Archive of Our Own

Hey, December,

Guess I'm feeling unmoored,

Can't remember,

What I used to fight for...

- Taylor Swift, William Bowery & Justin Vernon,  “Evermore”

2D had kept the sheet of paper taped to the refrigerator for the past month. Somehow, it’s avoided being overtaken by the many Christmas cards the band received every year from both 2D and Russel’s families. Its message comes straight from a superficial Google search and is typed in bolded, Times New Roman, and it’s practically staring Murdoc in the eye. 

“Be like a tree. Stay Grounded. Connect with your roots. Turn over a new leaf. Bend before you break.”

2D condenses it to, “be a tree.” It’s something he’s taken to repeating to anyone tolerant enough to ask what he means by it (if they do, he can talk for hours). The singer has always been known for his vaguely Buddhist, at times comically simple, words of wisdom, but the habit seemed to have mutated in the past year, going beyond words to physical reminders. Murdoc half-expects to see “live, laugh, love,” in time for the weekend.    

The bassist stares at the paper from his seat at the kitchen table, hunched over his ashtray and glass of whiskey, now room temperature. He’s made the mistake of accidentally inviting 2D to explain his meditations for more times than he can recall. Drunken walks home from the pub at closing time made him especially vulnerable, and he remembers more than he would like to admit.  

To be a tree, 2D’s voice recites in his mind, you’ve got to stand tall, right in front of the sun if you can...maybe bring some sunglasses so the sun doesn’t get in your eyes too much. But the point is, you’ve got to stand tall because you have to be strong. Root yourself to the ground and, uh, be a part of the earth. There’s this pose you can do … 

Murdoc stubs out his cigarette and the singer’s voice along with it, only to have his attention pulled to the singer’s actual voice in the next room. With a grunt, Murdoc looks at the clock. Two hours. How was 2D able to sustain a conversation with strangers for this long?  

“...And then, the bloke who stole the T-virus in the first place tries to turn on them, but then he gets bitten by a zombie, and then it’s a bit of a shitshow from there.” 

So that was why. 

A laugh follows. “I remember that scene. I watched it when I was eight and couldn’t sleep for a week!” 

Murdoc didn’t ask what possessed 2D to get in touch with one of his sons, unknown to him until earlier this year. It seemed to go hand in hand with the singer’s sudden commitment to this new, wise, Zen persona of his. This was only their second Zoom call and they already sounded like best mates. From what Murdoc could gather, 2D’s son was now a father, making 2D a grandfather. He presumes the recent news was the only reason they were having a second Zoom call.

“I can mail you a copy of every film in the series,” 2D offers. “You can watch it with, uh, what’s his name again?”

“Rory.”

“You can watch them all with Rory when he’s old enough.” 

Murdoc rolls his eyes. This son of 2D’s was the product of a one-night stand with a groupie - before they were famous enough to have groupies - after a show in Dublin. Less than a year ago, 2D didn’t know his name, nor did he make any effort to learn it. And today, he was talking with him as if he had been present all his life. 

“Want me to show him one of our family heirlooms?” 2D asks as if he didn’t already have the melodica out and ready to show off since this morning. 

Enthusiastic cheers come from the computer screen. Murdoc glares. He imagines himself getting up and leaving, but his feet feel like they’re weighted to the floor. No matter how desperate he was to move, it felt impossible. Was this what it felt like to be “grounded?” If it was, he doesn’t find it pleasant or calming. 

But he wasn’t desperate. He doesn’t care about 2D’s superficial connection with a family the singer would forget about the next day. 

Murdoc avoided self-reflection the way he avoids taking a shower. He refused to examine the constant sick feeling in his stomach every time one of his bandmates leaves the building, the dread that they might not return. He doesn’t question how closely he watches 2D, in his bright, ugly Christmas sweater, even more than usual. Especially not today.

It’s 2D’s fault today. He’s the one who was having what could have been a private conversation in a public part of the studio, guaranteeing that no one in his vicinity could ignore him, even if they wanted to. He’s holding one of his melodica, an old Hohner with 26 keys that used to belong to his uncle, in his hand. 

“His dad, uh, I guess that would be my great uncle, bought it for him for his twelfth birthday. It’s been in the family ever since,” the singer says to the computer screen in front of him. “And then he gave it to me on my twelfth birthday.”  

From his seat on the floor, Murdoc scoffs. He’s lost track of how many times 2D has told this story.

“Do you want to hear me play it? I could put on a little one-bloke show. Just me. We could consider it a bit of a grand finale since it’s getting to be late...”

Now he says it. But Murdoc knows better than to expect the call to end soon. 2D could never stop at just one song.

“What do you think, Rory? Do you want to hear your grandad play a song for you?” The voices from the screen reply. 

He’s a baby, Murdoc wants to say. What the hell is he going to say or think at this point? 

“I think that’s a yes,” the voice says.

2D smiles wide, happy to have an audience. “How about a nice holiday tune? Does Rory have a favorite, or do you want me to surprise him?” 

“This will be his first Christmas. Why don’t we have a surprise?” 

“Alright, uh…” 2D fumbles with the keys for a moment. “Here goes.” 

