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writingwarden · 2 months

Text

Deciding to put the British men through the horrors.

IV centered

Polyvessel implied

Tw- Depression, drug abuse/alcohol abuse mention, Hurt/Comfort, implied eat disorder, self isolation, self worth issues, anxiety, cuddling

Word Count- 1.9k

Summary- IV is feels like he's drowning

WEATHER ME TO NOTHING

There is something deeply and truly wrong with him. At least that's all IV can tell himself as he climbs back into bed. The lights are off, curtains drawn as shut as they can be because any light hurts his head. He even went so far to put a blanket across the bottom of his door to stop the hallway light from filtering through the cracks.

He’s just tired. That’s what he tells his partners when they ask him what’s wrong as he stares at his half eaten bowl of strawberry ice cream. His favorite that he had insisted on having after dinner. He was feeling fine then as he goes to raise his spoon to his mouth does that numbness creep back in, killing his appetite completely. Vessel’s voice snaps him from the haze, asking him if he’s going to join them in the living room for movie night.

Looking up at the singer reveals a blurry face, a smile on his lips but concern weighing in his eyes and on his brow.

“No, I’m actually feeling kind of tired. Think I’m gonna lay down early.” Standing from the dining chair and placing his bowl in the freezer for later. Because IV knew that he’d want it later and he didn’t want to be wasteful! Because if he was wasteful then he was being greedy and rude, right?

Ignoring the strangely confused looks from Vessel or II as he silently turns to walk back up stairs.

It’s so stupid, he can take care of himself; going through the motions to keep up with his hygiene and basic needs. But he’s moving as if he isn’t the one in control. Autopilot.

IV feels like he’s drowning.

So many things he wants to do, to pick up his old hobbies or hang out with his beloveds without feeling like he’s become an outsider in his own home. And IV feels angry that he feels like this, why can’t he just do these things?

Curling up under his blankets, three comforters all stacked and strewn around above him. But he can’t seem to get warm and he knows it’s not exactly his fault. No it’s the ever creeping numbness growing in his stomach and through his lungs. Threatening to seize his breathing all together. He stares at the wall in front of him, the whiteboard that had once been a great tool for keeping him on track now taunting him with the list of things he has to do today.

Guilt ebbs away at him as he stares at the slowly blurring words. It’s just simple chores; laundry, journaling, a reminder to eat and shower, read another chapter of that book III recommended. The neatly numbered list haunting him because why can’t he get up to do them? He wants to! He wants to read and practice and have clean clothes. But here he lays, paralyzed in his bed in the same clothes from yesterday.

There’s a disconnection between his mind and body. Like a fraying string that’s finally snapped, pulling taunt and thin until it can’t hold up any more.

And when that string manages to tie itself back together he overdoes it but IV refuses to be useless around the house. Cleaning up after the others, always so attentive to their needs. The house is mysteriously cleaned during the night, their favorite snacks always appearing in the pantry seemingly out of nowhere, laundry always clean and folded neatly in baskets outside their bedroom doors.

It’s not like he’s a total recluse. He can laugh and practice with the others. He’s not always stuck in the fog.

In the beginning he ignored the cold and sinking feeling in his chest, ignored the way his lungs seized when one of them would sigh or dismiss him. IV wants to be close to them, to not shy away at the barest sign of annoyance or disappointment even if it isn’t directed at him. It’s not fair to expect the others to reassure him all the time.

IV gets it, he’s clingy and a bit too much sometimes. Plus he doesn’t explicitly communicate his needs so it’s not fair to expect the others to remember that book he mentioned a week ago or his favorite lunch. IV is happy to go along with whatever they need from him, tongue stuck behind teeth in protest.

There’s something stuck in his throat, a guttural scream or sorrow filled sob. Filling his entire chest cavity and making his hands shake. Fumbling everything he holds but his guitar and thank Sleep for that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he started messing up his part of the songs.

IV groans, frustrated with himself and he kicks the blankets off. Stretching out on the bed, staring a hole into the ceiling as he struggles to get any breath down. Breathing on manual and a metric tonne of weight on his chest. Like someone has gone and sat the entire night sky on his ribs. Heart pounding in his head and it feels like he’s become the prey of something unseen.

Being haunted and hunted by eyes surrounding him. Ever perceived and always on display even when in solitude.

Screwing his eyes shut while his mind runs rampant. Why was he like this? Is this some cruel self punishment? A strange self harm tactic his brain has decided to bestow on him? Because he may be alive but he sure ain't living right now. Using alcohol and weed to calm his brain.

But he hates doing that, hates the loss of control over his own body while inebriated.

This feel has followed him since childhood, or at least he assumes it has. IV doesn’t remember much from his past life. The one before Sleep found him and gave him this new life with new purpose. He feels selfish for feeling like this, he has everything he could ever want but here he lays moping in his bed.

