Chapter Text
“This is bad,” Jawn mutters.
Otto bounces his leg and spares a glance at the busy hallway, the same way he’s sure everyone in the room is glancing at the hallway. Because this hallway is the one with the bunks, and in one of those bunks is Awsten Knight, crying his eyes out ten feet away.
“Yeah,” Geoff sighs. “This is bad.”
And there’s not much more to say. Otto looks at them helplessly, and they look at him and each other the exact same way. It’s the sort of look that casts out two messages simultaneously; the first being ‘I’m fresh out of ideas, y’all’, and the second being, ‘well, you’re his best friend too, don’t you have any ideas?’
But none of them have an answer.
Awsten just took the emotional equivalent of getting run over by an 18-wheeler, and the kicker of it is that he and everyone on the side of the road saw the truck coming a long way off.
He had to have seen it coming, right? Otto can think of three demo songs with suspicious lyrics, all of which were written forever ago, nearly at the same time as Double Dare was.
“We can’t stop the tour,” Geoff says reluctantly. “He wouldn’t even want that, realistically. Not really. We’re only eight dates in.”
Otto and Jawn nod, understanding. If they gave Awsten the option, there’s a chance he’d take the out and go back to Houston to mope in peace, but there’s a 100% chance he’d hate himself later for canceling a tour, especially a headlining one. Money aside, Awsten’s pride when it comes to professionalism is something they all try to leave as untouched as possible.
Geoff presses his lips together and raises his head again towards the bunks. “We can’t intervene either. He never wants to talk.”
“He’ll come out with it when he wants to,” Jawn says.
“Yeah, but when?” Geoff says, voice rising in anger. “He’s not gonna tell us shit until the time for helping him has come and gone! That’s how he always is!”
Jawn doesn’t respond. He meets Geoff’s eye and waits.
Geoff deflates after a second. “I— I’m sorry. But I mean it.”
“I know,” Jawn admits. “You’re right.”
“Can we…” Otto trails off when they turn to him, and he swallows. “I don’t know what will help. But we have to try, don’t we?”
“What if we’re overstepping, and it breaks up the band?” Geoff asks.
“Maybe it will,” Otto admits, even though it pains him to acknowledge the possibility. “I just can’t stand the idea of looking away and doing nothing at all. I mean, could you imagine? If we stayed quiet and kept our heads down and made Awsten perform up there, pouring his heart out while we just sat there and played along? Fuck public image, dude. He’s our friend. Are we gonna sit here and let him think he has to go through it alone?”
Nobody answers when he goes quiet.
Otto sighs and drops his gaze to the lounge floor. “Look, I know it could blow up in our faces, and he could close off and whatever. But I’d rather kill this band with kindness than neglect.”
“I agree,” Geoff says, nodding. “He’s right. We have to make sure the door’s open.”
“It’s not that I don’t agree. It’s just that I’m worried about it backfiring and him closing off,” Jawn admits. “Maybe that makes me a coward. Shit. I really don’t know.”
“No,” Otto says. “I’m scared too.”
“Fucking terrified,” Geoff says emphatically.
“I just think we have to be willing to offer up that olive branch. Even if he takes it the wrong way. We gotta try,” Otto says.
Whoever came up with the phrase ‘easier said than done’ should win an award or fifty, because they were spot-fucking-on.
“Morning, Awsten,” Otto says, keeping his voice light as he stumbles towards the front end of the bus, where Awsten occupies one of the couches.
Awsten flinches in surprise, looking up at him and nodding. “Oh. Hey.”
“Anything good left in the fridge?”
“You’re just gonna eat cereal anyway,” Awsten says, and then he turns back to his phone.
Otto nods and heads for the cabinets, trying to hide how awkward this is. Ordinarily, he’d be scrambling back to his bunk, but there’s not going to be a better time to talk to Awsten. Once they get to the venue, Awsten will be caught up in either his own thoughts or professionalism, and there’ll be no room for reassuring emotional chats.
Then again, forcing conversation isn’t really the smoothest way either. But even sitting quietly in Awsten’s proximity might drive him away in search of being alone. Fuck, this is hard.
He grabs a box of cereal and feigns excitement. “Sick, there’s still some left!”
“Yeah?” Awsten says, in kind of a ‘duh’ tone.
“Dude, Geoff can and has stuffed his face with my Reese’s Puffs before,” Otto says. “You know how he is.”
“You’re both disgusting with that garbage,” Awsten says flatly. His eyes drop back to his phone screen. Fuck, and that’s Otto’s cue that he’s lost this round of conversation, even when they were literally, like, four sentences in.