Murdoc quickly recognizes the song as “Deck the Halls.” It sounds strange on the old instrument, more morose, but the singer’s audience sings along with him anyway. They continue their singalong for almost another full hour. It’s long enough for Murdoc to smoke another three cigarettes. 

“I hate to cut this short, but it’s Rory’s naptime,” Brenden says as 2D is about to start another Christmas carol. 

“Oh, well, uh, that’s alright.” 2D sets the melodica beside his chair on the floor. 

It takes another fifteen minutes for them to say goodbye. Finally, 2D ends the call after wishing them a Merry Christmas for the third time that night and promising to talk soon. 

This time, Murdoc can’t help himself. “We all know that’s a bloody lie.” 

His comment doesn’t seem to phase the singer, who gazes at the blank laptop screen as if his grandson was still smiling back at him. 

His grandson . 

Murdoc thinks about time, allowing his mind to piece together a memory of the singer when he was nineteen, smiling on the Jamaican beaches. 2D was still in his forties, an age that left him in limbo between young and old. But he can see his age creeping up on him, how his shoulders hunch a little more, and his feet drag. He’s started falling asleep before midnight, often in the middle of a movie, his chin drooping and then jerking up as he tries to stay awake. 

2D wasn’t the age of a typical grandfather, but for a transient moment, in his festive sweater, he seems to morph into one. Murdoc sees an imaginary, yet viable future with a son and grandson and in-laws. That was a life the singer could live if he wanted to. 

“You never know,” 2D finally says. 

“Oh, I know. We’ve all lost count of the nameless brats you have running around in the world. Talking to one for an afternoon won’t change anything.”

“Were you sitting there the whole time?” The singer’s expression is benignly confused. “You could have gone somewhere else, Murdoc. There’s the basement, your room, the loo...” He assesses Murdoc’s current position. “But at least you’re sitting somewhere other than the couch.” 

“You’re taking up the entire living area, you arse. You could have gone somewhere else to have your conversation with the consequences of a one-night stand with some bint twenty years ago. And I’m willing to bet you’ve got no plans to visit.” 

2D mulls over this. “In case you forgot,” he finally says, a sober expression on his face. “We’re in the middle of a pandemic, Murdoc. It would be a bit thoughtless of me to go for a visit anywhere.” 

Murdoc stares him down, gaze hardened. Everything came easily to 2D, even though he didn’t notice. Anyone else who was a victim of a severe car crash would end up crippled or in a permanent vegetative state. Stuart Pot emerged from his accident with all his limbs intact, his brain mostly intact, and he became famous to top it all off. He still had his mother who he spoke to every week, his family who he saw on holidays. 

“You look mad,” 2D observes when the silence has gone on long enough. 

A voice in the back of his head tells him to leave, but the spiteful part of him keeps him stuck in the chair. He would make 2D leave before him. To hell with his call and his moronic Buddhist platitudes. Gorillaz was his band. This was his studio. 

“I mean, uh, yeah. I guess you’re probably right,” 2D continues. “But it’s Christmas Eve, and I’d like to give someone a gift since I’m not going home, and we decided not to buy any gifts. I’ve never had a Christmas without gifts.” 

Murdoc can feel his grip tightening around his glass. Somehow, his agreement only inflamed him further. Things came so easily to 2D that he could have an entire family fall into his life and he could casually decline then the way a person might decline dessert after a heavy meal. 

“You know, Muds, I was thinking we could still try to sneak out later tonight if you wanted to.” Already, 2D seemed to have moved on from their argument. “Remember Russ bought that telescope to look out for meteors he said might be coming? He said that we ought to get the Winne ready for spaces so we have somewhere to live before life on earth is destroyed. We could take it on the roof and - “ 

“Fuck off,” he snaps. 

Finally, he gets a reaction. “Are you that ticked off about a Zoom call?”

No, Murdoc wants to say. But that would require him to explain himself, and explaining himself meant he had to think about what he was feeling. And he wasn’t going to do that. “Excuse me for being at the end of my fuse, being the only honest person in this band as of late.”

It’s hardly noticeable, but he’s watched 2D long enough to pick up on every change in movement. He sees the way his mouth twitches, as if he’s about to laugh, and the way he tries to mask it by tightening all the muscles in his face. His eyes narrow. “Something funny?” 

“Oh, no.” 2D raises both his hands as if he’s trying to convince a feral animal that he means no harm. “But, uh, what do you mean dishonest? Are you still upset about the boat trip we took without you?” 

“Did another car hit you in the head, or has age slowed down your brain that much already? You just lied to a baby!” 

“Not really. He couldn’t understand me anyway.” 

“You know what I mean.”

“Why do you care? I don’t see you writing any Christmas cards to your long-lost children.” 

That stung, though he couldn’t say why. The truth of the matter was that Murdoc didn’t know if he had any children out there. If he did, none of them had tried to find him the way 2D’s had. He could hardly remember the faces of past one-night stands or the concerts he played preceding them. 

There was so little that he remembered. 

“Neither were you!” He challenges. “Not until you decided you wanted to play dad for the day to make yourself feel better. That’s all you do now! Suddenly, you’re going for walks and boat rides, painting, calling your mum every week, and now - “

“Yeah,” 2D says. “I’m trying to make myself feel better.” He crosses his arms stubbornly. “You ever wonder why that is?” 

