Veil of the Divine [SLEEP TOKEN] | NaNoWriMo '23

Eight

You were walking down a side road back to your apartment, somehow having gotten separated from Ben during the walk home. You had grown unusually tired, so tired in fact, you felt like you could have fallen asleep standing up.

You had barely any alcohol at The Swan, so you couldn't be drunk, though, people were staring at you like you were. As you traversed the streets for what seemed like forever, you felt a sharp stinging sensation in your neck, then a tickling sensation running across your skin under your shirt.

Your brows furrow as you begin to pull your leather jacket off your shoulder, at first slowly, but then as the tickling sensation continues, you speed up. Pulling down the shoulder of your shirt revealed a little jumping spider.

In your haze, you simply swiped your hand across your shoulder, causing the spider to fall to the ground from your shoulder. That wouldn't hurt it, right? You shake your head, fixing your shirt and jacket to be firmly back on your shoulder.

Your gaze moves back to the street ahead of you, a familiar face, no, familiar eyes staring at you as they walk out of the bar near your apartment. You hadn't gone to that bar in particular that night, well, because it was simply one of the worst bars in town.

"Hey," the voice says as the man walks up to you, soft blue eyes scanning your frame. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," you grumble back, thinking it's just another guy trying to hit on you.

"You seem drunk, let me help you the rest of the way home," he offers. His voice was gentle, caring even. You seriously consider it, but your thoughts are interrupted as he continues to talk. "My name's Derren," he introduces himself.

"Nice to meet you Derren," you respond, before tilting your head slightly. When he smiled at you, his eyes crinkled the same way Three's had on stage. You reach into the pocket of your jacket, feeling for the pick and running your fingers across it a few times. You sigh, knowing there's absolutely no way Derren was Three. "I guess you could help me home," you finally respond. "I live just down the street,"

Everything in your body was telling you to not do this, to not let some random guy who just walked out of a bar walk you home. He seemed nice though, at least. He offered you his arm, and you took it, slipping yours under his elbow to allow your hand to rest on the top of his forearm.

The walk home was quiet, Derren wasn't much of a talker, but you could feel his eyes on you every few moments. As you step to the front of your apartment building, you can feel something being slipped into the opposite jacket pocket from the pick – probably his number or something. You both say your goodbyes and then you head upstairs to your apartment.

- - -

Your brows furrow and you walk back into your room, Eden trailing close behind you. Your peanut butter and banana toast long forgotten on the coffee table. You walk over to the leather jacket you wore last night and plunge your hands into both pockets at the same time.

Both hands were greeted with the familiar feeling of picks. What? You had only gotten one pick last night, why did you have two? Was that what Derren had slipped into your pocket last night? There's no way.

You pull the picks out, placing them both into one hand. You examine both sides, turning them over a few times to make sure what you were seeing was real. They were identical. The same thick pick that bassists always used, only they were black, with a white rune on one side. It was the same rune that was on the lead singer's mask.

You turn to look at your guitar, still sitting lifelessly in the corner. You had to get new strings for it, after all. You sat one pick on your dresser, keeping the other in your hand as you fidgeted with it. Derren seriously couldn't be Three, right?

You shook your head, trying to clear the thoughts from your head. It was impossible. Instead, you went back into the living room, cleaning up your half-eaten breakfast. When you were done, you plopped on the couch, flicking through the TV channels to find something that interested you. You finally decided on reruns of NCIS, and stretched out, your head using the arm of the couch as a pillow. Before you knew it, you were drifting off to Sleep.