Long fingers strummed at the strings of a bass and then moved to tune it. The bassist had been trying to find an opportunity to propose his idea to the singer – create a band together.
"Oi, faceache, c'mere!"
Silence. No footsteps. The command went unrequited. Murdoc grunted in annoyance. The singer had been out of his coma and living with him for nearly two months now, and he had yet to spend a night actually in the flat.
He got up from his messy bed and navigated his way to the toilet in the dark, grumbling under his breath. Though, when he tried to open the door, it jammed.
"For fuck's sake." The bassist pulled on the doorknob, grunting with each attempt to get the door to open.
When the door finally swung open (after figuring out it was a push door), Murdoc's glare was met with half-lidded, pitch black eyes. Stuart sat on the tile floor with his chin on his knees and his hands over his head, looking almost like a dejected teenager. Next to him were an empty pill bottle and a few painkillers strewn about.
"The hell are you doing?" Murdoc spat, one hand still on the doorknob. "Get out, I need to piss."
Without a word, the singer scooped up what pills he could into the bottle and stood shakily on his lanky legs to get out of Murdoc's way. A tanned arm stopped him on the way out.
"What's the matter with you?" the bassist asked. Stu couldn't tell if he was sincerely concerned.
"Murdoc." He paused, putting his hand on the nape of his neck. "D' you fink I'm ugly?"
The bassist was taken aback. The question hit him like a bullet. Why the hell would Stuart fucking Pot think he's ugly?
"What kind of question is that?"
Stuart turned away from him, facing the mirror. He set the bottle on the sink.
"I dunno," he muttered.
"Why d' you think you're ugly?"
"I… I jus' look like a proper freak, y'know?" Stu fiddled with his fingers, swaying back and forth on his feet. "My teef, my hair, my eyes. People look at me weird sometimes, Murdoc. They're finkin' I'm weird, and I'm ugly."
Murdoc gripped the front of Stuart's shirt, pulling him closer. "Don't ever say that again, dents."
"L-Look, I don't wanna talk anymore," Stu whimpered, a lump forming in the back of his throat. "I'll leave y' alone."
"You know why I have you here, 2D?"
Stuart blinked away the tears stinging his eyes. "Why's that, Murdoc?"
"'Cause you're my front man," he began. "Y' see, you and I? We're gonna make a band together. You'll sing, I'll play bass. We'll put up some fliers to recruit the others. And y'know why? Because you, you are perfect. I knew as soon I saw you, you would be my singer. You were great. Y-You are great. A blue-haired, black-eyed god, I said t' myself. Perfect."
A long silence followed. Stuart stood with his back to the bassist, much like he did on That Day. Shoulders hunched, head down, heavy anticipation in the air.
"So, what d' you say, dents?"
Nothing. The singer didn't move.
"Be my singer?"
Stuart put his large hands over his face before turning on his heels to embrace Murdoc. The bassist held his breath, frozen in place. He only moved when he felt a wet patch spreading across his collarbone.
"… Stuart?"
The singer trembled, gripping the back of Murdoc's shirt. When the older man's arms wrapped around him, he felt every wall he was holding up crumble down and began to sob into his shoulder. Murdoc tensed up but didn't let go. This wasn't something he was used to.
The two of them sank to the ground. Stuart didn't think his shaky legs would have held him up much longer anyway. He let his feelings spill out, blubbering intelligible sentences and shaky breaths into the bassist's shirt.
Murdoc lifted Stuart's chin so they could meet eye to eye. He observed the light freckles dotting his cheeks, the purple bags under his eyes, the scrapes on his forehead from skidding on the curb. Tears ran down his face in streams, his was nose scrunched up and red, and some of the azure hair that hung down in front of his eyes was wet. The bassist tried to remember the last time he saw somebody cry like this.
Elementary, probably.
Stuart looked so unbelievably sad, but somehow relieved at the same time.
"It's alright, 2D. I'm sorry."
"It's not y' fault," Stu hiccupped, wiping his cheeks.
"Is too. I hit 'ya with my car, remember? Went the extra mile and sent you flyin' through the windscreen too." Murdoc stifled a laugh, his fingers dangerously close to petting the back of Stu's dented head.
"I don't blame 'ya for that, Muds."
Murdoc shifted his legs to sit Indian style, pulling Stuart onto his lap to embrace him longer.
"I appreciate that, 2D."
Stuart giggled. "2D. Whas' that mean, anyway?"
"Two dents," Murdoc explained, putting his hands on the sides of Stu's head. "There and there."
"I like it," the singer snickered, his head back on Murdoc's shoulder. The two of them went a couple minutes without saying a word. Simply sitting on the tile floor, hugging each other's cares away.
"Oh, by the way, Stu."
"Yeah, Muds?"
"Don't get used to this."