#vessel fluff

Submit. That was what people thought when they talked about it with disdain. Why would people submit to this kind of thing? Well, it is very hard to explain to people who don’t understand – or don’t want to understand – what it is like to identify so deeply with a band to the point where it becomes your entire personality. Music has that power to speak when silence suffocates, to give words when you can’t express what you feel. Music saves lives. Bands save lives. God knows Sleep Token had saved you on many nights when the thoughts were too dark to describe.

Vessel’s voice was almost a constant companion in your life now. A lifeboat you clung to while dragging yourself through existence, staying functional and putting all the energy you had into that. When you arrived home exhausted and sad after a hard day, listening to Sleep Token’s songs was like having Vessel sitting beside you, and although it solved nothing, it eased the burden a little and made you feel like everything would be okay somehow.

So, yes. You had “submitted” to all the effort to get that spot at the barricade, and your heart was beating so hard in your chest as you finally got there, realizing that you were finally going to fulfill that dream that you could barely take notice of everything around you.

You were alone there, your favorite band was too strange for your so-called friends, and except for the people you had met in line, you hadn’t talked to anyone all day and that was fine.

The arena, although enormous, felt cramped now that it was completely full, the very air of the place was hot and the floor vibrated beneath your feet coming from the huge speakers playing a mix of songs to soften the fact that you still had to wait another hour before the show would finally begin.

There was a sea of bodies around you, countless. Shoulders brushed, breaths, conversations, laughter and screams mixed together, but there so close to the gigantic stage covered by a huge curtain everything felt strangely intimate. It was as if the entire world had been reduced to that moment, to that expectation. Your heart beat too fast with the anticipation of the almost childish certainty that something important was about to happen.

When the lights finally dimmed and the first chords of Look To Windward echoed, you felt a knot form in your chest, the music going through you completely. It was impossible not to smile, impossible not to feel that you were witnessing something truly sacred. A ritual. It was impossible not to feel part of it. After all, everyone was there with the same single purpose. To worship.

What followed after the curtain fell and you heard and saw Vessel for the first time was a blur of color, sweat, tears and desperation. At some point Vessel sat on the side of the stage right in front of you to sing Aqua Regia and you thought you were going to faint when he seemed to look in your direction – of course it was impossible to know if he was looking at you because of the mask, but your teenage side was sure that he had noticed you because he smiled, a big, open and lingering smile and then he stood up and walked away, but the effect that had on you was devastating.

The feeling of being devastated and pierced continued song after song, but it was Infinite Baths that broke you. You already knew it would happen, but hearing the first chords of the song was enough to make your knees give way and your hands cling to the barricade to try to stay on your feet. It was impossible not to think about how that song had saved you since everything had become heavier. You kept fighting against the desire to let everything go and that song was often the only thing between you and the darkness. For years you had been too tired to try to explain how you felt, too sad to ask for help and feeling too invisible to be truly noticed. But that song helped somehow.

And there, while watching Vessel and the boys say goodbye, you cried. You cried for the catharsis, for the dream fulfilled, for the end of the dream and above all, for yourself. And there, while saying goodbye to your line friends and waiting for the crowd to disperse a little so you could finally find your way out, you made a promise to yourself: you promised that you would allow yourself to have more time to do the things you liked. That you would try to live a little instead of just surviving. Of course it was easier said than done, but in that moment you believed it.

You were distracted with your back to the barricade when you felt a hand on your shoulder and turned around startled, finding a huge security guard with a not very pleasant face staring at you with a certain strange curiosity. There was still music playing on the speakers so he brought his face closer to yours and shouted to make himself heard.

“The man wants to meet you.” That was all he said.

“W-what man?” you asked without understanding, afraid you had done something wrong and would end up in a police station in the middle of the night, but you were interrupted by the guard.

“Are you coming? You need to come with me right now.” he shouted.

“Is that a choice?” you shouted back, but he was already with his arms around your waist helping you swing your legs over the barricade and then went ahead showing the way and you found yourself climbing onto the stage and slipping through a small passage on the left side.

You walked behind him with your heart in your mouth without understanding bullocks of what was happening and before you realized it he pushed you into a small cramped room and simply left and closed the door.

“What the…” you whispered, allowing yourself to look around. The white light was too strong for eyes that had spent hours in the dark. There was a characteristic smell of cleaning products, metal and sweat in the air. Crushed water bottles thrown on the floor, towels on top of chairs and vanity tables with traces of black paint. The strange silence after the deafening noise of the stage made your ears ring and your head was spinning too fast for you to put two and two together until the door opened and you saw him.

Your brain short-circuited because you simply couldn’t process what was right in front of you. For a moment you forgot how to breathe.

He stood still for a moment by the door as if he was questioning whether he should come in or not, or maybe it was just because the noise of the stage hadn’t fully let go of him yet. The hood was still up, framing his head in shadow, heavy fabric clinging to him with traces of sweat and heat. The new golden mask adorned his face, but hid less than the previous one. It didn’t reveal enough to let you see the man behind it, but it was enough to make him devastating.

You could see his nose clearly, the sharp line of it breaking through the ritual paint. His lips were slightly parted as if he was still catching his breath, as if a sound might slip from them if you got too close. The black paint didn’t hide him completely, it only emphasized the skin beneath, the pale texture showing through in places, human and real beneath something sacred. His jaw was tense, his throat marked with streaks of paint and sweat, his chest rising and falling slowly, heavily.

Finally, he stepped into the small room and closed the door behind him with a slowness that seemed rehearsed, almost as if he didn’t want to scare you. Without saying a single word, he walked slowly in your direction, the corner of his lips curved in what seemed to you like a shy smile, like the smile someone gives when they know they are doing something mischievous, something they shouldn’t.

He stopped inches away and you became painfully aware of his height and overwhelming presence towering over you, making you feel delicate in a way you never had before and you had a sensation of being pierced, as if he were staring at you, analyzing every reaction. It was a devastating feeling of being devoured by eyes you were not allowed to see.

Your lips parted and a rush of air was pulled into your lungs by pure instinct, as if your brain had only just remembered in that instant that you needed to breathe. You knew only moments had passed, but somehow the silence imposed over you made everything dense and slow and you finally gathered the courage to break it, but before any word could escape, he shushed you with his index finger on your lips and your knees went weak and you found yourself anchoring on the small vanity table behind you, and while making a tremendous effort to process what was happening, your mind turned to your senses to ground yourself. You inhaled deeply.

He smelled like heat and metal and something darker underneath, sweat soaked into fabric, paint mixed with skin, a faint citric trace of whatever he wore that was unmistakably his. Your eyes devoured him, clinging to every detail. He looked unguarded in a way that felt forbidden. He looked frighteningly divine even though rationally you knew he was just a man, but in that instant your body reacted as if you were in the presence of a god. Trembling, pulse pounding in your ears, mouth dry, hands slick with sweat.

Your lips parted against his finger, and he allowed himself to touch your face, his slender fingers entering the mess of your hair, cupping your cheek, the touch light and exploratory, thumb moving so slightly against your skin almost like a caress. Warm and cold at the same time where skin touched skin and the metal of his rings.

And then, as if the world had stopped making sense, he leaned down to kiss you. Slowly, giving you time to breathe, to pull away, to change your mind. He didn’t ask, not with words, but his entire body seemed to be listening. His lips hovered over yours for a heartbeat too long, testing the space between intention and permission. When he finally touched you, it was careful, almost hesitant, a first press meant to feel rather than to take. Then he bit your lip teasingly as if he wanted with that, with that fraction of a second of pain, to prove it was real. That he really was there and you were not dreaming.

The actual kiss began soft, exploratory, as if he was learning the shape of you. You felt him pause after every small movement, gauging your reaction, waiting for any sign that you might want him to stop. But you didn’t. Instead, a quiet, involuntary sound escaped your throat, a tiny breath of a moan that dissolved right against his mouth. That was all it took. Your fingers found the heavy fabric of his cloak, curling into it instinctively, tugging him closer without really thinking.

He answered immediately, stepping into you until your chest met his, the warmth of him seeping through layers of cloth. One of his hands slid to your waist, slow and deliberate, settling there as though he was allowed to stay. The other moved to the nape of your neck, firmer now, more certain, guiding you gently instead of merely asking.

The kiss deepened in response to your pull. What had started cautious grew braver, his lips opening over yours, tasting, coaxing. You stopped trying to think altogether, aware only of the way your heart hammered and how your body seemed to melt toward him on its own. His thumb brushed along your jaw while his mouth claimed yours again, unhurried but unmistakably hungry.

Each movement became a little less controlled, a little more honest. Your hands tightened in his cloak, pulling him impossibly closer, and he allowed it, allowed you, with a low breath that vibrated between your lips. The rhythm changed without either of you deciding it should, turning fuller, warmer, faster, as if the moment was gaining life of its own.

By the time the kiss truly found its pace, you weren’t analyzing anything anymore. There was only the press of his mouth, the steady strength of his hands on you, and the dizzying realization that you were kissing him, not a dream, not an image on a stage, but the real, living man who was holding you like he had chosen to be exactly there.

You felt it almost before you understood it.

Some small, distant part of your mind noticed the shift in him, the way his movements grew surer, the way his hesitation thinned and melted away. He was learning you with every breath, every tiny sound you let slip into his mouth. Your responses were teaching him, and he was answering in kind. The kiss deepened not because either of you decided it should, but because it seemed impossible for it not to. Desire moved between you like something alive, a quiet current neither of you had the strength or the will to resist.

It didn’t feel planned. It felt inevitable.

His hands began to wander with a new confidence, sliding from your waist to your ribs, fingers spreading as though he wanted to memorize the shape of you through touch alone. When his palm curved over your breast, squeezing gently through the thin layers of black fabric, a startled breath left you before you could stop it. You barely registered the details of what you were wearing - the cropped shirt, the mesh beneath it - only the heat of his hand and the way your body reacted as if it had been waiting for that exact touch.

The kiss broke for a heartbeat, just long enough for air, but he didn’t really let you go. He never truly let you go. His mouth found you again almost immediately, hungry and searching, and when you pulled back to breathe he simply followed, lips drifting to your jaw, your chin, trailing down to the sensitive line of your neck.

You felt more than saw the subtle impatience in him then, the way his fingers fumbled slightly with the hem of your top, the quiet urgency in the way he tugged at the layers between your skin and his. It wasn’t rough, wasn’t demanding. Just eager.

Your thoughts were hazy, scattered. You noticed things only in flashes: the scrape of his rings against the soft mesh sleeve, the warmth of his breath against your throat, the faint tremble in your own hands as they traveled over the exposed skin of his chest, nails scratching lightly the pale skin stained with black. Nothing felt rational. Nothing felt measured. It was all sensation. All instinct.

And you let yourself sink into it while your mouth sought his again and an actual moan escaped through your lips swallowed by his always hungry mouth.

His hands finally found the hem of your clothes with clear intent. You felt the gentle tug first, fingers hooking into fabric, and then a firmer pull as he gathered the layers together. The kiss slowed, softened, as if he needed focus for a moment. When he lifted the material, you understood without a word. You raised your arms instinctively, breath uneven, and the two of you broke apart only long enough for him to slide the top and mesh up over your head.

Cool air rushed over your skin. The garments fell somewhere behind you with a quiet, careless sound, forgotten the second they hit the floor.

His gaze dropped, and before you could even feel shy about it, his hands were on you again, warm, sure, reverent. He pulled your bra down leaving one breast exposed to him and played quickly with your nipple, rolling it under his thumb, making it harden immediately. You shivered at the contact, at the way his other palm shaped your breast over the bra as though he couldn’t quite help himself. There was something almost instinctive in the way he touched you now, like restraint was slipping away piece by piece.

When his mouth replaced his thumb, sucking the small bud and then teasing it with the tip of his tongue, the reaction tore out of you before you had time to swallow it.

Your head tipped back and a sound escaped your lips, louder than you intended, raw and unfiltered. The room seemed to narrow to that single point of sensation: his breath against your skin, the faint scratch of paint at his jaw, the pressure and warmth that made your knees feel suddenly useless.

