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“There’s a specific kind of torture making us work on my favorite holiday.” III whines, hoisting his jacket over his shoulder as he pads after II and IV down the steps of a parking garage nearby the hotel they were staying at, blazing scarlet hair bouncing as he went. II let out a frustrated sigh, rolling his impossibly blue eyes.
“Yes, making you travel to new cities on Halloween is such torture.” II replies dryly. “Los Angeles is a pain in the ass to drive through. You’re in absolute misery-”
“The sarcasm meter’s gonna break if you keep going.” IV interrupts with a smile, one that makes II soften.
“I’m just saying, working on Halloween is the worst!” III threw up his free hand, which promptly whacked a railing. “Ow!”
“You did that to yourself.”
“Did not!” III pouted at II. II just shrugged, earning a giggle from IV. Him, II, and III were an up and coming band in the metal scene. They had a quaint little niche, for now, since IV had a deceptively devastating growl for someone so cute (in III’s opinion). II was a master drummer and III was effectively a social media darling for his antics during the small live shows that circled on social media. Their little band, currently named Daggerheart, was just missing one very important thing: A proper vocalist. A pianist would be a nice bonus, but they really needed a vocalist so IV wouldn’t lose his voice from screaming and growling so much. That’s why the three were in Los Angeles: One of II’s old friends had pulled quite a few strings to get them out here to California to search for what they needed. According to her, seeking talent in a new pond might be more fruitful than being limited to their neck of the woods.
But that was in the not-so distant future. Today’s agenda? A Halloween costume party! They had just come back from meeting with potential record labels (III will never know how II knew such a person) so now they were going back to their hotel room to get changed for tonight’s costume party. Traffic was a nightmare, even though all three of them had been warned about it, but now they were here-
Riiiip!
All three of them stumbled to a halt. Leaning against the wall of a landing, shivering under the zip-up hoodie hanging on his shoulders, was a man whose height rivaled III. He stared at the trio with dark brown eyes full of tears, clearly embarrassed. Immediately, IV noticed what was wrong: he must have had walked out with his shirt inside out, realized what had happened, and was trying to fix his shirt only for it to rip right as they arrived. Thick wet tears began to stream down the stranger’s face, his body trembling from the weight of social embarrassment.
“Oh shit.” III’s whisper broke the silence. He quickly moved to the stranger’s side facing the stairs, holding up his jacket to shield the stranger. II dug into his bag, looking for something, while IV stepped forward to soothe the upset stranger.
“Hey, it’s ok.” He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket, letting the stranger dry his eyes. “Can II see your shirt?”
“Why?” The stranger asked, his voice thick with trying not to cry more.
“III over there-” II jerks his head to III, who waggled his fingers in a mimicry of waving hello to the stranger. “-has the unfortunate habit of ripping his pants because he’s the human incarnation of those American car wavers to get your attention. Has the hair color to match.” III let out a noise of clearly-mock offense. II pulled out a travel-sized sewing kit from his bag. “Let me see the tear.”
“O-Ok…” The stranger nodded, holding out the shirt and where it tore. II stared at the shirt before quirking a smile.
“An easy fix. Just give me a couple minutes. It just ripped at the seam. IV, can you hold the shirt for me so I can-” Before II could finish the sentence, IV took the shirt, rightened it, and held it for II, turning his head to face the stranger while II got to work.
“So, what’s your name?”
“Uh, Vessel.” The stranger, Vessel, said softly. He wrapped his arms around his body, trying (and failing) to make himself look smaller and hiding his chest. IV immediately pinged his accent, a familiar sound.
“Since you know who III is, I’m IV.” He tilted his head to II “And that’s II. By the way, what brings you to Los Angeles?” IV asked.
“…I…I don’t want to talk about it.” Vessel mumbled. “City’s too loud.”
“I get it, mate.” III added. “Can’t wait to take the first airplane back home.”
“Which will be in two days, unless it’s an emergency.” II reminds, ever patient and steadfast. “Flight’s at 5, Check-outs at noon, and traffic’s going to delay us five hours.”
“Yes, little love.” III coos. II tosses him a glare before finishing sewing the seam back together. IV immediately catches how Vessel’s cheeks redden, just lightly, before II steps back. IV hands the shirt, seam sewn back together, to Vessel. He quickly took it and, after a little shuffling, pulled it back over his body.
“T-Thank you…” Vessel said softly, his voice choked with tears of gratitude. “I don’t know how I can repay you.”
“Hey, no need for that.” III wrapped his jacket back around his shoulders, content that Vessel was OK enough that he didn’t need an impromptu privacy screen. “You needed help. And we helped.” He clasped his hand on Vessel’s shoulder, grinning at him. Vessel shakily returned his smile and held his trembling hands together.
