Chapter Text
The dream is the same as it always is. Ivy is falling. He cannot see how deep the chasm stretches but some instinctual part of himself knows that the final impact will surely kill him. The air is freezing; each breath sends waves of agony through his throat and chest. He can’t see anything yet he’s aware of bright flashes of color passing him by. The descent is maddeningly slow but the whipping of wind past his limbs gives the impression of speed. As usual, he can hear voices, murmurs that sound like someone speaking directly by his ear, but cannot make out a single word. The chorus of voices reaches a deafening volume as he nears what he knows to be the end of the dream.
Why do I know this is a dream?
The thought cuts through his mind faster than he can truly process but it rings true. He hasn’t had this kind of awareness before. Maybe he’s becoming accustomed.
His body impacts ice cold water before he can follow this trail of thought. This is finally a new sensation, usually he doesn’t make it this far. Salty water burns his eyes as he battles with the instinct to breathe. His limbs thrash wildly but the surface is only getting farther away. If that’s even really the surface. The disorientation only grows worse when he loses the battle and sucks in a lungful of ocean water. The tide is dragging him deeper but it’s no tide he’s ever felt before. It’s as if the water has grown hands of its own that grip and pull his ankles ruthlessly. The voices aren’t muffled at all by the water, if anything they’re clearer to him. He still can’t make out the words, but he can make out the tones. There are multiple individuals that make up the choir in his dreamscape. Three masculine and one distinctly feminine that rises above the others.
The energy around him is frantic for only a few more moments before it all seems to cease at once. Bubbles rise from his slack mouth as he finally gives up his futile thrashing and allows the tide to drag him under. A wave of peace rushes over him as one of the voices finally rings clear. A man’s voice, soothing baritone, sings within his mind. “Let the tides carry you, back to me.” It feels like an invocation in its beautiful desperation. Clear and longing, almost begging. Ivy wants to wrap himself up in that voice and never return home. He opens his eyes again, some silly part of him hoping to catch a glimpse of the man singing, but he only sees darkness surrounding him. His eyes no longer burn with saltwater, but he knows he’s still deep in the ocean. “The past, the future” The tide no longer feels like hands dragging him to certain death, now it feels like strong arms wrapping around him, cradling his aching body with a softness he hasn’t felt in real life in so long. He doesn’t want to leave this dream. “Through death, my arms are open.”
Ivy realizes that he’s breathing again, but the water in his lungs doesn’t cause him any pain. If he focuses just enough, he can feel gentle hands rubbing circles into his skin where he’s being held. Like the ocean itself he heard his thoughts and wanted to bring him comfort. He allows himself to sink into the feeling of being comforted by something much larger than him for the first time in his life. He knows that he will wake up soon, this is the longest he’s ever stayed in this dream, and he’s already mourning the loss of this siren’s voice and the kind arms that hold him here.
“Please,” Ivy doesn’t even know what he’s asking for, but the word escapes his lips regardless.
The singing fades away into the familiar chorus of whispers while his own plea echoes in empty space around him. He wants that voice back, wants to know how this beautiful song will end. Ivy can feel the arms around him receding into the abyss that surrounds him and knows he’s about to wake up. His eyes burn with tears at the prospect.
“Please, I don’t want to go!”
He shoots awake in his own bed; blankets wrapped around his ankles and his pillow fallen to the floor. Ivy’s tears spill over unbidden and he allows himself a quiet moment of grief. Luke is still sleeping beside him, which is a relief. He really doesn’t want to be berated before work again. Speaking of work, he doesn’t even know the time.
“Shit,” Ivy grumbles under his breath, scrambling to hit his alarm clock before it can go off. Just in time.
He gets through his morning routine in a bit of a haze, his mind still turning over the details of the dream. He wants to write it all down, but he can’t spare the time to get it all on paper if he wants to make it to work on time this morning. He cannot be late again Luke would be furious with him. He grabs his keys and wallet, closing the front door behind him as quietly as possible. Ivy chooses to walk to work this morning, he’s got the time and sometimes it’s nice to see the city without the hustle and bustle of residents and tourists alike milling about.
