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ay0nha · 1 year

Note

request? could you write something with Damon having major sexual tension with a backing member of gorillaz (like a violinist or something) it’s vagueeee but still

SUMMARY: A warm smell surrounded you that’s familiarity made something bloom in your chest. It wasn’t a far cry to admit Damon was attractive. Any star was. Something scratched at your chest, toyed with you. It taunted you to bring the fabric close and be consumed by it. But Damon’s eyes were fixated on your every move; the wrong one would be catastrophic.

PAIRING: Damon Albarn x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 2.6K

WARNINGS: I tried to combine a handful of requests, so if it's a little choppy...don't worry about it....fluff, cursing, lack of coherent plot because I a little bit gave up half way through, nothing crazy, etc.

A/N: Hello! I love this concept so much. It was meant to be an enemies to lovers, but my little fluff-filled heart couldn't do it. Please, please enjoy! (If you can't tell, I live for this gif lol)

“Loop it.”

The harmonies felt better. But after going through every note in your range, Damon still refused to settle. Sleep clung to your voice and became prominent when you tried to push through.

“Let’s do it again…” Damon pressed the signaling button for his voice to echo. You could see through the glass fatigue ruled him and fueled his obsession. “Try the C major–” He hesitated to commit to the note, but not when he had called your hotel room in the middle of the night. “—No. Try doing–

“I’m taking a break.”

The headphones disconnected before Damon could reprimand you. If you had to be inconvenienced, so would he. Silence followed you as you moved through his home. Damon’s eyes tracked your familiarity in his home. There was something, a feeling he couldn’t decipher about the authority you found in it.

You were no longer a guest, but you weren’t a friend. Despite knowing each other for years, you never quite graduated from the acquaintance level. Yet, there you were, sipping from the mug Damon had made himself as if you were his other half.

Your position normalized it. The industry, which you barely claimed space in, normalized things like this. There was plenty of musical history to account for late-night sessions or jams, but this felt intentional. Different.

“Where are the others?” You teased him knowingly. You were well aware of the rumored soft spot he had for you, but it was hard to believe what he expected of you.

“Still sleeping.” Damon was restless, focusing on the wasted time on hot water and honey. “They’ll catch up.” He attempted to reason with your glare. “We need to get back.”

You had gotten further than usual, half a mug’s worth, before he complained. There wasn’t enough caffeine in the tea to keep you up, but the warmth helped. So did the fact that there was a fresh stock of the brand you gravitated towards. He was expecting you.

“Just a minute longer.” You hummed, neck stretching to the left and right until it popped. “Sure you don’t want any?” Damon declined, settling with a yawn. “You’ll have to sleep at some point.”

“I will…” He sniffed with agitation. You annoyed him and crawled under his skin just to settle there. “...once we’re done.”

“We are done.” A breath of amused laughter flitted through your nose. “You’ll have to drag me back in there.” Damon looked at you as if actually entertaining the thought. Throwing him a coy gaze, you added, “I’d love to see you try.”

“I thought about it.” He cracked a smile, finally. Damon was uncharacteristically quiet during the session, suppressing his usual cheekiness.

Your expression softened, matching his, “I know.”

“Maybe I’ll scrap the song.” He finally caved, his anxieties surfacing. “B-sides or something.” His movements became his own, demeanor present again, “What do you think?”

“I think it’s a mess.” You cleared your mug, the remaining tea cold and forgotten. “That what you want to hear?” You hummed for an answer. “Or that it’s the best thing I’ve ever heard?”

“Depends.” His smile remained present. “Does my ego need inflating?”

“God, no.”

Your breath of laughter was divine. Damon would listen to it on a loop if he could. These moments made it worthwhile. They were fleeting but brought a much-needed lightness to the night. Made the purpose of your presence just a little sweeter.

—

You’d come in with little layers, to begin with. Stumbling out of bed meant whatever was on your back would have to suffice for the day ahead. Yet, that hadn’t accounted for the switch of the air conditioning to accommodate the countless pieces of equipment used.

At night, things were different. You related to the solitude, the quietness making it easier to think. Yet, the buzz of a busy studio gave a unique rush to every meeting that helped immerse you in a world of collaboration.

“He kept you all night?” Jamie’s tone was teasing with the rhetorical question. It was obvious in how you looked—casually put together and gaze set on the goal of finishing—that you’d seen the sunrise.