He takes his bowl back to his bunk without even pouring milk.
Shows are bad.
They go like this:
Awsten spends his time in the green room more intently focused than he’s ever been before. He stares off into the distance, pacing and running vocal warm-ups, not saying a word to anyone. For the first time in recorded history, he leaves his phone on the bus. Otto thinks he’s psyching himself up.
They go onstage. They sing songs written years ago. Some are about her and some are about other girls, but right now every single one sounds like it’s entirely about her. They switched the order to put Pink between Stupid For You and Blonde, just to give Awsten something to sing about that’s less emotionally charged. “Less” being the keyword because all their fucking songs are about his mental state. God only knows why Awsten refuses to take 21 Questions off the setlist. He cries mid-set sometimes, but he never stops singing, and once they’re done, Awsten usually slips away before he can watch Sleep On It or Chapel’s performances, which he previously wouldn’t have missed for the world.
Jawn follows him, most of the time. He says Awsten goes back to the bunks to cry.
Otto is glad Powerless and I’ll Always Be Around were never on this tour’s setlist to begin with.
The first time he really gives it a shot is when Awsten wakes him up in the middle of the night.
Otto’s breathing hard, his heart hammering out of his chest, body totally tense, and yet his mind’s completely fucking at a loss as to why.
“Sleep paralysis,” Awsten says as an explanation, still leaning over him, a silhouette against the soft nighttime lights of the bus. His hands pull away from Otto’s shoulders, where he’d presumably shaken Otto out of his sleep. He can still feel the lingering heat from Awsten’s palms, how the air cools the skin where he’d been touched.
Still panting, Otto swallows. “Oh. Thanks.”
“Yeah. No prob,” Awsten says. He stands up and starts to walk away.
Otto rolls over on his bunk to crawl out. “Hey— wait, Awsten.”
Awsten turns around, eyebrows furrowed.
“What time is it?”
“Like, three,” Awsten replies.
“Why are you up?” Otto asks.
Awsten doesn’t say anything.
Otto slides out of his bunk and stands up. “Could— could we go to the lounge? So we don’t wake up anyone else?”
There’s a tense moment where neither of them makes a move, and Otto worries that Awsten will just climb up to his bunk and the chance to talk will be lost. But then the moment passes. Awsten nods and turns and heads for the lounge.
With another deep breath to calm himself (his body is still riding the adrenaline kick), Otto follows him in and sits on the couch opposite.
“It’s pretty late,” Awsten says needlessly.
“Yeah,” Otto nods. “But neither of us can sleep anyway.”
He thinks about what to say.
He could point out that neither of them wants to be alone at the moment, but that would come off pretty presumptuous. Or maybe he should ask what’s going on, risking Awsten closing off more. Besides, Otto fucking knows what’s going on, and talking to him about how the tour’s going is a little too close to guilt-tripping Awsten.
There’s no way to dance around it without making it sound like he’s babying Awsten, so he supposes his best way to approach is to face it head-on with sensitivity.
“So. I know I don’t understand totally how you’ve been feeling,” Otto begins, rubbing his palms on his thighs. “But I have eyes . I know it’s really rough right now and you’re feeling the weight of it. I’m not trying to police how you… deal with it, or anything, but I just want you to know that I’m… that we’re here for you, and we love you.”
Awsten stares at him with the perfect blend of surprise, disbelief, and actual anger. “That’s such bullshit. You do realize that saying you’re here for me doesn’t actually mean anything, right?”
“What? I’m just trying—“
“Yeah, if you were trying to be comforting, you fucking failed that one.”
The venom in his voice takes Otto by surprise. “No, Awsten, I’m just trying to make sure you know you don’t have to keep everything to yourself,” Otto says. “We’re your friends. We want to listen if it would help.”
“Well it wouldn’t help,” Awsten says. “I don’t think talking about how often I cry or how shitty I feel is going to fix it!”
“But—”
“Good night, Otto,” Awstens spits, standing up and stalking out of the lounge.
Great.
Otto might not know how, but he knows he’s fucked something up, and he watches the next day for Awsten’s behavior to worsen.
The funny thing is, it doesn’t.
He sits with Geoff at lunch, and they talk for the whole time. When they get to the venue, Awsten goes through soundcheck and disappears. Otto heads off to find another band to hang with so that he can give Awsten space to be alone on the bus, but he runs into Awsten chatting with Kortney pretty animatedly. The period of time before the show is much the same, except Awsten has his phone on him and he occasionally stops his vocal warm-ups to show Jawn a tweet.
