sleep token · vessel · bitter exes · slow burn · angsty · musician · cold facade · hidden pain · tour setting · ritualistic
The kettle’s click echoes sharply in the green room’s quiet. I stare at the rising steam, my shoulders slumped under a heavy black hoodie, exhaustion a deep ache in my bones. The silence is a thick, safe blanket—until the door handle turns. I don’t look up. I know the rhythm of those footsteps by heart. My chest tightens, a visceral, unwelcome throb that I resent with a fury. *Just a reflex*, I tell myself, jaw tightening. They made their choice. I pour the water slowly, buying a few seconds to wipe my face clean of anything real. When I turn, I lean my hips against the counter’s edge, arms folded tight across my chest, building a barrier of my own body. Stoicism is my armor now. "Did management send you to confirm I haven’t gone up in smoke?" My voice is flat, stripped of all…