You offered a simple smile, making it seem like you hadn’t minded. In reality, you hadn’t truly minded, but part of you resisted the game of cat and mouse.

“You’re allowed to say no.” Another breath of laughter. Jamie had a knack for using his humor for others' comfort, which you appreciated. Especially if it came to poking fun at Damon. “He does know what that means.”

“Keeps me occupied.” The excuse was rehearsed but not inaccurate, as you shrugged. “The extra cash doesn’t hurt.”

“God knows he’s got plenty to spare.”

Jamie looked at Damon. He was engrossed with his lyrics, scratching out words for others and shuffling the cue cards in different orders until they made sense for the singers who would soon spill in. A cigarette hung from his lips, the ash snowing down onto his work.

Damon mumbled against the butt to himself, taking a drag just to push it out through his nose. Something was appealing to the vice. Especially as you thought to reach out with your two fingers to capture your lips around the cigarette just to feel the heat of his lips.

“C’mere for a minute.”

There was a lag before you realized Damon had called out to you. There wasn’t a need for you yet; he would have to make something up soon to explain why you had to detach yourself from Jamie.

“The melodies sound good.” You crouched beside him, the compliment surprising not only him but yourself. “I heard you earlier…” You attempted to backtrack before the heat reached the tips of your ears. “...It’s shaping up nicely.”

“The lyrics are..." His sentence trailed off, morphing as he blew a raspberry. He couldn't quite shake the frustration of his unfinished song.

Goosebumps littered your skin as you reached across him for the marker in his hand. He knew you were cold since he avoided looking at how the swell of your breast peaked, looking for heat.

“Grammar’s a bit off.” You mumbled, adjusting the order of a few things. It was like a puzzle; the song's lyrics could be bent however you wanted but could only settle comfortably with a proper flow. “...Let's see how that sounds.”

You hummed the melody that had become your earworm. Damon matched it with the lyrics. The flow had changed with the slight adjustment as if mocking how it had taken days for him even to approach it.

“Yeah, that’s good…” Damon whispered to himself, to you. There was no reason to be surprised at your skill, but there was something that tickled him. “Good, let’s get the others.” He could feel the start of his rambling in his chest. “I mean, when everyone gets here…you can show them.”

“Somethings off with you…” Your eyebrows cinched together with premature amusement. “You don’t like it?”

Damon was hard-headed, never soft-spoken about his work and how he envisioned it. But he struggled to form his words the way he wanted with you.

“He’s upset that he didn’t come up with it himself. ” Jamie joined right as Damon went to thank you. “Now leave the girl alone; I don’t know how she’s not sick of you yet.”

—

As others filtered in, producing and recording, the smoke began to fill the room. Things began to come easy, things falling into place with more than a pair of eyes looking for a solution. Damon thrived in the environment. He personified the more, the merrier.

He would detach himself from one group just to mingle with those working in the opposite direction. He multitasked even when everyone decided to relax collectively, yourself included.

“All I’m saying is that the audience in Rio has this unmatched energy.”

They talked about the upcoming tour, regaling tales of part performances that couldn’t be matched. It had just been confirmed and announced to the anticipatory fans in capital cities globally.

“Toyko, hands down.” Another added. “ Plus, the food is well worth the travel.”

You traveled for work but only hopped from one studio to the next. Never had you performed in front of crowds as the rest had. They shared stories of the things thrown at them during peak performances and tales of drunken nights that were fuzzily being put together.

“Albarn, do you remember?” They called for him across the room. He had waited for the single invitation to be closer to you with the backing of an excuse. “In Montreal, how’d we get back to the hotel?”

Damon didn’t touch you, not yet, at least. The arm around the cushion of the sofa settled comfortably as he sat. His head lulled back and forth, giving attention to those he conversed with. But something about how he gravitated to your space made it seem like his undivided attention was yours.

You found it difficult to listen to shared stories you knew little about. But you liked the rumble you felt against your side when Damon fluttered with laughter. Each time, he would catch the goosebumps that spread across your arms. He figured you were cold, but you were worried that you were revealing yourself, and he only reveled in it. So you used the very excuse of being affected by the temperature to cover yourself.

You could have gone without asking, but your hand landed on his knee before you realized. “You have a jumper or something?”

His eyes lingered on your hand, which caught his attention. It was a smart move on your part, better than trying to call his name, knowing it would go out in one ear and out the other. Others continued around you, making nothing of the touch, but you rarely initiated something.

