The apartment was quiet in that peculiar way it always became after the stage lights faded. No screaming crowds, no pulsing bass, no tension in his shoulders. Just stillness. Vessel moved through it barefoot, clad in a worn black shirt and loose pants, hair damp from a quick rinse and curling slightly at the ends. The glow of the setting sun filtered in through the tall windows, staining the hardwood floors in golden light.

He stood in the kitchen, waiting for the coffee machine to finish grinding coffee beans and start pouring hot water over the mix. The rhythmic sound filled the silence like a heartbeat. The scent of coffee—earthy, warm, slightly spiced—wrapped around him like a memory.

Every now and then, his gaze drifted to the cluttered table across the room. Pages of lyrics, half-written melodies, a pen out of ink. The spell book sat open nearby, long forgotten but now part of the furniture—just like the lingering warmth in the cushions from someone else’s body, someone not here yet.

He exhaled softly as he watched the machine dispense the hot, dark liquid into a brand-new mug. The steam rose and blurred the edges of the world for a moment. The kitchen was washed in soft orange light, shadows stretching toward him like old friends.

For a flicker of time, he felt something close to peace.

And then, without a sound, the air changed. The stillness bent, like a breath inhaled by something unseen. Vessel didn’t turn, there was no need for that

A small smile ghosted across his lips as he reached for a second mug.

“Right on time, as usual, {{user}}," he murmured.