It takes a moment for the meaning behind the question registers. “You were always trying to make yourself feel better. But now, you’re trying to dress it up as if you weren’t shagging anything with a pulse or blowing all your money on painkillers.”

“That was years ago! Time passes, things change. People change. I wouldn’t want to be the same person I was back then.” 

“Yeah, sure, you were sooo miserable back then doing whippets with a group of hookers at one of our after-parties.” 

“You’re one to talk about dishonesty.” There’s a loud slap as 2D closes his laptop harder than either of them expected. “At least I’m not the one pretending I’m so much better than I actually am. Are you ever going to show any of our fans some moves you learned at your last Zumba class, Murdoc? Probably not, because you only went to two classes before you quit!”

Murdoc doesn’t let it shake him. “But at least you always know where I am, you bloody imbecile!”

“So this is about the boat trip.” 

“It’s not, but if that makes it easier for you to comprehend, then you can keep thinking that it is.” For the first time that day, he grins, challenging him. There was a nice thrill that came with getting 2D angry. “But I’ll concede. Creating a public persona is a craft, and I’ve perfected it, but that’s always been who I am.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Even if I spin a good tail once in a while, it’s for the benefit of this band. Have you seen our album sales? Everyone knows what to expect from me. I’ve always faced my problems. And you know what happens when I do? They go away! You can ask Tony Chopper. You can’t ask for better results than that. I’m famous and he’s working as a stocking clerk at Sainsbury.” 

2D glares at him, an amusing sight in his Christmas outfit. “How many years has it been since you’ve been in primary school? Thirty? Thirty-five?”

Murdoc laughs. “At least I paid enough attention to what my fat muppet of a teacher was saying to retain simple maths. It’s okay, Faceache. I won’t laugh too hard if you need to use your fingers to count.” 

He watches the singer’s fists clench at his sides. The lines of his face scrunch up even tighter.

“That isn’t the point, and you know it. You’re just trying to make me mad and - “

“Looks like it’s working.” 

“Why can’t you let things go?” 2D blurts out. “ That’s my point. You haven’t seen Tony Chopper in bloody decades, and you still bring him up, just like you did right now. You still want to argue all the time about the same things we’ve been arguing about since you made me join your stupid band. I’m tired of it! I’m trying to get my life together while you’re stuck in the same place you’ve always been!” 

He storms out of the room. 

Murdoc leans back in his chair, a satisfied grin on his face. He had won. 

2D is almost (not completely, never completely) right about one thing: Murdoc is stuck. He’s literally stuck in the studio with the three of them on Christmas Eve when he could have been out, somewhere, anywhere. 

Noodle, inspired by something she watched on Instagram or Tiktok or whatever she does on her phone, wants to “celebrate a socially distant holiday.” Russel and 2D, of course, support her idea with enthusiasm.

“We can still have just as much fun at home, as we would any other holiday,” she says as she connects her phone to her speakers. She’s done the best that she can with their messy kitchen and practice area - dimmed the lights, set out an assortment of wine and beer on the table. There’s even a small Christmas tree across from the refrigerator. The Christmas sweater theme has unfortunately stuck around as well. 

“What is this? Prom?” Murdoc sits down at his space by the table with the alcohol. Having refused the Christmas theme, he’s dressed in his usual black and grey attire. “All that’s missing is the bloody punch bowl.”

“What do you know about prom?” Russel asks. 

“I’m not daft, Russ. I’ve seen movies that take place outside of England. We watched Carrie last Halloween.” 

Noodle grabs a beer from the table and snaps the cap off with a bottle opener. “You can always go back to your room, or your box, or whatever dark, enclosed space you prefer.” She doesn’t even look at him.

“Hey, Noodle, could you pass me a bottle?” 2D asks. He isn’t wearing a Christmas sweater, but he’s been faithful to the theme. He instead sports a Christmas button up with a colorful Christmas light pattern. Somehow, it manages to be uglier than what he wore for his Zoom call. 

They’re all gathered around the table where Murdoc is sitting, but he knows they’ll leave soon. They won’t go far, since their impromptu “party” only spans across two rooms, but they aren’t close because they want to be near him. Soon enough, he won’t be a concern of theirs. 

“Merry Christmas, man.” Russel slaps 2D on the back. “Or should I call you grandpa 2D? Congrats!” 

“Thanks, Russ. They’re a nice family.” 

“Pointless, if you ask me,” Murdoc adds, but they ignore him.  

Once Noodle starts the music, they begin to drift away. 2D and Noodle move closer to the center of the room, and Russel, though he’s never been a dancer, follows them. In Murdoc’s opinion, the sight of them is far more pathetic than any dance he’s seen in American movies. They hardly fill up the room and only one of them can actually dance. 

2D attempts to move his body to the rhythm of the song playing. It reminds Murdoc of the way a slinky flops down the steps. There isn’t anything attractive about how his wide smile exposes his missing front tooth; previously missing front teeth before he got an implant (Murdoc doesn’t bother asking why he replaced one, but not the other). His dance of choice is a combination of the sprinkler move and the YMCA. He’s happy. He’s ugly . Murdoc can’t stop staring at him. 

