Chapter Text
III’s been trying to sleep for God knows how long.
He’s been lying in bed for what must be hours, and it’s definitely sometime in the early morning by now. He could check the time; his phone is lying next to him on the charger. He doesn't. It’ll just make him more anxious, make that unpleasant feeling in his stomach worse. He’ll never get to sleep if he does, though his prospects aren’t looking so good anyway.
His mind just won’t shut off. It’s the same thoughts running on loop in his brain, bouncing around his skull. He wants someone to come take his mind off them, to reassure them that they’re not true. But that’s precisely the problem.
III’s been slowly pulling away from the rest of them these past few months. He doesn’t know what exactly started it all, but he knows that it probably should have come earlier. He doesn’t know how Vessel, II, and IV have put up with him for this long.
It hurt to come to that conclusion, but he eventually realized that, to put it plainly, he was annoying as fuck.
When he first joined Vessel and II, the band’s dynamic changed massively. Vessel was relatively quiet and gentle (though he was known to get a little silly at times), and II was assertive and firm when necessary. It initially surprised III when Vessel and II kissed in front of him for the first time, when Vessel was showing him a few lyrics he wrote about him. The shock wore off quickly; they were a perfect match, and he should have seen it before.
III took a minute to get comfortable with the other two, but eventually his personality came out full force. Loud, goofy, energetic III was a massive contrast to the two. Vessel and II were two lovers in the glow of candlelight, and III came along and replaced it with strobe lights and a disco ball.
Looking back on it now, he massively overstepped. They needed him to do his job. He was their bassist, nothing more, and he should have accepted that.
At least you’ve come to your senses now, he thinks bitterly.
Of course, he’s not neglecting his responsibilities. He still shows up to practice, keeps all his shit in line for the band. He’s not going to let his own issues become an inconvenience to the others, the last thing he wants to do is fuck up Vessel and II’s magnum opus.
For the thousandth time that night, he thinks back to a few days ago.
•••
They practiced at minimum every week, and III was outside the door to their practice room that their local studio had graciously allowed them to regularly rent out for a few hours. He’s been consistently on time instead of casually late, another one of his efforts to reduce his negative impacts on others. But today, the door is locked. Normally Vessel and II are there early and they leave the door unlocked for the other two. It’s not like them to be late without a quick text. IV’s usually here right at 3:00, too.
He stands outside for a few, searching through the faces flowing past him over the sidewalk, hoping to see Vessel talking animatedly as he walks II through his new ideas for music. But once the clock hits 3:10, ten minutes past their usual start time, III takes his phone out and messages the group chat.
Hey guys, are any of you here? The practice room door is locked, he quickly types out.
He stares at the phone, waiting for a message back, but five minutes pass with no acknowledgement. Sighing, he sits down on the concrete steps, placing the phone on his lap so he can feel the buzz of a notification.
At around 3:30, with still no response, he considers going home. But if they show up, they’ll have to call you back here, and then they’re gonna be waiting even longer for you, his brain supplies. He huffs, settling back down, pulling his jacket tighter around himself as the cold air bites at his skin.
It’s damn near 5 when the studio’s manager comes by. The wind carries her sweet perfume to III, and he looks up at her when her worn boots appear in his vision, squinting against the pale cloudy sky.
“Hi, Elizabeth,” III smiles up at her. “How’s it going?”
“Not too bad, III, how about yourself?” She returns warmly.
“Can’t complain.”
“Shit, if I were you I’d be complaining. It’s cold as hell out here.”
“It’s not that cold, I’m okay.”
Elizabeth rolls her eyes. “III, you’re built like a fucking Spirit Halloween skeleton. I know damn well you’re cold. Get your ass inside, I’ll get you something warm to drink.”
III can’t argue with her. “Alright, alright.” He heaves himself up, standing on his toes to stretch his long legs out, and follows Elizabeth into the main building attached to the practice room.
The warmth of the lobby is heaven-sent after over two hours in the late fall chill. He sits down at one of the small coffee tables, settling into the cozy armchair. He closes his eyes, listening to Elizabeth putter around as she puts on the electric kettle. He spaces out for a while, lulled by the pleasant atmosphere.
He’s brought back to the present by a mug being set on the table, accompanied by the sweet scent of chocolate wafting through the air. In front of him sits a piping hot mug of hot cocoa, decorated with whipped cream and marshmallows. He reaches forward for the mug and carefully brings it to his mouth.
“God, Elizabeth, you’re the best.” He takes a careful sip, and when he pulls the mug away, his upper lip is decorated with whipped cream. Elizabeth laughs and he licks the cream away, grinning.
