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stu was right about tillman needing earplugs - not because he’ll get like, tetanus or anything (y’know, tetanus? like you get after gigs.) but because, well, it’s been hard for him since he came back, ok? sometimes you spend a year and a bit however many miles underwater and then your brain turns to mush whenever two noises happen at once.
anyway. tillman’s fine. he can pretend he didn’t need them later.
the garages are still, well, good. at least, not bad. stu dragged him along, and ok, maybe he got caught up with the crowd, maybe in the feedback is still just a banger. he can see the face stu would make if he said that out loud, like ‘oh, tilly, tilljamin, tillseph, it’s not cringe to enjoy yourself!’, like whatever, Little Miss Blimp, i didn’t even want to go in the first place.
so yeah. gig. garages. stu’s having some fun, at least, don’t know why he thought for a second she wouldn’t be - has she owned a leather jacket with spikes on like forever, or what? he doesn’t know. i mean, she’s like, his teammate, but - well, he still hasn’t figured out if he considers the thieves his team yet; he wears the jersey, plays their games (well, of course, he’s like the best fucking pitcher on the team, they just seem to think he sucks all the time ‘cos he never turns up for practise. he’s tillman henderson! he doesn’t need to throw balls at like, howell, for an hour every morning. yeah, he knows he’s an asshole. comes with the Tillman Package Deal, get his epic pitching and deal with his, y’know… him.)
not the best, well, shitty-toyota-corolla-with-no-hubcaps-and-the-glove-box-full-of-empty-vape-pods of thought to be going off on in the middle of a gig, so he shuts it down.
he only just took his sunglasses off when the music started, and they’re maybe 3 songs in right now, the light still hurts his head - so what if he wears his sunglasses inside? it’s not like he’s not fucking rocking his real eyes (squid eyes, since the monitor thinks it’s so fucking funny, and people tell him he looks like jaylen hotdogbitches or whatever, which would hurt less if it wasn’t true) but he doesn’t want all of the other people at the gig to be staring at him the whole time because his new blue eyes are so cool and hot, like, that’s just rude to the garages. cringe.
when the fuzz on the guitars fades away, teddy duende picks up one of the mics. the crowd fidgets, anticipating. everyone is buzzing.
‘so,’ crackles out from the speakers on stage, ‘we know what you’ve all been waiting for.’ there’s a shadow at the edge of the stage, an impression of a person cutting into the lights at the very back. ‘for this leg of our Eternal Tour, you know the drill, we thought we’d invite a few friends along to have fun!’
tillman doesn’t even recognise him at first, and it makes his heart do something funny.
the spotlight on the cramped stage catches the rows of buckles on his boots first, then the platform heels, and he steps into the lights of the stage like he’s weightless, like he doesn’t even notice the garages surrounding him, all eyes on him. every one of the lights glints off the skinny leather jeans, mesh crop top, the reflective patches on the fireproof jacket that slips and pools off his shoulders - and tillman didn’t even think that much eyeliner would suit them, but damn. their hair’s so much longer (of course it’s longer, it’s been 2 and a half years) and they stand there, bathed in the spotlights on the stage, and the crowd screams, and they know they’re screaming for them, and they know that they fucking deserve it.
‘meet our frontman for the night - and maybe a few more - declan fucking suzanne!’
the crowd goes insane.
declan fiddles with their collar the way they always do when they’re not sure what to say, and tillman hates that he noticed that on the spot.
‘hi.’
through the commotion of the crowd, stu nudges him with an elbow.
‘hey, uh, do you want to leave? cause like, i know-’
‘i’m fine.’ tilly says, a little too defensively.
‘alright. well, i’m gonna stay here.’
‘cool.’
