When The Bough Breaks
(Chapter X of The Night Belongs To You)
Pairing: Vessel x Fem!Reader
Synopsis: Somewhere between panic attacks, late-night texts, and an unexpected friendship, you're forced to ask yourself a dangerous question: what happens when love becomes the only thing keeping you standing?
Word Count: 8,2k
Warnings: Descriptions of a panic attack, mental health struggles, emotional dependency, mentions of disordered eating, mild sexual texting
Disclaimer: This fanfiction respects the anonymity of Vessel and the other members of the band. Therefore, whenever his real name appears, it will simply be written as (His Name)
A/N: This chapter is emotionally heavy and was quite difficult to write, but I truly believe it lays the groundwork for what's coming in a beautiful way. Trust me, you haven't seen anything yet.
“Fifteen days.”
The words came out sharper than you intended, edged with frustration.
“Fifteen fucking days.”
You slammed the locker door a little harder than necessary, the metallic clang echoing down the hallway as you struggled to balance a stack of books against your hip. The edges dug into your arm, slightly uneven, threatening to slip if you didn’t adjust your grip.
“Gosh, someone’s in a mood.”
Nancy’s voice came from way too close.
You turned your head to find her already standing beside you, watching with that curious, slightly amused expression she seemed to default to.
“Welcome back to hell!” she added brightly. “I heard about your dad. My condolences.”
You tried, you really did, but a laugh escaped you anyway. Short, disbelieving.
“Okay…?” Nancy blinked, clearly thrown off, and you felt a flicker of guilt.
“He’s not dead,” you clarified, shifting the books onto the desk so you could actually breathe for a second. “Not yet.”
You turned back to your locker, spinning the dial with practiced movements.
“I just took a few days off to be with him. He’s in the advanced stages of Alzheimer’s.”
Nancy’s hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh my God! I’m so sorry. Everyone’s been saying he passed away.”
You paused for half a second. Would’ve been easier, you thought. But you didn’t say it.
“People here are just as stupid as they are nosy,” you muttered instead, a little too quickly.
Nancy didn’t look offended. If anything, the corner of her mouth lifted like she agreed. Like she didnt see herself as part of the group.
“So… what’s fifteen days?” she asked, grabbing her own things as you did the same.
You both stepped out into the hallway together, walking slowly side by side.
It was Wednesday, and your brain still felt slightly out of place, like it hadn’t fully returned yet. The last two days with Ves lingered in your body, in your thoughts, in the way reality still felt just a little too dull in comparison.
It always took time to readjust.
“Well…” You hesitated. How were you even supposed to explain that?
Nancy glanced at you, then lifted a shoulder casually.
“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I have a terrible habit of being nosy too. Probably the ADHD.”
That made you smile, just a little.
“It’s okay. It’s just… hard to explain...”
She nodded, as if that made perfect sense.
“We could talk after work,” she suggested. “What do you think? I finish at three. Maybe we can go somewhere... grab a coffee?”
You paused for a second. Vessel’s voice echoed faintly in your head. 'She could be something good for you in that hellish place'. Something like that.
You exhaled. “Sure.”
You stopped at your classroom door, already half-open, a few students trickling in with sleepy faces and quiet greetings as they made their way to their seats.
“Perfect! I’ll meet you at the exit at three,” Nancy said, already sounding pleased with herself before heading down the corridor.
You watched her go for a moment, then turned back to your classroom, wondering just how honest you could actually be with her.
…
“She has absolutely no sense of self-respect.”
Nancy didn’t even lower her voice as she spoke.
You both sat at a small round table outside a cozy London café. Willow & Bean. The kind with mismatched chairs, potted plants lining the windows, and tiny tables spilling out onto the pavement. The sky above was a flat, soft gray, thick with clouds, but miraculously dry. No rain. Unusual for that time of year.
A faint breeze carried the smell of coffee and baked goods through the air, along with distant city noise - cars passing, quiet chatter, the clink of cups.
“The last time she updated me, she was seeing some French guy, I think,” you replied, leaning back slightly in your chair and smiling politely at the waitress approaching your table.
Nancy rolled her eyes dramatically.
“On Monday she told me about someone she met over the weekend. Today? Apparently she’s dating her personal trainer.”
She made a face, exaggerated and theatrical.
“I mean, how does someone even manage that many men? Or maybe I’m the problem…”
“Hi there! Ready to order?” the waitress asked with an easy smile. She held a small tablet in one hand, her thumb already hovering over the screen, ready to tap in your order. The device reflected the gray sky faintly, her nails clicking softly against it as she adjusted her grip.
“A cappuccino for me and…” you glanced at the menu.
You weren’t hungry. But the familiar itch of anxiety was already creeping in under your skin, the kind that made your thoughts louder and your body restless. And when that happened, it never asked for salad.
“...a croissant.”
“Perfect,” she said, tapping quickly. “And for you?”
Nancy studied the menu for a second, then looked up.
“What’s the cake of the day?”
The waitress smiled. “Chocolate lava cake. And trust me, it’s obscene.”
That got your attention immediately.
Nancy rubbed her hands together in mock excitement. “Well, that sounds exactly like what I need. I’ll have that, and a black coffee, please.”
“I’ll take a slice too,” you added before you could overthink it. It was the least you deserved today.
