Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nobody ever warns you what it’s like for someone to die peacefully and quietly, and they certainly don’t tell you how much worse it is to miss them when they were just beside you; but you’re suddenly watching them get lowered into the ground.

They don’t tell you what it’s like when you were there, at the scene. They don’t tell you what it’s like when it was your own fault, when you could’ve prevented it. They don’t tell you what hurts worse, the choice of a burial or a cremation—the emotional cost; or the fact that you have to watch so many lives get uprooted from the sudden change.

And he couldn’t decide which one actually hurt worse. ████ couldn’t remember how long he sat in that church pew, listening to the priest speak on. That felt like a pain he’d never known before, it was like watching the antiseptic on your wounds bubble until it fizzled out; but the pain still lingered way after the antiseptic had dried. Relearning how to live without that constant in his life felt like a weight crushing down on his ribs that he just couldn’t remove no matter how hard he tried.

“Amelia was a good girl,” the priest spoke, voice low and somber, and ████ had to bite his tongue—because “good” was certainly a word to use to describe her. Because the smell of old tobacco and cheap alcohol was anything but “good.” ████‘s hands held the obituary tighter. “She was a beloved daughter, a wonderful sister, and a beloved friend to all. Full of life and love, always ready to give. She was the light of many lives.”

The ceremony ended in tears, and music, and love from people who didn’t know the details. From the people who didn’t ever see what happened behind the closed doors. He couldn’t help but wonder silently, bitterly, if the love and the embraces and the words of compassion and comfort would stop if they knew.

If they knew that the night of Amelia’s death consisted of fighting and arguing, if they knew it consisted of cheap alcohol. He wondered if they’d changed up their attitudes if they knew that he let Amelia leave the way she did, drunk and high, instead of trying to stop her. A part of him understood that they would wish it was him in that box in the ground if they knew how it happened. Even if he were to tell them that he was in the car when it happened too, and how he tried to swerve them out of the oncoming traffic—because Amelia hadn't been truly there, or thinking. Because if he were to tell them that he let her drive in that condition, and that he had been the one to swerve them into that tree, they would label him the same way he'd been doing since it happened; a killer.

So, selfishly and like a coward, he kept those words, those memories, the explanations, deep down where they belonged—and he was the only one left in that graveyard after the ceremony, after the casket had been lowered and buried. He couldn’t do much right, but he could at least stay until it got dark and cold and he was forced to walk home under the streetlights that barely lit anything up. Even when his dorm-mate had offered him a ride back, and a warm dinner.

It all became a numb and constant cycle after that. Wake up, get dressed, go to class, go to work, come home, drink. Wake up, get dressed, go to class, go to work. ████ found a bitter comfort in the consistency of that, rather than the messages he got from the funeral attendees—not from the goodness of their hearts, only from some sort of obligation they had. Pity, not genuine concern. He could reach out, probably should reach out, to let someone know he was still alive. (Barely, but alive.) But, he didn't want too, so he wasn't going to reach out. He was always the first one to do that anyways, so why shouldn't someone else do it first?

Besides, there was only one person who seemed to actually give a shit. Or he was good at pretending, at least. He sat a few seats away from ████ in his music class, and they shared a dorm hall together when he stayed on campus. He never knew the guy’s name, but he knew that the other was fairly shorter than he was—always carrying a can of redbull or a bottle of cola, and he was always drumming something on his desk. He had an easy to approach presence. He was the first (and only, really) person to even approach him after Amelia’s death.

But other than that one guy, he didn’t reply to anyone’s texts. He let the messages pile up until the notifications stopped coming through altogether. He let the attendees message him until they felt that their moral obligation was over; that they didn’t have to reach out and pretend to care anymore. ████ let the easy cycle he’d fallen into take control of a big portion of his life. Wake up, get dressed, go to class, go to work, and go home.

