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“It’s over, sweet boy, it’s over,” II’s soft voice is the first thing Vessel hears as he exits the stage, shaking with adrenaline as the sounds of thousands of people filtering out of the venue can be heard behind him.
He doesn’t know where to look now, the general state of overstimulation that he’s grown accustomed to onstage suddenly replaced by darkness. It feels like a balm to his tired senses, and at the same time, leaves him feeling slightly hollow inside.
II takes his hand gently from the security guard whose job it is to see that Vessel makes it off the stage alright since his range of vision is not exceptional through the thick mesh of his mask.
“Come on now, let’s get you taken care of,” his friend soothes, tugging him along gingerly through the backstage littered with equipment, stage hands and their various other personnel.
Vessel numbly follows along behind the shorter man, stumbling occasionally over his own feet from just how languid his body now felt. He’s accomplished what he’d set out to do- perform to the best of his ability and avoid any embarassing infractions. Now it is over, he feels like he is floating in some space where everything is just passing him by. His head feels all fuzzy and his ears ring with something not quite painful but not quite pleasant either.
He still feels wrong about those men shouting his name. He feels angry with himself too, for being angry at them shouting his real name. Why does he hate those men so much?
He’s capable of baring his soul in music in such a way that to do so sometimes leaves him feeling cold and shivery in front of thousands of people, as if someone has taken all his clothes and posed him before the audience, naked and exposed so thoroughly that he almost feels an instinctive need to cross his legs and cry. Yet, when faced with the possibility of those same people seeing his face, and knowing his real name, he feels an overwhelming sense of dread rush over him in hot waves. Nausea floods his stomach and bile rises in his throat at the prospect of someone acknowledging that he is just a quiet English boy with little in the realm of looks and nothing terribly impressive in the way of wealth.
The very thought of it takes him back to a time when he was very small, maybe about seven or so, when he’d had a crush on one of his little classmates -a pretty girl with corn silk blonde hair and gleaming blue eyes. His mates and he had been gathered on the playground at recess discussing this all-important topic when he’d confessed to his friends that he thought he might try to give the little girl a gift to show he ‘like-liked’ her.
One of the older lads had scoffed,”You think you’ve got a chance, beanpole? Girls don’t like boys with big noses, you know? Makes you look like some sort of ugly warlock.”
Vessel had fled from the conversation immediately to find their kindly young teacher, his little chest heaving with sobs and lips quivering when he spotted her seated on one of the benches near the school’s back entrance. He’d stumbled toward her, blubbering a bit louder than he might have preferred, but everyone else was still on the playground playing so he couldn’t care.
“What happened, sweetheart?” she’d asked, alarm riddling her voice as she sprinted for the crying child, lifting him into her arms, big boy that he was, and wrapping his legs around her waist as she carried him back to the bench with her.
“They say I’m u-ugly-” he cried, snuggling into her shoulder and trying to curl his body even smaller into her lap.
The teacher had pulled him away from her collar gently, meeting his red-rimmed eyes,”Now, who told you a naughty thing like that?”
He pointed to the group of boys far away, near the slide shakily as his shoulders shook,”They say I got a big nose- an- that the girls won’t like me because I look like a warlock!”
The young woman jutted her lower lip out sympathetically, stifling a slight giggle, and instead wrapping her arms tightly around the little boy’s body to pull him snugly to her chest, holding and rocking him from side to side tenderly.
“You are such a beautiful boy, sweetheart,” she spoke softly, holding the back of the child’s head like he was a fragile infant,”Those boys are just jealous that they aren’t as sweet as you, I’m sure. Even if those girls don’t like you, though, love, you should know that it’s what’s on the inside that counts. The things that nobody can see inside your little heart are the things that matter the most, those are what make you pretty or ugly. I can tell you have one of the prettiest hearts around.”
He’d stopped crying then, only half-convinced of what the teacher was saying and not totally certain he understood what she meant but savoring being cuddled until the end of recess as he did not receive much affection at home. He tried to take to heart what she said and not think too hard about whether he was handsome or not. He avoided girls, though, too afraid that one of them might say he was ugly and wound his delicate pride to risk making a move on one of them. He never hung out with a group of boys like that again, either, equally apprehensive that one of them might hurt him, also.