“On the chair.” Damon jutted his chin across the room where his sweatshirt had been scrapped.

Eyes were on you, watching your sock-clad feet pad carefully over the various wires that littered the floor. The sweatshirt was intentionally large on Damon, so it swam on you as you pulled it over your head.

A warm smell surrounded you that’s familiarity made something bloom in your chest. It wasn’t a far cry to admit Damon was attractive. Any star was. Something scratched at your chest, toyed with you. It taunted you to bring the fabric close and be consumed by it. But Damon’s eyes were fixated on your every move; the wrong one would be catastrophic.

Someone called your name, and your original spot was filled beside Damon. There was a yearning to return to that, probably the shared exhaustion of the day forefronting your thoughts.

—

Your eyes couldn’t help but drift throughout the session. It was becoming a hard habit to break. But for once, you were thankful, able to catch the tail end of Jamie and Damon’s tiff. They had their lovers quarrels, but they never remained quiet. They were never shy to be dramatic for everyone to hear and witness.

The studio glass was your barrier, but you had an inkling it was about you. Jamie was always an advocate for you, for everyone. He, although not always, could talk sense into his counterpart. You just wished he waited to do it when you weren’t there or when you could eavesdrop.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m—

“Nah, I’m tired of your excuses.” Jamie tutted, arms crossing with conviction. “You have a beautiful girl over in the middle of the night, and you make her work.” He shook his head as if it was the most despicable thing. “The only thing she should be doing is moaning–

“Fuck off.” Damon frowned at the crudeness. He’d mused the thought but never allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy. “It’s not like that, believe me.

“You’re letting me down.” Jamie continued, ready for the fight. “What happened to you?” He always tapped right on Damon’s pressure points. “You’ve gone soft, can’t even ask out a girl without falling apart.”

“Thanks, mate.” Damon threw a glare, still looking ahead. He caught your eye unintentionally. But his eyes flickered back to Jamie before the slim chance of being ashamed. “Go find something to do, I can’t babysit today.”

“You’re drawing it out,” Jamie said. “She’ll be gone when you finally fucking do something—

“I’ve invited her out tonight.”

The lie flew out fast. Damon had only heard through the whispers of others that you would think about going. Now, he gambled.

Jamie’s eyebrows twitched up, “With us?”

“Who else?”

A smirk pulled at the thought. Years passed, and your tendency to avoid social events began to precede you. “You bribed her to say yes, didn’t you?”

—-

“Refill?”

Damon watched your drink dwindle. Your ordered whatever everyone else was having, making it easy to blend in. It was his excuse to talk to you, which he found otherwise difficult.

The music was loud, thumping directly to drown out his voice. Yours carried beautifully as you laughed with the company. It felt like a strike every time Damon heard it. A reminder of the incompetence Jamie had reminded him of earlier.

“Hmm?”

The music covered Damon’s words. You leaned close to his neck; ear perked to hear him. He had caught you on the dance floor, where you swayed to the beat. On the off-beat, your shoulder brushed against his, a deliberate move on your part.

“Your drink…” He pointed to it this time. The strobing lights helped cover his stumble. “You want another?”

Damon looked good. Maybe it was the buzz around you allowing you to fall behind the veil of alcohol. It helped that people around you bumped the two of you closer. If he hadn’t been looking at you so intently for an answer, you’d be in his arms within a matter of minutes.

“Yeah,” You nodded. “I’ll go with you.”

The atmosphere of the club required commitment. But the bar offered a reprieve. You were lucky to have found a free stool that wobbled under your weight while Damon flagged down the bartender. You were sure some recognized him, but as he matured, the more privacy he maintained.

“Thought you would be a no-show.” The gin and tonic had a heavy pour, reflecting the overwhelmed workers and carelessness of the night. You sipped on its sweetness, patient for Damon’s response.

“So did I.” Ironically enough, you had approached Damon. You extended the invitation, lying through your teeth that the others had sent you to ask him. Relief flooded him. A shrug simplified Damon’s feelings. “Changed my mind.”

“Why?” You teased, looking at him with nothing but conviction. “You found out I was coming?”

“Something like that.” His lips twitched at the sentiment, arms encasing you as more bumped him toward you, “Jamie’s quite persistent.”