████ was on the last bus home for the night, standing and staring at his phone while he gripped the handlebar. Some seats were still empty, and his knees and feet were killing him—but the only closest seat was one squished between two very drunk people, and the idea of that made his skin crawl. The bus came to a rolling stop in front of a little corner store and it suddenly reminded him that he had little to no food in his flat. He stared out the window, debating for a total of one minute before slinging his bag over his shoulder and stepping out. He’d seen this store plenty of times before, and it wasn’t too far from his flat… he could walk the rest of the way home.

████ walked out of the little store after he’d spent more than he originally intended to—with a new pack of cigarettes in one pocket and a little can of some nasty, cheap beer in the bag (with some little instant dinner items). His shoulders hunched a bit as he readjusted his hood, trying to keep the chill out of his bones. ████ could already feel the comforting embrace of his mattress when he made it back.

He spun on his heel and started to get moving, eager to escape the quickly cooling autumn air and get to his flat. He never liked walking on this side of the neighborhood, it already felt sketchy during the day so walking through it at nearly midnight put him on edge. The only thing he could hear was the rushing of cars and the wet concrete under his fraying boots. ████ could barely see the headlights because of how thick the fog had rolled in, and it made his skin prickle nervously. He normally tried to avoid busy roads (and cars for that matter), because nobody in this town could drive. Not properly anyways. He straightened his shoulders and picked up the pace of his walk, hands curling in his pockets.

Something caught him off guard—and that was the sudden lack of noises. It was like the constant stream of cars had just… stopped. His brows furrowed, and he looked at the (previously busy) street. Empty. Like it was suddenly a ghost town. But something across the street suddenly had his attention. It was, probably, one of the most beautiful creatures he’d ever seen.

It was a large white buck—and he meant it when he thought large. The buck’s antlers were giant, they looked twisted and twirled like it was by someone’s design. Its fur was a gorgeous pearly white, shimmering if you turned your head just right. It was the amount of eyes that had really caught his attention. Standing directly under the streetlight, he couldn’t see any reflection of the light from the buck’s eyes. He was awestruck, entranced even. He’d truly never seen anything quite like the creature across from him. He eventually managed to pull himself out of his head and turned to continue walking home; but something stopped him again, like some sort of force—grabbing him by the shoulders and demanding his attention. Something tugged in his chest, and he found himself staring at the buck again - the deer’s head was, what he assumed, pointed right at him.

He couldn’t figure out why he was doing it before he registered he was walking across the street to get to the deer, almost like he was in a trance.

"Closer."

It beckoned, and he was helpless but to listen to the command. The only thing that had quickly pulled ████ from his sudden trance again was the blindingly bright headlights in his eyes and the increasingly loud horn blaring at him. His eyes widened as he realized the road had suddenly become busy again—and he was, literally, like a deer caught in the headlights. His heart leapt to his throat and he was suddenly vaulting himself into the grass on the other side of the road, watching as the car disappeared with the driver leaning out and calling him an abundance of… interesting names.

████ startled when there was a nudge at the back of his neck, and he turned to be suddenly face-to-face with the deer. It wasn't the fact that the animal hadn't left that had unsettled him, it was the eyes. But he couldn't decide if it was the abundance of eyes or the lack of light in them. The deer had six eyes, a brilliant ruby color—but it was like the creature stared right through him. His mouth opened uselessly, before it shut with a click of his jaw as the deer suddenly got closer to his face.

"You could have killed yourself doing that."

"You can talk?" Was all that ████ could answer with, a bit dumbly. The voice sounded like it was reverberating inside of his skull. The deer wasn't talking to him, obviously. It felt like it was sharing its thoughts with him.

"And you can listen."

It wasn't a sarcastic comment, he assumed at least. He couldn't really tell what the creature was feeling, but it didn't seem to be malicious towards him. It seemed almost… curious? Was that the right word? ████ looked at it harder, noticing how the light caught its fur, all the notches and bumps along its antlers. He had no clue what it was, it definitely wasn't a normal deer. Did he end up with some sort of traumatic brain injury after that wreck? Or was he sleeping right now, dreaming, imagining this all happening?

"You're nervous."

"Well, yeah," he pushed himself up onto his knees, brushing off his palms. "It's not often a fuckin- animal, thing, is talking to me." He couldn't explain it, but he felt the need to look away, to not meet the creature's eyes. The multitude of them.

