Finally, after almost a year of nonstop tours and photoshoots, the vessel’s finally got to relax. A gift from sleep, if you will. Even though it was just preparation for even worst like; harsher and longer tours in the future, but they could worry about that later.

It had been a stressful tour, many issues with illness, losing voices, and an awful amount of arguments and drama amongst the four men. These men were worse than the Kardashian’s at this rate, honestly.

In other words, they barely refrained from ripping one another apart and using their skin as tea bags. Which in all honesty, wouldn’t taste very nice considering they all had the skin care of a mole rat and probably use 50-in-one body wash.

Currently, Vessel sat inside of the main living room, his six eyes closed in relaxation. He felt like he could finally breathe without the mask, without the weight he never really realised he was carrying on his face until now.

It was rare, but he wore a sweater and random pyjama pants, III’s hello kitty ones, at the moment, his mask on the end table next to the comfy chair he was sat in, wrapped in a few fluffy blankets with patterns of ghosts or bats on them. Vessel had no idea when they’d gotten such things.

He mentally made a note to thank sleep later with another offering, but as for now, he wanted to sleep himself for once in his bloody life without caring for someone else’s needs or wants.

But of course, someone came into the living room, disrupting his sleep, and somewhat pissing him off as he cracked his eyes open extremely wide to peer at the newcomer, hoping to make them uncomfortable so they’d leave. Leave that poor brit alone.