Chapter Text
It was quite empty of people again, as usual, Graham Coxon was in his happy place.
He continued to organize the books on the shelf and paid no mind to the sound of rain pattering against the windows. It was quite soothing, to be honest, there was barely anyone in the library today so he could probably go home early.
Graham loved his job as a librarian; he even looked the part with his thick-rimmed glasses and baggy jumper. Others may think it's the most boring job in the world, but to him; it was peace and quiet. A rare thing for him to get these days. But Graham would be lying to himself if he said this was a recent event.
He placed the last book from the cart back onto the shelf and wheeled the cart back to the storage room, walking past the numerous shelves that were void of any students. He closed the door behind him after putting the cart away and went back to the checkout desk. Graham sat down with a quiet sigh and leaned back in his seat, his mind beginning to wander again. The silence was almost deafening. If he dropped a pin, he could possibly hear it. He counted the number of people present, six in total.
They were all students studying for their upcoming exams. Graham didn't guess, he knew this for a fact.
For the past twenty-one years that Graham Coxon has been alive, he's been hiding a secret that only a few knew of. Well, the few being only his parents. He was forbidden by them to tell anyone of his secret or his "gift" as his mother calls it. He likes to think of it more of a curse. Strangely enough, having what could possibly be a supernatural ability wasn't as appealing as it sounds.
It started as early as he could remember, around the time he was seven years old. He would hear voices, not inside his head, however; from other people around him. He first heard it from his neighbor who was talking with his mother, she complimented her dress but as soon his mother walked away after saying goodbye, he heard her nasally voice saying it was the ugliest piece of cloth she had ever seen.
The next time it happened it was during recess. He remembered looking away in shyness when he heard a girl in his grade complimenting his hair and the color of his eyes. Graham loved it at first, he felt as though he was a secret member of the X-Men. It certainly had its benefits when it came to knowing what the answers were to a test or finding out where his mother hid the sweets in the kitchen. But as he got older, he began to see the cons of his ability.
The malicious thoughts of his bullies hurt just as much as the physical torment he was getting from them almost every day. The slurs and insults were constant, "queer", "loser", you name it and it drove Graham mad. His outlet would be painting, drawing, and listening to The Human League just to get through all that nonsense.
Until one day, he finally learned to control his power, tuning out the voices so he could only hear them if he wanted to. It took some time and patience, but it was worth it when he couldn't hear their irritating taunts anymore. There was still the occasional shoves and mean pranks now and then, but something was something.
After that, Graham began to do research on his telepathy. He often frequented bookstores or libraries whenever he had the time to do so. He spent days, weeks, even months learning as much as he could about the subject. Telepathy was complex, to say the least. He studied the many different types and variations of it, visual mind reading, empathy, telepathic speaking, it was a lot to take in.
He began thinking if his power would ever develop one day, perhaps grow stronger than it was. His question was answered when he turned thirteen. He could feel emotions from other people, He felt sadness from one person and then joy the next one he saw. As he grew, so did his telepathy.
When he was sixteen, he developed another quirk. It happened when he unknowingly asked his mother a question about his allowance. What he didn't realize was that he asked her with his mind. The awkward conversation that followed made Graham realize that he couldn't hide his telepathy forever. He felt guilty for keeping it from them for so long, he then decided that he had to tell them the truth.
As he expected; they didn't believe him and looked at him as if he went insane. So he had proved it to them. He would never forget the look on their faces. To sum it all up, his mother cried for at least ten minutes, his father was quite shocked but told Graham nothing has changed and that he was still his son. After his mother stopped crying, she hugged him with such affection; declaring that Graham was a blessed child and that she always knew he was special.
Graham wondered what would happen if he told them he was into men. Perhaps the same reaction?
When hell freezes over, Graham thought bitterly. He picked up a pencil and began to doodle in his small notepad, he might as well do something to pass the time since he still had an hour left. He began drawing little symbols here and there, somewhat like hieroglyphics before deciding to draw a tree.
He became so lost in his drawing that he almost didn't hear the library doors open, the sound of rain and footsteps breaking the silence instantly. Graham looked up and noticed a young man around his age unzipping his blue jacket, running a hand through his wet hair. The man looked around as he walked further into the quiet room, scanning the area and ultimately locked eyes with Graham.