The bassist pours himself another shot and remembers a time when he would have pushed them all out of the way to take up the dance floor on his own. Back then, they would listen to him when he acted out or interrupted. If they weren’t listening, they would at least stop what they were doing to acknowledge him. There used to be a sense of emptiness when he wasn’t present. Tonight, however, the scene before him looks complete. They’re smiling and laughing. There is no awkwardness or tension. It’s harmonious, as perfectly tuned as his grand piano that 2D still loves to play.  

It doesn’t take long for 2D to notice him.

Their eyes meet just as the second song starts, and Murdoc doesn’t have enough time to pretend that he wasn’t looking. He feels cornered by the other man’s gaze, exposed despite their distance. But the energy between them is undeniable and unavoidable. The singer is scrutinizing him, searching for answers he doesn’t know how to give. 

Seconds later, Noodle grabs 2D’s hand and starts to spin him as the song reaches its refrain. They both start laughing, and he’s gone, far enough away that he might as well be in another world. 

An hour into the night, Murdoc almost leaves. But it’s impossible to leave a table covered in liquor, and it’s impossible to leave when he knows that no one will follow him. They have him outnumbered. A welcome challenge if he could still convince himself that they needed him. So instead, he slouches in his seat, maintaining a sour expression that he hopes will be contagious. 

“Come on, man,” Russel says. He’s the only one who’s had a full conversation with him all night, but it isn’t because he wants to. It’s because Murdoc’s sitting at the table with all the Christmas cookies, and Russel is the only one eating them. “Are you gonna be a downer like this all night? Tomorrow is Christmas.” 

That meant nothing to him. He had never even celebrated Christmas until they moved into their first studio.

“Last I heard, we were in the middle of a pandemic, we can’t leave the studio, the sea levels are rising, and there are wars everywhere. You tell me what there is to be happy about when, to top it all off, I’m being forced to go to prom at the young age of fifty-four.” 

The drummer collects four cookies onto a napkin, stacking them delicately. “You know what? I’m not even trying tonight.” He makes his way to the kitchen and dancing area without giving Murdoc a chance to respond.

But the “party” ends just as naturally as it began. Noodle announces that she should go to bed in order to wake up in time for her morning Zoom call with her yoga group. Russel doesn’t seem too enthused at the prospect of staying behind without her and makes a quick exit.

2D lingers for reasons unknown. His eyes drift around the room, landing on one of his keyboards as if he wants to play it. He doesn’t look at Murdoc.

“Leaving so soon?” Murdoc asks, mocking. He hasn’t strayed far from his seat by the table, and he’s spent most of the night miserable, but he takes pride in the knowledge that he’s about to outlast them all. 

2D glances at him briefly, curious, like he’s about to say something. But whatever words are swimming in his head never surface.

“It’s getting a bit late,” he finally says. “I think I’ll spend some time outside, and then I’m going to go to bed.” He shuffles toward to their balcony, sliding the door open and closing it behind him, leaving Murdoc alone. 

“Wait,” he says when he knows the singer is out of earshot. Even though he’s just feet away, the room seems to come alive, expanding, widening the space between them. The only lights that are on in the living room and kitchen are lights on their Christmas tree. It’s dark.

Murdoc had complicated feelings about the dark. On bad nights, his mind could paint a mosaic of horrifying images, faces contorted with anger, hooked hands that looked like claws, cold cells with leering faces. And yet, he turned to the dark for comfort. No one could see him, so there was no pressure to be the person he created for the public to consume. He didn’t have to exist. He wasn’t there. 

He’s tipsy enough to pretend he’s invisible as he pushes himself to his feet and slinks towards the door. He pretends he’s someone else as he slides the door open to the outline of 2D’s frame against the view of the city. 

It’s a chilly night. The air cuts through his sweater with ease, making him regret not putting on his shoes. But the sky is clear. He can see the stars despite all the artificial light coming from the city. The moon seems to shine brightest of all, covering everything around him with a soft glow. 

“Hey, Murdoc.” 2D is too busy taking in the view to turn around, but he acknowledges him immediately. 

“Murdoc?” He repeats. “I’m surprised you’re not calling me a wanker right now.” 

2D shrugs. “It’s been over twenty years, and I haven’t gone mental yet.” His eyes haven’t left the view in front of them. He takes it in with a childlike awe. “I guess I’m used to you.”

“But you had a pleasant break from me tonight.”

“I’m not up for being angry all the time. This bloke, Chögyam Trungpa, says it’s easier to conquer the world through gentleness, courage, and self-knowledge rather than violence. And I know you well enough to know I wasn’t the only thing bothering you. I haven’t got a clue what else is going on, but I guess you’ll tell me someday.” He inhales, and then exhales. It’s cold enough to see his breath. “But if it makes you feel better, pass me your lighter, wanker.” 

Murdoc does without comment, but not before lighting his own, and leans on the parapet as he smokes. The ground is two floors below them. If he jumped off, he would land in their dumpster, cushioned by trash. It would give 2D quite the scare if he did. The thought brings an amused smile to his face.