Your drinks dwindled, and more were ordered. The bubble you’d created was filled with wit, a banter that came naturally and held heavy sentiments. You had already memorized the way the corners of his eyes crinkled, how his laughter started deep within his chest just to echo its way to you. But it never got old. Typically, you’d scold yourself for admiring him that way but indulged regardless. Damon was never subtle with how his gaze lingered, but you doubted subtly was his priority.

Especially as he broke eye contact with you just to wet his own lips, mirroring your gesture. “Can I ask you something?”

You nodded. “You’ve got my attention.”

It seemed the best time to ask you when he had you in his grasp. There wouldn’t be a more appropriate time in his eyes. This was what he wanted most but never knew how to express. He wanted you near him, like this.

“Come on tour with me.”

#q #damon albarn #damon albarn x reader #damon #albarn #damon albarn x f!reader #damon albarn fluff #damon albarn angst #damon albarn smut #damon albarn gorillaz #damon albarn imagine #damon albarn prompt

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ay0nha · 1 year

Text

Tomorrow Nevermore | Damon Albarn

SUMMARY: "You coming?" Lila's voice carried well, and at that moment, Damon realized he had to follow her as he had nowhere to be but beside her.

PAIRING: Damon Albarn x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 3.4K

A/N: OK. First part!! Thank you so much, @lundenloves , for always, Always helping and listening to me. This story has zero to little plot and will mostly be nonsense interactions. An inspiration for this story is the senses. Squint, and you'll find it. This part was inspired by hearing, and the song Lila hums is just a little nod at I Got Law (Demo)/Tomorrow Comes Today.

Damon heard her first.

Lila's hum carried and cut through the forgotten game on the television. It drifted with the mist from the bathroom. Beside him, Jamie mumbled a curse about the loss of hot water, but Damon was far too focused on the tune. Three notes were repeated, a slow sequence, but stopped when she entered the door frame. Damon stared boldly but hadn't realized her eyes were on him.

"You alright?" The words tumbled from his lips in greeting. It was a mediocre cover, but it hadn't mattered. It was like she hadn't seen him at all, the way she moved throughout Jamie's apartment like it were her own.

"She's the American 'cross the hall—" Jamie spoke through muffled lips. The cigarette bobbed as he explained her presence. The pipes of the building were old, bursting when inconvenient and requiring half the building to go without usable water. "—Offered the shower, didn't think she'd actually take me up on that."

"A fucking saint, you are..." Damon lit his own cigarette with a sigh of a laugh. "You even know her name?"

"Layla, Lila, something like that..." He answered, hand waving with indifference. "Just moved here for school, work...don't know... she doesn't say much."

Damon hummed an acknowledgment; attention seemingly turned back to the match on the television. Yet, when he heard the patterned hum again, he almost forgot who he was routing for. Jamie groaned as the ball was in possession of the rival team, but Damon stayed fixated on the notes, memorizing them in case she stopped.

Forgetting the mirror, Lila eyed the master bedroom. It felt larger than her own despite the floor plans being identical measurements. It was decorated cleverly, posters from various decades adorning the walls, and the space so subtly played with that it felt staged. But there was obvious life—forgotten bottles on the windowsill, bed haphazardly made due to unexpected company, and laundry in desperate need of folding.

The windows were open, bringing in the soft humid air and honking horns. The view from Jamie's room was better than hers, but just by a margin. Maybe it was because of how her apartment reflected every penny she owned. In moments, she'd return to the handful of boxes that had scribblings of their content. Lila could hear her mother's voice, reprimanding her for not only relying on strangers but letting the boxes sit there for as long as they had.

"Love–" Jamie avoided her name with charm as she reemerged. "This is my mate Damon; came over to watch Chelsea lose." Jamie returned to the game, his job as host over while Damon's eyes remained on her figure, missing the jab.

Lila paused for a moment, holding onto her name for the moment. "Pleasure."

She moved with a confident air, one unbothered by anything around it, and reflected an intense understanding of how she inhabited her own space. Instead of bypassing Damon's stare, she held it unwaveringly.

"You staying for the game?" Damon's voice hadn't even sounded like this own. Jamie even noticed as his eyes went between his friend and his neighbor.

Lila had promised herself that from the moment she understood men–no– boys, that she wouldn't entertain them. Boys were different than men, but men were always boys. The idea made sense in her head, and if she had to explain it at a family dinner, she could, but just to play into the game, she'd refuse.

The enigmatic nature of it was purposeful. If men were destined to be difficult, then so was she. It only seemed fair in a life that she was forced to endure. It wasn't a form of protest—her decision to terribly unpleasant—it was only a bit of fun in such a dull society.

