Graham

"Hey mate, do you think I could bum one of those off you? I'm fresh out."

I stare at the stranger who stares back. My eyes are probably wide behind my glasses and my heart is sped up in fear. He just waits patiently. I hand him the cigarette that he takes without a word before lighting it and sucking in a large amount of smoke. I admire his features as he gives the city lights a dazed, but happy look. So many questions swim through my head, but before I can swallow my anxiety and ask him something, he talks first.

"Were you at the party downstairs?" He asks and I shake my head no. He laughs, showing off his somewhat wonky teeth. "You missed out! The live band was amazing!" He cheers cockily. I recognize his voice though, now that the initial shock of finding a stranger on my balcony has worn off. He's really trying to fish for compliments?

Though I'm not fully terrified of him anymore, the anxiety hasn't left my body. "I-I'm not the biggest f-fan of parties. I had some work around he-here to finish anyways." I respond while silently cursing my nervous stutter for making me sound so childish and vulnerable. The man just lazily smiles my way with a hint of amusement in his eyes. My cheeks go warm with embarrassment.

"Well, you probably would have enjoyed this one." He shrugs as he hastily finishes his cigarette and throws it over the metal railing. How the fuck did he smoke that so fast? Did he even let himself think about his inevitable death every time he blew out smoke? Maybe it's just me that does that last one.

I take my time while I finish my fag. When I stub it out into my ashtray and begin to make my way back inside, the man follows and I stop with my hand on the doorknob. I don't want him to come inside. What if he makes fun of me for my messy apartment? I don't know who he is. What if he thinks my apartment is like this all the time? I mean, it is. But that's beside the point!

"We going in?" He asks from behind me and I take a deep breath before opening the door and inviting him. He doesn't laugh at the mess of books stacked in every corner or the empty mugs of coffee sitting around. He just lays down on top of the heap of blankets on my couch. I've decided that he's not a threat, but my brain is still in defence mode. Just as I'm about to go lock myself in my room, he mumbles something.

"Huh?" I ask, praying that he was actually asking me something and that I'm not just making a fool out of myself.

"Stay here. I want someone to talk to." He mumbles it again, but I can hear him clearly, now that I'm listening for him. I heave out a sigh as I sit down on the love seat and face him, pulling my knees to my chest. I'm extremely uncomfortable right now and I hope it doesn't transfer over to him. Even though he did rudely intrude and invite himself into my home, I want to be a good host for him. I don't get visitors to often if it wasn't already hard to tell.

"S-So what's your name?" Why am I still nervous? It's been established so far that this man is harmless and just drunk. Why is my mind telling me that he's unsafe? I don't even think he could get up right now even if he wanted to.

"Damon Albarn. Remember that name. You'll hear it again one day." His eyes are droopy and he's obviously falling asleep, but every time his breathing evens out and I think I can go back to my room to go to bed, his eyes shoot open. It's like he's fighting off sleep.

"What's your name, love?" He asks after a few minutes of him fading in and out of consciousness. I find him somewhat good looking as he perks up a bit, waiting for my response. I make him wait a bit, taking a moment to think about how unlike me this all is. I don't even know Damon at all, and now he's sprawled out on my couch like he pays bills here. I just sat back and let this happen too. "Well?"

"Graham." I finally answer. I don't stutter either. It would be quite humiliating if I stuttered out my own name. I'm happy that my voice wasn't against me.

"Hmm. You do look like a Graham." What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Damon has confused me a lot so far and we've only met maybe 15 minutes ago. I can't say that my night would be interesting without this encounter, but I never really liked surprises. I want my life to be like stagnant air and still pools of water. Unmoving.

"W-What do you mean by that?" I try to be polite as I as possibly can. I'm not sure if I even meant to speak up, but the words tumbled from my lips like I couldn't hold them in if I even tries.

"Fuck if I know. You just look- cute. Y'know? The name fits you very well." Damon waves off my question and I blush a bright red colour at his compliment. Nobody's ever called me cute before. I look back to Damon to see that he's finally fallen asleep. I get up and go into my bedroom, laying down in my mess of blankets once again.

My brain wanders to thoughts only reserved for late nights. Would a sleepless night really be sleepless if I didn't drudge up every past mistake and regret I've stored away? Probably not.

