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They never thought they'd find peace like this. Calm, quiet moments in the cracks of their chaotic lives. Simple affections that didn’t sting with chemical aftertaste or layers of history. A shared existence that was, after decades, finally easy.
Mornings no longer found them tense and sharing glares over cups of coffee that were too cold or too hot.
These days, Murdoc would read the tabloids while 2D prepared tea for the both of them. He’d hum to himself a mindless tune while Murdoc offered noncommittal murmurs about the music industry hot gossip. On special occasions only could Murdoc be found bringing coffee to 2D in bed. Special occasions included apologies for headaches— both medical and emotional— or an excuse to see that wonderfully stupid smile on the singer's face.
Even still, Murdoc would vehemently deny it if he was ever caught doing so. Somethings never change.
Today, however, was a little different. Murdoc had gotten up first, for starters. The night had been a long and restless one, riddled with clips of the usual nightmares that plagued his subconscious. It didn’t help that 2D had kicked him awake several times.
So, to combat this exhaustion, Murdoc poured day-old coffee into two mugs— one black with a red interior, the other beige and covered in cartoon cats. He felt a warm weight press against his back and long limbs wrap around his chest.
With blue hair wild from sleep, 2D rested his chin on Murdoc’s shoulder and closed his eyes. The bassist smelled like sleep and sweat and something sweet.
“Sleep well?" 2D murmured. The shorter man shifted against him but didn’t widen the gap between them. Instead, he closed it.
“You were kickin’ like a rabbit all night," Murdoc muttered, his voice rough from hours of disuse.
“Sorry.” 2D nudged Murdoc's neck with his nose, not sounding sorry at all, but he didn’t need to be. Not for this. Murdoc would sooner sleep on a wooden bench before he ever complained in earnest about sharing a bed with 2D.
In his sleep 2D was sweet. He was clingy, yes, often resulting in sweat-soaked duvets and messy hair— but he was endearing. His blue hair was always an absolute disaster upon his head, usually obscuring whatever parts of his face weren’t smothered in a pillow. He didn’t snore, but he wheezed, soft airy breaths through slightly parted lips.
“Tosser," Murdoc retorted with no venom because he didn’t need to bite anymore. “Milk and sugar?”
2D nodded, pressing a kiss just behind Murdoc's ear. He knew he was forgiven.
“Love you.”
"Tosser," Murdoc repeated, though this time, a smile broke through.
Despite the sweetness of the morning, the day began to sour as it unraveled into the afternoon. Murdoc found 2D on the couch staring blankly at the TV playing reruns of The Great British Bake Off, and he recognized it instantly: the lidded eyes looking miles away, the hoodie and sweatpants despite the warmth in the room, the way his limbs were pulled tightly to his body.
It had been a long time since Murdoc had witnessed 2D go through a low period. In years past, he would nag and poke and twist things in 2D's mind until the singer holed himself up in his room for days to ride out the worst of his episodes.
Nowadays, Murdoc simply existed in the low with him. High or low tide.
Murdoc leaned against the back of the couch, resting his arms on the top of the cushions.
"Season seven?" he asked in a low voice, a murmur that bordered on gentle. He didn't do gentle, but he didn't do angry either. Not like how he had. Not anymore.
2D didn't answer right away. Maybe he was processing Murdoc’s question. Still, Murdoc didn't pull away. The quiet of these current years had taught him that 2D was actually the sweetest, most genuine thing around. And Murdoc had tried to—
"Eight," 2D corrected, his voice barely a rasp when he spoke, but it pulled Murdoc from deep inside his mind.
The bassist's thumb, rough and calloused from strings, found the shell of 2D's ear.
"Any good?" he murmured. He felt 2D shudder under his touch. Still, 2D didn't pull away.
"Mhm," 2D nodded. "Sophie wins this one. I like her."
Later that same evening, the lamplight had been dimmed, and Murdoc was sitting against the headboard with a book. 2D came shuffling into the room, freshly showered but dressed in the same clothes as earlier. Murdoc saw the same distant look in his eyes, but now it looked farther. He reached over and tucked a lock of hair behind 2D’s ear as 2D climbed into bed. He didn't lean into Murdoc's touch, but he didn't flinch either. Somethings had to change.
