Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Stu doesn't know the words to the song playing on the radio, but that doesn't stop him from humming along awkwardly as if he does. His voice comes out hesitantly at first, a little off-key like water running through a rusty pipe. Eventually, he finds the range in which he's comfortable singing and sound flows through him clearly, filling the vehicle.

"Serves you right for disappearing off the face of the earth for two entire bloody years," Murdoc remarks. "You miss out on all the rubbish collection of sounds getting layered over one another and called 'music' these days. Better yet, you can't torture me with it."

He's driving and trying to keep a straight face, but inside, he's giddy. Stu was there with him. This wasn't a mirage or a dream. He was right there in the passenger seat, singing as if they hadn't just spent more than two years estranged. Murdoc can hardly take his eyes off of him, his heart hammering in his chest.

"I wouldn't get ahead of yourself," Stu says. "This was the station that came on when I turned the volume up. I think that says more about you than it does me." He reaches out to turn the dial.

"I've been using my phone in the car."

"Nah, you were listening to pop radio on purpose, weren't you?" The singer eyes him knowingly. "Trying to get an idea of what's popular? Listening to Ed Sheeran, your favorite?" 

Murdoc draws in a sharp breath. He's about to let him know  exactly  what he thinks of Ed Sheeran. 

"Have you been writing, Muds?" Stu's tone of voice quickly changes from teasing to curious. "Is that what you were working out there?" 

They come to a stoplight, and Murdoc has time to take in all of him as he sits in the passenger seat. His eyes are, as always, drawn to the vivid blue that frames his face. Stu is a splash of color against an otherwise grey day. He's aged, he's cut his hair a little bit, and he may have gained some weight around his waist area, but his voice and his mannerisms are all the same. His eyes, black as they always were, pierce into him, punctuating his question. 

"I...er..." The car behind them honks at him to drive. "Oh, piss off!" he complains to the unknown driver. Once they've gotten through the intersection, he says, "I guess you could say that...You know the band is...uh..." 

"On hiatus," Stu says. 

"Hiatus?" 

"Well, I've come back, haven't I? We're all in the states now last I checked." 

His jaw drops, the words he had on the tip of his tongue, gone. Yesterday, he was living under the assumption that he would live out the rest of his days as a single man with a band that had broken up years ago. 

"You seem surprised." 

He tries to concentrate on the road. The man he had been so desperately in love with for the past three years had just come back into his life. That same man was implying that he wanted to continue writing and producing music. He could not, under any circumstance, crash his car. 

"Christ, Stu...you just got back today... I  still can't tell if I'm in some fugue stated or awake. We can't just - I mean...I'd love to, but...are you sure? Are you sure you even want to be back here with -" 

" We could walk forever, walking on the moon ," Stu sings. " We could be together, walking on, walking on the moon."  He laughs. "That's bloody high. But see, I told you I'd find something." 

Murdoc exhales slowly. "Oh, believe me, I never doubted you."

"We aren't Englishmen in New York anymore, and we aren't, uh, on our own. And Sting isn't on his own either. He's with The Police on this track." Stu smiles at him. "It's a bit poetic, isn't it?" 

There was so much Murdoc wanted to ask him, so much Murdoc wanted to tell him. But those conversations would have to wait. 

More than anything, he wants to touch him. He's on him as soon as they get through the door. His arms wrap around him, his hands running up and down his back, into the grooves of his spine. The anxious side of him wants to make sure the singer is really there because if he wasn't, he would rather wake up now. He needs to feel all of him again, and he doesn't want to doubt. Sensing his unease, Stu's hands come up to cradle his face, pulling him closer so that he can kiss him. Murdoc lets his mouth fall open, welcoming him as he tries to guide them to a room, any room. 

They stumble through the living room, barely making it into Stu's bedroom. The singer's hands move lower down his body, groping his ass, his thighs. To Murdoc's surprised and thrill, he lifts him up briefly as he lowers him onto the bed, surprisingly careful in his movements relative to their shared urgency. 

" Feet they hardly touch the ground, walking on the moon, " he sings before pressing his mouth against his again.

"I missed you and your bloody singing so much," Murdoc groans into the kiss.

Stu laughs. " My feet don't hardly make no sound, walking on, walking on the moon. "

There seems to be a shared understanding of what they both want that evening. Murdoc doesn't wait to pull his shirt over his head, and Stu is quick to unbutton his pants. They kiss until Murdoc feels drunk off of the sensation of his hands groping his chest, his hips, his ass, and the growing heat between his legs as the singer ruts into him. He shivers at the friction of the other man's arousal against his.

Stu sucks a trail of kisses down his neck, his hands fumbling with Murdoc's belt.

"Love," Murdoc groans. There was no denying it. Stu was real. The comforting weight of his body and heat of his breath on his skin was all the evidence he needed. "Slow down a bit, will you?" 

The singer's eyes are curious. "Slow down? Did I hear that correctly? Murdoc Niccals asking  me  not to rush?" 

Murdoc laughs. "Strange, isn't it? I've got still got a couple of surprises in me."  

Stu studies him more closely, still confused. "You don't seem that drunk." 

"Had a few beers by the water." Murdoc hold's his face in his hands, keeping their eyes locked. "But it's not that. I want to savor every second of this..." He traces the curve of his mouth with his thumb, runs it along the blade of his jaw. Sweet Satan, he had missed him. He never wants to lose him again. 

He pulls the singer into another kiss, and they're lost again, writhing around with each other, pushing and pulling clothes aside until there's nothing left between them. Stu rolls over and pulls Murdoc into his lap. Murdoc devours his mouth hungrily, grinding down against him as the singer's hand falls lower down his back. His breath hitches when cups the curve of his ass.

Before they can get any farther, Murdoc pulls away.

"Where are you going?" Stu sounds confused. 

"We aren't fucking without lube," Murdoc mutters, reaching over to Stu's drawer. He returns quickly, straddling him, a bottle of lube in hand.

"Oh right." Stu chuckles nervously. "It's...uh, been a while. I didn't forget or anything, it just wasn't on my mind." His fingers return to his skin, ghosting up and down his thighs. Murdoc has to bite his lip to keep from groaning. It didn't  feel  like it had been a while.

