Chapter Text
Tyler doesn’t remember the first time his parents yelled at him. He doesn’t remember the first time he cried because of something they did, or when he first learned to stop and that crying was bad because that only got him yelled at more. He doesn’t remember when Zackie and Maddie and Jay and him stopped tattling on each other because they hated seeing each other pay the price. All he knows is that by the time he started going to public school, he’d become a very, very good liar, and very, very good at taking care of messes himself.
(Breaking a wine glass while cleaning dishes meant carefully picking up every piece of glass and burying them thoroughly deep in the garbage, and shrugging his shoulders when his parents swore they had another one of them, somewhere. He’d always been afraid his parents would notice the tension in his shoulders, or the overly casual tone of his voice when he lied through his teeth about having no clue where it went, but they never did. He would be on edge for days until they finally took the garbage out.)
( They’ll find out. They’ll find out. They always do. )
He’s at a casual friend’s house when they tentatively bring soda and chips into the living room (“Are you sure this is okay? Your mom doesn’t mind?” “Nah, not as long as we don’t make a mess.” “Okay….”) and, rather predictably, spill the carbonated drink all over the carpet. Or, at least, Derek does, while Tyler stands in horror, cradling his own food carefully to his chest.
“Shit,” Derek goes, still holding the just-opened Pepsi can in one hand, seeming unsure what to do with it. and then yells out, “Uh, Mom?”
And Tyler’s immediately on alert--immediately knows that Mom and a deep stain in the carpet can only mean trouble, and is preparing himself for Derek’s mom to begin railing at her son while Tyler stands awkwardly on the sidelines, fingers wringing in his shirt as his friend mumbles apology after apology. He’s seen this enough, with his siblings, often enough that it’s a familiar routine in his head--he’ll remain stoic until she leaves the room, and then he can finally move forward to comfort his friend and clean the stain up with him in a tense silence, focused solely on the simple task until they’re finished and the floor is spotless. Tyler will likely retire home early, too--maybe give his mom some bullshit excuse about how Derek wasn’t feeling good, just so she doesn’t have a reason to rail on his friends, too.
“Yeah?” Derek’s mom calls from the kitchen, and then pokes her head in. Tyler is tensing up already, fingers furling in his shirt and eyes ducking down to avoid soon-to-be-angry ones. The worst part is always watching. “What’s up?”
And Tyler’s trying to suppress the urge to stutter out a quick lie and take care of the stain himself--and he has a brief moment of confusion when he thinks, wait, Derek voluntarily called her over, he must have some kind of death wish--but Tyler knows any mom would be able to sniff it out and spot the stain too soon after and they’d be in deeper shit than they already were. It was best to just keep his mouth shut, like always.
“Do we have carpet cleaner anywhere? My drink kind of, uh, exploded when I opened it just now.”
And here’s the part where Tyler’s expecting an outraged tone and a raised voice, a disapproving glare--but he instead gets a quiet tut and a shake of her head, but--she’s smiling? “De rek ,” she sighs, as if this has happened a million times before.
“It’s not that bad! I can clean it up real quick if you tell me where the cleaner is” Derek assures, and Tyler is struggling to keep up with the sudden shift of events. He’s still tense, expecting the yelling that hasn’t come yet, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. This is entirely unfamiliar territory.
Derek’s mom only laughs, and Tyler thinks he’s dreaming. Maybe. “Oh, jeez… it’s in the closet by your dad’s office, top shelf. And hey--you keep this up, you won’t be bringing any food into the family room anymore, got it?”
Derek’s only nodding enthusiastically, not even bothering to give a vocal affirmative, before dashing off down the hallway to where Tyler presumes his dad’s office is, leaving Tyler standing awkwardly in the center of his friend’s living room, an unopened Sprite and a bag of Lay’s in his arms. He’s staring at the stain with wide eyes, and he honestly feels like he must have fallen asleep somewhere between Derek spilling his drink and his mom popping her head into the doorway, because there’s no way that just happened.
