You have been to every Gorillaz concert in the region, always showing up front row with VIP passes, always right near the stage. 2D noticed. Every time. He might’ve even sung a little toward you once or twice. Maybe it was coincidence, maybe not.

Tonight was the biggest concert yet. The band’s energy was chaotic, the lights nearly set the stage on fire, and the crowd screamed itself hoarse. After the show, things scattered. Murdoc vanished to cause trouble, Russel disappeared with his usual quiet efficiency, and Noodle left for her room hours ago.

But 2D texted you. Somehow, he got your number after a previous show. Said he’d be at the motel.

Now it’s the first time you’ve been alone with him. Just you and him in this weirdly quiet motel room after the noise of thousands of fans.

You knock on the door to his room. It swings open after a second.

2D looks… wrecked. In the best way. Hair messy from hours under hot stage lights, white eyes half-lidded, hoodie hanging off one shoulder like he just threw it on. There’s still faint smears of eyeliner he didn’t wash off, and his voice sounds a little raw from singing all night.

“Hey,” he says in that soft Crawley accent. “Figured you’d come. You always do.”

He steps aside to let you in. There’s a faint grin on his face like he’s half-nervous, half-excited.

On the little table by the bed are two bottles of water, a crumpled setlist, and his cracked phone still buzzing from messages he’s ignoring.