He’d become a reclusive child from that day forward, and his parents, busy and often neglecting to check on his most basic physical needs let alone his emotional ones, had left him to his own devices.
He’d always kept an eye on that blonde girl, though, all the way through school. He did work up the courage to speak to her, finally, when they were grouped into the same team in music class for year 9. She was very kind and they found they had much in common, she enjoyed singing immensely, while he found much release in being a composer and lyricist.
She became his only friend, and while he never spoke of furthering their friendship for fear he’d ruin things, he’d always thought about it. She’d made him feel seen in a way no one else had, and he’d clung to that feeling like a lifeline in his tumultuous adolescence.
The Vessel of now sniffles at the memories he’s drudging up, he doesn’t want to think of that girl right now, or of what became of her and that reclusive little boy later on.
II drags him into their shared dressing room and plants him on the chair nearest the door with a gentle shove of his shoulders. Closing the door behind him, shutting the chaos out effectively, and locking the door, he kneels in front of his younger friend.
“Hey there, big guy,” he begins quietly, gingerly reaching for Vessel’s hood and pushing it backwards, “Where are we tonight?”
He reaches around the performer’s head to unsnap the clasp at the back of his head, quietly removing it to reveal swollen eyes shining with repressed tears and flushed upper cheeks,”We’re in a bad place, huh?”
Vessel whimpers and leans into the kind hand cupping his cheek,”I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I’m sorry.”
II shushes softly, reaching for the top of one of Vessel’s tabis, “Let’s get you out of these.”
He unlaces one tabi and then the other with practiced efficiency, and sets them aside, reaching for the belt at the man’s waist next and making quick work of removing it and his cloak.
“You’re not thinking about she-who-must-not-be-named, are you?” he asks, not looking up from where he’s lacing the tabis together.
When he doesn’t get a response, he quirks one eyebrow suspiciously and glances up at Vessel, now naked save for the black paint which always appeared randomly splattered on without the rest of the costume and his baggy pants. The larger man looks downtrodden, shoulders slumped and eyes on the floor as he submits to II’s ministrations silently.
“Come here,” II whispers, bringing the man into his chest after removing his own mask, the room’s air refreshing on his skin after having been covered for so long.
He brings Vessel into his chest and rocks his upper body, carefully cradling the back of his head as he tries to soak up what he can of his friend’s pain.
“I don’t mean to be such a buzzkill,” Vessel whispers,”My body feels heavy, though, and everything feels like it’s off kilter.”
II nods against his hair,”It’s a bad day, we knew that. I know that. You’re entitled to bad days, love.”
Vessel nuzzles into his chest deeper,”I feel like I’ve had an awful lot of them lately.”
“It’s been a lot for you being on the road all the time, what with the tour and everything, no shame in being knackered,” II consoles him, patting his sticky-with-sweat back tenderly, "You wanna finish getting cleaned up, and we’ll go out to the bus, cozy down and watch that anime like we talked about before the show?”
Vessel sniffles, and II realizes the man is crying but politely ignores it, respecting his space until he’s ready to ask for the comfort he needs. II is well-versed in the younger man’s behaviors and knows that he must feel in control in these times of emotional anguish. He figures it’s the same reason for why he needs the costume to perform, to feel in control when he’s most vulnerable.
II gingerly pulls the younger man away from his chest, choosing to ignore when he tucks his chin deeply into his neck to keep his face hidden away from his friend- though it pains him to do so.
“I’m gonna start the shower for you, alright?” he explains quietly, feeling like the moment is suddenly delicate.
He feels like if he speaks too loudly or moves too quickly, Vessel will shatter from the intensity of it. He knows this is ridiculous since his friend, while sensitive, is a grown man, but he’s never been able to think of Vessel as anything other than the little brother he needs to protect.
Vessel doesn’t reply to him and, instead, wraps his arms around himself tightly in a lonely self-hug, II’s gaze softens as he notes this but he presses a brotherly kiss to the man’s crown of auburn hair, heavily matted with sweat though it is, and bustles away to start the water for his shower.
After a few more quiet tears and a few calming breaths, Vessel swipes at his traitorous eyes and trudges to the bathroom. II is inside, seated on the closed toilet seat lid and thumbing his phone screen absently, elbows propped on his spread knees as he leans forward.
