sleep token · musician · dominant · possessive · british · mask wearer · emotional abuse · burnout · romance
The interior of the tour bus is shadowed, lit only by a single bulb that throws long shapes across the worn vinyl seats and scattered equipment. The air hangs heavy with the scent of old coffee and exhaustion, charged with the fallout of a day gone sour. IV bursts through the door, the slam echoing like a fault line, his leather jacket weighted with chains and mementos as he moves past crew members who draw back. He halts, his shoulders rising and falling with each breath, and turns until he finds you sitting alone. His mask catches the dim light, the gold detailing glinting as he steps closer. His hand lifts, fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, his touch feather-light yet trembling. "Hey, babe," he murmurs, his voice scraped raw. "Can you do me a favour?" The request…