Impatience flickered through him then. You felt it in the way his hands grabbed you, his fingers tightened at your waist, decisive now, no hesitation left. In one fluid motion he lifted you, guiding you backward until the edge of the vanity met the backs of your thighs. The surface was cool as he settled you onto it, and the contrast made you gasp softly.

He spent a second unfastening your bra and getting rid of it, then returned his full attention to your breasts again, squeezing, kissing, sucking, giving small bites to your nipple and then soothing it with the tip of his tongue.

Your hands gained a life of their own, roaming over his chest, feasting on the sensation of touching the abs you had spent so much time lusting after, seeing only through photos and videos.

But your hands weren’t satisfied with just that, you touched lower, exploring through the soft material of his pants and finding him hard. The realization sent a dizzying rush through you, confirmation of something you had sensed all along. The effect you were having on him was undeniable.

You grabbed him through the fabric, fingers squeezing lightly, sliding slowly, exploring, feeling and realizing just how challengingly huge he seemed.

His breathing changed immediately with your advances, growing quicker, heavier. A small, involuntary sound slipped from him, and hearing it lit something bold inside you. Confidence bloomed.

Your hands trembled, but they didn’t hesitate as you began to unbuckle his belt. You fumbled slightly at first, clumsy with nerves and excitement, but determination steadied you. Fingers searching, learning, working at the buckle you found there, focused entirely on the quiet rhythm of his breaths and the way they hitched.

Somehow, between shallow breaths and trembling nerves, your fingers found their way under his pants and the moment you realized he wasn’t wearing anything beneath them, a small thought flickered through your haze: of course he isn’t. It felt strangely intimate to discover that, like uncovering a secret you had always suspected.

You wrapped your hand around him, genuinely caught off guard. Yeah, you had also been almost sure he was big, but the reality of him was more than your mind had prepared for, and a nervous rush of heat flooded your face. He was thick. Your fingers could barely close around him, and you moved awkwardly at first, unsure of what you were doing. The truth was it had been a long time since you had been with a man.

But even your clumsy touch was enough. You felt the way he reacted immediately, how he seemed to come alive beneath your fingers, how his body answered you without hesitation. The soft pulse of him in your hand made your stomach flip, and then you heard it.

A sound. Low, unpolished, almost shy. Definitely a moan. It was quiet, as if it had escaped him before he could stop it, and the knowledge that you had drawn that from him sent a thrill straight through your veins.

His hands didn’t leave you while you explored. If anything, your boldness seemed to encourage him. He continued to touch you with growing confidence, palms warm and sure, movements no longer tentative. You could feel his attention split, torn between what you were doing to him and what he wanted to do to you. Impatience crept in.

You noticed it in the subtle shift of his touch, in the way his fingers began to wander lower, catching at the delicate layers of your skirt. The soft fabric bunched under his hands as he tried to push it aside, clearly frustrated by how much stood between him and your skin. There was something almost endearing about it, the quiet determination, the barely restrained urgency.

With a few insistent movements he managed to lift the tulle out of the way, hands sliding upward along your thighs. And then, in a gesture that felt more instinct than thought, you heard the unmistakable sound of fabric giving way and your breath hitched sharply. The cool air against your legs, the suddenness of it, made your heart stutter.

His fingers finally reached between your legs, sliding up and down over the fabric of your panties until finally he pulled the material aside and slid a finger between your folds, letting out a bit of a hum at finding you so ready for him already. The contact sent a jolt through your entire body.

You gasped softly, your grip on him tightening in reflex, moving slowly up and down. He answered by kissing you again. His mouth claimed yours with new urgency, swallowing the little sounds you couldn’t help making while he continued exploring you with each of his huge fingers, going deep.

Everything felt faster now. Hotter. Closer.

And somewhere beneath the haze of sensation, you were dimly aware that neither of you was thinking anymore, only reacting to the need that both of you seemed to feel for each other. A need that seemed to reach its unbearable peak when he pushed your hand away from him, pulled his cock out of his pants and jerked himself quickly there in front of you for a second before holding it at the base and letting a string of saliva fall onto the tip.

There was a fraction of a second while you watched what he was doing in which you became completely aware of what was happening, of what was about to happen and of who the person it would happen with was. A fraction of a second in which you could have pulled away, changed your mind, said no. But you didn’t do any of those things, you opened your legs wider for him, pulled him impatiently back to your lips and allowed yourself to be penetrated in body and soul.

One second there was space between you, breath and anticipation stretched thin, and in the next that space was gone, pierced by the sensation of him inside you. He did it all at once, entering you to the hilt and the shock it caused in someone who had been without sex for so long was almost painful, but still you liked it. It wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t careless either. It was real, overwhelmingly real. Your body reacted before your mind could catch up. A sound broke free from your throat, raw and surprised, your hands gripping at him as if you needed something solid to hold onto. He waited an instant for you to adjust around him and in the meantime, he kissed you again, hard, just a clash of teeth and saliva.

The feeling of him was impossible to ignore, full, insistent, undeniable and the sensation combined with his kiss sent a rush of heat through you so sharp it made your head spin, emotion crashed into you just as hard as the physical sensation. A wild, dizzying awareness: it’s him. It’s really him.

By the time he started thrusting against you, every stroke harder than the one before, marked by the distinct sound of the moans he no longer bothered trying to hold back, your heart hammered against your ribs, hard enough you were sure he could feel it where your chests were pressed together. There was clearly a clash between the physical reactions of your body and your emotions, but they didn’t contrast with each other, they only fought to take control of your mind. Eventually, with each deliciously strong and deep thrust, your body won and you surrendered, letting go of any trace of shyness that might have remained and letting it take control of you.

“O-oh god… fuck,” you whined against his lips as the force of his movements made the fragile vanity shake and creak beneath your weight. The sound seemed to ignite something inside him because he broke the kiss and grabbed you by the back of the neck and increased the intensity, moving his hips in a way that his cock went even deeper, managing to touch that delicious spot inside you that made you scream and cross your ankles behind his back, caging him.

He liked that. So he did it again and again.

“Y-yes… yes…” your trembling voice sounding deliciously pathetic.

The room seemed to tilt slightly, every sense narrowing down to that single point where you were connected. His breath fanned over your face, uneven and heavy, matching the frantic rhythm of yours.

He moved with pure instinct and it felt urgent, almost desperate, like something he had been holding back for far too long and could no longer contain. Each movement of his body carried that need, and yours answered it without hesitation.

Your hands pulled him by his cloak back to your lips, the kiss becoming an extension of what you were doing, mouths dancing against each other, tongues clashing for dominance, but he was winning, penetrating your mouth with the same need with which he was fucking you.

Suddenly everything felt too surreal and you broke the kiss then, not to pull away, but because you needed to see him. Your eyes found his face, dark paint, gold mask, the familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Awe washed over you so strongly it made your chest ache. For a moment you simply stared, dazed, overwhelmed by the impossible reality of what was happening.

Slowly, almost reverently, you lifted your hand, your fingers trembling as they reached for him, finally allowing yourself something you hadn’t dared before. You touched his face, really touched it, the cool material of the mask beneath your fingertips contrasting with the warmth of his skin in your palm. The reaction was immediate.

His thrusts faltered, his lips parted at your touch, a sharp inhale escaping him. You felt his breath hitch, felt the way his entire body seemed to respond to that simple, intimate gesture. It was as if being touched by you in that way undid him more than anything else. You saw him trying to regain control, moving his hips against you now slower, more rhythmic, as if trying to hold back. You moaned when he brushed against that delicious spot inside you again, amazed at the ease with which he could find it when no other man ever could.

“S-shit… you’re so beautiful,” you caught yourself saying while tracing the edge of the mask, gentle, curious, grounding yourself in the reality of him while everything else blurred into sensation. He seemed to stare at you, or at least you felt like he did, and whatever restraint he still had unraveled completely.

The rhythm of his strokes quickened again, grew stronger, more urgent. There was no calculation in it, no careful pacing, only raw desire finally given permission to exist. His hands held you firmly, one at your waist, the other on your shoulder, keeping you close, keeping you with him, as though he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.

Your own breaths came in broken pieces, mingling with the low sounds he couldn’t quite hold back. Every nerve in your body felt awake, stretched tight, trembling on the edge of something you both knew was coming. As much as neither of you seemed to want it to end, your bodies were at their limit. He was tense, his breathing stronger, moans escaping his mouth uncontrollably now while each thrust seemed more irregular, more out of rhythm, as if only instinct made him move in a tireless search for release.

You, on the other hand, felt as if every nerve in your body was exposed and over sensitive and you knew, with absolute certainty, that you wouldn’t last long. The intensity was too much, too fast, too honest. But somehow that only made it sweeter, the awareness that you were both racing toward the same breaking point, carried there by pure, unfiltered need. And you were willing to let yourself fall into it completely if he was going to fall with you.

It happened faster than you expected though, one moment you were holding on to him, trying to keep up with the overwhelming rhythm between you, and the next your entire body began to tighten in a way you couldn’t control. The sensations built too quickly, too deeply, like a wave rising inside your chest and spilling down through every nerve at once. You felt it coming before you could even understand it.

A breath shuddered out of you, high and fragile, your fingers instinctively clutching at him. Your hands slid desperately beneath the heavy fabric of his cloak, searching for skin, for something real to anchor yourself to. You found his shoulders, strong and steady beneath your palms, and you held on as if he was the only thing keeping you grounded. Your nails pressed gently into his skin without you meaning to, not out of pain or urgency, but out of pure need to hold him closer while the world around you began to dissolve.

He noticed immediately. Without a single word, he read you and you felt the change in him, the way his touch shifted, the way his movements adjusted just slightly, guiding you, coaxing you, pulling you closer to that edge you were already trembling on. His hands became steadier, firmer, keeping you right where he wanted, right where you needed to be.

His lips parted, breath uneven, and there was something almost like a smile there, subtle, knowing, intimate. Not amused, not teasing, just aware. A quiet understanding that he could feel what was happening to you and that he was determined to stay with you through it and just like that he coaxed it out of you. Your head fell forward against him as the first real wave hit, a soft cry slipping from your mouth before you could stop it. Heat rushed through you, bright and overwhelming.

It felt like being unraveled from the inside. Every part of you seemed to react at once, muscles tightening, heart pounding, your entire body trembling against his. The world narrowed to nothing but sensation, to the way he felt pulsing inside you, to the way his arms kept you steady while everything else spun out of control. You clung to him through it, burying your face near his shoulder, fingers curling deeper into the fabric and skin beneath, holding on as if letting go would make you disappear entirely.

It should have been awkward for two people who had never seen each other before to find themselves in a moment of almost overwhelming intimacy, but it didn’t feel awkward at all. Somehow it felt right. And he stayed right there with you, moving against you in slow and intense thrusts as if wanting to prolong your high with each one of them. Anchoring you.

You felt him watching you, felt the warmth of his breath against your temple, the quiet way he seemed to savor every second of your undoing. There was no rush in him now, only focus, only the intent to carry you safely through something that felt almost too big for your own body to contain.

The intensity rolled over you in slow, relentless waves, each one stealing a little more of your strength, leaving you softer, shakier, more vulnerable in his arms, and when it finally began to fade, when your breathing turned ragged and your grip on him loosened, you realized you were still holding on to him as though your life depended on it. Your forehead rested against his chest, your heart racing wildly, but you barely had time to steady your breathing before feeling the change in him.

The moment your body began to soften in his arms his own seemed to tighten and he returned to resuming the rhythm and strength of his strokes, clearly searching for his own release now without any shame at all, as if he knew he had earned the right to have it because he had just given you what could only be described as the best orgasm of your life.

His movements grew quicker, stronger, driven now by something raw and unavoidable. There was no performance in it, no attempt to be elegant, only need, pure and unfiltered. His breath turned ragged against your skin, hot and uneven, each exhale heavier than the last. You could hear him now, really hear him, the small sounds he could no longer swallow down, the low, desperate notes that slipped free no matter how hard he tried to keep control.