"Hm. And yet, you don't run."

That… was true, the deer had him there. Despite the absolute absurdity of the situation, he didn't feel the need that he had to run. He didn't feel like he was in danger. Which is something he hadn't felt in a while. It was like a breath of fresh air.

It was odd, though. He truly should have felt like he was in danger, he should've felt more on guard. And yet he almost felt the safest he's felt in months.

"Is this even real?" He asked, mouth working before his brain could catch up with him. The deer simply tilted its head before starting to leave, making ████ scramble to stand up and follow.

"As real as that night was."

He stopped in his tracks at that, feeling that familiar tightness in his chest as the buck walked on. "You…?"

"I watched it happen. Just as I've watched you walk this same trail. Just as I've watched how you avoid the roads." The deer turned around, and there was something new that he hadn't noticed before. Fangs, a sharp and frothing maw. "Just like I've watched you, ████."

"…How do you- who are you? What are you?" He asked, feeling his skin prickle and the hair on the back of his neck stand up as he made eye contact with the creature again—suddenly feeling very, very small under its gaze. He felt like prey under the eyes of a predator, waiting for a strike that would never come.

"I have many names. I have many forms. I've been around for many years." ████ took an instinctive step backwards as the deer took a step towards him. "The name I carry would weigh a heavy burden on your mortal mind. It would not be suitable, nor safe, to give it to you so freely."

"…So, what, this is like- a test? I nearly got fuckin' flattened getting to you. You know my name. Why am I not able to know yours?" He hadn't realized that his feet kept moving, kept following the deer until they both came to a sudden stop. He allowed his gaze to travel up until he saw it.

In a clearing, far past the roads and deep into the forest — it stood out to him. A tall, gorgeous but rundown house. The building was more like one of those richy houses you'd see somewhere far nicer than here; the walls were a beautiful dark wood with, what he assumed was, a white brick trim. The roof had holes in it, but it stood tall like mountain peaks. There were windows that still shined with light, and as he let his gaze travel over the land, he noticed the abundance of flowers and shrubs; still so beautiful and vibrant in their colors. Like someone still lived here. Like it wasn't a relic of someone's past. He looked back at the deer, who had stopped between him and the way into the manor's yard.

"Do you live here?" He asked, feeling his ears burn slightly. What an odd question to ask an animal. (But animals also didn't talk to people very often, now did they?)

"You'll learn my name when the time is right. All of your questions will be answerd, as well." The deer rumbled. "You'll find me here. I'll be seeing you, very soon." And all the man could do was watch as the deer trotted off and just… disappeared. He only got a move on when it started to rain.

The new cycle that ████ fell into wasn't nearly as familiar or "comforting" as his last one. He'd managed to break away from getting drunk out of his ass, but something new had nestled deep into the corners of his skull. A constant itch that he couldn't reach no matter how deep he dug. Wake up, get dressed, go to class, go to work, come home, and dream about that deer. About that house, about Amelia. About that deer, the house—the dreams never made sense, they always cycled. And then they got more frequent, and then they were worse.

In each nightmare of the crash, of each gruesome scene he was forced to remember and act out, and bear of Amelia's face—of her death, of the scent of immediate decay in the air; he could see it. The same white deer, always in the background. It never stayed around long, always disappearing just as he could focus on it. But as the dreams continued, he noticed that the deer began to become clearer to see, its presence getting stronger. It was reaching out to him.

What had finally hammered the nail into the coffin was the image of Amelia—bones and gore. The deer was there, and its once delicate white fur was stained a dark crimson. Its maw was sharp again, full with chunks of flesh and dripping wet blood onto the grass. His knees and hands were stained too, and if he focused enough he could taste the metallic tang in his mouth and how it felt full. Like there was rotten meat in his mouth that he had no choice but to swallow down. It came to him, then. The deer's name, the deer's purpose. It only ever came to him in his Sleep.

It couldn't have been later than three in the morning. The skies were dark and rain poured down, pelting his back. He staggered through mud and grass, through blurry vision. His feet took him back to the spot instinctually—his body knew where he needed to go, even if his mind didn't want too. Even if his brain and heart pulled against it. He needed to do this. He understood now.