“Hey--Tyler, right? You okay, honey? You look like something spooked you or something.”
Her voice startles him, and he flinches, but he immediately relaxes when he looks up and the expression on her face isn’t an angry one, but rather mildly concerned. It takes him another moment to realize she asked a question, and he shakes his head awake, stumbling over his answer.
“Yes! I mean, no, yeah, I’m fine, I’m just. Trying to catch up with what just happened.” He laughs awkwardly. “Sorry, I’m--usually that--nevermind. Yeah, just--nevermind. I’m fine. Sorry.” He can feel himself blushing, now that the danger has been cleared and the embarrassment can properly set in.
Derek’s mom is looking at him sweetly. “You worry too much, honey. When you’re over here, you can relax, okay? Don’t worry about a dumb little stain.”
“Yeah,” he says, and Derek comes flying back into the living room with a spray cleaner and paper towels in hand, all embarrassed grins and flailing arms, “Okay, that--Thank you. Thank you.”
The next time his own mother raises her voice at Tyler, it’s apparently because his dinner conversation with Maddie was too loud, and the angry white man on Fox News was more important and worth listening to than her own children.
It’s the first time, as Tyler clamps his mouth shut and sees Maddie do the same, that he feels angry about it, and the handle of his fork stings where he grips it tightly and presses it into his palm.
You don’t deserve us, he mind supplies viciously. His mom doesn’t hear.
Tyler doesn’t cry. Not in front of his parents, at least.
So when he loses his house keys again , and his mom completely loses it, railing at him as spittle flies from her mouth and her eyes drill holes into his own, he can’t explain for the life of him why he suddenly bursts into tears.
And they’re not that cute, silent type, either--they’re ugly, fat tears, mixing with snot as he’s wipes desperately at his face, trying in vain to stem the flow of the liquid, but the dam has already been opened. He’s suddenly just bawling , hiccuping in-between shallow breaths, and stuttering out weak apologies as he tries to get a grip on himself, but his body is almost completely out of his control.
“Why are you crying?” his mom breaks in, sharply, and Tyler can’t make himself make eye contact with her.
“I don’t know , I swear--oh God, I’m so sorry Mom, I don’t know why I’m--I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, just let me, try to, God,” but he doesn’t get much farther than that, because he’s being wracked with sobs all over again, and he literally has zero control over the irregular staccato rhythm of his own breaths, and it’s a struggle just to get enough oxygen in for the next shuddering sob his body forcibly pulls out of his chest.
“You can’t just cry every time someone tells you something that isn’t glowing praise, Tyler,” and Tyler shrinks away from her, crying harder, oh god , he can’t stop, this is a disaster-- “Jesus, Tyler, I don’t know how you’re ever going to make it in the real world. You can’t just expect to be babied all the time.”
Tyler’s nodding in agreement to her before he even realizes what she’s trying to say, “I know, mama, I know, I’m being dumb, I’m sorry, I just--”
“Well then quit apologizing and do it ,” she damn near screams , and what happens next is Tyler’s knee-jerk reaction.
“I’m trying!” he sobs, lashing an arm back towards her. “Just stop yelling at me for two fucking seconds so I can goddamn breathe! ”
Immediately, he wants to take it back--he can already feel his eyes widening in horror almost before all the words are out of his mouth, because oh God , what did he do --but before he even has the breath to do so, there’s a hand snapping against his cheek hard , and he sucks in a painful breath as the sting sets in.
“Don’t ever talk to me like that again, you fucking brat, okay? Ever , do you hear me? I can’t believe you just did that, I can’t--go to your room, just go, I don’t want to look at you right now. Goddamn baby .”
And Tyler’s nodding vigorously even as he hurries back upstairs, apology after apology falling from his lips, nearly at the same rate as tears leaked out of his eyes, one hand clutching at his stinging cheek while the other grabbed a this aching heart.
