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The common room in Kong Studios smelled like stale pizza and amplifier dust, the usual haze of a post-rehearsal evening. Noodle was cross-legged on the carpet, tuning her guitar with surgical focus. Russel lounged on the sagging couch, drumming a lazy beat on his knee. 2D sat on the armrest beside Murdoc, close enough that their shoulders brushed every time either of them breathed.
Murdoc cleared his throat like he was about to hawk up a lung. “Right. Before the rumor mill churns out another load of bollocks, me and the singer here have an announcement.”
2D’s fingers worried the frayed cuff of his hoodie. He offered the room a wobbly grin. “We, uh… we got hitched. Back in ’05. Vegas. Elvis impersonator. The works.”
Russel’s sticks froze mid-air. “Come again?”
“Married,” 2D repeated, softer. “Husbands.”
Noodle’s pick slipped, twanging a sour note. She stared at 2D, then at Murdoc, then back at 2D like she was trying to solve a Rubik’s cube in the dark. “You’ve been married twenty years and nobody noticed?”
“Twenty-one,” Murdoc corrected, flashing the thin silver band he usually kept on a chain under his shirt. “We’re discreet. Ish.”
Russel let out a low whistle. “Man, that’s wild. Congrats, I guess?”
Noodle wasn’t done. She pointed her pick at Murdoc like a dagger. “If you knock him up, I swear on every capo I own, I will end you.”
The room went pin-drop silent.
2D turned the color of strawberry milk.
Murdoc barked a laugh that cracked halfway through. “How the hell would I manage that, Noodle? I’m not exactly packing the factory settings.”
Noodle blinked. “You’re… infertile?”
Murdoc’s eye twitched. “No, I’m trans, you absolute melon. Been on T since before you were out of nappies. There’s no assembly line down there, just aftermarket parts.”
2D buried his face in both hands, shoulders shaking with muffled laughter or panic; hard to tell.
Russel raised a brow. “Hold up. You too?”
Murdoc shrugged, the motion sharp enough to cut glass. “Yeah, me too. Surprise. World doesn’t end. Sun still rises. Pass the crisps.”
Noodle’s mouth opened, closed, opened again. “I-huh. Okay. That’s… new data.”
2D peeked through his fingers. “We were gonna tell you lot eventually. Just… never found the right soggy Tuesday, y’know?”
Murdoc slung an arm around 2D’s waist, tugging him down onto the couch proper. “Besides, the paperwork’s a nightmare when one spouse is legally dead half the time.”
Russel snorted. “Explains the matching scars I saw in the shower that one time.”
“Oi!” Murdoc and 2D said in unison, then looked at each other and cracked up.
Noodle set her guitar aside, crawled over, and flopped across both their laps like a cat claiming territory. “Fine. You’re married. You’re both trans. I’m adopting you as my disaster dads. But if either of you starts leaving hormone vials in the fridge next to my oat milk, we’re having words.”
2D ruffled her hair. “Deal.”
Murdoc smirked, pressing a kiss to 2D’s temple that was equal parts possession and apology. “See, love? Told you they’d survive the reveal.”
Outside, the Essex wind rattled the windows, but inside, the band settled into the new shape of their weird little family, one secret lighter, one chaos heavier, exactly as it should be.