"And I wasn't sure if you wanted to...are you sure you want to?" 

" Yes,  Stu." Murdoc roots his head into his neck as the singer cautiously presses a slicked finger against his entrance. "Just...slowly..." He can feel his body quivering in anticipation. It had been some time for him as well, though he would never tell him. He kisses and nips at the singer's neck, both to encourage him and stop himself from trying to rush him. 

Stu's hands are their own beings. Despite the singer's vocalized uncertainty, his hands tend to him with confidence. One hand holds his hip, gently massaging the skin as he slips his finger inside. He gives Murdoc a few seconds to adjust to the intrusions before pressing in deeper. The bassist can't hold back his gasp when he brushes against his prostate. He begins to roll his hips against him, trying to taking more of him in. Stu's hands are as familiar as his own, he remembers them like yesterday.

"You're...okay," Stu says, seemingly in disbelief.

"Second surprised of the night, eh?" he pants into his collarbone, thighs quivering. "I can't remember the last time I felt this...this..." The heat keeps building in his body, the buzz of arousal leaving his dick aching. "Fuck..."

"Me neither," Stu says. "It's like I'm dreaming..." He shifts. "Can...I add another?" 

Murdoc grunts his assent. 

Stu presses a second finger in, and, at a frustratingly slow pace, begins to pump his fingers in and out. 

Murdoc lets out a small whine, arching towards him, his hips starting to rock faster. He allows the singer to unravel him there, to learn him from the inside out until he's open again. Impulsively, he lets his hand fall from Stu's shoulder to between his legs, stroking the singer's dick. The fingers inside him stroke and stretch until he loses language, and loses words. He's a sweaty, eager mess in the singer's lap. 

"Muds..." he pants. His hands move to his hips, holding them. "Can I...? Can you...?" 

Murdoc manages a nod and follows his lead, gripping his shoulders, lifting himself up. He lets the singer guide himself in as he lowers himself down, inch by inch. There's a familiar sting of being stretched that pulls another moan from his throat. Stu is attentive as he always is, rubbing circles on his lower back, leaving warm kisses along his neck and chest. 

"You look lovely, Muds," he says as he slowly takes all of him. "You're still a fit as I remember. You're beautiful. You're brilliant. You're...fuck," he gasps, his eyes glazing over, head swimming. "Shit..."

Murdoc's breathes heavily against him as he adjusts. He knows the singer is straining to keep from moving, and he plants kisses along the blade of his jaw in a silent thank you. 

"Muds..." Stu's about to go as mute as him. 

Murdoc answers by rolling his hips, eliciting a groan from the singer beneath him. He moves again and breathes out harshly, the sensation making his head spin. Stu's hands glide along his sides in a soothing rhythm. Murdoc can feel puffs of his breath against his ear as he babbles half-coherent phrases of flattery to him. He pulls the singer tight against him as he moves, the friction of his dick wedged between nearly sending him over the edge. Finally, his brain finds him a response. 

"Yes." 

And Stu comes alive. His long fingers press indents into the bare skin of his hips, gripping tighter and tighter with every thrust. Murdoc doesn't want those marks to leave his body. If he had his way, he would carry the feel of his hands, his teeth, all of him, for the rest of his life. He wants the singer around him, everywhere, limbs enveloping him the way the ocean envelopes the beach at high tide.

Stu seems to read his mind, rolling them over, so the Murdoc is folded against the mattress and headboard. He only takes a second to adjust before he's moving again, hitting his sweet spot again, and again, and again. 

Murdoc takes all of him, trying to pull him deeper with his legs. He feels the singer's fingers around his dick, tugging out a similar pace. Every touch the singer gives him sends warmth and sparks through his skin, pooling within him. There's a dull ache where they're joined, electricity with each thrust. Murdoc holds him, once again getting lost in the blue of his hair. Electric blue. Ocean blue.

"Muds...I..." His grip is becoming jerkier, his rhythm, uneven. All Murdoc can hear in his voice is  need.  

He lets go, lets himself come apart as his heart pounds in his chest and throat, the sparks he felt on his skin now dancing along the black insides of his eyelids. Stu fucks him through it until he finds his own release. He collapses on him, panting. Then they lie there, threadbare and worn, sticky heat blossomed between them.

When his limbs feel less like jelly, Murdoc brings his hand up and ruffles Stu's hair. When the words return, he practices what he had been holding inside himself for so long, words he wasn't sure he would ever use again. He whispers them into locks of hair that tickle his nose.

"Love you."

The singer rustles, turns his head so that he can see his face. "I love you too, Muds." His voice is tired and satisfied. "I've still got it, haven't I?"

Murdoc feels his heart swell. Stu was real, and Stu was home. "Yeah, mate," he says. "You do."

For once, he wakes up earlier than Stu. The singer is a large, inert lump next to him in bed, snoring quietly. All that's visible is his hair against the pillow and the rise and fall of the blankets as he breathes. Lying on his side, Murdoc gazes at him, taking the sounds he makes, the warmth of his body heat, and the aches in his own body from their coupling the previous night.

"Hi, Muds." The singer has rolled over during his musing and gazes back at him, a sleepy grin on his face. "Were  you  just watching  me  sleep?" 

Murdoc can feel the heat rushing to his face and turns his face towards the ceiling. 

"It's alright if you were. Do you see how it can be fun now?" 

"It's not..." The longer Stu keeps his eyes on him, the more flustered he becomes. "Two years," he says. "It's been over two bloody years, and I...thought you were gone."

Stu's face softens. 

Murdoc can feel his hands gripping the sheets tightly. "I can hardly believe you're in front of me now."

"Well, I am." Stu moves closer to him, close enough that their noses brush against each other. Another few inches closer and their lips are touching. He kisses him. "Hello." Another awkward, charming grin. Then, a grimace. "That was bloody workout you gave me last night. I didn't think I would feel it in the morning, but..." 

"Got a bit overexcited?" Murdoc smirks.