Graham felt his cheeks grow warm and looked down, pretending he was writing something down. He waited a minute before cautiously looking back up and he observed that the man was closer to him now, standing in front of a shelf. Maybe he needs help with something, Graham thought. He couldn't simply walk over to him, however. He probably wants to be left alone, his voice of reason argued.
His inner turmoil came to a halt as he saw the man pick out a book from one of the shelves. Perhaps he found what he was looking for after all. Graham went back to doodling and tried to think nothing of it. He froze when he heard someone clear his throat quietly in front of him, he already knew who it was.
Graham looked up and whatever thought that he was going to speak aloud ceased to exist. He finally had a clear look at the stranger, he was absolutely gorgeous. He had gunmetal blue eyes, dirty blonde hair, a lean figure, and he had the most lovely smile that Graham had ever seen. He also noticed a necklace with multiple colors and differently shaped beads around his neck and a silver earring in one of his ears.
Graham sat up straight in his seat and set down his pencil; taking a moment before speaking as calmly as he could. "Do you need any assistance?" He asked in a nonchalant manner.
The man's polite smile widened slightly and he nodded. "I was wondering if you can check this out for me." He stated as he handed over a hardback copy of a book to Graham. "It's for one of my classes, but I can't find the exact book I want. So this will have to do, I mean it's on the list." Graham nodded in understanding and was about to scan it before stopping to look at the stranger.
"Wait. Do you remember the title? Or the author?"
The man hummed in thought. "I believe the last name was Ishiguro, something like that."
Graham moved towards the computer and typed in the name, glancing back up at the man.
"Is it The Remains of the Day?" Graham asked with a bit of hope in his tone.
The man's face brightened and nodded. "That's the one, is it available?"
Graham clicked on the title and made a noise of pity, looking back at the man.
"Sorry, all the copies have been checked out."
The man sighed and made a small shrug. "Shame. I guess I can come back another time."
Graham quickly spoke up. "I can save the book for you when a copy gets returned."
What the hell am I doing? It was as if someone else had spoken for him.
The man made a small smile. "You can do that?"
Graham leaned forward a bit and smiled back politely. "Sure. Of course, I can."
He grabbed his pencil and moved his notepad away, grabbing a note from the small pile of sticky notes and began to copy down the information. I'm just helping him out, that's all I'm doing, he recited in his head.
"That's a nice drawing." The man remarked, staring at Graham's notepad.
Graham paused in his writing and stared up at the man. "Oh. Thank you..uh…" He trailed off, realizing in total embarrassment that he didn't even ask him his name.
The man caught on and smirked. "My name's Damon."
Graham made a soft hum and smiled. "Damon." He mimicked back as if he were testing out the name. "I'm Graham." He replied in return.
Damon's smile grew wider as he stuck out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Graham."
Graham hesitated for a second before shaking his hand, he was surprised to feel the warmth coming from this single touch. How was he so comfortable with such cold and wet weather?
He let go of Damon's hand almost reluctantly; already missing the cozy feeling. He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, focusing back on Damon. "Right. Well, I got the information here. So I'll just mark it down the title down as unavailable until a copy gets brought back."
"Maybe I can have your number instead, so you can let me know? It'd be easier that way, wouldn't it?" Damon quipped, making a noncommittal shrug.
Graham's eyes widened a bit and he let out a short laugh. "Uh...that's fine, I suppose."
Damon's expression turned into an apprehensive one. "If you don't feel comfortable with that, that's okay."
"No, no. I'm okay with it, don't worry. You're not forcing me or anything, trust me." Graham reassured him, struggling to keep a smile off his face.
Damon was obviously fighting the same battle and nodded. "That's good to hear."
Graham peeled off another sticky note and quickly wrote down his phone number, writing his name underneath it. "Here you go." He said quietly, handing it to Damon with a pleased expression.
Damon thanked him and folded the note, putting it away in his jean pocket. He looked at Graham with a curious expression. "Let me give you mine, just in case I lose yours." Graham agreed and handed Damon his pencil and a note, he was silent as he watched Damon scribble hastily onto the note.
