Continued from here // @deiiity
He’d been awake for 60 consecutive hours give or take. It wasn’t a record or anything. He’d stayed up for a weeks on end when he was on speed, sleep for days during the crash and then repeat. Meth made you frantic to do anything. It made you creative. It had been good for a while. But that had been when he was young, when his bones didn’t make strange noises and jut out at strange angles.
Nowadays he binged on coffee and took a Ritalin if he needed it. He spend his days writing and playing and his nights in clubs. There wasn’t much time to sleep. Marginally, on couches and in the minutes between meetings and dates. It was the glue that held fragments of time together but other than that it was utterly unenjoyable and useless as far as he was concerned. Whatever sleep he got was black and unrestful or plagued by nightmares and infinite universal puzzles. The sleep world was a different universe he had never gotten the hang of. Avoiding it usually worked best.
But Morpheus couldn’t been fended off for too long. Sleep was an inevitable. He could always tell when he needed to sleep and then when he had no option but to sleep. Usually it came on quickly. This time in a taxi. He had been in a middle of a rant about MKUltra when the definite urge to nap struck. He slowly shut up, mind already starting to shut down. He rests his head against 2D’s shoulder briefly but it’s too sharp, it cuts into his tender cheekbones.
In an act conscious Murdoc would shun, he slowly lowers his head to 2D’s lap and shuts his eyes.
2-D seriously wondered how the bassist beside him could go on about the same subject for hours at a time. As usual, Murdoc was ranting as what he had breifly caught on to be ‘MKUltra’ or something. He wasn’t really paying attention, instead looking at the window and idly agreeing to everything he was saying and giving him a small glance and a nod from time to time. They hadn’t been in the taxi for that long, and he was already ranting. Maybe he should start timing to see how long it takes for him to start ranting, see what his record time turns out to be. The thought amused him, thankfully distracting him from other, less pleasant, ones.
When Murdoc began to quieten down, it brought up a little concern in 2-D. Murdoc never shuts up like this, especially not in the middle of one of his rants. 2-D glanced over at him, an eyebrow slightly raised. He turned back to the window, not saying anything. The last thing he wanted was to be punched in the face in the back of the taxi, the driver would probably call the police, and that didn’t end well last time.
He didn’t expect the feeling of a head on his shoulder, and brushed it off as an accidental nudge, and continued to look out of the window. His shoulder was too boney to be lent on anyway,or at least not comfortable.
The head in his lap surprised him, as there were only the two of them in the car and it seemed like Muds would rather stick himself into the depths of hell than show any sign of affection. 2-D had to glance down to check that it actually was Murdoc, and there he was. He looked tired, and you didn’t have to be smart to work out that the bassist was very sleep-deprived. Hell, 2-D had found him completely passed out a few times.