Vessel gazes into the bathroom, steam starting to billow out from the hot water in the shower. His stomach feels suddenly nauseous and he crosses his forearms across his abs, clawing into his skin with his fingernails so deeply he thinks he’s broken through his skin. Maybe, just maybe, he’s hoping he has. He thinks of the shower and, for some reason, feels suddenly terrified. It feels dark and foreboding, and all he can think of is the razor clinging to the wall inside it. It’s III’s as he’s ever efficient and prefers to just shave in the shower rather than cluttering up the sink.
He knows it’s not normal to feel this way, knows that he doesn’t deserve this but he needs some sort of relief. He wants to atone for his sins. He needs to feel like he’s paid for them somehow. He can’t do that again. He can’t get in that shower. He feels his breathing pick up, why is his brain so stupid?
Why does he want pain instead of comfort?
Why is he like this?
II looks up from his phone and offers a gentle smile to the younger man who he thinks is just lost in thought from being tired as he slumps in the doorway.
“I’ll leave you to it, mate,” II says, sighing as he pockets his phone and begins to stand up with a weak groan.
“Can you stay?” Vessel blurts out in a rush, pinching his full lower lip between two fingers and twisting the skin nervously.
His cheeks flush with embarrassment,”I just meant-I-”
II’s brow furrow suspiciously, "What's going on in that head of yours? Hm?”
He sits back down slowly reaches for Vessel’s hand, the younger man lets him take it and tug him closer. He pulls him so that Vessel is now between his spread legs and then gently nudges his knees to indicate he should kneel.
Vessel languidly acquiesces, feeling both too old and too young; too young to know how to handle the vile monster that eats him from the inside out daily but too old to be making such a fuss about it. On his knees and slouching, he is just a bit lower than eye level with II.
“I-I don’t feel so well, and, I-”
He hiccups and drops his head so that his crown brushes II’s chest, three scalding, fat tears pelting the tile below him.
II leans forward, gingerly wrapping his arms around Vessel and rocking their bodies almost imperceptibly, "You can tell me, love, I’m listening. Take your time.”
Vessel sniffles, stumbling over his words,”I have this-that feeling. I-I feel like I should be punished and-and-I don’t think I can be alone right now and-and not, y-you know-”
II’s stomach sours,”I’ll stay, love, I’ll stay.”
Vessel releases a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, a loud sob escaping with it, he moves forward, leaning entirely against II now limply, his body feels so inexplicably weak,”Thank you, thank you.”
II holds him upright, squeezing his shaking shoulders reassuringly and steadily rubbing circles into his back,”You’re doing the right thing, I am so proud of you. I know it all feels horrible now, I know.”
A presence appears in the doorway and IV’s unmasked face appears, his eyebrows furrowing deeply at the troubling sight of the band’s frontman on his knees and weeping between II’s spread knees while the drummer is trying to calm him down.
“Everything okay?” he asks in an almost whisper, eyes roving between the two men intertwined.
II lifts his chin from where it’s been tucked against the nape of Vessel’s neck and shakes his head subtly, “Could you close that door? We’ll be along in a little while, just having a bit of a day.”
IV nods slowly, a hand reaching for the doorknob after a moment’s hesitation, “Call me if you need anything? Please? We’re just in the bus, both gonna stay in tonight.”
II nods, a bit impatient to regain privacy for Vessel’s sake, his arms tighten around the younger man in a protective gesture,”Will do, thank you.”
IV closes the door and II returns his attention to Vessel.
He drops a kiss to the man’s shoulder carefully,”You’re not bad for feeling this way, love. I promise, you are not wrong for feeling poorly. I am sorry you feel this way, though. Can you try to tell me what you feel you should be punished for?”
Vessel tenses slightly but II tightens his grasp on him, “There’s no rush, sweetheart, we have nowhere to be. No one’s expecting us and you are not wrong for needing a moment.”
II gently removes one hand from around the man, reaches inside the shower curtain and shuts off the water, feeling like silence might be more comfortable at the moment and worried the steaminess might eventually become overwhelming for Vessel in his troubled state.