He pressed closer, fingers digging just a little more firmly into your waist as if holding on to you was the only thing keeping him together.

You felt the tension building inside him, how he pulsed within you with each thrust, in the way his shoulders trembled beneath your hands, in the quickened pace of his breathing, in the restless urgency that had taken over his entire body as he practically started to pound against you. His lips brushed your cheek, your jaw, parted and warm, and the sound he made then was almost helpless.

For a brief moment he seemed to fight himself, trying to last just a little longer, but whatever restraint he had left was slipping away fast, then, with a sharp, almost reluctant breath, he pulled out, fingers wrapping around himself with urgent need jerking quickly and roughly.

You barely had time to register it all when his body shook hard, almost uncontrollably, and you felt the heat of his release against your thigh, warm and sudden. The soft fabric of your skirt caught it, marked by the moment in a way that felt strangely intimate and undeniable. He let out a very loud moan. Real, rough at the edges, spilling out into the small room without shame or disguise. Through it all, his hand never left you.

Even while his body trembled and his breath came in uneven bursts, his fingers stayed anchored at your waist, holding you close as if he was afraid you might disappear the second he let go. You could feel the strength in that grip, the quiet insistence that he wasn’t going anywhere.

His forehead dropped to your shoulder as the last waves of it moved through him, the tension slowly draining away. The tremors eased, his breathing beginning to settle, though he still clung to you like you were the only steady thing left in the world.

And in the heavy, fragile silence that followed, you realized you had just had sex with Vessel.

…

There was a small minute where everything seemed ridiculously impossible while Vessel searched for something to clean you with. When he finally found a clean towel, he came back and gently cleaned your thigh as best he could. He did the same with your skirt, but you knew nothing would remove his smell from it and somehow you liked that.

He picked up your clothes from the floor and waited for you to dress, watching you in silence. You hadn’t missed the fact that he hadn’t said a single word since entering that dressing room and somehow that seemed much less absurd than it actually was.

Finally, when you finished getting dressed, your cheeks noticeably warm from the absurdity of it all, you were surprised by Vessel handing you his phone and although you couldn’t help noticing a slight tremble in his hands as he offered you the device, your mind seemed to freeze, completely unable to process the real meaning of that.

You took the phone from his hand almost automatically, still trying to catch up with everything that had just happened, and then your heart almost stopped when you realized what was on the screen. Not a message. Not a photo. The simple, ordinary page to add a new contact. For a moment you only stared at it. Your heart began to beat faster again, a nervous flutter rising in your chest, and you felt that familiar mix of hope and disbelief tightening around your ribs. A part of you wondered what this meant, if it meant anything at all, if you were reading too much into something so simple, but another part, a softer, braver part, allowed itself to feel chosen, even if just for an instant.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you typed your name, each letter feeling strangely important, as if you were leaving a piece of yourself there with him. When you added your number, you hesitated for half a second, suddenly aware of how vulnerable the gesture felt, how real everything became in that small, practical act. You handed the phone back, your pulse still racing, and watched as he accepted it without a word, slipping it carefully into the pocket of his cloak.

He seemed to look at you then and you felt exposed all over again, but not in a painful way, more like being seen after spending a lifetime invisible. His hand rose slowly to your face, warm and gentle, his thumb brushing over your cheek with a tenderness that made your throat tighten. You realized you were holding your breath. When he leaned in, the final kiss he gave you was nothing like the frantic intensity from before. It was soft, unhurried, almost careful, as if he wanted to leave you with something kind instead of something consuming.

And then he pulled back. Just like that. No dramatic words, promises or explanations – in fact he gave you no words at all, only a lingering touch, a quiet moment, and the echo of everything you had shared. You watched him turn away, feeling the absence of him the second he moved, your heart still pounding as the room suddenly felt larger and emptier than before. As he disappeared, you were left standing there, trying to breathe, trying to understand, holding on to the fragile, impossible hope that whatever had just happened between you hadn’t been a dream after all.

…

You barely realized how you had left that place when the taxi finally dropped you at home. Someone had come to get you there, a woman with a badge and she had informed you that a taxi would take you wherever you wanted to go. The whole thing began to seem too planned as you put the keys in the door of your apartment and stepped into the silence and darkness of your living room.

Maybe he had the habit of taking fans to the dressing room, you thought while taking off your boots and letting your tired feet delight in the softness of the carpet. But right after that a part of you - a stupid part perhaps - remembered the detail of the number on the phone.

What would be the point of taking every fan’s phone number if that were the case? No, Vessel didn’t strike you as someone who would do that for sport. It felt different. Special.

 “Don’t be ridiculous!” you murmured to yourself while drinking a glass of water in the kitchen and dragging yourself to the bedroom. You knew you should take a shower before lying down in your bed, but something in you simply refused to wash him away from you, so you just undressed, staying only in your underwear, and threw yourself onto the bed, hugging the huge, pathetic body pillow and wishing with all your heart that it was him.

 You fell asleep faster than you had time to understand and woke up the next day feeling dizzy and starving. For a moment everything seemed distant, as if your brain still hadn’t managed to catch up with everything, and then suddenly the memories rushed back into your mind. Vivid, beautiful, and full of an overwhelming desire, passion, and crushing sadness. You took a shower, prepared a brunch with everything you had in the fridge and in the cupboards, and the entire time you kept checking your phone. Waiting for a single message that would make everything make sense. But as the hours passed, then days, then a week with no text, you began to face the only two possible answers for that unbearable silence.

First: you had typed the number wrong and he simply couldn’t reach you. You didn’t remember checking the number before handing your phone to him, and you could hardly believe how stupid that was.

Second: he simply wasn’t interested. Honestly, you couldn’t tell which of the two options was more painful and unbearable to accept, and not knowing was killing you.

It took him eight days to look for you.

It was Sunday night and you were in usual sleep wear watching a stupid horror movie with a bowl of popcorn on your lap when your phone vibrated on the coffee table. You didn’t even bother to look. You had spent the entire week staring at your phone with every notification and being disappointed over and over. As much as it hurt, you were convinced the dream was over and were trying to come to terms with yourself, trying to accept that it was better to have had one night with him than nothing at all. But it was the persistence of the notifications that made you pick up the phone and look.

And then your heart stopped.

Unknown Number

Hello. I hope you got home safely. If you’d like to meet again, I’ll be here: The Wetherby Hotel  25 Wetherby Gardens  London SW5 0JP  Room 312 Next Friday at 8 pm. Let me know if you’re coming.

Your hands were trembling, your eyes filled with tears immediately, and you could barely see the phone screen through them. Suddenly the sound of the movie you were watching was replaced by the pounding of your heart in your ears as it threatened to burst through your rib cage. You tried to breathe and put the phone back on the table for a minute. You didn’t want to reply right away so you wouldn’t seem desperate, but then a nervous little laugh escaped your lips and you caught yourself cursing out loud.

 “You are desperate, Y/N. What’s the point?”

And then you picked up the phone and answered with a single line.

Of course I’m coming.

Then you clicked on the option to add a new contact and began typing his name with trembling fingers: Vessel.

I’d truly appreciate it if you left a like, a comment, and most importantly, a reblog. It really encourages me to keep writing.

MASTERLIST

Your feet dragged unusually slow on your way into the venue- your body seeming to act on autopilot. The hall was quiet, save for the chattering of various crew members waiting to load all of their respective gear into the venue. It was all routine by now- treading through crowded hallways, pushing loads of gear backstage, setting up for the show. Today it felt heavier, and you had begun to wonder if maybe life on the road was finally getting the best of you. That, or the unspoken tension harboring between you and the band’s frontman. 

You couldn’t be too upset with him. The two of you had agreed not to paint the situation into anything bigger than it actually was, but the past few days proved that you were having trouble keeping your end of the deal. Had you actually been able to continue about your respective lives like it hadn’t happened, it might’ve been easier to swallow. But, you hadn’t seen much of him since that night, which spoke volumes considering you worked with him everyday. It felt like he was avoiding you, and you couldn’t tell whether that was your paranoia talking or not. The more time that passed, the more you realized it had been a lapse in judgement on your part- a moment of weakness. Still, your thighs ached with the memory of him. 

He’d shamelessly taken you to another realm, and you wanted so badly to regret it. His hands held you in a way that had your heartbeat quickening just at the mere thought of it. The kind of touch that had you wondering if maybe you were more than just a good lay for him. 

No time to entertain such nonsense, though. He was a passionate man, one driven by his music; a man who had a lot more to think about than a road tech who happened into his bed one night. You knew it was best not to get too involved- he would inevitably drag you around, whether he did so intentionally or not. Your stubborn heart was left wanting things that it couldn’t have. 

There was a part of you that wished you could feel like you had made a mistake, but every fleeting memory of your night with Vessel could only make you a liar. The entire situation was beginning to weigh heavily on you, and every second that passed only suffocated you more. You felt like every crew member you made eye contact with was silently judging you, even though you knew very well that the only two people who knew about it were you and Vessel. 

You needed a distraction. Where were the damn equipment trailers? The anticipation was eating away at you, your skin was growing prickly and your head began to swim. Were you seriously about to have a panic attack over this? Your inner monologue was due to begin mocking you, spitting hateful phrases in spite of what was already there. There were too many people in proximity to you, too many eyes that could witness, too many-

“Hey, you good?”

A familiar voice broke you from your spiralling train of thought. Every one of your nerve endings were on fire, so the speed with which you snapped your head to locate the voice did no favors in settling your racing mind. You barely registered the pair of hands that grasped hold of your upper arms before your feet were being shuffled away from your post on the wall.

“Come on, let’s get you some fresh air.”

The short trek back out of the building was a blur, but the brightness of the sun was offensive enough to snap you back to reality once you’d made it outside. Only then did you register the company you were in. Of course, your luck would have it that the tour manager was the one trying to talk you out of a panic attack. Suddenly your thoughts flooded with excuses- surely he was about to scold you for your lack of effort this week. 

“You’re alright, just breathe-” he’d begun to work his hands over your shoulders, thumbs soothing through the fabric of your shirt. “In and out, there you go.”

You tried hard to follow his instructions- really, you did. But there was something terribly distracting about the way he was handling you. Discomfort didn’t seem like the appropriate word for it, but something about it felt wrong. You knew him well enough, though- knew that he was a respectable guy. But your heart strings were beginning to tug; you were starting to feel like you were absolutely fucked, pining after somebody unavailable to you. Somebody who you wished hadn’t been the source of your distraction, somebody who you wished was here right now to bring you comfort. 

You managed a deep, stuttering breath. “I’m so sorry, I’m fine, really,” A single step back didn’t provide the distance you desired. He fixed you with a look, one that said he wasn’t at all convinced, but he was kind enough to humor you anyway. “Just having a rough few days is all.”

He smiled kindly, finally dropping his hands back down to his sides. You noticed how he glanced beyond you briefly, but didn’t think too much of it. The moment had grown a little awkward, but your inner will to fight through it allowed you to power through. He was only trying to look out for you, after all- and for that you were grateful. 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Touring isn’t necessarily an easy job,” he made like he was going to continue, but his eyes shifted behind you once more before you felt somebody else’s presence. You barely had the chance to glance behind you, not thinking of how worn your eyes might’ve looked, before realizing a couple of the band members had appeared in your line of vision. 

“Everything okay over here?” The smooth drawl belonged to II, the quiet yet bold personality of the band. As fate would have it, Vessel was the one trailing behind him, and he looked less than pleased to see you. You’d wager your wet eyes completely gave you away, there wasn’t a single doubt in your mind that he would figure out that he had something to do with all of this. Before you could think to stop yourself, your hands wiped quickly below your eyes, finding that a couple of tears actually had escaped. Great. 

