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The hotel rooms were mediocre, with few amenities and small beds. They had rented 4 rooms – two people per room. Chris and Jonny had a taken a room, Damon and Graham, Guy and Will, and Dave and Alex. Quite predictable.
Damon dragged his feet into the room he shared with Graham and dropped his bag by the far bed. He sat down upon it, and glanced at his roommate when he walked in. Graham was smiling like Damon hadn’t seen him do in a long time.
“Nice, aren’t they?” Graham said.
“Yeah, I guess.” Damon shrugged. “Not my type, really.”
Graham laughed, almost in disbelief. “Well, of course they’re not – they’re the nicest guys I’ve met in a while.”
“Too nice,” Damon added. “Boring.”
“No!” Graham sat down on the bed next to his bandmate. “Guy’s great, Will’s hilarious, Jonny’s… well, what I’m saying is – Damon, please try to get along with them. They probably don’t want to be here any more than you, all right?”
Damon was silent until Graham rose and walked away. As soon as he had retreated over to his side of the room, there was a knock on the door. Graham rose quickly to answer it.
Chris stood in the doorway, a huge smile on his face. “Party in my room. Let’s go.” (AN: Ah, yes, that was so un-Chris. But I had this image…)
- - -
When Chris said party, he indeed meant party. All eight of them were stuffed into one rather tiny room, with Jeff Buckley turned up loud and a complimentary case of beer lying opened on one of the beds. Chris was holding Jonny’s beer for him, gingerly sipping it every once in a while. The blonde guitarist was having it out in a game of poker with Dave and Graham, and Guy was perched atop a plush chair trying to get an eyeful of Graham’s hand. Alex was bothering Will. Damon was sitting alone in a corner, feeling bitchy and neglected.
After a bit, Chris put Jonny's beer back on the table and announced he was going to get a Coke from the machine at the end of the hall. He took a dollar from Jonny’s wallet and left. As soon as he was gone, Damon turned brooding eyes to the door. After a second’s pause, he followed him out.
The hall was blessedly quiet and cool. Damon could hear Chris’ heavy footsteps on the carpet. He caught up with the tall singer just as he was kneeling to pull his soda from the flap-door at the bottom of the machine. (AN: Flap-door was the only term I could think of to describe it!) He looked a little surprised when he saw Damon, but nodded his easy hello. His long fingers fumbled with the tab at the top of the soda can and finally got it open as it fizzed and spit and bubbled over onto his hands. Damon watched him lick it off, wondering why he had followed Chris out here if he wasn’t going to say anything.
“Our manager’s name is Chris, too.”
Oh, of all the stupid, stupid shit things to say. That undoubtedly took the cake. Damon cringed in pain.
Chris gave him a look, then laughed. “Oh?”
The resentment returned – at Chris’ casual laugh, his easy innocence, at Damon’s awkwardness. “How come you don’t drink?” he asked, hastily changing the subject.
“Because I don’t want to.” Chris shrugged. “I think it tastes horrid.”
Damon pressed on. “Are you completely straight-edge then?”
“I used to drink,” he admitted, taking a long gulp of soda. “But I never liked it. I never did any drugs ‘cos I didn’t have the money.”
“But now that you have it, would you?” Damon leaned against the soda machine, eyebrows arched.
Chris shook his head determinedly. “Nah. I could never do that. I don’t want to.” Then he looked into his soda, a little abashed. “What about you? Why do you do it?”
Damon pushed off the machine. “Because I can. It’s none of your business.” He turned and walked back towards the room, and quickly retreated back to his corner, licking his self-inflicted wounds and still feeling neglected.
It wasn’t long before he was bothered out of his moody reverie again. It was Chris, standing a few feet away. He had tossed a balled up sock at Damon’s head and now he scampered over to kneel in beside the Blur frontman. His expression was confused.
“I heard you were the life of the party,” Chris remarked, smiling a little. “Is something wrong?”
Damon studied Chris’ face a moment, weighing the possible answers and possible outcomes. A “piss off” would probably ruin whatever fragile companionship they had. A “nah, but thanks for asking” was quite uncharacteristic but would most likely get him a bright smile. And a real explanation… well… that was out of the question.
“No, I’m all right. Just tired.” Damon smiled tentatively. “You know.”
Chris nodded knowingly. “Want me to tell those wankers to keep it down?” He jerked his head at the others.
Damon marveled briefly at his persistence – and his generosity. “No… I think maybe I’ll just go to bed.”
All eyes followed him in surprise when he rose and left the room. He crossed the hall to his own bedroom. Graham never joined him.