Chapter Text
- Vessel –
He does not know who you are yet, but he will.
“What if I can’t help him? What if he runs once he learns? How will I explain this to the others? III can’t take another heartbreak…not after last time."
Find him. He’s been waiting long enough for you – for all of you.
The dream has been the same for the past few weeks. Flashes of a young man walking down the pavement, eyes downcast and shoulders tucked forwards, as if to shield himself from an invisible enemy. The streets are bustling with morning traffic, milky blue-white exhaust swirling around his small body as his feet carry him faster. Vessel doesn’t know the destination and he’s frustrated by it. He can hear the man’s quick, tight breaths as he continues his trek onward. The shudders he tries to hide beneath the curl of his shoulders belie the overwhelming stench of distress and sorrow. Vessel absorbs the myriad of sounds and catches the hitch of staunched cries. Suddenly, the other’s emotions flood him through the infant strands of Sleep’s bond with him and the other vessels. The grief and pain smother him. It feels like a punch to the chest, heart aching with loneliness, stomach twisting, breath halting, mind numbing –
He darts into a coffee shop, pulling Vessel from his spiral, and the First follows. The man approaches the counter, orders a honey latte, and turns to look for an empty seat amongst the crowd. Vessel reaches out, wills the man to see him through the veil, wants him to hear him say “I’m here. I found you. Please come with me. Come home to us.” But when he turns towards Vessel’s apparition, he stops, looks up, and Vessel is struck by his sharp, blue-grey eyes that are surrounded by sickly greens, sallow yellows, and deep purples. The man’s eyebrows furrow in thought. It’s almost as if he can…
He does not know who you are yet, but he will. He’s our Fourth. He’s mine.
Vessel awakens with a start, gasping for breath and covered in a sheen of sweat. The memory of the bruises mottling his face flash across his vision and immediately feels the tears filling his eyes. Someone is hurting their Fourth. He doesn’t know who did it or why. He doesn’t even know how to find him! Vessel swears at himself, at his failure to locate the new IV, until his thoughts are interrupted by the blankets rustling beside him. A warm, drumstick calloused hand comes out from the pile to rest on his thigh.
“Vess?” II’s sleep-roughened voice asks as he moves out of the covers.
“I’m alright, love, just a dream,” Vessel pants, trying to regulate his breathing.
II rolls over to cuddle up against him, tossing his arm over Vess’s hips, pulling himself closer. The drummer rubs his face into the singer’s side, kissing him tenderly, and tossing a leg over his much longer ones to keep him still. He knows that the dreams are starting up again since their previous IV left a few weeks ago. Sleep has been inundating Vessel with snippets of visions, relentless in her search for the new member and voicing her displeasure at the loss of the last one. None of this Vessel can control and, sometimes, Sleep is unforgiving of Vessel’s exhaustion with the whole matter. The nightmares that plague the First have left them all sleepless, attempting to console their lover the best they can. All of them have been struggling to come to terms with Fore’s departure – III most of all. He was taking the loss of their Fourth the hardest and neither Vessel nor II knew how to help him through this.
“Where’s III?” Vess inquires as he rubs the sleep from his eyes.
“In his room. He’s still…processing everything,” the drummer answers sadly.
- III –
It wasn’t fair. He was chosen by Sleep to be their Third, but he couldn’t even keep their Fourth here. It was his job to integrate their Fourth into the collective, regardless of if they joined their relationship. He failed at his job spectacularly. How either Vessel or II could forgive him was beyond him. Even Sleep was dissatisfied with the entire situation. The fact that Sleep hadn’t punished him for his failure yet left him reeling, waiting for the hammer to fall square on him, crushing him beneath its weight. He curled his long body up further into a ball on his chair, wrapping his gangly arms around his knees and pulling them up to his chest. How could he move on from this? It was his fault Fore left them.
There was a soft knock at the door, and he could hear II call out for him. III buried his face into his arms, hoping that he could just hide from the world a little longer. Didn’t they understand that what happened with Fore was because of his stupidity? The naivety of thinking that everything would be fine because he knew Fore so well. They trusted each other. They were close friends and Fore said he could tell him anything, he promised. But promises break and he remembers the shocked look on the man’s face, the disgust that pinched his lips and clouded his eyes.