With a curl of a smile, she commented, "I'd rather die."

------

"Oh—" Damon stumbled on his words as if caught breaking into the building. He offered a hello but trailed off almost immediately.

"Lila." Only this once she'd give her name. It was his responsibility now to remember it.

"—Lila." He repeated her name with a bemused smile. He searched the tattered paper plaques of the apartment bells for hers. L. Elliot. He thought to press it first, before Jamie's. He thought of the excuses he would spew—my finger had slipped, Jamie said to ring you, there's takeaway—but he failed to justify any of them. But as fate typically played things out, she was leaving just as he became discouraged.

The rain had caught on his eyelashes in a poetic way that made Lila frown. It reminded her that she was on her way out, only stopping to let Damon into the building. She nodded her head to the door she continued to hold open, "Go on."

"Oh—thanks, Jamie hadn't answered..." There was a pause as Damon shuffled past her awkwardly. There was no point in entering as Jamie wasn't the type to leave a key under a mat. Damon hadn't understood why he explained himself, poorly at that. "I left something the other day..."

"Ok." Lila nodded, lips tight with feigned politeness. The air was awkward, Damon's doing, but she carried an envious relaxation. She moved on from it, leaving Damon to catch the door with nothing close to a goodbye.

The rain had come in patterns of harshness, and Lila wanted nothing more than to stay shielded in her apartment. She had only just unpacked her final box, and she thought that laying in bed would make her feel more welcome in the new city. Lila debated on turning around. Instead, she scrutinized how the rain became heavier and blocked the sun entirely.

The cigarette was on Damon's lips as he dismissed the no-smoking sign of the building. His fingertips felt for the possibility of a key on the door frame but was met with years worth of dust. Patting his pockets, he brushed off the dirt and sought solace in his lighter.

Damon had left early intentionally, hoping to catch Jamie on his way to the studio, but clearly, he hadn't made it home the night prior. So now, rather than picking up his casio, he pushed his way out the door of the apartment building with anxiety-driven frustration.

"Not there?"

The voice beside him startled him. But the fear dissipated into a more welcomed anticipation. The tip of Damon's cigarette became damp against the humid air the longer he waited to respond.

"Either that, or he's ignoring me." Damon teased his absent friend. Sucking a last breath harshly through the cigarette, he flicked the remnants into a puddle. He watched Lila's nose scrunch, either from the smoke, the littering, or the way the sky rumbled with thunder. "It will get worse the longer you wait."

Her eyes remained on the clouds, but Damon finally felt like she spoke to him directly, "What do you do when it rains?"

"What do you mean?"

"You rode that in, didn't you?" Lila nodded toward the bike next to hers. If she squinted, she could already see the rust forming against the used bike. "The yellow one, that's mine."

"There's a tube station a few roads over." Damon offered, nodding to the left, where the rain seemed heaviest.

There was a moment of hesitation on Lila's part. But she pulled at her collar, twisting the thin jacket around her body as best she could, transforming the reluctance into courage. She took a deep breath as though holding it would protect her from the pelting water enveloping her. Damon's breath caught in his throat, watching how she entered the storm rounding the stoop of the building to the left just as he unintentionally instructed. She moved quickly, legs only stopping when she hit a crossroad a block down and looked over her shoulder for him.

"You coming?" Lila's voice carried well, and at that moment, Damon realized he had to follow her as he had nowhere to be but beside her.

The earlier morning consisted of deprived businessmen on their way to work and others who were finally released from working overtime. Damon and Lila seemed to stick out beautifully, drenched to the bone with amused smiles to match. There was hardly room to breathe, the way the people jammed into the car, not bothering to wait two minutes for the next.

The sway of the train encouraged their chest to bump into one another. Around them, everyone's eyes were focused on something other than each other—newspapers, phones, books, or even closed for a stop's worth of reprieve, whereas Lila's gaze was comfortably on Damon. Instinctually, he avoided it, willing away the warmth that would expose him once it hit the tips of his ears.

However, when he glanced at her, Lila used the car's momentum to get closer. "Are you following me?"

"I'm not a stalker." A smile broke out at the question. Damon was learning quickly how compelling each exchange became with her. It was as if she had already seen the end and only guided the conversation to her advantage.

"That wasn't the question." Lila hummed.

