Chapter Text
Three Years Ago:
His heart is racing again. He can't ignore this feeling no matter how much he tries. It’s late now and there is nobody for him to talk to about this. It’s becoming a nightly problem now. He feels fine throughout the entire day, but as soon as his head touches his pillow, his heartbeat speeds up and he loses his breath. It hasn't killed him yet , he thinks. But fear shoots down his body like lightning the second it happens, jolting him upright until he can breathe again. Over and over again this happens, each and every time he lays down. He’ll never fall asleep at this rate.
He crawls out from under the covers and walks to the kitchen. Throwing open the fridge door, he goes to grab a bottle of water to calm down. Pushing objects aside in his search, his eyes land on a glass bottle of hard cider instead. That would work even better.
He grabs the drink and sits down at the bar, scrolling on his phone until he has drunk the entire bottle and grabs one, no two more.
After he has finished five bottles, he tries to go back to sleep. This time sleep comes easily, effortlessly.
Present:
Snapping out of his memory, Vessel grabs a six-pack of hard seltzer and goes to the check-out line. Just as he does everyday. Every day, he thinks to himself and shakes his head. He is embarrassed that he is now considered a “Regular” and the workers at this liquor store know him by name. Things should have never progressed this far or gone on for so long. If he could go back in time, he would.
He rarely thinks about the past though, and is usually thinking about the future. Tomorrow I'll stop , he thinks. He thinks this most days. And most days that is all he wants. But then night comes, and he gets scared. He is alone, and nobody will know if something happens to him. And how will he ever get to sleep?
This problem of his has been a well-kept secret. The only ones who know about this are the workers at this store- if they have been paying any attention. But they see their fair share of daily customers. He watches a man with very dirty clothing pay for a tall beer with all change and shaky hands. What makes me any different from them? Vessel thinks he is still in control of this problem, since he never drinks in the daytime and doesn't keep excess liquor around the house. That's exactly why he comes here daily. He gets the same, calculated amount every day- usually in cans or small bottles- and no more. He learned the hard way that he cannot be trusted to have full bottles of liquor around. He used to buy them to save money, but there was no cutoff point once he started and he would blackout, waking up the next morning having no clue how he got to bed or where his phone was. One morning he found his phone on the lawn and had no memory of even going outside. That really scared him. Since that night, he has vowed only beers, seltzers, ciders, or nips. And always the same amount. No more than six drinks per night. This way, he still sleeps, and he is in control, somewhat.
He cashes out and leaves the store, walking home with the comforting weight of his perfectly measured alcohol in his backpack. His mind is immediately at ease. He enters his apartment and cleans up a bit, checking the clock here and there. He waits until it shows 8:00 p.m., and then he opens a can. Swallowing it back, a comforting warm feeling floats over him. He sits down at his kitchen bar with a notebook and writes. He began writing at night while he drank, being that is it one of his few hobbies he could do while intoxicated. Watching movies isn't fun because he can never finish them or remember what happened. He tries to stay off his phone as much as possible at night, in fear of commenting or posting something embarrassing that he would regret and have to delete in the morning. Writing just seems to work. He scribbles things in the blank pages and wakes up the next day and looks at them. Most times, he is surprised that he still likes what he had written the night before.
He has been thinking lately that his writing would make good song lyrics, if reconstructed the right way.
It's nearly ten by the time he shuts off his lights and stumbles into bed. Moments later, he is out.
The next morning, Vessel turns off his alarm and gets out of bed. He showers and gets dressed for work, a part-time job he has at the local record store. He has worked there for a few years, and genuinely likes the place. He just wishes it paid more. But at least it is laid-back and not corporate. He usually spends the days organizing records, manning the register, updating the website inventory, and making window displays. And usually he works alone. The owner is an older man with long gray hair that trusts Vessel enough to leave him to run the store. And Vessel knows the place inside and out at this point. Customers are usually either daily visitors who don't need any help, or newcomers who ask for suggestions, in which Vessel always has plenty off the top of his head. Besides writing, music is the other thing he is extremely passionate about. It's been that way since he was a child, playing his parents records and CDs while they were out and taking singing classes throughout his schooling. He also learned the keyboard a bit in school but kept playing afterwards. Unfortunately, somewhat recently he was in a hard financial situation and had to sell his keyboard to make ends meet. He hasn't played since then.
Today's the same as usual. Cleaning, stocking, organizing, cashing people out. Only later in the day does something unusual happen. Two men walk in and immediately Vessel takes notice of them. Well, one of them is tall . Taller than Vessel, which is highly unusual. He wears skinny jeans and a hoodie, while the other is shorter and dressed in slightly sportier clothing- joggers and sneakers.
They walk around browsing for a while, as Vessel cashes out a woman and her daughter. He needs to make change soon, so he counts some money from the register.
