Author's Note: This story was inspired by the OTPprompts tumblr page, theorizing what would happen if an OTP tried to paint a room together. I deviated from the prompt a bit, but I think it turned out okay. Obviously, I do not own the Gorillaz. Enjoy!

The Paint Job

"A'ight, here's the paint. Y'all sure y'all can manage?" Russell asked, arching his back, mouth set in a cringe refusing to relax until the crick in his spine unwound with the sound of a satisfying four cans of paint up the stairs sure could take a toll. True, he wasn't the young man he used to be, but if you asked him, he's say that was for the better. After shrinking back down to a more humanoid size, Russell took great strides in caring for his physical and mental health.

For the first time in over a decade, his mind was not haunted by spirits of dear friends, the Grim Reaper's gruesome visage, or even the guilt of a recent gorging. No, now the percussionist was in peak shape, and enjoying the attention his trimmed-up image garnered, though his vast muscle mass would keep anyone from thinking of him as petite. Too classy to really call himself a ladies' man, Russell Hobbs nonetheless was pleased to notice that he'd been on as many dates as Murdoc had within the last few weeks, though his dates ended on a much less sordid note than his bass-shagging band mate. Getting dressed to the nines and enjoying the company of a nice lady over fine cuisine was the kind of evening he could get used to...

Pop!

... But good date or not, age had it's own time table; though Russell liked to think that the slight grey in his stubble made him seem more sophisticated.

"Paint, primer, brushes, tarp...Yes, Russell, I believe we are all set!" The axe princess nodded, counting off the supplies on her guitar-string-calloused hands.

"S'nice ah you and 'D to help me get this trash heap presentable, befo' the house inspector shows up."

Noodle nodded in agreement. Her band mates' hazardous and hygienically questionable living conditions were certainly well known throughout their fan base... And somehow the information had leaked to their 212 Wobble Street landlady, Mrs. McClesky. When 2D showed them the eviction notice, it had taken some tense haggling on Russell's part to convince the elderly grouch to let them stay for the remainder of their lease: it wasn't a matter of rent, after all. But there were certain damages that just wouldn't do. Graffiti lined staircases, blood spattered kitchen cabinets, and the large chunk of drywall punched out of the living room wall did not exactly meet Mrs. McClesky's leasing requirements. Which is why the Asian rock star was currently setting tarp to cover their belongings while she and their vocalist repainted the media room.

Though she tried to keep her own bedroom free from mold spores and rotting body parts, she knew that her boys' penchant for mess was a part of what made any house they inhabited feel more like a home. And she wouldn't have it any other way.

Though improving on their personal hygiene a bit wouldn't be such a bad thing, she thought, as Murdoc entered the room. Choosing to slouch against the door frame instead of navigating the taped-down tarp, picking at his deeply stained teeth with overgrown fingernails.

"Where's Faceache, inne' supposed to help?"

"Yes, he is trying to find his old radio to play some music to help the time pass while we work."

"Man, we don't have time fo' that!" Russell dragged his hand down his face, "this paint job's gotta be done by tonight. McClesky's gonna have a cow if it ain't finished."

"Aw, scared of a ol' geriatric bird, Lards? Wot, she threaten not to give you a basket o' baked goods? Switch out crumpets and biscuits for fruit?"

"I'll go get him."

"Thanks, baby girl. C'mon Muds, let's hit the road. The real estate office closes at 5...These stairs feel like they gon' give way at any moment. Could you have found us a crappier place to live?"

"Ahuh, news flash: these stairs only creak when you climb 'em, tubby."

Smiling to herself as she listened to the bickering going on below, Noodle just reached the top when she heard Murdoc call out: "Noodle! Yew tell tha' Dullard 'e better not get paint on anything or I'll wring his scrawny neck. Not a SINGLE DROP!"

"Don't worry, Murdoc, we will be very careful!" She shouted downstairs, whipping around to knock on the singer's door, only to see he had already opened it.

"'Ey love, yew ready to start painting?"

"Yeah, I was just coming up to get you. Murdoc says we are to be careful not to get the paint on anything."

2D snorted, "Yeah, I heard. Let me get my radio."

