boroughs that instantly made it known where you are, no matter what level of disorientation or lack of situational awareness you harbor.
Which was good in Graham’s case as he had his head in the clouds most times. Manhattan had made a good first impression on him.
A bustling city of many different people, cultures, ethnicities, you name it. Everyone had places to be and things to do. Like the rats he had yet to encounter on the subway they scurried in one direction or the other, filling up buildings as quick as they left them. Orderly in an extremely overwhelming way.
Graham resolved to just stare at his feet to ignore the bustle and rustle. Which resulted in him bumping into a stranger, halting his journey to the back of the shop.
“My bad.” He continued walking. Almost instantly he met a wall and turned around.
“Look up, maybe,” the stranger mumbled. A very clear New York accent hung from his words.
Graham wondered if he’d be able to get used to it. Looking up, he noticed the man was his age, and wore an NYU jacket. The college Graham had transferred to, and the reason he’s here.
“Uh huh. Sorry.” He took another bite out of his bagel, not wanting it to get cold.
“You a tourist?” The man scoffed. “That place overcharges you.”
“It’s good though. Um. Fluffy. No, I’m not a tourist, by the way. Transferred to NYU.” Graham punctuated his words with a point to the man’s jacket.
“Oh” was all he said in return as he looked Graham up from down. The converse, the light denim jeans, the widely striped tee, the glasses… still chewing his bagel. No, thought too soon- he swallowed it.
“What?”
“Nothi- actually, I won’t lie, you don’t look like an NYU student. I dunno.”
“And you do? Dude, you’re wearing a varsity jacket. I didn’t know NYU even had varsity jackets.”
“I’m pretty sure I got it from a garage sale, it’s like, fan-made or something.”
“Yea, looks like it.” Graham remarked, and finished his bagel. It only took him a handful of bites. It was a small thing. They definitely overcharged him.
“Okay. Rude. Where are you from, even.” The stranger rolled his eyes.
“Toronto,” he said dryly.
“No wonder you’re so…nerd looking,” he said with a cocky smirk.
Graham just laughed, taking off his glasses to shamelessly wipe them clean. The stranger’s smile faded.
“What?”
“I’m from Boston, man. Well, Province Town. If you know where that is. Transferred from Boston University. Do you reckon it’s a downgrade?” Graham put his glasses back on, and somehow the action was more-so intimidating than nerd-ish.
“Fuck you. NYU is way better. I should know, cause I’m nearly failing but I bet I could sleep through whatever Boston has to offer.” The stranger was clearly peeved, grinding his jaw a bit.
“Nah, you’d fail there too. What’s your name?” Graham had become accustomed to the casually disrespectful nature of the conversation and allowed himself to divert his attention to the vinyls.
“Damon. Albarn. Yours?” He only watched as Graham flipped through the records, ignoring the ones Damon liked and faltering whenever he saw an album more recent than ‘84.
“John.” Graham replied automatically, not looking up from the vinyl he was holding: Duran Duran’s self titled.
“Is that just a coincidence or…?” Damon asked as he followed Graham’s gaze onto John Taylor’s face on the album cover.
“No, sorry, my name’s Graham. I don’t look like a John at all,” he replied with an honest laugh.
“So. John. What, uh… music do they like to listen to on the Mayflower?”
The question assaulted Graham’s ears. It was loaded with insult. But it was coming from a college student wearing a varsity jacket, so he took it lightly.
“Asshat. If my accent’s that bad, you should’ve known I wasn’t from Toronto,” Graham stated as he held up The Cars’ self titled and Talk Talk’s The Party’s Over, wiggling it near Damon’s face.
Ignoring his reply, Damon grabbed the vinyls and flipped them both around.
“Copyright 1982… and ‘78. This is old news, man. And The Cars... you've got no style."
"No style? These guys are from Boston! And need I remind you about that jacket?"
"Asshat, this thing is beautiful."
Graham actually laughed this time, enjoying how quickly he was able to establish a push and shove dynamic between him and some guy he just met minutes ago.
"Anyway... why don’t you listen to the current stuff? Like Bryan Ferry. You know his new album comes out Friday, right?”
“Bryan who? Dunno him. I prefer bands, anyway,” Graham said with a nonchalant shrug, putting the vinyls back in their alphabet order.