“Stop it!” The man with the sneakers whisper-yells at the taller one, taking a record out of his basket. “I already told you he has that one. Put it back.” The taller man rolls his eyes and puts the record back on the shelf. Vessel looks away and back to the money in his hand. Maybe they need help finding something? Why is he so nervous to ask?
Vessel tries to watch them without being obvious, partially curious about them and partially wondering if he should just do his job and offer assistance. He waits it out a few more minutes. The taller guy walks around aimlessly, seeming to only annoy the other guy more.
“Are you gonna help me or just fool around?”
The taller guy shrugs and begins flipping through records. The other man picks up a Muse record and inspects the tracklist on the back. While he’s reading, the taller man walks up behind him and rests his head on the other’s shoulder, reading the tracklist as well. He rests a hand on the other's hip, and the shorter man tilts his head back and looks up at him.
“What about this one? I know he doesn't have it.”
The taller guy glances at the record once more and then stares into the others eyes. For a minute Vessel thinks they are going to kiss each other, but at the last second they turn away. Vessel quickly looks elsewhere. Why was he watching them anyway? Sure, they are attractive but…
He shakes off that thought and goes to the office to grab some change for the register, returning to find the two men in line holding the Muse record.
“Did you find everything okay?” Vessel asks them.
The shorter one replies. “Yes, we did. Just this.” He sets the Muse record on the counter and while Vessel scans it, the taller man comes up and wraps an arm around the other man’s shoulders. “He will love it.” He says, speaking for the first time in front of Vessel.
Vessel hands the record back to them with a receipt. “A gift for someone?”
The shorter man smiles, “Yes, my boyfriend.” He quickly glances at the taller man and then back to Vessel. Vessel tries not to show his confusion, but it probably is noticeable. The other guy has his arms wrapped around him, and they're buying a gift for his boyfriend? The taller guy gives Vessel a smirk that borders on mischievous, clearly finding entertainment in how taken back Vessel was.
“Oh,” Vessel finally replies, “Well, I'm sure he’ll love it. It's a great album.”
“Thanks, I hope so!” The shorter guy replies with a huge smile and the two of them walk out of the store hand in hand.
That was strange, Vessel thinks, but it's none of his business. He looks at the clock and notices the time. Almost closing time.
After work, it's a quick bank stop, liquor store run, and then home to his empty apartment. He tries not to dwell on the fact that his savings account is quickly dwindling, and his credit cards are out of control. How much longer can he afford this habit? Unpacking the evening's alcohol, he sets that worry aside as he waits for 8:00 and begins again. Drink. Write. Eat. Sleep.
A few days go by. Vessel sticks to his usual routine. It's only one night when he is closing up the shop that something else happens. He locks the door, dims the lights and begins cleaning. He usually plays some music on the overhead speakers while he cleans, to make this monotonous routine more fun. He picks out a favorite record and plays it while mopping. And tonight he is unusually tired so he decides to raise the volume and sing along to keep him awake. He is in his own world, fully immersed in the music. So much so, that he doesn't realize that the door was not in fact locked as he had thought. He only realizes this when the tall man from the other day suddenly appears behind him. Vessel turns mid-lyric and jumps back, startled. He puts his hand on his chest and the man standing before him holds up his empty hands in a “sorry!” gesture.
“Holy shit, you scared the fuck outta me!”
The tall man laughs, “Man, I'm sorry.”
“We’re actually closed. I thought I locked the door.” Vessel continues, his face getting red as he realizes that someone just heard him singing.
The man tilts his head and pauses a moment. “Can you help me with something real quick? It’s kind of important and the only time I could come is right now.”
Vessel looks at the clock. He is ahead of schedule. And the pleading look on this man's face gets to him. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”
The man smiles and claps his hands together. “Great! I need a recommendation.” He goes on to explain that he, too, needs a gift for someone and he needs it by tomorrow. Vessel asks what kind of music the person likes, and then retrieves ten favorite albums of that genre. The man looks them over before choosing one. Vessel rings up the album and the man hands him a folded fifty dollar bill. “Keep the change,” He says casually.
“Oh. No. I can't accept this, it's too much.” Vessel argues, pushing the bill back towards him.
“You stayed late to help me. Keep it. Please.” The man smiles brightly and quickly leaves before Vessel can further argue.
It's only after he leaves that Vessel unfolds the fifty dollar bill and realizes there is a post-it note inside with a date and address.
What the hell?
Thursdays at 5:00 , it reads. And then a specific address. Vessel pulls up his maps app and types in the address. It looks like a warehouse of some sort. Is this some sort of human-trafficking scheme? A random hookup invitation? A house party? He has no idea. He pockets the note and the leftover change, before closing up- triple checking that the door is locked before heading out.
He’ll worry about this tomorrow.
Liquor store. Apartment. Drink. Write. Eat. Sleep.
His first thought when he wakes up is of that note.