“Do you honestly think I’m like any of you?! Fucking disgusting is what you lot are. Bunch of fucking –“
III hears the squeaky hinges he keeps forgetting to oil fill the space, breaking the end of Fore’s berating comments. The drummer’s presence is enough to cease the memory. How III wishes he could forget that memory forever; maybe he can ask Sleep. II approaches him quietly and he catches the tender, gentle smile on the man’s face. He can feel tears building as he looks at II through his hair. He loves this man so much that his chest starts to ache.
“Angel, you’re going to kill your back all folded up like that,” the Second fondly scolded, laughing a little to himself. III gave no response, only curling into himself tighter, and his smaller lover sighed sadly. Running his hand along III’s back, II tried to comfort him the best he could. The bassist sniffled and II moved his other hand to the back of III’s head. He gently scratched at the nape of his neck and up into his cherry red hair, trying to further reassure III.
“You can’t keep beating yourself up. It’s not your fault –“ II started before being cut off by III standing and moving away from him. II caught him by his wrist, noting how III’s bones stood out more than usual; the knobs of his wrist severe and his knuckles protruding from sunken-in skin. Looking at his face a bit closer, II could see his prominent cheekbones, and he made a note to ensure III ate more consistently.
“Baby, please, don’t run from us. Let us help,” he pleaded.
“Let me go,” III whispered, failing to steady his trembling voice, “…please, II.”
After a moment of hesitation, II reluctantly released him. III left the room, bounding up the stairs to the altar in the attic. He needed to pray to Sleep and beg for forgiveness or punishment, whichever his god decided he deserved. A part of him hoped that Sleep would choose the latter.
- II –
The decision to make breakfast was easy. It was clearly going to be a long day for them, so having a decent start seemed like a good idea as any. He was sure he could coax Vessel and III into consuming something sweet, ultimately settling on pancakes. Cinnamon apple for the First and strawberry for the Third. Vessel had an unhealthy obsession with apples. So much so that II constantly joked that he’d never need to see a doctor again with the amount he could eat. That only earned him a half-hearted glare from their leader and more grumbling as he chomped on another shiny red, round fruit. The sight always made II laugh because Vessel’s pouty glare was just too adorable. Smiling to himself, he continued to cook down the apple mixture, letting the sweet scent of molasses, sugar, and cinnamon fill the kitchen.
As he was mixing the batter for the pancakes, he heard footsteps descending the stairs, followed by a sleepy Vessel. He pulled a chair out from the table and sat heavily, folding his arms and placing his head in them. He grumbled and II knew that was his cue to produce coffee. He set the coffee cup down by Vessel’s arm, sugar bowl at the ready. How the man could drink his coffee with that much sweetener was a mystery to II. He watched the First pour spoonful after spoonful into the mug.
“I still don’t understand how you can defile such a good cup of coffee like that.”
“I still don’t understand how you can drink this shit black,” Vessel quipped back.
“Maybe it’s because I’m a distinguished gentleman and can appreciate the notes of dark chocolate and cherry,” II said grinning over his own steaming cup, poking fun at his lover.
Vessel stares at him blankly, hiding his smile behind the mug and chuckling a bit at the man he loves more than anything.
“Oh, fuck off, you coffee snob.”
At that, II audibly laughs and the mood shifts into something lighter; something that neither of them have felt in a while. Vessel smiles at him just so and, oh, does that smile make his stomach flutter. The little quirk at the corner of his mouth and showing of bright teeth is so genuine that II forgets to breathe for a moment. The little crinkles at the corner of his deep, golden-brown eyes highlighting his mirth makes him choke up a bit. Since losing Fore, there’s been a hollow point piercing through them all. It’s been so long since he’s seen him like this. As he ladles the next pancake onto the skillet, he passes the stacked plate to Vessel and the man wastes no time digging in. He moans and sighs dramatically at the first bite.