Awsten is markedly happier throughout the day. He laughs. And he has his moody moments in the downtime, but he seeks out company more often than not.
Just as they step out to the wings in preparation of performance, Jawn finds Otto, where he stands further back. “Okay, was it you?”
“Was what me?” Otto asks.
“Did you get through to Awsten?” Jawn asks.
“I talked to him, but he got super defensive and yelled at me,” Otto says.
Jawn shrugs. “Maybe that’s what he needed. You got further than any of us did.”
And Jawn walks away, because the house lights go down and they’re given a thumbs up by the stage crew, so Otto walks out to his kit and sets up and starts pounding the shit out of some drums. He doesn’t have time to talk to Jawn more, but it’s just as well. There’s no good reason for him to complain about how Awsten hasn’t so much as looked at him all day. The tight feeling it leaves in his chest isn’t important; Awsten is doing better. This is a good thing.
His intent isn’t to eavesdrop, but privacy is a rare, borderline-mythical thing on tour.
Otto is behind their bus breathing in the freezing Chicago air when he hears Awsten’s voice. He’s checking through his texts and listening to voicemails that have been piling up when someone knocks on the bus door. That alone is kinda weird, because who knocks? Even the Sleep On It dudes ditched their politeness after the first couple weeks of tour.
So he listens in, curious.
He hears the door open and close after someone steps out. “Hey,” Awsten’s voice says. “Sorry. Lost track of time.”
“It’s no problem,” someone says back. Otto runs through all the voices he knows on tour and is surprised to recognize it as Patty, from As It Is. “It’s not like this is time-sensitive.”
Their footsteps come closer and stop right behind the bus itself. Otto’s literally a corner away from them. He gets the urge to walk away, to leave them their privacy. It’s probably not important — why would a conversation between two songwriters on tour be important? And even if it is important and personal, Otto should definitely leave them be. He thinks this, and then presses himself against the bus and listens anyway.
“So?” Patty asks. “Let’s talk this out, man.”
“I know— I know. It’s just like… really hard to put it in words that don’t make me sound like a whiny toddler. You have, like, experience and a long-term relationship and stuff.”
“Awsten, c’mon, I’m like a year older than you. We could’ve been in the same classes in high school.”
“I know— it… it just sounds dumb. I know what the answer to all my problems is , too! The answer is ‘get over it’. Right? I’m not gonna get with her again. She— she… you know what she did to me. That’s not something I should forgive, or would forgive. I know when something’s a game over. But everywhere I look I keep getting reminded how fucking dumb I was to love her that much.”
“It was real for you. Whether or not she was playing you doesn’t really matter,” Patty says agreeably. “It mattered to you.”
“And I was so invested,” Awsten says. “And now I can’t stand anything that I associate with her. Like, I get physically nauseous, my heart hurts so much.”
“I’m sorry, man. That’s really rough.”
“I’m crying constantly. It’s awful. It feels awful,” Awsten emphasizes. “I feel like I should be stronger than that.”
“Awsten, if you think I’m gonna listen to this ‘men don’t cry’ ideology without correcting you, you’re talking to the wrong guy,” Patty says gently. “You’re absolutely allowed to grieve. I can’t overstate how important it is not to bottle it up for the sake of getting over it.”
“But I want to be over it. I don’t know what I can even do. There’s stuff that reminds me of her that I can’t just ignore.”
“Ignoring it is a bad idea, yeah, but why not try and move forward from here? Trash the music about her. It’s your career, and there’s always more albums to write. You don’t have to sing about her if you don’t want to anymore.”
Awsten doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “It’s not just the songs. It’s everything.”
“What do you mean?”
A hesitant noise comes from Awsten, and then he clears his throat. “Okay. Uh, so like, I have this thing called synesthesia. Ever heard of it?”
“Yeah. That’s where you register sounds as both noise and color, right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s exactly it. So to me, almost every sound has a color. Sounds like... music. Or voices.”
“Ohhh. So even though someone might not sound like her—”
“Yeah. Some people look exactly like she did.”
It’s amazing how fast dread kicks in. Realization slams into Otto like a brick wall. It’s not like Awsten ever tried to hide how he heard people, either. Allusions to color are everywhere in Double Dare. He doesn’t know how he didn’t make the connection earlier, because it’s so blatantly obvious now that he thinks about it.
Otto shares the color yellow with Ciara.
The first order of business is that he stops wearing his yellow shirts.
This is not a huge sacrifice, admittedly. He has maybe three yellow shirts packed for this tour, but it includes the cardigan and the “BA DUM TSS” crop top and the yellow-white striped one, so he feels a little bad about retiring some of his favorite clothes mid-tour. But, then again, Awsten. Otto shakes his head and shoves the yellow clothes into the bottom of his luggage to be dug up only once they get back home.