“You don’t even know Roxy Music? That’s his band. Produced by Brian Eno, same guy who was with Talking Heads,” Damon explained quite matter-of-factly, which annoyed Graham just a tad.
“You sure do know a lot about music. I’m just here for nostalgic purposes. I like some of the Talking Heads…their debut was good.”
“What’s up, did you fall into a multiple years long coma and only just come out? That was a whole seven albums ago!” Damon, too, was getting annoyed.
“Relax, dude, it’s just music. What are you, majoring in that?” Graham asked, quite proud of his insolence.
“No, I wanted to. But my folks wanted me to go into something more professional, whatever that means. I do marketing,” Damon announced with no proud evident on his face.
“Truly the wolf of Wall Street, huh.” Graham turned to pick at another aisle, one a couple meters away. For second Damon's heart dropped, thinking he was leaving. He wasn't sure why that affected him so. His heart dropped again when he noticed an earring on Graham's left ear, revealed by the new angle. It matched Damon's left earring. It was probably nothing.
“And what are you majoring in?” Damon questioned politely, curious as to what interested this interesting guy.
“Well, I was studying computer science ‘cos my pop said it’d be good for me, but I think he was wrong. Shocker. So I think I’d prefer human geography or something, I wasn’t really excited to get my college degree anyway. Maybe music.” He said the last bit with a grin, knowing how much it would offend Damon- who instantly proved him right.
“You? Music? Don’t play with me, man. I bet you don’t even know what a melodica is.”
“They really got you failing? You’re absolutely right, I have no idea what that is.” Graham chuckled again, cutting himself off with a delighted gasp as he pulled out ABC’s Lexicon of Love.
“Just what I needed,” he said in a sing-song voice, imitating The Cars’ song. Of course.
“Not as old as I expected from you, hey! Good on you. Just hope you don’t plan on blasting it into the halls. The walls are thin.” Damon sassed, purely satisfied with how bratty he sounded at the moment.
“Oh, I’ll make sure the whole floor can hear it,” Graham replied with an adequate amount of sassiness in return, slipping the vinyl into a paper sleeve. “Are you getting anything?”
“Me? Nah… I was just looking around. Bête Noire doesn’t release ‘til in a few days. Hey, when it does, do you wanna give it a listen together?” Damon asked, cupping his hands together. Nervous. Hopeful. Maybe both.
“Really? For sure, I’d love to. What kinda music is it?” Graham clenched the paper sleeve with care and started to walk in the direction of the exit. Damon followed after.
“I don’t really know how to describe it… maybe taking music classes would’ve helped,” he said with a laugh. “But I guess it’s a sort of.. well it’s very 80s. If that makes much sense. It’s a lot of noises, it’s kind of dark, super romantic. Bryan is a sexy guy. In my opinion. Well not really just in my opinion, everyone thinks so. He’s got a good voice. Not high pitched or whiny at all. Sort of ethereal, in a way.”
Damon said all of this with an obvious stammer, as if trying to rebut each sentence with another one after it, which also needed clarification. It was endearing to Graham. At least it got the job done.
“I think I know what you mean… where’s your pad? I’m somewhere in Greenwich Village.”
“No shit, everyone lives there.” Damon replied with an unbothered rough edge to his words.
Graham didn’t reply, waiting for him to try again, this time with manners. It was clear in the way he walked ahead of Damon, unfaltering. Jerk. Although it was hard to be angry at him as he stared at Graham from behind. His wide shoulders and thin waist were impossible to ignore.
“Hayden Hall, around West Village. That’s where I am,” Damon answered, looking down at his hands.
“I was gonna go there… but I’m also thinking between that or somewhere in Union Square,” Graham considered, finally looking behind his shoulder to gaze at Damon.
“Don’t go to Union Square. If you uh, want my advice.”
“How come?”
“I dunno. Just don’t.”
“Alright.”
They walked out of the shop, the mass of people crowded in the streets instantly returning them to the real world. Homecoming Week. It was a mess.
“Well, I’ll be seeing you, then? I gotta go cancel my check-in at the hostel I was staying at.”
Damon nodded, unsure how else to end the conversation. “Yea. Peace.” With a wave, they parted ways, going into opposite directions on the same street.