‘cool!’
he’s always cool, he’s cool all the time, he can stay cool being in the same room as his ex - whatever him and declan were - in winged eyeliner for an hour or so. it’s no big deal. it’s not even a deal. it’s like, the opposite of a deal, because it’s totally not affecting him at all. it even makes him cooler, actually, because he can go up to people and say, yeah, we used to like, make out, or whatever. the point is, it's fine, and he’s fine.
it’s easier when the new song the garages are playing really picks up, when he can stop thinking about fuckin declan’ for a moment and get lost in the song. tillman thinks he planned it, joining the band when they go through charleston to stand on a stage looking all pretty, like, this is what you’re missing out on, look how good i feel without you. tillman won’t fall for it. maybe they should consider what they’re missing, because it’s him, and he’s like, the coolest. plus, he could pull off that outfit any time, if he really wanted to.
he’s barely paying attention to the band anymore, just trying to keep his composure while the people around him look like they’re having the time of their lives, and they’re all too close to him, and it makes him feel like he wants to shrivel up inside his own body and die or something. declan’s voice cuts through everything else, rising above the cacophony. has tillman ever heard him sing before?
when he tunes back in on the stage, gets out of his goddamn head, declan is playing that fuckin’ guitar he’s brought, which tillman’s never even seen before - it’s pink and gold, sticks out like a sore thumb, and about the colour of a sore thumb too, if you had just dunked your whole hand in glitter glue. (pro tip from tillman: don’t do that. he could only fit one finger in the tube.)
but he’s singing, joining in with the garages on some song tillman’s never heard before, and as the solo ends, he grabs the mic stand with both hands and leans into it, ‘baby, you’re breaking my heart! baby, you’re breaking my heart, why do you make it so hard-’
tillman knows who those lyrics are meant to be finding. it feels like one of the stage spotlight’s just been shone, laser focused, onto him, and he’d relish in the attention, if he wasn’t anywhere else, if it wasn’t declan, looking the best he’s ever seen them- the thing in declan’s voice isn’t cruelty. it’s not spite. it’s plain and simple catharsis, radiating off them.
declan doesn’t even seem to see him, stuck in the crowd, and jeez dude, that stings. they’ve got the crowd at their every command, screaming along, but they never find tillman, lock onto him, give him the satisfaction of telling him he’s a prick to his face. he’s good at getting people to do that. of course, he’s like, olympic, play of the game level at everything else, but that always seems to be the thing that sticks.
but declan won’t. maybe they just know tilly too well, know that that’s what he wants. this is declan’s spotlight, declan’s attention, eyes on declan, and they’re not even sharing it. like, give tilly some writing credit if this is what you’re going on about. at least get someone to punch him.
stu’s still fuckin’ enjoying herself, which isn’t fair - if he’s having a shitty time, why shouldn’t the rest of these people? she’s still sort of keeping an eye on him, though, head turned slightly towards him, like he’s going to run off or something. he’s- he doesn’t know how he’s doing anymore. maybe he shouldn’t have come. but if he leaves that means declan wins, even though declan barely knows he’s there - or, at least, means tillman loses.
somewhere in between all of this, the song ends, and teddy duende picks up the mic again.
‘so, since we’ve got a friend with us, it’s courteous to share the spotlight!’ and declan picks up that stupid, ugly, weird pink guitar.
‘sometimes, your boyfriend,’
of course he’s heard declan sing before. of course.
‘who’s, not your boyfriend,’
‘stu, i. can we leave?’
his voice comes out all squeaky at the edges, and he fucking hates it, he doesn’t need this right now, he doesn’t, he doesn’t-
‘yeah, uh, sure.’
stu wraps an arm round his shoulders and begins to pull him out of the crowd, whispering ‘scuse me, ‘scuse me to everyone they pass, like she needs to fuckin’, carry him or something. he’s sure that if she hadn’t grabbed him immediately then he would have been able to move again perfectly fine, jeez.
she guides him to the bottom of the stair to the toilets, out of sight of the stage, and he desperately casually slumps against the wall and ignores the way stu looks at him like, all concerned, like she really wants to know what he’s thinking. you don’t know shit about me. ‘i’m fine. you can go back. or whatever.’