When he reached the same forest clearing, the deer was there. All six of its eyes tracked his movement, and the rain glimmered off its coat—if he squinted, maybe he could've seen the way it almost looked like the deer was bleeding black. Instead, all he could do was inch forward before collapsing to his knees, head bowed as his palms planted into the ground.

"Sleep," he whispered, Its name like a prayer on his tongue. "Please… I hear you. I-I know what you want. Just… make it stop." He lifted his head, and almost startled backwards at the way the deer's maw twisted into a sharp smile.

"And I hear you." It rumbled to him, standing up and waiting; like It was commanding him to follow. "I can give you what you want. What you need… glory, magnificence. For it to stop. All I ask in return is your devotion. Feed me your darkest thoughts, and I can fix it… at the cost of your old self. Your old memories."

And for once, he knew exactly what he wanted. He finally knew what he needed. He nodded, and trailed slowly behind Sleep. "I'll give it to you." He said, certain and sure of his choice. Sleep's face twisted again.

"Fine choice, my Vessel." It trotted up into the manor's yard and as he— now Vessel—followed, it disappeared into the air. Like mist, it wafted up through the shimmering moonlight reflected on the rain. "By tomorrow, you'll have forgotten everything before this."

"Welcome home, my Vessel."

Chapter Text

Vessel took a deep breath as he held the blade in his hand. Candles were lit, the aroma of various herbs filling the air. His breath was ragged as smoke permeated the air, watching as his own crimson blood dripped from his hand into the bowl below. "The night comes down—like heaven." Vessel muttered under his breath as a chill ran down his spine. He did this for Sleep—these blood offerings. It had promised Vessel that It would make his life better. That It had already relieved him from pain and torment inside of his mind.

Vessel hissed as he slipped the blade further into his palm, feeling as the ceremonial dagger ripped through each layer of his flesh. Blood welled thickly in his palm, streaming steadily downwards. The blood splattered across the smouldering contents of the bowl, gradually putting out the fire.

There was a low hum in the back of his mind, and a warm feeling that bloomed in his stomach as his blood dripped into the bowl. A sign that Sleep was pleased with this offer, he could tell. The echoing voice in his head only proved that to him.

"Well done, my Vessel. Your sacrifice is plentiful this evening." It praised, and Vessel preened under it. "Thank you, Sleep." He responded with, watching as the wound eventually stopped dripping with blood and he pressed his palms together in a silent prayer.

"My Vessel… I wish to reward you for your gifts. You have been nothing but devoted to me, and I would wish for nothing more than to return your kindness."

Vessel blinked curiously, letting the information register in his brain. "You have something to give me?" He asked, looking up at the ceiling. He felt a bit hesitant to take a gift—he hadn't really done much to deserve one. He was curious about the sudden kindness from Sleep, though.

"You have been patient, and have asked politely many times. I hear your requests, my Vessel. Your plea for company will be granted tonight." Vessel's eyes widened beneath the mask he wore, and he felt a pull. He got to his feet and, before he let himself be led downstairs, he quickly cleaned up the altar. He wiped down the ceremonial knife, straightened the decorations and offerings, and then he quickly descended the stairs.

When he reached the midway point, he had heard someone fumbling around downstairs. Footsteps traced from the front door to the sitting room, then to the kitchen. Whoever was walking around seemed lost. Vessel stood on the second to last step, peeking around the corner to get a look at the newcomer.

The new guy was short. Not terribly, but he looked like he would've come up to about Vessel's shoulder. With his back to Vessel, the man couldn't see many more details about him. He was just about to ascend back up the stairs when the new man turned around and they made eye contact — the shorter man's eyes were one of the most interesting shades of blue that Vessel had ever seen.

"…Hello?" The short man greeted, uncertain and probably a bit uncomfortable with how hard Vessel had been staring at him. Vessel remained silent for a beat longer before he cleared his throat. "Hi."

Great first impression.