He murmured thanks as he gave Graham the note and pencil back, tilting his head as he glanced back at him. "Hey, I was just wondering, you do go to Goldsmiths, right? I don't think I've seen you around."
"Oh, I do. I just don't stick around after class unless I want to." Graham replied casually. "I usually spend time in the art department."
Damon smirked. "Aha, so you are an artist."
Graham let out a sigh and tried not to smile. "Yes, you can say that. I'm no Picasso, but I think I'm decent enough."
Damon nodded, staring back at the drawing again. "It looks more than that to me," He commented in approval. "If you call this decent, I wonder what your actual paintings look like."
Graham scoffed. "Now I think you're just trying to make me feel better."
Damon shook his head and looked back at Graham. "I'm not. I would say you're a modern Picasso if I was trying to kiss your arse."
Graham stifled a laugh and looked at Damon, covering his mouth briefly. "You've just described half the people I've come across on campus."
Damon leaned closer; gazing at Graham with a playful expression. "That makes two of us then."
They both stared at each other with amiable smiles on their faces for a moment or two. Graham wanted to know so badly what he was thinking, he told himself he would only use his ability if it was absolutely necessary. I think it's necessary now.
Graham moved his elbow slightly; causing his pencil to fall onto the tile floor with a soft clack. "Damn, hold on." He said as he ducked underneath his desk, grabbing the pencil before it rolled away any further. He closed his eyes and focused his senses on Damon, he felt the familiar, eerie, echoing noise that would be usually be followed by a rash confession or an insult.
He heard nothing.
Graham furrowed his brows and tried again, he was met with nothing but silence. That's odd. He thought. He couldn't hear Damon's thoughts at all. That's very odd.
"Is everything all right down there?" Damon asked from up above.
Graham snapped out his thoughts and moved to stand up; unfortunately, he had forgotten that he was under a desk and hit his head against the wood, hissing in pain. "Ow, fuck!" He spat out quietly. He moved out from underneath the desk, rubbing his head briefly before standing up. His face felt as though it was burning up from the shame and avoided any eye contact with Damon. Just kill me now.
"Okay, right." He sat back down in his chair and looked towards the computer monitor. "The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro. I'll keep an eye out for it." Graham turned to look at Damon who had a look of concern mixed with the slightest hint of amusement.
"You alright? That sounded like it hurt."
Graham let out an exasperated sigh and made a bashful expression, gaining the courage to meet Damon's eyes again. "I'm alright. That was real smooth of me, wasn't it?" Congratulations Graham, you officially made yourself look like a dolt in front of him.
Damon made a quiet chuckle. "You're only human. Besides, it was quite charming hearing you swear."
Graham raised an eyebrow. "That's usually the last thing I would expect someone to say about swearing." He shrugged, making a small smile. "But thanks anyway."
"Anytime," Damon replied. He paused for a moment before straightening his stance, staring back at Graham. "I should probably get going, but thanks for all your help. I definitely owe you one."
Graham nodded. "It's no trouble. Like I said, I'll ring you when a copy gets returned."
Damon smiled as he stuffed his hands into his jean pockets, never taking his eyes off of Graham. "Sounds good. I'll be waiting for your call then." He winked as he stepped back from the desk. "I'll see ya."
Graham gazed back at him in content, nodding slowly. "Yeah, see ya."
He watched as Damon turned around, striding towards the library doors. He let out a breath he didn't know he was even holding. Good god, he's something else. Graham kept his eyes on him and he felt his breath catch in his throat when Damon glanced over his shoulder, pausing right in front of the exit. He made a small wave that Graham reciprocated before finally going through the doors, the sound of rain and wind disrupting the silence once again.
Graham smiled to himself as he picked up the book Damon selected, standing up from his seat and walked towards the shelf it was occupying before and placed back where it belonged. He sighed quietly and went back to his desk, sitting down in his chair and rested his chin on his hand. He spotted the note with Damon's phone number and picked it up carefully as if it were made of glass.
Graham stared at the small piece of paper for God knows how long until he heard his watch beep.