This, Otto thinks, is nothing when weighed against Awsten’s comfort.
Otto's not sure he’s willing to admit, even to himself, how much it hurts having Awsten avoid him. Not when Awsten’s suffering so much more, over something so much bigger.
Let it be clear: Otto had never thought Awsten and Ciara were going to work out forever. It was clear from the start that her nonchalance and Awsten's dogged, lovestruck devotion were not a combination that would end in marital bliss and a white picket fence, no matter what Awsten thought. Otto knew. Jawn knew. Fucking Geoff knew, and Geoff is far from the most observant person in the world. But Awsten had been so happy when he was with her, at least at first. He lit up when he talked about her. He would be up all night, grinning goofily at his phone. The exhausting, absurdly expensive trips to LA that he made were worth it to him because of how happy he was when they were together. He would ramble about how she was the first person to remember his favorite colors, and how he’d finally met his match.
Otto missed him, even though he didn't go anywhere, not really. But Awsten was happy, and Otto was content.
If he's being honest with himself, which he tries to be as much as he can, he probably knew how he felt about Awsten before he started dating Ciara. The little flutters he felt when Awsten would turn that bright, wild gaze on him, begging him to join in on the stupidest activity he's ever heard of. The gooey, goofy smile he could feel spreading across his own face every time Awsten tried to tell a story and started laughing so hard he couldn't finish his own joke. The comfortable warmth every time he would look up during practice and catch Awsten already looking back at him.
If he’s being really honest with himself, he might have even known there was something about Awsten way back when he looked at Otto that very first time, flier in his outstretched hand, and smiled like a megawatt bulb. He might have known when he made a MySpace account, even though the internet wigged him out, to message Awsten about playing drums in his band, even though he wasn’t crazy about the drums.
Otto wasn't stupid. He'd just... thought he had time to figure it out.
When Awsten started dating Ciara, it felt like it happened overnight; one day he was Otto's best pal, wheedling him into making paper towel castles at Walmart, and the next he was always in SoCal, or whispering on the phone in the back lounge, or holed up in his bunk messaging her who knows what.
But Awsten was happy, and Otto was content.
That's what he told himself.
(No one can be honest with themselves all the time.)
Another thing to clarify: Awsten hasn’t stopped crying.
The more Otto watches, the more he thinks everyone is making a mistake in relaxing around Awsten. Yes, he’s talking, and yes, he’s no longer spending every spare moment hiding in his bunk to cry in peace, but that doesn’t mean he’s better.
Otto knows from years of being Awsten’s friend that Awsten will play nice with just about anyone if he thinks it will make things easier. For all his anger in certain songs, and all his claims about starting beef, Awsten knows how to put on a fake smile and remember his manners.
“He’s not better,” Otto tells Jawn at one Michigan gas station stop where Awsten is staying behind.
“Who?”
“Awsten.”
“Yeah, no shit. The girl he was gonna marry eviscerated him two weeks ago,” Jawn says, rolling his eyes. Something in Otto’s chest twinges. Jawn continues down the snack aisle in search of something good. “He’s getting there.”
“I don’t think he is,” Otto interjects, pulling at Jawn’s shoulder.
Jawn turns, unperturbed. “These things take time, Otto.”
“But— okay, think about it. Is he actually crying any less?” Otto presses. “Or is he just doing the bare minimum of human interaction, and we got so used to him being severely withdrawn that we’re taking what we can get?”
There’s a flicker of Jawn’s eyes, where he glances away to think, and Otto knows that he’s won because once Jawn starts thinking, he literally never stops. Paranoid motherfucker. At the moment, though, Jawn shakes his head. “You’re just overthinking it because you got on his nerves and he’s not talking to you.”
That stings. Somehow, knowing that other people have noticed it too makes him feel… worse. Otto’s tempted to ask why Jawn didn’t do anything if he noticed— but what would he have done? What could he have done?
“Look, he’s…” Jawn covers for his hesitance by going back to perusing the interstate gas station’s snack selection. “Awsten needs time more than anything else. Healing takes time. He’ll get there, especially since your plan worked, and he’s actually talking to us now.”
“Is it about anything that matters, though?” Otto asks. “Or is it just chatter?”
Jawn wavers, and Otto knows that his educated guess struck another bullseye. He’d celebrate if his confirmed suspicions didn’t mean Awsten was doing terribly.
“I don’t know how to fix that,” Otto says. “But would you keep a closer eye on him? Please?”