"I–well—where are you going?" Damon should have denied his intentions; anyone in their right mind would have. But he was following her. There was no reason for him to go east but to follow her as she encouraged him to. He realized far too late after his question that Lila was teasing him.

"Class." She answered. Then, she gave him a knowing smile. "Let me guess, you too?"

Class. Damon had prodded Jamie again, but he was clever, waiting a few days to raise the question that took seconds to produce. Jamie was convinced she was here for work and mumbled something along the lines of a complaint— Probably just another work permit. She'll be gone before anything good.

"There are always new things to learn..." Damon shrugged with warmth. His voice came out soft since everyone suffocating them could be privy to their conversation. "...and you, what do you study?"

Lila used a rhythmic sway to her advantage, moving away from Damon. The thrill clouded her briefly, but there was her mother's voice again, another chastising comment for disclosing so much of herself so simply. Her imagined response felt teenage-like in comparison—that was the point of uprooting everything, wasn't it? That was an essential part of the draw; to unabashedly determine how to move through life. It was easier said than done as Lila's throat felt dry, trying to call upon the simplest answer.

"If you are following me, I have to warn you, the seminar I'm off to is very boring..." She began, artfully avoiding a sore spot. Thankfully, the announcement above was muffled, the words barely intelligible, cutting Lila off statically.

She moved like she'd lived in London her entire life, never glancing at the map. The only thing that stood out from the rest was the softness of her accent. Damon held onto every word, listening intently. He had so many questions for her since he'd had time to formulate them between meeting her and now. But walking beside Lila, trailing up the stairs, and attempting to fight off misty rain, the questions were the least of his worries.

"Thanks for the lift." She spoke, using the awning of the university's building as protection. "What do I owe you?"

Damon meant to move closer to be protected from the weather. But just as Lila had moments ago, he teetered away. The only difference was that he felt shy, nervous to answer the jokingly rhetorical question.

"That song..." He started, eyebrows cinching to work through the thought. "What was that song?"

"What?" Lila's laugh was breathy with confusion and curiosity. It was as if Damon had finally stumped her—someone who could seemingly find control in every interaction.

"...The other day, at Jamie's, when you were coming out of the shower..." Damon stopped to rephrase, attempting modesty on her behalf, "When you came out of his room, it was like..." He stumbled for a moment with reluctance but then hummed the three notes that had haunted him.

She shrugged, eyes still batting with genuine confusion. She hadn't remembered so clearly the way he had. Lila laughed again. She had a detached sense about her like Damon could do whatever he wanted and wouldn't get under her skin. She was untouchable in that way.

------

Lila's handwriting became more unintelligible by the hour. She worked hard to subdue her subconscious cry of boredom, but the battle was hopeless. At first, in her apartment, she shifted from room to room, hoping the minor change of pace would aid her, but nothing came to her.

There came de aesthetics when continuing education; the idea of touching original documents, reading overly verbose work from centuries before, and even writing about how the notions found within still persist. Yet, Lila struggled to find the motivation to feel like she made the right decision to enroll.

Everything was a distraction. The clock on her wall reminded her of the seconds wasted, and the birds chirping cheerfully felt deliberate, telling her that the happiness they found wouldn't be shared. Then, there was a sharp whistle, one that begged for her undivided attention.

"Hiya..." Damon squinted up with a soft wave. The sun was uncharacteristically out, but he refused to question the luck that it had provided him with it.

"Following me again?" Lila teased once she found the greeting's source. Damon was getting used to not expecting a hello; the past few weeks of running into Lila intermittently had proved so. "You need a buzz in?"

He shook his head, "S'alright, Jamie should be down sooner or later."

From his position, Damon missed her inner turmoil, how Lila held back her question of what he was doing. She was thoroughly bored, and by just the looks of who was below, she knew he could offer he something better.

"Studying?"

"Trying to." Her tone seemed vindictive, but she hadn't meant to push her frustrations onto Damon's simple question. "It's impossible to sympathize with racists from the 16th century." Lila cringed, feeling as though she had only dug the hole for herself further by rambling. She was smart but refused to be arrogant, so to recover, she asked her originally intended question, "What are you doing?"

He smiled, happy she asked exactly what he was going to. "We're headed over to—

"You're late—" Jamie interrupted, gusting out the stoop's door, ready to chide his friend. But he followed Damon's eye-line before continuing, "—Love—up there brooding?" Damon cringed, hoping his friend's humor wouldn't divert Lila from the conversation altogether. "...enough of that, you're coming."

