Plastic Prison (Gorillaz fanfic) (2D x Murdoc)

Chapter 17

(2D’s POV)

When I walked out of the shower, Murdoc had just been on the bed. Silently scribbling words into his books. And for a moment… it almost felt normal again…

It reminded me of when we used to live at Kong. Like, walking out if my room to see him like this on the couch. As much as I hated to think this, I did miss it. I missed the calm nature of it. The familiarity of it. When he got like this, in this headspace of thinking and working, he was easier to talk to. Easier to predict and understand, because all his focus was on the words, and not me.

I sat down on the other side of the bed, just enough to see what he was writing. His bandage wrapped wrist scraping against  the paper with every movement. He hadn't even noticed me until the bed had dipped. And even then all he did was give me a glance before returning right back to the page.

I didn't even bother to try and understand his handwriting, so instead, I just leaned back and thought of the toon I had been making up. Something slow and soothing. I hadn't even noticed I had been nodding my head to a beat until the pen's scratching changed. It went from words to the scrapping of long lines, like he was drawing out the notes in a staff. Like he knew the toon in my head without even asking for it…

“Wazzat say?” I asked, pointing towards the few lines that I thought said choras.

“I'm in a stalkin’ bar,” he said, voice monotone while he continued to write.

I tried to make out what the next for words were, and silently sang to it, “I'm in a stalking bar, I got debts, and I'm a debaser… what's a ‘debaser?’”

“That's just… me, I guess. Someone who makes things around them worse… or useless…” he trailed off.

“Ya know, I'm not gonna defend ya against yourself. I won't do it just ‘cause we friends.”

He took a pause for a moment, “We're still friends? After all I've done to you?”

“...You're the closest thing I got to it, ain't ya?” And with that, the silence began again. He didn't even go back to writing, more like, mindlessly doodling on the edge of the page. I ruined his train of thought for the song it seemed.

So it seemed, until he starting singing again. Writing again, “I was about to make love, but I'm just a heartbreaker…”

“Saturn.”

“What?”

“Saying ‘I’m’ is too on the nose. Use somethin’ else.”

“Why Saturn?” He asked, writing it down.

“I don't know. It just sounds pretty I guess. Like, Saturnz about to make love, And I'm just a heartbreaker…”

I didn't think I'd have another calm afternoon like this while I was here. It was… refreshing. In a way.

It was sweet. Until it wasn't.

Until he set down the notebook, and leaned in. And his chin hit my shoulder, and his lips hit my neck. And I just kinda… leaned into it. I hadn't meant to, but the situation, the environment, was too similar to how this all started. It was like an instinct to give in and enjoy it.

And I really could have. I could have started over, we could have done this over and tried it again. But then I backed away, and in that moment of panic…

(Murdoc's POV)

I don't know why I did it… well, okay I know why I did it, I just don't know why I did it then.

I-I just… panicked! And I didn't want him to move, or leave, and… as soon as I touched him.

And his lips felt so good against mine…

And then I kissed him.

And then he pulled away. And it felt like… the whole world was crumbling around me because I didn't know what to do.

“Don't,” he spoke softly against my cheek. “Not now.”

But even that gave me a little hope that something could be salvaged from all of this mess. A simple 'not now,’ doesn't mean not ever.

Maybe in time, he'll want to be mine again. Like when he first got here, and nothing was perfect, but he was okay. Russell may have been missing and Noodle may have been dead, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been because Stuart was okay.

But as we sat there on my bed, and the full gravity of everything hit me again after all these years… I started… I started to cry.

And he held me in his arms as this grown man had a mental breakdown from years and years of stress and anxiety and depression, all bottled up into anger and fear… and he held me there. I felt like a child, clutching onto the sides of his shirt, trying my best to be silent, like I would when I was little. I've been broken for so many years, and Stuart's the only one who's ever tried to put me back together. Even if the pieces don't fit in the right places, or there were ones missing, or if he had to make do with tape and glue, but now… I don't know what to do.

And I'm falling apart at the seams after what's been more than twenty years of trying to hold it all together…

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Could I get a hug or something? Why do I only write good chapters when I'm depressed?