“No matter how many times you make these, it’ll always feel like the first time I tried them: euphoric. Excellent as always, love,” Vessel compliments, continuing to devour his breakfast.
Smiling at his git for a lover, II continues to pile pancakes on a plate for III. He carefully butters them, placing a heap of fresh strawberry slices on top – just like III likes. He prefers them over the apples and II wouldn’t dare forget this tiny fact. Besides, Vessel will happily consume the remainder of the apples. He’s learned his boys’ penchant for sweets and fresh fruits and makes every effort to provide them daily. Sometimes II wonders how III stays so thin and lanky with all the food he consumes.
“III, your breakfast is ready. Come eat with us, love,” II beckons through their bond. It’s moments like this that he’s thankful for the bond Sleep has given them. Through their worship and acceptance of her, Sleep bestowed gifts unto them for their devoutness. All of them can communicate through a shared mental and emotional bond. Each of them agreed to allow each other privacy and to close the channel as needed; they learned quite early on how overwhelming and unhelpful the open bond can be. Feeling your own emotions was hard enough, let alone having to feel and hear the thoughts and emotions of the others. III has kept his end quiet for some length of time and, though the other end remains silent, II knows he’s heard him from the soft sounds of footsteps descending the stairs.
III appears, his curls covering his face, as he silently moves towards the kitchen. He picks up his plate and attempts to leave, but Vessel’s voice stops him.
“Stay with us, darling? It’s been so long since you’ve ate with us. II made your favorite,” Vessel asks sadly, almost short of begging.
“I-uh…I just-“ III fidgets, eyes darting around the space, looking anywhere but at his lovers and searches for an excuse to leave and hide away in his room.
“Please? We miss you.”
Vessel maintains his stare, watching him closely and trying to think of anything to say to get him to stay. II finishes the last batch of pancakes for himself and comes to sit at the table. He resolutely doesn’t look at III, knowing that Vessel’s gaze is more than enough. III can’t find a reason to escape so he quietly places his plate back on the table and joins them. He cuts into the first pancake, slowly bringing the food to his lips. The little sigh he releases calms the others enough, so they can continue eating. When the bassist tries to leave after only a few bites, II feels his protective side bubble up in his throat. He has to say something. III can’t continue like this.
“Good boys eat their breakfast. Eat at least half of it and I’ll give you a reward,” II orders, slipping easily into his role, and leaving no room for discussion.
He’s aware that III thoroughly enjoys being his good boy, even if he often tests the boundaries on purpose. II wishes that III would stay of his own volition, but he’s had enough of watching the man continue to lose weight and hide from them. Clearly, this approach works on III as he immediately sits back down. The rest of the meal passes in silence, II sneaking glances at III’s plate to ensure he’s eating. When half of the plate is empty, III looks expectantly up at II, who only chuckles at this switch in behavior.
“Meet me on the couch?” II offers as Vessels collects their plates.
III nods eagerly and the drummer follows close behind to their living room. II stretches out on the burgundy couch, leaning back against the cushions and spreading his legs to make space. Curling his fingers in a wave, he beckons his lanky lover to him. The man says nothing as he crawls into II’s lap, contorting his long body to fit in II’s embrace, burying his face in the crook of his neck. II wraps his short arms around him and snuggles him close. Normally, he likes for III to kneel or wait before latching on like this. But, considering the circumstances, he allows this deviation from their norm.
“What would you like as a reward, love?” he whispers in his ear.
“Just this. Please just…just let me be with you,” he begs and buries his face further, “I know I’ve been distant. Also, I know your rules, but I…I’m sorry, sir, I’m not trying to disobey or ignore you.”
II kisses his temple softly, “I never thought that once. I only want you to stop hiding from us.”
So, they stay together in that spot – unmoving, uncaring of the world around them. III falls asleep to the sound of Vessel humming in the kitchen, the distant clank of dishes and cabinets filling the space with the sounds of home. II’s fingers thread through the other man’s hair as he leaves featherlight kisses to the top of his head at random.
