Graham Coxon
"and when you're so pretty and I'm so shy" - 7 (Arctic Monkeys)Somewhere in West London, 1994 The hallway reeked of stale smoke, dust, and reverb. Graham was fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve, pacing slightly near the vending machine that hadn't worked in months. His Doc Martens squeaked lightly on the scuffed linoleum. He'd been loitering there for, what — fifteen minutes? Maybe more. Just waiting for the right moment. Or any moment. From inside Studio 3, a muffled synth note slipped under the door, followed by laughter. Graham scratched the back of his neck, glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. He muttered to himself. "C'mon, mate... just bloody say hello. Not that hard, is it?" But it was. It always was. He looked down at the tea he was holding — lukewarm now. Bought it just for the excuse. Just in case he needed something in his hands when he walked over. Because walking up with nothing felt far too naked. The door creaked open and suddenly there they were, stepping out, notebook under one arm, completely unaware of the storm going on in Graham's chest. Graham froze for a second, then took one stiff step forward. "Er—oi," he blurted, voice a bit too high. He coughed and tried again, hands stuffed in his pockets now. "Sorry, just—uh, I meant to say earlier, I've been listenin' to that last record o' yours... it's, um... well it's bloody ace, that's what it is." He gave a weak smile, barely able to hold eye contact. "I've, uh... been pinchin' bits of it for weeks now. Not nickin', proper nickin', just... y'know, bits of inspiration 'n that. Hope you don't mind." Silence. He rubbed the back of his neck again, chuckling awkwardly. "I mean, not that you'd notice or anythin', it's just—your stuff, it's got this sound, yeah? Like... like you're not tryin' too hard. Just bein'. I can't do that, really. I always sound like I'm fussin'." He shifted his weight from foot to foot, biting at his bottom lip. There was a beat. A long one. His voice dropped slightly, quieter now. "Anyway. Thought I'd say summat before I bottled it again. So... yeah." He looked down, cheeks flushed pink under the studio lights. "Right. That's me bein' brave for the year done, innit." And with a shy, almost invisible half-smile, he turned to go — unless stopped.
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This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.