"Just in your head, huh?" Murdoc kept his voice a murmur, softer than he’d ever let anyone else hear. 2D avoided his gaze and shrugged, pulling the blanket up over his lap.
"Yeah."
Murdoc reached out again and steadied 2D's chin as he leaned in for a kiss. A kiss that spoke of patience learned, of battles fought and forfeited. Not demanding, not seeking. Just there. Present.
When they parted, there was an ache in 2D's white eyes that only Murdoc would know.
When the light was finally smothered and sleep began to take them, 2D's hand found Murdoc's under the covers, his grip loose and tentative. Seeking. Asking.
"Come back to me, alright?" Murdoc muttered, that same ache breaking through in his words. He gave a gentle squeeze.
"I always do," the singer whispered. He tightened his grip on Murdoc’s hand. The words— once a sealed fate of misery to something cyclical— were now a promise.
In the following days as 2D began to perk up, he buried himself in his lyrics. That's what he did when he struggled to articulate feelings. He put them into melodies.
But today, something was off.
He spent hours filling notebooks with lyrics that didn't feel right, with words that were empty and meaningless and hollow. Page after page was torn and littered on the floor where the rest of his disappointments lie. He loved making music— he always would— but uncertainties pierced his usual confidence. His head felt as empty as Murdoc used to say it was. He was as worthless as he'd been told he was for years.
"It's just words, you know?" Murdoc huffed, an irritation creeping into his tone, a tone that struck 2D at a very odd angle. He knew Murdoc was only talking about the lyrics, but still, it felt targeted.
"Yeah, I know," 2D bit, boring holes into the lines of graphite marching across the page before him.
Now in the privacy of their bedroom, tensions had dissipated-- not evaporated. 2D stood on the balcony alone, cigarette in hand as he looked out at the midnight sky. The words still wouldn’t come to him. It just didn’t make sense. How had he ever written any song before? Was this a terminal case of artist’s block that would never go away? Was this a funk from days prior? Would he—
“Enough of this, D,” Murdoc said, cutting him off from his own thoughts. The bassist stepped out onto the balcony, one hand resting low on 2D’s back. He felt 2D stiffen. “You’re working yourself into a tizzy over a sodding song. I can see it.”
“It’s not that,” 2D said coldly but not unkindly, never unkindly. It was complicated.
“What is it, then?” Murdoc murmured, his hand travelling up to massage the knobs of 2D’s spine.
“I just feel like I can't do it, Murdoc," he sighed, his shoulders sagging as he gave into Murdoc's insistent touch. It was, while tender and cautious, the only thing keeping 2D tethered. "The words. The melodies. I can't... get 'em right. I feel like my head's on backwards. What if I never write anything good again?"
By the tone in his voice, Murdoc knew this wasn't about garnering pity. This was the fruit of the insecurities Murdoc had planted in 2D's mind that had, after decades, taken root deep in the singer's brain.
"Look, I know I said stupid shit back then, but I won't have you mulling over that now," he murmured, his hand sliding its way up onto 2D's shoulder.
"I thought this was, like, supposed to come naturally to me, or somethin'," 2D said, hanging his head. Blue hair framed his face and kept it hidden from Murdoc. "M'supposed to be good at this. I'm the singer, after all."
The silence that fell was remorseful. She was a third person sitting on that balcony, watching these two who had been told and believed they would never be like this. Personal. Close.
"Do you remember that night in Japan," Murdoc said, "when you tore your voice box during an encore?"
2D's ears perked. He did remember. The year had been 2005, or 2006. The crowd had moved as one mass that night, and 2D found himself on the far end of a two hour show, despite Murdoc's hissed comments not to overdo it.
By the third hour, his throat felt like he had swallowed needles, and then it split. He pushed, and no sound would come out but a ragged imitation of his singing voice. He had shot a panicked look at his bandmates, who covered for him with an improvised extended version of Kids With Guns so he could breathe.