That feeling of constantly waiting for something bad to happen. For those he loves to wake up and see him for what he is and leave. For this supposed dream of a life to be ripped from him.

But at least it doesn’t hurt anyone else, it only hurts him. “Let me be selfish in this regard.” he mumbles into the dead air. A habit he developed recently, talking to the empty room. Speaking it outloud to no one helps sometimes. His room became stagnant long ago, never letting the others in because this is his fortress of misery. His place to rot away and become something he wishes he wasn’t.

What happened to him? He had been doing so good, laughing and making an effort to connect with the others. But that’s not what it was, huh? The other three could be so open with each other, making an effort to talk about their problems and letting themselves be cared for. He cares for them. So why couldn’t he give them the same courtesy? Why couldn’t he stay awake long enough or be alone by himself without wanting to shrivel up until he becomes nothing but a long forgotten memory?

A soft knock on his bedroom door and a far away voice.

He sits up, staring through blurry eyes at the door. When did he start crying and when did he start digging his nails into his palms?

Quickly wiping his face with his hoodie sleeve and covering his body as the voice he now recognized as Vessel speaks again, “IV, can I come in?”

IV allows himself one more deep breath before answering, cringing when his voice cracks from the crying, “It’s unlocked.”

The door opens slowly, the blanket at the bottom only giving a slight resistance then Vessel is stepping in and shutting the door behind him with equal softness. The tall vocalist turns to face IV and even in the low light IV can see his eyes soften as he takes in the state of the guitarist.

IV watches him like a hawk as Vessel approaches the bed silently.

“Are you feeling alright?” The question itself is simple, IV could answer, brush him off and return back to his self loathing but he knew that Vessel wouldn’t give it up so easily. And it would see that IV couldn’t turn him away anyways, the question sending the tears running again.

A quiet sob escapes his throat as he shakes his head and he expects Vessel to scoff or turn away. IV stares at his hands shaking in his lap, waiting to hear the footsteps walking away and the door shutting. But instead he feels a dip in the bed next to his legs. Then there are strong arms gently wrapping around him, pulling him into an embrace.

IV freezes, every muscle in his body telling him to run. Oh but Vessel is so warm and the hug doesn’t feel as suffocating as he thought it would. He lets himself relax, unable to stop the tears from falling and soaking the fabric of Vessel’s sweater.

They stay like that for a few minutes until the gasping for air has resided and all that’s left is sniffles and slowly falling tears. Then Vessel does something IV doesn’t expect. He lets go of IV, pulling away and standing up. Before IV can make any noises or look up at him, Vessel is walking around to the other side of the bed and laying down next to IV. Propping himself up against the headboard and opening his arms in invitation for IV to lay within them.

IV can feel his brain short circuit but soon scrambles into the taller man's arms. Laying flat against his chest, burrowing himself into Vessel’s sweater and clinging onto him like a lifeline. Like if IV lets go Vessel will disappear beneath him.

It takes a few seconds but soon they are both relaxed and covered back up with the comforters. Vessel rests one of his hands on IV’s back, the other gently peeling a clenched fist from his sweater and holding it in his own. Running circles over IV’s palm with his thumb, tracing the crescent indents left by his nails.

“What’s going on, my love?” Vessel keeps it simple but even he knows it's a loaded question. So many things come to mind but he can’t force them out, so IV shoves his head further into the crook of Vessel’s throat and shoulder, breathing in the cologne he’s come to love.

“I just,” How can he explain the mess that is his thoughts? So he starts plain and simple, his voice muffled against the other man's skin, “I feel like I’m paralyzed, waiting for something bad to happen again. Like the other shoe is going to drop any minute now.”

Vessel hums and continues to make small circular motions on his hand, and when he speaks it makes IV’s mind go blank for a few seconds. “It's called bracing for impact.” Vessel’s voice is quiet and when IV doesn’t respond he sighs and continues. “It’s a survival mechanism and it’s a terribly exhausting way to live. Don’t blame yourself for bracing for impact, you’re just protecting yourself in the only way you know how.”

IV can’t respond, his mind back to running a million miles a second. Vessel’s words wash over him or rather, provide the air he desperately needs in the deep water that are his thoughts. But Vessel seems okay with his silence. He knows that a few words won’t magically cure the turmoil in his partner's head. So instead he readjusts, making himself comfortable against the pillows and pulling IV closer, humming some nonsense tune with no rhythm or reason.

IV stays there laying on Vessel’s chest and everything might not be okay now or even ever really. But he has people willing to help pull him from the waters and maybe that’s enough of a starting point for him.

[Projecting all my issues onto this poor masked British man. Hope this means the end of my writer's slump. We'll see, I guess. Likes and comments are always appreciated and encouraged! Stay safe everyone!]

#sleep token #sleep token fanfiction #vessel/iv #vessel sleep token #polyvessels #iv sleep token #ii sleep token #iii sleep token #hurt/comfort #author is sleep deprived

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