summer '91 // damon albarn x reader

III. smoke

13th of december, 1984.
9:12pm.
damons house.

your pov.

he lits the fag, and takes a long drag of it. i dont mind him smoking, he even makes it look cool. but, god, that awful smell. im glad he never forced me into any of that though. i cough, not trying to get lung cancer or anything. "i saw your note." he says, breaking the silence, i look at him as he turns to me and smiles, taking another drag. "glad you called." i smile and look back at the telly. "i was planning either way, dont worry about that. i like the little kisses at the bottom of the note, made my night, i guess. just wanted to say that." he says that so calmly, nonchalantly, him loving me and showing it was so amazing to me. some other lads would hide their feelings, and just shag the poor girl, leave the gal thinking its love though. im glad damon never made me feel like that. he never will.

"yer starin at me!" he laughs. i was drowing in his eyes, covered by the smoke every now and then, you cant really stop looking. "sorry. im just having a good look at you before you go." i joke. "are you seriously going to forget how i look like? take a photo, lasts longer." he jokes. how could i forget him? his face is so memorable. type of eyes- and type of guy that comes up in your dreams. perfect guy for anyone. perfect guy for me. "my whole wall is covered in photos of us, jerkoff." i roll my eyes at him, he just smirks. "jerkoff? talkin about that-" he tries to say, but i stop him before he makes his god-awful dirty joke.

he butts the fag, into an ashtray, then stands up to move the beer bottles somewhere. possibly under his bed. "i know what youre doing albarn!! your mother should know!!" i yell out and you could just hear him laugh from the other side of the house. "nice beatles reference love!" he yells back. thinking about the beatles, i remember how minutes ago i just cried at a beatles song. i kind of frown at the thought of that. realisation that hes leaving doesnt help me. it doesnt help me. at all.

he comes back, shooting a random question at me. "what do you want for christmas?". i hate that question, i want everything. its impossible to choose. i roll my eyes as i am about to make a horrible joke. "you!" i say in an utterly posh accent, he chuckles. "no, seriously, y/n? what do you want?" he pouts at me cutely. "well, im begging my parents to buy me that one book, the wasp factory by uh... iain banks? it sounds pretty solid
to be fair." i reply. ive always liked books i guess. he nods. "wish i could buy you it, but dont think they sell any english books in spain." he adds.

"you dont have to buy me anything you rat. what do you want?" i smile as i ask him. "rat?! well... for christmas id like some cheese... bags of rubbish... then when i get tired of that lifestyle, buy me some rat poison!" he makes a stupid joke again, but no matter how good or bad his joke is, it always makes me laugh in a way that no one else can. "-, no uh, seriously, i really want some book by j.d salinger, and possibly a guitar. maybe acoustic, electric... dunno. already have a piano, so, id like to get all musical and all that." he replies, as he said guitar his eyes sparkled, genuine hope that his parents will afford him one.

"youve always had talent, your parents see it too. i know theyll try their best to buy you one. trust me." i pat him on the shoulders as a little soft smile forms on his lips. "ta, you know, gra has been playing guitar for a while, i really want to form a band someday. im surprised this is the first time im telling you this. sorry." he looks around nervously. "i dont mind. i still had a feeling you would say that eventually." i fidget around with my hands, i always had a feeling damon would follow a musical path in his life, but i had no clue what id be. "really?" he raises his brows. "yeah... you were always made for that." i turn to look at him and give him a big grin.