Chapter Text
June 2nd, 1989
7:04 PM
It wasn’t Damon’s fault. There was blood on his knuckles and his lip was split, but it wasn’t his fucking fault. His guitar was surely broken, hell, maybe his nose was too. Through the pounding headache, through the noise of students shouting around him, he could only think one thing. One word. One name.
Liam, Liam, Liam.
— — —
September, 1989
“Damon, if we’re late for class again, I’m gonna fucking kill you,” Graham’s voice rang through their dorm. He had already showered, made breakfast, cleaned breakfast, and poured two travel mugs of coffee for both of them, (usually, he’d make tea, but they’d need coffee today) all while Damon still refused to get out of bed.
“We won’t be late,” Damon groaned, finally sitting up. “And tone it down mate, between your ruckus and these bright ass lights I’m getting a headache.”
“Don’t be daft,” Graham chided. “That’s called a hangover. That’s what happens when you drink half your bodyweight on a Sunday night.”
“Sundays are for drinking,” Damon grinned, finally up and moving.
“Sundays are for god,” Graham sighed.
“Piss off, Graham. We both know you haven’t been to church since you were twelve.”
“Yeah, yeah. Put your fucking clothes on so we can go. I made coffee for us.”
Digging through his dresser, Damon grinned. “What a great housewife you’d be.”
Giving him the last word, Graham opted for silence as Damon fished out his clothes. A plain white shirt, jeans that were a size too big, and socks out of his dirty clothes pile. By the door, Graham waited patiently, tapping his foot as he waited for Damon to finish getting dressed. Finally, Damon slipped his shoes on, and they were out the door, coffees in hand
It was a pleasant day out. Summer was over, but some warmth still lingered, clung to the foggy air around them. Something nearby smelled sweet. A bush of flowers, full of busy bees. Tired students clambered to their classes, some jogging, some moving like zombies.
It was a pleasant day out. Until he heard his voice.
Like nails grating against a chalkboard, Liam’s voice came from behind. At first, his words were indistinct, but his voice was not. He wasn’t talking to Damon, no, but Damon thought he shouldn't be allowed to talk at all.
“Damon,” Graham warned, nudging him with his elbow. He must’ve heard Liam too. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“I won't,” Damon gritted through his teeth. All the ‘stupid’ things were running through his head. But they’d stay there, hidden away.
It became harder not to act out as he began to make out Liam’s words.
“-And you know, this bird is all over me. Hands on my neck, twirling my hair between her fingers-”
Damon didn’t want to look behind him. Just like you don’t want to look at car crashes or roadkill- you don’t want to look, but you end up staring. So, inevitably, Damon turned his head, just for a second.
There he was. Liam-fucking-Gallahger. All dressed in his stupid blue zip up that looked uncannily like Damon’s own sweatshirt. Around him was a group of his friends, students from all sorts of classes, swarming him like flies to a cow. Like flies to a pile of shit, Damon thought to himself. Next to Liam was his brother, Noel, who didn’t seem slightly interested by the story Liam was spewing. Bullshit, most likely. It was a shame; Noel was quite a nice fellow, ruined by the shadow of his aggravating little brother.
Then, by the work of the Devil, Liam met Damon’s eye. Being the smartass that he was, Liam cocked a grin, and winked at him. Fucking winked at him. Heat rose in Damon’s cheeks, (anger, definitely anger) and he would have shouted something if Graham hadn’t grabbed Damon’s arm and dragged him towards their lecture room.
Liam’s laugh followed Damon all the way into his classroom.
“I’m gonna kill him,” Damon whispered to Graham as they took their seats.
“You can’t let him get to you,” Graham told him, pulling his notes from his bag. “Do you want a rematch of June?”
Damon grinned. “Yeah, kinda.”
Lightly, Graham gave him a shove on his shoulder. “No, you don't. You almost got expelled. Almost got me expelled too, asshole.”
“Yeah, and it was almost worth it.”
When their professor walked in, textbook in hand and already rambling about their morning lesson, both boys shut their mouths and listened. Or pretended to, in Damon’s case.
— — —
Friday came around without many complications. School was boring, as usual. Graham was on his ass, as usual. And, by some blessing from above, he’d avoided Liam all week since that wink he’d delivered on Monday.
Yeah, maybe a week had passed since, but it’s not like Damon thought about that wink often. He didn’t bring it up often either, really.
