Chapter Text
“One more time…” 2-D mumbled to himself. He began gently playing a melody on his guitar, one that he had been trying to get right the entire day. He started with a sliding riff from D to G, humming as he figured out where his fingers would go next. He kept pausing to write down new notes on a piece of paper, only to repeat the tune again, humming along and ad-libbing to the parts he wanted to introduce new elements into. Slowly, a semblance of a song started to form.
Murdoc tried thinking of lyrics in his head, though it was hard to think due to an unresolved headache from a recent hangover. As 2-D played, he tapped along on the body of his bass that sat upon his lap. They sat atop a hill that overlooked the island. The lighthouse could be spotted in the distance, occasionally blinding them as the light from the beacon reflected off its polygonal windows.
The two had been sitting together for hours, brainstorming melodies and ideas for concepts and songs. It seemed to be the only time they weren’t at each other’s throats. Though recently, those moments seemed to have lessened. It was strange, finally being away from the rest of the world had an unintended side effect on Murdoc’s behaviour; he had become quieter as he spent more time in his head than needed, his seemingly never-ending anger appeared to have diminished as well, no longer would the mere sight of 2-D set him off. Without the distractions and pressure of the outside world, the feelings of resentment and jealousy that clouded his judgement seemed to have been lifted ever so slightly. Even the smallest clarity was having a dramatic effect on him, though he tried to keep that to himself.
Murdoc watched him intently as he played, it never failed to impress him how naturally music came to him. His face was focused, his eyes were low, almost closed as he listened to the chords closely. When he played, the white that had clouded his eyes faded gradually to grey, and then their usual voided black. Music brought him peace, a small escape in a place and in a situation where he had none.
The sun that appeared from behind the dark clouds shone onto his face, revealing every one of the moles that dotted his body. Strands of hair fell in front of his face, yet it didn’t bother him. The breeze was refreshing, the sunlight warm and gentle. It felt picturesque, as if they weren’t even on the island to begin with.
From his face Murdoc focused in on his fingers; long and sharp with calloused fingertips, yet delicate and gentle - the hands of a pianist. He became transfixed on them. He watched as his immediate senses stepped back. All he could hear was the music, and all he could see was the person creating it. It was almost hypnotic.
“What do you think?” 2-D stopped playing and looked back at Murdoc. It took him a second to come back to reality, as he did, he stared at 2-D. He felt himself sink into his eyes. “Murdoc?” he asked again.
He got a hold of himself and let out a sharp breath as he regained his focus, “I- um-“ he stuttered, “What? What did you say?” He felt bewildered. This feeling was foreign, he couldn’t describe it. His chest felt like it was caving in on itself and his heart was pounding. All he knew was that it wasn’t a good sensation in the slightest.
“Sorry, um…w-what I was playing. What did you think?” 2-D asked once again as he looked back at his notes.
“It’s good. It’s…it was really good.” Murdoc said softly. Although 2-D had turned back to his guitar, he didn’t look away from him.
“Yeah? I was thinking we could add in some piano here…” 2-D began to play again. Humming the melody, interrupting himself to imitate the sound of the notes and instruments he wanted to incorporate, “Like…’ba da da, dum dum’, you know?” He stopped playing and turned to him for approval.
“Yeah, definitely. That would be….I like that.”
He felt baffled by these feelings. Racing thoughts flew by his consciousness in an attempt to explain it. In all the years he had known 2-D, he had thought of him as something he could use. He was everything he wasn’t, everything he wanted to be but wasn’t. Though throughout those years, there were moments where all he saw him as was his friend, someone he couldn’t live without, where he felt some kind of love for him; when they would create music, when they stood together as the rush of adrenaline from the stage took them in its grasp, and when all they did was talk, sometimes endlessly into the night, it was there. But now, it was all he felt. It encompassed his entire being, tightly gripping his heart with all its power. It was unpleasant, painful, almost terrifying.
Was he more than just a “pretty boy”? An object used as a means to obtain a success he had so desperately craved yet could never achieve on his own? An object he could batter and berate and treat however he pleased for his own desires and enjoyment?
For a while now he had felt these feelings break through in increments, like a wall of marble slowly being chiseled away to reveal something greater. However, through that marble wall didn’t lie an incredible sculpture, comprehensive and beautiful to all who gazed upon it, a piece of art that revealed hidden love and acceptance. Instead, it revealed something strange. It wasn’t a form, it wasn’t a sculpture, it wasn’t a piece of art. What lay beyond was more akin to something that had been broken thousands of times, and was only being slowly put together now, yet its form still indecipherable. Something that had been destroyed and warped for so long, that you could argue it was never whole in the first place. Rubble and dust, jagged edges and crumbling foundations. Maybe something new could be made of all those fallen and ruined pieces, but nothing that would stay pure for long.
As he watched him sing, he saw the one person who had stayed with him when no one else would. Though he failed to consider whether any of those times were against his own will or not. His friend, someone who could make him laugh like no one else could, someone he found himself confiding in more than anyone else. His creative partner, who had helped him achieve the music and success he had dreamed of reaching his entire life. Even with all his idiocy and childishness, even with all the loathing and jealousy he projected onto him, there he was: his companion.
“Oh and, I was thinking, it’s…it’s softer, you know? Maybe the lyrics don’t have to be so down this time?” 2-D looked back at him once more.
“Like, a love song?” Murdoc said timidly.
2-D scoffed, “Seriously?”
“Yeah…like a love song.” Murdoc muttered.