"I guess I was...How are you feeling?" Stu is suddenly troubled. "I should have thought about that more. Did I hurt you?"

Murdoc rolls his eyes. "You're always sore after a good workout. Unlike you, I was fully committed to the decision from the second you set foot in my car. I'm not made of porcelain."

"But you're...old...er...older."  

Murdoc knew Stu well enough to know he didn't mean to offend. The remark still earned the singer a glare. "You are too," he says.

"That's, uh, also true." Stu yawns. "Arguing about this is a bit stupid, isn't it?"

"I'll say." Murdoc sighs, letting the tension that had been building, leave his body. "We're waking up next to each other after an epic night of passion, and you're checking in with me. I'm just, er, getting defensive...old habits die hard." 

His response leaves Stu quiet at first. "Was that...an apology?" he eventually asks. 

"Yeah? I guess you could think of it like that." 

Stu kisses him again, leaving him breathless. "We've got a lot to catch up on," he says as they break apart. 

Murdoc blinks. "You're bloody right we do. Why did you come back?" The initial shock of Stu's return was starting to wear off. Now, he was anxious for answers. 

"Because I wanted to," he says. He rests his hand against his cheek.

"Wanker. That can't be all it is." Murdoc frowns at him. But keeping that expression proves to be a challenge as Stu continues to work his fingers through his hair. It had been years, and Stu hadn't lost his ability to know exactly where to touch him so that all the tension in his body dissolve.

"How about some breakfast?" He also ignores his comment. "I'm hungry." 

Lost in his caresses, Murdoc doesn't press the issue any further. 

Once they get to the kitchen, Murdoc wastes no time setting his place at the table. He places a box of Cheerios on the table along with a bowl and a spoon. It's going perfect until he gets to the refrigerator. "Shit," he says. "I haven't got any of that fake milk you drink." He sighs, disappointed. "But it isn't like you gave me a heads up..." 

This time, Stu is the one staring. "I'm surprised you've got any food at all." His eyes land on the cereal on the table. "And you remembered what I like to eat...Muds." For the first time since he's arrived, he gazes at Murdoc with an awestruck look in his eyes. Murdoc nearly buckles under their intensity, the unspoken questions, the barely contained emotions. 

"You were on my mind every day," he admits. "I  counted , Stu. I've had you on my mind like I'm some teenage girl pining over her first boyfriend." 

Stu laughs. "Missed me, huh?"

"I missed you, I missed your cock, I even missed your stupid jokes...I missed - " He pauses, cheeks burning red again once he realized what he's said out loud. "Christ. I just inflated your ego another into the stratosphere..." 

"You like me," Stu teases. 

"Of course I like you, you tosser. I  love  you. I always have...and I never stopped." 

His words seem to change the atmosphere in the kitchen. Stu is frozen for a few moments. Then he pulls out the chair and sits. "Can you tell me everything?" he asks quietly. "I'd like to know everything." 

"Well, alright," Murdoc says before turning back to the counter to fix his plate. "Since you asked nicely." 

"Everything" doesn't begin to come out until later that evening. 

They're sitting on the couch in the living room while the television drones in the background. They were supposed to be watching a zombie movie marathon that Stu wanted to watch, but he's looking everywhere but the television.

"Was that chair here before I left?" He points to a wooden rocking chair in the corner. 

"Nope. Found it in one of those empty lots downtown. Someone had dumped it there, I guess. Whoever it was, they were probably a bit touched in the head. You'd have to be to toss a hand-crafted piece of furniture like that." 

"Did you buy all those books?" Stu's already onto the bookshelf, and then the coffee table. "Have you been keeping up the whole house on your own? Did you pick out that rug? Where did you find all of those?" He's referring to the assortment of old signs sitting in the corner of the room. They were a result of a habit he formed while out on walks. If something caught his eye, he would take it home. Often, it was some sort of metal or an electronic. Murdoc would spend time taking apart what he found. Some things he kept, others he sold, others he threw away. Over time, he had formed a collection of a certain kind of screw, old cell phones, and more. The signs were a particularly noticeable collection.

Murdoc's a bit like a magpie,  he remembers Stu saying in one of their interviews. The singer hadn't been too off base.

Stu eventually focuses on the assortment of papers, folders, and pictures Murdoc hadn't had time to clean off. They were currently doubling as placemats for their dinner and empty cans of beer. "Who's that bloke laughing with you?" 

"Christ, mate, give me a moment to catch up." Murdoc gulps. 

"Sorry. I guess I forgot to really look at the house until right now." His eyes flick idly around the room. "You just keep surprising me. I mean, you always had a way of keeping me guessing but, uh, this time it's all good guessing...I think." 

"Were you surprised to find a house to come back to?" Murdoc chuckles.

"Uh, a little bit, yeah," he says. 

"I got on just fine for thirty years before I met you."

"Before you crashed a car into my face, you mean..." His dark eyes are on him again, bearing down on him. After all their time apart, there were still some things that couldn't be forgotten. Murdoc isn't surprised, but the realization stings. He was working so hard to stop putting himself down in his head. He didn't want to fall back into his old patterns of thinking so soon, and Stu's ostensibly light-hearted jab wasn't helping. 

"Anyhow, I was, uh...really worried about leaving you, you know that," Stu says softly. He blinks, and the resentment disappears. "That's all I'm trying to say."

"Well, as you can see, I'm doing okay. I haven't crashed my car into anyone else's face." He imagines himself placing the memories of his drinking, his anger, and his terrible decisions into a guitar case and shoving that case under his bed. "That bloke you see me laughing with over there is Reggie from AA. We're chummy."  

Stu laughs, "Oh? So tell me about this  Reggie from AA . Did you exchange numbers?"

Murdoc raises an eyebrow. "What are you getting at? Of course, we did. It's AA. He's a good guy, born and raised in Detroit. His grandfather was a preacher, and he grew up playing the organ at his church. I think you'd like him, actually. He also goes to the same ASCA group that I do."

"ASCA?" 