“Can you believe that fucker winked at me?” He asked Graham on Tuesday.
“Myabe that’s just how he blinks. Like a fucking frog,” Graham said. They got a good laugh out of that one.
On Wednesday, it was: “I just can’t believe he winked at me. I should have punched his eyes in.”
Graham’s reply was: “Go the fuck to sleep, Damon.”
Thursday: “Do you think he was flirting? No way, right? Because that would be disgusting. I think I’d throw up a little if he was. And he’s not into guys, right? But he winked at me-”
“Damon!” Graham had exclaimed. “I’m trying to do my homework! It would do you good to do yours too!”
“Why would I do it if I could just copy yours?”
And then today, Friday, it was, “Graham, you don’t understand. He winked at me. Does he wink at anybody?”
They were on their walk around campus, just trying to stretch their legs after being crammed in their dorm and their classrooms all week. Class was over now; it was nearly dinner time.
“Listen man, you have to get your crush on Liam settled. It’s driving me crazy,” Graham exclaimed.
“Crush?” Damon’s voice was incredulous. “Are you crazy? I hate that man. I hate him so much. Don’t you remember what happened in June?”
“Yeah,” Graham nodded. “I remember you obsessing over him, and him obsessing over you. It makes me sick watching the two of you interact. Like physically nauseous. If I had any food in my stomach I’d be throwing up right now thinking about it.”
“A crush,” Damon reiterated with a scoff. “As if.”
“Can we please stop at the lunch hall for some dinner?” Graham whined. “My stomach is killing me.”
Damon cracked a grin. “Sure thing. I know how you get when you’re hungry. It’s a little scary.”
Back in the lunch hall, they both plucked sandwiches from the fridge. Damon suggested taking them back to their dorm, eating them there, but Graham claimed to be on the brink of starvation. He needed to eat now. So the two of them sat near the windows, eating their sandwiches, listening to the gossip around them. Nothing particularly interesting. Someone cheating on someone else, a loose racoon on campus, nothing of interest.
But then, he heard it.
“Are you coming to the party tonight?”
The conversation came from the table next to him, a few birds chatting. It wasn’t for him to hear, but he listened anyway.
“What party?” another girl asked,
“You know, the one at Jame’s dorm. He throws it every year. His parents are like, super rich, so he has the biggest dorm on campus, and it's like the biggest party ever.”
Damon had heard enough. Mouth full of sandwich, he shoved Graham on his shoulder. “You hear that buddy? James’ dorm. Tonight. What’d they say? Biggest party ever.”
Shoving him back, Graham shook his head. “First of all, don’t talk with your mouth full. That’s disgusting. Second- we can’t go. We have a project due on monday- Damon, don’t look at me like that, it’s an important project! And you know you have to cut back on these parties man, they’re killing you. You’re always coming back drunk, or not coming back at all. And you need to stay away from drugs-”
“God, Graham!” Damon sighed. “You don’t have to lecture me like a goddamn parent. I’m fine. Partying is what college is for!”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes it is! Why else would I be here!”
“To get an education,” Graham argued, “which you’re nearly failing, by the way.”
“Nearly, but not quite,” Damon pushed back.
“You’re going to drown, Damon.”
“Drown in alcohol. Tonight. At James’ dorm.”
“See?” Graham scoffed. “You’re a fucking alcoholic already at the ripe age of nineteen.”
Taking the last bite of his sandwich, Damon rolled his eyes. “I’ll crack you a deal,” he said.
Graham rolled his eyes in return. “Fine. Shoot.”
“We go to the party together. We drink, a little. Not too much. No drugs. Then we go back to our dorm, and we work on this stupid project. Hey- don’t shake your head. This is a win-win! I get my party, you get your project.”
“Can’t you just go to the party alone?”
Pouting, Damon answered, “You know I can’t. I need a chaperone.”
“I’m not even a friend to you, am I?” Graham asked, but there was a smile on his lips. “Nothing more than a chaperone.”
“So we’re going to the party?” Damon looked at him over his eyelashes. How could Graham say no to that?
“Yeah, whatever. We’ll go for a little. But then we’re coming home, and we’re working on this project. It’s like a fourth of our grade.”
“Sure, Graham. Sure. We’ll do our project after.”