“Thank you. I…thank you.” He sniffled before something vibrated. Vessel quickly unclasped his hands and scrambled to pull his phone out of his pocket. “I-I have to go! Thank you!” He quickly rushed past III and further down the stairs. The trio watched him run down the stairs with surprising speed. As his footsteps faded, III looked to IV and II.
“We’re adopting him. He’s fucking built.”
“III!” II hissed.
“You saw it!” III retorted. IV rolled his eyes.
“I’m with III. He’s got the energy of an abused shelter cat who’s scared of everyone.” II gave IV a weak glare before letting out a long-suffering sigh.
“If we find him again.” II said and began to make his way down the stairs of the parking garage.
Vessel is completely and utterly miserable.
It was his father’s idea to host this Halloween party, in a convention space in the hotel they were staying at. Vessel isn’t here because he wanted to be here. His father was always disappointed in him, in his passions, in his true dream of music. Yes, he got a degree, but not in business management like his father wanted. He chose English instead, followed by his true passion of music composition. It only earned him a punishment in writing ad jingles, the most inane things he could think of, and then the long and torturous process of earning approval that only came from an executive majority (because like hell would his father give him anything close to approval of his true love of music).
His father only brought him along, paid for his hotel room, gave him the clothes he was here for one reason that was hissed to him in the moment they were alone: He’s here because his father wanted him to be here to be match-made with the daughters of his wealthy friends and business acquaintances. God, someone kill him now. He doesn't care how, anything would be better than the torture of small talk with strangers he has nothing in common with. In the loving but concerned words of his ocean-away friend Ophelia, he's pretty, sad, and pretty sad. All of that feels appropriate for tonight.
His father gave him the kindness of choosing his own costume. That's why he's dressed up (as best he can) as a raven, because he just wants to fly away so bad from this room. He only has the suits his father made him wear the entire time, nothing close to casual, so that has to work with what he can scramble in LA which ends up being a cheap feather boa draped on his back and all black. The feathers get everywhere and most people just look at him quizzically before his raven beak mask clues them in on who he is. His father only has a jacket printed with fur and wolf ears, a weak attempt at a werewolf costume because the costume party was only a thin veneer over his true intentions. If Vessel was home, he could've wowed them with a truly special costume, he's seen enough online about fashion and costumes, but no, he was in a city he didn't know well with a father who hated him and wearing what he could scrounge up in that short amount of time.
It's hard not to cry, with all this weighing on him.
He wishes he could’ve stayed with II, III, and IV. If only he wasn’t such a coward, hiding from his own father who never loved him. He could never be the businessman his father wanted him to be, no matter how much his father shamed him into being one. He just couldn’t lie to himself about what truly drove him to live: music. He wanted to let his songs reach the world, to the hearts who needed them, and that was not going to happen in a thirty-second ad jingle.
He slipped away as soon as his father exited the room, to find a bathroom or something, he didn’t care. He tossed the feather boa and the mask away, sniffling and holding his jacket close to his body. He made his way down stairs and through hallways, not caring where his feet took him. He just had to get away, wherever away was, he didn’t care. He didn’t want the daughters of executives, only offered to him to solidify business bonds like they were pawns in their games. He didn’t want lonely offices high above the city streets.
He’d give anything to be free of his father’s expectations.
“Oomf!” His body collided with another. Vessel took a step back, gasping in surprise.
“Sorry, I should’ve-”
“Vessel! It’s good to see you!” Vessel blinked. Standing in front of him was the very people he had been thinking about: II, III, and IV. II was in all black, a leather jacket and a tank top that barely hid tattoos that took all of Vessel’s strength to not greedily drink the sight of and boots that he was pretty sure could kill a man. III was in a gray shirt with a werewolf’s roaring maw emblazoned on it, tight pants splattered with color, and checkered socks peeking out of his shoes. IV was draped in a very warm green zip-up hoodie, a shirt with the phases of the moon artistically placed on it, and well-loved shoes. Vessel felt so starkly out of place, in a too-stiff jacket and button-up shirt and pressed slacks.
“I, uh, hi. It’s nice to see you again.” He says awkwardly. He realizes he’s too close to III, he probably bumped into him on accident. In IV’s hand is two bags of take-out Italian and it smells so good but he keeps that to himself. IV has what looks to be a tub of ice cream as well and something about them, coming back into the hotel with dinner and they were probably going to be nice and cozy together and oh how he wants-
"What’s on your plan tonight?” IV asked, tilting his head at him. The honest answer is crying, really, because he feels like it as he stares at them, the very thing he wants next to his dreams of song and dance.
"I…I’m going back to my room.” He said, trying not to stammer too much. He glanced behind III and gasped softly, a familiar figure swiftly walking into another hallway, just missing him. II glanced to where he was looking before focusing his gaze on him.
