Dents

[+] Andromeda

2D was unusually quiet for most of the walk home. He was in another world, and neither my cheerful banter nor my ceaseless tugging on his hand could draw him out of it.

He didn't seem to be upset, so I didn't force anything out of him. His black eyes, tangled deep in the sea of his own thoughts, were both present and vacant.

We arrived at the stoop at about ten to three. The lights were off. The house creaked eerily in the evening wind. 2D turned the key in the knob, the sound of metal scraping together distressingly noisy given the late hour.

I was only marginally surprised to be assaulted by the overwhelming stench of cheap liquor the moment the door opened. Murdoc was leaned over the dining table, buried in reams upon reams of sloppily bound files. Some were written in other languages and others were not written in any comprehensible language at all. He must have passed out in short order. A flaming ember still clung desperately to the remainders of a crushed filter in the ashtray.

Our downtrodden green devil worshiper had apparently allowed himself to be swallowed up in another bizarre scheme.

Despite the absurdity of it - a machine that, in theory, could teleport the user anywhere - I was happy for him. Though, perhaps that wasn't the best way to describe my thoughts on the matter. I was relieved that he was so invested in a new delusion that his attention would hopefully remain off of 2D and I for the time being.

Slowly yet surely, the period where only the three of us would remain within the confines of Wobble Street was rapidly approaching. I didn't know what would happen when Noodle eventually followed Russel's departure. While I wasn't exactly scared, I was nonetheless apprehensive for what was to come.

The unknown has a strange way of setting someone on edge more than much else can.

I kicked off my shoes. I didn't bother to pay respect to a grown man that couldn't seem to find his bed if it fell on top of him. The rubber soles pounded against the hollow wall where they landed. 2D flinched. When he realized, as I had, that Murdoc was far too smashed to rouse from such clamor, he relaxed considerably.

He nodded to me and pointed to the stairwell, and then pressed a single finger to his lips. His gangly legs maneuvered carefully around the stacks of files and boxes, mindful of the known waterlogged sections of laminate tile that squealed agonizingly when one made the foolish mistake of stepping upon it.

I restrained a laugh. l knew full well that any attempt at sneaking to 2D's room was practically impossible. Despite the liquor induced coma that Murdoc was prone to, the stairs were a beast unlike any other.

For the sake of nothing more than a good time, I humored him.

We crept carefully toward the other side of the room. I traced his footsteps as closely as I could manage.

When we got to the bottom of the stairs, he gulped. He nervously set foot on the first step. To the disbelief of both of us, it was inaudible. I gave him a thumbs up. He smiled, more confident than he had been at first.

Unfortunately, the second stair was exactly as loud as I expected it to be.

2D shot a quick glance at me and gave my wrist an urgent yank. He bounded up the rest of the stairs as if he were escaping a fire. I followed after him.

I wasn't quite sure how the 'ripping off the band-aid strategy' was going to work. Either our execution was fantastic or Murdoc was significantly more hammered than I previously assumed. He mumbled a few filthy curses and resumed his throaty snoring, none the wiser to our presence.

2D breathed a sigh of relief and sauntered to his door, holding it open for me. He shut it behind us. He immediately began undoing the buttons of his collar.

A hot spark of anticipation coursed through me. His thin fingers unclasped each button with a practiced hand until his chest was fully exposed. He moved his shoulder to get one of his arms free. Only then had he noticed that instead of getting changed myself, I'd taken to watching him.

He smirked, frozen in a state of partial undress. I half expected him to say something. Instead, he simply continued to remove his shirt. His eyes remained unbroken from mine. He tossed the button up atop a heap of laundry that spilled over the hamper.

He slipped his worn leather belt free from the loop of his jeans and hung it over the side of the footboard. Seeing as it was late, I considered getting in to pajamas. I was so enamored with the sight before me that I couldn't be bothered. 2D flopped on to the mattress in nothing but a pair of jeans. A small cloud of dust escaped the open seams in objection to the new weight atop it.

"Yew gonna stand there all nigh'?"

"Maybe," I giggled, falling into the tangle of blankets beside him, "Maybe not."

The scent of smoke and caramel wafted from the sheets, enveloping us both in a comfortable haze. I traced the outline of his ribs through his pale skin, my dominant hand running along a track of its own, undistracted by the lulled cooing of songbirds outside and the drunkard snoring downstairs.

We laid there quietly for an indeterminate period, seconds flowing by like water trickling down the drain.

I'm not sure when exactly I stopped surviving and started living.

It was indisputable that it was thanks to him.

"'Ellooo? Earth to Saoirse," 2D called playfully. He flung a lock of hair over my shoulder.

"Sorry, I was thinking."

"S'okay."

2D wrapped his arms around me tightly. His grip was strong enough to hold me firmly in place. I felt secure. I was graced with a certain safety that was once something I'd had to fight for.

"I been finkin' too, actually."

"What about?"

"All sorts ov fings, really."

He snagged a pack of cigarettes from the nightstand. His other hand outlined phantom letters on my back. He removed a cigarette but didn't light it, fumbling with it listlessly. Just as I was about to ask again, he continued.

"How we met. How we got 'ere. How I even made et 'is far, 'n how I eva lived befo' knowin' yew."

For a fleeting moment, neither of us said anything.

"I can't say I was living, before."

"Me eitha."

He laughed. I could hear the stunted breath as it escaped his lungs and the soft pound of his heart beating with mine.

"Saoirse, I been meanin' to, well, to ask yew somefink."

I briefly considered that he might finally be willing to share with me whatever it was that he'd been keeping to himself since our last visit to the fairground.

I intrinsically knew that this was different. Tangentially related, perhaps, as he was clearly wracked with uncertainty. His demeanor was a far cry from the way he acted when the topic of his burning question was brought forward, however. It seemed I would have to wait a bit longer for that.

"Will yew run away wifth me? Tonight."