Title: Idolizing Dame Damely
Rating: I believe it's safe to label this as
Summery: Shane is a shy gay boy who lives above a cafe in Kent, and who is to walk into that cafe one Sunday but the outspoken rocker Shane idolizes, called Dame. Slashy- enjoy!
Current Music: In Keeping Secrets of the Silent Earth Coheed and Cambria -I just discovered them!
Chapter One: Watching the World Through Plain, Brown Eyes

'Tis a strange feeling when you at last find a person to idolize, an individual who has everything you want in the palm of his hand. So, you admire him, but everybody knows that admiration eventually leads to obsession. Obsession leads to sheer need, and soon you find yourself on the Dark Side with Yoda's tiny, green head staring down at you through the blackness and saying, Told you so, I did.

Well, enough with the Star Wars. The fact was that I was obsessed, but for several good reasons. My idol was beautiful. He had gorgeous black hair that cascaded just below his ears, intense oceanic blue eyes, a defined jaw line though not as defined as his sleek body, and full, plush lips. He had both a piercing in his left eyebrow and his left ear, and he was the guitarist and singer of the highly favoured university band, Contagious Ridicule. I'd seen the band play seven or eight concerts at the open music club on campus, and for three university students with instruments, they were phenomenal. Rolling Stones, eat your hearts out, for you've been replaced in the world of rock 'n' roll.

That's right. It took me seven or eight concerts to recognize my own obsession with the rocker, watching him move like liquid on that small, dim stage, dressed in black leather trousers and a fishnet tee to match. Every time he leaned into the mic as if to passionately kiss it, the silver cross dangling from his neck would clatter against the mic stand. It was such a beautiful scene, that on nights after the concerts, I'd lay in my bed and imagine that I was that microphone, feeling every brush of lips against my face, encountering every movement. I discovered that my idol's said name was Dame. And Dame was the only thing I could think about now.

Sadly, my fantasizing was really all in vain. I didn't feel the least bit attractive, and even though I had heard Dame was bisexual, I was also certain that he'd never take interest in someone like me. I was a skinny kid of twenty years of age with thick, shoulder-length hair that always fell into my eyes. I'd had it highlighted back in grade school, and now it was an artistic mix of brown, dark blonde and red. I had plain brown eyes and my mouth was nothing to gawk at, for it was neither thin nor full.

I'd been raised by hippies, and so, I dressed like one. I had a large assortment of denim jackets, Salvation Army tee shirts and ripped up jeans, and dog tag necklaces with phrases like HONK IF YOU LOVE PEACE etched into them. For reading, I had a pair of geeky glass with thick, black frames.

The only part of me I fancied was my hands. I had long, elegant fingers, and my fingernails were always painted in black ink. I had piano hands, the kind that were perfect for playing a keyboard, which was certainly appropriate because I'd been playing piano since I could walk. My mum taught piano lessons for a living, so it was the norm to hear the pounding of keys from half-ten to seven o'clock at night in my house back in Liverpool.

Now I lived in Kent, in a small apartment above the Green Moon Cafe. The owner of the building was a middle-aged Russian named Joey. He was a stout man with black hair that was peppered with gray, and he and his wife Lisa, and two children, Lauren and Nicholas, lived in the larger apartment across the hall from mine. Nicholas was still in grade school, but Lauren was old enough to work as one of the waitresses in her father's cafe.

Joey and I had come to an arrangement which was that I'd be allowed to rent my two-room apartment for free if I worked in the cafe every night after it closed, mopping up the tiled floors and throwing the napkins and table cloths in the wash. He'd even pay me twenty pounds each week in addition for my work. It was a good deal, and I liked my location because I could always wake up to the smell of coffee and ham cooking in the morning.

As fate would have it, it was my residence at the cafe which caused my life to change dramatically.


Shane, wake up, kid. Shane... There was a voice in the back of my head, calling me.

Just give me ten more seconds, I told the voice. Let me finish my dream. But it was no use. Dame's angelic face had already left my sight. I opened my eyes and the blur of colours quickly took the form of Joey's wife, Lisa, standing over me with her dark hair in red curlers.

Hey, kid. She grinned softly. Good dream, hm?

I couldn't suppress a yawn. Yeah. Until you woke me.