“Why not come with us? We took too much back home and III can’t finish it all by himself.” It’s a request laced with a question. II’s blue eyes seem to pierce him in a way that Vessel finds both unsettling and relieving, to know that his troubles can be seen and asked in a way that isn’t obvious to a mere eavesdropper.
“I’d love that.” He breathes. His hands are shaking, immediately taken by II’s as he’s led to the elevators, III and IV trailing behind them. He feels a little more at ease, surrounded by the kindest strangers he’s ever met. His head’s still on a swivel, still looking out for his father, even as he hears the click of the elevator button being pushed and the soft ‘ding!’ of a swift-arriving car. All four of them pile inside and the doors glide shut, III hitting the ‘12’ button to send them to the twelfth floor. Vessel let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. A quiet reigns in the elevator car, no one quite willing to break the strangely comfortable silence between them all. It let out another soft ‘ding!’ as it landed on the fifth floor and all four of them pile out. II leads them to their room, IV pulling out the keycard and getting the door open for them.
It’s an expansive room, Vessel thinks, but only because it has to support three people. There’s a pull-out bed in front of the TV, a kitchette for basic cooking and reheating, and what looked to be a door leading to the room’s master bedroom. As IV places the take-out on the counter, Vessel is gently pulled across the room by II to the two seats at the curtain-drawn windows.
“So, um, what do you three do?” Vessel asked, trying to have some light conversation.
“We’re part of a band.” III begins. “I play bass, IV plays guitar, and II kills at drums.” Vessel’s heart skips a beat. A band? They’re part of a band and they’re still so kind?
“I’ve always wanted to be part of a band…or at least, do music somehow. I got a degree in music composition-”
“No way!” IV gasped. “And you were hiding this from us?”
“Social embarrassment would do that to you.” II’s voice is patient, as if reminding them how they met not a few hours before. Vessel let out a shy noise, looking away.
“Thank you, for doing that for me.”
“Of course.” II smiles to him and his heart skips a beat again. Their kindness will kill him someday but he’d rather be slain by their kindness rather than being suffocated by social situations he wanted nothing to do with, situations his father forced him into with a deliberate ignorance of his own feelings. His hands tightened on his lap, head lowered to the table to not look into those beautiful blue eyes. IV suddenly fills his vision, the man sitting himself at his feet and staring up at him with dark blue eyes that reminded him of a dusky sky.
“What else can you do?” He asked, breathless with excitement.
“Well, I draw, I play piano, I even sketched out outfits on a whim because my mum had reruns of American fashion shows. I also have a book on alchemical sigils because I had a phase where I was really into alchemy and chemistry-” He stopped, shy, his father always scolded him for talking so much, but IV’s soft frown makes him feel guilty.
“And?” He asked.
“I don’t want to ramble…” Vessel said softly.
“II yaps like his life depends on it.” And there’s a plate of warm pasta in front of him, what looked to be cheese alfredo with cuts of chicken in it. “And we love him for it.” III’s voice is close, teasing, and he glances up to see II glaring at him.
“Maybe I should ‘yap like my life depends on it’ for that twelve hour flight we’re going to be on-”
“Wait, where are you going?” He hates how desperate his voice sounds, how they immediately notice it.
“Uh…home? To our flat, in London?” II turns to him fully, his own plate of pasta ignored. “Why?”
“I…I know I sound desperate, but I’d…I’d really like to show you what I have. I have a flat in London, with all my notebooks and compositions and I have my keyboard too so I can even play them out for you to hear. Just give me a chance-”
“Vessel.” II smiles so sweetly at him, breaking that train of thought because Vessel desperately wants to see him smile again. “Of course we’d give you a chance.”
“Really?” He almost can’t believe it. “I can’t thank you enough. I only wish I could go with you but my father…” He trails off. IV lifts himself off the floor and pulls his phone out of his pocket.
“Give me your number. Then we can send you our address and we can meet up in London.” IV’s excited, Vessel can hear it, and he’s getting excited at the thought of finally pursuing his passion, freeing himself from the prison of ad jingles and his father’s disappointment.
“Thank you.” He whispers, giddy. III stretches and goes back to the kitchenette to take a seat for his own pasta.
“So! How about we spend the night here breaking the ice and roasting the fuck outta some American telly, hm?” III has the remote in his hand. Vessel nods in agreement, too elated to even think about saying no. Everything’s falling into place like he wanted to for so long and he feels like he can never thank them enough. He’s so happy to have bumped into them in the parking garage.
The future is still uncertain, yes. Vessel knows his father will be furious about him finally taking the reigns of his own life instead of meekly following his father’s footsteps, but he will face the future with his new friends. That he knows for certain.