‘oh. well. thanks. hope you’re okay-’
‘just go.’
‘okay!’ stu shouts as she jogs (who even does that?) back into the gig. so now he’s standing here, in front of the toilets, listening to his… old friend sing about their shitty fail relationship. alone. he stuffs his hands over his ears and thinks, good. so if he fucking hates me then he hates me. let him. i don’t give a shit. i totally don’t. nothing here, no shits to give. absolute 0 on shits over here. not even a milli-shit.
he doesn’t know how long the song lasts. long e-fucking-nough. don’t need to write a whole ballad about it. he knows when the, like, intermission, interval, whatever comes because a few people pass him to go to the toilets and none of them even notice him, and he can’t make his mind up on whether he likes that or not, whether he should just give them the finger, get that sweet feeling of someone telling him to fuck off - what else is he getting?
maybe he moves a little, so he can peer round the corner to the edge of the stage, see declan slipping away into the shadows, looking like he’s floating - is that mike townsend? mike fucking townsend?
he just sorta, materialises out of the shadows, like a loose collection of liquid trying to hold itself together, and declan beams. tillman feels like an idiot watching declan run his fingers through mike’s barely-there hair, grab him by it and kiss him on the mouth. gross. seriously? declan got with a dude who’s barely even fucking there? he’s like, 90% shadow juice, and this is who you’re snogging, declan?
tillman thinks it’s a downgrade, personally. the best kissers have two fully solid lips at all times.
when he sees stu strolling back towards him (because of course stu strolls. she’s the exact kind of person who would stroll places. like, you’d get the word ‘stroll’ in front of you in like, some kind of test, and a perfect image of stu would pop into your head.) he scrambles behind the corner like he’s totally not been watching his ex or whatever make out with the only pitcher who people hated more than him.
in the depths of his pockets, next to all of the balled up tissues, he finds the fidget cube stu gave him. well, she offered it to him when he couldn’t focus, and he sorta… co-opted it. he flicks the switches on it, rolls it between his hands.
‘so, uh. are you alright?’
‘take a wild guess, stu!’
‘i’m- i’m sorry.’
‘don’t give me that! like this is, your business! like, at all!’
stu looks at him silently, and he can’t parse what’s happening on her face, like, at all, and maybe this shitty silence is worse than actually talking. or not. if he has to be genuine, tillman’s gonna vomit.
‘just, he used to do that with me.’ tillman says, more like a sigh than a sentence, pointing with his thumb towards where he last saw declan making out with some shadow jutsu ass motherfucker.
‘what?’
‘run his fingers through my hair, and shit. like, all the time. whenever we were like, kissing or whatever.’
‘dude, in the kindest way possible, you very much did die.’
‘i know!’
‘he’s allowed to move on! he’s allowed to get another boyfriend, dude! even if you hadn’t died, and he’d just broken up with you, he would still be allowed to move on! like normal people!’
stu sighs, says firmly, like she’s his fuckin’, nursery teacher, ‘he doesn’t exist in your orbit, tilly.’
‘but he- it was- he was the only one who got that close, okay? it was special, between us! he, we, there was something there, okay? no-one else, wanted to be that close but he did, and we like, kissed and shit, and now he’s fucking just, forgotten? he was- it was like no-one else, okay?’
‘tillman,’ stu says, and she just looks exhausted, and he hates the way he says her name, oh, tillman! like he’s so totally useless, ‘he fucking loved you.’
oh.
it was love, of fucking course it was love, every time tillman felt declan’s fingers against his scalp, cradling his head like he cared about what was in there, every time they played video games together and tillman let himself crawl into their lap while pretending like he didn’t want to, like it was all normal, so fiercely casual, every single touching of bodies and skin on skin, every single morning tillman would wake up with the covers half thrown off and his body tangled in declan’s arms, and try and remember the way declan’s form last felt against his, try and capture it, and it was always declan, and it was always love-
‘have you really, really, never fucking considered why you’re so alone, tillman henderson?’
and every time he would let declan in, let him into his heart, the parts of his chest that were his heart and the little part that was always declan, always there, and what does that say about tillman, that he came crawling back every time, hoping that declan would let him have the touch to make him feel real that he could never find the words for? hoping that declan could put his stupid little heart to rights?