Stubborn as ever, you held your head up and shot an unconvincing smile towards II. A sniffle escaped, but you choked out a quick, “Nothing to worry about,” before turning on your heel and starting for the door. You felt like your body was betraying your mind- your eagerness to appear nonchalant was near impossible when you couldn’t get the ringing in your ears to stop. There wasn’t any way for you to know whether any of the three men had called after you, or had attempted to check on you again, because your hand found the handle to the door, which you flung open and trekked your way back inside.

-

Things had continued normally after that; well, what had become a new normal, anyway. Lots of avoiding the band as much as your duties would allow, and keeping to yourself in an attempt to hide the overwhelming agony festering inside. You knew your efforts were beginning to become suspicious; every day, multiple times a day, numerous people were approaching you to ask how you were holding up. It had become a same story, different day routine. And still, every day felt heavier than the last.

On an off day, several of the crew members had invited you out to get drinks, to which you had begrudgingly agreed. Part of you figured you could use something to take your mind off of the hole you’d buried yourself in, and they had presented you with a golden opportunity to do just that.

Drinking wasn’t actually something you did normally- maybe on some special occasions, but you certainly weren’t used to getting drunk. It had been your own doing, choosing to accept every drink that was offered to you. By the end of the night, two of the crew members you were closest to walked on either side of you, steadying your wobbling steps towards the tour bus you slept in. 

“Are you going to be okay? That was an awful lot of attention you garnered tonight.” one had joked, pinching playfully at your cheek. You giggled and lightly slapped his hand away.

“I’m fine,” the slurring of your words suggested otherwise, but you mustered the strength to pull yourself up the steps and shoot them both a look, “Next time people want to buy me that many drinks, you better help me finish them.”

Just as quickly as they laughed, their faces fell. Their awkward shuffles backward prompted you to turn around to look at where their gazes had drifted over to. Lo and behold: Vessel.

“I can take her from here, lads,” he spoke smoothly, like he hadn’t just appeared in the doorway of your sleeping bus, not his. What he was doing here, you couldn’t tell. But you did know that seeing your friends retreating from the situation and leaving you with him was not a comforting sight. You turned quickly, ready to push past him. “Had some fun tonight?”

You scoffed, barely meeting his eyes. “Just enjoying some time off.”

He nodded then, his lips pursed. You worked hard not to blatantly stare at him and settled for just watching him through your lashes, every now and then looking back down at your feet. His sharp inhale almost startled you, but he continued, “There are safer ways to do that, you know.”

He said it so quietly you almost didn’t catch it. Something about his tone and his behavior was stoking the fire that had been burning within you for too many days now. There was heat behind your actions, it had to have been obvious the way you shoved past him abruptly. He caught your arm before you could make it too far. “What?” you hissed, turning back to face him. His grip was tight enough that you didn’t bother trying to yank your arm away from him.

“This feels like reckless behavior from you.”

Your jaw dropped. “Reckless?”

“Yes, reckless,” he tugged you forward enough that you stumbled over your own feet. He didn’t let you fall, though. “You take one of the only days you have to rest and what? Get piss-drunk from people you don’t even know? With people you don’t even know?” his breathing sounded laboured, like he was struggling to keep his composure. “What if something had happened?”

You wanted to laugh- more than that, you wanted to scream. Scream at him. Who was he to judge how you spent your time? After he’d fucked you and slung you aside, no less. Remarkably, you kept your voice down when you pulled yourself free from his hand. “Careful, you’re starting to sound like you care.”

“Well,” he looked at you, something a little too familiar swimming behind the indifference in his eyes. There was the faintest crack in his facade, and he spoke quietly amidst it, “Gods forbid that be the case.”

“Oh?” you did laugh then, incredulously. You shook your head, stepping backwards towards your bunk. It wasn’t until that moment did you remember that there were probably people trying to sleep, and you weren’t about to disturb them because of him. “You’ve got no place to be acting like you care about me.”

Your voice had lowered to a whisper, that alone beginning to cut through the tension filling the small lounge space on the bus. He stayed silent, shockingly, and merely watched as you began to retreat towards the sleeping compartments. You’d almost made it through the threshold when you felt his hand grab yours, and suddenly you were being dragged down the steps and off the bus completely. Almost immediately after your attempt at keeping quiet, he had forced you to forget about it. Several protests slipped from you, not silently, before the chill of the night air welcomed you again. 

“Vessel! Let me go,” you growled. He ignored you and pulled you along behind him until you were standing several yards away from the interior lighting on the bus. “Vessel-”

“What exactly were you trying to prove tonight? That you’re willing to get yourself hurt? And for what? Fun?”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, what he was accusing you of. It was like he was trying to make you hate him- trying to prove that you had, indeed, made a huge mistake giving yourself to him that night. The sensible side of you, though small, was fighting hard to overcome your need to lash out at him. All of the days you’d spent boiling over your own stupidity was spilling over at this given opportunity. 

“What are you talking about? Hurt? I’m very obviously fine,” you gestured over yourself. “I wasn’t even alone-”

“And the drinking? You’re honestly going to try to tell me that you don’t know why people were buying you drinks all night?”

To be frank, you felt at a loss for words. Nothing he was saying was untrue, but you weren’t sure what point he was trying to make. So some strangers sent you drinks? You consumed them safely, with two people there to watch you and get you back safely. Maybe your state of mind was a little altered at this moment, but what was the underlying issue? 

You took a deep breath, trying to find your composure. “You’re going to have to let me in on what you’re trying to get at. All you’ve done is recap my night for me.” You crossed your arms, eyeballing him as he began to pace back and forth in front of you. He was agitated, that much was obvious.

“What if you had been alone?”

You rolled your eyes. This was beginning to feel like you were going in circles with him. “But I wasn’t, Vessel. And even if I was, I don’t understand why you think that it’s any of your concern.”

He huffed, stopping shortly. There was the faintest rim of red around his eyes- you noticed it when he finally looked at you again. It looked an awful lot like the way your eyes had been looking every morning for the past week. “I came to your bus looking for you, and you weren’t there. Nobody had seen where you had gone.”

“And?” You crossed your arms at his stubborn silence. He toed at a rock, avoiding your gaze. Several moments passed where you impatiently awaited his response, so eventually you moved to walk away when none came. That seemed to kickstart him though.

“No, wait-” he hurried. You spun on your heel to see him pushing a hand through the front of his hair, tugging frustratedly at the strands. “I just… was worried when you weren’t where I thought you would be.”

His awkwardness might’ve been endearing if he hadn’t spent the last week ignoring you and the last few minutes criticising your choices. “Okay? So you were worried, and now you see you had no reason to be. How does that explain why you’re acting like I’m some child that needs to be looked after all the time?”

“It’s not that. It just felt wrong not knowing where you were or who you were with.”

A silence fell over you. As much as you wanted to pry better answers from him, you knew better than to think he’d actually give them to you. It was clear that he wasn’t telling you the truth, and you were too tired - and too drunk - to will yourself to keep arguing with him. You nodded, finally relenting, and once again made for the entrance of the bus.

“Please wait,” he whispered. Had you been sober, you might’ve heard that it was more of a plea than a request. The manner of his tone caused something to lick through you, settling the ever-present fire that had ignited. He sounded desperate. For what reason, you still didn’t know. But you were approaching the point of being ready to give up.

You faced him once more, the anguish written across his face sobering you up a bit. “I’m fine, Vessel. Safe and sound.” You assured him gently. He nodded and bit his lip, eyes flickering away and back towards yours over again. 

“I know,” he took a breath, his chest stuttering enough for you to notice. “I’m sorry. I just finally worked up enough courage to come talk to you and you weren’t there. Kind of felt like a sign.”

He’d come to talk to you. You wondered if it was worth it to ask, or if you should wait until the morning when you were back into a clear headspace. Then again, by morning he might retreat from you again, and you’d never know what he had to say. Using all of the courage you could muster, you looked him in the eye and asked, “What did you want to talk to me about?”

The way he smiled read of embarrassment, uncertainty. For a brief moment, you wondered if you’d overstepped yet again. But then he fixed you with a shy smile, one hand reaching to scratch under his jaw nervously. “Wanted to see if you were okay. You seemed upset the other day,” his eyes flashed with the memory, like maybe he regretted not checking on you then. As though he thought maybe you wouldn’t have gone drinking tonight had he not distanced himself so plainly. “And I missed you.”

You couldn’t hide the surprise from your face even if you tried. But there was a nagging feeling that told you that he still wasn’t giving you the whole story. “That’s it? You’ve had quite a bit of time to come check on me since then. Why today?”

Something dark clouded his eyes. He shook his head, offering you no answer. At that, you scoffed in disbelief. “You’re not seriously about to just breeze over this like you didn’t just throw a rock into my garden tonight because of it.”

You stated it so plainly, not asking it as a question- almost accusing. There was a moment, so brief you almost missed it, that you believed you knew what the real answer was. Of course, you were too stubborn to let him off easily by letting him know that. 

“Well, it’s been kind of hard to find you alone, tonight being no exception.” He spoke with his arms crossed, effectively shutting you out. Still, you saw through it. It read so obviously you couldn’t believe you didn’t see it before. He was jealous.

You nodded, mouth dropped open in an ‘O’, fighting a cheeky smile. Vessel’s head tilted slightly at your expression- in any other world you would’ve felt bad for being unable to hide the fact that you found this entertaining. But, this felt like an opportunity being presented to you on a beautiful silver platter. He was jealous, and he was trying to hide it.

“I have to say, Vessel- I never took you for the jealous type.”

“Jealous?” he laughed nervously, sputtering for what to say. “I wouldn’t say it’s jealousy, it’s-”

“Jealousy,” you said in a sing-song. He uncrossed his arms and glared at you, though there was no real heat behind it. “Just admit it, it’s okay.”

He made no attempt to hide his distaste for your cooing tone. But, the flush coloring his neck was a little too enticing. It was obvious he wasn’t willing to cave and admit it. Maybe it was the alcohol still coursing through your bloodstream, but you felt a surge of confidence given the current situation. 

Slowly, you stepped closer to him, your fingers dragging playfully up his chest to rest around the back of his neck. “Would it help if I said jealousy looked a little cute on you?”

Vessel huffed, but the display of his hands around your waist betrayed him. His head dipped enough for his nose to brush against yours, the feeling of his breath mingling with yours all too familiar. Keeping your focus with his fingers digging into your flesh was no easy feat. He chased for your mouth, allowing you to relish in his annoyed sigh when you leaned back away from him.

“Darling,” he breathed. He tugged you closer, your hips meeting the tops of his thighs. Gods, he was making this teasing game hard to keep up with. You bubbled over with giggles at his expression after several blocked attempts at kissing you. He growled from the back of his throat, his hold near bruising. 

“Admit that you were jealous.” You were already breathless. Vessel had dipped to nose at your neck, inhaling the scent of the perfume you’d sprayed earlier. He hummed, the vibrations coursing through your skin. Your fingers massaged lightly where they gripped his neck, feeling the tension dissolve with every movement. 

“No,” He remained stubborn, lips trailing up your throat, chasing your lips, only managing to plant a soft peck on the bottom one. “Because I wasn’t.”

You would’ve laughed if he hadn’t mouthed at the corner of your lips. Your eyes had fallen shut, but you could feel the smile gracing his mouth. The urge to squirm in his hold was becoming overwhelming, you were losing at your own game. But his behavior when he was wound up was all too intriguing. Amidst your passion, you managed to pull back enough to peer up at him through your lashes. Another huff of annoyance left him when you leant back away from his distracting mouth. “Admit it.” You tease.

“I wasn’t jealous,” the huskiness of his voice nearly undid you. He dipped after you, so much so that your back was near bowing with your knees threatening to buckle. “Now come here.”

“Say it, and I’ll kiss you.”

“Let me kiss you, and I’ll grovel all you want.”

You find yourself in the rain. It's a forest, and for a moment you wonder if you've sleepwalked into the Arcadian woods, but... this feels too... green? Arcadia is a rather pink place, but this forest reminds you of the ones back on Earth. Well, if the forests on Earth came straight from a storybook.

The rain is not overbearing, it's a soothing sort of rain that makes soft pattering noises against the leaves and nearby creeks. Birds chirp overhead and within the trees, singing a song that already makes you feel safer.