Lisa chuckled, stepping back from my bed so I could sit up. My apologies, she replied gaily. It's a gorgeous day, she announced, drawing back the curtains over my window so a blinding light flooded into the room.

I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut. It's Sunday, I pointed out. I have no classes, so I like to sleep later than... I squinted at the digital clock on my bedside table.

Lisa made a quiet tut tut sound, then strided over to the door. Joey has to speak with you downstairs.

I sighed, rubbing my eyes in attempt to adjust to the sudden change in luminescence, and muttered, At five past eight on a bloody Sunday.

Lisa nodded, chuckling again before exiting into the hallway and closing the door behind her. I stretched my arms and pulled myself into a standing position. What did that crazy, old man want now?

I threw on a pair of denim trousers with holes in the knees, and a white tee shirt that looked clean, slipped into my favourite pair of red chucks and hurried downstairs without bothering to lock the door.

The Green Moon Cafe was busy, as usual. There were the regulars: three old men in sporting jackets who took their places on bar stools beside the register counter, and there were eight tables total in the small, brightly-lit room. Five of these tables were occupied. Lauren, a pretty, jovial woman who looked quite a bit like Lisa, was waiting on a couple who were sitting at the table beside the large cafe window that overlooked the street.

Ah, Mr. Manzae, a masculine voice with a thick, Russian accent boomed behind me. I turned to face the owner of the cafe who beamed as he burst through the kitchen doors and clapped a large hand on my shoulder. I need your assistance today.

I repeated and he nodded. You mean later, after the cafe closes.

Yes, but I also need your help at this moment. He lowered his voice slightly. Diane is in hospital, having her baby and we're one server short. I thought fondly of Diane, a sweet dark-skinned woman who worked at the cafe. Of course, the baby had to be due soon. Joey continued, If you take care of her shift today and tomorrow, I'll give you extra pay.

Not a problem, I answered and the pudgy man's face seemed to light up.

He resonated, then called out to Lauren something in Russian and she scooted over to us. Please get Mr. Manzae an apron. He turned back to me. Lauren will show you which tables to take orders from. And before I could get a word in, he strode back into the kitchen.

Lauren smiled daintily and lead me over to a cupboard of aprons. She tossed me a black one and said, It's simple, Shane. Just tell the customer your name and ask what you can get for them. She handed me a tiny, green note pad and pen. Write the orders on this, then rip off the paper and place it on the counter. I'll pick it up and take it to the kitchen for you, and when the food is ready, I'll set it on the counter. She pointed to the tables in the center of the room. Those are yours. All right?

I shook my head positively. Thanks, Darling, I praised.

Lauren fluffed her short hair. Comes naturally. I couldn't help but laugh, then, knotting my apron strings around my waist, I turned to focus on the four tables that were mine for today. Only one was occupied, and I noted a man with his back to me, sitting at the table nearest to the door. His rich, ebony hair ended at the neck of his black band tee.

No. Fucking. Way.

I felt my breathing start to quicken as I slowly approached the side of the table. He looked up from his menu, into my eyes confidently. It was him.

I said shyly. My voice felt so small, but I just couldn't help it.

he replied, smirking slightly. Can I have a cappuccino, please?

Cappuccino. Right. That was a question. I had better answer it. Yeah, of course, I responded, quickly pulling the top off the pen and touching it to the pad. Oh, shit. There wasn't any ink in it.

The brunette laughed musically. Take mine. I always keep a spare, he offered, holding out a second pen to me.

I whispered, feeling my face start to warm up as his fingers brushed against mine. I hastily took the pen and scrawled the order onto the paper.

So, do you have a name, or shall I just call you

I looked up from the paper, surprised he wanted to know. Well, of course he'd want to know. He might want me to bring him another napkin or something. It's Shane, I told him.

He smiled genuinely. Nice to meet you, Shane. I'm Dame. I nodded, feeling much like a bobble head on a car dashboard. He brushed a strand of hair from his face. I've seen you at a few of our concerts. Sort of surprising you like the music enough to see us more than once.

Are you joking? I love your music, I gushed and his smile grew wider. You have a wonderful voice, I mean, it's like listening to Mick Jagger or, erm... I started to realize how badly I sounded like a band groupie. Shut the hell up. I'll go put in your order, I explained and hurriedly moved to place the paper on the counter.