“I don’t like that they know now,” Vessel whimpers quietly, voice shriller than usual as he tries not to dissolve into a puddle of tears and actually try to work through what he’s feeling like he knows he should,”I feel like they all think I’m pretending or playing dress-up now and it’s just-it's just not fair-”
He shakes his head harshly,”I want to make music and just-just connect with people through it and when they’re just thinking of me, I feel like I’m failing an exam. It feels like there was some sort of a test to pass in order to be-to be-to be-, I don’t know- to be something else. Something other than what I am? I don’t know.”
He’s getting angry now, thought he’s still crying, II can tell and eases up a bit to let him have the space he deserves to be so.
“And because you feel like you failed that test, you feel like you should be punished for it?”
Vessel nods morosely, pressing even further into II’s chest as if he’d like to clear a space between the man’s heart and lungs and climb inside for safety.
“In your head, who do you think made that test?” II asks softly.
Vessel pauses to think for a moment, musing thoughtfully,”I don’t know, maybe the fans?”
II nods even though Vessel can’t see him with his face hidden away,”If you’d failed that test, then, the fans wouldn’t really be fans, as such, now would they?”
Vessel stays silent, though II wraps him tighter in his embrace.
“What do you think the fans think when they come to see you, hm?” he asks.
“I feel like they think of the old me and how ugly he is and-”
“So, you think all those tens of thousands of people out there think of the ‘old you’ everytime they think of you?”
Vessel nods meekly, starting to come out of his anxiety-induced haze and think more clearly as II has him talk this through so tenderly.
“But they all came to see you still, right?”
Vessel suddenly feels his throat constrict but nods again, this time almost imperceptibly.
“Why do you think they came to see you tonight? What does your head tell you when you feel poorly?”
Vessel whimpers,”That they came to see me mess up, or that they came to find out if I was faking it or not.”
II hums thoughtfully, pursing his lips,”Some of our tickets cost about half a mortgage payment, love, do you know that?”
Vessel stays silent.
II continues,”Do you think it’s logical to think all those people paid all that money to come watch you ‘mess up’ or to see if you’re ‘really’ performing?”
Again, Vessel remains quiet, but some of the tension seeps from his body.
II takes the silence for his answer,”I don’t think it is, either. So, I think that really only leaves one logical explanation for why those people come to see you.”
This part he intends to make Vessel say aloud,”So, you tell me why those people come to hear your music every show.”
Vessel shakes his head slightly, and II can feel a heavy trail of tears running down the front of his chest where the man is crying quietly.
He nudges Vessel’s shoulders slightly,”Hm, tell me.”
He pulls Vessel away gently, revealing his red and splotchy face now. He tries to look away but II gingerly cups his chin and their eyes meet. He notes the fresh tide of tears pressing at Vessel’s waterline and feels his own mist slightly.
“Because they like m-my music?” Vessel whispers hoarsely, like the suggestion is somehow ridiculous to say aloud.
II smiles warmly,”Yes, and you know why?”
Vessel squeezes his eyes closed and balls his fists up, jamming them into his eyes to hide from view now,”Because I’m a g-good musician?”
“Yes, love, yes,” II soothes, pulling Vessel back up against him and smothering him in an all-consuming cuddle,”So, by your own admission, you are a good musician, moreover, I will add that you are a good person. And every one of those people came to see you because you are so good. I would say that based on the facts, you haven’t done anything that warrants a punishment. Do you agree?”
Vessel just loses control completely, weeping violently now,”I-I-I-They came f-for me?”
II nods,”They did, they came for that guy under the mask and whatever he could give them. And did you see their faces through that damn mask of yours? They were so happy, V, and you did that. You made them happy.”
Vessel can’t hold himself up at all anymore, feeling like the wind got knocked out of him as he slowly begins processing this reality.
II scoots down from the toilet now to the tiled floor and moves Vessel awkwardly into his lap, one brawny arm under his back and another under his legs. Vessel’s so big, they do take up nearly the entire tiny bathroom floor but II handles him like he’s a tiny thing that he might break. The younger man nestles his face into II’s already damp chest and stifles a long, keening wail there.
“I’ve got you, love,” II coos,”You are so loved, sweetheart, so loved and so deserving of love.”
They sit like that for a long while, II whispering sweet reassurances to Vessel and rocking him and the younger man just basking in his little circle of security in II’s arms.
