Damon

Graham runs towards his room and I'm worried I've struck a cord. He's so insanely hard to read. I never know if I've done something wrong while I'm around him. I just need this to work out. I have to get back on my feet so I can show Mike and Louis that I can make it without them. So I can show them that I'll be fine.

They've obviously been planning on pulling something like this for ages now. Since the beginning of this year they've stopped telling anything about touring except the set lists. A slow but steady pit had grown between us just in the past few months and I decide that it's better they leave me here than try to sell me out to the police for drug possession again. That was not fun.

Just as I'm about to loose myself deeper in my thoughts, Graham dumps an armful of faded and tattered notebooks onto the coffee table before shooting me an unsure look. I take a deep red notebook from the table and I can see that Graham almost tells me not to, but he bites his tongue. I open the first page expecting to see drawings or sketches, but slanted messy words stare back at me. That's when I remembered asking Graham if he wrote.

Every scratch of black into the paper held a new meaning to the last. Just reading it felt like a privilege and it probably was. Graham obviously isn't the most open person out there. I don't know how I'm still even here right now. He's so nice and pleasant to be around yet so secretive closed off. I don't know how he does it.

"These are really good, Graham." I smile as I flip through page after page of poems. Some of them get quite repetitive. Then I notice, these are all songs. Well written ones at that. There must be at least an albums worth just in this book and it looks like it's one of the older ones. He probably got better from here.

"They're really n-nothing s-special. I wrote m-most of them in h-high school so they're p-pretty angsty and d-dramatic." My eyes widen as I look up at him. How can he just write these all off as just an over reaction to teenage troubles? Every thing in here holds wisdom that I didn't know a person could have, let alone a teen.

"No! These are amazing!" I argue as he takes one of the notebooks and flips through the pages as well. "Have you ever put music to any of these? All of them could be absolute bangers."

He nods and looks up at me. "I-I used to really want to make m-music when I was a kid. It d-didn't work out, but I don't mind." His words sound empty though, like he's disappointed that he never got to do what he wanted with his life. He's letting down his walls now. I can see it in his eyes that he's letting me read his emotions. It's pretty impressive that he can just flip a switch and his feeling and worries become interpretable.

"It's never too late to start. Studio time isn't as expensive as you think." I tell him as I grab another notebook. It looks like one of the newest ones. I read through the words and notice the huge contrast to the last one I had read. It's almost as if his mind was eating away at him. Like in the beginning he had a fresh outlook on life with a bit of kick to his words, but towards the end you can see exactly where he gave up. Where the words became meaningless and grey. They were still great lyrics, but I could tell just how jaded and dark his life was. Reading this didn't feel right. I feel like I'm intruding. I close the book.

"What happened in '86?" I ask him. He had the dates neatly scrawled into the top corner of every page. His sucks in a sharp breath of air as I ask the question though. I think I've hit something. Maybe Graham will seem human to me if I know something happened that made him so reserved and unwilling to share his life with other people.

"I-It just wasn't the b-best year for me. A-A lot happened." He shrugs. I don't know how old he is, but I know he would have had to be a teen back then. Was it a break up? Did something happen with his friends? I need to know now but I have the sinking feeling in my gut that tells me I never will. "I'm g-going to make some coffee. Do y-you want any?" He stands up.

"Sure." I sigh and watch as he walks off to the kitchen. My question was probably too personal. I could already tell that he was apprehensive about letting me read his lyrics in the first place and now I've gone and pried into his personal life. I hope he doesn't kick me out.

A few more minutes of sitting still and silently thinking of ways to make it up to Graham, and he's back with two steaming mugs. He sets the lighter one in front of me saying that he hopes he made mine right. I take a sip. He did.

It's far too late for us to be drinking coffee, but neither of us stop to acknowledge that. I think back to this morning and begin to feel bad. I left Graham the minute he began to panic and I caused it. What kind of person does that make me? Obviously not a great one.

"Y-You were touring b-before this. R-Right?"  His voice surprises me. He's never the one to ask questions or even talk first. I think he usually lives by the 'don't speak unless spoken to' rule.