“I love you, sweetheart,” he murmurs into his scalp, hoping, praying to Sleep, that he still believes him.
A while later, Vessel finishes up in the kitchen before joining them. He snuggles into II’s side and wraps an arm around III’s waist. Breathing deeply, he memorizes the scents of his beautiful, perfect lovers. II reminds him of spring, when the earth smells warm and dewy from the rain. Freshwater – sweet, crisp, and cool – fill his senses and reminds him of when he first met him. He was so alone then and found solace in the sounds of nature. Vessel was leaning against a tree at a nearby park, letting the feel of the coarse bark and rustling of leaves obscure his black thoughts. It fought the silence of the manor he’d just moved into after becoming Sleep’s First and the cruel whispers of his mind telling him that he wasn’t worth the breath in his lungs. It was these things that made him seek the outside world, if only to quiet his mind for a moment.
The wind picked up and the smell in the air changed to something wet and sweet. A raindrop fell on his face and he looked up at the plump, grey clouds overhead. Rain started to fall and Vessel suddenly felt the urge to cry. That’s how II found him: fingers clawing into his arms, wrapped around him, and sobbing into the open. He remembers the gentleness in his gaze, the deep blue of his eyes taking in his pain. II laid his hands on top of his fingers, gingerly prying them away from his arms, and his pretty, soft voice reassuring him quietly. He looked at the scars, old and new, littering his arms and the shame Vessel felt made his stomach turn. They were both soaked, but II never moved away from him or commented on his self-mutilation. Sleep curled around him, whispering “II, II, II” over and over like a mantra. Vessel invited him to the manor to dry off, stay for dinner, drink some hot chocolate, and he agreed instantly. That evening, as they traded stories, laughed, and confided in their shared loneliness, II kissed him softly on the couch in front of the fire. In that moment, Vessel knew he could never lose him. In time, like a breath of fresh air, a drink of cool water, II drowned him in his love and Vessel fell willingly.
When they met III, his obsession with anything floral was immediately noticeable. Jasmine, honeysuckle, rose, sweet pea – you name it, he smelled of it. But his favorite is lavender and, while he laments that it’s a “lame ass common scent that all the normies love”, he never regrets filling his room with it. The garden he tends in their backyard bursts with colorful flowers and he brings a small cluster of lavender in every time the ones in his room wilt. Vessel remembers the first time he asked if he could start a garden. He was so shy, head tilted down, hands behind his back, and the toe of his worn chucks digging into the carpet in the living room. How could he say no him? He couldn’t possibly. III’s excitement bubbled up and he immediately shoved them into the car to go to the local greenhouse. Watching him dance around the flora and fauna made his heart stutter and he knows II felt the same.
He doesn’t want to remember meeting Fore.
The fond memories make him smile into II’s chest. He loves them so very much. The First sends his thanks to Sleep because he feels so lucky and blessed to have them here. He feels warmth surrounding his heart and knows it’s Sleep’s answer. At this, Vessel decides that the group needs an outing, feeling the pull to leave the manor in favor of some sunshine. They always love going for coffee and to the bookstore, so why not go? He pitches the idea to II, who wholeheartedly agrees. He and Vessel wake III gently with tender kisses and whispers. III is more hesitant to agree, but rarely passes up the chance to buy more books. Soon the three are dressed and ready to go into town and Vessel tells himself that they’ll all be okay as long as they have each other.
-?-
The steel guitar string snaps along with its player’s nerves. The sharp sound reverberates in the sparsely furnished room and the sole occupant lets out a tiny gasp. A curse floats through the air as blood wells from the small cut on his thumb. Of course the string would decide now is the time to break, he thinks before standing to find the first aid kit. Rummaging through his bag of belongings, the man grumbles further about how bullshit this situation is. First a nasty break up, followed by a fight to get all of his things out of his ex’s apartment, and now a broken guitar string with no extras lying around.
“Can’t catch a fucking break,” he rants into the empty space.
