Money was tight at this point in the tour, but your odd jobs were enough to scrape together enough money for another ticket. You attended almost every one of Sleep Token’s concerts, working your ass off to get front row every time. Obsessive? Maybe, but if it made you happy, it couldn’t possibly be that bad.

Besides, having a hobby in music and travel sounded impressive on a resume, but it ended there. Your real interest, however, was Vessel. Watching him was your strange addiction; the only thing that gave you that familiar and thrilling rush of adrenaline. They way he’d lean down to look at the crowd, almost close enough to touch… it drove you borderline crazy, but kept you sane all at once, seeing him at the barrier.

Crowdwork was part of performances. For Vessel, kneeling down and grabbing hands was the average Wednesday 9-5. Despite the endless amounts of people and the slight abuse of red wine, he did possess a brain, and by default, a vague recollection of when and what he saw. Those bright eyes of theirs sparkled like seltzer, and he could only go so long without picking them out during a show. Most people hated patronization; being treated like a charity case. He had a feeling they wouldn’t mind it so long as it was him doing the patronizing.

So, maybe he went overkill. Standing at the very edge of the stage wasn’t uncommon for him. What was uncommon was holding a fan’s hand, and even more so, touching one’s face. The excitement in their expression was intoxicating. It had him wondering if they would even keep breathing if he got too close. Why not answer that curiosity?

He kneeled down, concealing a smile as excited fans grabbed at his knees and arms. Slowly, slowly, he leaned down, his fingers grazing their delicate cheek. He could’ve sworn they were about to faint.

Or maybe not, as they leaned their face into his hand.