“But really... are you alright, Murdoc?” 2D asks as he lights his cigarette. 

“Always so bloody nosy.” 

“I’m used to you being a wanker, but I never expected you to kick off over one of my kids.” 

Murdoc stares at the ground harder. “You lot looked like you were having a good time tonight. Noodle brought enough festive spirit into the studio to uplift the entire city of London.” 

“I was a bit miffed they all left before I could play my interpretation of that Lennon tune.” 

“And start another Christmas concert? I don’t blame them one bit.” 

2D ignores his comment. He closes his eyes and takes a drag from his cigarette. A content smile graces his features. If just for a second, Murdoc briefly believes in his Zen persona. The singer appears to be one with his surroundings, the busy city below them, and the clear, vast sky above them. He’s content to exist in the undefined space between youth and retirement, in a state of constant change. He’s so at ease, and Murdoc can’t understand how that could be after everything they had been through. 

He swallows a barbed comment, and it seems to fester in his throat. The part of him that wants to upset the singer again isn’t as easy to summon in the presence of such certainty. Murdoc wishes he could experience that ease; that feeling that he was a part of something bigger than himself, that he belonged somewhere. 

“So, are you going to tell me why you were angry?” 2D seems distracted by the view in front of him, but his question reminds Murdoc just how aware he is of his presence. 

“What do you mean? About your grandson?” 

“Yeah, that. Or anything. You can pick since you’re the one who’s angry about something every day, and that’s just counting the days we see you.” Only then does his serene expression falter, threatening to collapse into a frown. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He’s reconsidering his decision to join 2D on the balcony. The emptiness he felt in the studio is still with him. Even 2D, the person who years ago he identified as someone safe, can’t seem to change it. He was miles over the city, in the sky, while Murdoc felt gravity pulling him closer to the cement below. 

“Is there something you want?” 2D persists, unconvinced.

“I have everything I want.” 

“Do you want to give one of your kids a ring?” 

“I don’t want any kids and neither do you. If they’re out there, none of the little bastards have ever tried to find me. I’d say they made the right choice.” He thinks about Noodle at age ten, and how she would study him while he changed the strings on his bass guitar. A week later, he helped her change her guitar strings, and as she tightened the last string, she beamed at him. Not too long after that, she walked in on him doing a line of coke in the living room. Her admiration only seemed to fade from there. These days, she hardly acknowledged him. He reminds himself of that any time he wishes he had someone new to look up to him.

“Well, I won’t try to change your mind,” 2D says. “But it’s not so bad to have a chat with someone new once in a while.” He stubs his cigarette out on the parapet and lets it fall over the edge. “Kind of like we’re doing now...I’ve missed that. I’d say we could still get Russel’s telescope out, but I think he’s asleep. He gets so peeved when we wake him up.” 

“There isn’t anything up there. Russ is a crackpot. Even you can remember that. An asteroid wiping us all out in the next twenty-four hours is about as likely as the government conspiracy rubbish he was spouting off about yesterday.”

“It’s like the graphic I read on Google yesterday said: Anything is possible. I bet if I told you a year ago that a virus that would threaten to destroy society as we know it would infect the world, you would have called me a muppet.”  

“Congrats, Stu, you get to live in one of your zombie movies.” 

2D brightens with realization, fully engrossed in whatever fantasy Murdoc’s comment had triggered. As usual, for him, everything was easy.

“This virus has been a bigger letdown than the jigsaw puzzle you wanted me to finish with you. The least it could have done was to provide some zombies for us to watch Noodle to slaughter,” Murdoc grouses. “Instead, I’m stuck in this bloody studio, weighed down by the burden of inspiring fans when I feel like shit.”  

“Do you want to go inside, Muds? We could watch Resident Evil .” 

“Are you incapable of staying on one topic for over five minutes?” The offer gives him a slight sense of relief, but the timing was wrong. He created an opening for 2D to probe further. He could have tried to verbalize what he was feeling, and the singer had changed the topic.

“I’m only asking because you seemed so interested today while I was talking to....” He hesitates as if he’s worried about what will happen if he brings up his other “family.” Murdoc could hardly call them that. “You stayed the whole time.” 

“As if you noticed.” 

“I noticed. And I noticed you staring at me this evening. It’s obvious.” 

“It’s hard to ignore someone whose idea of dancing is flopping around like a fish.” 

“Unlike you, I don’t mind,” 2D says. “Do you remember all the fits you threw about me staring at you? You would call me a stalker or say I was creepy. But that was when you noticed. You never noticed much, plus you were usually asleep…”

“You aren’t exactly helping your case…” 

“It’s like…I’m you, and you’re me.” 2D’s eyes widen. He’s had an epiphany. “Is that what you were trying to tell me this morning? It went right over my head. I’m sorry, Murdoc.” 

“No! That’s not what I was saying at all. Christ.” 

“What were you saying then?” 

“I don’t know!” His nails scrape against the metal as he grips the edge of the balcony. “I just don’t feel right. Nothing’s felt right.” He glances to his side quickly. 2D is just feet away. “Not even now. It’s like you’re hardly here and I might as well be talking to myself.” 