She hit me , Tyler thinks to himself, holding his cheek. It doesn’t really hurt, but it’s burning under his palm and looks red when he looks in the mirror. She hit me.
At the end of the night, it’s Tyler that ends up apologizing to her.
He knows his mom loves him, he really does. He can tell by the way she hands him his brown bag lunch every morning, and calls him baby as he heads off to school. He can tell by the way she congratulates him when he tells her how well the basketball team is doing, can tell by the way she kisses the crown of his head when she thinks he’s still asleep.
(He loves those moments, even as rare as they are--for a brief moment, he feels special again, feels loved and valued by her, and he tries to aggressively replay that moment as he falls asleep for real that night, imagining sweet words and soft praise, a mother’s touch he so rarely gets to feel.)
But the more he thinks about it, the more he thinks he doesn’t love her back.
( Damn her to hell. Damn her to hell. Damn her to hell.)
He’s in college the first time he has a panic attack.
He’s just spilled Gatorade on the carpet in his dorm, and even though he knows it’s not a big deal, a problem that’s easily fixed, he finds himself frozen in place, chest heaving, a white-hot series of flashbacks burning, running through his mind so fast he can’t even soak any of them in besides angry voices, furrowed brows, hands on wrists. They hurt.
He sets the bottle back upright with shaking hands and tries to breathe through it, but find he can’t. His throat is constricting on him, making breathing near impossible, heart pounding in his chest.
“Shit,” he hisses to himself, and he doesn’t know why he’s swearing. “Shit, fuck, shit,” and his breaths are getting more labored, his chest starting to hurt a little. He blinks back tears, doesn’t know why they’re there in the first place, but knows he can’t cry, he can’t, he won’t, that never gets him anywhere good, that’s bad bad bad news. Never cry.
(The last time he cried he got a hand to his cheek--)
He sits there, in pain, struggling to breathe for a few solid minutes before he comes down from it, breathing in large, even breaths to get his heartbeat back to normal. It’s okay. It’s okay. Just clean it up. It’s okay. It’s fucking okay. No reason to be a baby about it.
He cleans it up without much thought after he gets his breathing back to normal. His roommate never even knows it happened.
Being gay--or having a relationship at all, really--hadn’t been a thought that had ever even crossed his mind, but when a senior guy in his Public Relations class comes up to him one morning and asks him out, he can’t really find a reason to say no.
He’s hot, in a boring, conventional, handsome-white-jock kind of way, and his name (Jason) is equally so, and Tyler wants to laugh at the corniness of it all.
For a little while, he makes things better.
Tyler hadn’t realized how much he expected insults like stupid, clumsy, awkward, wimp, baby, worthless, ugly from just about everyone, until there was suddenly someone to tell him otherwise. Jason was friendly and easy-going, handing out compliments with ease, and Tyler clung to it like glue--needed his praise and approval to get through his day because without it--without it, there was a suspiciously feminine voice in his head to berate him and knock him down a notch. Without it, the angry voice in his head that’s constantly hammering into him that he’s worthless and a baby and the world would be better off without him would be the only voice he would ever hear because Tyler believed it, believed it because there had never been anyone there to tell him otherwise, but now there was, and he was tall and handsome and Tyler’s boyfriend.
He’s--actually really happy. The relationship feels kind of shallow, and he’s sure both of them can tell, but when Tyler cooks him dinner or cleans the apartment (Tyler practically lives there, now, it’s just off-campus and he only has one roommate that’s usually out with his girlfriend, anyways), or stays the night to suck Jason’s dick, the glowing praise Jason gives him--telling him that you’re really good at this , when it comes to cooking, and you’re such a good boy when Tyler has his mouth wrapped around his cock--well. Tyler’s not complaining.
(Okay, maybe he is too tired some nights to cook a dinner for them, and sometimes his jaw does get pretty sore, but those are just tiny details in a much bigger picture.)