Hey, wait! Dame called from behind me. I faced him, mentally smacking myself for nearly tripping over my feet as I did. If you're not busy, I'd love to hear some input about the music. It'd mean a lot.

Yes. Yes! I tossed the pad onto the counter, then walked back over to Dame, who gestured for me to sit down. I took the chair opposite him.

Nice hair, by the way, he complimented and I smiled, instantly reaching up to fix it. I hadn't even combed it.

Who did it for you?

Oh, my mum, I replied. But you'd have to go all the way to Liverpool to find her.

Dame acknowledged smoothly, A Liverpool dude. I've never been there. Is it nice?

I shrugged. I guess. Liverpool was a nice place to grow up, but I had not enjoyed it. Liverpool was full of memories, good ones and bad, and unfortunately, the bad ones stayed sharper in my mind than the good.


When I was thirteen, my younger sister Nina was dreadfully sick. For three days, she'd been suffering from a sore throat and fever, but my mother was set on the idea that the eight-year-old was only enduring a nasty cold virus. By the third day, my sister was covered in rashes, and mum at last decided that it was time to call a doctour. Typically, the fates were against us, and not only was our family doctour too busy for us to see him, but also, the week before, the main wing of Liverpool's primary hospital had caught on fire, and the entire hospital was temporarily shut down while being inspected for asbestos fibres.

It wasn't until a painstaking three days later that a doctour could come to the house and look Nina over. His expression was stony as he explained to mum and me that he was positive Nina had Scarlet Fever. If Nina had been treated with aspirin on the first or second day, she would have healed rapidly. Now, it was too late to do anything except wait to see if she'd recover on her own.

We were advised not to get very close to her so we wouldn't become ill as well, but the next day, she called me into her room to read to her, and I'd never refuse her. I quietly opened the big, white door and saw her sitting there in her bed. She gave a small smile, and I tried to return it, but my stomach was twisting inside me. My poor baby sister was red all over, as if she'd been sunburnt badly, and she suddenly broke into a coughing fit as I took a seat beside the bed.

Want water, Nin? I asked as calmly as I could. She nodded her head frantically, and I quickly scooped up the water glass on her armoire and handed it to her. As she drank from her glass anxiously, I rummaged through a stack of books beside her bed. What sort of story would you like, Darling? I inquired, and she gazed at the pile of books for a moment before pointing to the third book from the top of the stack. I grabbed it and smiled when I saw the title. Ah, you want to hear about dragons today.

It was one of Nina's favourite books. She loved fantasy characters, and I can still remember when she was five, how she'd jab out her arm like a knight and his sword and say, I'm jousting, I am! Now, I, her newly-teenaged brother, sat beside her, reading to her as I used to, putting on big, booming voices for the dragons, and dainty, high-pitched voices for the fair maidens in the story. Nina laughed every now and then, but each one of her little giggles would be immediately followed by a burst of coughing and a gulp of water. I'd never felt so horrible for anyone, and at that moment, I felt I'd do anything for her.

I had just gotten to the part in the book when the knight and dragon were about to battle, when Nina interrupted me. It was the first time I'd heard her speak in days, and her voice was very thin, very small. My head snapped up from the pages. I was thinking, she whispered, that when I die someday, I don't want to be an angel, like mummy says I'll be.

I gulped. She was talking about death. Death. It took me a few seconds to find my voice. What do you want to be?

She gave a cheery smile, and raised her arms above her head. A pixie. A little pixie with large green wings; then I could do magick.

I smirked at the response for it was not a surprise. You will be, I told her, trying not to think about death.

She pointed her fingers in my direction and continued, It would come from my hands, and I could turn you into a cat, like this! She hissed softly, and I quickly pretended to fall out of my chair, onto the carpet. She chuckled, watching me roll around on the floor. I sat up and smirked, then said a loud . she laughed, shaking her head. You're not a cat.

I argued, You turned me into one. Meow, meow. She giggled again, and I stood up and crossed my arms over my chest. S'pose I'm a human now.

You're just odd, she countered, then yawned, tilting her head back into her pillow.