It's Wednesday. So he has one day to decide if he wants to show up tomorrow.
Every rational thought is telling him that it's sketchy and a bad idea. But some part of him craves leaving his fucking house once in a while. He misses some excitement. Even if that excitement may end up in his grisly murder. Maybe it's worth a shot.
The day passes by and Vessel wonders if either of those two men might show up at the shop again. But they don't. So Vessel thinks about the note all day, trying to make a decision. He decides he will go.
After work, he is off to the liquor store and then home. He grabs two days worth- in case he is out later than expected tomorrow. He is mad at himself for being that prepared. Any nighttime plans were a risk of disrupting his routine, and he learned to be especially aware of holiday closings and inclement weather. When he thinks about this, he gets upset at the fact that it's such a routine part of his daily life.
He’ll worry about that tomorrow.
Home. Drink. Write. Eat. Sleep.
Vessel gets off of work soon, and his nerves are coming to the surface. His hands are shaky and he is hungry but his stomach feels rotted. Too much anxiety. Too much acid. He can't think about food even though he can audibly hear the growls. He takes a few bites of a protein bar to hopefully hold him over.
As he leaves, his brain thinks about the liquor store. It's already at home. He has to remind himself. He punches that address into the GPS and starts walking in that direction. A few panicked thoughts cross his mind. What if this note wasn't even supposed to be for him and it accidentally got stuck to that bill? How embarrassing would it be to show up somewhere he wasn't invited. No. He’s sure it was meant for him. That man was very adamant about Vessel keeping the bill. It had to be for him.
Vessel puts in his headphones and walks the rest of the way without thinking too much. Whatever is going to happen will happen. He’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.
He approaches the address, and it is some sort of warehouse as expected. He hears music coming loudly from what looks like a storage unit with the correct number on the door. He looks around nervously. There are a few cars parked here and there but it doesn't look like a party situation. Before he can over-analyze things, he knocks loudly on the door and braces himself for several hypothetical, awful scenarios.
The music stops abruptly and then a garage door swings up. The shorter man from the other day looks at him before smiling, “Oh, good. You’re here.” And then he turns and walks away without saying another word.
Vessel takes that as an odd invitation inside, but follows him nonetheless. He enters and looks around, it's a relatively empty space with a few couches and chairs, a TV and lots and lots of music equipment. The taller guy is sitting on a chair with a Bass in his lap, while another man he doesnt recognize is sitting behind a drum set.
The man turns back toward him, “I’m IV by the way .” He gestures towards the taller man, “That’s III” and then the man behind the drums, “and II.”
Vessel looks around at them all, and feels a bit like a spectacle. They’re all just staring at him. “I’m Vessel.” He replies, quieter than intended.
III jumps up out of his chair, pointing a finger at II, “I fucking knew it!”
IV roles his eyes and turns back to Vessel, “Nice to meet you, Vessel. Don't mind him.”
Vessel is not making sense of any of this. “I’m sorry, but I don't understand what is happening right now.” He scratches the back of his neck and looks at the floor. He can feel his face warming and his hands shaking so he shoves them into his pockets.
II and III are now speaking rapidly but quietly amongst themselves. III is kneeling on the floor beside II and II is leaning down, so that they can talk privately. IV looks back at them and then to Vessel. “I can fill you in. Follow me.”
He walks past the others. “I'm going to explain things. We’ll be back.” And then IV rounds the corner to a steep staircase. He runs up, with Vessel following behind. They get to the top of the stairs and Vessel realizes they are in a loft that overlooks the downstairs area.
“This is quite the storage unit,” Vessel jokes, trying to ease his own anxiety.
IV chuckles and walks over to a love-seat and sits down. There's a bean bag chair opposite him where Vessel sits. Vessel looks downstairs and sees the other two men sitting closely on the couch now, still talking. III clasps his arms around II’s neck and rests his forehead against II’s. It looks rather intimate from Vessels point of view. He looks back to IV quickly, who is eyeing Vessel with an amused smile.
“We’ve been looking for you.” IV eventually says.
“You've been… looking for me?” Vessel repeats slowly.
“Yes. Well, we knew we would find you, we just didn't know when.”
“I don't follow.”
“Have you had any weird dreams lately?” This question takes Vessel by surprise. How is that related?
“No, I-” Vessel pauses, thinking of an excuse. “I rarely dream,” He eventually says.
“Hmm, that's odd. All of us had the dreams.”
“What dreams?”
“Where we found you, of course.”
Vessel blinks a few times. Is this guy crazy? What the hell is he talking about?
“I know what you're thinking. I'm not insane. We've all had the dreams. Three times now actually. One set of dreams for each person, you see.”
“You dreamt of finding me,” Vessel says slowly, “the same way you dreamt of finding them?” He gestures to below, where II is now laying with his head on III’s chest, scrolling on his phone. Something strange is definitely going on here.