It was four o'clock, his shift was over. Time to go home. Graham folded the note and put it away in his pocket, he logged out of the computer and got out of his chair; right at that moment, he felt a pat on his shoulder. He turned around and smiled politely when he saw his co-worker and fellow student, her wavy brown hair, and olive skin becoming recognizable by now.
"Hey, Miranda." Graham greeted.
"Hey there, getting ready to go home?" Miranda cheerfully asked.
Graham stretched his arms out slightly, stifling a yawn. "Yeah, I'm absolutely exhausted."
She scoffed and pointed her finger accusingly at him. "That's because you don't get enough sleep. You're always up late doing your art or playing music, or going to pubs."
Graham rolled his eyes. "That's not all I do." He mumbled grumpily, knowing that she was right.
Miranda shook her head and smirked. "Whatever you say, dear. Now off with you, I'm taking over. And get some rest." She patted his shoulder once more and sat in the chair, typing away at the keyboard.
"God, you sound like my mum," Graham complained as he gathered his things.
"Only because I care about you," Miranda added, never taking her eyes off the screen as she typed.
Graham made a small smile, zipping up his bag once he finished packing. "Right, see you later."
"See you later." Miranda mimicked, giving him a quick smile before looking back at the monitor.
Graham walked to the employee lounge, grabbing his jacket from the coat closet and closed the door behind him once he put it on. He punched out of work and walked out the back door without another glance.
~~~~
Graham arrived home less than twenty minutes later; which surprised him due to the gloomy weather. He locked the door behind him and dropped his bag onto the side table, removing his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack to dry. He kicked off his shoes and checked his pocket, sighing in relief when the note with Damon's number was safe and intact.
He went into his quaint living room, stopping briefly to turn on the lamps and then proceeded to the kitchen. He turned on the lights and hummed quietly to himself as he grabbed the empty kettle, turning on the faucet and filling it with water. Once it was halfway, he turned off the faucet and put the lid back on, placing it on the stove. He turned on the gas and set to a stable setting, watching the blue flames flicker underneath the kettle.
He sat down at the small dining table, fishing out a cigarette from the carton that he left out earlier. He took out his lighter from his pocket and lit the cigarette with a flick of his finger, closing it shut as he saw the familiar orange embers appear. He took a drag and blew out the smoke with a quiet sigh, leaning back against the chair. Now that he was alone and had nothing to do, he had time to think.
He remembered that he wasn't able to read Damon's mind.
Why him? Why only him?
Graham made sure that nothing was wrong with his ability, testing it out on the people around him on the bus home earlier. He heard all their thoughts, an old man thinking about buying flowers for his wife, a businesswoman thinking about of all her upcoming deadlines and meetings and so on. So what was so different about Damon? There would have been that excuse that he wasn't just thinking of anything at the moment, but Graham knew better.
Everybody will always be thinking of something, no matter what. Involuntary "thought chatter" was as unavoidable as death itself. That didn't concern Graham, either way, thankfully he managed to tune out the "radio waves" as he called it.
He continued to smoke, waiting for the kettle to whistle. In the meantime, he decided he might as well listen to some music. He left his smoke in the ashtray and he got up, turning on the radio resting on the counter, switching from station to station until he found a song he liked.
New Order's Age of Consent played softly in the background as Graham rummaged through his drawers, looking for a teaspoon. He found one and opened up a cabinet, taking out a cup and setting it down alongside the spoon, he paused in his movements when he heard his phone ringing. Graham looked at the device in curiosity as he briskly walked over to it.
He picked up the handset and cleared his throat before answering. "Hello?"
"Hello?" An unfamiliar voice responded.
His calm expression turned into a confused one. "Who is this?"
There was silence on the other end for a moment. "Is this the number of the Modern Picasso? If not, I apologize sincerely." Graham made a quiet laugh, his face breaking into a slow smile. Damon.
"Didn't I say that I would be the one to ring you?"
He could hear the mirthfulness in Damon's voice as he spoke. "Yeah, I wanted to see if it was the right number."
Graham scoffed. "I'm not that cold for your information. I do have a heart."
He heard Damon laughing through the other end and heard the sound of rustling, indicating that Damon might have been moving to sit down. "I figured. I guess a part of me wanted to make sure, you know? Also maybe I just wanted to talk to you again."