He’s been on his own for a few weeks now and this guitar has been his consistent companion. It was fine. It was all fine. He never needed anyone before Seth, why should he need anyone now? Sure, it was nice to have a warm apartment to come home to. But Seth was anything but warm and he learned first-hand just how cold that asshole could be. If he wasn’t out cheating on him with anything that walked, he was always reminding him how he was never enough.
“If you were a better boyfriend, I wouldn’t want to see other people.”
“If you did more to help me around the apartment, maybe I wouldn’t be so angry at you.”
“Don’t cry, it’s pathetic. You deserve this for how you acted.”
“You’re so ungrateful.”
“I don’t want to punish you. You make me want to do this to you.”
The man shuddered and halted his thoughts before that voice pulled him under again. It was over. No sense dredging up the past. Besides, it wouldn’t change anything. He’d still be here, putting a bandage over his cut thumb, wincing at bright lights due to his black eye, and nursing a broken heart. The loneliness was the part he should’ve expected, but somehow he allowed it to blindside him. Although he was used to being alone, surviving on the short-term kindness that most gave him, it still stung.
Not only did he lose a partner, he lost his spot in the small band he was a part of. They kicked him out suddenly, saying they were going a different direction. He insisted that he could play whatever genre they were trying out, but they still turned him away. The only one who showed sympathy was their bassist, Victor, who he’d been friends with since university. But even he didn’t try to stop them and maybe that said something about him, too. He wasn’t sure. All that he knew was that music was the one thing that made his torturous nights with Seth worth it. He loved to play and greatly missed the opportunity to be a part of something he enjoyed.
Finally finding the kit in the bathroom, he looks in the mirror at his reflection. The bruise is getting worse as the damage heals. The kaleidoscope of colors surrounding his eye highlighting the swelling. Broken blood vessels thread his eye, the vivid red surrounding the dull blue-grey of his iris. He fights the lump filling his throat and decides that he needs to get out for a bit.
He puts on his coat and swiftly exits the dingy apartment. It’s a chilly spring morning and the sun is peeking through the clouds for once. He makes his way across the wet pavement, footsteps quick and head lowered to avoid strangers’ gazes. Murky blue exhaust smoke swirls around him and the acrid smell of burning oil fills his nose. The city is bustling today and he thinks that the sound helps drown out Seth’s voice in his head. Although, it doesn’t stop the tears from filling his sore eyes. Ducking into his favorite coffee shop, the familiar smells of roasted espresso beans and warm milk clear his head. It’s calm inside and the customers sparsely decorate the tables. Most are working on their laptops, studying in pairs, or reading quietly. The exception is a group of three men by the back table who are talking quietly amongst themselves. He heaves a deep sigh, letting his body finally relax, and his tears evaporate. This place has been his escape for years and he’s thankful for the safe space it provides.
He approaches the counter, orders his honey latte, and waits for the barista to craft his drink. Closing his eyes for a moment, he imagines what it would be like to have everything he’s ever wanted. Friends to play music with that allowed him flexibility and creativity, a loving partner who cared more about him than what his body could provide, and a home – a real home. The barista calls his drink, breaking through his daydream. He turns away to look for a table, hot drink in hand, when he’s interrupted by a hesitant, deep voice speaking next to him.
“It’s really you,” the voice sounds awed, as if he can’t believe whatever he’s seeing.
When he spots the source of the voice, the first thought that comes to mind is that this man is fucking tall. He towers over him by at least 6 inches. Short, brunette hair and deep honey-brown eyes looking at him in…shock? Wonder? He doesn’t know, but he takes the time to appreciate this massive, beautiful creature standing in front of him. Although this stranger is wearing a simple black long-sleeved henley that’s unbuttoned and matching jeans, simple black boots completing the outfit, he looks every bit as intimidating as he is attractive. Silver rings adorning his long fingers and a delicate silver chain necklace dipping into the notch on his neck completes the outfit. He thinks he might be drooling a bit.
“Fucking Christ, stop it, you’re staring at him too much. Say something to him.”