Taking a few steps forward, you look around the beautiful dream realm. The waters have an unnatural glimmer to them, there's a wide array of flowers covering the land, some of which you definitely do not know the name of.

A much larger bird, a black flamingo by the looks of it, makes its way over to you as if to say hello. It tilts its head down in a repetitive motion, and you glance down to see what it's looking at.

It's a big leaf with a long stem, leaning up against a bush. You pick it up, and register that it must be a makeshift umbrella. It reminds you of a game you'd introduced Vessel to, of his digital island and animal companions. Someone definitely left this for you, or this is some sort of lucid dream. It shields you from the raindrops, and the flamingo seems rather satisfied.

Perhaps someone left the flamingo for you, too.

It's only then that you hear it. In the far off distance mixed in with the beautiful sounds of nature, you hear the unmistakable sound of someone playing the piano.

The melody wraps around your mind like a ribbon. Any apprehension you had about this dream world vanishes in an instant. Vessel.

The tune he plays is one you've never heard before, but it fits so effortlessly with the sounds of nature. You begin to walk, to follow the music in search of your husband.

Notably, the flamingo is sticking by your side too. You lend some of your umbrella to it to shield it from the rain, too. It honks, presumably to say thanks.

The both of you travel through the trees, occasionally stopping to admire the beautiful scenery. Vines decorated in flowers, frogs on lily pads, butterflies that twirl around you and then fly off into the trees. Maybe even the birds that have discovered a little puddle and hop about within it.

Each time you stop, the flamingo never really looks at any of it, nor does it rush you in your content exploration. Instead, it looks at you, and the way it does almost seems... familiar somehow. As if you've hung the stars in the sky, as if you're more beautiful than anything here.

The piano playing is much closer now, and from here it sounds like it's echoing, like it's coming from inside of something. Maybe it's hidden? Vessel always did have a knack for adventure and making things exciting for you. Especially since Arcadia.

"I think I can make it the rest of the way on my own." You can hardly believe you're talking to a flamingo right now. It pauses to consider your words, and is perhaps about to respond before it sees something in the distance.

The flamingo seems more frantic and demanding suddenly, as it nudges its head against your arm and starts off more quickly in the opposite direction.

"What are you doing? The piano isn't coming from that way, it's—" A loud boom of thunder cuts you off. You look in the direction it came from, and your eyes widen.

A storm cloud is close by, too close for comfort. You can see the lighting crackle within it, and the wind is pushing it quickly in your direction. The cloud is almost black, and the closer it gets, the more the thunder sounds like screaming.

His screaming.

You think you can hear the flamingo honking at you, but it feels distant now. You can't bring yourself to look away from the cloud, and the screaming is getting louder.

For a moment, you're back there. Thick vines of thorns are tightening around Vessel's throat. All he can do is scream and gasp for air, and that monster, that Sleep, is laughing at you again.

"Go on, petal." He sneers, His voice dripping with venom. He spits out the term of endearment like it's poison."One word, and I'll make this all stop. You love your Vessel, don't you? Say it! Say it, I'll make it all end!"

You open your mouth, and no words come out. You can't make a sound, you can't even scream. You're running, you're trying to reach out to him, to your lover, but he's out of reach every time.

Vessel's expression twists from desperation to hatred, pure hatred. You won't even save him. You're leaving him to die. He screams, and it gets louder. And louder. And LOUDER—

You hit the ground, landing on the wet grass. The cold water soaked within it splashes into your skin like a wake up call. The umbrella lays beside you, and when you open your eyes to look...

...The flamingo is still here. Its head is bowed, and it seems ashamed or embarrassed. You open your mouth to ask what's wrong, but it seems to know what you're thinking.

It opens its beak and a sizable chunk of fabric from your shirt floats down onto your chest.

The way it bows its head in shame, in apology, also feels extremely familiar. It's on the tip of your tongue, but you just can't figure out what it is.

In any case, you reach up and pat its head. The flamingo must have pulled you out of the nightmare— literally. What a smart little creature... better yet, what a strong creature. How the hell did it manage that?

"It's alright, you didn't mean to do it." You reassure it, and it tilts his head at you. You can almost hear it, the really? Are you sure? "I'm not upset with you. Thank you for getting me out of that. You're a hero, aren't you?"

The flamingo stands up straighter, holding its head up in pride. It walks in a circle, flaps its wings, then leans down to lightly tap its beak against your nose. Looks like you've given the bird an ego boost.

With a bit of effort, you get back onto your feet, picking the leaf umbrella up again. You can see the tear in your shirt, but you're not too concerned. This is a dream, after all.

The two of you continue on your journey with a little detour to avoid getting trapped in the nightmare storm a second time. The further away you get from it, the more at ease you are.

Finally, you've made it. At least, you think you have. The piano is loud here, but it echoes all the same. Confused, you turn your head every which way, expecting maybe a cave, or maybe a waterfall with a secret grotto. Finding neither, your eyebrows furrow.

"You can hear it too, right?" You ask the flamingo. "Where's it coming from?"

The flamingo walks about ten feet away from you and then lowers its head. You cautiously follow, looking down to see what it's trying to show you.

There is... a giant hole in the ground. If you squint, there may be some light at the very end, but it looks like a long fall. However the flamingo does not steer you wrong; the piano is definitely coming from down there.

"How the hell am I supposed to get down..." You lift your head to speak to the flamingo... but it's gone. Like it had never been there in the first place. "...there."

You look around, a little disappointed that your friend had vanished. Yet there was no doubt in your mind; your husband was down in that giant hole in the ground. For what reason, you weren't quite sure, but he seemingly isn't distressed.

Left with no other option, you jump in, expecting this to be something swift and easy. However, falling down a hole is no less terrifying than in real life. You're screaming the entire way down, closing your eyes and bracing yourself to hit the ground hard.

You land on something soft instead. You're hesitant to open your eyes, to get up, to breathe. But once you muster up your courage, you find yourself in a bed of flowers, in all of your favorite colors.

Before you is the one person you've been searching for here, his eyes fixated on the piano as he plays. He is intensely focused, posture straight, lips parted— a little habit you'd noticed in him every time he was in deep concentration. Like how they'd been when he was asleep beside you.

He's dressed in his Arcadian attire, mask on, cloak damp from the rain. It's only in that moment that you focus on a little detail of his typical getup that you hadn't paid much mind to until now.

That cape he wears. Made up entirely of black feathers.

You almost forgot that he's technically in your head at the moment, but the big grin that appears on his face as the realization dawns on you is the perfect reminder. His fingers hit a few sour notes as he laughs. It's a beautiful sound, youthful in nature.

"You can't be serious." You raise an eyebrow at him, a smirk on your lips. "You have a flamingo form."

"I had to ensure you got here safely!" He turns to face you and his head bows in embarrassment — just like the fucking flamingo. That's where you've seen it before.

"Were you the flamingo, but also here playing the piano?"

"Yes. It's not a difficult thing honestly. The dream world is a fascinating place, is it not?" His fingers return to the keys, playing whatever tune comes to his mind.

"I was getting attached to that little guy!" You finally get up from the flower bed, moving to sit beside him on the piano bench.

"Well, I am relieved to know that you would still love me, even if I were a flamingo." Vessel leans over to press a kiss to your cheek. "And I am relieved that I was able to get you out of that nightmare. Are you alright? It looked... violent, to say the least."

"I..." You sigh, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just glad it's not real. Did I wake you earlier?"

"Yes and no, if that makes any sense. You are my other half, petal. When you are in distress, I feel it like a sixth sense. If you hadn't woken up from the dream, I would have woken you myself." Vessel's voice is soothing; another beautiful thing that just makes sense in this nature-filled realm. "I was awake before you woke from your nightmare, therefore you did not physically wake me."

"I just know you need your rest, I didn't want to bother you." He stops playing halfway through your sentence and his hands grab yours, holding them firmly.

"No more of that, my heart." Your husband locks his gaze with you, even through the mask you can feel his eyes on you. "You could never bother me. I would not rest well knowing that you're hurting. When you hurt, I hurt with you. Don't say things like that." He's always had such a way with words. He speaks in such a manner where you know he means every single thing he says.

There's an itch in the back of your mind that makes you want to argue with him on this, and he can feel it too. He clears his throat and you can faintly see his eyes glowing through the slits of the mask. A silent try me, you won't win. You let him have this one.

"Well... thank you. Seriously, this place is... beautiful."

"You like it?" His face lights up. "I designed it myself, I was hoping you'd enjoy it as much as I thought you would."

"You made this place?" You take a moment to observe your surroundings here. The piano looks a little worn, and on the inside of it is... roots? A sapling? A tree sapling? Somehow, this hasn't impacted the sound at all. Everywhere else here looks almost like a little room, like a study. His own personal bubble, or perhaps burrow?

"That I did. If there is one thing that He who shall not be named gave me that I genuinely enjoy, it is what I can do within dreams." He's proud of this, you can see it. His voice is a little louder, he's excited to talk about it. His knee bounces underneath the piano. "I can make this place look however I wish. I wanted this one to feel like a sanctuary for you."

"Well, you nailed it with that one."

"Really?!" You're certain that if he had a tail right now, it would be wagging.

"This is perfect. It's relaxing, feels like a hidden paradise." You lean forward to press your forehead against Vessel's. "And it's even better that you're here in it, too."

"I'll stay here with you all night, if you'd like." Vessel releases one of your hands to gently caress your cheek. No matter what, no matter how many times you tell him he really doesn't have to, he touches you like you're porcelain. Like you're the most precious artifact he's ever had.

"I'd like that." You lean into his touch like a cat. "Can I ask what you're doing underground?"

"Ah!" He pulls back, gesturing toward the sapling growing from inside of the piano. "I am growing a tree."

"...What?"

"...A tree? I'm growing one?" He's looking at you like you're the weird one for not knowing what he's talking about. Like this is somehow universal knowledge.

"Vessel. The roots aren't even in the dirt. How do you expect to grow a tree?" You're certain you're not the crazy one here.

"I play," he motions towards the piano keys, "and it grows." He motions towards the sapling.

"Even for a dream, that sounds insane. Prove it." Don't trees need water? Sunlight? Years upon years of growth by itself?

"Certainly. Watch carefully, and be amazed." Vessel's shoulders roll back, and his fingers touch the ivory keys with newfound purpose.

The melody he begins to play is familiar; you recall the nights he would play it over and over. That opening part of 'Even In Arcadia'. And just like he would then, he plays it over and over now.

At first, you're pretty sure he was just pulling your leg about the 'play music make tree grow' thing, until you see it. Before your eyes, the sapling is growing, flourishing just from the music. It grows taller, sturdier, and leaves begin to emerge from it.

He continues for another few moments before he slows to a stop, unable to suppress his chuckle at the sight of your starry-eyed wonder. One hand lifts from the keys to take yours, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. His wedding band catches the light, and the sight of it makes your heart flutter.

Even in dreams, he wears it with pride.

"As much as I adore that look on your face when I blow your mind, you can't just leave me to do all the work. Come, let's grow a tree." Vessel brings your hand to the keys.

"Not everyone's a piano master like you, Vess. I'd probably make the tree recede back into itself. Or die."

"Nothing grows in reverse, petal. I don't expect you to be Beethoven. How about I teach you something? We'll learn one of mine." He has such a way of encouraging you that makes you struggle to say no. Especially not when he's looking at you like that.

"Are you sure you won't wither away and die if I butcher it?" You're only half joking.

"Oh please, I'm not that fragile! Like I said, I don't expect you to be an expert. Let's learn a bit of Euclid together. Does that sound alright?" He meets your gaze, and if you look hard enough you can see him batting his eyelashes at you.

"Alright, teacher. Teach me your talents." And his excited grin makes it all worth it.

Hours pass between the both of you, Vessel patiently walking you through the first section of Euclid. No matter how many sour notes you hit, segments you forget, or moments where you get frustrated and try to give up, he remains at your side. The rain still falls, the birds still chirp above ground, and all remains peacefully still.