The silence between the two lasted for way longer than Vessel would've liked, but he couldn't find the words to strike up a proper conversation. He shifted nervously on his feet, tearing his gaze away to stare at the railing of the stairs for a bit. Then the other man spoke.

"You must be who I'm supposed to meet." His voice was light, it was gentle and a little awkward. He paused before continuing. "I was told to find this place. Uh… and find someone else, who I'm guessing is you." He rubbed the back of his neck, fingers rustling on the fabric of the white balaclava he wore - a red rune printed on the front, the way the mask was designed made the rune look like it had been branded into someone's skin. Splotchy and bleeding.

"I was told I'd meet someone new," Vessel responded with, finally finding his voice. He could see the way the shorter man's eyebrows knitted together under his balaclava, eyes narrowing for a moment. Vessel continued. "I'm Vessel. You are…?" He prompted for the other man's name.

The man's mouth opened to answer with something, before a look crossed his eyes. Confusion, like he was wracking his brain for something. "II." The answer finally came out, but II didn't seem content with his own answer. "Odd name, I know, but there's a reason for it. The same thing that brought me here told me I'd be "the second" to… something. I-"

Vessel only shook his head. He knew the reason, he didn't need an explanation about it. "I understand. You're Sleep's second." He replied with, and it seemed to put II a bit more at ease knowing that he didn't have to seem a bit more mental trying to explain… everything. (He already felt crazy enough, having to walk into some random house that he thought was abandoned.)

"You feel familiar." II said, not realizing his mouth was working before his brain allowed it. Vessel blinked owlishly. "We haven't met before." He said, but II shook his head. "We must have. Your voice is familiar." He squinted, trying to search Vessel's face. But he could only see from Vessel's mouth and downwards. Vessel tried to shrink under II's gaze. "I really don't think we have met."

II looked like he wanted to keep insisting that they must have met before. But the discomfort in Vessel's body language was enough for him to drop it. So instead he just nodded in response and rubbed his palms on his jeans.

"Well, anyway…" II started up again, looking back at the door. "I've got a few things with me. Uh… is there somewhere I can put them?" He looked at Vessel again, and the taller man nodded. "Grab your stuff. I'll show you your room, and around the place." He said, beginning to go back up the stairs.

"And this is the altar room." Vessel's mini tour had been quick, wanting to make sure II was acquainted with the house but not wanting to take up too much time. The door opened to the altar room, and II's eyes widened a bit as he took it all in.

It was incredibly clean in the room. Candles, long and thin and white, stood on each corner of the offering table. There was an old fireplace behind the altar, it looked like it hadn't been used in years though. But on the mantle of it was cloths, and dried flowers, and a few fruits that II couldn't put a proper name too because they had long since dried and shrank. The offering table itself was beautiful.

It was a table made of mahogany with swirling grains. It was sanded and smoothed, it looked clean. It had dried flower petals scattered over it tactically; there was an offering bowl with a liquid already inside of it—the bowl was made of quartz, still pointy like it had only just been carved and someone had skipped the polishing. Next to the bowl was a blade, and II assumed it was used to cut fruit offerings, or maybe it was just for decoration.

"My first night, I spent it in here. I'd recommend the same. Maybe converse with Sleep." Vessel said, lingering in the doorway as II stepped inside. II looked over his shoulder at Vessel and blinked. "I don't have anything to offer to Sleep." He looked back at the knife and the fruit slices. "Should I get something to cut for Sleep?"

"No." The answer came fast—too fast. Vessel stepped in and took the knife, looking at II. "You're not going to use this." His answer was firm, but not mean. There was something odd in his body language though, so II just nodded slowly and let Vessel hold the knife close to him. "Just light the candles. An offering was already given to Sleep. You only need to talk to It." Vessel nodded to the candles on the table, and then the pillow on the floor. "You don't have to be in here for long. Just enough for Sleep to talk."

