Dents

[+] Taxi Back to 80s Reykjavík

When I said my farewells to 212 Wobble Street and everyone still inside it, I returned to 2D's room.

It was mostly empty. The dresser was in a state of utter chaos; a cluttered heap of various articles of clothing tangled into a unified laundry monstrosity crawled out from the drawers. It was so bizarrely lumped together that I half expected it to gain sentience and start walking around the place. Maybe it would take up residence on the mattress and watch the news in our absence.

Several movies were missing from the shelf where 2D kept them. It was similarly disorganized, though if I ever asked him for a movie he'd always know exactly where on the rack it was at any given time.

Despite his surface level disorderliness, he had a certain method to keeping track of the things that were important to him.

It was another detail of his that I found charming.

I laughed to myself quietly. I was taken aback by my own compliance with the filthiness of the room. If it had been anyone else, I'd have torn into them for not bothering to at least pick their things up off of the floor. Yet, since it was 2D, I understood perfectly that this was merely his method, and subsequently wrote it off. Still, I wasn't sure that I would be willing to put up with living in such a mess forever.

We might have to work on a compromise for that at some point.

Not today, though.

I quietly shut the door and went downstairs, careful not to wake Murdoc on my way out. He was still slumped over the table in a drunken stupor. He moaned and snored obnoxiously. A silvery string of drool ran out from the corner of his mouth, forming a milky puddle beneath where his head rested on the table.

Yeah. I was not going to wake him up.

Not today.

2D was waiting for me on the front stoop. He faced away from me. His eyes were drawn to the early morning sunrise as it crept above the blue grey clouds on the horizon. He ran a lone hand through his azure hair, messing it about in a way that was both adorable and endearing. He paused there momentarily, the front locks of his hair suspended above his forehead with a single gangly arm. 

"Hey," I said.

"Hey," he replied.

The sunlight reflected off of his dark eyes. He was hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees, seated atop a stack of two suitcases.

From where I stood he looked otherworldly. He was like an angel cast from the heavens and thrown into my longing arms.

"Taxi should be 'ere pretty soon I fink. Yew got everyfink?"

"Yeah."

I gestured to the overweight duffel bag in tow.

"Everything I own. You planning to clue me in on where we're off to?"

"I'll tell yew when we get there."

He grinned. His delicate features had taken on a stronger appearance than the one I'd grown accustomed to. He radiated an air of confidence. It was a recent development in his outlook, though not an unwelcome one.

"S'alrigh', innit?"

Due to that same confidence, he'd become a lot cheekier with me as well. I can't say I didn't enjoy it.

"Not like I'd say no anyway, I guess."

The duffel bag fell to the ground, finally slipping from my stony grasp. I dropped myself onto the suitcase next to him with an exhausted huff. The lack of sleep was starting to get to me. I no longer had the strength to bother with standing, let alone carrying around that godforsaken bag.