‘and i, i want to give you some credit, but really? look, maybe you just didn’t fucking know, but - no shit man, if you put up these inpenetrable fucking walls, then maybe people won’t want to be around you! if you spend your whole goddamn life pushing everyone away, guess what happens!’
and declan had stood on that stage, emptied his whole fucking heart out into singing, all that coiled up anger and messy broken-hearted - he’d broken his heart, hadn’t he? he’d royally fucked it up, ruined it all, because he couldn’t think outside of his own goddamn orbit, and now look, his ex is standing on a stage with a new boyfriend and a new band living his best fucking life, without tillman, and he was so much happier for it, wasn’t he?
tillman feels like he’s going to properly throw up, like he did when he first Returned, spending weeks vomiting up brackish trench water, waking up at 2am and spending half the night leaning against the cold tile waiting for the next wave of saltwater to rise up, and he swears it’s going to happen again right here.
he slumps over against the wall, expecting to hurl all over the floor, and stu reaches a tentative hand out to his shoulder. ‘shit, tillman, i’m sorry. i got angry, i shouldn’t have- hey hey hey!’
he’s sort of collapsed forward onto her, looking like a fucking idiot, and then - how long has it been since he last cried?
‘jeez, ok, yeah, let’s get you out of here.’ stu half-leads, half-drags him further away from the stage, until they’re somewhere quiet, and then the only thing tillman can hear properly is his own braying sobs, chest heaving with every breath.
he’s sitting down against the wall, and she’s kneeling in front of him, keeping a vice grip on his shoulder. he tries to shrug her off, and stu takes her hand back, and he fucking hates it.
it takes a long time for him to be able to force words out.
‘i, like, i, i, i. i fucking, ruined it, fucked it up, oh my god, and now i feel like absolute shit, and i normally like, uh,’ he sobs again, wiping tears and snot off on his sleeve, ‘don’t care, but it fuckin’, it, it, sucks.’
‘yeah, tillman, that’s remorse.’
‘wuh?’
‘don’t- uh, okay. you hurt people, and then you feel bad because you hurt them.’
‘i just, i fucked it up, and i felt bad, but now he’s up there getting all angry, and i- i don’t- i don’t know!’
‘yeah, it’s, uh, a lot.’
‘he, he loved me, and i just, i ballsed it up. with them and with the crabs and with e-everyone...’ tillman’s shaking slightly, and fuck does he look like an idiot, but he’s not sure if he cares anymore. ‘i have to get them back, i have to, i gotta go and see them, tell them i’m sorry, that i liked them too,’
stu bristles. ‘no. absolutely not.’
‘but, but like, i fucked up! i was really, really shitty, and now he’s upset, and i need to tell him that like, like, i, i still like him!’
‘he has a boyfriend, he’s doing well, and he’s made that pretty fucking clear! he doesn’t want anything to do with you for now, and you need to respect that.’
‘but i, but i need to like, be better, right? you said, you said, before, that i should focus on getting better!’
‘tillman, christ. you don’t improve as a person because you’re sad you don’t get to, i dunno, make out with someone again! you improve as a person because you did something wrong and you feel bad about it. not because you want to go win the day and stick your tongue down his throat or something, but because you actually need to.
and like, the key thing of an apology is that you promise to change. do you think that if you got another chance right now- could you be better?’
and that sets tillman off again, crying until he doesn’t feel like like he has any energy left him, staring straight down at the floor so he doesn’t even have to consider anything other than shitty venue carpet.
he hates it when people who aren’t him are right about him. like, surely, he’s like the pilot of this shitty flesh gundam that is his body, he should know like, all the controls, but he doesn’t. fuck.