As 2D retreated back into his room, Noodle couldn't help but compare him in his present state to the condition she found him in on Plastic Beach. It seem impossible, a miracle really, that the healthy, clear-eyed (or, as clear as blood-filled eyes could be) young man searching through the clutter in his room had only months ago been malnourished and trembling in fear. Having been kidnapped, underfed, drugged, and tortured for an entire year and a half did not have a positive effect on the bluenette's mental or physical health. Indeed, when she first broke into his room in Plastic Beach, he thought she was another drug-induced apparition: a coping mechanism set up by his subconscious in a desperate effort to calm his nerves. The moment when he was lucid enough to understand that she was there, alive and whole, how sweet his voice was, salt-tipped fingers trailing over her face, careful not to press on the tender flesh around her eye. Though the moment was inexplicably happy for both, neither could help stop the tears of relief. The rest of the evening had been spent regaining familiarity that might have been lost over the years she had been gone.

"I thought you had already found it?"

"Uh, well I did, love, but I just, ehm ... Lost track of it, again..." 2D replied over his shoulder, digging through a pile of clothing on the floor. Feeling idle, Noodle joined in on the search.

"It was right 'ere! Where'd tha' bloody thing walk off to?"

Noodle raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps if you used the hamper or the dresser, your things wouldn't have as many places to hide," she murmured, picking a pair of boxers off the bed. "Here! Found it."

"Aw tha's great! Fanks, Noods!" 2D grinned, glad to have the electronic device back. The monotony of the task ahead was sure to go by much more pleasantly with the battered red hunk of plastic.

"Sorry fer all the mess," 2D started, peering over the radio as he cautiously stepped down the stairs, Noodle's hands grasped playfully on his shoulders as she walked behind.

"Yew always keep yer room so clean, 'practically spotless, and here we are, clothes everywhere, severed ears in the cabinets. Ih's a wonder yew put up wif us," he said, converse-clad toe blindly poking around for the next step.

His next step was interrupted, however, when two arms rung around his neck, throwing off his inertia and sending his stomach plummeting into a black void of fear. Despite the surge of adrenaline, the dimwitted singer couldn't help but revel in how nice it felt to have those arms clutching him close.

"Of course I don't mind the mess, 2D-kun, it's what makes this place feel like home," she said, tightening her hold in the an affectionate hug.

Cheeks now tinted a healthy pink, the pianist made the rest of the journey to the media room in shy silence.

"Ack, 2D! Watch where you're swinging the brush, wouldja?"

The paint job was almost finished, and 2D was on the ladder, using his lengthy arms to reach the tallest part of the wall and ceiling. Though Stuart Pot was undeniably an artist in the musical field, his creative abilities as far as painting was concerned were sorely lacking. Sometimes he merely dropped the brush in clumsiness. Other times, having soaked up too much paint on the roller sponge, globs of the muted yellow paint would fall from the ceiling and fall like rain onto the tarp ... and anyone standing on it. This time, feeling slightly panicky from being up so high from solid ground, 2D had attempted to dip the brush into the painter's tray without looking down, and receiving a nasty bout of vertigo. Instead, he had managed to swipe the brush rather thickly over Noodle's hair.

"Sorry, love- Ih's jus' pretty high up here," he said, glancing down at the paint-splattered guitarist.

Noodle brushed her hands on her overalls, trying not to care about how ridiculous she might look, like a child's finger painting project gone wrong. "Want to switch? I'm sure I could reach any spots you haven't gotten to yet."

"S'awright, I'm almost done... Jus' gotta get... This one lil'... Okay, go' it," he said, turning as he began descending the rickety ladder.

It's a funny thing how a single moment can determine an entire future, for better or worse. The lanky pianist had encountered many such moments in his life- the tree-falling incident that permanently changed his hair color, the job he took at Uncle Norm's, and the dual car crash that was viewed by some as his beginning, and others as his demise. Reflecting on these life-changing incidences, 2D recalled that they always seemed to happen in slow motion. When he turned around to climb down the ladder, he realized that time seemed to slow down before he realized that his elbow hit the edge of the paint tray, knocking it clear off the ladder's hook-on table.

"Oh, no- Noodle!"

But the damage had already been done. Covered from head to toe in the cold, thick, yellow paint, the axe princess stood stunned in place for a moment before smearing the pigment off her mouth, realizing the action was futile, and lifting her head to meet the singer's.