“Of course.”
You both watched as she walked away, weaving between tables with practiced ease.
Nancy picked right back up where she left off, and you silently thanked her for not commenting on your order. Truth was, people didn’t pay nearly as much attention as your brain insisted they did.
“I haven’t dated anyone since I moved out of my parents’ house,” she continued. “Which is ironic, I know.”
You rested your cheek against your hand, elbow propped on the table. “You never told me where you’re from, actually.”
Nancy smiled, a little wider this time. “Ireland. Seriously, you didn’t notice?”
You had noticed the accent. Strong, melodic. And the way she dressed - always a hint of plaid, layered textures - it just read differently in your head.
“I thought you were Scottish.”
“On my dad’s side,” she said with a small shrug.
The wind shifted slightly, brushing a strand of hair across your face as the café door opened behind you, letting out a burst of warmth and the rich smell of fresh coffee.
For a moment, things felt… almost normal and you weren’t sure if that comforted you or made everything else feel even worse.
She shook her head lightly, as if brushing the topic aside.
“Anyway, are you going to tell me what the whole fifteen days thing is about?”
Your chest tightened instantly.
The noise of the street seemed to dull for a second, the low hum of passing cars, distant voices, the soft clatter of cups from inside the café fading into the background as your mind caught on the question.
“I met someone a few months ago,” you began, your fingers tracing absently along the small charm in your chest. “He’s… a musician.”
And for a split second, barely noticeable from the outside, your entire body tensed. A quiet, sharp fear crept up your spine at the thought of her asking the obvious next question. What’s his name?
You didn’t know it. Not really. Not the one that mattered. And the name you did know… you couldn’t say it. Not here. Not out loud, not in a place like this, not for Nancy.
The lie you’d just started building suddenly felt fragile, like it could collapse with a single, simple question.
Nancy’s eyebrows lifted, interest lighting up her face.
“Wow. That’s actually amazing. Do I know him?” she asked, then immediately laughed, waving it off. “I’m kidding. Go on.”
You exhaled quietly, eyes flicking down to the table.
“It’s a small band. Complicated name,” you added, the lie slipping out smoothly. “But he’s doing a few shows and, well…”
Nancy tilted her head, studying you for half a second.
“Let me guess... you won’t see each other for fifteen days.”
“Basically.”
The word felt heavier than it should have.
Something in your expression must have given you away, because her mouth pressed into a thin line, like she was about to say something, but before she could, a waiter approched.
He set your cappuccino down first, the foam perfectly smooth with a faint swirl on top, then your croissant on a small plate beside it. The buttery smell hit you immediately, warm and comforting. He placed Nancy’s coffee and the two slice of chocolate lava cake last.
“Enjoy,” he said with a polite smile before stepping away.
Nancy picked up her fork.
“Girl,” she said, cutting into the cake, “you look like you’re in trouble.”
You didn’t answer right away. Your eyes drifted to the dessert in front of her - the glossy chocolate spilling over the plate, rich and excessive. Your stomach tightened and growled quietly in response. Sharp and sudden. Not hunger, exactly.
Something else. Something restless.
“It started as something casual…” you said finally.
At least on his end.
You reached for your croissant, tearing off a piece, the flaky layers breaking apart between your fingers.
“But now I’m… more involved than I thought I’d be.” You hesitated, chewing quickly before continuing. “And I told him that.”
Nancy listened without interrupting, lifting her coffee and taking a slow sip, her eyes still on you.
“The thing is… I don’t know how involved he is,” you admitted. “I mean...he seems involved…”
“Did you tell him you love him?”
The question came out direct, unfiltered. It should’ve startled you, but somehow, it didn’t. That was just how Nancy worked - straight to the point, no hesitation.
“Yes.”
You took a bite of your croissant, then immediately followed it with a sip of your cappuccino, the warmth spreading through your chest.
“And did he say it back?”
Simple question. Simple answer. And yet...
“He said he can’t imagine a life without me,” you replied, a hint of defensiveness slipping into your voice before you could stop it.
Nancy let out a low, almost theatrical whistle.
“Okay… that’s intense.” She tilted her head slightly. “But he didn’t say he loves you?”
Your gaze dropped to your cup.
You shook your head.
Nancy watched you for a moment, something in her expression softening as she seemed to pick up on the shift in your mood. When she spoke again, her tone was lighter.
“Maybe he just struggles to say what he feels.”
You shook your head again, a little more firmly this time, taking another bite, faster now.
“He doesn’t,” you said after swallowing. “He talks about feelings all the time. He just… hasn’t said those words.”
Nancy took another bite of her cake, chewing slowly, thinking. “Do you feel like he loves you?”
You nodded immediately. No hesitation.
Your body answered before your mind had time to interfere, but still, there it was, that quiet voice in the back of your head reminding you that feelings weren’t proof.
Not without the words.
“Well,” she said with a small shrug, lifting her coffee again, “that’s what matters, isn’t it? And honestly, men are terrible at saying those three words anyway.” She took a sip. “Saying he can’t imagine life without you? That might actually be stronger.”
She exhaled, leaning back slightly in her chair.
“God… I wish someone would say that to me.” She let out a quiet laugh. “But this city is full of idiots. Every guy I’ve met since I got here is either drunk, obnoxious, or both.”