I'll let you sleep now, all right? I said softly, and she bobbed her head agreeably. I moved toward the door and flipped the light switch so the room was darker, then blew her a kiss. Nina sent one back to me, and I closed the door.

She passed away a week later, and I felt as though half of my heart had been ripped into shreds. It seemed so impossible that she was gone, and it wasn't until the day of her funeral that I finally realized I was an only child. It was just me and mum now. And mum was in far worse shape than I was. I think she thought Nina's death was her fault, because she'd begun drinking more often as each day went by, which was a scary thing because she hated alcohol. I didn't say anything. I just tried not to think about Nina, but for many nights, she visited me in my dreams and I woke up with tears staining my face.

When I was almost fourteen, I made the biggest decision I'd ever had to make. There was a tattoo parlour on my block, and after a short discussion, I had the owner convinced that I was seventeen. What d'you want? he asked me, and I lifted my shirt, pointing to my lower back.

A pixie, I replied without a trace of emotion, A pixie with green wings.

Now, many would've thought that I was brave for withstanding so much physical pain at a young age, but I knew the worst was yet to come, and it came in the middle of my ninth year of schooling, in the boys' lockers:

Oi, Rod, you little bugger, gimmee back me towel! a friend of mine, Willem, yelled to one of the other boys in my year. We'd just finished football outside, and all the boys were either in the showers or changing. Rodney Chambers, the prankster of the lot had just stolen Willem's towel, and my lanky, Irish friend was now chasing after him, stark naked except for the red curls which barely covered his...well.

The towel flew through the air, being caught and tossed by several boys as Willem bounced down the rows of lockers after it. I was slipping into my uniform shirt as a popular and good looking boy, Harry Newton, caught the towel and turned to me. 'Ey, Manzae, it's all you! he called, throwing the towel at me. I'd meant to catch it, but my hands weren't fast enough, and it flew into the top shelf of my locker.

Willem raced up to me. Come on, Shane, I'm in the nude for Christ's sake.

I smirked. Here you go, Will, I said, then reached up to pull the towel out of my locker.

I wish I'd had the tattoo placed somewhere discrete. Like my arse.

I heard Willem gasp behind me, followed by a Fucking hell, Manzae, from Harry. 'Ey, guys, take a look at this.

I looked down and discovered that my shirt had ridden up when I moved, and my trousers, low-set on my hips, weren't hiding the pixie in the small of my back. When I looked back up, I was surrounded by a dozen boys. I frantically turned to hide the tattoo, but there were hands all over my arms and legs, forcing me to turn back. Harry lifted my shirt and Rodney chuckled, Is that for real?

It's a fucking faerie, another boy, Duke Jones exclaimed.

He's a fucking faerie-boy! Harry shouted. I wrenched myself from the grip on my shirt, and whirled around to face them. Most looked shocked. Others looked hateful.

Duke reached out and pushed my shoulder hard into the metal locker behind me.

Look at 'im. He is a faerie-boy, Rodney snickered. I wanted to melt into the steel door so they couldn't see me. But they could, and they were all calling me and and . Even Willem.

I don't care what anyone says. is the worst nickname any teenager can be given. If I had been well-liked, I was now much-hated. I was the until the day I graduated for university.


I blinked up from the place mat I'd been staring at so avidly. Dame wore a confused expression.

You alive, mate? he asked with a growing smile.

I immediately protested, Sorry, I was just...

Remembering things?

I nodded. Yeah. So...What about you? People say you grew up on the streets.

Dame placed a hand over his heart. Proud of it. I got myself here all by myself, you know. He leaned over the table and dropped his voice slightly, making me move closer so I could hear him. His blue eyes were glistening as he continued, See, my parents went from job to shit-job every week, moving around the whole of England, looking for steady work. They put me in one of the less-costly schools, and left me to fend for myself while they were gone. Every now and then, they'd send me money or something, but I barely saw them.

I didn't have enough money for housing, of course, he added, and I shook my head positively. So, I slept by the stairs of some old chap's house. After schooling, I washed dishes at a couple of fancy restaurants for pay, and every shilling I got, I set out for University. Well, He cleared his throat and smirked. Except for my guitar. She's my favourite thing.

