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The party was a migraine in neon. Some label exec’s penthouse in Shoreditch, glass walls, thumping bass, champagne that tasted like battery acid. Noodle was off in a corner, schooling a DJ twice her age on modular synths. Russel leaned against the bar, arms folded, watching the room like a bouncer who’d already decided everyone was guilty.
2D-sweet, daft, blue-haired 2D-was trapped in a circle of perfume and teeth. Five girls, maybe six, all glossy lips and sharper elbows. One had a hand on his collar. Another kept touching his wrist like she was reading his pulse for weakness.
“You’re the singer, yeah?” the blonde with the sequin top purred, leaning so close her breath fogged his glasses. “God, that voice. Bet it sounds even better up close.”
2D laughed, high and nervous. “Heh, cheers. Just, y’know, doin’ me job-”
“Job?” A brunette in a backless dress laughed, nails scraping the nape of his neck. “You’re art, baby. Let’s find somewhere private to appreciate it.”
Across the room, Murdoc Niccals went very still.
He’d been nursing the same whiskey for an hour, green skin slick with sweat under the strobe lights. Watching. Always watching. The girls didn’t see him, nobody ever did when 2D was in the room. But Murdoc saw everything. The hand on 2D’s hip. The way the blonde’s tongue touched her teeth when she said private. The glint of 2D’s wedding ring, his wedding ring, hidden under a leather cuff that was starting to ride up.
Murdoc’s glass cracked in his grip.
2D shifted, trying to step back, but the circle tightened. “Really, ladies, I’m flattered, but I-”
“Shh,” the blonde whispered, fingers sliding under his cuff. “No one has to know.”
That was it.
Murdoc shoved through the crowd like a shark through minnows. Elbows, curses, a spilled drink or three. He grabbed 2D’s wrist, his wrist, and yanked him out of the scrum so hard the singer stumbled into his chest.
“Oi!” Murdoc’s voice cut through the music like a busted amp. “He’s taken, you slags! Married, even!”
The room didn’t go silent, music didn’t allow silence, but the circle froze. Phones came out. Someone gasped. Noodle’s head snapped up from the synth deck.
Murdoc thrust their joined hands into the air like a prizefighter. Two silver rings caught the strobes, simple, scratched, matching. Twenty years old, bought in a Camden pawn shop the week Demon Days went gold. Hidden under lies and gloves and “just mates, yeah?” for so long the metal had worn grooves into their fingers.
2D blinked. “Murdoc-”
“Shut it, dullard.” Murdoc’s voice cracked, half snarl, half relief. “Been hidin’ this since 2005. I’m done.”
The blonde opened her mouth. Closed it. The brunette took a step back, eyes wide. Someone in the back started clapping, slow, sarcastic. Then faster. Then the whole room was howling.
Russel pushed off the bar, grinning like Christmas came early. “About damn time.”
Noodle vaulted over a couch, combat boots thudding. “You idiots! I knew since the Plastic Beach photoshoot! The rings were in the prop box!”
2D’s face was scarlet under the blue fringe. He looked at Murdoc, at the snarl that wasn’t really a snarl, at the tremor in the hand still gripping his wrist like it might vanish. And something in 2D’s chest unclenched.
He surged up on his toes and kissed Murdoc right there in the middle of the chaos. Not soft. Not sweet. A full-on, teeth-clacking, tongue-and-all claim. Murdoc made a strangled noise, half shock, half finally, and kissed back like he was drowning.
The crowd lost it. Phones flashed. Someone screamed. A champagne bottle popped like gunfire.
When they broke apart, 2D was grinning, lipstick smeared on his mouth that wasn’t even his. “Y’could’ve just said somethin’, y’prick.”
Murdoc barked a laugh, eyes wet. “Where’s the fun in that, love?”
Noodle was already live-streaming. Russel had both thumbs up. The girls? Vanished. Probably crying in the loo.
Murdoc slung an arm around 2D’s shoulders, possessive as hell. “Right. Who wants the story? Pawn shop. 2005. I was sober, miracle. He cried. I called him a tit. Standard romance.”
2D elbowed him. “You cried more.”
“Lies.”
“Photographic evidence, babe.”
The party didn’t recover, it evolved. Into a wedding reception nobody planned. Someone found a veil in a prop bag. Noodle made a bouquet out of glow sticks. Russel DJ’d their first dance to Clint Eastwood, slowed down, because of course.
Later, on the balcony, city lights smearing below them, 2D leaned into Murdoc’s side. The rings glinted between their clasped hands.
“Still jealous?” 2D teased, voice soft.
Murdoc huffed. “Always. But now they know whose bed you’re crawlin’ into.”
2D kissed his knuckles. “Been yours since the Kong Studios basement, y’git.”
Murdoc’s grin was crooked, sharp, real. “Yeah. And don’t you forget it.”
Inside, Noodle was forcing Russel into a conga line. Someone had Sharpied “JUST MARRIED (AGAIN)” on the back of Murdoc’s jacket. 2D laughed until his ribs hurt.
They didn’t have to hide anymore.