Neither of you realize that the tree has fully grown from just the practice and lessons alone until you manage to get through the entire part he taught you with only a few mistakes. He didn't even have to help you this time, and despite not looking at him you could feel him beaming with pride.

"That was brilliant... you're a natural!" Though of course, your husband doesn't hesitate to express his pride and adoration for you the moment you finish. That comes in the form of enthusiastic kisses, mumbled praise, and the unexpected presence of a flowered vine wrapping around your waist.

"Was only brilliant because I had a good teacher." In turn, you return as many kisses as you can without laughing, nodding along to every word he says, and simply basking in the moment with him.

"Not to mention, look at what such a performance created." Vessel is the first to notice the tree, pointing up at it with a clawed finger. "Forever immortalized in my realm of dreams."

"You were helping, give yourself some credit." You protested, and yet you were still brimming with confidence. Admittedly you've been wanting to learn how to play, just haven't had the time. If you'd known you could learn in your dreams with your lover, you would've taken the opportunity far sooner than this. "Wait— you can keep the tree?"

"One, all I did was teach you the notes, the rest was your talent. Second, of course I can. I've created a lot of the trees here with this technique over the years. But to now have one created by you, of course it has to stay! I'll have to find the perfect place to put it."

"Maybe I'll have to come back and make more for you then, too." Not many others would see such adoration and excitement over a tree, but if there's one thing you've learned about Vessel, it's that nature means the world to him. It's not just because of the magic in his veins, this is his calling. Forests, no matter where they are, are like his home.

You love being part of that home.

"You would truly do this for me?" No matter how much time has passed, Vessel always seems so surprised when someone wants to do something for him. When someone wants to treat him with kindness. You suppose it's just from his unkind history.

"Of course! Maybe we can make something in here together. Like a park? Or a garden?" You can already picture it in your mind. Something with a little bench, or maybe a cool statue.

"Ah..." There's a distant look in his eyes; maybe he's envisioning it too. "Yes... yes, that would be lovely." You almost miss the way his voice shakes, breaks just a little.

"It'll give us something to do when we're too tired for other things, right? And—"

"And, I can make you your own dream realm." He cuts you off quickly. His arms wrap around you to pull you into his lap. "And it can look however you want." 

"Vessel, you don't really need to do anything for me in return whenever I—" You're cut off again by him. He's too invested now.

"It doesn't even need to be a forest! It can be a house, or a library, or - or that one place with the - the..." Vessel snaps his fingers a few times as if it'll jog his memory. "The big place with the moving stairs? You took me there a few years ago to see the giant rabbit?"

"The giant rabbit? Moving stairs?" You furrow your eyebrows in thought. It's definitely an Earth place if he can't remember what it is. 

"Remember the rabbit? It was sitting in that chair? And you insisted I get a photo taken with it? It has shops too."

"The mall?"

"Yes! That place!" Vessel nods, relieved that you understood what he was talking about.

"You could've just said it had a lot of stores." The fact he even remembers the Easter Bunny at the mall is hilarious; you'll have to remember to take him back to the mall to get another photo with it.

"Don't even think about it." Oh, he can still read your thoughts. "But in any case, I could make your dream realm a mall! You enjoy the mall, right? You used to take me there quite a bit."

"It's not my favorite, but I'm happy you remembered it. I'll think on it more and let you know." Finally, you lean forward and rest your head in the crook of his neck. His thumb rubs circles into your back.

It's silent for a while, but not uncomfortable. Vessel is enjoying your presence as much as you enjoy his, judging by the way he's purring. His chest vibrates against yours, and you faintly think you can feel a tail curling around your leg. He's comfortable, he feels safe. So do you.

"...Are you alright?" He breaks the silence. "Did this all help after the nightmare?" His voice is soft as if he doesn't want to ruin the moment.

"It helped a lot. I'm okay, I promise." And that's the truth. You honestly forgot you even had a nightmare until he mentioned it. "The rain sounds so nice, and the flowers... the scenery... I needed this. Needed you." 

"You have me, whenever you need me, petal. I'm glad I could be there... and just to ease your mind, Sleep can't get me anymore. I promise you, darling. Even if He did, even if He took your words away, I would always know you're mine and that you love me. Nothing. Will ever change that." Vessel murmurs into your ear, his voice a beautifully soothing rumble.

"I'm glad. I'm glad you know." That's all that matters; he knows you love him. 

You're about to say something more when a loud noise suddenly echoes in the realm, causing your head to shoot up in alarm. It sounds like church bells. You look at Vessel, but he seems just as alarmed.

It gets louder. Louder. Vessel suddenly vanishes. Louder—

"Shhh! Shhh!" You wake up in your bedroom, listening to Vessel quietly curse under his breath as he scolds... his alarm clock. "You'll wake them, you bastard, gods how do I turn this off?!"

"Button on the top." You sleepily mumble, and after a second it stops. Vessel sighs in a mix of defeat and frustration.

"I didn't realize it would be so loud. I didn't mean to wake you." Vessel pulls you into his chest, his voice rough with sleep. He speaks against the back of your head. "I don't even want to leave you."

"Leave? Where are you going?" You blink a few times, though your vision is still extremely bleary.

"Things to do today. II wanted to meet early. Ritual related. Have to... attend something for Arcadia today." With a messy kiss, he reluctantly untangles himself from you. You whine in protest.

"Can't you just... not do all of that? Stay home." You roll over to face him, hair sticking to your face, drool on the corner of your mouth. Flattering, truly.

"I would if I could, you know that." As he begins to scoot himself off the bed, you grab his arm, clinging to him. "Petal..."

"No."

"Don't be a brat, come on." He wiggles his arm, trying to pry himself out of your grip. Realistically, he's strong enough to do it no problem, but he's always gentle with you.

"You hate me."

"Oh, do I now?" 

"...No." You hear him chuckle. You're too half asleep to even understand what you're saying.

"I have to work, sweet thing. The sooner I go, the sooner I can return to you." Vessel reached with his other hand to brush some of your hair out of your face.

With another whine and a few other incoherent complaints, you let go of him, huffing through your nose. Normally, Vessel is the one who acts like this, but you were having such a nice time with him in that dream...

"There we go." You hear him stand, and then you feel the covers being placed over you. "While I need to be awake at this hour, you do not."

"But I can't sleep without you." Your limbs are too heavy to pull the covers back off you, but you try. It just looks like you're flailing your arms around.

"Of course you can. Listen, love." His weight makes the bed dip as he sits down. "The sooner you go back to sleep, the sooner the morning will pass... the sooner I'll be with you once more. And when I get home... we can talk about that dream realm for you."

A lazy smile tugs on your lips, one of your eyes opening just a crack. You can't really make out his face, but you know he's there.

"As long as you promise... to not be a flamingo this time." Your eye shuts right after, but your smile widens as he starts laughing. You're not letting him live that one down.

"Oh, my dear..." Vessel chuckles through his words. "Rest assured, no more flamingo. Alright?"

"Mm... okay." You feel his lips gently brush against yours, and you hum in contentment. Then his fingertips touch your forehead gently, and you can feel yourself getting pulled right back into sleep.

"Rest well, petal. I love you." He murmurs, and he thinks he hears you mumble an 'I love you too', but it sounds like complete gibberish of syllables.

Vessel waits a moment longer to make sure you're asleep before he stands and begins to get ready for the day, pausing every now and then to watch you to make sure your dreams are pleasant this time around.

He pauses at the doorway to the bedroom, looking over his shoulder to gaze at you one last time, smiling fondly to himself before departing to begin his day. 

As long as he's here, the nightmares will never get you again.

It wasn't a dramatic epiphany, no blinding light or cinematic lightning strike, just moments. Dozens of soft, barely even noticeable moments that stitched together until he couldn’t remember a version of himself that wasn’t completely enthralled with you. The way you scrunched your nose when concentrating or when you really laugh. The way you danced in the kitchen with headphones in, completely unaware he was watching. The way you kissed his mask, without ever needing to see the man beneath it to know and love him. 

You never asked him for more than he could give. But he always wanted to give you everything. 

The first conversation about marriage had been gentle and curious. You were curled up together on his sofa in the dead of winter, a film forgotten on the screen, your body warm against his under a shared blanket. You'd tilted your head, eyes soft with sleep, and asked: 

"Do you ever think about getting married one day?" 

He'd blinked slowly, heart suddenly thudding in his chest, but his voice was calm when he replied, "With the right person, yes." 

You hadn't noticed the shift in him; hadn’t seen the way his fingers twitched with the urge to hold your face and tell you that he already had the right person. 

From that day on, the idea had rooted itself inside him. 

Over time, it grew like ivy, wrapping around his ribs and taking root in every crevice. He began planning without even meaning to. Scanning the jewelry section of any store he shopped at that had one. He took mental notes of the things you loved: peaceful evenings under the stars, nature trails and botanical gardens, hibiscus flowers and lilies. The way your eyes lit up when you talked about the ocean, even though you'd never seen it stretch endlessly to the horizon in person. 

So, he started weaving the idea of this trip, and framing it as an anniversary getaway, something quiet and intimate. Something meant just for the two of you. In truth, he'd been planning your engagement for months. 

And now, it was happening. 

You were beside him on the plane, dozing lightly with your head on his shoulder and his fingers woven loosely through yours. Your body swayed slightly with each pocket of turbulence, but you didn’t stir. The gentle pressure of your palm against his calmed him more than any sedative ever could. 

Vessel turned to look at you, not just to glance, but to truly look. The way your hair had fallen messily over your cheek. The faint crease between your brows. The little flutter of your lashes every few seconds. The swell of affection that rose in him was so intense he had to exhale softly just to keep from bursting at the seams, as he was already fraying at the edges just being on this plane to this destination, to the rest of his life. 

The ring was in his carry-on. Tucked in a small velvet box, zipped in an interior pocket where he’d checked on it four times since leaving the house. 

He’d custom-designed it with a local artisan; nothing flashy or oversized, just something elegant that you’d love. A delicate sterling silver band, slim and smooth, with a marquise-cut white diamond set between two smaller diamonds. He’d even had your initials engraved on the inside of the ring. 

He hadn't told a soul. Not the band or his friends or family, not even II, though he'd almost caved the week before. He wanted this to be between you and him. Just as you'd like it. 

You stirred against him slightly, shifting with a sleepy sigh, your nose brushing his collarbone, your eyes not bothering to open. Your voice was soft and scratchy with sleep as you murmured, “How much longer?” 

Vessel glanced at the small screen in front of him. “Just under two hours.” You hummed. “Mmm. Wake me if I snore.” 

“You never snore,” he said, lips brushing the crown of your head. “You make soft little… breathy noises.” You chuckled, eyes still closed. “You listen?”  

“Always,” he whispered. You didn’t reply, but the way your fingers squeezed his was answer enough. Three squeezes. I love you. He squeezed back, and rested his own head against the plane window. 

As the plane soared on toward the horizon, Vessel watched the sky outside shift from bright azure to molten amber, clouds stretched thin and gilded like the edges of a painting. Somewhere below, the ocean shimmered, waiting for you. 

He smiled faintly, imagining your expression when you see it for the first time. 

And when you say yes. 

The moment your feet touch the tarmac in Maui; a warm breeze sweeps around you like an embrace. It smells faintly of sea salt, hibiscus, and something sweet, maybe plumeria. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a golden wash over everything. 

Vessel keeps you close to his side as you both descend from the plane, his hand resting low on your back, thumb brushing in small, absent-minded circles. You know he doesn’t love flying, so you squeeze his hand tightly when you reach solid ground, silently thanking him for taking this trip with you. 

He hadn’t said much about the itinerary, only that everything was “taken care of,” and that you don’t need to worry. You let him guide you, sleepy and wide-eyed, through the small airport and into a waiting car. 

The drive along the coast is dreamlike. You’d never seen the ocean like this before; vast, alive, endlessly blue, rippling with the gold of the late afternoon sun. Your window stays open the entire ride, your arm resting on the edge as you stared out at it all, wind in your hair and wonder in your heart. 

