How To Disappear

Title: How To Disappear
Pairing: Graham/Damon
Era: Pre-Blur/School days.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own Blur, I'm not making any money, I'm just spreading the Blur love, so don't sue me! 8O
Summary: Graham becomes acquainted with Damon for the first time in a slightly unusual manner.








The boy's first mistake, Graham noted, was his hair. It stuck up in all the wrong places. No boy ever wore his hair to school like that. At least, not if they had a decent mother with a wet forefinger and a surly disposition.

That was the boy's first and foremost mistake.

His second, was the book he'd chosen. Normally, books were harmless. You could hide in the back of the bus with some ruddy copy of a teen novel and escape relatively unscathed, granted you kept your eyes to yourself, and didn't say anything too clever.

Unfortunately for this boy, he was wrong on both counts. The way he held his head, the subtle, yet arrogant way he stuck his lip out after he talked, as though he knew better than everyone else. Shakespeare was not a good choice for him.

Graham watched all of this quietly, his hands stuck in his pockets as he observed the young unfortunate from the other side of the street.

The first punch came from a tight-lipped 10th year. All brawn, and no brains, some ginge bully who went by the name of James. James, or "Jim-jams" as he mother liked to call him when he forgot his bag lunch, had been lurking around since the beginning of primary school, and thus most of Graham's scholastic existence.

It took about two seconds for the young boy to go down, that was all. A straight vertical followed by a quick resolving horizontal. Moments later, a swift kick connected with the crumpled boy, and his face contorted in pain. He watched as the blonde boy pulled back, contorted his mouth in a strange way, and then delivered a loogey on the bully's shiny new school brogues.

Graham stared, his face agape. No one ever fought back. Not when you were that skinny, or had that wrong of a haircut. Most students accepted their defeat, groveled on the concrete in pain, and duly asked for forgiveness for their social transgressions. It was rather unheard of to actually defend yourself.

He watched as James, now genuinely infuriated, picked up the unfortunate lad by his shirt collar, and slammed his thin figure against the wall of the adjacent building, his shiny black school brogues dangling, and shouted a few choice words at the poor boy, none of which sounded particularly flattering.

Graham quickly looked around him, at the other students also staring wide-eyed at the visage of the young boy getting his arse kicked, willingly, and seemingly without any sense of remorse.

Spotting him somehow, perhaps because he was closest, the poor boy's eyes immediately connected with Graham's, seemingly pleading for help.

Why me? Graham thought. He wished the boy had looked at someone else. But now, everyone was looking at him, waiting. He bit his lip, an overwhelming sense of guilt coming over him.

"Hey! "Leave him alone!" Graham shouted at the bully, his voice trembling. Immediately, he felt like a fool. He watched, not surprisingly, as all eyes on the street stayed glued to him.  He didn't even know the boy's name, so why had he felt so inclined to defend him?

The bully turned to Graham, his eyes ablaze. For one reason or another, James let go of the boy, and Graham watched in awe as his soon-to-be partner in physical abuse crumbled up into a ball on the pavement, red-faced and clutching his throat. From somewhere behind James, he could hear the other boy emit a weak, struggling welp, a gesture Graham could only assume was the boy's small way of thanking him for not being choked to death.

"Now James..." Graham began, holding his hands out in front of him as though he believed they could somehow protect him. "I  didn't mean...I just wanted you to leave him alone. Certainly you wouldn't hit a boy with glasses, would you?"

Unfortunately for Graham, his pleas were not enough, and he found himself on the brutal end of the other boy's fist, his face exploding in pain before the entire world went dark around him.

When he came to again, the first thing he saw was the face of the blonde-haired boy, now seemingly free from the bully's clutches, staring down at him, grimacing.

"What are you looking at?" Graham spat, his whole head exploding in newfound pain.

"Are you daft?" The older boy responded, furrowing his eyebrows. "I'm looking at you. Your face, it's a mess. You're going to have a black eye tomorrow. I'm sure of it."

"It was a rhetorical question." Graham snapped, pushing himself up by his elbows. He squinted, peering around for his glasses.

"Are you looking for these?" The other boy frowned, holding up what looked to be a dismantled set of frames. "Sorry, mate. You did sort of have it coming, though."

The younger boy frowned. "You know, a simple "thanks" would have sufficed."

"Thanks?"

"Cor! You were practically pleading with me! You don't remember?"

"Pleading?" The other boy repeated, sounding entirely unconvinced.

"With your eyes!" Graham retorted. "You were staring at me. Asking for help. Don't you remember?"

"I don't remember anything of the sort." The other boy replied nonchalantly, holding out his hand. "But thank you for distracting him anyway."

Graham stared up at the boy dejectedly. Taking his outstretched hand, he looked around him, the street seeming to be almost completely empty. Unfortunately, it appeared that somewhere in-between getting hit by James, and woken up by his rather rude new acquaintance, they had both missed the bus.

"What's your name anyway?" Graham asked, unceremoniously blowing his fringe out his face. "If I'm going to have to walk to school half-beaten up, then I'd at least like to know who it was for."

"Damon." The blonde-haired boy smiled, reaching out his hand once again. "My name is Damon Albarn."

"Graham Coxon." He shook Damon's hand, half-frowning. "Nice to meet you... I guess...er, given the circumstances."