London isn’t as great as everyone said it would be, at least in his opinion. Ivy is no stranger to big cities, having spent most of his life prior to the last year in Cardiff. But Luke had wanted a change of scenery, told him that it would be good for their relationship. Ivy isn’t a big fan of their current living situation, but he can’t fault his boyfriend for wanting them to try something new. Hell, it’s a wonder he even tolerates Ivy in the first place. The least he can do is put on a brave face and keep his pathetic whining to himself.
Ivy’s walk is consumed by thoughts of his home. His family who he hasn’t been able to visit but once since the move. His mum, his dad, his older sister and her kids, his own kid brother. He tries to shake off the feeling that Luke wants to keep Ivy separated from his family, but it stubbornly burrows into the back of his mind.
The shop windows are still dark when Ivy arrives, so he knows he’s the first person to show up for the opening shift. He leans against the cold bricks and pulls his cigarettes from his pocket while he waits. The heaviness in his chest is persistent as he watches the smoke curl around him. Luke is a good guy or so everyone around him says, and Ivy wishes he didn’t have these moments of resentment. They’d been to Hell and back together more times than Ivy can even count and always seem to come out okay on the other side. So, what if Luke can be a dick sometimes, he can be just as bad on the right day.
“Ivy!”
He’s pulled from his silent reverie by the call. Paige bounces around the corner with a big smile on her face. As usual she’s way too chipper for four in the morning, but Ivy finds himself smiling, nonetheless.
“Good morning,” She wraps him in a hug, but her nose crinkles slightly when she notices the cigarette in his hand, “I thought you quit!”
Ivy flushes a bit in embarrassment as he returns the hug, “I thought I did too, my body just didn’t agree it seems.”
“Another fight with Luke, huh?”
Ivy hates that she always reads him like a book, but he nods softly, and Paige tightens her grip around his waist.
"I’m sorry, love,” Paige murmurs, resting her chin on his chest to gaze up at him, “I wish you wouldn’t let him get to you like this.”
He bristles a little, “No, it was my fault. I was being too clingy again about him going out.”
“Ivy—”
“No, it’s just- can we just get inside? We can’t open late again because of my bullshit,” He turns toward the door, unlocking it and putting in his code for the alarm.
Paige sighs behind him and Ivy feels a little guilty for cutting her off again. She always says he doesn’t listen to her but what more can he say? He’s made a lot of mistakes in the eight years he’s been with Luke. Ivy feels he owes it to his boyfriend to at least recognize when he’s in the wrong. Paige is his friend, of course she would always side with him.
He busies himself with the espresso machine while Paige starts brewing the first pots of coffee. He can feel her eyes on him and lowers his head further. He doesn’t like the feeling of shame that’s embedded under his skin whenever he talks to Paige recently.
“So how did your show go?” Ivy asks, desperate to fill the uncomfortable silence.
She takes mercy on him this time, telling Ivy all about the venue and how she tripped coming on stage. He lets himself be lulled throughout the rest of their morning prep by the sound of her voice, listening to her stories with half an ear while he counts the safe and completes the first inventory.
“But they still haven’t found a guitarist,” Paige says with a small huff, “All these auditions and none of them have been “the one” or so they tell me.”
“Tough break,” Ivy mumbles, eyeing the first eager customers waiting for him to unlock the door. Only three minutes left.
“I really think you should audition,” She says with an eyeroll, “You’d be a perfect fit.”
“You know I don’t really play anymore, P.”
“But you could,” She sounds frustrated as she continues, “You have the perfect style, and I just know you’d get on great with the guys—”
“Good morning!” Ivy once again cuts his friend off, this time by opening the door a minute early and unleashing the first of the hordes they’d surely see today.
He can hear the annoyance Paige tries to hide behind her chipper customer service voice and again feels guilty for his actions. But he can’t just drop everything to play guitar for her friends’ band. He doesn’t even know anything about them, hasn’t paid enough attention to even know their names, and he’s too damn busy between home and work to manage yet another obligation. Luke would never let him; he hated when Ivy played with his last band.
The morning from this point on is ridiculous. They don’t get anyone else on the floor until six and they’re already overrun by the time they arrive. Ivy spends their peak hours running back and forth until he’s dizzy, covered in milk and syrups, and exhausted. He’s on his break, sitting in the café, when Paige appears beside him and he about jumps out of his skin.
