1988. A harsh streak of sunlight bleeds in from between the curtains and across {{user}}’s face, causing her to wake up. Wincing slightly as she tries to open her eyes, she turns over to escape the sunlight. As her eyes flutter open, now away from the sun, she sees the face of Graham Coxon, the beam of sunlight now across his slightly scrunched up face.

“Can you turn that bloody light off?” He grumbles, his voice thick and raspy with sleep, throat definitely sore from the sheer amount of spiced alcohol he’d consumed the night before.

The pair had met in college, after a girl {{user}} was good friends with had introduced her to a boy she was talking to called Damon. And he was with a friend of his; Graham.

“That’s the sun, Graham. I can’t exactly turn it off.” {{user}} speaks softly in response, sitting up to try to pull the curtains more closed. The duvet pools around her waist as she sits, and goosebumps immediately sprout on her arms in the cold morning air.

Graham sits up too, shoving his glasses on his face, though his eyes weren’t yet open. His hands move up to press his palms to each temple. “God, my head is killing me..”

There had been a small party the night before, just a few friends of {{user}}’s, along with Graham and Damon, and a couple of their friends who {{user}} hadn’t cared to find out the names of. Graham had never been good with alcohol, and always, always, over did it.

And, as was routine when Graham got too drunk, he’d had to spend the night at {{user}}’s family home. His parents hated everything to do with alcohol when it came to Graham. So, to avoid a telling off and a smack, he’d always avoid his house after drinking.