“Sorry that I don’t have any coffee, I need to restock our break room.”
“All good, I’m trying to cut back on the caffeine anyway.”
“Mmm. Good for you. Little drummer boy trying to cut back too? I swear, every time I see him, he’s got something caffeinated on hand.”
“Not that I’ve heard.” III stiffens and frowns a little. He actually hasn’t heard anything from II in several days. Or Vessel. IV’s messages have been sporadic, like he doesn’t care enough to talk to III regularly. And he’s not exactly pleased with the fact that they all no-call no-showed practice. He quickly schools his face back to an easy smile.
Elizabeth catches it though. Damn her for being so aware of his body language. “What’s that face for?”
“Nothing,” III says too quickly. He brings the mug back to his lips and takes a long drink to play it off. Elizabeth looks less than impressed.
“III.”
III sighs. He’s not getting out of this, she’ll wheedle it out of him eventually. “We had the practice room this week, right?”
An eyebrow arches. “No, Vessel cancelled this week’s booking. Said he had a business meeting this week,” she explains. She watches as III’s face falls, caught off guard, and her own face follows suit. “Wait. Did you not know that?”
“...No.”
“Oh, III, I’m so sorry. I was wondering why you were sitting out there, but I wanted to get you warm first.”
III’s heart leaps at Elizabeth’s caring words but is quickly crushed again by the realization that Vessel cancelled and nobody told him. They didn’t even care enough to send him a quick text so he wouldn’t be sitting outside for two hours, waiting around like a lost puppy.
“Fucking dickheads,” Elizabeth says, snapping III out of his thoughts. “I’m sorry, III, you didn’t deserve that. That’s fucked up to not say anything to you.”
“...I mean, I’m sure they had a reason, right?” That reason was probably because they didn’t want to deal with him today, his brain supplies.
“Don’t care. It’s a shit thing to do,” she says, finishing off her mug of cocoa and standing. “Let me go check if you guys are still on for next week.”
III sits for a few moments longer, sipping on the remnants of his cocoa. Had he not been doing a good enough job of toning it down around his friends? He’d refrained from making most of his bad jokes, but the few he made were met with groans. Maybe it was the sex jokes. Oh God, had he made them uncomfortable?
When Vessel, II, and III initially met, he was struck by how pretty both of them were. Vessel’s gentle demeanor and strong body that he had clearly worked his ass off for. II’s itty bitty waist and his assertive nature. III’s pretty sure he was blushing when he shook their hands for the first time. It had been a while since III had had a crush, but he knew that feeling right away, even if it took him a few months to accept it.
That night when Vessel and II had kissed in front of him, his heart shattered. He refused to choose between either of them romantically but knowing that neither of them were available was devastating. III wasn’t opposed to a poly relationship, but he knew that it was unlikely that both of them would be willing to be in one, much less with him. Later, when IV had come along, III felt another crush developing, but he shoved that one into the deepest, darkest corner of his mind. He really, really liked IV, but he couldn't stomach the idea of only dating him and not the other two as well.
He’d give up his entire guitar collection for them. But they couldn't send you one little text.
They don’t care about you. Get it through your thick fucking skull.
III scrubs at his eyes and stands, sighing heavily. Elizabeth steps out of the break room, and he makes his way up to the front desk to hand it off to her. She takes it, sets it down on the desk, and holds up her index finger as she clacks away at the keyboard.
“Hang on, this thing is unbelievably slow sometimes,” she chews on her lip. “Yeah, you guys are booked for next week. Listen, I am going to personally call you or text you or whatever if they cancel again. I don’t want you to be sitting out in the cold for hours, especially since we’re heading into winter. Hand me your phone and I’ll put in my number.” She puts her hand out expectantly, leaving no room for argument. Not like III would argue.
III hands it over, and she taps her number in, handing the completed contact back. “Thanks,” III says. He sends back a pigeon emoji (his personal favorite), and her phone pings next to her. “So you have my number too.”
Elizabeth grins. “Cool. Alright, I gotta kick you out now,” she says, reaching under the desk and producing a few packets of hot cocoa mix. She hands them over to III. “Take care of yourself tonight.”
“Thanks, Elizabeth. Hopefully I’ll see you next week.” He turns and pushes the door open, waving over his shoulder.
•••
For some odd reason, he welcomes the pang of hurt that comes with remembering that experience. He’s been allowing himself to wallow in these feelings, like some form of self-punishment, and it’s probably the reason they’ve taken such a strong hold on him. When they first crossed his mind, he didn’t entirely believe them, but he never fully dismissed them either. And now he’s lying awake at three in the morning because they’ve fully consumed him now.
III turns over again and buries his face in the pillow.