Work Text:
The studio always smells the same.
Reeks of old wood, burnt-out incense sticks, expensive cleaning solution, and unfinished dinners that lie strewn about outside of the recording booth. II's come to expect it as assuredly as he knows that Vessel will be there waiting for him, unmasked and in plain clothes, with his notebook unfurled before him and his lithe fingertips dancing across the pages that held together the embodiment of their combined life's work.
Vessel smiles when he enters, his grin wolfish and charismatic without effort, and II feels himself return it to the best of his ability as excitement and dread both intermingle before settling over him in waves of melancholic apprehension.
II knows that this album will be different- but not. Just like the others that came before it.
Vessel wears his heart on his sleeve but obfuscates the truth behind pretty metaphors and religious symbolism.
II's never been that fortunate, only has his empathy and mask to hide behind, as Vessel beckons him in with enthusiasm and pulls out the chair beside him.
"Take a look," Vessel tells him, radiating both nervousness and pride, as if he's ever anything less than perfection in II’s eyes.
II wishes that he could say as much but he knows better than that and instead he remains silent.
Vessel writes his agony into poetry, turns his yearning and hatred, his love and his regrets, into words that resonate now with millions.
Whilst II turns his own into a rhythm that fills in the voids, both in Vessel's compositions, and even more importantly, the ones within himself that he keeps just below the surface, too afraid of what he'd risk losing if they ever scratched the surface or became exposed to the light.
Each word is a knife in II's heart, each metaphorical hurt and loss enough to make his stomach churn, but underneath all of that, in spite of how selfish he knows that it is of him, there is one single, consistent factor that wounds him above all else.
Vessel writes about her.
Always writes everything in a way that ties back to her.
The way she lived alongside him, the wounds and scars that she left for him to carry, and most prominently, the way that Vessel still longs for something between them in spite of knowing that it is detrimental to himself.
II knows how much Vessel loves her, has always known, from the first night that they had drank together in university and Vessel had sobbed something fierce while mourning the loss of her at his side. To the moments in-between where Vessel penned a new lyric or completed a song and bashfully offered it unto II, requesting that he work his magic to provide it with the appropriate level of depth and emotional feel that his lyricism deserved.
Vessel never realizes that he asks II to bare his soul to him, and by proxy, to the world.
He asks the drummer to take the agony that Vessel's pain brings him and interweave it into rhythm and tempo that serve as the backbone for Vessel's own lyrical misery.
Vessel never realizes that II is in love with him.
Never realizes that II has loved him since the day that they first met and worked on a project together for their music theory class during their second year.
Vessel doesn't know that the first time that he had sang that II's heart had beaten so palpably in his chest that his ears rang with the sound of its rhythm for days afterward.
They've toured the world together.
Slept underneath the same roofs.
Shared drinks and meals with one another.
Confided their secrets and their dreams to one another underneath the starlit sky.
Vessel knows everything about II, all the good bits and the ugly, too.
Vessel knows that II's parents had passed when he was young and how he was raised by his grandfather, who was a local pastor and owned an old church just outside of Bath. He knows that II had played the drums for each and every service until his grandfather passed away and II had vowed to never enter that godless sanctuary ever again.
Vessel knows how II never felt an ounce of faith in his life, neither in Gods nor deities, but how he believed that the universe had predetermined events that would transpire between connected points and people, no matter the distance and circumstances that stood in their way.
Vessel knew what foods he hated and what energy drinks that he preferred.
Knew how II took his tea, and how he was picky about what biscuits he consumed alongside it.
Vessel knew what shampoo he liked and what laundry detergent he preferred.
He knew all of the little, tiny things that comprised II's being, and he knew the stories and the people that had helped shape him into the man that he was today.
Yet, Vessel doesn't know that II loves him.
II, too afraid of losing him, and knowing how pointless and self-inflicted his own misery is, intends to keep it that way.
"It's...really good, Ve." II tells him, dry mouthed and bleary eyed, as he looks up at the beautiful man next to him and drinks in the manner in which Vessel's nervousness gives way to bashful pride.
"Think you can work your magic on it for me?" Vessel asks him with a dazzling smile, sharp canines glinting in the studio's light, and II answers as he always does in spite of the gaping, raw wound that festers beneath his ribs.
"I'll put the drums where they belong, Ve. You just...worry about the rest."
Vessel's smile is one of thanks, and II wonders if the man beside him ever knows just what it is that he's thanking him for.
-
II rips his heart out and beats it into the drums, burying his pain alongside his name, as he gives Vessel's voice the weight and impact that it so rightfully deserves.
Few will ever know what it demands of him in exchange.
-
The listening party is a small affair.
Their producer, Vessel, II himself, and IV and III, both of which had only just arrived in the hours prior due to the singer's personal invitation.
It's a beautiful album, it always is.
Yet, II wishes that the pounding kick drum in his headphones could overpower the pounding beating that rings in his ears.
It's never quite enough.
-
"Ya'...really wear your heart on your sleeve, II." III tells him later that night, guiding him away from the others, as II stares despondently at the city skyline and breathes in deep through his flaring nostrils. III's arm weighs heavily on his shoulders, but that weight in comparison to the metaphorical one that he bears is naught but a feather pressing down upon him.
II loves Vessel.
III had caught on and confronted him about it during their second European tour.
IV had only taken a few shows to glimpse the horrible, terrible truth, and gently pry the answers out of II over coffee at a local café.
Vessel doesn't know that II loves him.
Vessel never will.
II breathes out through his mouth, a deep, exhausted sounding thing, as III squeezes his shoulders just a bit tighter.
"Ivy wants to buy ya' a drink if yer keen," III offers in a bid to comfort him, but II is so used to drowning out his sorrow that it comes to him like second nature without the need for release.
And yet…
"That sounds nice," II answers, swallowing the lump in his throat, as he allows himself to be led away from the studio where his soul still yet lingers within the isolation booth.
II’s own phantom heartbeat still echoes within its walls, beating steadily, only to continue to be met with silence.