To The End - Damon Albarn

1. Memories

I sit at my usual table by the window, the same spot I've taken for years now, watching London move in a blur beyond the glass. The café's warmth presses against the October chill outside, but even the steam rising from my coffee cup can't thaw the cold knot tightening in my chest.

I flick the ashes from my cigarette into the ashtray, take a long drag, and glance down at the tabloid spread open in front of me. And there he is. Damon. Again.

His face grins back at me, smug and cocky, plastered across the front page like he owns the bloody world. The headline is something ridiculous, something about Blur's new tour and how Damon Albarn is the voice of a generation. I roll my eyes. "Voice of a generation," my arse.

I shouldn't care. It shouldn't get to me after all this time, but it does. Every time I see his face, I feel it-a sharp twist in my gut, like a wound that never really healed. A flash of anger flares up before I even realize I'm moving.

I snap the paper shut and stand abruptly, scraping my chair back against the floor with more force than necessary. The few people in the café glance up, but I don't care. I walk over to the bin by the door and toss the tabloid in, crumpling it into a ball of wasted print.

For a second, I just stand there, staring at the trash, trying to gather myself. But it doesn't help. I can still see his stupid face in my mind. I still hear that same voice, the one that used to say all the right things, and now just seems to echo around me with a hollow sense of betrayal.

With a sigh, I return to my seat and crush the cigarette into the ashtray, watching the embers smolder and die. I take a sip of coffee, but it tastes bitter. Not the comforting kind of bitterness I used to enjoy, but something heavier, like a reminder of how things never really go the way you think they will.

It's been five years. Five long years since I last saw Damon in person. And yet, he still finds a way to barge back into my life, whether it's through the radio, the TV, or the cover of a bloody magazine. He's everywhere, and it pisses me off.

I lean back in my chair and close my eyes for a moment, letting the memories slip in, uninvited.

The early days with Damon were simple. Almost perfect, in a way I didn't appreciate back then. We were kids, barely more than teenagers, navigating secondary school together like it was our own private world. He was my best friend before anything else. The one person who made sense in a world that never really seemed to. We'd spend hours talking about nothing, sitting by the canal, smoking cigarettes and listening to whatever bands we were obsessed with at the time. Damon always had a vision for what he wanted, even back then. He was going to make music, change the world, and drag everyone along with him.

And I believed in him.

When we both got into the same college, it felt like everything was lining up just the way it was supposed to. Damon started putting together his band, Blur, and I watched it all unfold from the front row. They were brilliant, and it was exciting, being part of something that felt so raw and full of potential. And somewhere in the middle of all of it, Damon and I became more than just friends. It was natural, like a shift in the tide that we both just went with.

I thought I had everything I needed.

But then Blur started to take off. First, it was the small gigs, the buzz around their shows growing louder. Then came the bigger venues, the record deal. It all happened so fast, and before I knew it, I was on the outside looking in, watching Damon disappear into a world I wasn't part of. A world that didn't have space for me.

It wasn't sudden-no, that would've been easier. It was a slow unraveling. The phone calls that grew less frequent, the rehearsals and late-night recording sessions that took priority over everything else. And when I was with him, it wasn't really him anymore. He was distracted, always looking past me at something else. Something bigger.

Fame changed him. It made him... unreachable. Like I was standing at the edge of something, watching him fall deeper into this persona he'd created, and I wasn't enough to pull him back.

We broke up a few months after Blur's first big single hit. Damon didn't fight it. I think part of him had been waiting for me to let go. And that was the part that hurt the most.

After that, I cut him out. Completely. I couldn't handle seeing his face everywhere, hearing his voice on the radio, knowing that he was out there, living the life he'd always dreamed of, while I was left behind with nothing but memories of who he used to be.

I stub out the remnants of my cigarette, the ash smudging against the tray, and force myself to stop thinking about it.

It's over. It's been over for years, and I don't miss him. I don't.

But every time I see his face, I feel that same anger. That same bitterness gnawing at me, reminding me of how quickly things can fall apart, how easily someone can turn into a stranger.

I take another sip of coffee, but it still tastes wrong.

The door to the café swings open, letting in a gust of cold air, and for a moment, I shiver despite myself. I glance up, and through the small crowd milling in and out, I catch a glimpse of someone.

For a second, I think it's him. Damon. But it's just my mind playing tricks on me again.

With a deep breath, I settle back in my chair, staring out the window, trying to push all of it-Damon, the past, the anger-out of my mind. But no matter how hard I try, it's always there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for a chance to resurface.

And today, it seems, is one of those days.

(First chapter YAY. Anyway I hope you enjoyed it and keep reading! If you do please leave comments cus it helps keep me motivated and shit. THANKS I hope you enjoy!)