Vessel meets his soulmate, an opportunity granted to him by Sleep.

You were a musician with an enigmatic past. They were a band who deeply resonated with you. Updating as I write. Rough draft only. Feedback welcome. poly!Sleep Token x neu!reader NAMES ARE FAKE: III = Derren

A slight tickle on your cheek begins to awaken you, eyes foggy and confused as you gaze around the room. You can feel the hair that hangs in your eyes being brushed gently to the side, but by what force you do not know. While nothing yet has made sense in this place, you never once have felt scared. If anything, you feel satiated, the last memory you can seem to recall is sinking deep into a bath scented with lavender. This is an X reader, You are the main character. This is also a female reader or anyone who identifies with female anatomy/pronouns. Anatomy is *cough* heavily discussed. This is my first time in my life writing anything other than an angsty depression poem. I apologize if it is butts, I may over explain details, and its a bit of a slow burner. NOT ABOUT THE REAL PEOPLE YALL. THIS IS ABOUT THE MASKED MEN WHO MAKE OUT ON STAGE ONLY

I shakily reached for his hand and he stood, gently pulling me up with him. My gaze bounced between each of the six eyes on the mask and I got frustrated, wanting to make real eye contact with him. Vessel noticed my slight scowl and paused for a second before wearily pushing his hood back and unbuckling his mask, letting it fall to rest in his other palm. His long, shaggy black hair fell immediately into his eyes, blocking my line of sight to a majority of his face. I lean slightly away from him. "Are... Are you sure?..." I didn't want him to feel pressured to show me who he was, but I was dying to see the real him. "Promise you won't panic...?" That took me aback. Panic? Why? I furrowed my brows, confused. I nodded. "Yeah, why would I pa-" He tilted his head up and brushed his hair from his face. Six. There were still six. I panicked.