— — —
James’ dorm. It was fucking hot, and fucking croweded. Damon and Graham arrived attached at the hip, pushing their way through the crowd. Around them, music blared so loud Damon could feel it rattling his bones. Students, mostly older classmen, yelled over the radio, laughed over the chatter. It smelled like sweat and alcohol, and Damon relished in it like it was his home.
When they successfully forced their way towards the dorm’s kitchen, Damon caught sight of exactly what he wanted to see. Alcohol. Bottles of it, littering the counter. Beers, vodkas, rums, and of course, a bowl of bright red punch.
“Damon!” Graham yelled over the music. Damon heard, but ignored him, pouring two red cups of punch. Instead of responding, Damon shoved one of the cups into Graham’s hand.
“Drink!” Damon exclaimed, picking up his own cup and clinking it against Graham’s cup before taking a swig.
Again, Graham yelled out, “Damon!”
Damon downed half of his cup, then swallowed. “What?”
“We don’t know anyone here,” Graham was fidgety, “and it’s really hot, and it’s crowded-”
Throwing his arm around his friend, Damon grinned. “You’re worrying too much, mate. We’ll be in and out. Just let me get a few more drinks in, and we’ll be out of here. And then we can work on that stupid project.”
“It’s not stupid,” Graham mumbled. “And you promised not to drink too much.”
Reasonably, Damon’s response was to down the rest of his cup. “I can handle my alcohol, don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself- take a sip and find a girl to shag!”
Redness washed over Graham’s face. “I’m not here for a quick shag, idiot. I’m here because you dragged me along- oh my fucking god.” As if he saw a ghost, Graham’s face fell. His lips pursed into a tight line; redness replaced with paleness.
“What-”
“Don’t turn around!” Graham tried, but it was too late.
Damon had half turned his head, just enough to see the ghost Graham had spotted. He should have known. He should have fucking known. Behind them, in the center of the crowd, stood Liam Gallagher, a fucking halo of light surounding his head. That couldn’t be more ironic. He was the devil in disguise. A very ugly, not handsome, gross disguise.
When they locked eyes, Damon didn’t back down this time. He’d take the high ground. Taking Graham’s drink from his hand- which he still hadn’t touched- Damon threw back the drink and relished in the burn before blowing a kiss in Liam’s direction.
Next to Damon, he heard Graham groan. He took his drink back and gulped the rest of it down, mumbling, “I’m gonna need this.”
Like a fish to a hook, Liam took the bait. Always quick to anger, always slow to please, Liam marched his way towards Damon, who still wore a shit-eating grin. For Liam, the crowd parted like water flowing around a rock. Subconsciously, Damon braced for a punch. Clenched his fist, clenched his jaw, and waited.
The hit never came.
Instead, “Pretty boy decided to crash a party, huh?” Liam kept his distance, just close enough for Damon to hear him, not close enough for a fight.
Next to him, Graham tapped his knuckles against Damon’s elbow. “Damon, seriously. Don’t encourage this.”
For a second, it looked like Damon was listening to Graham. But who was he kidding, as if he ever listened to his friend. Damon turned away from Liam, pouring himself more punch, then he turned back, a wild glint in his eye.
“You know I can’t resist parties like this, Gallagher. Funny, you show up. It seems like everywhere I go, there you are… two steps behind. Always behind.
Quick to anger. Slow to please.
Furrowing his brows, Liam took a step closer. They were close enough now. Close enough that Damon could curl his fist and dig it into the side of that stupid fucking face. His fist remained, unclenched, at his side.
“I was here first, you cunt. It’s my fucking party.”
“Yours?” Damon cocked an eyebrow. “Not James’?”
“Throwing it for me, twat. Who the fuck invited you, anyway?”
Graham was tugging at Damon’s sleeve, urging him to let it go. Letting things go wasn’t really part of Damon’s skillset.
“Ah, some birds at the lunch hall asked if we wanted to come. You wouldn’t know what that’s like, would you? Girls actually wanting to talk to you?” Damon paused, taking a swig of his drink. “I know that ‘oughta be a foreign concept to you, but they can be quite nice-”
“If you don’t shut your fucking trap-”
“Then what?” Damon challenged, taking a step closer. They were in each other’s personal space now. Music still blasted, but chatter died. Students crowded around them, waiting with anticipation. Waiting for either the silent resolve, or the loud explosion.