Murdoc inhales, closes his eyes, tries to prepare himself. "Adult survivors of child abuse. That's when we really hit it off. It's nice to have someone you can say 'hey, mate, you're just as fucked up as I am' to." He exhales, feels his shoulders relax. "He's about ten years ahead of me thought. I've been thinking about asking him to help me find a sponsor...eventually...when I'm ready." He gulps. "I'm not ready yet." He was still struggling to see a path to full sobriety. He hadn't even stopped drinking yet. "I still say this talk about being powerless in the face of your addiction is a load of bollocks. We may not control our entire destiny, but we manage a good bit of it...But we aren't dating if that's what you wanted to know." 

"I was just joking with you," Stu says. "I wouldn't have if I knew all that. We don't have to keep talking about it if you don't want to."

"It's alright," Murdoc says. He notices how happy he looks in the picture. It had been taken during his first year in the group, one year after he had said goodbye to his mother. He had spent half the day there. Though he never mentioned her, they welcomed him, and he managed to forget about his alcohol cravings for the duration of his visit. 

"Have you been?" Stu asks. "Dating, I mean..."

Murdoc shakes his head. "Not lately. At AA, they tell us to avoid starting any new relationships when we're at the beginning of our recovery." Before Stu can question him further, he wraps his arm around his shoulders and gives him a reassuring squeeze. "But that doesn't change anything about us. You're not a new relationship, and I'm still drinking." 

The singer breathes a sigh of relief. "Did you...date anyone? It won't change anything I've just...been thinking about it. On the plane over, I was imagining you married with kids or engaged, or both." 

"Scary thought?"

"Yeah."

"You're overestimating me." He winces when he thinks back to his attempts to date. "I did make a few grand entrances into the world of dating apps, but I was shit at it."  

"Murdoc? The sex god? Bad at dating?" Stu teases. 

"Yup." 

His short answer alarms the singer. "It was, uh, that bad? I don't mean to pry..." 

"It's hard to get taken seriously when you've spent your entire career turning shagging into and identity," he says. "That's all people thought I wanted. I could spend the entire date engaged in intellectual conversation, and they would still try to initiate a quickie the public restroom or get handsy underneath the table. I almost got strangled in an alleyway." He doesn't like to remember that experience. "You and I both know I fancy myself to be a bit adventurous, but apparently, I don't know how to get to know someone first. And they don't know how to get to know me."

"That doesn't mean you're bad at dating, it means all of those people are creeps, Muds. It sounds like you were doing just fine. If someone kicks off because you just want to talk on the first date, then that's their loss." Stu's hand finds the back of his head. Murdoc can feel his fingers thread through his hair, gently massaging him.

"The most mental part of it all is that I still slept with some of them," Murdoc says quietly. "It never did anything for me...But some nights I'd be so lonely..." He sighs and internally berates himself for saying that out loud. Stu didn't need to know about every bad night he had. 

 Stu studies his face. "I'm not mad at you if that's what you're worried about," he says. "You were figuring yourself out, and you're allowed to do that. The only person who decides what you want at any given moment is you."

Murdoc leans into his touch. "I know, Stu, been over it in therapy ad nauseam." 

"Therapy?"

"Yes, therapy. I started going a few months after you left. It was a right pain in my arse for a while after that. But I've stuck with it. The laundry list of support groups I go to help too." 

"Was that hard?"

"Probably the second scariest thing I've done after that demon my father sent after me." Instinctively, he moves closer to Stu, using his presence to ground himself. "But...you were right. After I found the right person, I was finally able to, well, talk about everything, and not just to my therapist. I'm trying to talk about it more. I talked a bit about my dad at an AA meeting. I've kept in touch with Ace and Victor back at home. I'm still working up to it in the ASCA group, and the rape survivor group, and the grief group..." He fidgets, then jokes, "Christ, I'm a bloody basket case. The FBI probably has me on one of their watch lists."

"You're not, Muds. They have those groups because they help people."

"I know, I know. I guess what I'm getting at is this: it's not going to be just the two of us this time." He finds himself hugging the singer tighter. "It's not going to be all on you. You were right about that, too. In a way, that's how you could say I spent my time while you've been away. It's been a series of experiences that end with me acknowledge that yes, that dullard Stuart Pot was right."  

The fingers in his hair pause as Stu digests his words. After a while, he says, "Last time I saw you, you were crapping your pants at the thought of seeing a therapist. You probably would have thrown a fit if I brought up going to a group. I'm proud of you, Muds. I hope you're proud of yourself, too."

"I am," he says, turning his head towards him and placing a quick kiss on his neck. "And I love you." 

The movie is forgotten as they spend the next hour kissing. Between kisses, he tells Stu about his trips to Peru and New York. He tells him about the time he spent going for drives with Russel and trying to learn some more advanced yoga techniques with Noodle (something else that Stu had been right about). He even tells him a little bit about his therapist, and what he's been working on. 

"I've got my own journal now," he says. His head rests on Stu's shoulder. He twirls a strand of the singer's hair on his finger while his other hand rests on his arm. "I find it a bit easier to  write  than to  say , if you catch my drift, always has been for me. Sometimes I take it to appointments and spend the hour reading what I wrote that week. At first, my therapist wasn't so chuffed because I didn't leave time for us to 'process' it at the end of the hour, but he realized soon enough that we wouldn't have gotten anywhere as quickly as we did if I hadn't been able to use it." 

"See, I told you the journal would work," Stu says. "I can tell. You seem a lot more...comfortable."

"Oh, I made a point of it to fix that mess. I'm still not perfect, but I'm not trying to kill every person who taps me on the shoulder like I used to. Once I got better at calming myself down, I discovered the wonders of massage therapy, really got me used to all the grabbing that happens when we shag, and in life." His progress moved at a glacial pace, but he was getting better at understanding how nonsexual touching could be good. While he still had his difficult moments, he no longer assumed every stranger wanted to hurt him. Since Stu had left, Murdoc had let a doctor examine him for a physical. He didn't avoid hugs or shoulder taps. In return, he began to feel more connected to the world around him. 

"Couldn't get my massage off your mind, huh?" 

"I guess not. So you really did have all the answers all along. Why didn't you tell me?" 