That made you laugh mid-sip, forcing you to lower your cup quickly before you spilled it. You wiped your lips with a napkin, shaking your head.
“I can’t say I disagree.”
You finished the last bite of your croissant, barely tasting it at this point, and without thinking, pulled the plate with the chocolate cake closer to you.
It felt almost automatic. Like reaching for something to fill a space.
“How are men in Ireland?” you asked, picking up your fork.
Nancy made a face. “Idiots,” she said flatly. Then she sighed. “But honestly, I think I’m just unlucky. Or maybe I expect too much.”
She took another bite, slower this time, then, unexpectedly, pushed the plate forward, leaving nearly half of it behind.
Your eyes lingered on it for a second. You couldn’t help the comparison that crept in.
Why couldn’t you do that?
“I grew up reading romance novels and listening to rock bands,” she continued, absentmindedly stirring her coffee now. “That sets you up for failure. I mean, where am I supposed to find a man who says something like...” she paused dramatically, then quoted, “‘I sweat and I ache for your eyes and the way you breathe’?”
Your heart skipped.
Immediate. Sharp.
Recognition hit before you could stop it - the lyrics from Calcutta. Heat rising to your face as you looked down quickly, focusing on your plate. You scooped up a forkful of cake, the thick chocolate spilling over the edge, rich and decadent. The waitress hadn’t been exaggerating. It was obscene.
“Maybe we’re the ones doing it wrong,” you said after a second, keeping your tone casual. “Maybe Anna’s the one who’s got it figured out.”
Nancy snorted immediately.
“I’d rather die alone than sleep with a bunch of men who treat me like a piece of meat.”
You smiled faintly. That had always been your mindset too and that's why you always thought you would end up alone.
Until Vessel.
...
You were on the Underground on your way home when your phone started ringing insistently in your bag. The train rattled along the tracks, the fluorescent lights flickering faintly above you, casting everything in that dull, washed-out tone that made the end of the day feel heavier than it already was.
Nancy’s voice still echoed in your head.
What’s his name?
You pulled your phone out, your thumb hovering for a second before you saw Francis’ name flashing on the screen. You stared at it, your jaw tightening slightly.
Whatever she wanted, it could wait. You let it ring out.
By the time you got home, the city already felt quieter. Your apartment greeted you with that familiar stillness, no noise, no distractions, just the soft hum of the fridge and the faint creak of the building settling.
You tried to shake it off. You really did.
You took a shower, letting the hot water run over you longer than necessary, hoping it would wash the feeling away. You made dinner, moving through the motions without really tasting anything. You even put on a new show on Netflix, something light, something easy, just background noise to fill the silence.
But none of it worked. The thought stayed.
Persistent. Annoying. Like an itch you couldn’t reach.
You didn’t know his name.
After everything - everything - you still didn’t know his name. The realization sat wrong in your chest, growing heavier the more you tried to ignore it.
By the time it was close to ten, it had rooted itself so deeply into your mind that there was no space left for anything else. You knew you shouldn’t. You knew exactly how wrong it felt.
And yet... You found yourself sitting at your small desk, the glow of your laptop lighting up the dim room. The cursor blinked at you from the empty search bar, patient, waiting.
Your fingers hesitated over the keyboard. You felt guilty even thinking about it. But they moved anyway.
WHO IS THE LEAD SINGER OF SLEEP TOKEN
You hit enter.
And then... Everything in you stilled.
You had always assumed it would be difficult. That it would take digging, searching, crossing lines you weren’t willing to cross.
But it was right there. Immediate. An AI-generated answer at the top of the page. Photos. Links. Videos.
Your heart slammed against your ribs, fast and uneven. Your breath shortened, your hands suddenly damp against the keyboard.
You felt awful. Genuinely awful. Like you had just broken something fragile. Like you had crossed a line you weren’t supposed to cross.
A betrayal.
And yet... you couldn’t look away.
Your eyes locked onto the name on the screen.
So simple. So ordinary. It hit you in a strange way. It was the kind of name you heard every day. The kind you called out in class without thinking. Familiar in the most mundane sense.
And yet now... it belonged to him.
You whispered it under your breath, testing it, letting it settle on your tongue.
It felt strange. But also… right.
Not the mask.
Not Vessel.
Him.
It was soft and gentle.
You clicked on one of the videos. The image that appeared was almost jarring.
Younger. Noticeably younger. A little awkward, a little shy, standing on a small room with cheap lighting and a grainy camera struggling to capture him properly.
But it was him. Unmistakably. Just… different. More human. More exposed.
For a second, something inside you shifted in a way you couldn’t quite name. Your chest tightened. Your stomach flipped.
One video turned into another and then another. Time slipped without you noticing, the dim glow of your room fading further into the background as you fell into it. Early recordings, songs you had never heard before because they existed before him as you knew him.
Before the mask. Before Vessel.
Now you were watching a low-quality video, clearly recorded on an old phone, the audio uneven, the image shaky, but there he was again, standing on a small stage, singing like it mattered.
He looked exactly like he could be one of your students. Maybe just a little older.
Your heart beat harder. Emotion built quietly in your chest, spilling over before you could stop it - warmth, affection, something deeper - forming into soft tears and small, involuntary smiles.
And then... Your phone rang.