“Or I’ll bash in that thick fucking skull of yours-”
“Liam.” A voice to the left of them rang out. Not loud, not cocky, but sturdy. Both boys looked over to see the other half of the Gallagher duo. Noel’s arms were crossed, his face looked unimpressed.
“Can’t relive June can we? Don’t wanna cause another scene.” Noel stepped between them, pushing his little brother a few steps away from Damon.
Personally, Damon was ready to circle back to June all over again. To feel the way Liam punched him, to spit blood on the pavement, the intimacy of brute physical contact-
“Need a drink to cool down?” Damon suggested, raising his cup towards Liam
“You fucking-”
“C’mon, leave it,” Noel commanded, tone low. “Liam. Leave it. He’s not worth the trouble.” Then Noel flashed a small smile to Damon.
Huffing, like a toddler in a candy store, Liam turned on his heel and strutted off, but not without raising the middle finger toward them.
“Hello, Damon,” Noel sighed. He sounded like a tired father. A disappointed parent. “Nice to be seeing you. Would be nicer under different circumstances, I suppose.”
Damon gave him a curt nod. “Hello, Noel.”
“It'd be nice if you stopped tormenting my brother,” Noel sighed, moving around Damon to grab a beer from the counter
He didn’t have to defend himself, because Graham stepped in and said, “They torment each other quite equally. I’m sick of them.”
At that, Noel laughed. “Amen to that.” The two of them clinked bottles, and sipped from their drinks simultaneously.
After some light chatter, Noel disappeared in the crowd again, presumably to find his brother. Liam was in eyeshot, over in the corner, resting on the sofa with a drink in his hand a group of girls swarming him from every direction. He was grinning like a fucking idiot, like he knew Damon could see him. By then, Damon was four drinks in. Graham had only drank half of his second cup, and when he looked at Damon above his glasses, Damon knew exactly what he was going to ask.
Before Graham could say anything, Damon already protested. “No, Graham. We’re not leaving yet.”
“But Damon, you promised-”
“Yeah, yeah. But look at him over there, looking at us so smug. We can’t let him win.”
Groaning, Graham smacked his palm against his face. “Not this again, Damon. He’s not even doing anything.”
“He’s challenging me,” Damon argued.
“Challenging you? Oh bollocks, you’re drunk already, aren’t you?”
Glancing over at Liam, surrounded by girls, grinning cheek to cheek, Damon shook his head. “Not fucking drunk enough.”
“Let’s go home.” Damon could tell Graham was trying to sound tough, trying to put his foot down. What a cute attempt.
“Nah, let’s dance!” Damon poured a shot of plain vodka into his cup, and relished in the burn as it went down his throat.
Next to him, Graham shouted something incomprehensible. It was getting harder to hear. The music sounded louder, the students yelled around them.
“Huh?” Damon asked. His vision was starting to spin.
“You made a promise!” Graham pleaded. “You promised we’d go back to our dorm and do our project. You promised!”
Did he promise that? He couldn’t remember. Everything was spinning, everything was loud and hot and did he say loud? He vaguely registered Graham’s arm linking with his own, attempting to pull him from the crowd and out the door.
Planting his feet, Damon shook his head. “I’m not leaving!” he shouted over the music. “We haven’t danced yet!”
“We haven’t started our project either!”
“I’m not leaving!” Damon repeated.
As the bass rattled through the dorm, they bickered, back and forth and back and forth like young school children until finally, Graham threw his hands in the air.
“Fine,” he said, defeated. “If you wanna stay, then stay. But don’t expect me to care where you wake up tomorrow. Don’t expect me to make you coffee for your headache or sit next to the toilet when you throw your bloody brains up!”
Maybe, if Damon were a bit more sober, he’d feel the sting of disappointment as he watched Graham march out the room. Maybe, if he were a bit more sober, he’d recognize how much of a shitty friend he was being, and chase after him.
Unfortunately, Damon had only an ounce of sobriety left, and he used it to find his way back over to the drink counter. One more glass of punch. That’s all it took. One more glass of punch, and he was in the center of the living room, right in Liam’s line of vision, and he danced to the rock music flooding through the room.
One more drink, and Damon blacked out.
— — —
Liam had seen Damon drunk before. On many occasions, nonetheless. Trashy frat parties, even trashier garage parties, and of course, on June 2nd. But he never saw Damon like this.