"Do you remember yourself back then, Muds? I couldn't tell you anything. No one could. Your mum could have appeared in front of you and told you to listen to me, and you probably would have called her a wanker too." 

"And she would have deserved it for making me trek across three bloody continents!" Murdoc turns so that he's facing the singer. "But enough about me. You've been avoiding this long enough. It's your turn now. What lessons did you learn, oh wise one? What brought you back from the faraway land of India?"

"I, uh, flew in from England, actually," Stu says.

Murdoc furrows his brow in confusion. "What were you doing in England?" 

"I was living at home." Stu runs his hand along the seam of his pants, twisting at the ridges of fabric that gather where his knee bends. "With my mum."

"That sounds nice." From looking at him, Murdoc can't tell why he seems so preoccupied. "You look a bit troubled."

"Well..." 

"Spit it out." He's growing impatient. "I think we can both agree that we aren't passing any judgment on each other. Whatever happened is over." He waits a bit before rolling his eyes and adding, "Let me guess, you dated too." 

"I was living with her...sort of," Stu says. "Before breaking up and coming home, that is." 

The admission causes his stomach to drop, and his hands to freeze. It's a fight to keep the casual smile on his face. His effort is commendable, but when he sees Stu's expression go from nervous to apologetic, he knows it isn't enough. 

"I guess that makes it a bit awkward now," he begins. 

"No." He tries to recover quickly. "I'm just gawking at this classic case of projection. You get your knickers in a twist over Reggie from AA, when  you're  the one who's been hiding a secret relationship. You're taking your fear about seeing someone and placing them on me, assuming that I'm the one who's been hiding something. In case your tired brain cells didn't retain the information: I've been going to therapy." 

"It isn't a secret if I'm telling you." The singer leans forward, takes his glass of beer off of the coffee table, and gulps down a drink. "And I'm glad to hear you haven't caught dementia yet." 

"You don't 'catch' dementia, Stu. And my mind is still as sharp and brilliant as it's ever been. It's probably sharper now that I've banished a demon and spent a couple years 'healing.'" He's relieved that the singer hasn't tried to ask him about his feelings because currently, he doesn't know how to describe them. "But that's beside the point. Why do you think you think it's awkward? So you had a fling while you were away, it's no big deal. You're back, aren't you? Why don't you, er, tell me about her..." But they aren't pleasant, even though they have no reason to be. 

Stu studies him. "Well, alright..."

"What was her name? Where did you meet?" He just wants him to start talking so he can attempt to sort out what's going on in his mind and body. 

"Adélaide," he says. "Adélaide  Boucher. " He draws out her last name in an exaggerated French accent as if he wants to make Murdoc laugh. "We met at the meditation retreat." 

"How romantic." How  Stu . "Did she whisk you away to her farm in the French countryside?" 

"Actually, she grew up in Delaware. We all called her Addy." 

"Whatever."

"And she didn't speak much French at all, but her grandparents own a restaurant in Paris. We visited last spring, and I tried that dish with the snail eggs." He pauses to scan Murdoc's face again. "She, uh, had just finished up her residency at the Cleveland Clinic and was taking a gap year. Her parents were peeved, but she said 'fuck them,' and went anyway. It always seemed like she didn't care about what anyone thought. She didn't even shave her armpits! I thought that was kind of gross at first, but then, later on, I decided I didn't care because I was so fond of her. She reminded me of you a bit...maybe that's why I liked her so much." 

His heart thumps in his chest, and he focuses on his hand resting on Stu's arm. No words come. 

"But anyhow, we got on so well at the retreat that she invited me to join her...just for the next stop at first. I didn't think it was going to turn into anything serious..."

"Had she heard of us?" Murdoc asks. 

"Do you mean had she heard of Gorillaz, or do you mean had she heard of, uh,  us ?" 

"Both." 

Stu nods. "She remembered us from the iPod commercial - do you remember that one? The one with all the people dancing with their headphones?"

"Of course, I do, it was my idea." 

"Well, that's how she knew us. She approached me in the dining hall one morning and said, 'you're the part of that group in the iPod commercial.' That was the first thing she said to me." A different kind of haze seems to fall over his eyes as he gazes at the TV. It's as if he was watching the memory of their first encounter playing on the screen, and not the zombie movie. "And the first thing I thought about was you, and how that would tick you off. But then I thought about how nice it was to not be recognized, and I thought, 'this is nice.'" 

"So what was this, so act of rebellion against me?" Murdoc can feel himself souring by the moment. 

"I didn't think of it that way at the retreat but, after a few months, it started feeling that way."

"A few months?" He doesn't want to know the answer, but he can't stop himself from asking. "How long were you with her?" 

Stu looks from him to his hand in his lap. The guilt returns to his expression, but this time Murdoc doesn't reassure him. It wasn't rational for him to feel as much dread and betrayal as he does, but he can't reason the emotion away. It eats away at the imaginary wall of distress tolerance he's learned to build in himself, and if he was to reassure the singer right now, he would be lying to him. He can't predict how he's going to react. 

Stu sighs in defeat. "One year." 

It's longer than he wanted it to be, but not as long as it could have been. At least it hadn't been two years. At least he was spared the burden of feeling like a rebound. 

"Right," he says, not noticing how his hands withdraw and his eyes lower.

But the singer does, and he reacts, turning his hand so that it's wrapped around Murdoc's. "We don't have to talk about all of this now. How about we pick it up tomorrow?" 

"Did you love her?"

Stu almost shrinks away from his gaze. "I, uh, maybe...maybe I did sometimes...a little bit." 

When he swallows, his throat feels tight. He can't pick apart his thoughts. 

"Maybe we should..."

"Yeah," he says, barely a whisper. "I need a minute...Just me." He stays there, quiet on the sofa until Stu leaves.

The minute turns into the rest of the afternoon. The singer approaches him at dusk while he's in the back yard smoking a cigarette.

"Hey," he says.

Their neighborhood had seen little development in the past five years. The yard still opened out to a long stretch of grass, still had the same tall oak tree growing there. It was still cluttered with old junk, some of it the remains of projects Stu was working on before he left. Walking through the yard was like walking through a time machine. More recently, it had become one of Murdoc's preferred places to go when he wanted to write or think. 