You ignored it at first, assuming it was your sister again. But when you glanced at the screen your entire body went rigid.
His name.
Well... not exactly.
A sharp, immediate reaction shot through you, like you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.
Because you had. Hadn’t you?
You swallowed, your hand trembling slightly as you answered.
“Hey.” Your voice came out softer than intended. Unsteady.
“Hi, sugar.” His voice wrapped around you instantly - warm, familiar, grounding.
“Did I wake you? I know it’s late.”
There was a faint hesitation in his tone.
“No,” you said quickly. “I… I was working.”
The lie came too easily.
He hummed softly. Disapproving.
“Are you okay? How was your flight?” you asked, shifting in your chair, your eyes flicking back to the paused video on your screen.
“Fine. Slept a bit on the plane. Crashed at the hotel after.”
He sounded rested. That was good.
“Good. Big show tomorrow. Are you nervous?”
He let out a quiet chuckle.
“Always. How was your day?”
You paused. What could you say that wasn’t I missed you the entire fucking day?
“Slow, but productive,” you said instead. “I grabbed coffee with Nancy after work. It was… nice.”
A small hum of approval came from the other end.
“The sleepyhead? I told you she might be good for you.”
Your eyes drifted again to the frozen image on your laptop screen. You weren’t so sure anymore.
“Yeah. She is. She’s… very different from me, but I think that’s a good thing.”
There was a brief silence.
“Are you really okay?” he asked suddenly. “You sound… anxious.”
Of course he noticed. He always did.
“I’m just… I don’t know. I’m always anxious.”
At least that part was true.
He exhaled softly.
“I won’t keep you. It’s late and you should be asleep.” A pause. “I just wanted to let you know tomorrow’s going to be hectic with the show, but Friday night I should be free and… maybe we could...videocall?"
“Yes.”
You didn’t even let him finish.
A quiet laugh came through the line, low and soft, sending a shiver across your skin.
“Alright,” he said. “I’ll text you. Keep you updated… on me.”
You smiled without realizing. Since he promised not to disappear on you, he’d been messaging every day.
That had to mean something. Didn’t it?
“I’ll be glued to my phone,” you said.
“I know you will.” A faint smile in his voice. “Good night, sugar.”
“Good night, Ves.”
The words sat on your tongue - the ones you didn’t say.
I love you.
You swallowed them back. Pointless, really. He already knew. You’d told him first. More than once.
The call ended, leaving your room quiet again. You stared at your laptop for a long moment.
Then, slowly... You pressed play. Sleep wasn’t happening tonight. Not when there was still so much of him left to see.
...
The days dragged in a way that felt almost physical - heavy, slow, each one blending into the next until you could barely tell them apart. The exhaustion didn’t come all at once; it crept in quietly, settling into your bones, tightening around your shoulders, making everything feel just a little harder than it should have.
Taking time off to be with Ves had come at a cost.
You felt it now.
When your principal had asked you - gently, almost apologetically - to take over Anna’s afternoon shifts, you hadn’t had a choice. Not really. Not after the understanding he’d shown when you told him about your father.
Working double shifts was… complicated.
Good, in a way. It kept your mind busy, gave you something to focus on that wasn’t him - or more precisely, the absence of him. But it was also draining you in ways you hadn’t expected. By the end of the days, your body ached, your thoughts slowed, your patience wore thin.
You didn’t know how Anna did it so often.
For you, it felt like torture.
Every afternoon, when the clock hit three and the realization settled in that you weren’t going home, a quiet dread curled in your stomach.
No one had told you exactly what was wrong with Anna. Just that she was unwell and had been signed off for a few days.
Indefinitely. And not knowing how long this would last made it worse.
Thursday dragged on longer than most.
By five in the afternoon, the light outside had already begun to fade into that muted gray that seeped through the classroom windows. You were hunched over your desk, red pen in hand, surrounded by a growing pile of papers that seemed endless.
Your head throbbed faintly.
The classroom was quiet, just the soft murmur of students finishing their work, the occasional scrape of a chair, the rustle of paper. A few whispered exchanges, someone asking for an eraser, another getting up to empty pencil shavings into the bin.
Controlled chaos. Manageable.
Your phone buzzed against the desk.
You ignored it.
You didn’t want to break your focus. not when you were finally getting through something.
But it buzzed again.
You sighed softly, setting your pen down, and reached for it. Your sister’s name lit up the screen. Of course. You unlocked it.
We need to talk. It’s urgent.
You almost rolled your eyes. Everything was urgent to her, except when it was something you needed.
Working.
You typed it quickly, your thumb hovering as the typing indicator appeared almost instantly.
You waited. And waited. Longer than it should have taken.
Dad needs a very expensive medication. We can’t afford it on our own.
Your jaw tightened. Heat rose fast and sharp in your chest, your heart picking up pace as irritation flooded through you. You had promised yourself last time you wouldn’t give them money again. And yet... You already knew how this would end.
How much?
The reply came immediately this time.
One thousand euros.
A quiet, incredulous laugh escaped you before you could stop it, earning you a curious glance from a student near the front. You cleared your throat, pretending nothing happened.
What kind of medication costs that much?
A new one the doctor recommended. It’s experimental.