Vessel quickly turned back to the door. "Um. I'll leave you to it. Good night." Is all he said before he stepped out and vanished down the hall. II watched him leave and looked back to where the knife had originally been. The reaction Vessel had was… odd. Maybe the knife was something special that II didn't have the permission for yet. Maybe that'd come later. Or maybe it wouldn't come at all, not that it mattered really. II hovered for a moment before eventually kneeling on the pillow, he looked over the table before picking up a near empty box of matches and pulled one out. Lighting one quickly to use for the candles.

He sat back and let his mouth hang open for a moment. What was he even supposed to say to get Sleep's attention? He looked back at the door, almost willing for Vessel to come back to give him a clue before it happened. The candles extinguished and delved the room into darkness, but the walls quickly started to glow orange as the fireplace suddenly lit - chasing away the dark and the nipping chill. II's mouth went dry for a moment. "…Hello?"

The silence lingered and for a moment, II felt disappointed. Maybe this wasn't meant for him after all. As II began to get to his feet, something clicked in the back of his head. Like something connected to him. He looked at the fireplace again and saw it - a faint outline of something. Someone. It's face was obscured, but the faint outline of a body was visible.

"My Second."

The voice rumbled in the back of his head, echoing in his skull. II's feet moved for him, and he found himself kneeling in front of the fireplace. Something warmed his face, like someone was holding it at the jaw.

"You have done well, seeking this place out. Seeking my Vessel. Seeking me." It praised him, and II felt something warm in his chest for a moment. "I don't think he likes me much." II whispered, and there was a soft rumble in his head—like a laugh.

"Give him time. It's only been him and I for many months." Sleep eventually pulled Its hands away from II's face and leaned back. "My second… tomorrow you will forget everything past this point." II swallowed roughly, eyes searching the area he assumed Sleep was occupying. "What if I regret this choice? What if I'll want to go back home?"

There was a long silence, and it made II's skin crawl with the regret of asking such a question.

"It shouldn't come to that." The answer was brief, curt. There was an obvious air of displeasure from Sleep that lingered. As II opened his mouth to apologize, he didn't get a chance to try and get the words out.

"You must be exhausted from your trip here." Sleep's tone had taken a harsh edge, making II flinch like he had grabbed a knife blade-first. "My Vessel and I have much work to do. It's most likely for the best that you get your rest. Your work will begin tomorrow."

II had felt the warm presence of Sleep disappear, not slowly either. The room plunged itself into darkness again, the chilly air back with a biting vengeance. He remained on his knees for a moment, staring at the dying embers in the fireplace before he stood up. Vessel had suggested he spend the night within the altar's room… and as he glanced over, he noticed a small mattress in the corner. It didn't look comfortable by any means, but there was a blanket on it that looked like it would keep him warm throughout the night.

II crawled onto the mattress and made himself as comfortable as he could be. The blanket was grabbed and pulled up to his chin, cocooning him in warmth. His assessment of the warm looking blanket was correct.

It didn't take much longer for him to fall asleep, eyes already heavy and lulling closed. It was a restless sleep, and any dreams he had- he couldn't remember.

II woke up feeling like he had gotten hit by a bus. The balaclava had come off some time last night, probably from his constant shifting and turning. He sat up with a yawn that made his jaw click, and he scrubbed at his eyes. He glanced over at the fireplace, where the wood had shifted but no signs showed that it had been lit again.

He stretched his arms over his head, sighing contentedly as his back popped. II stood from the mattress and hastily made it before he grabbed the balaclava and left, descending down the stairs.

The hallway was silent. It was a long hall, with little to nothing decorating the walls; the wallpaper was a deep shade of purple, almost royally. There were gold flecks within the wallpaper, like little stars dotting dark skies. The walls were old, obviously, and in a few corners the paper was starting to peel off. A small frown pulled at II's face, why had no matienence been done to the walls? Vessel must've lived here for a while, maybe he'd just gotten used to the look of it all.

Speaking of Vessel; II could hear the man puttering around in the kitchen. II peeked around the doorway after he made it down the hallway, and the sight that greeted him had him pause.

Vessel was no longer wearing that black cloak he'd been wearing when II had first arrived. The man was tall, his limbs were a bit lanky—the way he moved with them made II think, amusedly, that it was Vessel's first time using them. Vessel was dressed in some loose wear, a dark colored tee shirt and some sweatpants. If II looked close enough, he almost thought he could see the bones of his ribs. The man must've not been eating too much.