Murdoc lets his arm hang, cigarette dangling loosely between his fingers. He glances back at him. "Hey." The sky was a gradient of red, purple, and deep blue above them. When he pushes the smoke out through his lungs, it floats towards it in thin wisps. He imagines his worries, resentments, and everything else inside him that was bad, leaving his body along with it.

"Just wanted to check on you." The singer rocks on his heels, forward and then backward. He was older now, with more of a hunch and thinning hair, but his nervous ticks hadn't changed. 

"You didn't do anything wrong," Murdoc says. "That's an indisputable fact. The problem here is me." It was always easier when he said things out loud, even if he didn't think they made any sense. With practice, he realized that even if he didn't know, the person listening could often guide him towards some insight. It made him less impulsive.

"I thought you might feel bad," Stu says. "We went from talking about all your terrible dates to me telling you I might have fallen in love again, even if it was just for a little while." 

Murdoc cringes, the words cutting into him like one of Stu's flick-knives. His reaction tells him everything he needs to know. 

"But I don't think that makes you a problem." 

"I guess I'd like to think I could have gotten on by myself, too," Murdoc says. "That I could have met someone and been normal on my own instead of spending ninety-percent of my week in some form of therapy." He brings the cigarette back to his mouth, inhales. "I haven't come that far. Outside of my groups, I haven't attracted one person to me that hasn't been a bloody pervert or criminal or social climber. It's as if I've got an invisible sign on me inviting them in." 

"It wasn't easy for me either," Stu says. "Leaving you behind was one of the hardest things I've had to do in my life." 

Murdoc holds those words in his heart, lets them temper his negative thoughts like ointment on a burn. 

"I cried for nearly the entire plane ride, worse that my mum did when I passed year eight. The blokes in the seats behind me were laughing the entire time. But I was so worried about what would happen to you." He smiles. "I don't know how you can stand here and say you didn't get on by yourself." 

"How did you do it?" What stings, he decides, is the realization that Stu was so far ahead of him. "I couldn't get out of bed for weeks." 

"And I didn't think I could go through a whole retreat, but when I got to my room, I noticed a quote from Buddha hanging on the wall. Then it all became clear to me." Without expanding on his statement, Stu pulls out his phone and starts scrolling. 

"Oh, how polite of you." 

"Hold on." Stu walks over to him. "I just forgot what it said, so I had to look it up." Seconds later, his eyes light up. 

"Did you find it?" 

"No, but I wanted to show you this too." He thrusts the phone into Murdoc's face. It's a picture of Stu, sitting in the middle of a dusty trail, looking sunburnt and dirty. He sports a pair of sunglasses and his New Orleans Saints baseball cap. Murdoc might have softened at that detail if it wasn't for the thick beard the singer had drawing all his attention. 

"I can practically smell you from here." 

"I hiked the entire El Camino de Santiago, decided to let my beard grow. I wanted to go for the same look Tom Hanks had in  Castaway.  It was just like the movie too, being out in the wilderness, except I look better with a beard...And I wasn't alone. Oh, and we also stayed in a hostel every night."

"And Tom Hanks didn't fuck Wilson." 

"Uh...that too."

"I mean...that's great Stu...You look happy." He can't decide if he wants to be sarcastic or not, so his words come out wooden and hesitant. 

Stu doesn't seem to be paying attention anyway. He takes his phone back quickly and resumes his search. "Okay, here it is. 'No one saves us but ourselves. No one can, and no one may. We, ourselves must walk the path.' That's what I read on my wall the first day I got there. And I thought, 'this is what Murdoc was trying to tell me.' It was weird because, for a second, I thought you were wiser than Buddha." 

"Not a compliment I'd expect, but I'll embrace it." 

"You're not wiser than Buddha. Anyhow, I realized that the best way to help you was to let you have a go at life by yourself. The same went for me. I couldn't rely on what we had to save me either..." As if for the first time, he notices Murdoc's cigarette. "By the way, could I have one of those?" 

Murdoc reaches for the pack in his pocket and holds it out wordlessly. 

"I decided then, that I would spend to retreat trying to keep you off my mind." Stu has his own lighter. He's clumsy with it; runs his thumb along the sparkwheel once, and a flame brightens, then disappears. He tries again, and the flame holds. "It wasn't because I wanted to, but because I knew I'd cave in and come home if I thought about you too much. Plus, I hadn't heard anything from you, so I assumed you were getting on just fine. I thought you would have taken a piss out of me for the rest of our lives if I didn't outlast you." 

"No, Stu, you've got it all wrong. I would have wept tears of joy into your arms if you came back. I had myself convinced I'd lost you." Speaking it out loud brings back all the immobilizing sorrow he felt during the first weeks of separation. "It wouldn't have been what we said, but going back on my word has never been a challenge for me..." 

 "It would have been easier," Stu says. "I thought about what you told me about waking up in the river. I tried to think about it that way like I was going through my own rebirth...sort of. I know it's not the same, but it helped me. You helped me through that, even though you weren't there. It was sort of like when you pull all the knobs and key contacts off a keyboard's circuit board. All that's left is the board. I wasn't 2D anymore. I didn't have to be Stuart Pot either...It was a clean slate." 

"Just like you always wanted."

"Yeah," Stu agrees. "And it was lovely for a bit. I never imagined myself finishing a month-long hike, or growing my beard out, or rafting down a river, or eating a tarantula. I didn't sing for almost the entire trip, and I was with someone who was so bloody excited about everything we did. She didn't care that I practically invited myself to go on her gap year with her. I found out later that it was because she liked me back."

"So if leaving was everything you imagined, then what brought you back...here?" His home and everything he thought he had accomplished feels so insignificant next to the singer's experience. But he doesn't want to dance around the topic any longer. "Life with me isn't what you'd call...peaceful. You go on a gap year with me, and you're likely to lose a limb or your soul; you might get chased by a demon from hell." 