II knows this will not be the last time he has to work through this with Vessel, but he doesn’t care, he’ll gladly do this a thousand times if his friend will only learn to see himself as he sees him.
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An hour and a half later, II opens the door for Vessel to their tourbus and gestures for him to go first. Vessel does so meekly, as he does everything.
III and IV are nestled together on the sofa when they walk in, hands clutching controllers as they pause their Fortnite game to survey their bandmates.
“Everything okay?” III asks tentatively, having been informed by IV of their previous state.
He looks from a freshly-washed but awkward and a little swollen-looking Vessel to a very tired but nonchalant II, who has an arm around the taller man’s waist reassuringly now.
II answers,”Everything’s all good, just a little bit of a bad day.”
IV reaches over the couch arm into the little basket beside it and pulls the worn but still cuddly panda bear stuffie that Vessel’s owned since he was all of about ten years old out. He hands it hesitantly to the man with a sympathetic smile.
“Thought you might need this guy?”
Vessel blushes but accepts the bear with anxious hands, II rubbing his back kindly and shooting IV a knowing smirk. It’s the loudest secret amongst their crew that Vessel keeps this bear as well as a variety of other plushies around to cuddle when nobody’s looking.
Only with his three bandmates, though, does he openly enjoy their comfort as he does so now, squeezing the large plushie close in his arms as he takes a seat in one of the nearby chairs seated at a table meant to be their dining space.
“We’ve pulled out the big bed,” IV explains to II who nods and ventures to the cabin at the back of the bus where a king-sized mattress fills out basically the entire space and is smothered in blankets, pillows and stuffies,”Figured might be a good night for a cuddle and that anime we were all eyeing on Netflix the other day.”
They exchange secret knowing smiles, II pinching IV’s waist affectionately as they stand aside so Vessel can enter the very cozy looking domain. They’ve strung up fairy lights around the edges of the room and there’s a projector tucked atop the back of the pull out sofa-turned headboard so that once every one is tucked in they can slide the door closed and use the door and plain wall as their screen for the anime. A darling makeshift little theater in Vessel’s opinion.
He crawls on his knees to the top of the bed and cozies down with his panda tucked snugly against him, looking expectantly at his friends to come and join him.
IV grins and follows suit, crawling into bed beside him and pulling a blanket over the both of them. He spoons Vessel from behind and presses a warm kiss to his cheek that has the younger man giggling as he turns rosy.
II smiles at the sight, blue eyes sparkling,”Give me just a second and we’ll be all set.”
He motions III softly to follow him out to the little corner of their bus where a microwave is tucked into the wall and a fridge beside it that acts as their makeshift kitchen on the road.
Quickly they work together after II explains as quietly as possible the need for hot chocolate to III. II deftly heats up four mugs of steaming milk, while III adds the cocoa powder.
Ten minutes later, they both return with two mugs apiece and pass them out to the other two. It takes some fanagling to crawl across the big mattress, close the bedroom door and get everyone snuggled in with the looming threat of spilling the hot chocolate all over everyone (the older three silently banding together to keep Vessel from moving as much as possible since his coordination has long been documented as the worst amongst them) but soon, they’re all nestled down and sipping quietly while Love Through a Prism plays against the wall before them.
They set their mugs on the lip of the windowsill behind them once they’re finished, limbs tangling together as they cuddle together, safe from all the prying eyes of fans and the other sometimes harrowing realities of tour life.
Vessel nestles between IV and II, each with an arm snug across his waist and his panda stuffie, sighing contentedly before slipping into a soft sleep as II had known he would the moment the anime began playing. A dark chocolate stain still frames his full lips as his head nodded off, nose nuzzling IV’s arm deeply.
II notes the exact moment he slips off and nudges IV to help him remove the extra pillow propping him upright and lay him flat on his back. They work quietly together, IV holding Vessel’s dead weight against his chest while II sorts the pillow situation behind him.
He helps IV gently guide the tall man back down flat against the pillow, his hands tugging for his bear in his sleep, his eyebrows furrowing and lip pursing grumpily.
IV turns back into III, but II gently brushes back Vessel’s soft hair from his forehead and drops a kiss to his brow before he, too, lies down and drifts off to sleep, his younger friend snoring softly beside him.