"Good morning," II eventually stated his presence, voice caught through a mid-yawn. Vessel startled quickly and whipped around to look at II. The taller man's eyes opened a bit more as he took in II's appearance, and II's did the same.

Vessel's face was a bit round, but the point of his chin was noticeable. His lips were pressed into a small frown, and his eyes searched II's face—Vessel's eyes were a deep hazel with lighter green flecks dancing around his pupils, but they were hard to see through the mop of black hair that hung over his face. His skin was pale, and his cheeks were smattered with a dusting of freckles. His nose was curved, not incredibly curved but if someone looked close enough, they'd see it.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to spook you." II said, stepping into the kitchen. He used the heel of his hand to brush his own hair out of his face - tousled and a sandy brown color. Vessel only shook his head, glancing away from II. "It's fine. Um." Vessel's throat worked as he swallowed nervously, pointedly keeping his eyes averted.

"Did you sleep well?" He asked, finding the sudden courage to look at II again, who simply shrugged. "Well enough. 'S cold in that attic." He said simply, and Vessel nodded. "Yeah, it gets that way…" He looked back at the stove. "Are you hungry? I could make something."

II's first instinct was to be surprised that there was food in the house, because the state of it made II firmly believe there was little to nothing in it. Instead he just nodded. "Yeah, could go for a bit of a bite… what do we have?" Vessel smiled at II's agreement, he ushered the man to sit down and began preparing something.

It only took a total of maybe 10 minutes to learn that Vessel didn't know how to properly cook. The food wasn't inedible, but… it was definitely something that could be worked on. II powered through and forced down the very charred bacon, and watched as Vessel poked at still runny eggs. "Thanks, mate," II spoke after drinking down half his glass of orange juice. "I can cook us something next time, y'know… as a sort of repayment." He offered.

Vessel only hummed in response, pushing back his still relatively full plate. "Did you talk with Sleep last night?" He asked, and II hesitated as he set down his cup. "A bit. I don't think they had much to say to me." II answered, and Vessel nodded. "Yeah, It's been… busy." Was all he offered.

"So, uh, what do you do around here?" II asked, leaning back in his chair and looking at Vessel. Vessel paused to interpret the question. "I walk around in the garden outside. Sometimes I'll take a walk to one of the little shops around. Um… I do some writing." He answered. "Sorry, I'm not that interesting." But II had latched onto Vessel's mention of writing, and he cocked his head - silently willing the man to go on.

Vessel noticed, and took it as a cue to keep going. "It's not a lot… a lot of it is just rambling. Some journaling, some poetry. Uh… I make up lyrics in my spare time." And that caught II's attention like a moth to a flame. "Oh, sick. Do you post them anywhere?" And Vessel only shook his head.

"No. Well, I offer them to, uh, Sleep. But I don't post anywhere." He said. II hummed. "Hm. I know how to play drums, that's about as far as my musical talent goes." He joked, but Vessel's eyes lit up. "I can play piano, and guitar. I think I saw the beginnings of a drumkit… somewhere." He seemed happy that there was something he could bond about with II. "Maybe we could play together… sometime." He offered, but his voice was small—like he was prepared for II to viciously decline.

Instead, II smiled wide. "Yeah, mate, that'd be fun." He said, collecting his and Vessel's plates after deciding that the other man was done, since he wasn't touching his food. "I think I'll clean up here, and get to unpacking my stuff." He said, watching as Vessel stood beside him.

"Yeah- yeah, okay. Um. Sounds good." Vessel said, nodding along quickly. "I, uh, I have to go do something upstairs. I'll see you later?" He tilted his head, and II nodded. "See you around."

Vessel quickly turned on his heel and disappeared from the kitchen, leaving II to work in silence. II washed, dried and set aside the dishes. Whatever had come to him that night, to bring him here… he couldn't remember, but it felt right to be here. It felt good. Like this was where he'd finally belonged.

Yeah. This would work perfectly.