"Christ, Paige,” Ivy clutches his chest, “Warn a guy next time.”
She just laughs at his terrified reaction, gesturing to a man standing just behind her. Ivy loses his breath the moment he sees him. How Ivy missed this guy in the first place, he has no damn clue. The guy is every bit of two meters tall, if not taller, and handsome. Kind eyes, the color of his mother’s favorite chewy caramels, almost hidden under a fringe of light brown hair. His pretty lips are upturned in a smirk, but Ivy can’t see any malice in the action. He’s standing a little awkwardly behind Paige, bringing to mind the imagery of a little kid standing behind their mom on the first day of school. The man is wearing a comfortable looking pair of black joggers and an Alpha Wolf hoodie that is clearly well loved if the frayed edges of the sleeves are anything to go by.
“Ivy, this is Vessel,” Paige says, giving the man, Vessel, a nudge forward, “Vess this is my friend, Ivy. The one I told you about who plays guitar but won’t just buck up and audition. Ivy here is on his lunch break and has a good twenty minutes free to talk shop. Have fun!”
“Paige, what,” Ivy starts, but she is already heading back behind the counter.
“Hi,” Vessel says, his voice is impossibly soft, “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m sorry to pop in on you like this, Paige didn’t tell me it was a surprise attack.
Vessel looks so genuinely apologetic and nervous that Ivy finds himself immediately disarmed. His gut reaction to blow the man off is gone as quickly as it came. Ivy feels entranced as he looks at this beautiful stranger.
“It’s okay,” Ivy smiles, surprising himself when he offers Vessel the seat across from him at the tiny table, “She’s really been down my throat about it,”
“Trust me, she’s been moaning about it to us too,” Vessel chuckles and Ivy immediately needs to hear that beautiful sound again, “But admittedly, I’d really like to hear you play myself. Paige is a great marketer.”
Ivy laughs at that, and Vessel looks more confident the moment he hears it, his smile widening a fraction. They idly chat for a few minutes about music and the guitar. Ivy is surprised to learn that Vessel plays the guitar himself and is just looking for someone to play for their live performances. His eyes practically sparkle as he talks about his band and the music they play together, and Ivy is thoroughly enraptured God he wishes he could be apart of something.
“I know you only have a few minutes left of your break,” Vessel pulls out a pair of headphones as he speaks, “But would you like to hear a song or two before you go back?”
“And you called Paige a marketer,” Ivy snorts. But he accepts the headphones all the same.
“Guilty,” Vessel says with a laugh that makes his eyes crinkle in the corners, “But I have a good feeling about you, Ivy.”
Ivy doesn’t respond to this statement, doesn’t know how to, but the flush he can feel on his cheeks and shy smile on his lips betrays the warmth he feels from this Vessel’s words. Vessel taps around on his laptop for a moment, looking thoughtful as he skims the many files.
“I’m gonna play a few snippets for you first, if that’s okay? I want you to get a feel for the album I’m working on right now first.”
Ivy nods easily and Vessel selects the first file. A simple, haunting piano line plays and Ivy studies the other man carefully for a moment. Paige had told him the band she sang for was mostly prog-metal so he is thoroughly caught off guard. Vessel’s cheeks are flushed and he looks a little nervous but his shy smile remains. The file ends and he chooses another one, a snippet of drums with an echoey synth melody playing in the background. Ivy shudders a little bit as he realizes this music reminds him of the dreams.
Vessel continues playing him short clips: a little drum, some synth, a chuggy guitar riff that Ivy instinctually maps out with his fingers under the table; before Vessel clicks on the very last clip.
“This is just the bridge at the end of the song, but it’s the only vocal part I’m feeling good about sharing right now,” Vessel says, “I have the full track layered so you should hear all the parts, tell me if you don’t and I’ll have to find the right file.”
Ivy nods, excited to finally hear the full band together and especially this beautiful man’s voice. Vessel presses play on the track and watches Ivy intently as it begins playing. His breath halts. He can taste the saltwater in his mouth, feels the arms that cradled him so lovingly in the abyss of the ocean, hears the voice of the siren who sang to him.
“Let the tides carry you, back to me.”