Graham leaned against the wall; unable to wipe his bashful smile off his face. "Is that so?"
"Yeah, is that fine with you?" Damon asked politely.
"Of course, I mean-" Graham was interrupted by the sharp, piercing, whistle coming from the kitchen. "Oh damn, hang on a moment. I left the kettle on." He placed the handset next to the receiver and jogged over to the stove, turning it off. He carefully took hold of the handle, moving it over to the other side of the stove and setting it down.
He walked back to the phone and picked up the handset, holding it up to his ear again. "Sorry 'bout that." He replied, pushing his glasses back into place. "What were you saying?"
"I believe you were saying something actually," Damon responded.
Graham made a noise of irritation, shaking his head. "Right. I was saying…that's it okay to talk to me. We should get to know each other, I suppose." Very smooth of you, that wasn't awkwardly put whatsoever.
"We should, there's lots we don't know about each other. I don't even know your last name."
"We didn't exchange last names, did we? It's Coxon." Graham responded.
"Graham Coxon." Damon sounded out. "I'm Damon Albarn."
"There we go then. Now we're getting to know each other." Graham joked, twirling the phone cord with his fingers. He mentally stopped himself and let go of the cord. You're not a bloody schoolgirl.
"That we are. How old are you?" Damon asked nonchalantly.
"Twenty-one. You?"
"Twenty-two. So you're younger." Graham heard the smirk in Damon's tone.
"Shut up. Only by one year." He mumbled, making a reluctant smile.
"Still older. What else do you do aside from art?" Damon chimed.
"I play guitar. I also play the saxophone. You play anything?" Graham said as he took a few steps to sit in the chair next to the end table.
"I do actually, piano and guitar. I do a bit of singing too." Damon added.
Graham made a quiet hum of approval. "Nice."
"Thanks. "When's your birthday?"
"March 12th."
"That's not far from now. I'm in March too, mine falls on the 23rd."
"That's neat," Graham said, a smile still on his face, unwilling to disappear. "Where you from?"
"Colchester in Essex."
Graham paused for a moment. "Are you serious?"
"What?" Damon replied.
"I lived in Colchester as well. I moved over there when I was younger."
"Huh. Small world."
"I guess it is."
"Shame we didn't know each other. I feel like we could have been good mates."
"Better late than never," Graham spoke softly.
"Yeah," Damon replied with the same tone. "You got a point there."
There was another comfortable silence between them until Graham heard Damon let out a quiet swear.
"Look, I hate to cut this short, but I just remembered I need to run an errand. I'm sorry." Damon spoke apologetically.
"That's alright. Can't be helped." Graham answered, quickly hiding the sudden, slight disappointment he felt. "It was nice talking to you again." He finished.
"Yeah, same here," Damon said. "Listen, before I go, I was wondering if maybe you'd like to have a drink with me sometime."
Graham's grip on the handset tightened ever so slightly, his free hand once again toying with the cord.
"S-Sure, I'd like that. When?" Graham said as casually as he possibly could.
"Are you free Saturday?" Damon asked, his voice going from cautious to almost enthusiastic.
"I am, actually. Any place in mind?" Graham inquired.
"There's a pub about a ten-minute walk from my place, I'll give you the address."
"Hang on, let me get a pen." Graham placed the handset down again and walked over to his bag, shuffling through it and eventually finding his pen and notepad. He went back to the phone, picking up the piece of plastic. "Right, ready when you are." He replied curtly.
Graham wrote onto the paper as Damon spoke into his ear, copying down the address. He set the pen down when Damon finished speaking, looking at the newly written information. "Got it. What time?"
"How does half past seven sound?" Damon asked.
"Sounds good. So I guess I'll see you Saturday then." Graham answered cheerfully.
"Until Saturday. See you soon, Graham." Damon responded softly.
"See you soon," Graham said briskly, he set down the handset onto the receiver with a soft click and let out a sigh, leaning back against the wooden chair.
He shook his head and laughed quietly, staring at the phone in a sense of disbelief. It was actually happening.
Holy fuck. I might be going on a date.