“I’m sorry? Have we met before?” he starts, remembering the man’s earlier comment. He watches as the man’s cheeks flush pink before looking away shyly, shoving his large hands in his pockets. This man fidgets in place, clearly anxious as he speaks to him and must realize how awkward that comment sounded.
“Ah, apologies. I – uh – no, we haven’t met before. You just looked like someone I knew,” the tall man flushes a deeper pink and look sheepish, unsure and glances back towards a table.
He notices the other two at the table watching them closely, as if they’re inspecting him and wondering what the hell their friend is doing. He watches them in turn and wonders what it could be like to be with them, among friends, to not feel so lonely. The awkward silence stretches on since neither of them seem to be able to move the conversation forward.
“Well I-“
“Are you-“
They both start and stop at the same time. Yeah, this is definitely continuing the awkwardness of the interaction. But the tall man glances back to the men at the table and the short one nods slightly, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. Now he really wants to know what this taller man will say first.
“Please, you first,” he laughs lightly, looking up at those pretty brown eyes again.
This man seems to catch his breath for a moment before responding, “Are you here alone?”
“Yeah,” he says looking sadly down at his coffee.
“Would you like to sit with us?”
He contemplates his answer.
“Why would you want to sit with a stranger?”
At this, the other responds adamantly, albeit gently, idly pulling and picking at the strings of his hoodie, “No one should ever feel alone. I won’t force you, but I just…don’t like seeing people alone.”
“There’s plenty of others here by themselves,” he gestures to the few individuals in the coffee shop.
“But you don’t want to be alone right now…do you?”
The question catches him off guard and calls him out all in one go. No, he doesn’t want to be alone. But he also can’t understand why this man invited him to their table. He looks like shit, face bruised all to hell which clearly indicates he got into some trouble. He looks back to this man and sees nothing but genuine kindness.
“I kinda look like shit right now. Don’t you think all of this,” he gestures to his battered face, “tells you I bring trouble wherever I go?”
The unreadable expression that crosses the other's face makes him squirm in his spot. He shouldn’t have said anything, but he can’t help himself because it’s true. He brings nothing but misery to those around him. He made his boyfriend loathe him. He made his bandmates ditch him from the group. He wasn’t worth the effort this kind man was giving him.
“No, I don’t think that at all. You didn’t ask for that to happen to you, I’m sure of it,” the tall man whispers with a fierceness that takes him aback.
He’s shocked at the boldness of the statement, the surety that exudes from this man in his assumptions. He hates to admit that his guesses are correct, but this stranger doesn’t know him at all. How could he possibly be sure that he didn’t ask for this? That he didn’t push whomever to the brink and pummel him? But one look into his eyes reveals a sadness, a plead, for him to understand that he just knows. Shaking his head, he clears his mind and goes back to the invitation. He can’t deny that this man has some sort of gravitational pull on him, gently easing him into his orbit and he’s helpless to evade it. With a sigh, he smiles, deciding that he might as well join them for coffee. Besides, it’s not like this will change the course of his life or anything. It’s just coffee with strangers.
“As a matter of fact, I would really enjoy the company. If your friends are okay with it, that is?”
He’s not prepared for the utter joy that explodes across this man’s features. The demure, unsure nature of this man melts away to reveal excitement, and a childish sort of happiness that’s ridiculously precious.
“They won’t mind at all! Please, come with me. They’ll be excited to meet you, uhm…” he trails off and they both realize they never introduced themselves. He offers his hand to the tall stranger, smiling back at him kindly.
“My name is –“ he starts until an odd, muffled sound fills his ears upon saying his name. Weird…he must be losing his hearing after listening to loud music for so long, he reasons.
The man’s gaze changes slightly, as if he’s straining to hear what he’s saying, but then another look crosses his face before disappearing in seconds. He takes the offered hand, schooling his features back into the same radiant look from before.
“Vessel. It is truly a privilege to meet you. We’ve kept the others waiting long enough. Come, I’ll introduce you,” Vessel says as he lets go of his hand and heads back towards the table.
As he follows Vessel towards the other men, he doesn’t realize that this moment is the beginning of everything.