“I’m here. I was here before you were.”

Each one of them had a life outside of the band, except for him. Russel and 2D had their families, and Noodle had her entire life ahead of her. He was getting old, and they were tired of him. He couldn’t blame them for that because he was tired of himself. Everything he had fought for in his twenties, he had achieved. Now, as his bandmates flourished, he floundered. It seemed like he had no identity outside of fighting and surviving, without caring who he pushed away to do so. Now, he had nothing immediate to fight for, and he had effectively pushed them all away even though he needed them so much. He wouldn’t know who he was if he lost the band. Yet it would be so easy for them to exist without him. 

“Did you mean that... when you said you missed talking?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” 2D says. “We used to chat nearly every night. Don’t you remember? Well, perhaps you don’t since I had to hold you up a lot of those nights. We’d chat on our way home from the pub... we always did. That feels like years ago.” 

“Maybe because it was years ago.”

“But this year has felt like a decade on its own. And you disappeared.” 2D shifts until they’re closer, their arms almost brushing. 

What’s going to happen to us? Why are you still here? Are you planning to move on? Murdoc almost asks all the questions in his head and more, and not just out of guilt. He wants to stop thinking about them. He wants to be himself again, or figure out who he was so he could start being that person. 

“I miss it too, mate,” he says, his eyes fixed on the ground. But he leans closer until he can feel the side of 2D’s body. If he tilted his head, he could lean it on his shoulder. 

A silence falls over them, and the sounds of the city echo in the distance. Their physical contact seems to awaken a familiar connection, one that had been dormant for so long Murdoc had convinced himself that it no longer existed. He needs his lighter back, but rather than ask for it, he reaches towards 2D’s pocket.

The singer grabs his wrist, ostensibly to stop him, but implicitly to acknowledge him. Neither of them would have any use for a lighter, and they shared this understanding.

They turn to one another and lean closer, learning each other’s body language again. 2D’s fingers fiddle nervously with Murdoc’s sleeve while the other hand stays at his side. They’re close enough that they could be slow dancing. 

Instinctively, Murdoc takes the other man’s hand and tilts his head back. It would just take another few inches, and he would be kissing him. As their chests touch, he can feel the pressure on his wrist disappear as the singer releases it and brings a hand to his cheek. After that, he can’t wait anymore. Without another moment of hesitation, he closes the space between them and kisses him hungrily.

“Now do you want to go inside?” 2D asks when they break apart. 

Murdoc doesn’t answer. He only pushes him back towards the door. 

The singer pulls them back into the studio. He barely has time to close the door behind them before the force of Murdoc pressing all of his weight against him sends them crashing onto the couch. 

2D is nearly all bones, but he’s still warmer than the winter air. Murdoc roots his head into his neck, nipping at the skin, relishing the small noises he makes in response. He sighs as he feels the singer’s hands drift down his back, resting at his waist. 

“Why aren’t you like this during the day?” 2D looks up at him, face flushed. “It’s always, ‘Sod off, 2D,’ or one of those frowns, or you’re locked in the basement.”

“Shut up.” Murdoc kisses a trail down his neck, his hands pull at the top button on the singer’s hideous shirt. 

“So, who are you to say I’m not acting like myself? You’re barely around.” He sits up so they’re eye level, as if to let Murdoc know he’s serious. “But, uh, to make sure we both know - I’m the same 2D I was this morning, okay? And I’m still myself.”

As a rush of cold air hits the back of his neck, Murdoc realizes the door isn’t all the way closed. Involuntarily, he shivers. Combined with his hesitation to meet his gaze, he curses himself for appearing so nervous. That’s all he seemed to be. Fearful and irritated. 

“Right…” he musters, unsure of how to interpret what 2D had said. Words held little weight, certainly not enough to steady the persistent, negative mantra in his head. 

“We haven’t done this in a while either.” His hands slide under his shirt and up his chest, hiking the garment up in the process.

Murdoc inhales sharply as the air chills the exposed skin. “I don’t see you asking.” He pulls the shirt over his head anyway and lets it fall on the floor beside them.

“I didn’t think you wanted to anymore.” Now it was 2D’s turn to look uncertain. “Did you listen to the album?”

“Of course I listened to the album.” He leans forward to kiss him, only for the singer to dodge him.

“But did you listen to the album?” 2D’s gaze bears down on him, hopeful, nervous, yet resolved. Tell me the truth, you wanker , he seems to say. 

“I did,” Murdoc says with less force. And then he concedes, “And I, er, will.” 

2D’s face softens. “Okay, well, uh, give it a listen when you get the chance.” He licks his lips nervously before adding, “… Please.” He cradles Murdoc’s cheek in his hand. “But not right now. Right now, we’re going to - “ 

“Kiss me. You’re going to kiss me.”

2D listens, looping an arm around his waist and pulling him closer while his other hand slips from his cheek, carding his fingers carding his hair as he kisses him. 

Murdoc growls into his mouth, melting into him. A desperate need he didn’t know he was holding onto seems to take over him. He latches onto any body part he can, groping at the singer’s back, gripping the sharp angles of his shoulder blades. Anything to remind himself that the body slotted against him was real.