I think back to the time Grace had booked me an appointment with a therapist because she was worried about me. I initially didn't want to go, but she had already payed for it and I felt bad for making her waste my money on me. I just remember the young therapist asking me what I reckon my last through would be if I were to die, I told her that it would probably be something along the lines of finally. She had gasped as if it was something that she'd never heard someone utter anything like that, but I was there because I wanted to die. She knew that.

The memory makes me laugh even though it's not really all that funny. I guess I'm just making light of the situation I was in back then. I can't really say I was in the best of places, hell, I'm still not doing all that great, but it was a lot worse those few years ago. I can't count the amount of times I had stared at the streets below my balcony and thought about just jumping. I never really plucked up enough courage to do so though because of my deathly fear of heights. That reminds me, how did Damon get on my balcony? My apartment is on the eighth floor.

I shake the pointless thought out of my head before I snuggle into my duvet and focus on falling asleep to the loud snores in the room just outside my bedroom door. It's surprisingly easier than I thought it would be.

***

"Graham! Do you have an extra toothbrush lying about?" My eyes shoot open and I lay unmoving in my bed, fear taking over my body before I completely relax and remember last night in waves. Damon on my balcony, me letting him into my home, Damon falling asleep on my couch. I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding in as I swing my legs over the side of the bed and get up.

"Yeah, there should be one in the drawer." I rub the sleep out of my eyes as I set off to my bathroom, but quickly stop in my tracks when I notice a very naked Damon crouched low, searching under my sink. My mouth goes dry as I attempt to look away. He just looks up at me and smiles.

"Thank god you're awake! I threw up a few hours ago and my mouth still tastes horrid!" His hair is dripping wet as he complains. He's obviously taken a shower. I look over to my toilet to see that he has indeed thrown up... all over the toilet seat. He really couldn't have cleaned that up?

"There's probably a toothbrush in the drawer." I repeat myself, swallowing down the uncomfortable feeling of some sort of attraction to the man before me. The last thing I need right now is to get hard in front of this stranger. He probably already thinks I'm weird. I don't need him thinking I'm bent too.

"Oh, thanks man." He shrugs as he stands up and begins to rifle through the drawer, pulling out a toothbrush that was still in it's box. I leave him be and go off to the kitchen to make coffee and attempt to shake off the uneasy feeling that rests in my stomach. I wondered to myself last night if Damon was as destructive and loud sober as he is drunk. This morning proved that he is. I never invited him in to make me question my goddamn sexuality! I never really invited him in at all, now that I think about it.

Even though I'm irrationally mad, I still pour double the cups of coffee that I normally would and leave out the sugar and milk for the intruder in my home. It's only polite that way.

Minutes later, a fully clothed Damon strolls in, eagerly taking the coffee and dumping heaps of sugar and milk into it. The sight makes me cringe just a bit, but I don't want to be rude so I bite my tongue and try to ignore it, focusing on my own hot drink.

"So... how did you get on my balcony?" I ask after a few minutes of a surprisingly comfortable silence. I had to really talk myself into breaking it if I'm being honest because the man leaning on the counter across from me seems like the kind of person who doesn't shut up once you start a conversation.

"I climbed." He tells me as if it's no big deal. "I needed somewhere to go when the cops showed up. They probably would have found my weed and that probably wouldn't have gone down in the best of ways." He has drugs on him?! God, this is worse than I thought. What if the police come for me now because I'm keeping him here?

Damon must sense my panic because he tells me to relax, saying that it's not a hardcore drug while he laughs at me. I don't know that though! He could be lying straight to me. I've never done weed before. The chance just never arose, but now due to my not so adventurous teen years, I'm clueless to nearly everything that people around my age do for fun.

"Seriously Graham, it's fine. Weed's not that big of a deal." He stops laughing now, seeing that I'm genuinely freaking out. I just nod silently and stare at the ground, attempting to calm my breathing.

I think after watching me sit on the verge of a panic attack, Damon decides not to speak up again. I don't want him to be walking on eggshells around me, but most of the things he probably wants to talk about would give his mother a heart attack if she could hear him right now, and it would probably have the same effect on me.

"I- uh, I should get going. The band is probably right pissed at me disappearing. It was nice meeting you, Graham. Thank you for your hospitality." He's gone all quiet and polite now. I've ruined it, I know I have. I've just gone and made him uncomfortable. The one attempt I've gotten in years to make a new friend was just ruined by me and my stupid anxiety.

Fucking hell.

***

2049 words.