"My voice sounded awful the rest of that week."
"We had to reschedule Tokyo," Murdoc muttered with a hint of annoyance at the memory.
"So, what? I shouldn't try so hard to write the songs cuz I might hurt myself?" 2D asked coldly, pulling away from Murdoc's hand but not leaving the spot.
"You shouldn't try so hard because you're not a bloody machine, you dolt."
Something in Murdoc's tone, stern, factual, made 2D stop.
"You can't force your body do some abstract task. You're gonna break something important," Murdoc said, his voice not soft but quiet. "It took me too long to figure that out about you."
2D's hand holding the cigarette twitched, and his heart skipped a painful, complicated beat.
"But I know that now," Murdoc went on. "And I won't watch you do that to yourself because I taught you wrong."
2D lifted his head to meet Murdocs eyes only to find him looking out onto the quiet night. For once, the bassist looked his age. He looked tired. He looked weathered by life. And 2D could see the guilt Murdoc couldn't voice, the apologies he wouldn't say.
2D cupped his face and brought their lips together in a kiss.
"And I forgive you for all that mess," he whispered against the other's mouth. "Because I see you fixin' it now."
Murdoc kissed him back fiercely, his hands reaching up to frame 2D's face. 2D was real and right there, and Murdoc would be a fool to let him go.
"I'll stop thinking about the lyrics, Muds," 2D promised when they pulled apart.
"Good lad," Murdoc murmured, his thumb gently wiping 2D's cheek where a tear had dried. "Now, get inside before you freeze, and I can't afford to spend the rest of the week thawing out your vocal cords."
2D followed him in through the doors, shaking his head with a fond smile. The night air was cool, yes, but there was no threat of catching a chill.
Sure enough, the next day Murdoc found 2D at the desk again. Only this time, his shoulders weren't hunched and the movements of his hands weren't frantic. He looked calmer here today, like he had control of his brain and body.
Murdoc came up behind him and tucked his chin over 2D's shoulder to peer at what he was writing. Instead of pulling away, 2D leaned back into him.
"How's it coming, space cadet?"
“Mmm. Just brainstormin' for now.”
"Don’t hurt yourself,” Murdoc chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to his pulse and feeling it spike under his lips.
“Won’t,” 2D assured him, a smile teasing his lips. Amidst the jumbled chicken scratch and bored doodles on the page, Murdoc caught sight of a line.
I gave you love to fill old glory
“You're just a natural Leonard Cohen, aren't you,” he teased, though his heart did something equal parts complicated and simple.
“What?” 2D mumbled, his cheeks burning a bright pink that stretched up to his ears. “S'just words, innit? Like ya said."
"You absolute sap," Murdoc shook his head.
The afternoon sun stretched over the patio and bathed the scene in warmth and yellow light. There was no fight, no argument to be had. Things were simply.... easy.
Murdoc had no complaints, for once. Well, only one. His groin was incredibly hot. Literally.
"Do you have to be this close to me all the time?" he asked, though his voice held not even a hint of malice and in fact sounded quiet content with the predicament, which was that 2D had chosen his lap as the ideal pillow to rest his head on. Murdoc wasn't even sure if the dork was listening. 2D hadn't spoken awhile, a magazine splayed and resting over his face to block the sunbeams that threatened to worm their way into his eyes.
"Of course you'd fall asleep here," he scoffed, shifting uncomfortably in the whicker lawn chair, though he was mindful not to jostle the magazine over 2D's eyes. Murdoc turned his attention back to the copy of Wonderland in his hands, where every model was toothpick-thin and the fashion crisis was evident and abundant. "Probably should call and schedule a shoot with them."
2D made a low noise in the back of his throat, shifting slightly. Despite the sweat beginning to gather at the base of his neck and the smell of warm glossy paper overwhelming his senses, 2D couldn't imagine anywhere else he'd ever want to be. This was what he’d dreamed of: affections that could be so easy-- affections that Murdoc had made difficult with aggression. He'd trade one hundred years of a different life to spend twenty minutes in this sun-soaked dream.
