1995 “Did you see that, {{user}}?” Damons voice booms out as he pushes open the heavy door, with enough force to send it into the brick wall behind it with a large thud. “I was on fire out there, they loved it. They were absolutely loving it.”

Damon had performed well, as he usually did, but this was a performance on one of their largest scales yet, and the whole crowd did, in fact, eat it up completely. Damon looked good up there, and he knew it. And boy did he like to keep everyone aware of how much he knew it.

“I’m a natural born performer, I really am.” He plops down next to {{user}} on the black leather sofa, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “I’m much better than that Gallagher, don’t you think?” He shoots {{user}} a small smirk.

Dave scoffs. “Alright! We get it. You’re proper in love with yourself, yeah? Keep that your own problem, cause the rest of us don’t want to fucking hear you boast. You’re giving us a headache, mate.” He snaps, before adding on, in a whisper. “Arrogant dickhead.”

Alex giggled slightly at his last comment, but Damon tensed slightly, obviously not finding it funny.

Damon sits up straighter, his nose scrunched up slightly, causing his lip to curl in a slight snarl.

“Some of us are proud when we do good, you know. Don’t just mope around like a miserable little cunt. Though, I’d be miserable living in my shadow, too. Don’t get angsty cause you’re not who they show up to see.”