You exhaled slowly, staring at the screen. There were so many things you wanted to say. That it was absurd to spend that kind of money on something with no guarantee. That your father didn’t deserve the effort. That you weren’t obligated - legally or morally - to give them anything. But the words stayed trapped behind your teeth.
I don’t have that right now.
You said you’re working double shifts. You’ll get paid for that, won’t you?
Of course. You were killing yourself working just to hand it all over.
I can manage half.
The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
It’ll have to do.
That was it. No thank you. No hesitation.
You dropped your phone back onto the desk a little harder than necessary, a sharp breath leaving you as frustration surged through your chest. For a moment, all you wanted to do was scream.
How were you still trapped in this? What did they ever give you in return besides the guilt?
The realization hit harder than you expected. Your throat tightened, and your eyes burned.
Family wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
…
Sunday afternoon was quiet, gray light filtering through your apartment windows, the air still and heavy. Your sister sat across from you, a cup of tea untouched in her hands. The biscuits you’d placed on the table remained exactly where you left them.
She hadn’t come for tea.
She had stayed for twenty minutes.
Twenty minutes of complaints - about how “morbid” everything had become. About how unbearable it was to watch a once strong, active man slowly disappear into illness.
Her voice carried that familiar edge of self-pity. And then, inevitably, it turned toward you.
You didn’t care enough. You weren’t present enough. You weren’t doing enough. The words came like clockwork.
You sat there, fingers wrapped tightly around your own cup, the warmth long gone, listening without reacting, your expression carefully neutral.
When you finally handed her the check, she took it with a faint look of disapproval - like it wasn’t quite enough, like you had somehow fallen short again.
As if you always did.
She stood shortly after, already halfway to the door as she made one last comment - something about you being capable of more.
When she finally left, it felt like those twenty minutes had stretched into hours. The silence that followed was heavy, almost oppressive, settling over your apartment like a thick fog. You stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door, your shoulders tense, your chest tight.
That pressure, the one you had been feeling all week, was back.
At first, you had blamed it on exhaustion. The long days, the double shifts, the emotional drain. But now it felt deeper than that. Heavier. And it only got worse after she left.
It had been twelve days since he’d gone.
Twelve days - and not a single one without a message from him. He texted constantly. Called some nights. Once, you had spent nearly five hours on a video call, talking about nothing and everything, watching each other exist through a screen.
But it wasn’t enough.
It was never enough.
The absence was changing shape inside you, turning into something sharper, more demanding. It felt physical now - a restless ache under your skin. Your mood was unstable, your patience thin. You dropped things constantly, made careless mistakes at work, forgot simple tasks. And your eating… you couldn’t control it. The anxiety fed into it, and the more anxious you felt, the more you reached for something, anything, to quiet it.
But nothing worked.
By Wednesday, your body started reacting.
A dull nausea lingered, your head felt foggy, your chest tight in a way you tried to ignore. Anna still hadn’t come back, and you were still covering her classes on top of your own.
By lunchtime, you sat in the cafeteria, hunched slightly over your phone, scrolling for any distraction. The room buzzed around you - trays clattering, chairs scraping, overlapping conversations - but it all felt distant.
“Girl, are you okay?”
Nancy’s voice cut through the noise as she approached, her tray in hand. She set it down across from you, studying your face with open concern.
You nodded automatically, barely looking up.
At that exact moment, your phone lit up again.
Your heart jumped. You opened the message immediately.
I’m so sorry, sugar. But I really need to go straight to Birmingham.
Your chest tightened instantly.
We got this chance to work with an incredible producer. His schedule only opened up this week. But I promise I’ll be back in a week, and I’ll make it up to you. I promise.
Your vision blurred slightly as you stared at the words.
A week. Another week.
You looked up without really meaning to, and your eyes met Nancy’s. She didn’t hesitate. She pulled the chair closer and sat beside you.
“Hey… what happened?” she asked softly.
You inhaled slowly, forcing your fingers to move.
It’s okay. I understand.
Nothing was okay.
You didn’t understand.
Or maybe you did and you just didn’t want to accept that it was that easy for him. That he could stay away, extend it, adjust plans… while you felt like you were unraveling.
Can I call you tonight? We can talk for as long as you want. No show today. We wrapped Berlin yesterday.
You knew. You had celebrated that. Quietly. Stupidly. You thought it meant he was coming back to you.
I miss you so much, darling.
Your throat tightened painfully. You shook your head slightly, as if that could push the feeling away.
If he really missed you, wouldn’t he come back?
You knew that wasn’t fair. You knew his work mattered. That what he was saying made sense. But you weren’t thinking rationally. You were just… hurting.
Nancy stayed quiet beside you, her presence steady, not pushing.
Me too.
That was all you managed.
I have to go now. We’ll talk tonight, okay?
Okay. Love you.
You hit send before you could stop yourself.
It felt pathetic. And still... you waited. Just a second. Maybe this time... But nothing came. Like always.
You placed your phone face down on the table and pressed your hands to your face, your elbows resting against the surface as you tried to steady your breathing.
“Y/n, talk to me,” Nancy said gently, her usual brightness softened into something more careful.
You swallowed hard.
In the past two weeks, you had grown closer to her than you expected. For the first time in a long time, it felt like you could actually talk to someone.
Not everything.
But… most things.
“I’m so tired,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “I was really looking forward to this weekend, but now…”
“He’s not coming back,” she finished quietly.
