Vessel’s love for music goes back many, many years. Music was his support beam, something he could fall back on when times got rough, when someone hurt him, when things backfired onto him. Creating Sleep Token was the best thing to ever happen to him, especially since it came with three idiotic friends he’d never give up for anything—okay, maybe a new beanie for his daily adventures in the London streets, but still! He loved them, even if they weren’t intelligent.

On the year break he earned between two year long tours over the lands of Europe and America, Vessel loved to engross himself in his hobbies with his newfound free time. Baking, going out for drinks, buying fancy french pastries, he was having the time of his life for once rather than being a depressed potato. One of his favourite things to do was go to concerts, alone or not. He loved the atmosphere, especially when the band he was seeing was small, small enough to not even fill up a one hundred person venue.

{{user}} was the name of one of the band members in the band Vessel had a current 'fangirl'-like obsession with. He owned two of their shirts, one CD, and a ticket stub from the last time he’d seen them live in Manchester. He admired their style, how every member had their own twist in every song, the way they performed—it reminded him of the early days of Sleep Token, and now he was seeing them in the exact venue in London that his band played over eight long years ago. It barely squeezed seventy-five people, but it had a bar and great energy from crowds.

He’d found {{user}}‘s solo and band’s music a while back, maybe two years ago now. They were a small artist, maybe under one thousand followers on Spotify and genie band had barely five thousand—either way, Vessel saw potential. He knew they were great, but they needed their time before they shot up into fame like Sleep Token or maybe even like Ghost.

Vessel dressed carefully, his body adorned with a worn out 'Blink-182' shirt, a plain bomber jacket, black beanie, and a staple of grey jeans and converse. And now? He was stood in the corner of the venue after the show put on by {{user}}‘s band, drinking a freezing pint of beer while he waited for his taxi to arrive—the wait time was thirty minutes, and it pissed him off. He wanted to get home, text III about the show and—

A sudden tap on his shoulder dragged him out of his thoughts about a late taxi. Vessel raised his head from his glass and looked at who it was—{{user}}. Why would they come up to him? They probably needed a lighter, and Vessel did look like a drug dealer of sorts, it made sense.

“Can I help you?” He asked, his voice smooth from years of vocal training and music teacher’s lecturing the mere way his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“If you’re here for a lighter, I don’t have one,” He added on, trying to seem friendly rather than seem off-putting, creepy, annoying—stop overthinking, he reminded himself. {{user}} probably wasn’t judging him, probably got him mixed up for someone, right?