"Yeah. We were supposed to be on our way to Sheffield after this. I guess they're still going." I chuckle. I think I can get over this minor setback fairly quickly. I didn't need them and they think that they don't need me. It all still sucks though because I've known them for basically my entire life. No matter how much one of them pissed me off, I don't think I would be able to just leave them behind in a big city they know nothing about. I still probably wouldn't be able to leave them, even after this.

"W-What's it like? Touring, I mean. I-I've a-always wanted to know." Graham sounds so innocent as he stumbles over his words. I personally think he's lucky he hasn't seen the shit that I have while on the road. I don't think he could handle that.

"It's..." I pause and try to find the right words to describe it. "Fun until it's not." I finally say before adding in: "It might just be the people I was with though."

"What do y-you mean by th-that? If you don't mind me asking." He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and leans forward to grab his cup of black coffee. He takes a sip and sets it back over the the green coaster.

"In the beginning everything was perfect. We were fresh out of high school and just enjoyed making music together." I smile at the memories. "But then it all became heavy."

"Oh... I-I'm sorry it all ended up th-this way." He apologizes. He doesn't even ask anything else, like that's all he had to hear.

We sit in a bitter tasting silence for a few seconds before I ask him if he wants to go outside for a fag. He politely declines and I step out onto the balcony alone and stare at the city. I would live on Graham's balcony if it weren't so cold out. I love the view he has of London. I wonder if he's ever painted this...

I feel bad for Graham. I can see his lack of interest in his own artwork and it's depressing. I know he hates it and I wish he'd do something about it. I've known Graham for a day if you don't count last night, and can already see that he has a kind heart and doesn't deserve anything but happiness. It's funny how I'm a terrible person, but I get to live his dream. I wish life was fair.

The stars are barely visible tonight and it makes me miss home. My parents own a house in a small town out in the middle of nowhere and I can remember going out into the back yard and laying on the trampoline, letting the stars and moon engulf me until I was nothing but a speck in the great scheme of things. It was terrifying yet amazing. Sometimes I wish I'd never left that place. I wonder what would become of me if I had found a nice girl and settled down when I had the chance. Would I be happy? No.

As much as I can say I hate not knowing where I'm going to end up the next morning or how I regret choosing this life, I would always come back to it given the chance. Maybe I'm just stubborn or stupid, but I told never trade this in for anything. I light my cigarette and breathe out my worries as I hear the door open.

"I thought you didn't want to come out here." I laugh lightly as I watch Graham shiver. It almost makes me want to give him my sweater. Actually, it does make me want to give him my sweater, but I feel like we don't know each other at all and I would somehow find a way to make Graham go uncomfortably silent. I keep my sweater on.

"I changed my m-mind." He shrugs as he takes out a cigarette from his pocket. I'm not sure if the stutter is from nervousness or his chattering teeth. Probably both.

I get tired of watching him shake uncontrollably and take off my sweater. "Take it." I hold it out to him and he looks confused for a moment, saying that I'd be cold and that he really doesn't need it but I make no move to put it back on. He reluctantly takes it and wraps it around his body as he blushes wildly. I find it cute that he blushes like that. I've grown tired of the relentless confidence that girls and boys always seem to have around me.

"Have you ever painted the city?" I voice my thoughts from earlier as I flick the ash from my cigarette over the railing.

"N-No. I never thought t-to I g-guess." He shrugs as he looks out to the lights as well. "I d-don't go outside nearly as m-much as I should."

"It would be nice if you did paint this, Y'know? It's quite the view you have." I want to try and get Graham talking. I want him to be comfortable enough to start conversations with me. I also like the sound of his voice. It's not too low but not too high and even though he's shy, it sits at a perfect volume at all times.

"I s-suppose y-you're right." The lights reflect off his glasses and he breathes out some smoke. I'm freezing cold but I couldn't care less. He looks nice in my sweater.

I see a few snowflakes fall and he does too. "W-We sh-should probably go inside." He says as he watches me finish my cigarette. I nod my head to agree with him as he stubs his out in the ashtray. Some wind blows his hair off his forehead and his face scrunches in detest as he puts it back in place and walks back inside. I laugh to myself.

I could get used to being around Graham.

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2026 words.