You nodded.
“He said they got this opportunity with a producer and… it doesn’t matter. He’s staying another week and I...” your voice broke slightly before you could stop it, “I don’t know how I’m going to survive another week.”
The words slipped out before you could catch them.
Nancy’s expression shifted immediately. She tried to hide it, but you saw it. Of course you did.
Even you knew how that sounded.
“I know it feels like the end of the world,” she said carefully, “but a week goes by fast.”
You shook your head. Not for you.
Your chest tightened again, sharper this time, your hands suddenly cold. You ignored it, pressing your fingers together under the table. You had taken clonazepam on Sunday after your sister left, you didn’t want to rely on that again.
But your body was telling you something wasn’t right.
“Please,” you said quietly, forcing a small breath. “Distract me. Talk about anything.”
Nancy pressed her lips together for a moment.
“You should go home,” she said instead. “You’re clearly not okay, and you’re working too much. Someone else can cover Anna’s classes.”
You shook your head immediately.
“I can’t. And when he comes back, I’ll need time with him. So I can negotiate then...”
“That’s not right.” Her tone was firm now.
You blinked at her.
“What do you mean?”
“You see what just happened?” she said, leaning slightly closer. “He postponed coming back because he can’t leave work for you… and you’re overworking yourself so you can ask for time off to be with him later.”
You didn’t respond. Because you didn’t know how to.
“Y/n… I know it’s not my place,” she continued more gently, “and I know I don’t know everything about this relationship. You haven’t even told me his name…”
Your breath hitched.
“…but it’s not healthy. No matter how amazing he is. It’s not healthy for your whole life to revolve around him.”
Your chest tightened again. Because the truth was... There wasn’t much else.
Your job, your family, your almost nonexistent social life… none of it felt like anything compared to him. Nothing had color without him.
“Nancy, please… can we change the subject?” you asked quietly.
She sighed, defeated.
“Anna called me last night.”
That caught your attention immediately.
Nancy glanced around - the place was getting louder now, more people coming in - before lowering her voice.
“She didn’t tell me exactly what’s going on, but… you know me. I read between the lines.”
“Tell me.”
She sighed dramatically.
“My guess? She’s pregnant.”
Your hand flew to your mouth. That didn’t fit. Not Anna.
You inhaled slowly, trying to steady yourself.
“Why would you think that?”
“She was feeling sick before she left. And she mentioned a very specific night.” Nancy shrugged. “I just put two and two together.”
Still... It didn’t make sense.
“Why would she take time off for that?”
“I don’t know,” Nancy admitted.
The bell rang loudly, cutting through the noise, signaling the end of lunch.
You quickly gathered your things, slipping your phone into your bag.
“Anyway, I have to go.”
Nancy stayed seated, watching you as you stood.
“You should go home,” she repeated.
You didn’t answer. You knew she was right. At least about that. But you couldn’t admit it. So you just nodded faintly and walked away.
...
It was a little past three that same afternoon.
The first-shift students had already left, their voices fading down the corridors, replaced gradually by the slower, heavier rhythm of the afternoon group arriving. The classroom smelled faintly of chalk and old paper, sunlight slipping through the tall windows in muted streaks that barely warmed the space.
You stood by the door, forcing yourself upright, offering small nods as students trickled in.
Their eyes searched past you. Always past you. Looking for Anna, and the disappointment when they realized it was you instead, it wasn’t subtle.
“Man… what’s it been? Two weeks?” one of them muttered to his friend as they walked in.
The other just nodded, dropping his backpack onto the desk with a dull thud.
You exhaled slowly, your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the doorframe before you let go.
Your body still felt… wrong.
That same weight sat in your chest, dense and unmoving, like something lodged there that refused to leave.
You were about to turn and start the lesson when you spotted Nancy in the hallway, weaving through the students toward you.
“Hey,” she said, slightly out of breath, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “I’m heading home. Call me when you get a chance, okay? We should go out, grab a drink or something. You need a distraction.”
You smiled - small, tired, but real.
It was obvious she was worried about you. And somehow… that still felt unfamiliar. Almost undeserved.
“Promise?” she pressed, tilting her head slightly.
“Promise,” you said softly.
She studied your face for a second, as if weighing whether to believe you, then nodded.
“Good.”
She turned to leave, then stopped and turned back, and before you could react, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around you.
You froze. For a heartbeat.
Then your body softened, your arms coming up around her almost instinctively, holding her a little tighter than you meant to.
It was the first human touch you’d had since… him. Your chest tightened again, but differently this time.
“Okay,” she murmured as she pulled back, her hands lingering briefly on your arms. “I’ll be waiting for your call.”
You nodded.
You watched her walk away - her asymmetrical plaid skirt swaying with each step, her boots making soft, muted sounds against the polished wooden floor.
Then you turned back to your classroom and slipped into autopilot.
You answered the same questions about Anna- no, you didn’t know why she was gone. No, you didn’t know when she’d be back. Then you instructed them to open their exercise books, writing the page numbers on the board in neat, mechanical strokes.
A chorus of bored sighs followed.
Of course they preferred Anna. She was loud, energetic, entertaining. You used to hear the laughter from her classroom through the walls.
You had always been quieter. And now… You were barely holding yourself together.
