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It didn’t get light until late – nearly 8 am – and Chris woke up to a dim, cold room. Jonny’s bed was empty and untouched, but his suitcase was open and his guitar on the floor. Chris kicked off the heavy starched comforter and padded towards the door. He wondered briefly if Jonny was still in someone else’s room or if he had risen yet.
His question was answered when he heard the rush of water from the bathroom. He knocked gently, but it wasn’t Jon who answered – a slightly gravelly, nasal voice called, “What?”
“Um… Who’s in there?” Chris asked.
“It’s Damon.”
Chris blinked in shock. Damon? What the bloody hell was HE doing in Chris’s bathroom? And where was Jonny?
“Is that Chris out there?” Damon called. The water stopped and the doorknob turned. Chris jumped back as Damon stepped out, swallowing a laugh: his hair was damp and stuck up in every direction, and his cheeks were flushed and face glowing. If not for his rather annoyed gaze, he would’ve looked almost angelic. Well, minus the crazy hair too.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Chris said, grinning. “How come you’re here?”
“Because…” Damon stopped, looking slightly embarrassed. “I dunno. Graham never came back to my room, and I guess… Dunno. I guess I got lonely. And your door was open.”
Chris, normally, would’ve thought this a little odd. But the idea of a spitting, brawling, alcoholic guy like Damon saying he was lonely was strangely endearing. “It’s okay, mate. I understand.”
Damon smiled a little apologetically. “Thanks.”
“So where is everyone…?” Chris gestured about him. “Are they still sleeping?”
“Probably. Dunno.” Damon stared expectantly at Chris, shivering a little. His lips were rapidly turning blue. “D’you mind?”
“Oh! Sorry!” Chris turned away, laughing in embarrassment, and strode back into the room. He pulled on his trainers and was tying them when Damon came in. His jeans were on and the rather tiny white towel was wrapped like a fuzzy turban around his head.
“I thought I’d go get some breakfast and then head over to check out the place where we’re playing tonight,” Chris said as he yanked his shoelaces. “Want me to bring you back something to eat?”
Damon scrubbed his head with the towel and eyed Chris rather warily. “Like what?”
“Like… I dunno… breakfast stuff. What would you prefer? Roadkill?” Chris’ voice was irritated but he was grinning.
Damon waved a hand and went back to meticulously drying his hair. When he finally discarded the towel on the floor, his hair was wild and fluffed. “Just bring me a coffee.”
Chris nodded the affirmative, and stood to go. “We’ll probably be leaving in a few hours, so if you see any of the guys, be sure to tell them, all right?”
Damon shrugged and turned away, and didn’t say anything else.
When Chris made it outside, the air was unseasonably warm and the sky was bright. The streets were still slick and dark with a rain that Chris didn’t remember. People bustled past him, weighed down with bags and carrying their winter coats in their arms. Chris pulled his dark knit hat lower over his forehead until it was nearly touching his eyebrows and made his way towards a small, dimly lit coffee shop.
He was surprised when he walked in to hear the strains of “Trouble”’s piano intro. That was unexpected. When he strode up to the counter, the girl behind it studied his face carefully – or was that just his paranoid imagination? He ordered, a little nervously, then slouched against the counter to wait.
While he was waiting, his hands balled into fists and shoved in his pockets, he heard someone call his name from outside. Jonny, Guy, Will, Graham, Dace and Alex were all standing outside the tall bay window at the front of the shop. Chris grinned widely and waved them in. They clustered around him, and Jonny leaned against him easily. The six of them had become fast friends, but Chris did feel a little left out. And Damon… well, there was something hiding behind Damon’s harsh eyes that belied his vulnerability. Chris wanted badly to unearth the hiding thing, but he didn’t think that three months would be enough to build that sort of trust. And what was he thinking, playing therapist to Damon Albarn? A rock star like that, and an insignificant newcomer like Chris Martin? It was absurd. Completely absurd.
“Where’s Damon?” Alex asked, grabbing Chris’s mug of coffee as it came up. “Still at the hotel?”
“He got out of the shower a little while ago,” Chris told him, taking the mug with a grateful smile.
“Ah. Typical.” Alex grinned.
“Should we go back and clean up our stuff?” Jonny asked no one in particular.
“But we don’t have to go for a while,” Guy pointed out. “Why don’t we go entertain ourselves?”
“Let’s wait for Damon,” Graham said. When everyone looked at him oddly, he added hastily, “Well, he’d have a shit fit if we left him out.”
Chris grinned and took a sip of his coffee, but nearly spit it out when it burned his tongue. “Bloody hell!” he said shrilly. “That hurt!”
Jonny glanced at him. “What happened?”
Chris stuck out his tongue and made a pained face. Jonny waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and he quickly put his tongue back in his mouth with a shy chuckle.