Dents

[+] 12D3

When I told 2D the news about Murdoc coming back over breakfast a couple days later, he got a real sour look on his face.

He stared into his morning coffee as if I had just spit in it. He sparked up a cigarette and flicked the ashes into the mug, decidedly disgusted with the mere thought of drinking any more of the dark liquid spiraling within it.

I can't say I didn't expect that reaction out of the handful of possibilities. It was evident that his relationship with Murdoc was abnormal. Still, 2D did seem to hold some fondness for him despite all he'd been put through. I asked him once if he thought he might have a mild case of Stockholm syndrome. He responded sincerely that he'd 'neva even been to Norway.'

I gave up asking after that.

"S'pose we got our work cut out fo' us, then," 2D muttered under his breath.

It was clear he wanted the album to be released before Murdoc returned.

"We can get it done, 'D. We're almost there already."

"Righ'."

His voice was listless. It was a halfhearted sound that was detached from the rest of him. His eyes grew a shade darker, the blood pooling within them swirling in phantom trails over their otherwise glossy surface.

I reached a hand over the kitchen table, knocking down a new assortment of garbage that accumulated there over the past weekend. I clasped his thin fingers tightly in mine. They felt freezing cold.

Strangely, I caught a sudden whiff of that familiar scent of painfully sweet rottenness I was growing uncomfortably used to. It had shifted from something I encountered rarely to a daily occurrence. If I didn't find out where it was coming from soon, I thought I would lose my mind.

Again, I ignored it. Eventually, it disappeared.

I lifted my other hand so that I could engulf his completely. He lightened up at the gesture. It made me feel better about being the one to drop the 'Murdoc's-coming-home' bomb. One of us had to do it, after all. I thought it should have been me.

Besides, I had a plan to distract him from it already in the works.

"2D, would you want to go somewhere today? I got these tickets."

I reached into the pocket of a hoodie I borrowed from him last night. It smelled like cigarettes and cologne. I loved it. He urged me to wash it first since he'd worn it a few times. I reminded him that the fact he wore it already was the best part about it.

I made contact with the two crumpled slips of paper in the pocket. They were decorated with red and yellow stripes. To my relief, the barcodes were mostly undamaged.

2D squinted at me curiously. His azure hair had gotten longer. It nearly reached his shoulders when he turned his head to the side.

"Tickets fo' what?"

A surge of joy coursed through me. I was successful in redirecting the conversation to something that could take his mind off of everything. In fairness, it wasn't a difficult task to accomplish. I was proud anyway. Finally, I could do something special for him after he had always done so much for me.

"It's in Eastbourne. I think it was called Tusspot Fairgrounds, or something like that. Have you heard of it before?"

"Tusspot's Fairground," he corrected, "I 'eard of it, alrigh'. Yew got tickets?"

"Yeah. It might be fun. It's an awful long trip, but if you're up for it I thought we could go today."

He smiled, showing off his crooked and missing teeth. It was a little devious looking, simultaneously alluring and mischievous.