Time blurred.
The next class came. And went. Then another.
The same explanations. The same instructions. The same hollow repetition.
By the time it was past five, the light outside had softened into a dull gray, the classroom dimmer, the air heavier. You sat at your desk, red pen in hand, correcting assignments.
But your mind had already drifted. Back to him.
It didn’t take much. Just a thought, and suddenly the absence hit again, sharp and deep, settling into your chest like something physical.
The weight increased, pressing harder. Your breathing shifted. Too fast. Too shallow.
You stilled.
No. Not here. Not now.
You pressed your feet firmly against the floor, feeling the resistance through your shoes. Your palms flattened against the cool surface of the desk.
Grounding.
You knew this. You had done this before. Inhale through your nose.
One. Two. Three. Hold.
One. Two. Three. Exhale through your mouth.
Again.
You forced your eyes to move, scanning the room.
Desks. Fan. Curtains. Backpacks. Pen.
Name them. Stay here. Stay present.
But it didn’t work.
The air felt thinner with every breath. Your chest tightened further, your heart racing violently now, your skin breaking into a cold sweat.
And then you knew. This wasn’t just anxiety.
This was a full panic attack. A bad one.
Christ... I can't do this without him.
Your fingers trembled as you grabbed your phone.
Nancy.
You didn’t even think.
I’m not okay. I think I’m having a panic attack.
You hit send.
Your vision blurred at the edges. You turned to the nearest student, your voice barely steady.
“Can you… go get someone? I’m not feeling well.”
They stared at you for a second, wide-eyed, before nodding quickly and rushing out.
After that everything became noise. A high-pitched ringing filled your ears. The room tilted. Your vision darkened. And then... Nothing.
…
When you became aware again, it was slow. Heavy.
Your body felt distant, like it didn’t quite belong to you. You were lying down. The faint smell of antiseptic. A narrow bed beneath you.
The school infirmary.
Your phone was ringing somewhere, distant, insistent, but you couldn’t move. Couldn’t even lift your hand to find it.
Voices floated around you. Muffled. Disconnected. Someone answered it. You caught fragments of words. None of them made sense. And then...
Darkness again.
The second time you woke, the room was quieter. Softer. A fading light filtered through the window. An older woman stood beside you, kind eyes, lined face, crisp uniform. Mrs. Bennett
“Easy now,” she said gently, placing a hand near your shoulder as you tried to sit up. “Better to stay down a little longer, Y/l/n.”
You sank back against the pillow, your head spinning slightly as you glanced toward the window.
“How long was I out?” you asked, your voice rough.
“Just a few minutes at a time,” she replied. “But you fainted more than once. Dr. Collins came by. He gave you something to help. You even spoke to him, though I suppose you don’t remember.”
You shook your head weakly.
Nothing.
“Seems you had quite a severe panic attack,” Mrs. Bennett continued, her tone gentle but firm. “And he also diagnosed you with burnout.”
Burnout. The word fell heavy in your chest.
You dragged your hands over your face slowly, pressing your palms against your eyes.
Nancy’s words echoed in your mind.
You should go home.
“You’re signed off for two weeks,” Mrs. Bennett added.
You shifted.
"What? No, I can't..."
“Doctor’s orders. You need rest. Whatever pushed you to this point… you need to reconsider it, Y/l/m. You’re far too young to be in this state.”
You didn’t answer. Your thoughts had already drifted.
Back to him. They always did.
God, you wished he was here.
Tears filled your eyes before you could stop them. Mrs. Bennett stayed quiet, but you could feel her watching you.
A few seconds passed. Then a knock at the door.
“I told her to go home…” Nancy’s voice.
Relief hit before you even saw her.
She stepped inside, her red curls catching the fading light, her expression softening immediately when she saw you awake.
“Hey,” she said gently, coming closer. “Think you can get up? There’s a taxi waiting outside. Let’s get you home.”
You nodded slowly, pushing yourself up with care. Your body still felt weak, your head heavy.
Vessel wasn’t there, but his voice echoed faintly in your mind, telling you she could be a good thing. That she might make this place easier.
He was right. He always was.
“Let’s go home,” you murmured, your voice hoarse as you steadied yourself beside her.
...
By the time the taxi dropped you off in front of your building, the city had already begun to dim under the slow descent of evening. The ride had been long - traffic thick, impatient, headlights stretching endlessly in both directions as everyone rushed home at the same time. The motion, the noise, the lingering dizziness from the medication, it all blended into something hazy and distant.
When you stepped out onto the sidewalk, the air felt cooler, heavier.
The sky was darkening, casting your street, and your living room, once you stepped inside, into a soft, melancholic half-light.
You paused just inside the door, keys still in your hand, taking a slow breath. A small, quiet part of your mind felt relieved.
You had cleaned on Sunday. Not perfectly, but enough. The apartment looked lived-in, not chaotic. Though, if it hadn’t… you realized Nancy wouldn’t have cared. She didn’t seem like the kind of person who judged that.
She had never been here before.
You had been meaning to invite her for dinner, rehearsing it in your head for days. But somehow, her first visit ended up like this, unexpected, unplanned, and far from ideal.
Still… She stayed.
You half expected an “I told you so.” A comment about how stubborn you’d been for not going home earlier.
But she didn’t say any of that.
