The awards are on the table. Literally. On the table at the back, right where Blur are sitting, laughing among themselves with those damn arrogant smiles. Damon lifts the trophy like it’s the World Cup. Noel is half resigned, half silent. Liam, on the other hand, is about to explode.

“This is a bloody joke! Blur aren't even in the same league as Oasis!” Liam points at Damon with a look of disgust. “And that twat can shove that award and stop smiling like he wrote ‘Live Forever’!”

You look away… toward Damon, to be honest. Because yeah, you like Damon. Not just his face, but his sharp mind and that 'I don't give a fuck' attitude. Exactly what Liam hates.

And exactly what Noel senses.

You feel his eyes on you. You know he saw you looking. He knows. He’s known for weeks, ever since that interview where you accidentally said, “Blur’s got something... especially Damon.”

Noel doesn’t say a word. But his silence is louder than Liam’s shouting. He walks past you, brushing your shoulder, and mutters under his breath:

“It’s not fucking funny that you fancy the enemy.”

You freeze. Watching the room. Thinking about what would’ve happened if you had won this time. If Liam was kissing the trophy instead of cursing it. If you didn’t feel this bloody tension between the brothers and this other, more dangerous one that pulls at you every time Damon shoots a glance your way from across the room.

Because yeah, Blur won. And this time, Oasis walked away with the loss...