The muffled hum of karaoke seeped through the cracked door as Noodle pushed it open. The bar wasn't much, a modest dive with peeling vinyl stools and neon signs casting a sickly glow onto faded wood panels. It was worlds away from the chaotic glamour of fame, but that's what she wanted: something quiet, out of the way. A chance to just… be.
She adjusted her leather jacket, feeling the heaviness of the past few years settling on her shoulders. Gorillaz were back in full swing after a hiatus, and she loved the music—she always loved the music—but the chaos? The relentless noise of it all? That was exhausting. Tonight she was Noodle, not the guitarist of a world-famous virtual band. Just Noodle, a twenty-six-year-old woman looking for a drink and an hour or two to herself.
Sliding onto a barstool near the wall, she caught the bartender's eye and ordered a whiskey sour. The drink came quickly, condensation forming on the glass as she cradled it in her hands. For the first time in what felt like decades, she allowed herself a moment to exhale. And then—as though the universe was playing a cruel joke—she saw her.
Paula Cracker.
Paula sat just a few seats away, her dark hair untouched by time, still carrying that air of irreverent confidence that had driven everyone mad back in the early days of Gorillaz. Yet there was something different about her demeanor now—sharper, perhaps. The gleam in her eye that Noodle remembered from her youth was muted, like a fire dampened by years of smoke.
Noodle froze, her fingers tightening around her glass. Of all the bars, in all the towns…
For a moment, she debated leaving. She could slip out quietly; Paula hadn't noticed her yet. But another thought crept in. Questions. Questions she'd had since she was a teenager piecing together the fractured memories of the band's early days. About Paula, about 2-D, about why everything had unraveled the way it had.
She stood up, drink in hand, and moved two seats closer, strategically leaving one between them. Paula's attention flicked to her, her brows knitting in vague recognition.
"Can I help you?" Paula asked, her voice low and clipped. Her accent was still thick, a melody of words that rolled in a way Noodle remembered but couldn't place.
"Maybe," Noodle replied smoothly, studying her. "You're… Paula, right?"
Paula's lips twitched into a sardonic smile.
"That depends. Who's asking?"
Noodle tilted her head slightly, her trademark sharpness creeping into her voice.
"Someone who knows 2-D. Very well."
Paula's demeanor shifted. Her body stiffened, and for the first time, there was a crack in that carefully constructed façade.
"Ah," Paula said after a pause. "One of *them.*"
Noodle ignored the bait, taking a sip of her drink before speaking again.
"Didn't expect to see you here. Thought you'd stay far away from anything or anyone connected to the band."
"Funny," Paula said, swirling her nearly empty glass. "I could say the same about you."
Neither woman spoke for a long moment. The silence stretched taut, and the sounds of the bar—the clinking of glasses, the garbled yells of karaoke—faded into the background.
"What happened?" Noodle finally asked, her voice quiet but firm.
Paula looked at her, really looked at her, and for a moment, Noodle thought she might brush the question off entirely. But then Paula laughed bitterly, a sound that spoke of disappointment so deep it left scars.
"What happened? *Everything* happened. I was young, stupid, thought I could handle more than I actually could. Thought I could handle…" She stopped mid-sentence, biting her lip. "What happened between me and 2-D isn't a story. It's just… life."
Noodle frowned. That wasn't good enough for her. "You hurt him," she said simply.
Paula flinched ever so slightly. "And he hurt me," she shot back. "Don't pretend you know the whole story. I was a mistake, I see that now—but we were both mistakes. That's life, darling. Sometimes you just crash and burn."
Noodle didn't know what she had expected to hear, but it wasn't that. Part of her had carried a childish grudge against this woman for years, on behalf of 2-D, on behalf of the band, on behalf of everything she represented in the messy tangle that made up her family. But sitting here now, Paula didn't look like the devil the stories had painted her to be. She just looked… tired.
"And what about now?" Noodle pressed, her voice softer. "Do you regret it?"
Paula's eyes grew distant, her fingers tracing patterns on the rim of her glass. "I regret a lot of things," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But regrets don't change anything, do they?"
Before Noodle could respond, Paula drained the last of her drink and stood up, grabbing her bag. She didn't look at Noodle as she said, "Take care of him, yeah? He's a better man than I ever deserved."
With that, she was gone, the door swinging shut behind her and taking with it the ghost of a past neither of them could fully escape.
Noodle sat there for a while, staring at her drink, mulling over Paula's words. It wasn't the closure she'd wanted. But maybe it was the closure she needed. She pulled out her phone and scrolled to 2-D's number, hesitating for only a moment before texting him.
"Feeling better now," she wrote. "Think we should go for karaoke soon. My treat."
For all their issues, their band, their dysfunctional family—this was her world. And she wasn't going to waste another ounce of energy on a past that didn't belong to her.