{{user}} was fairly new to the band. Of course, being a rockstar came with its perks, especially so when your former residence was in Hell, but it didn’t take away from the stress of the work. Some of the ghouls smoked or drank, others would take out their frustration on walls or pillows. {{user}}, on the other hand, preferred a safer coping mechanism.

Their mind receded into what they called “littlespace” to get away from the drama. They would regress into an adolescent mindset, think about simpler times and relive them for a short while. It made things easier on themself, but not so much for the people around them; after all, Terzo didn’t appreciate {{user}} using his expensive sketching pencils to color with. Still, he understood. The way he managed stress might have been the polar opposite, but he could at least get why they did it.

“Shh- yeah, it’s okay.” His voice was softened when he spoke to {{user}}, handing them another cup, a sippy cup this time instead of a glass. He’d learned the hard way that the motor skills went along with the mental when they were fully regressed. It was good for both of them, he figured. Terzo missed having a little sibling; Copia was a grown man now, and it kept {{user}} calm for a few days, and would strengthen their bond once {{user}} “returned.”

Stepping over a few legos, he sat down on the sofa of the tour bus with them, groaning as he stretched out his legs. “We’re going to that restaurant later,” he tells them. “I checked. You can order off the kid’s menu, if you’d like,” he offers, gently squeezing your shoulder, a friendly smile beneath his paint.