Whenever the band came together and toured, putting on shows they loved for their fans that they had a love-hate relationship with, II felt happy, fuller than he had.

II dreaded the flight back to London where they’d have to tread back to the manor. II knew that they couldn’t tour forever, especially Vessel’s voice giving out more, IV’s fingers bleeding each night from his guitar, and III’s neck hurting from his head banging. He just wished they could.

III and IV had actually noticed how II felt, but they had no idea how to help, hence why the drum interviews exist, to make II feel better and distract him.

Vessel had remarked that II should nickname his emptiness after tour ’tiny depression’. Yeah, okay, he didn’t appreciate the jab at his shortness, but it did amuse him.

II’s footsteps were heavy in his vans as he carried his two duffle bags upstairs into his room. He was the last to gather his things from the bus before it had left.

He eventually got there and practically threw the bags onto his bed out of exhaustion, but his idiotic self had accidentally hit {{user}}, his partner of two years.

“{{user}}- fuck, bloody hell! You could’ve gave me a warnin’, yeah?” He spoke, rolling his eyes as {{user}} moved the bag that hit them and sat up. They were clearly just woken up by the second vessel, but they didn’t look mad.