Stu smiles and shakes his head. He takes a puff of his cigarette and blows the smoke into the air, staring at it as it floats away. "After a while, I wasn't sure if I was actually in love with her, or if I was in love with the experience she gave me. Once I started meeting her family, I started getting annoyed. At first, I thought I was being an arse because she wasn't doing anything wrong. But once I got to know her beyond meditation and yoga, I didn't think there was much to, uh, know, if that makes any sense. And besides, I'm sure gap years with you are much safer now. You banished your demon to the underworld somewhere." 

Murdoc laughs. "Are you trying to say she wasn't deep enough for you?" 

" No,  well, perhaps. I realized I was the one doing most of the talking, telling her my life story and my opinion on everything. She never told me to shut up like you do. At first, that's how I wanted it, I think. Then I started asking her things because I felt like I didn't know her. But actually, there just wasn't a lot to her that I could relate to. Everything had been so easy for her. Her parents were paying for her entire gap year." He huffs, like a child, angry because they couldn't stay up an extra hour past their bedtime. "She was also tone-deaf, and we couldn't sing together...she didn't have much interest in music, she wasn't interested in my songs or anything about my time in Gorillaz. Before I knew it, an entire year had passed, and her family knew me, and she was talking about buying a house..." 

The silence that follows is heavy. Murdoc listens to the sounds around them, the dull rumble of an engine when a car struggles to speed down their street, the chorus of crickets in the tall weeds he had allowed to grow tall in the yard. He was surrounded by things that needed work. He was probably the one who needed the most work of all. Stu might not have found the substance he wanted in Addy, but she could have erased everything if he wanted her to. "Sounds like everything you wanted," he says. He drops his cigarette, stamps it out in the dirt. 

"It was," Stu says. 

Murdoc folds his arms, rubs his hands along them as if he was chilly. It was something he had gotten used to over the years, comforting himself. In the beginning, he would pretend it was Stu, later his mother. 

"And I was so close to having it," the singer continues. "But it wasn't what I wanted anymore. I remembered what you said about wanting and needing. It was an afternoon in July when I did. We had just finished lunch at her parent's house and I was doing the dishes." 

"What did I say?" 

"You said you didn't need me, but you wanted me." His dark eyes glisten. Murdoc wonders if it's from the light from the sky or because he's tearing up. " You,  Murdoc Niccals, said that to me and meant it. You said you would always be there, for however long it took. I hadn't thought about you for months, but that afternoon you came back to me like we had that conversation yesterday. I even thought I saw you out of the corner of my eye. It was a bit spooky. But that was the day I knew I couldn't stay. She wanted a home and a family. I didn't want kids. I've  never  wanted kids. I had to ask myself, 'Stu, what are you doing, mate?'" 

"So I haunted you back to me, eh?" He tries to shrug off the emotional weight of the conversation with a joke.

"This happened a year before I came home," Stu says. "So, no. I didn't know what I wanted. I knew what I  didn't  want, but after that, I was stumped. Leaving Addy was hard, too, but I'll spare you that whole story. You were on my mind for a bit, but I, uh, wasn't ready. If I could remember you that well, then it meant that I hadn't left you behind enough. So I moved back with my mum."

Murdoc tries to recall what he was doing one year ago. He had just returned from his first trip back to Peru with Russel and Noodle. No more than a month later, they had left, and he started branching out from AA and was a few meetings into his ASCA group, another painful beginning. Those hours were spent slouched in his chair, avoiding eye contact with everyone. Russel and Noodle had moved out, and he had been lonely, but stubborn in his resolve to succeed in his promises. Still, he had days where he felt hopeless, where he nearly fell into back into his pattern of multi-day benders. If Stu had returned then, he surely would have left again. 

"And I spent a year living with her, feeling a bit like a loser even though everyone knew who I was, and didn't judge me for being forty-seven and living with my mum." He chuckles to himself. "But the progression felt...right. In the first year, I practiced forgetting about you. The second year, at home, I practiced hating you and forgetting you. It was strange at first, just letting myself be angry, but I realized I wouldn't be able to truly forget you if I didn't let my anger out. But don't worry, it's mostly gone now."

"Mostly," Murdoc repeats. "I'll take it." 

"Because it's about wanting. I want to keep working on what we had...A few months ago, I noticed I hadn't been feeling so angry lately. You had been off my mind again, and my life was peaceful. Coming back to you...well, there was nothing spectacular about the decision. It wasn't like  The Notebook,  or whatever other romance movies you pretend you don't like, but actually do." 

"An artist needs to be in tune with the beauty in the world to sharpen his craft, mate. I'm enough of a man to admit that I appreciate the tragedy of human relationships and a love of Rachel McAdams." 

"And none for Ryan Gosling?"

Murdoc shrugs. "Not my type. Never liked his beard." 

Stu frowns.

"But anyhow, go on..." 

"I thought I'd stay with my mum up until the week before I left. Life at home was a bit boring, but I was happy. But you kept creeping back into my head. I wanted to know how you were. You were my best mate on and off for twenty years. I fell in love with you! I watched you fall apart and come together in my arms!" 

He feels red blooming in his cheeks, his blood pulsing through him at a steady beat. "Is that Stu I hear talking? Or is this some bloke trying out for  The Notebook 2 ?"

"I 'm being serious, Muds. It dawned on me how mental we were to just cut one another off forever. I had given my other dreams an earnest go: the Stu who went off and had a family, the Stu who never left home...See, I have lots of Stuarts in my head now too, just like you and your other Murdoc." 

"That's, er, not a good thing." 

"It was for me. Anyhow, I wanted to see you. I was curious, I was worried, I wanted to gloat if it made sense to. I  missed  you. But to be frank, I didn't come back expecting to get back together. My therapist and I used to talk a lot about letting go of expectations, so that's what I did. The relationship might end, or it might continue, but either way, there would be a conclusion. And that's what I wanted: closure." 

"Did you get what you wanted?" 

"I got a hold of Noodle first. She had a lot of questions, but I told her we would talk later. She told me you were still living in Detroit, and that you were doing okay." 

"That's it? That's all she said?" He checked in with her at least once a month by phone. It wasn't unusual for them to talk for an hour or two.