“Is this okay?” Vessel asks softly beside you, his voice cutting through your trance. 

You turn to him slowly, eyes shining, chuckling incredulously. “Are you kidding? This is… this is perfect.” 

He doesn’t answer right away, he only reaches out, fingers trailing down your arm until he finds your hand again, his palm warm and steady, grounding. His gaze lingers on your face as though attempting to memorize it; to brand you into his brain so that anytime he closes his eyes, your beautiful face is there to soothe his nerves. 

Little do you know, this is his favorite version of you. Bathed in sun and salted air. Lit up by joy you weren’t trying to hide. Completely unaware of how beautiful you looked to him in that moment, with your hair alight in the sun, casting a halo around the crown of your head. Appropriate, for you are his angel. Your skin glows under the summer sun, shadows casting over the contours of your body as you twirl in the sand, head tilted back, eyes closed, fully immersed in this moment. 

He loosely crosses his arms as he revels in the sight of you as you absorb the salt, sand, and sea for the first time, his heart swells in his chest as the realization washes over him that he’s truly looking at the rest of his life, and he’s never been more sure about anything ever. He smiles at you, his head tilting reverently as you do little stomps in the warm, ankle-deep ocean water. This man adores you. 

He’d booked an oceanfront bungalow; standalone, tucked into a stretch of private coastline shaded by swaying palms and dotted with hibiscus bushes and collections of beach grass. It was as picturesque as a film set; warm teak wood, a sprawling bed draped in soft white linen, even a veranda that opened straight onto the sand. 

He brought you to a soft halt in the doorway, Vessel standing behind you, your bodies resting warmly against one another, his front to your back like puzzle pieces. His hands cover your eyes in order to elevate the surprise. “Are you ready, my love?” he whispers, his breath warm against the lobe of your ear, and you can hear the grin on his face through the words he says. “Mhm,” you hum excitedly, nodding your head, a giddy smile spreading across your own face. He drops his hands from your eyes, allowing them to rest on your shoulders as you take in the room around you for the first time. You open your eyes and squint slightly as the low light from the room bleeds in, and as your eyes focus, you gasp, bringing your hand up to cover your mouth. 

There are orchids and hibiscus petals scattered on the bedspread, and two champagne flutes waiting by a bucket of ice on the small table near the window. The low sun casts wide, sleepy beams across the floor, painting the room in shades of amber and rose gold, the chiseled glass suncatchers hanging in the window paint the room in sporadic prisms of the color spectrum. And just beyond the glass doors to the right, the ocean stretches into infinity. 

“Oh…” Your breath catches in your throat as you step further inside slowly, your gaze drifting over every carefully placed detail, and you’ve never felt so seen. “Ves, this is…” You are truly at a loss for words. 

You turn around to face him and you find that he’s already watching you, his eyes heavy with adoration for you. 

His bag is still slung over his shoulder, fingers hooked in the strap, but every bit of his focus is on you. His lips part slightly, like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. 

“You did all this?” you ask, voice low, touched. He nods, stepping toward you. “Every bit of it. You deserve a place that can be any semblance of how wonderful you are.” 

Your throat tightens as warm tears prick at the backs of your eyes. You don’t say anything for a moment, you just step into him, arms wrapping around his middle as you bury your face into his chest. His arms wrap around you instantly, pulling you in, holding you like a promise. You feel him kiss the top of your head once, then again, holding the kiss longer this time. 

“You spoil me,” you whisper. “Not yet,” he murmurs. “But I’m going to.” You tilt your head up at him, playful. “Is that a threat?” 

“It’s a vow,” he says, voice quiet and sure. “You’ll never go a day not knowing how much you’re cherished.” 

And it lands differently, those words. They aren’t flippant or poetic or abstract; they’re simple truth, deep and carved into him like scripture. You feel the weight of it settle in your bones, nuzzling comfortably into a home there. 

He leads you out onto the deck just as the sun begins to sink into the sea. You stand together in the doorway, hand in hand, watching the horizon melt into hues of violet and fire. He doesn’t speak, he just holds you close and lets the comfortable silence stretch sweetly between you like warm honey. 

At one point, you rest your head against his shoulder and whisper, “You really thought of everything to make this as special as possible, huh?” Vessel nods, almost imperceptibly. “And it’s not even our actual anniversary yet.” you whisper, taken aback at just how thoughtful he really is. He’d give you the moon if you asked. 

“No,” he smiles. “That’s tomorrow.” You can’t possibly think of a way that he could top this. But little do you know, he already has. 

Because it’s not the flowers or the view or even the carefully laid plans that makes your chest ache, it’s him. His thoughtfulness. The way he looks at you like you hold the planets and control their orbit with your hands. The way he has orchestrated this entire trip around you; your comfort, your joy, your peace. You could just cry and forever question what you did to ever deserve such a magnificent partner. 

Instead, you turn and kiss his cheek. Then again, nearer to the corner of his mouth. He turned slightly, eyes warm and unreadable, and brushed your hair back with a gentle, loving touch. “You’re not even ready,” you whispered, eyes teasing. “Ready for what?” he asks, curiosity tinting his tone. “For how much I’m going to love you here.” He laughed, soft and low, pressing his forehead to yours. “Try me, love.” 

The warm water rolls down your back in slow, steady rivulets, the air thick with steam and the smell of sandalwood. Your skin still tingles, pleasantly worn from the way he’d touched you just moments ago; slow and reverent, as though your body were a sonnet he’d spent his life memorizing. 

Vessel stands behind you now, silent and focused, fingertips gliding through your damp hair. He’s lathering shampoo into your scalp with a gentleness that borders on worship. His touch is firm but unhurried, slow circles that lull you into a daze. You close your eyes and let your head tilt back slightly into his chest, trusting him entirely, letting him take care of you. 

The water drums softly above you, and somewhere within it, you hear him exhale, quiet and controlled, like he’s trying to anchor himself in the moment. 

His bare chest is warm against your back, the rise and fall of it steady. You can feel the quiet tremble in his fingertips as they comb through your hair, as if he’s trying to pour everything he feels into the movement; love, devotion, awe. His hands slide lower, massaging the soap through to the ends, and then rise again to cradle your skull like you’re something fragile, something absolutely irreplaceable. 

He kisses your shoulder, then your neck. His lips are damp, and when they press against your skin, you swear you can feel his heartbeat thudding in tandem with yours. Unbeknownst to you, his heart is pounding. 

You open your eyes just a sliver, the steam curling up like mist around your bodies, and murmur, “You’re being extra sweet today.” 

“I’m always sweet to you, my baby,” he says quietly, but his voice is strained in that way that tells you he’s thinking hard about something. 

Your brow furrows slightly, though you keep still. “What is it?” 

His hands hesitate for the briefest second, then one hand withdraws to reach up and detach the handheld showerhead from its mounted fixture, bringing it between you to the back of your head. He begins rinsing the soap from your hair, taking extra caution as to not rinse the soap into your eyes. 

With your back to him, you don’t see the way he closes his eyes, pressing his lips together, jaw clenched with something he’s not ready to say out loud yet. The water trickles down his face and chest, but it does nothing to cool the heat blooming in his chest. 

He wants to tell you now. He wants to drop to his knees right here, wet tile, drenched hair and all, and ask you if you’ll let him spend the rest of his life loving you like this. Completely, honestly, and fiercely. He’s wanted to ask you for months, but now, now that you’re here, in his arms, with your head resting trustfully against his chest, he almost does it without thinking. 

His lips part. The words are on the tip of his tongue. Will you m- 

“Where are we going for dinner tonight, by the way? Not that I’m complaining about staying in all day…” you purr, smiling flirtatiously, your eyes still closed as the hot water cascades down your back, and you breathe in the clean smell of the steam. 

The spell breaks. His trance is interrupted, definitely for the better. Who proposes to someone in a shower? He furrows his brows and shakes his head, shocked at his own idiocy. You don’t notice this or the way his shoulders rise with a silent breath as he swallows back the words. 

Instead of answering your question right away, he leans down and presses his forehead gently to yours as you lean your head back more to meet his. It lingers there for a long, quiet moment, and then he chuckles softly, breath warm against your ear. 

“You’ll see,” he murmurs. You smile, oblivious to the shift in his heartbeat, the ache in his chest. “Is it dressy?” you ask. “Just… wear what makes you feel beautiful,” he replies. 

“That’s a trap,” you tease, turning in the stream to face him, water cascading between you. “Everything makes me feel beautiful when you look at me like that.” 

He doesn’t laugh this time. He just gazes at you, eyes drinking you in like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. He swears every time he looks at you, there’s a new detail he never noticed before, and it captivates him. He raises his hand, fingers brushing wet strands away from your face, and murmurs, “That’s because you are, my darling.” 

You lean into his touch, heart fluttering under your skin, and rest your hands gently on his waist. The moment lingers, long enough for his eyes to dart to your lips and back, long enough for something unspoken to swell between you again. 

But he doesn’t ask. Not yet. Because the next part deserves the stars, the waves, and the most beautiful sunset the world has to offer. 

So instead, he kisses your forehead and says, “Come on. Let’s get you ready.” And you don’t know it yet, but in just a few hours, your entire life will change if you let it. 

The breeze lifts the hem of your dress as you walk, warm and salt-kissed, soft as a whisper around your ankles. You’re barefoot in the sand, the ocean stretching endlessly ahead, molten gold rippling across its surface. The setting sun dips lower by the minute, casting firelight over the sky in streaks of peach and rose and lilac. You’d said earlier that it didn’t even look real, and Vessel had only smiled, watching you with something brighter than the sunset in his eyes. 

Your dress sways around you, white cotton patterned with soft pink hibiscus petals accented by varying shades of green leaves. He told you earlier you looked like summer incarnate; like a dream come true. 

Vessel walks beside you, the fine sand crunching softly underfoot, his hand clasped in yours. He’s wearing a simple white tee and soft tan cargo shorts, effortlessly handsome in the way only he can be. Sunlight dancing across his arms, the sea breeze ruffling the fringe of feathery hair at his forehead. He hasn’t let go of your hand once since you stepped onto the beach. 

Not when he showed you the secluded pathway down the cliffside, not when you gasped at the beauty of it all, not even when you paused to take a thousand photos of the horizon. 

And still, even now, his fingers remain laced with yours like a silent vow. 

You don’t know it yet, but his heart is thundering in his chest so loud he’s certain you’ll hear it. Every moment you smile, every time you tilt your head toward him and squeeze his hand gently, he comes one step closer to falling apart in the best possible way. 

“I didn’t think anything could top yesterday,” you say softly, a soft gasp escaping your lips as a breeze lifts your hair and cools the back of your neck. He turns his head to you, smiling gently. “It was never about topping anything.” 

“No?” you ask, turning to look at him adoringly. “No,” he murmurs. “It’s about showing you what our lives could look like together. All the things I dream of giving you. You deserve the world and everything beautiful it has to offer.” 

You squeeze his hand again. “You’re doing a damn good job, Ves. I’ve never felt so special or wanted in my life.” 

He chuckles, nervous now, and slowly guides you toward a little flat area just off the shore where the rocks cradle a small clearing, safe and soft beneath your feet. A blanket lies in the sand, with two tall glasses of sparkling water, and the faint trace of music; gentle strings, like something classical wafting from a speaker tucked neatly behind a driftwood branch. 

You blink, heart skipping. “When did you set this up?” 

“I have my methods,” he says grinning, and something in his voice wavers. You sit beside him, stretching your legs out in front of you, and tilt your head, resting it on his shoulder. The last rays of sunlight cast a warm glow over everything, painting him in gold. 

And when he breathes in, it shakes. This is it. He turns to face you fully. His hand slides from yours and moves to your cheek, thumb brushing lightly beneath your eye as if memorizing the gentle slope of your face. 

“You know,” he says quietly, voice velvet-smooth, “I knew from very early on.” Your gaze softens. “Knew what?” 