2D's string of apologized halted abruptly, however, as Noodle met his eyes. Brows furrowed in apologetic worry soon became furrowed in intense concentration not to laugh. He tried to clamp his lips together to keep from succumbing to the growing temptation, but couldn't seem to keep his lips from trembling in mirth. Though her purple-blue locks had been choppy already, they now stood at impossibly angles, pasted that way by the paint.

"It's alright 2D, it was an acci- are, are you laughing at me?"

Eyes widening in horror at her narrowing eyes, 2D clamped his hand across his mouth. "No, no, no, not a' all, why'd yew fink-"

"You are laughing!"

"I'm not! I'm not!" He gasped between stifled laughter.

Noodles watched the paint drip steadily from her hair onto the front of her already soaked T-shirt and overalls, before shifting to the immaculate image of the laughing Stuart Pot, her eyes lighting with an idea.

"Hmm, it is pretty funny, 2D-kun, you are right. This really lightens the mood, huh?"

"Yew- yew're not mad?" The singer asked,wiping the tears away from the corners of his eyes, watching Noodle carefully.

"No! Not at all. In fact, this made my day! I should thank you."

"Oh good! I'm gla-" 2D's words- and laughter- died in his throat as he noticed the dangerous glint in his friend's eye.

"Ehm, just wot do you mean..."

Noodle didn't answer, but instead began advancing toward the vocalist, her innocent smile growing wider with each step.

"Uh... Noods?"

Maybe it was the paint fumes, or maybe it was his acceptance of an inevitable faint, but despite his growing unease at the guitarist's intentions, the world-famous rock star could not help but pause to notice for the umpteenth time how pretty his friend was.

2D continued in his silent appreciation until his focus was changed when the longtime object of his affections quickly lunged forward, arms clamped tightly around is neck, the side of her face pressed close to his.

"Being covered from head to toe in freezing cold paint is just so much fun, what kind of best friend would I be if I left you out, right?" She giggled, hugging him tighter, effectively smothering him in a healthy coating of the tacky pigment. Her momentum caused her friend to stoop at an uncomfortable angle.

"S'pose I deserved this," 2D muttered gloomily, but he just couldn't keep the smile out of his voice. Pulling himself up to a more comfortable stature, he wrapped his arms around Noodle to return the embrace and help support her weight.

"Mhmm, you certainly did. And I think I'm letting you off easy, anyway," she said, nuzzling his face, her hair working as a mop to even out her retribution.

Trying to will down the rising blush in his cheeks, 2D looked around the room. "We did a pretty good job, if I do say so myself."

Relaxing in her friend's grip, Noodle leaned back a bit to observe their handiwork. "Looks pretty good to me. And Murdoc will be happy- not a single drop spilled."

"On any o' the furniture, yew mean," he replied, glancing fondly at the 23-year-olds sopping form.

"Yes," Noodle rolled her eyes, "on any of the furniture."

"You know, 2D, I gotcha pretty good, but I think I missed a spot..." She continued after a moment, leaning up to lightly peck his nose, leaving a bright yellow kiss mark. "There!" She beamed, "We are now even."

Stuart Pot may not be the brightest singer in the world, but he was not fool enough to pass up a chance like this. "Ar-are yew sho' about tha'?" 2D asked nervously, biting his lower lip with gapped teeth, "I fink yew prolly should kiss my cheek, jus' teh be sho'."

"Maybe you're right," Noodle smirked before grazing her lips softly on his face.

"An', uh, maybe my other cheek, too. So we're even an' everyfink."

"Mmhmm..." She hummed.

"Wouldn't want yew teh feel short changed in yo' payback. Or somefink."

"That would be terrible."

"Uh-huh."

"Wouldn't want that."

"Nuh-uh."

Noodle raised her eyes to meet 2D's. She's always held the singer in affection in her heart. No one had, or ever would be able to take that place. Since her return, she found herself more and more hoping that perhaps the tenderness that had always been shared between the two would be realized; that her feelings might be recognized, and be reciprocated.

Her heart would leap whenever 2D pulled her into his lanky grasp, or hold her hand, or idly play with her hair. But these were things that had always been familiar between them. Ever since her return to the band, she knew these displays were reassuring and comforting to both. But could he understand that her happiness soared whenever in his presence? How much she wished he could understand just how much she cared about him. The familial love she felt towards their vocalist had grown in breadth, and her heart was somewhere deep in it.

