It's 3am.
When Cady is otherwise occupied, Damian is forced to escort Janis on her monthly scavenges for the darkest screamiest emo music she can find. Otherwise known as Damian pretends to be interested in the minuscule Broadway section in the record shop that they never restock while Janis returns with multiple bags full. Except just this once...
Just this once Damian gets more out of the trip.
Standing in a darkened back corner of the store is a boy. A stranger..... An admittedly rather gorgeous stranger. Instead of scanning the shelves, Damian stands beside Janis, his jaw dropping open. The boy's hair is long, jaggedy fringe falling loosely from underneath a black beanie printed with a skull and crossbones. His hair is.... blue! He stands confidently, long delicate fingers tracing along the spines of a section of records almost absentmindedly. Something about that stance, that tenderness amongst the harsh outer image, that cocky half smirk when he doesn't even seem to be trying sets Damian's heart racing.
In his daze, he doesn't notice Janis looking at him until two firm hands push his shoulders, sending him stumbling to a halt a few metres from this boy and he turns and the eyes..... His eyes are a deep deep chocolate brown, darker even than Janis's. (They're not anymore, I changed it, they're green but...) They widen upon seeing Damian and he's smiling and....
"Hello...?"
"Oh, h-hi.... I, erm... I..." Nice going.....
"You were just coming to compliment me on my hair. Yeah, thanks. Sorry to break it to you, you're not the first." All delivered in a neutral tone? Damian is left scrambling for any pointers as to how to react. The words are annoyed, but the smile is amused, almost friendly.
A logical response, come on, words..... Words? "No, I just wanted to say that I.... I love that... band...?"
Shit..... Why did he say that? He doesn't even KNOW that band. A question that is soon answered by a genuine widening of that crooked smile.
"Arctic Monkeys? Yeah, me too. What's your favourite song? Wait, let me guess.... You look like a Black Treacle kind of guy?"
That's.... That's a song, right? Smile and nod. Act cool. "Yeah, how did you guess?!"
"Really? That's mine too." He winks and god, it's hot. "I'm psychic, you know?"
Sweeping a hand through his hair in what he hopes is a cool gesture, Damian leans back against a wall, nearly (but not) stumbling. "If you're psychic, what am I thinking right now?" His eyes flicker briefly to rest on the lips two feet from his face.
"I'm Callum." "Damian."
And their lips connect in an explosion of fiery sparks, thrills of pulsing energy that connect the two bodies together.
Neither boy hears the squeal of surprise and joy from the dark-haired girl at the counter. Neither boy sees the condescending glare of the shop keeper. Neither boy breaks apart until all the oxygen is burned from their lungs. Neither boy ever wants to leave.
Damian leaves that shop with a new record, a new favourite song and a boyfriend and he couldn't have asked for anything more.