“I’m always keeping an eye on him,” Jawn scoffs. It’s uneasy, though, belying the fact that he’s bluffing for everything he’s worth.
“Thank you.” Otto grabs a pack of Teddy Grahams and heads for the register.
Otto watches from afar because he doesn’t have any other choice. Awsten won’t have conversations with him; he always finds an excuse to go do something else, or check some guitar lick with Ben, or grab a forgotten water bottle from the bus. His aversion to Otto becomes undeniable.
“Oh, just fuckin’ remembered— ah…” Awsten presses his eyes closed, like he’s trying to recall a prior commitment. Or invent one. “My— I was gonna eat those blueberries before the show. They’re gonna go bad soon so I oughta slam them before I forget. I’ll go grab them—“
And Awsten’s out of the room, no less than ten seconds after Geoff called Otto over for an opinion. Otto’s used to the sinking feeling of disappointment by now.
Otto sighs. “For the record, I think long sleeves in summer are stylish as long as you don’t give yourself heat exhaustion.”
“Man, what is his problem with you?” Geoff exclaims. “Nothing happened! Literally you just tried to help him, and he took your advice! There’s nothing about that that warrants the way he’s acting right now.”
“It’s not that,” Otto says. “It’s ‘cause of my voice.”
“Your…” Geoff squints, uncomprehending.
“Remember how Awsten has that thing where he sees color with sounds?” Otto asks. He crosses his arms uneasily. “Guess who’s unlucky enough to have a voice the same color as Ciara.”
“No way,” Geoff says. “He’s not that shallow. He’s Awsten.”
“I’m not saying he’s judging me. I think it’s, like, unintentional association. He’s not avoiding me to be mean, he’s avoiding me because my voice reminds him of her. And it’s not like he can change how he hears my voice.”
Geoff pauses and shakes his head. “That’s dumb. It’s not even… within your control.”
“Oh, it’s totally within my control,” Otto mutters. “He doesn’t see shit from my voice so long as I shut up.”
“But it’s not fair. He shouldn’t be mad at you over it. It’s not like you can change it, either. It’s not even a bad thing, it’s just your voice.“
“But like…” Otto is grasping at straws to explain it, but he knows that he’s right. “I don’t think it matters if it’s my fault or not, right? Either way, it’s hurting him. Accidental or not, damage is damage.”
“That’s his problem,” Geoff says.
Otto would say more, but Awsten picks that moment to reappear, so Otto slips away to pick up the drumsticks and warm up his wrists. As he raps out a double stroke roll on the leather couch cushion, he’s lost in happier memories of Chipotle lunches and 3-day-long movie marathons.
It’s not very hard to stop talking.
At first, he makes sure that when he’s around Awsten, he’s only talking in short sentences, and he handles the necessary conversations by nodding and shrugging. Being agreeable and nonverbal moves a conversation along. That alone isn’t foreign to him; it’s how he acts around strangers, mostly. So it’s not super difficult to slide back into old patterns.
But bit by bit, Otto starts noticing that Awsten flinches when he talks to Jawn on the couch, or when he’s chatting with Foley, or when he’s on the phone with his mom. He realizes that for Awsten, the problem is not that he’s being addressed by a voice that looks like hers. It’s that there is a voice like hers at all.
The obvious solution is to stop his voice.
He brushes off Geoff’s concerned whispers with unconcerned grunts. It’s not like he had anything important to say; trivial comments are pretty much 99% of what he says in a day anyway. With the ones he’d normally make to Awsten off the table, he doesn’t have much left to talk about.
And then Geoff starts texting.
Geoff W. 10:02
We have to talk about this
Geoff W. 10:02
There’s gotta be a better
way to sort this out
Me 10:09
He just needs time.
Geoff W. 10:10
Yeah. Time to get it
together, not to ignore his
entire fucking drummer
Me 10:10
Time to not be
reminded of her.
Geoff W. 10:11
How long, though? If
you never bring it up
and just go mute, it
could be months
Geoff W. 10:11
There’s only a week
left of tour
Geoff W. 10:11
Do you really want xmas
to roll around before we
talk this out???
Geoff W. 10:11
This is the shit therapists
mean when they say “its
a marathon, not a sprint”
Geoff W. 10:12
Nd like he cant just
ignore you forever. He
needs healthier coping
mechanisms than this
Me 10:15
Look, if we make him
talk about it before
he’s ready, it’ll be
backwards progress.
He’ll just feel bad.
Geoff W. 10:15
Can we just talk about
what to do next? Come
over. Im in my bunk
Me 10:16
He’ll overhear. Some
other time, buddy.