"Same." Damon smiled, looking much more sincere than Graham would have expected him to.

"Right. Well, I suppose I'll just start walking then." Graham nodded, motioning toward the direction the bus had gone.

"Actually...I was thinking, and I know that we've just met, perhaps you'd like to come over to my mum's house for some tea? I mean, you should probably get some ice on that thing." He nodded toward the right side of Graham's face.

Graham sighed, momentarily weighing his options. He didn't really want to skip school for fear of his mother's scorn, but then again he didn't really want to show up at school like his face had just been run over by a train either (or at least that's how he imagined it must have looked, given Damon's response).

"Do you have mint tea at your mum's house?"

"Yes."

"Well okay, then."

"It's not very far, just a couple of blocks that way." Damon reassured him, pointing down the road as they began to walk. "This is my first week at Stanway, you know. My family just moved here."

"Yeah, I could tell."

"You could?"

Graham gave Damon a quick up and down look, laughing. "Uh, yeah."

The other boy furrowed his eyebrows, looking a bit hurt.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Graham laughed. "Well, let's just say there's a few things you need to learn not to do if you want to avoid getting the shite kicked out of you again."

"Like what?"

"Well, don't read at the bus stop for one. Especially not that." Graham nodded to the book Damon was clutching fearlessly in his right hand.

Damon stared back at him, looking mildly offended. "What's wrong with Shakespeare? He's a brilliant playwright--"

"--Nothing's wrong with Shakespeare." Graham quickly added, interrupting him. "Although I find boys like James don't exactly share the same sentiment."

The other boy frowned, looking down at his book shamefully.

"And another thing...the way you walk."

Damon glared at him, his mouth agape. "The way I walk?"

"Yes. The way you walk. It's a bit....gay."

"Gay?" Damon repeated, as though he refused to believe it. "How?"

"Like this." Graham stopped, quickly imitating how he perceived Damon's posture. "You sort of walk like a girl. You slouch too much. You need to straighten your back like this, and move your arms less."

The other boy stared back at him, seemingly bewildered at his own lack of self-consciousness.

"How do you know all of this?"

Graham laughed, shaking his head. "It's not that hard. You just have to be more self-aware. If you're not, people like James will come after you."

"Does it work for you?"

"Mostly. I keep my head down." Graham smiled. "I guess you could say I'm good at disappearing."

Damon nodded and they both walked in silence for a moment, Graham peering up at Damon out of the corner of his eye.

"What's that from?" He pointed to the fading purplish bruise underneath the other boy's eye.

"Oh, this?" Damon frowned, touching his eye tenderly. "That's from the men's loo."

Graham stared at him blankly. "Um?"

"Well, the men's loo door, to be exact. I got hit in the face with it last week. Still smarts a bit."

"Who would...? What for?" Graham asked, abstractly.

"They said they were making fun of me for being  a queer."

Graham paused, feeling a bit awkward. "Well, are you?"

"No. But they seemed to think I was." Damon responded quietly, touching is eye gingerly. "I think it was because I hit on one of their girlfriends."

"Right." Graham said quietly, staring abstractedly in the opposite direction. He began to wonder if things would begin to get more or less awkward the longer he walked with Damon.

"Hey listen, I have a proposal for you." Damon stopped, placing his hands on the other boy's shoulders.

Graham looked up, surprised at the unexpected touch.

"Oh? What's that?"

"You should teach me."

"Teach you what?"

"You know, these things..." Damon began, waving his hand around abstractly. "Like how to stay away from bullies and not get beaten up for being different."

"Different?" Graham retorted, now uncomfortably aware of the hot blood rushing to his face.

"You know what I mean. I mean, look at you. You're not exactly..."

"Different?" Graham reiterated, sounding mildly offended.

"Look, never mind what I said earlier." Damon responded, waving his hands to the side. "What I meant to say is that you're good at disappearing. You said it yourself. You could teach me how to disappear."

Graham gnawed on his lower lip, suddenly feeling even more uncomfortable than he had before. "And what would I get, then? In return, I mean. It's not like you could teach me anything I didn't already know."

"Wrong." Damon stated plainly. "There are plenty of things I could teach you."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Like that girl you were looking at earlier. Wosshername...Helen, isn't it? I saw how you were looking at her earlier. You fancy her, but you won't go talk to her."

Graham felt his face get even hotter. "You were spying on me?"

"Not spying. Observing." Damon corrected, letting go of Graham's shoulders.

"I could teach you how to woo her."

"Woo her?"

"You know what I mean. I've got a talent for getting a girl's attention. I could...teach you a few things." The blonde boy grinned at him toothily, his bright blue eyes staring back at Graham mischievously.

What an opportunist, Graham thought wryly.

"Alright, then." Graham agreed. "But you go first. I've already given you enough free wisdom today."

"Fair enough." Damon responded, looking at the guitarist from head to toe. "The first thing that must be mentioned are your shoes."

Graham shot the other boy a scathing look. "My shoes? What's wrong with them?"

"Everything. Your brogues are crap, mate. Look at mine. Mine are the proper ones."

Frowning in response, Graham made a valiant effort to bite his tongue the rest of the way to Damon's house.



*


To be continued...