In the center of the room, there was Damon Albarn, dancing like he didn’t have a care in the world. His arms moved like they were swaying through water. His feet tapped to the rhythm, surprisingly on beat. Sweat beaded under his eyebrows, his lips glistened from the alcohol he was sipping. Out of everyone in the room- Liam’s attention was laser focused on him. Not the girls around him, the girls touching, poking, proding, but he couldn’t think about them. He could only think of one thing.
Damon, Damon, Damon.
It was truly fucked up how stupidly beautiful Damon looked. Messy haired, face flushed red, body glowing blue under the harsh colored lights.
The thoughts Liam was having about Damon could only be described as sinful. Instead of acknowledging these thoughts, he did what any sane person would do, and did a line of coke.
The pain in his nose was a temporary distraction, fleeting. The drugs didn’t make Damon disappear. If anything, it had brought him closer. As the music flowed, so did Damon. As the drugs flooded his system, so did Damon. Prettier than any girl he’s been with. Mouthier than a teenager from Liverpool. Feistier than an open flame. And so fucking pretty.
Damon, Damon, Damon.
Forcing himself to rip his eyes away, Liam opted to stare at the ceiling instead. He closed his eyes, and waited for the drugs to give him the high he was desperately chasing.
Around him, the women started to annoy him. They talked, and they talked a lot. To each other, that was fine. To him- he just wanted them to shut the fuck up. Straightening his posture, he looked back up at the dance floor. This time, Damon wasn’t dancing alone. A group of upperclassmen surrounded him. Dancing with him. Dancing on him. Pushing their bodies against Damon’s smaller frame. Drunk out of his mind, Liam wasn’t sure if Damon knew what was happening.
One of the bigger guys was leaning down next to Damon’s ear, whispering something Liam couldn’t hear. At first, Damon’s eyes widened and he shook his head. Then, as if he forgot where he was, he broke out into a fit of laughter.
Hands were on Damon’s shoulder. On his back. Guiding him, away from the middle of the room and towards the door. Damon, all wits gone, was letting himself be guided by a group of older men straight out the door.
Fuck.
Liam knocked down a few drinks as he stumbled to get up, drugged and maybe tipsy. Half of his wits about him, he ignored the shouts of the girls around him, and he sauntered after Damon. He and the men were nearly out the door when Liam reached them.
“Hey, fellas,” Liam tried to keep his tone light. Calm. He wasn’t even sure if he was walking straight. “Where you taking this pretty one, eh?” he gestured to Damon. He really must have been drunk, because when Damon saw him, he cracked the biggest grin Liam had ever seen.
“Liam!” Damon slurred. “These nice guys were going to take me home. Said they’d take care of me real nice, didn’t they?” Damon could hardly stand without leaning on the other guys for support. No way Liam was letting him leave like this.
“Is that true?” Liam asked the other men.
They looked at each other, then back at Liam. The biggest man, whom Damon was leaning against, opened his mouth. “We’re taking him back to his dorm.”
Scratching the back of his neck, Liam sighed. “His dorm, yeah? Not yours?”
A different man spoke up. “What’s it to you?”
“What’s it to me? It’s just that I was supposed to be his guardian tonight,” Liam lied. “And it’s my job to get him back to his dorm, safely.”
Again, they looked at each other, then back at him.
“If ya want him for yourself, pick another night. He’s always getting shitfaced at parties. An easy fucking pick,” one of them huffed. “Pretty boy is ours tonight.”
Fucking animals. Liam wanted to slaughter them like pigs.
“I’m going to ask you one more time. Hand him over to me, or so help me god, things will get ugly.”
Liam braced for a fight. Adrenaline had already started to run its course. Hell, who was he? Fighting for Damon Albarn, not against him?
Surprisingly, they dropped it. “Fine,” the bigger one huffed. “Take him. Next time, he’s ours.” And then he pushed- quite literally pushed- Damon onto him.
Liam stumbled as Damon leaned against him, putting half of his bodyweight onto Liam.
“Damon, can you hear me?” Liam asked, cupping Damon’s face in his hands. Blush creeped up on Damon’s face, his pupils were uneven; there were tears in his waterline.
“Noel?” he asked.
“No, not quite. But good enough. Let’s get you home, okay?”