"Yeah," Stu says. "I think she was peeved I didn't want to talk longer, but her answer only made me more nervous. That was when what I wanted became more obvious. I was fretting over you for the entire plane ride to Detroit. What if you had someone else living with you? What if you had burned the house to the ground like you did Kong? What if you were dead?" 

"Give me some credit, Stu." 

"It all disappeared when I heard your voice." The wind blows and the leaves of the oak tree dance. "Have you felt so much at once that it was like you being resuscitated out of, uh, I don't know, death, maybe. It was like all the colors around me seemed stronger, like I had more life in me. I could feel how long you had been missing me in the one word you spoke." 

Murdoc stares back at him. "I felt that too. That's a bang on description of it." 

"Like it was 'right.'" Stu smiles. 

"Bet you were happy to find the house in one piece."

"I was happy to find  you  in one piece." 

"And no bird or bloke occupying your old bedroom." Murdoc laughs. "Did I surprise you?" 

"Yeah," Stu admits. "You're surprising me a lot, but they're all good surprises. And, uh, I know this still isn't going to be perfect, but I want you in my life."

Something is vitalizing about hearing those words in person and not in a daydream. They hit him hard like heavy raindrops on an arid desert. 

"I think I can say that without any doubt now. I don't know if you can see it yet, but what you've done is incredible, Muds. And I'm so - " 

Murdoc cuts him off with a sudden, tight hug. He smashes his nose against his chest and squeezes him, perhaps because he doesn't want Stu to see how wet his eyes are. They soak his shirt and make it obvious anyway. 

The singer's arm folds around him in return while the other continues to hold his cigarette. They stand there until Murdoc loosens his grip enough so that he can see him again. He kisses him, gently at first. Stu moves with him, tongue sliding lazily against his. He feels the singer's hand trace the ridges of his spine until it reaches the nape of his neck and groans as it massages him. With a pleased sigh, he rests his head on his shoulder, content to hold him there for the rest of the night. "Thank you," he says softly. "I'm so happy you're here, mate. I haven't got all the words to say so at the moment, but I hope you understand." 

Stu ruffles his hair. "No need to apologize. You've been clearer with me during these past twenty-four hours than you have in the entire twenty years we've known each other." He laughs. 

"Touché," he says. The singer could win that exchange. He was happy to be leaning against him.

"Pretty sky," Stu remarks. 

They stand there together for another few minutes.

After a while, they separate. Murdoc glances at the sky, and then back to his feet. It reminds him of a stop they made during his search. "Do you remember when you tried to take us camping, and you tried to woo me with that awful pickup line? Something about me being a star in the sky?" He laughs. "How many birds did that one work on?" 

"A few," Stu says. "But you were the only one who sucked my cock by the end of the night." A smirk. 

"At least I know how to last more than two minutes." 

Stu's face goes from cocky to flustered. "It was more than two minutes!"   

"It's okay, I understand. You were overwhelmed. Experiencing the real thing blew all of your fantasies out of the water." 

Stu chuckles. "Just admit it." They're standing so close their arms are brushing. "You liked what I said that night. If it hadn't gotten to you, you wouldn't remember it now. You liked me a lot for the entire trip. Even when you were screaming at me, telling me that I'd never see you again, you liked me." 

"Again with the 'liking.'" Why was Stu so fixated on it? Murdoc can feel the familiar swell in his chest, rising into his throat, calcifying. "I liked you longer than that," he says quietly. "There. Happy?" 

"You didn't show it much," Stu says.

That, Murdoc can't allow him to say without protest. "Stu, I was -"

"It wasn't the time, I know. That's why I never said anything then. I didn't want to make it more complicated for you...I almost chickened out of telling you I loved you in the hotel that one day." His cigarette has burned down to no more than a few inches. Still, Stu holds onto it. "But it's been a few years, and I guess it's nice to hear it from you now, to know you remember." 

"Of course, I remember," Murdoc says. "It all mattered, every second of it."

"Can you promise me that you'll talk to me more? And not just if I'm being daft. Tell me what you're thinking, and when you appreciate me, and when you're upset and why. There are times when you seem like an extension of me, like an extra finger or my favorite pair of socks, but I don't want to rely on just my instinct. And I want to know you...as much as possible." 

Yeah, mate." Murdoc smiles at him. "I can do that. But be careful what you wish for, because now that you've given me the go-ahead I may never shut up." The nervous feeling in his stomach doesn't go away, but it doesn't cripple him like it used to. "But only if you tell me the entire Addy story, eventually. Did she cry when you put an end to your year-long, romantic, getaway?"

Stu snorts. "Oh, come on." 

"Did you ever let her stick anything up your arse?" 

"Bloody hell, Muds." The singer is exasperated. 

"Too soon?" 

"How do you go from freezing up at the mere mention of her existence, to wanting to know how we shagged?" 

He can tell that it's too soon. "I want to  know you,"  he teases. "I want to know the new and improved Stu."

"Wanker," Stu mutters. "I don't know about improved or new, perhaps evolved...enlightened, maybe."

"Oh, so now you're the bloke who's wiser than Buddha."

"Do you think you'll show me what you've been writing anytime soon?" Stu's staring at the sky as if he's reading words etched in the shadowy blue around the stars.

His question is sudden, but not as surprising as when he brought it up in the car. "It isn't out of the question," he says. "You know I've always let you get the first look at my lyrics...could be like old times." 

The corners of his mouth turn upwards. "I keep thinking about what you told me about the song that came to you in the alleyway. Did the night look like this?" 

"I was piss drunk, stumbling around like an idiot. How would I know?" But when he looks up, he's flooded with the memory; his nausea, the smell of the dumpster he leaned on, and then the sky, clear and open, infinite. "I mean...yeah," he adds. "Yeah...I guess it did." 

"It's like we're at the beginning again," Stu says. "Not  that  beginning, but, uh, a new one. You know, rebirth...Everything's a circle." 

Without thinking, Murdoc rests his head on his shoulder, reacquaints himself another position they used to fall into. His head still fits the way it always had. "Yeah," he says. "A beginning..."