The show had ended hours ago, but the buzz still clung to Damon’s skin like sweat. The night was quiet now, thick with the stillness that follows chaos. He sat on Isabella’s bed in a borrowed t-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants she’d tossed at him earlier — her brother’s, probably, a bit too short on his legs. She was in the bathroom down the hall, removing her makeup. He could hear the water running, the occasional hum of her voice — a soft melody she probably didn’t even realize she was singing. The apartment smelled like vanilla candles and detergent. Familiar. Warm. Home. They had planned this earlier in the week — a post-show sleepover, just like they used to do when they were younger, back when life was simpler and feelings didn’t blur lines so easily. Damon had casually said he’d crash on the couch, but Isabella rolled her eyes and insisted he take her bed while she’d sleep on the pull-out. Now that he was actually here, in her space, everything felt different. Too quiet. Too close. The door creaked open and she stepped in, makeup-free, hair tied in a messy bun, oversized band tee hanging off one shoulder. It was hers — but it had the Blur logo on it. From their very first gig. He blinked. “You kept that?” He asked, nodding at the shirt. She looked down and shrugged, walking over to plug her phone into the charger. “Yeah.” She said. “Of course. It’s my favorite one.” He smiled softly, heart beating a little faster in his chest. She flopped onto the bed beside him, crossing her legs under her. “You okay?” She asked, glancing at him with that gaze — gentle, observant, the kind that always saw through him. “Yeah. Just… feels weird.” “Weird how?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. Playing like that. Seeing you in the crowd. Then coming here, and it’s just us again. Feels like two different lives crashing into each other.”