“Those boys were gonna take me home,” Damon’s words slurred together.
“No, I don’t think they were,” Liam shook his head. “Let’s not think about that, though. Let’s focus on getting you to your dorm. What’s your dorm number?”
“What’s your dorm number?”
Great. This won’t be fucking easy.
“Okay, okay. We’re going to start walking towards the west wing, and maybe the cool air will jog your memory.”
Slinging an arm across Damon’s shoulders, he propped Damon up. “We need to walk, okay? Will you walk with me?”
Slowly, Damon nodded. Even slower, Damon began to move his feet. One foot in front of the other, until finally, they were out the door.
It took nearly half an hour getting across campus. Damon leaned on him like his life depended on it. Both of them nearly fell over a few times. When they finally reached the west end, Liam asked again:
“What’s your dorm number?”
Again, Damon’s drunken response was : “What’s your dorm number?”
“Mine is B16. Happy?” Damon nodded. Giggled. “Good. Now tell me yours.”
Damon giggled again. Childish happiness played across his face. “Mine is D44”
D44. that was up four flights of stairs.
It took them another thirty minutes getting up the stairs. Damon was hardly conscious enough to get his feet to move. When they arrived, sweaty and panting, at the top of the steps, Liam stood outside of D44 and knocked.
Inside, he heard someone bustling about.
“About time!” Graham’s voice came from the other side of the door. “I was waiting for your sorry ass. Did you get enough fucking dancing time-” Graham cut himseld off completely when he opened the door to find Laim Gallagher standing outside of his door, black out drunk Damon in his arms. “-Oh, um, hi Liam.”
“Control your fucking dog,” Liam sneered, gesturing at Damon who was waving shyly at Graham.
“My- my dog?” Graham stammered. “Don’t you start with me Liam-”
“Liam?” Damon looked up at him, pupils still wide. “That’s you Liam? Oh my god. You’re so handsome.”
“Fuck,” Graham muttered. “He’s trashed.”
“Yes, obviously. So will you let us in?”
“Yeah, yeah. His bed is the one on the left.”
Inside, their dorm was surprisingly clean. Graham’s doing, no doubt.
Laying Damon down on his bed, Liam sighed. Liam tried to let go, but Damon held onto his sleeve. “You’re so handsome,” he muttered again.
Prying his sleeve from Damon’s grasp, Liam finally pulled away. “You better keep that trap shut before you embarrass yourself more. Bet you don’t even know who I am.”
“Liam,” Damon said, voice hardly above a whisper. “Liam, Liam, Liam.”
“Okay,” Liam nodded. “Maybe you do. But you need to sleep, okay? Just lay back- no, stop trying to sit up. Lay the fuck down.”
“Don’t you wanna fuck me?” Damon asked. The question hit Liam like a brick. Is the sky blue? Is the ocean made of water? Of course Liam wanted to fuck him. He had for weeks- no, months! And here he was-
But Damon was drunk; Damon was on drugs. (and Graham was in the room, a few steps back, observing.) With every shred of self control, Liam shook his head. “Don’t be disgusting, Damon. I want you to go to bed.”
“If you don’t want to fuck me, then why are you being so nice?” Damon’s eyebrows were drawn together.
“What?” was all Liam could say.
“Guys are only nice when they want to fuck,” Damon mumbled, then let out a small giggle. “Oh, I think I’m drunk.”
You think?
“Just close your eyes, you twat. You need to sleep.”
“Whatever you say.” And like that, Damon closed his eyes, mouth open, already drooling on his pillow.
Looking back at Graham, who watched the entire ordeal, Liam shrugged. “Keep an eye on him. I think he’s on drugs.”
“Seriously?”
“I think someone… I think he may have been drugged. That’s why I took him home”
“Seriously?”
“I wish I was kidding,” Liam said, making his way to the door. It was even more awkward now than before.
“Liam, wait-” Graham called out as Liam had his hand on the door. “Thank you.”
Swallowing, Liam nodded. “Don’t mention it. Seriously, don’t. It might be better for everyone if we all forget tonight.”
— — —
June 2nd, 1989
7:05 PM
Liam, Liam Liam.
Damon could spot him anywhere in the crowd. Messy brown hair. A rough demeanor, a demanding presence. They locked eyes, only for a second, before Damon clenched his fist, and swung.
— — —