‘that’s not a bad thing, tillman.’
‘what?’
‘having to take time to change.’
stu takes a beat. ‘i used to get so angry all the time as a kid, and i never did anything properly bad, but it took me ages to get better and find the good ways of getting it all out. and, yeah, it took years, and i still have to go and punch a pillow or something now when it all gets too much, and like, i dunno. it’s not easy, man. but you’ll get there.
i guess, just, like, it’s gonna take time.’
‘so like, ok, hypothetically- hey!’ tillman starts, and stu has to smother a laugh. ‘you’re being mean! so, okay, just saying. if declan does end up single again…’
‘nope, no, nope, absolutely not. if he does, then i don’t know, but we’re absolutely not considering that now. you’re gonna get better without him, and you’re gonna fucking like it, okay? this is me being serious. this is serious stu.’ she says, pointing at her own face.
‘yeah, okay, okay.’ tillman pauses. ‘how do i do it?’
‘what?’
‘get better?’
‘no offense, dude, but that’s something you kind of have to do yourself. i can’t know that for you, because, i don’t know what’s happening up there. but, i mean, i believe in you.’
‘wow.’
‘it’s not going to be fast! i said it wasn’t going to be fast! i know i sound patronizing, yeah.’
‘you do.’
‘but- like- the thieves, and probably the crabs too, nobody’s being malicious by saying this kinda thing, like… we wanna see you get better? and that’s not supposed to be bad, but i know it can feel that way.’
‘yeah, fair, fair. just, jeez man. where do i start?’
stu turns around and sits next to a still-sniffling tillman. ‘blow your nose,’ and he unceremoniously honks into the tissue she gave him.
the gig’s started again while they’ve been sitting her, and he can hear the music blaring from down and around the corner. stu smiles, ‘weird gig.’
‘weird gig!’
‘i mean, dude, whatever helps you, y’know, sort out whatever’s going on with your…’
‘my me?’
‘no, that’s- that’s rude. i get that you’ve got a lot of things going on there under the surface that i don’t know much of and that’s like, a lot of this. i dunno, maybe that’s the first step? figure why that’s all there? understanding things always helped me when i was going through it. maybe you could talk to someone? when i didn’t understand what was going on i used to just talk and talk to whoever was willing to listen. it helped me figure things out.’
‘ah. epic therapy.’
‘i mean. it’s not a bad thing to consider.
i hope things sort out but, like, don’t be afraid to take your time. god, it took ages for me to get together with charlatan, but i think i needed that time. and i still kick myself for it, but, y’know.’
tillman steels himself before speaking. ‘thanks.’ stu grins back at him, and he immediately regrets it.
‘don’t look at me like that just because i was nice to you!’, which just sets stu off laughing again.
‘look, dude, i know i’m going to be a huge pain in your arse but i’m properly happy you’re working towards this, y’know?’
‘yeah. i guess. i’ll try.’
‘aw, c’mon.’
stu kicks her legs out and sways side to side absentmindedly to the tune of whatever’s still playing. they sit in silence for a while, and it’s kind of nice. she points to the cube that he’s still spinning in his hands. ‘hey, i’m glad you use that!’
tillman cringes with guilt a little. ‘oh, i-’
‘it’s fine! it’s chill, i have like, five others. does it help?’
‘yeah, it’s… nice.’
stu smiles, then nudges him in the arm. ‘you should come to pride with me.’
tillman freezes in place instinctually, gets ready to put up walls that haven’t seen use in a while. ‘thought i, uh. thought i wouldn’t be invited.’
‘no, i get it. admitting it makes it real, y’know? means you have to actually confront it.’