She just… stayed. Grounded. Present.
While you disappeared briefly into the bathroom, letting hot water run over your shoulders, trying to wash away the lingering tremor in your body, she made herself useful in the quietest way possible.
By the time you came out - hair damp, wrapped in something more comfortable - the faint smell of toasted bread and something slightly overdone filled the apartment.
She stood in your small kitchen, sleeves pushed up, inspecting what she had managed to put together.
“Gourmet,” she announced dryly, holding up a plate.
Tuna, mayonnaise, lettuce, tomato.
Simple. A little messy. Perfect.
You ended up on the couch, legs tucked under a blanket, the two of you eating side by side.
Her presence anchored you. Kept you tethered to something real, something that wasn’t overwhelming or suffocating.
Time passed quietly.
By eight, the room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a lamp in the corner. Outside, the noise of traffic had thinned, the occasional car passing below less frequent now.
You talked about everything. Except him.
She told you about her parents - how she lost them in a car accident. The way her voice shifted, just slightly, when she mentioned it. Then about a three-year abusive relationship, her tone sharper, more detached. And finally, about her aunt - the one who left her enough money to leave her grandparents’ house and start over in London.
You listened. Really listened. Noting that while her story wasn’t the same as yours, she carried her own weight. Her own dark shit.
“You know…” she said eventually, leaning back into the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, her head resting in her hand. “I read something once - on Instagram, I think. That people find Sleep Token when they need them most. When they’re at their worst.”
She glanced at you.
“And honestly? I think that’s true. I found them about a year after my parents died. I was at rock bottom.”
At the mention of the band, something tightened in your chest again. Your body reacted before your mind could catch up - missing him, reaching for him, fingers searching for the golden charm - but the edge of it was softer now, dulled slightly by the medication.
You took a second before answering. You had known them for just over a year. But you had lied about that.
And now… telling the truth would feel ridiculous.
“I was going through something pretty bad too when I found them,” you said instead.
She nodded, like that confirmed everything.
“Yeah. The theory holds.”
Then she sighed dramatically, letting her head fall back.
“God, I love that band. Did I tell you I got tickets for Paris?”
You smiled...genuinely this time.
“That’s amazing.”
“You should come with me,” she said immediately, turning toward you, eyes lighting up. “We’ll be on break anyway. A girls’ trip to see our favorite men in the world. What do you think?”
It sounded perfect. Too perfect.
And dangerously close to worlds colliding.
“I’ll think about it,” you said carefully.
“No, come on! Tickets are going to sell out.”
How could you explain that tickets weren’t your problem?
“I’ll think about it and let you know soon,” you repeated.
“Promise?”
You nodded.
Your phone buzzed on the coffee table.
You reached for it without hesitation.
Nancy’s gaze lingered on you for a second as you unlocked it.
Going insane at the thought of you moaning I love you over and over as you’re about to finish. I miss you so much, sugar
Heat rushed to your face instantly. But beneath that your chest tightened. Because you had fallen apart. And he didn’t know. He couldn’t know... unless you told him. And you couldn’t.
Not when it would so easily connect - your panic attack, the timing, his message about not coming back. It would sound… wrong. Too much.
“Honestly, I don’t even know who’s hotter, Vessel or II,” Nancy rambled beside you, completely unaware that you had stopped hearing her halfway through.
Your vision blurred. Tears welling up.
But before you could even decide what to reply, Nancy reached over and gently took your phone from your hand, placing it back on the table.
Not harsh. Not intrusive. Just… certain.
“Okay,” she said softly, her hand closing around your arm. “I don’t know if that’s him or not. I don’t want to know. And you don’t either right now.”
You let out a shaky breath.
“Breathe with me,” she continued, steady and calm. “Say it with me... ‘I’m okay. I’m being taken care of by my slightly insane Irish friend, and I don’t have to deal with my boyfriend tonight.’”
That made you chuckle. A small, fragile sound, but real.
Two things echoed in your mind: She called herself your friend. And called him your boyfriend. You had never called him that. You had never named what you were.
You wiped your tears with the back of your hand and nodded.
She was right. Talking to him now would only make it worse.
“Okay,” you said quietly. “Girls’ night.”
“There we go,” she smiled, satisfied. “What do you say we watch something?”
You nodded immediately. You needed distraction.
She got up, grabbing the remote, scrolling through your streaming apps.
“What are we watching?”
“Anything but romance,” you said, pulling the blanket tighter around you.
She made a face.
“Yeah, definitely not in the mood to watch attractive men kissing.”
She opened another app.
“What about horror?”
“Yes,” you said without hesitation.
“Perfect. You pick. I’ll handle snacks. You do have popcorn, right?”
You nodded.
“And ice cream in the freezer,” you added, a small flicker of guilt rising, but you pushed it aside.
You deserved it.
“Even better,” she grinned, already heading to the kitchen.
You glanced at your phone again. Just for a second. You wanted to answer him. You wanted to lean into the pull, into the warmth, into him. But you couldn’t handle it tonight.
So instead, you looked back at the screen and scrolled through the horror section.
Your finger hovered then clicked.
Malignant. Your comfort horror movie.
If such a thing even existed.
I’d truly appreciate it if you left a like, a comment, and most importantly, a reblog. It really encourages me to keep writing.
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