They wrestle around, limbs tangled together until Murdoc feels his back hit the sofa with one of 2D’s knees pressed between his thighs. 

The moonlight frames the singer’s face like a halo, giving him the appearance of an otherworldly being. The sight brings an ache to Murdoc’s chest. It didn’t feel right. It had been a long life of burying any emotions he felt for him. But he’s spent a lifetime chasing things, grasping and holding onto whatever or whoever he could. All he wants now is to be held. But that never meant to happen, not to someone like him. 

“Murdoc.” 2D’s eyebrows furrow, noticing the change in enthusiasm. “Is this still what you want?” 

Murdoc stares back at him. He gulps down the tightness in his throat and roots his nails deeper into the fabric of the younger man’s shirt. Words. He needed to find words, but 2D’s eyes are opaque and infinite, and they leave him transfixed. Murdoc could see his entire life in his gaze if he lingered long enough in that comforting darkness. 

“Hey, Mu - “ 

Murdoc answers him by pulling him down roughly so that every part of 2D’s body part falls against him. He squeezes his eyes shut as they kiss, heat pooling in his lower stomach. It was easier to feel him than it was to see him. 

“I want you to fuck me,” he whispers harshly, squirming. 2D’s lips are skimming the line of his throat now, the heat of his breath warming his skin. It’s driving him crazy. 

A hand grips his hip to steady him. “Oh...” He stills, needing a moment to process his request. “You mean that?” 

Murdoc slips a hand between their stomachs, palming 2D’s dick through the fabric of his pants. “Is that clear enough for you?” He asks as the singer moans. 

The weight on top of him leaves him. He can hear paper rustling and pens clacking as 2D rifles around the shelves behind the couch for lube and a condom. He rolls over, so he’s on his stomach, unbuttoning his pants, grabbing a pillow off the floor, and placing it beneath his hips. The aching in his chest threatens to overtake him, and he wants to hurry the process. 

It doesn’t take long for 2D to settle behind him, mouth returning to the nook between his neck and shoulder, hand pulling the waistbands of his pants and underwear down around his thighs. He has to bite back a whimper as the singer begins to open him up with slicked fingers. 

2D doesn’t rush. And this time, Murdoc takes what he gives without complaint or demands. He digs his nails into the cushion below him until the pain diminishes into mild discomfort, until 2D crooks his fingers just right, leaving him panting and writhing against the couch. 

Just as he’s reaching the height of his arousal, the weight leaves him again. He nearly bites his tongue to stop himself from saying anything he would regret. 2D was there. Of course he was. He can hear the soft sounds of clothes hitting the floor, presumably after being tossed aside, and the wrapper of the condom tearing. But he can’t stand how bare he feels without the other man’s body covering his.

Be a tree , he remembers, and internally berates himself. But he thinks about the singer’s directions. Stand tall, right in front of the sun if you can. 

He can’t see much from where he is. If he looks directly in front of him, all he sees is the armrest. To his side, he sees the aftermath from their party - a crumb-covered table, dropping streamers, the twinkling Christmas lights, various instruments in their stands. 

Right in front of the sun, 2D’s voice tells him again. He had heard that somewhere else. Don’t burn yourself. Turn yourself around...into the sun.

2D’s hand rests on his shoulder as he lowers himself over him. “This good?” 

Murdoc can feel his member prodding against his inner thigh. “About bloody time,” he murmurs.

He bites into the pillow as 2D enters him, grunting as the singer fills him to the hilt.

2D rubs his sides, his fingers ghosting the ridges of his ribs while he peppers his neck and shoulders with kisses. For a second, the gestures make him nauseous. It wasn’t the shagging he was used to. He wants to yell at him. There was the familiar burn of being stretched, but he was used to it, and the singer should know this. Tonight, he welcomes it out of relief to finally be feeling something again.

“Wow.” 2D sounds like he’s in a state of wonder for reasons unknown to Murdoc. 

None of this was new to either of them. And yet Murdoc can feel his heart flutter in response to every kiss the singer gives him.

Slowly, he relaxes. He allows himself to be lost in the weight of 2D’s body on his, anchoring him to the couch, affirming that he was present there with him and that, at least for now, that he wasn’t going anywhere. He could meet all the kids in the world, leave the band entirely, but a part of him would always be there. 

Groaning, he pushes back against the singer’s dick, silently urging him to keep going. 

There aren’t any fancy positions or showboating. They’re older now, worn down, tired. Their shagging wasn’t any different. The singer intertwines one of his hands with his, rocking into him gently at first. He grinds deep until he hits the spot that makes Murdoc’s eyes steam. 

Murdoc pants, his breath damp against the sofa. With one arm, he braces himself against the armrest as 2D quickens his pace. He can’t stop the noises coming out of him as the singer thrusts against that spot again, and again, and again. 

“Satan…” he nearly sobs. 2D had never been an exciting lover, but tonight he has him sweating and shaking, nearly feverish with want. He pulls his hand out of his grasp and reaches behind him, grabbing the singer’s thigh, trying to pull him in deeper if that was even possible. 

He can’t hold on much longer despite his longing to stay in this moment forever, with their bodies merged together, concealed by the darkness. He needs that constant reminder that despite his fears and addictions, despite how old and scarred his body was, that he could still be open, as open as someone like him could be. 

