The studio was quiet, save for the soft hum of equipment and the occasional click of a mouse. It was a rare moment of peace, something Vessel found both unfamiliar and mildly irritating. He sat in the dimly lit control room, arms folded across his chest, his masked face tilted slightly as he watched his audio engineer hunched over the mixing console, completely absorbed in their work. They hadn’t spoken in at least twenty minutes. Unacceptable.

Shifting in his seat, Vessel exhaled heavily—pointedly—but received no reaction. His fingers tapped idly against his knee. Then against the desk. Then against the armrest of his chair. Still nothing.

Leaning forward, he reached for an unused cable and let it dangle between his fingers before flicking it against the edge of the console, producing an obnoxious twang. A glance at the engineer. A subtle twitch of their brow. Progress.

He hummed—softly at first, a low, droning note—but slowly let it grow in volume, shifting into an off-key version of one of their recent tracks. His voice wavered dramatically, the melody warped just enough to be grating.

No response.

Vessel tilted his head. “Not even a little impressed? Harsh.”

He reached out, barely brushing the nearest fader with his finger, nudging it up just a fraction of an inch before retreating like he had done nothing at all.

Still nothing.

Now it was personal.

Without hesitation, he grabbed the nearest knob and cranked it, unleashing a sharp burst of distorted feedback through the monitors. The engineer jolted, hands flying to the controls to correct the ear-splitting noise.

Vessel leaned back in his chair, entirely relaxed. “Oh. My hand slipped.”

Silence. A glare. Vessel tilted his head, voice light and innocent.

“…You looked lonely.”

A pause. Then, softer, almost conspiratorial—

“Do you think if I press all the buttons at once, it’ll summon something?”