‘stu, i have no fuckin’ idea what you’re talking about-’
she pauses, hangs her head. ‘c’mon, don’t give me that. this is, this is blaseball. i promise you, no-one here is not going to accept you.’
‘just- just-’ he wrings his hands. ‘i don’t want them to be right. about me.’
stu looks him in the eyes, and there’s a kind of familiarity there, a Knowing, that makes him feel itchy.
‘dude, i came out when i was like, fourteen, and my family were the nicest people you could even ask for, and i was still scared shitless. you think you’re wrong, somehow, so you just try and try to not think about it because maybe that’ll make it go away, and like, tilly, it fucking ate me up. i get it, i really do. it’s… it’s a lot just to say you’re gay to yourself. because it makes it real.’
it hits like a fucking double decker bus to his chest, to hear it spoken out loud.
‘i just think it might help, y’know? did you get what i had, too, where when i was like, six, i thought that i was like, the only trans person ever? because, like, i’d never heard anyone describe what i’d been going through before, and i knew other trans people but i spent years thinking like, what if it’s just me, and i’m really weird?’
tillman laughs, which is strange, because it’s absolutely not funny. ‘i- yeah, yeah. exactly. goddamnit. ow.’
‘i just think, like, it might help you feel less alone, y’know. it’s hard. it is.’
okay.
breathe in, breathe out.
you’re- you’re gay. your name is tillman, and you’re… gay.
fuck, he’s crying again, sobbing into the collar of the old crabs jacket he managed to bring to charleston, with the nice texture, that still, against all odds, smells like the sea breeze.
stu gently pats his shoulder, and despite everything, he gives her a grin.
‘you really should come to pride with me. it’s so much nicer from the air.’
‘yeah, ‘cause i’m,’ you just did this, and you can do it again. ‘gay.’
he sniffles like a fuckin’ baby, or maybe a rabbit. he’s probably got snot all over stu’s nice jacket, but she hasn’t brought it up yet.
‘pride’s great. we’ll dress up.’
‘i, i- what would i wear, my halloween costume?’
‘the fucking maid outfit?’
‘look, it was a bet, it was-’
‘tillman. you can just wear a dress if you want to?’
‘i, uh-’
‘like, i’m sure i have plenty that’d fit you somewhere in my house. you’re… shorter but if we have to adjust things that’s fine!’ stu thinks for a moment. ‘blue would suit you.’
‘huh. i, i, uh.’
‘it’s a perfectly okay thing to want! it’s pride, tillman, you will look like, the most normal.’
‘i just, i dunno. i know it’s not bad to want that, but,’
‘still feels weird, doesn’t it?’
‘yeah.’
tillman stands up, brushes himself off. his face is still bright red from a fuckin’ intensive crying sesh, and he can still hear the gig so very close to him, still hear declan’s voice, sounding like a dream.
‘i’m not sure if i can go back in there, if that’s, like, alright. sorry. i feel like i’m, fuckin, gonna curl up and die if i have to hear any more noises.’
‘oh, i know the feeling. yeah, we can like, head home if you want?’
‘is that okay? thought you like, wanted to actually see the band?’
‘eh, i’ve seen them like, a thousand times before. plus, i don’t trust you unattended at the moment. i don’t know what ‘experiencing self-reflection’ does to you.’
tillman throws his hands up. ‘you’re so mean!’
‘wanna go home or what?’
‘yeah.’ his stomach still feels weird, what with the fuckin’, onslaught of having to be genuinely genuine. it- it hurts. it does hurt. understanding how much he fucked up. it’s like gaining an extra limb, an extra sense, like seeing in, ultrared or whatever. he fell asleep through most of science.
he wants to ignore it, keep going through the usual motions, but it’s gonna be right there, in the back of his head, for the rest of, however long, and if that’s what remorse means, it’s for losers.
still.
‘so you coming?’ stu says, standing at the exit, looking out into the night.
‘poggers.’
‘hate that.’