2D's eyes had been closed, a dreamy expression gracing his features, but now they opened and slowly traced over the face of the girl in his arms. A bit embarrassed at his focus, Noodle blushed and tried to find a spot on the wall to focus on. Unsticking his arm from around her paint-plastered overalls, 2D carefully brought his hand to her face, thumb trailing lightly over her cheek-bone.

"Noodle?"

"Yes...?"

"I jus', ehm... yew remebeh how, right when yew first came teh Plastic Beach, and we watched all those movies together? And yew were so tired, battlin' those pirates and travelin' all that time. But yew were insistent on stayin' up wif me and watchin'em. An' I could tell yew weren't going teh last through the first coupla films. Sure enough yew were out like a light, head on my shoulder. Yew remember?"

"Of course I do," Noodle replied, swallowing the rising knot of emotion in her throat.

"Well, I -and love, yew, yew don't have to, ehm, ih's awright if yew don't feel this same way. But, tha' night I looked at yo' face, and I jus' realized tha' I, I mean, I've always loved yew, but I realized at tha' moment tha' I was in love with yew."

If there such a thing as heaven on earth, Noodle was sure that this was it. She had imagined how she might feel if something like this happened, but she underestimated how powerful the emotion was, and was mildly surprised to find she had to brush the tears from her eyes. Unfortunately, 2D misunderstood the reason behind her action.

"Why, why're yew - aw don't cry, love- Ih's awright, jus' pretend I didn't say nuffin, yew don' have teh- I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anyfing," the singer implored, using his thumb to help wipe off the tears, trying not to focus on his own quickly crumbling emotional state.

"No, no 2D- I'm not sad! I'm just so happy," the guitar virtuoso voiced between hiccups, "I love you too! I love you so much."

"Wot?! Really? Yew mean it?" Face alight, pressing his forehead against hers.

"Of course I mean it!"

"Yew don' think I'm too old for yew? Tha' Muds and Russ are gonna kill me..."

Noodle rolled her eyes again, "2D, I've been dreaming about this day since I was ten years old. And besides, you forget my background."

"Yew had a crush on me when yew was little? Tha's so cute, I didn't know tha'!"

Spirit soaring, 2D gently brushed aside the guitarist's bangs, getting a clearer view of the green eyes he thought of so sweetly. His hand ended up spreading more of the paint across her forehead, eliciting nervous laughter from both.

Stuart Pot had lived four long years knowing full well what it felt like to have the most precious thing in the world taken away from him. Leaning down to kiss the girl who he treasured above all else, he knew that they had both been given a second chance, a clean break from painful circumstances and unfortunate misunderstandings; a chance to rebuild a full and happy life together...

"Wot in the everlastin' fu-"

"Murdoc! Y-you, you're back so early!" Noodle said rapidly, shoving away from the fear-stricken singer, and stepping in between the two, "Do you like the paint job? It should be dry soon!" she exclaimed with a very awkward and overly wide smile.

"Eh, yeah Muds! Ih's even an' everyfing! Not a drop spilled, jus' like yew asked!"

Murdoc shot an incredulous look at the singer. Had the paint fumes killed his last functioning brain cells? "Wot in the bleeding hell are yeh smoking, Faceache? My guitarist is YELLOW. An' yo' not any better."

"Oh, er yeah, um-"

"Shut up. Go clean yehselves up 'fore Lards gets back."

Saying thanks to Heaven's mercy, Noodle nodded and quickly grabbed the singer's hand, leading him out of the room and away from the range of the bassist's fist.

Murdoc Niccalls was nobody's idiot. He'd seen his band mates in their tight embrace, and can't say he hadn't been expecting this to happen since the miraculous return of his cat-masked, M1A1 toting super-soldier-turned-guitar hero. Of course, he'd keep an eye on the two, make sure nobody was getting ahead of themselves, but if the they wanted to keep their feelings from him and Russel for a bit, he couldn't give a crap: let the kid and the moron be secretive, give him time to figure out how to present it to the public, when the time was right.

The world famous bass player chewed thoughtfully on the end of his cigarette, debating on leaving it unlit until he could reach the patio. That hag McClesky would ream him out, and Russel would be seeing red if any of the languid sweetness of the nicotine stained the walls. No point in getting his nose broken again, he thought, heading to the balcony, thoughts of magazine interviews and record sales drifting like the smoke he craved so much through his thoughts.

Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it, let me know if there's anything I can improve on.