He feels 2D’s hand on his cock, stroking him. “Sh-shit...Muds,” he stammers, desperation in his voice. One of his hands tangles into his hair tenderly, as if he was the most precious thing in the world. “I missed you…”

The words barely register in Murdoc’s head before the world blurs. He bucks and trembles, coming with a cry that’s half-stifled by the seat cushion. 2D follows not long after, collapsing on him in exhaustion. 

They lie there, panting and silent. Murdoc doesn’t let him go, a small part of him still telling him that the singer would disappear if he did. 

2D is the first to move. His fingers thread through Murdoc’s hair as he nuzzles his face into the crook of his neck. 

“Enough,” Murdoc mumbles, too weary to fight him too much. But the soft touches still unnerve him in their novelty. They had never treated each other like this in the past. He had never been treated that way by anyone.

“I know…” 2D shifts, pulling out of Murdoc gently. He tries to move so they’re next to each other but gives up halfway. “Just thought you might like it.” 

Without the distraction of fucking, it was cramped, and now, sticky to share the couch. Murdoc is suddenly hyper-aware of how much his back will ache if he falls asleep with 2D’s elbow pressed between his shoulder blades, and of how his right leg is falling asleep. But he doesn’t have it in him to move, not yet.

“This is a bloody mess,” he remarks. It was vague enough that it could describe the room, the couch, or what was going on in his head (a tumultuous mix of emotions). He doesn’t, however, make any attempt to stop 2D from stroking his hair.

“At least you got to doing something on this couch other than cry.” 

“Sod off... grandpa.”

2D chuckles. “Alright, that’s fair.” For a moment, his fingers stop. “So, uh, are you still mad at me?”

Murdoc stiffens, irritated at the lost friction. “I wasn’t mad at you .” 

“Yes, you were.”

“Okay, fine. I can see how it might have come off that way, but…” He trails off. His eyes take in the room, empty except for the collection of instruments and furniture. He imagines Russel at the drums, Noodle next to her guitar, 2D stringing together some impractical combination of instruments. He had observed many band practices from where he was, prone on the couch, either hungover or drunk.  

“But what?” 

He wonders what might have changed if he had picked up his bass and played with them. 

“Muds?”

But day after day passed, and he never moved. 

“You were right,” he says. 

“About what?”

“What you said earlier today.” He gulps, wishing the couch would somehow absorb him. There was so much more he wanted to tell him.

“Oh, that.” 2D seems to have another idea. He tries to roll off of him, nearly pushing him over the edge. A moment of panic ensues as they both scramble to maintain their balance. Instinctively, Murdoc grabs onto his shoulder before he can fall. But now they’re face to face.

“Sorry...” The singer’s expression is apologetic. He pulls him so they’re close. It’s another awkward position with the bridge of Murdoc’s nose lining up with his chin. “And I didn’t mean what I said earlier. But you have a knack for getting under people’s skin.” 

Murdoc buries his face in his chest, but only because he has nowhere else to move. He convinces himself that this is true. “So I’ve heard.”

“We could do this again sometime, if you’d like. Noodle said she wants to have a New Year’s Eve party. I think it will be exactly the same, except it will be New Year’s Eve decorations. But don’t worry. I don’t think I have any Zoom calls that day.” 

“Will you be wearing another hideous shirt?” 

“Yeah, I’ll be sure to borrow one from your closet.” 

“Careful, or I’ll - “

“Push yourself off the couch?” 2D chuckles but tries to make more space for him. “Next time, we could do this in a bed.” 

Murdoc is silent. It’s quiet enough that he can hear the singer’s heartbeat, as steady and unshakeable as the body it occupied. It wasn’t that nothing frightened the singer, but the peace he had achieved with himself, flaws, and all. He didn’t deserve him, but he wanted to feel like he did... someday. 

“Sounds nice,” he says.

“We could talk a bit more, just you and me,” the singer presses.

Murdoc squeezes his eyes shut as he searches for words. He can feel his heart rate increasing as his mind drifts to the hidden wells of memories he fought to forget. There was so much that 2D didn’t know.

“Oh, right. You’re stuck.” 2D doesn’t sound like he’s trying to mock him this time, though Murdoc could never be too sure. He swats at the singer’s head.

“Don’t push it.” 

“It’s okay, you can take your time.” 2D’s hand returns to his hair and he can feel his body relaxing again. “So is that a yes?” 

Murdoc sighs. “... I’ll need some time, Stu.” But he would get there. He had to. 

“Okay,” says 2D. “I’ll be here when you’re ready.” He yawns. “Well, maybe not right here. Now that I’m thinking about it, I can’t feel my leg. It’s hard to fit on here. It’s also cold.”

Murdoc huddles closer to him. “That’s your fault for being so bloody tall.” Despite how secure he felt with him where they were, the singer was correct. The room had gotten significantly colder. “We can move if you’d like.” 

“Maybe down to the basement,” 2D says. “We could watch Resident Evil. ” 

“ Fine. ” 

There, in the dimly lit room, through half-lidded eyes, he sees a beginning.