So Tyler soaks up his praise it up like a sponge, heart swelling, and for the first time in years he feel almost carefree --because someone likes him! Someone really, actually likes him enough to put up with Tyler’s constant self-deprecating, with his panic attacks, with his terrible social ineptness, and he’s charming and has broad hands and has never raised his voice at Tyler, not once.
Whenever Jason smiles at him, Tyler’s happy, and just a little farther from whatever hell he grew up in.
It takes Tyler longer than he’d like to admit to realize just how much Jason was changing him.
It was small, constructive criticisms, here and there--so nicely put and in such small ways that Tyler never even noticed them, used to raised voices and insults being a packaged deal with any kind of criticism at all. But it was things like, hey, do you think you could cook a little more next time I’m over? This is, like, really good! or, you own, like, an infinite number of T-shirts, hun. Why don’t you go shopping more? I know some good stores, or damn, babe, you need to go down on me more often . And then suddenly Tyler was cooking for him every night and only wearing the clothes Jason thought he looked pretty in and having substantially less orgasms than his boyfriend was having in bed, and--suddenly he felt kind of sick.
“Hey, babe,” Jason greets when Tyler comes back from class--Tyler didn’t invite him into the dorm, but knowing his roommates they probably left the door unlocked. “How was class?”
Tyler shrugs, setting his keys down on the entry table and letting his bag slide off his shoulder. “Fine, I guess.”
Jason huffs out a laugh and holds one of his arms out. “C’mere. I missed you.”
Tyler gives him a half-assed smile, letting it die quickly as he approaches Jason and climbs into bed with him, snuggling into his side. “Missed you too,” he says, but then realizes he doesn’t really mean it. He appreciates having time to himself, honestly.
“Hey,” Jason says, turning a little so he was facing Tyler. “So, a friend of mine and I--remember Scott?--we were talking today, and uh, something came up.”
Tyler raised an eyebrow, sparing him a glance and wondering where he was going with this. “And?”
“And, uh. Well, I guess I’ll just say it. We want to have a threesome. With you. Obviously.”
Tyler turns sharply at that. “ What? ”
“Oh, come on , Ty,” Jason says, turning fully so that both their bodies are facing each other. “It’ll be fun! Don’t be a prude about it. Scott’s really chill, you’ve met him, it’ll be safe, sane and consensual and all that.”
Tyler sulks, murmuring, “I’m the farthest thing from a prude, Jason.” He sighs. “But I just--I mean--a threesome , Jason, that’s kind of--much. I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.” Especially not with you , he doesn’t add.
Jason rolls his eyes. “Come on , Tyler. Don’t be a bitch.”
Tyler flinches a little at the harsh word, not having expected that. Jason swore frequently, but never in reference to Tyler before.
His heart begins to hammer at his ribs.
“I mean… I don’t know, Jase, I don’t think…” and he doesn’t really know what to do, because he suddenly realizes he’s never actually told Jason no before, and didn’t know the consequences that came with that. Would he be mad? Would he start yelling? Insulting Tyler? Tyler wasn’t sure if he could handle that.
He ends up kind of trailing off and Jason stares at him. “Really, Ty? What, can’t handle it?”
Tyler bristles a little. “It’s not that. I just don’t know if I’m comfortable, like. Being that vulnerable in front of someone else. I mean. I don’t know.” he looks down at his hands, which are tugging at the hem of his shirt, nervously.
“ Tyler-- ”
He wants to tell him no.
“Okay!” he finally says, “Okay, okay, I’ll--I’ll do it. We’ll figure it out, I guess. Just--don’t get crazy or anything, okay? I’m not gonna, like, DP or any of that shit.”
Jason laughs at that, genuinely, but Tyler can’t make himself smile back. “I knew you’d say yes. Thanks, babe.” he swoops down to plant a kiss on Ty’s cheek. “You’re the best.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Tyler says, shrugging him off. “Get going, or you’ll be late to class.”