Otto closes the messaging app, fully intending to never have that conversation with Geoff.
Awsten is sitting across the couch from him. Today is the longest time Awsten has voluntarily been in his company for… Otto doesn’t know. He didn’t mark the date when they had their argument in this exact lounge because he’d thought Awsten would get over it. It hadn’t seemed important until time started passing and Otto realized that he’d lost his best friend along the way.
But Awsten is here, and has been for the past hour-and-a-half, playing guitar and pausing to check his phone at random intervals.
Otto sees his strategy working, and is, once again, content.
Nothing new happens for a few days. Otto keeps his interactions brief, and Awsten stops running. The peace they’ve arrived at is fragile. They can exist in the same area as long as Otto keeps his mouth shut. He’s not sure if Awsten knows what he’s doing, or if he’s completely oblivious, because he never acknowledges it at all. Either way, Otto counts it as a success. He didn’t need Geoff’s concern after all; this is better than wondering day after day if Awsten hates his guts. This way, Otto knows exactly what it is that Awsten hates.
For his part, Otto’s happy to have this because it means he doesn’t have to sneak around to check how Awsten is doing. The answer is still, as before, bad. Like he’d suspected, Awsten cries just as much as he had at the start. He’s just condensed his crying to time in his own bunk. He stays there longer and feigns complete normalcy when he emerges.
And nobody brings it up.
Otto doesn’t even know what he would say. He’d thought nothing was worse than Awsten crying alone, but now he’s crying alone and hiding it. Otto got his wish fulfilled in the magic genie sort of way where the fine print fucks you over.
He can’t think of a single way to help, either. There’s no step-by-step for helping a friend get over their ex. And even if there was, he knows that Awsten doesn’t want it from him.
So he shuts up and keeps his eyes peeled.
The weirdest thing happens at soundcheck.
They’re screwing around, waiting for the soundboard dude to get back from asking the venue manager about something or other, but they’d been in the middle of fucking soundcheck , and it’s been fifteen minutes, and they’re bored.
Geoff walks up to his risers, guitar slung over his shoulder, and says, “I’m bored. Let’s jam.”
Otto nods, twirling his sticks in his hands and sitting up. He kicks the bass drum twice and raps out a quick 5 strike roll on the snare. And then he starts ad-libbing something at a moderate tempo, just a little vamp that would be easy to comp chords to. Geoff does, of course. Otto keeps it light so Geoff isn’t locked into a sound that he isn’t looking for, and Geoff goes with it. It sounds a little less rock than Geoff usually goes for, and Otto wonders what band he’s been listening to that he’s trying out jazzier sounds before his default Linkin Park obsession.
At one point, Geoff tapers off his playing, fiddles with a scale, and glances up. “Tantrum?”
He only has to think for a moment to come up with the right tempo. He taps his drumsticks together four times to count Geoff in, and then they jump into the unreleased song. Geoff fucks around a little with strumming patterns, but keeps up with all the chord changes. Otto takes this as a good excuse to fuck around with changing the fills they’d written for the song prior to this tour, back in October when recording a new album seemed like the biggest problem their band would be facing.
After a couple minutes, Geoff stops, and Otto lets his beat drop too. Geoff sighs and shakes his head. “This is lame. There’s better stuff to do.”
Honestly, Otto agrees. Staring out at an empty venue is kinda cool the first few times, and then pretty boring for the remaining million times. All the excitement comes and goes with the crowd, which is absent. Even the venue’s lead tech guy is M.I.A. And Otto—
Awsten moves away from the mic stand, pocketing his phone.
For a brief second, Otto thinks he’s bailing, but Awsten goes for an acoustic guitar. He returns to the stage, testing the strings to check if it’s in tune. And then he steps up to the currently-useless mic and starts playing.
“Light us up until we pop,
I wanna burn bright ‘til we’re not,
Let’s keep each other safe from the world.”
Otto shoots an alarmed look at Geoff, who’s watching Awsten with as much concern as Otto feels. This is… one of the scrapped songs from Double Dare. They had about fifteen demos that just didn’t fit on the album, that Courtney insisted needed more time and development, and they’d fought but eventually settled on the tracklist that ended up finalized. That doesn’t mean Otto doesn’t remember them, and that doesn’t mean he’s forgotten that this one was the cheesiest love song Awsten had for Ciara.
They sit and watch. Otto knows that this song never got to the stage where they wrote drum parts for it, and he wonders if Geoff has forgotten the chords or if he’s just trying not to step on Awsten’s toes.