Lila needed fresh air; it was the reason the window was open in the first place. The project wasn't due for another few days, and she knew she needed to stave off the boredom to regain productivity.

"I'll only be borrowing you for an hour or two." Jamie had settled her fate.

The time had stretched into numerous hours. Damon knew Lila felt preoccupied with the work she left behind, but she hadn't made it known. She was pragmatic in that way, seeing ten steps ahead but never letting on what she was thinking.

"I didn't know he was an artist." A good one at that. Plenty claimed to be talented and claimed that their work was original and interesting. Yet more often than not, their work hadn't lived up to the promises. But Jamie had surpassed any rumor Lila could think of.

The work wasn't demanding, but it needed to be precise. Jamie was set to present a growing collection he'd been working on. Too many friends had canceled with excuses not to come and help as if he asked them to help him move. So there the three were, walking across the parchment paper and painter's tape, doing work professionals should have been.

"He calls these doodles." Damon scoffed in agreement, his comment furthering how Jamie underestimated his own art. "This is what makes the people happy." It was an odd sort of compliment, but Lila understood. "Look at some of his notebooks—that's the real work."

The figures held expertise and clear talent. Yet, there was an aesthetic to it that was distinctly Jamie's. The progression of the collection showed how Jamie cared less about the audience and more about the original characters he created. Lila rarely admitted it and wouldn't now, but she was impressed. Her mind gravitated, though, to Damon working beside her. He hadn't seemed overly quiet, but he seemed more reserved than what he typically put forth.

Therefore, Lila encouraged more, "I need to know—you're not hiding any hidden talents, are you?"

"None worthwhile."

Lila made a note to prod further later, not believing Damon in the slightest. Everyone had a party trick. Lila's needs working on, wiggling her ears wasn't as impressive as opening a bottle with your eye. Even the thought of a crowd became overwhelming; just the thought of a party caused apprehension.

It was like clockwork, Jamie's social hours. Every week, ranging the days of the weekend, there was music pouring under his door and into hers. It was a good reminder of sorts that the night had become late, and Lila would be better off sleeping. But the music only got louder the more tired Lila got.

Before she could dwell on the thought further, Jamie called her away to hold a frame steady to screw into the wall. It was slightly crooked, but Damon hadn't commented, too eager to hear the conversation shared between the pair a piece over.

"You get the letter?" Jamie filled the newfound silence, screw placed between his lips in concentration.

Damon's mind ran. Jamie had his own charm, less boyish than Damon's— more direct and creative. With drawers full of different textured papers and pens that would glide over them spectacularly, Damon could only imagine the letter Jamie wrote to Lila.

Knowing Jamie, it wouldn't quite be a love letter, but something close. It would be witty, full of inside jokes that Damon could never be in on due to his position—the neighbor's friend. He was far too detached to have done something of the sort.

"Unfortunately..." It was another thing on Lila's growing list to tactfully avoid. The letter that was slid under her down made her lose sleep—nothing like an eviction notice to rattle someone.

"This look alright?" Jamie called over his shoulder to Damon. "It needs to be bloody straight." He cursed, drawing Damon closer. "They're kicking us out in two months, told us in a fucking letter. This goes well, people buy the lousy art, and then I can get a better place, better building, better neighbors."

"Oh?" Lila smiled, welcoming the humor. The fresh air and environment were doing wonders. She'd leave soon, not accept their offer to stick around, but she finally felt contented for now.

"Yeah, you." Jamie nudged Damon forward, taking his place to eye the portrait properly. "Don't hear the end of it with this one asking if you're around and whatnot."

"No, I don't—" Damon fell into the obvious trap, stopping abruptly when he saw Jamie's chesire-like smile. "We done here? I've got things of my own to do."

"Yeah, like what?" Despite Jamie's concentration ahead of him on the next thing, he always held attention to taunt. "Playing that song over and over again doesn't exactly count as something." He then nodded to Lila, setting up a deceiving trap for both of them. "That's your fault, you know. The pair of you—doing my head in."

"That your secret talent, then?" Lila got it; Damon's literal party trick. Those memories of sleepless nights due to Jamie's parties sounded again in her mind. It clicked. The music seemed live at times, others like a sequence consciously put together. It was Damon, putting on a show of sorts with the song she had hummed just once that had stuck with him so firmly she'd forgotten. It was the reason Lila smiled, "I expect royalties."

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