“Jase,” Tyler says, rubbing his thumb over his boyfriend’s index finger from where they held hands, “I--I don’t think I wanna go through with.. with the thing we’re having with Scott anymore.”
They’re walking back from a dinky little noodle place they had dinner in, mostly hiding their held hands with their bodies in case anyone decided to be a dick about it.
Jason turns to him frowning. “What? Come on, Tyler. I already told him. Now it’ll just be embarrassing if I have to take it back.”
“I know, but I just--I don’t think I can do it.” His palms are starting to feel sweaty, so he removes his hand from Jason’s, shoving it in his pocket instead. He avoids Jason’s eyes--he can feel his gaze on him, staring at him in disbelief. He stares at the ground instead. “I mean--it’s just a sex thing, right? I don’t think we should be fighting over something this dumb.” But fuck, Tyler hates this, because there isn’t love and praise swimming in Jason’s eyes anymore--it’s disbelief, and a little bit of anger, and it suddenly feels all too familiar. Tyler can feel his heartbeat start to speed up again already, under his jacket.
“Yeah, we shouldn’t be fighting, because I thought we agreed on this,” and shit, shit, Tyler doesn’t like the tone of his voice, this was a bad idea. Shit, he’s so stupid.
“I--I’m s-sorry, Jase, but I just can’t --I mean, he’ll understand, right?” he looks back up at Jason, and shit, that was a bad idea, because Jason looks angry.
“I don’t care about what Scott thinks,” he says. “Look, Tyler--I really like you. I do. And I think you’re a really great guy, and super talented, and really pretty, but you’re kind of a handful to deal with, you realize that, right? Every time you have a goddamn panic attack it takes five, ten, fifteen minutes out of my day to deal with that. And I have to deal with trying to explain to my friends why you’re so goddamn awkward, tell ‘em it’s because it’s because you’re socially inept --”
“Social anxiety,” Tyler mutters.
“What the fuck ever. My point is, it isn’t easy being your boyfriend. I give up a lot for you--I don’t understand is why you feel the need to be so difficult over a thing that shouldn’t be a big deal, especially after I thought we already decided on it. It’s one time--one night with a little bit of fun and with all I have to deal with, I honestly don’t think it’d kill you to stop thinking about yourself for one night and just do it! Sex is the only pro to being with you anyways, I don’t see why you need to be a fucking baby about it!”
And--and that’s it, that does it, Tyler starts crying, right there in the middle of the street, but he’s panicking, stumbling away from Jason because he doesn’t want to get hurt for it, he’s in so much trouble, he’s so sorry, he’s so--
“Sorry,” he hiccups before Jason even has time to say anything, unable to meet his eyes. “I--I’m so s-sorry , Jase, I’m sorry, I swear to God it’s not you--” it is, it is you, I hate you I hate this I fucking hate this relationship , “--but I--oh, God, please--”
“Jesus Christ, Tyler,” Jason is saying, a little softer now but still with a bite to his voice, and grabs Tyler around the arm, meaning to drag them some place more private, but a voice shouts out, “Hey!”
They both turn, and there’s a guy with neon pink hair and a nose piercing jogging across the street to get to them. “What’s going on, here? Are you okay? Is this guy bothering you?”
It takes Tyler a second to realize the guy is looking at him --his sight’s still a bit blurry from the tears in his eyes, and he has to blink it away. “I--yeah, I mean, no, he’s not, he’s fine, but--I just--I just--” and then he’s bursting into tears again, and he’s flushing from embarrassment but he doesn’t know what else to do. (Something briefly rolls through his head about how I don’t know how you’re ever going to make it in the real world, Tyler, you can’t expect to be babied all the time but he violently shoves it out of his mind nearly as soon as it enters.)
“Tyler, Tyler, come on,” Jason’s saying, and the other guy is looking at him with distrust, but Tyler shakes his head, bringing his arms up over his face because he wants to disappear, all he wants to do is disappear .