But the funny thing is that Awsten doesn’t sound upset. Awsten sings the words differently than he’s been singing their released ones. He sings the words like… like he’s doing a cover and barely paying attention, like he has no investment, like they have nothing to do with him and he’s just reading words off a lyric website.
“Cause now I’m flyin ‘cross the country more than monthly for you.
You’ve got me more than clumsy, but you’re m…”
… Awsten stops singing. Stops playing. Just drifts off, staring out at an empty theater.
As if suddenly remembering that he’s not alone, Awsten’s head moves, doing a double-take as he turns around to them.
Except his eyes skate right over Geoff and lock onto Otto’s, making the first direct eye contact they’ve had in weeks. Otto feels like he’s touched a live wire. Awsten looks like he’s seen a ghost. For a long, long second, Otto stares back, afraid to breathe and shatter the moment.
And then it shatters anyway. Awsten slams back into motion, lifting the guitar strap off his shoulders and putting it back on the stand so haphazardly that Otto worries the whole thing’s gonna topple over and damage the guitar. He only says, “Call me when they’re ready to do their job,” and then he flies offstage.
Otto and Geoff look at each other, bewildered.
“What the fuck,” Geoff whispers.
It’s not that Otto has to keep quiet now, it’s just that there’s nothing going through his mind that Geoff didn’t just say.
There’s another old saying about not knowing what you have until it’s over. (Otto resents how much of his life can be summed up by old sayings right now.)
The tentative peace that Otto created by quieting himself is gone, and so is Awsten’s casual facade.
Jawn gives Otto updates on outings for food, which Awsten now forgoes whenever possible. “He won’t talk to me, or anyone. It’s like he freaked himself out over something. Or maybe something freaked him out. I don’t know, he won’t fucking tell me,” Jawn growls as he stuffs his face with fries.
“It’s weird,” Otto agrees.
“He’s in it now, though. I can see him going through it,” Jawn says. “You know what he’s like when he’s having a crisis.”
Otto nods wordlessly.
“This isn’t how he acts towards the end of a tour,” Jawn says sadly. “He should be complaining about how tired he is. There’s nothing about this that’s normal.”
“Nope.”
Jawn sighs. “I don’t know how to help him. I wish he’d listen to me and consider therapy, but he’s always the most stubborn when he’s in too deep. I mean, do you have any idea how to help?”
Hesitantly, Otto shakes his head ‘no’.
“Yeah. Because we’re not professionals.”
“We do know him better than most people do,” Otto points out.
“We’re not life coaches, though,” Jawn says. “What we can offer is like… not everything. We can listen if he’ll talk to us, but when it comes to advice, I don’t think any of us know what he should do. I don’t know what I would do if I was him. And I don’t even know what’s going through his head. It’s not really fair of us to pretend like we know what he needs.”
“Maybe,” Otto says.
He said ‘maybe’, but it dawns on him as the days tick by that Jawn nailed it.
Awsten’s jumpy now. He sits on his phone for a lot of the day, and spaces out, and moves restlessly in a way that shifts out of the ‘idle motion’ category and falls straight into ‘nervous habit’.
It’s worse around Otto - that much is perfectly clear. Awsten avoids him like the plague and barely even makes excuses now. It’s not just when Otto speaks (Otto knows this because he doesn’t speak), it’s when he’s in Awsten’s line of sight at all. And everyone notices.
Otto sort of has to acknowledge this when Ben stops by his bunk, knocks on it, and glares at him as soon as he pulls back the curtain.
“Hi,” Otto says, completely fucking confused.
“Hey. Come outside with me,” Ben says, and then he walks away and right off the fucking bus.
…Well. It’s not like he has anything better to do, so he gets up and follows. Ben is waiting for him in the parking lot, and puts a hand on his shoulder and sort-of guides, sort-of pushes Otto towards the edge of the parking lot. “What’s going on, man?” Otto asks nervously.
“What the fuck did you do to Awsten?”
Oh, that.
Otto must make a guilty face, because Ben immediately looks angry. “Otto—”
“ Nothing! Nothing, I didn’t do anything,” Otto blurts out.
“Bull-fucking-shit, okay? Because that guy can’t stand to be in the same room as you, and we’ve all fuckin’ noticed.”
“I know. But it’s not something I did, it’s just... “ he swallows. “It’s hard to explain, but I didn’t do anything to hurt him. You can ask Geoff if you don’t believe me.”
“Then I’ll go get him right now,” Ben says as if that’s a threat. “I’ll fucking bring him here right now. ”
Otto nods quickly. He has nothing to fear.