I don't doubt it, I told him, remembering how in love with his guitar he'd looked in concerts. But, surely, you couldn't have made enough money for University, right?

He pointed a finger at me and drew himself back from the table. Right. I only made about half of the proper tuition, so I made a deal with the University of Kent when I graduated from grade school. That was that I'd put up all the money I had so far, and make up the rest of it by the time my four years are up. So, He shrugged, I've got one more year and seven-hundred pounds to go. I'm doing well for myself. The concerts win our band decent money, you see, and a part of it goes to me.

I smiled. I'm glad you can make money by doing something you love.

He opened his mouth as if to reply, but we both started at the sound of fingernails tapping on the table. I looked up into the smirking face of Lauren. She set Dame's frothing cappuccino down on the table top and stepped back. That's meant to be your job, Shane, she scolded lightly.

I quickly stood. Sorry, Darling. I got lost in conversation.

Lauren took a look at Dame, then grinned knowingly at me. You're lucky I don't tell my father. The last thing that man needs is a heart attack over a stand-in waiter.

I held up my hands in defense. I know. I'm sorry. It won't happen again.

Yeah, it'd better not, Lauren halfheartedly threatened, poking me in the chest. She turned toward the door and pointed at a family who were entering the cafe. See? They need service, Mr. Manzae. She prodded me in the back with her fingers, forcing me to take a few steps foreword. I could hear Dame chuckling to himself behind me. It's half-eight. You have two more hours before I let you have a break.

Dame repeated. I turned around to see his frazzled look. I promised my band mates that I'd meet them, he explained, standing up. Could I take my coffee to go, perhaps?

Lauren nodded quickly before abruptly pulling me to the counter by the arm. When we were out of earshot she gave a dramatic sigh. All right. I'll take the family for you while you put dream boy's coffee in a foam cup. He's not my type anyway. I couldn't help but laugh. She smiled broadly, then ambled over to the group of customers, who were now taking off their jackets and hats.

I made my way back over to Dame with a foam cup in hand. As I poured his coffee from the mug into the second cup, Dame inquired, So, Manzae is your last name?

I looked up. He wanted to know my last name? I answered uncertainly.

As if sensing my suspicion, he added, It's always good to know the name of a fan.

I smiled sheepishly. Of course. Why else would he want my name? As I placed the foam lid on the cup, I asked curiously, And yours?

Dame's lips quirked upward.

I repeated. Like Damely Enterprise, that posh fashion franchise.

As quickly as Dame's smile had formed, it vanished. He cleared his throat, glancing at something on the opposite wall. Yes. Like Damely Enterprise.

I wondered what I'd said to upset him, but suddenly realized something else. Hey, your name is Dame Damely?

Dame glanced around before stepping closer to me. People call me Dame', but my real name is Isaiah.

Isaiah. What an odd name.

My parents are super-religious, he illustrated. He extended a hand and I hastily handed him the cappuccino. He beamed. I'd meant to shake your hand, but the coffee is lovely too.

I felt my cheeks heat with embarrassment.

The brunette winked and started walking toward the door. See you around, Server, he called over his shoulder, and before I could reply, he was gone.

My idol.


Hello, everyone! I'm back, well, I never really left fictionpress, but I guess you could say I took a holiday to for a while. So, what do you think of this novela so far? I will be quick to clarify that it isn't a true story like , but it is based on people I see. If you were curious, Shane's last name is pronounced , and Isaiah is said . Ha, I was living with my dad for a few weeks in Canada, and he took me to church (I'm not even completely Christian!) where I started reading the Bible out of curiosity, and then I saw the name . It's such a beautiful word, isn't it? Hmm...

By the way, if you fictionpress junkies were curious what I've been writing at , I have posted a Harry Potter fic there under the penname . The fic is a Draco/Ron pairing called Realization on a Winter's Eve, so take a look. Also, here at fictionpress, I have my true story about my two best friends discovering their feelings for each other. It's called and it's slash (ha, what else? I barely write het anymore).

Anyhow, I hope you enjoy what you've seen so far. I know it's a bit shakey in places. It's part of my created style and I can't seem to lose it. *giggle* Please, let me know where you'd like this to go. I have some ideas, but perhaps yours will blow mine out of the water. Hehe. Bright blessings!

Delicious love, Ebony