“Exactly.” IV smiles, and Vessel curses himself in his head for thinking that it's the most charming smile he's ever seen.
“But that's strange that you didn't have the dreams as well,” He looks pensive for a moment before standing up and leaning over the guardrail. “Guys!” He shouts. The other two look up towards the loft. “He didn't have the dreams.” IV throws his arm in Vessel's direction.
The two below look perplexed.
“He's lying then. Everyone involved has them,” III says.
Vessel's eyes go wide. “I'm not lying. I swear, I don't- I just don't dream.”
He can't tell the truth. He doesn't dream because he's too drunk every night to have a normal sleep cycle. But they can't find that out. Nobody can.
“He's not lying, asshole.” IV replies. Then he turns back to Vessel. “Either way. We were meant to find you and now we have.”
“So… Why were you supposed to find me?”
IV gets quiet for a minute. “Well, for starters. III said you can sing, and we need a singer.”
“Oh, I can't sing in front of people… There's no way.” Vessel replies, eyes wide and alarmed at the thought.
“Okay, we’ll postpone that plan for now. but at least hangout with us on practice nights. III said you had the best voice he ever heard and maybe you'll warm up to the idea.” IV looks at him with pleading eyes and Vessel can't say no, no matter how strange this evening has become.
“Okay, so every Thursday?”
“Yep!”
“Alright…I just can't stay too late.” His brain is already thinking: Home. Drink. Write. Sleep.
“That's fine.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens the Contacts app to a contact already named Vessel but with no phone numbers listed. “Here, put your number in. I'll give it to II and III after.”
Vessel adds his information, thinking about how his name was already programmed. Maybe they really did dream about him? How is that possible?
IV looks at the phone happily and tucks it back in his pocket. “Well, I kinda feel bad we had you come all this way just for us to have this weird conversation, but we didn't think bothering you with it at work was smart. We won't keep you any longer.”
IV goes to descend the staircase, but turns back and gently grabs Vessel’s arm, tugging him along. His hand on Vessel’s arm doesn't go unnoticed by Vessel, who is perhaps paying all too much attention to it.
They reach the bottom floor and walk over to the others. “He’ll come by next week,” IV says. “But he doesn't want to sing. At least not yet.”
III looks entirely disappointed, and II just looks understanding.
II, who hasn't officially spoken a single word to Vessel yet, finally quietly speaks. “We’ll see you next week, Vessel.” His voice is softer and calmer than expected. III, who is still cuddled up next to II, looks at Vessel. “Think about it.” A nicer way of saying just suck it up and sing for us. Vessel nods and turns to IV. Vessel is about to open the door when IV gently grabs him and wraps his arms around him, speaking quietly. “Goodnight Vessel. Watch out for those dreams.” Vessel is caught so off guard by the physical touch that he freezes for a second, before returning the hug and nodding. “Okay, thanks IV. Goodnight.”
IV walks away back to the others and Vessel makes his exit. He is closing the door when he hears the others talking.
“Did you tell him?”
“Yes.”
“Everything?”
“Well, no. not everything . I don't want to scare him off before-”
The door shuts before he can hear the rest.
The walk home is quiet. No headphones this time. Vessel has too much to think about. Half of what they said tonight still makes no sense. And they obviously left out some stuff. They want him to join their band, as foreseen by their dreams? Yeah, that's pretty far-fetched but Vessel still thinks they're hiding something else more important.
He gets home and opens the fridge. He’s right on schedule. And tonight, more than most nights, he really needs a fucking beer.
He opens it and takes a drink, setting it on the counter. As he stares at it, he wonders if he would have dreams without it. It's been so long. Three years. Would he still have heart-racing anxiety? Moments where he can't catch his breath? So much time has passed that maybe all of that has changed by now. Unfortunately, he won't know unless he can get over this debilitating fear. The only other option is going to detox at a rehab, but that wouldn't be possible unless he took time off from work. And right now, that is not an affordable plan.
As he cooks a microwave dinner, he thinks about the guys. IV and III were acting rather romantic in the record shop, while IV bought a gift for his boyfriend. And then tonight III and II were acting the same way. Maybe III is just a huge flirt, Vessel thinks. And then when IV hugged him goodbye… Vessel can't think about that too much. It's been so long since anyone showed him any affection, not solely in a romantic way either but also in the way your friends or family would. His family is not around any longer, and he hasn't had any real friends since his high school friends moved away. He didn't realize until tonight just how much he missed it. And maybe it's his heightened emotions from consuming too much alcohol, but he almost wants to cry at the thought.
And when he suddenly realizes that, it's his cue to go to bed. He is not going to get over-emotional and start playing sappy songs on YouTube and stalking old friends' social media accounts. He refuses. It's time for bed. He only wishes he was sober so that he could see these dreams they speak of.