"Love you," 2D whispered, too content to speak any louder for fear of turning the moment to smoke.
Murdoc hear it, however. And he absorbed it like a fact.
"Since when did they swap my frontman for a bloody lap dog?" Murdoc scoffed instead. He tugged at the corner of the magazine. "Here. Close your eyes."
2D turned his face away from the sun until he felt Murdoc's belt buckle against his cheek. Murdoc pulled the magazine away, then began petting his hair, carefully at first, then finding a steady, lulling rhythm. His black-tipped nails ghosted through his blue roots again, this time coasting close to the shell of 2D's ear. 2D tipped his head to allow him more access.
“Look at you," Murdoc shook his head, though his words held a fond fascination. A tone of endearment, almost. "Purring like a damn cat.”
"Mm, can’t help it,” 2D admitted, a dopey smile tugging at his lips as he turned to bury his face fully in Murdoc's jeans. "Feels good when you do that."
Murdoc's heart did another complicated skip in his chest, and he used the magazine to block the view of 2D grinning in his lap.
"Muds?"
2D's voice came in digital waves over the phone, barely audible over the din of a passing motor vehicle and chatter of people on the street where Murdoc was.
"What's the name of that place you like?" the bassist grunted into the phone pressed against his ear, scowling from under his fringe for this stupid bakery that sold 2D's favorite lemon scones.
Their intimacy was no longer the drunken shift of hands and sloppy make outs before they came to their senses. Sex was now real, raw, and passionate. Last night had been no exception. After they'd come in from the patio and shared a shower, they'd found themselves tangled in the sheets, and they rocked the bed hard enough to chip the drywall. Again.
It was a complicated, funny feeling that made Murdoc want to dig his own grave right here on the sidewalk just so he could turn over in it.
"Uhh," 2D droned on the other line, racking his brain for what Murdoc might be on about.
"Come on, you stupid..." Murdoc mumbled, dodging a bird that had chosen to stand frozen directly in his path. "Not you, angel," he assured 2D.
"Th-there's lots of places I like,” he said, decidedly ignoring the pet name and the heat that bled color all the way from his collar to the tips of his ears. “Be specific, Murdoc."
Specific. That was a word that never quite rolled off the tongue for 2D. Unlike the saliva—
"The bakery!" Murdoc nearly shouted, his frustrations approaching a climax of sorts. "You know what I mean. The shop with the— oh, never mind."
"No, wait," 2D spoke up before Murdoc hung up. "I like anythin' ya get me, Muds. You know that."
And the way he said it made Murdoc stumble enough to almost trip over his own shoes. Then, he spotted it, across the street.
"Ah, Russ's callin' me back, gotta take this," he lied, because it was easier to lie. "See ya, angel."
That time, Murdoc definitely heard an indignant squeak on the other end before he severed the line.
Past or present, 2D was a talker in the car. He chatted about what was on the radio, how he never quite understood chess, or what he had for lunch. Today, as they headed back from a meeting, was no different.
“… fresh cucumbers,” 2D was saying, tongue peeking out from his lips as he scribbled in his notebook. His knees were pulled up to his chest in his seat. "You know, I never thought to add cucumbers in it.”
"...In a cucumber sandwich?” Murdoc asked incredulously, wondering if 2D was even listening to his own story. He probably wasn't.
"Yeah. Why would anybody want cucumbers in their sandwich?"
"Beats me," Murdoc shrugged. "How's the songwriting comin' along?"
"If you're leaving, don't make it harder than it is, let me know so I can say goodbye," 2D read, keeping any melody out of his voice in fear of giving away something that wasn't ready to be shared.
Murdoc kept his eyes straight on the road.
"Is it... that a love song, is it?"
"In a way," 2D affirmed, folding the page over. "S'just how I feel these days..."
Murdoc nodded, staying quiet, letting the moment be soft, simple, sweet— the things he swore he'd never become.
Now you know what love can feel like
You sad? Now it's gone away
Brought back, we could try things over
As if there wasn't ever pain
Sweeter
This time will be sweeter
I can be much sweeter
Some things never change
Sweeter, by Mac DeMarco