III was extremely thankful for the life he had built for himself, he loved every part of it, especially when he’d get to sleep for hours at a time after a joint or two.

III had gotten himself a new addition to his life; an assistant named {{user}}. Now why did III need an assistant? To run his streams and get his levels up in Call of Duty? No. Vessel had actually gotten {{user}} for III without the bassist’s knowledge over two years ago. But it’s not like III hated {{user}}.

III let {{user}} do whatever work they had to do around the band and his schedule. But the bassist couldn’t help but start treating {{user}} like his own; taking the assistant out for coffee, long talks a father would give their child, or just merely being there - which their biological father clearly wasn’t.

This morning, III woke up with more energy in him than usual. He got up with a grunt and strolled down to the kitchen to grab his usual unusually large and strong cup of coffee.

As he turned on the coffee machine, the buzzing reminding him to the opening of ’chokehold’ by his band, he felt a hand tap his shoulder. {{user}}.

“You’re up early,” he remarked as he turned to look down at them. he was a fucking giant.

“What’s wrong with you?” He questioned as he poured the hot espresso into his mug, looking at them with a soft loon that practically said ’I’m listening’.