“That you were it. The one I wanted by my side for the rest of our days.” His voice hitches, not from nerves, but from emotion too thick to hide. “From the way you calm me before I walk onstage. The way you kissed my hands when you knew I just wanted to break down or break things. From every conversation where you listened with your heart instead of just your ears.” He’s trembling now. 

And then, he shifts. 

Slowly, nervously, Vessel reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small velvet box. He doesn’t open it immediately. Instead, he kneels before you there in the sand, as the tide begins to lap closer, the breeze rising to carry the words that he can’t hold back anymore. 

“I know you hate big gestures and cliches,” he says, laughing softly through the crack in his voice. “And I know crowds make your hands shake and your chest tighten. But I couldn’t ask you to marry me in the corner of our kitchen or under fluorescent lights. I wouldn’t. You told me once that you always dreamed of seeing the ocean swallow the sun, and I - I want to be the one who gives you every dream you didn’t think you’d get to live out.” 

He opens the box. 

The ring glimmers like starlight inside. 

“I didn’t bring you here just to celebrate our 3-year anniversary,” he whispers. “I brought you here because there isn’t a place in this world that could hold how much I love you, and because you deserve to see the most beautiful sights in the world as I ask you to be my wife. My love, my beautiful angel. I want to be with you, every day, for the rest of our lives.” 

Your hands fly to your mouth. Your eyes sting as he lifts his gaze, eyes glassy and wide. 

“So… will you marry me?” 

And for a moment, you can’t breathe. Everything comes to a halt as you hear the blood rushing to your ears. The ocean hushes. The sun halts mid-sink. Your body floods with warmth so deep, so overwhelming, that all you can do is nod. But then you find your voice. 

“Yes,” you breathe, breaking into a smile so wide it hurts. “God, yes! Yes, I’ll marry you!” 

He exhales a laugh of disbelief, of wonder, of finally. 

You tackle him into the sand, arms around his neck, the ring box forgotten for a moment as he cradles your face and kisses you full on the mouth; long and deep, like he’s been waiting lifetimes to feel your yes on his lips. 

The waves crash behind you. The sun kisses the water goodnight. And in his arms, you already feel like this is your forever home. The rest of your life. And you could not be happier. 

As you sit back up on the blanket and smooth out your dress and hair, he sits up next to you and open the ring box up again, plucking the ring from its velvet enclosure. You hold out your left hand and watch him slide the ring onto your finger, slipping over your knuckle with ease. You tilt it back and forth in the evening sunlight and watch it sparkle and glimmer. You smile and giggle as you’re taken aback by how beautiful it really is. 

“It’s absolutely gorgeous, Ves,” you say to him, your eyes still locked onto the ring. “It’ll never measure up to you, my love.” he replies, and your heart just soars, your gaze shifting from the ring to your new fiancé's beautiful face, and you pull him into a deep, tender kiss.  

The stars are out by the time you return to the bungalow. 

The night has settled softly over Maui like a velvet curtain, quiet and cool in the spaces between palm leaves and moonlit waves. Vessel hasn’t let go of your hand since you left the beach, his thumb still brushing across your knuckles, as if trying to ground himself in the reality of it all, that you said yes. That you're his forever. 

He opens the door for you, and you step inside to the low glow of lanterns strung from the wooden beams, casting amber warmth across the room. The windows are open, letting in the sound of the sea, and the sheer curtains sway gently in the ocean breeze. 

It smells like citrus and coconut and something uniquely him; clean linen, warm skin, and something like mahogany or teakwood. 

Vessel closes the door behind him, and for a moment, neither of you speak. You just look at each other. 

His eyes trace your face like he’s memorizing you all over again, like the moment he dropped to one knee on the sand is etched into him, but it still wasn’t enough. There’s a kind of reverence in the way he approaches, slow and unhurried, the air between you heavy and sacred. 

“I still can’t believe you said yes,” he murmurs, voice like smoke and honey. You smile, stepping closer. “Was there ever a doubt?” 

His gaze flickers down to your hand, the one now wearing the promise he’s been dreaming of giving you for months. “Not really,” he admits. “But… hearing it. Watching you say it. That’s different. I’m just taken aback by the confirmation.” 

Your hands rise to his chest, fingers resting over the place where his heart beats strong and steady beneath his shirt. 

“You’re mine now,” he says, so softly it almost breaks you. “I’ve been yours,” you whisper, rising onto your toes. He kisses you like he’s trying to say it all again without words. 

And when he carries you to the bed, it’s not with urgency. It’s with awe. 

He lays you gently across the cool sheets, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek before shedding his shirt, revealing the lean strength of his form, the devotion built into every inch of his body. You reach for him, guiding him down into the covers beside you. 

The bed dips under his weight, and you both shift toward each other, finding the shape you always seem to make together; tangled limbs, quiet, loaded breathing, that invisible tether that keeps you close even when you don’t speak. 

His hands are warm and steady as they find your waist, your hips, the slow trail of your dress hem rising beneath his palms. 

He doesn’t ask for anything. He simply looks at you, waiting. You nod, and that’s all he needs. 

The dress comes off slowly, inch by inch, until it slips over your shoulders and is discarded on the floor below. He touches you like he’s tracing art across your skin, fingertips reverent, mouth tender. He kisses your collarbone, your shoulder, the hollow of your throat. Each kiss is a wordless vow. A promise to hold you closely and gently. 

When you reach for him in turn, sliding his shorts down and pressing your palm against the heat of him, he exhales your name like a prayer. And when he finally presses into you, slow and sure, it’s like the world stills around you. The ocean fades. The wind dies out. 

It’s just him, you, and the rhythm of your hearts settling into their home. 

Vessel’s forehead rests against yours as he moves, gentle and steady, his hands cupping your face like you’re the most delicate, precious thing he’s ever touched. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. “You’re everything to me.” 

You pull him closer, wrap your arms around his back, your legs around his hips, and hold him as tightly as you can because it feels like he might disappear otherwise; like this is just too good to be true. But he doesn’t fade or dissipate. He stays right there with you, in this moment of sanctitude. He moves with you, for you, anchored by the sounds you make and the love spilling from your eyes. 

There are no fireworks. No loud crescendo. Just heavy breath, hot skin, and two hearts finally tethered. The quietest kind of ecstasy; being seen, being known, being treasured like this. 

When you both come undone, it’s not with shouting. It’s with gasps and tears and whispered names. It’s with his hand pressed over your heart and your lips brushing his jaw. It’s with the knowledge that nothing in your lives will ever be the same again, and you wouldn’t want it to be. 

After, Vessel pulls the sheet up over you both and brings you into his arms, holding you so close it’s hard to tell where you end and he begins. 

His lips graze your hairline. “You’ve made me believe that love can last forever.” You smile into his chest. “You make me feel safe enough to believe in anything.” 

He presses a kiss to your temple, then your fingers, now twined together over your stomach. “Tomorrow,” he says, “we’ll wake up to the ocean. And every day after, we’ll wake up to each other. But we’ll have to wake up a bit earlier than usual now that we’ve got a wedding to plan.” He finishes, and you giggle and curl closer into his chest as his hands find your side and back as he pulls you into him. 

And in that quiet lull, curled up in the warmth of his body and the hush of the sea, you believe him. Because this love, it’s not just a feeling. 

It’s a home, and it’s yours, forever. 

You had no intention of catching feelings. This was for your baby. But the careful way Vessel would speak to him when he was overwhelmed brought tears to your eyes. They saw each other. Like really got one another. You also loved that he wasn’t afraid to joke around or indulge in one of your son’s tangents. It's an uphill battle each time you leave the studio and tell yourself that Vessel smiles at every parent like that when their kiddo finally nails a piece. He says everyone’s name with a little bit of anxious joy hiding underneath. 

During the summer, your son always goes on an extended stay with your parents and his cousins in the next town over. You find yourself on autopilot walking past the studio one day. It’s become a huge part of your routine. Anyone would end up going through the motions like this. Even Vessel. When you walk past, he’s sitting on the front stoop, scrolling on his phone. Filling time. Neither of you are really that surprised to see each other. 

“Do you get lonely without him?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, “more like I don’t know what to do with myself most of the time.”

Cue the nodding and avoiding each other’s gaze. You both try to say something at the same time. A bunch of “no you go ahead”s later, you get a foothold.

“Tell me it’s just me.”

He just stands there for a moment, nervously rubbing his temple. Fuck. You have misread everything. Finally he says, “I don’t like lying.”

When your son comes back from his grandparents’ house, he’s back with a new found enthusiasm for soccer. He’d been playing with his older cousins, and now his mission was to join a soccer club.

“You know that would conflict with piano, right, bubba?”

“Yeah, I know,” he replies, all cocky in the way little kids do that’s too sweet to reprimand. “Mr. V will understand. OOH! Also, look at this, mom!”

He’s already showing you travel teams he wants to join one day and talking your ear off about the grand plans for 2 v 2 games between him and his friends. Great! He has hobbies! His own little life! Soon mommy will, too.But what does Vessel think about all of this? Well, he’s conflicted. He’ll miss seeing you two each week, but that happens. People stop lessons all the time. He also worries about what might happen if you two accidentally became involved and that messes up all the work you’d done to help your son emotionally regulate. That is the last thing he wants. But the first thing he wants? To belong. He wouldn’t just be with you, he’d be in your family. Being a dad was never really on his radar but, god... If it meant building a life…providing for you both…he felt like he could do anything.

You felt his presence before you were truly conscious. Sitting on the edge of your bed, he watched you. You’d gotten used to it by now. It was reassuring. His constant vigilance—a protective bubble that embraced you. 

His nimble fingers grazed your side, trailing to the small of your back. “Rest, my love.” 

Humming, your eyes remained closed, enjoying his feather-light touches. You had shoved the blankets off you in your sleep and were rewarded when his skin caressed yours. 

The bed shifted, then his lips brushed the side of your head.  

“Lay with me?” Though it escaped as a statement, you meant it as a question. One you knew he’d never refuse. 

He slipped behind you, one arm sliding beneath your head, and the other around your middle. You threaded your fingers through both of his hands, needing to be as close to him as possible. With his exposed chest pressed against your back, you relaxed into him, head resting in the crook of his shoulder. 

This was your safe place. Nestled in his hold where no one else existed.  

You took in every part that connected to him and wished you could stay like this forever. 

“Ease now, beloved. I am with you.” He pressed his mouth to your shoulder, lingering to feel more of your skin.  

He would stay like this until you woke next. Until you had to move. Until you indicate otherwise. He would remain.  

He could not follow you into blissful unconscious, but this almost seemed better. The trust you put in him, the way you let him embrace you, how openly you received every part of him—he witnessed it all in these moments. As you drifted, your walls receded. He saw you for who you were and vowed himself to you. Even if you didn’t know the extent of his allegiance to you, it didn’t matter. You belonged to one another. He would ensure your happiness, your safety, your peace—because they were his own.  

The scent of your hair enveloped him. You were home to him. He could not determine the last time he had a home, but the word was fitting. In all his travels, in all his life, he had glimpses of reprieve, but with you he had gained more than that. You had given him more than he ever had in the centuries before you. And for that he owed you his existence. 

Every time he looked at you, spoke to you, touched you, was like the first. You did not want anything from him—like so many others—you simply wanted him. So, he gave you all, every piece of darkness within himself, every memory from before, every task he was given, because he wanted to make sure. Was this what you wanted? Was he what you wanted? 

In response, you showed him all of you. Your regrets and failures, your hopes and dreams, your fears—and they were beautiful. You were...everything. 

For that, he had pledged to be yours. He had proclaimed his love, and you returned it.  

So, he would remain by your side, in every sense of the word. In ways he could not explain. 

He matched his breathing to yours, steady and deep. Once your fingers had slackened, he curled his a little more to keep you connected. And his eyes closed, letting your skin warm his and your scent fill him. 

This was as close as he could follow you, but it was enough. You were with him. This was all he needed. His greatest treasure. His love. His meaning.  

Taglist: @steph-speaks, @themultiverseofmars