The month flies by, done at last, and 2D is handed yet another end though much more anticlimactic than the last; their stay at Wobble Street is over.
He doesn't mind it.
They pack up quickly, Russel having the least, talking on the phone with movers and Murdoc at the back of his car, jamming the last his luggage away.
He and Noodle are in her room, her things being wrapped up and boxed in the way that she likes, her ceiling light flickering, and the lazy drawl of whoever she has playing on the radio serenades them both in lieu of conversation.
They had done his room first; it wasn't a lot of work. He didn't have much that wasn't trash and most of his things were still boxed. Packing wasn't much, neither was their eviction, enviable and frequent enough that they were quick to ready.
He looks down at his hands, clutching the familiar masks, uncertainty filling him, fingers trailing over the paint, scrutinizing. Plastic Beach.
He gazed up at Noodle, the crinkling of newspapers at her fingertips when she wraps up her belongings. She doesn't pay him mind, taping yet another box shut, marker in hand to label it, humming absently.
He observed her from his spot, eyeing her slender neck, her willowy shoulders, her hair wild but her face soft, sweet in the dusty light. His heart warmed comfortably, the racing pacified in her presence as it had done, aching wonderfully and familiarly.
He slips on his mask; concealing him like it did, hiding him from her, veiling the growing blush with ease.
He thinks about her and him and them and knows.