Ben falters a bit at the lack of a reaction, but he doesn’t offer to stop. “Okay then. I’ll be right back.”
Otto watches Ben turn and walk back towards the Waterparks bus. He swallows again and runs a hand through his hair. He waits, watching the bus nervously. It’s only about a minute before Ben comes out with Geoff trailing behind, and Otto meets his eye. They lay it all out, explaining meticulously that though they don’t exactly know what’s causing everything, part of it was Otto’s voice being an unwelcome reminder. Honestly, Otto’s kinda surprised that Patty didn’t figure it out and tell Ben, but he keeps that to himself. He doesn’t want to volunteer a confession of eavesdropping and incriminate himself right when Ben’s easing up on the interrogation. After ten minutes, Ben’s apologizing for making assumptions and Otto’s got a sore throat from talking more than he has in a week.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Ben says, crossing his arms. “That’s a lot.”
“We’re on the same page there,” Geoff nods.
“Fuck,” Ben curses. “I mean, I’m glad Otto’s not a dick - I really didn’t wanna kick his arse - but I’m fresh out of ideas for helping Awsten now.”
“Welcome to the club.”
Meanwhile, Otto’s busy thinking. This hasn’t gotten better. It was bad enough when Awsten was just evasive and upset, but active avoidance is another beast altogether.
He has an idea.
(He doesn’t like it.)
He picks the time before soundcheck to confront Awsten.
He arrives at this time mostly by process of elimination. He can’t spring a dramatic conversation on Awsten minutes before a show, but intercepting him afterward would mean there would be no privacy at all. Pinning him down before they’re required to be in the venue would be nearly impossible, and having the conversation while driving between cities means facing the same privacy issues as post-show. It’s not like there are many shows left, either. There’s two, actually, and today is the last one with Sleep On It and Chapel and As It Is. Like it or not, the tour is ending, and Geoff had a point when he said it was a bad idea to go on break without addressing this mess.
So he waits until half an hour before soundcheck, makes sure the dressing room set up for them is empty, and then walks up to Awsten, who’s seated on a couch.
Awsten looks up at him, a little bewildered.
“Can we talk?” Otto asks.
Awsten flinches.
He feels bad, but he doesn’t have any better way to communicate. “Our dressing room’s empty right now. We can talk there.”
It feels like forever before Awsten glances at his phone screen and back at Otto. “Like, now?”
Otto nods.
Slowly, Awsten slides his phone into his jeans and stands, brushing off his shirt out of habit.
And they go, Otto’s heart rate climbing as he walks through the back door of the venue and into the room with a sign that reads “WATERPARKS.” Once they’re both inside, Otto turns around and watches Awsten shut the door behind them. Otto scratches the back of his neck nervously. Neither of them says anything as they look at each other.
“Otto—“
“What do you want me to do?” he blurts.
Awsten looks completely lost. He squints and leans in a little, the way he does when someone’s making zero sense. “What?”
Otto swallows. “So, I know you’ve been avoiding me. I think the whole tour knows by now. And it’s okay, I’m not mad at you. I know that my voice looking the same as hers is something that’s fucking you up. And I know you’re having a hard enough time as it is.”
“What are you saying?”
“Just that I would understand, you know,” Otto says. “If you want me to leave the band.”
Awsten’s eyes widen, and for just a second, Otto is grateful for the surprise, because surprise means that Awsten hadn’t even considered that.
"How could you think that I..." Awsten trails off, eyes searching Otto's face. He looks conflicted and - not for the first time - Otto wishes he could fix it.
"I'll do whatever you need me to do. You know that, Aws," Otto says softly.
Awsten's eyebrows furrow and he drops his gaze. As Otto watches, he closes his eyes tightly and takes a deep breath, like he's steeling his nerve. For what, Otto isn't sure. He's acutely aware of how close they're standing; it’s the closest they've been in so long.
Then Awsten's eyes snap open and he surges forward, and for a split second Otto thinks he might get punched.
Then Awsten's hands curl into the lapels of his denim jacket and he realizes he's getting kissed.
Otto startles, his hands jerking towards Awsten's shoulders on reflex, then away, lost. Awsten's lips are firm but gentle against his own and by the time Otto's brain comes back online enough to think to kiss back, to touch him, Awsten's already pulling away.
Otto meets his gaze and Awsten looks terrified, white as a sheet, panic written all over his face. Otto opens his mouth to say— to say something, he doesn't know, but before he can get a word out Awsten's already turning around, slamming his shoulder into the door in his rush out of the room.
Blushing and bewildered and a little bit breathless, Otto watches him go.