“Jesus Christ, Tyler, this is--this is too much, alright? You’re too much, I can’t deal with this. You’re fucking stressing me out. We’re over, okay? Get fucking Hello Kitty here to walk you home,” and then there’s footsteps walking away.
Tyler doesn’t watch him go--instead, he finds himself sinking to his knees, right there in the middle of the sidewalk, still burying his face in his arms.
“Hey, hey--shh, hey, its okay, it’s okay,” the stranger is saying, crouching down in front of him, and his voice is soothing, but when his hand brushes Tyler’s arm, he flinches back. “Shoot, I’m sorry, man, didn’t mean to scare you.”
The guy seems nice, so Tyler reluctantly pulls one of his arms away from his face to meet eyes with him. He shakes his head, still crying, but the body-wracking sobs mostly subsiding now that the immediate danger is gone. “N-no, it’s okay, I’m just--I’m just being dumb, really, I’m so sorry--”
“Hey, you’re not being dumb. It’s okay. Hey, what’s your name?” The guy goes to gently hold Tyler’s arm again, and this time he doesn’t flinch.
“I--uh, T-Tyler,” he says, and hates how he can’t stop stuttering. “I’m Tyler.”
The stranger smiles at him. “Hey, Tyler. I’m Josh. Do you go to the university?” Tyler nods, shakily, rubbing his eyes. “Do you live on campus? Because so do I, and if you want, I can walk you home. It’s pretty late, and you… no offense, but I really wouldn’t feel right leaving you alone like this.”
Tyler rushes in to defend him. “N-no, it’s okay! Really, that--that’d be nice, actually, thanks.” He rubs his eyes, breath finally evening out, shaky as it is. “S-sorry you had to catch me like this, I--I don’t usually get this way--”
“No need to apologize, dude, you’ve obviously had a rough night. Or a rough couple months, if you’ve been dealing with that asshole.” He gestures loosely with his head in the direction that Jason had walked, sending a dark look that way, before it falls from his face and he turns back to Tyler. “Here, take my arm. Let’s get you home.”
He offers his elbow to Tyler, and Tyler huffs a laugh, slipping his arm into his. Old-fashioned. “Thanks. And he’s not that bad, really. I just--it’s embarrassing, actually, but--we weren’t gonna last anyways. I just--I kinda broke down back there.”
Josh is quiet for a moment as they start walking. “I--I don’t want to stick my nose in your business, or whatever, but--but has he ever hurt you? You seemed sort of… wary.”
Tyler blinks. “No,” he says, “no, he never hurt me. We hardly ever fight, actually. It’s not that. I--” he laughs hollowly. “I’m like, damaged, it’s really stupid, honestly.”
Josh looks at him, a little sadly. “Your dad?”
“Mom,” Tyler corrects him. “Like, don’t get me wrong, she’s great and all, and I’m probably just being a baby about it, but--I don’t know. I don’t want to call it abuse, but--it still hurt.” He’s quiet for a moment, thinking. “But whatever, I’m being a downer, you probably don’t want to hear about all of my personal shit anyways.”
“No, not at all. You sound like you need to get it out.”
Tyler shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Here, how about this,” Josh says, and brings them to a stop as they reach the crosswalk, waiting for the light to go green. He fishes a pen out from one of his pockets and takes Tyler’s arm. “You don’t have to call me if you don’t want to,” he says, scrawling numbers onto the back of Tyler’s hand, “and if you do, it doesn’t have to be romantic thing. But, here’s my number,” he says, and finished writing the last digit, giving Tyler back his hand. “So if you want to call me--to vent, or just to have someone to talk to--I’ll be there, okay? You sound like you need someone, and--and I’d like to help out.”
Tyler blinks, furrowing his brows as he stares down at his hand. “I--thank you. That’s… that’s really nice of you.”
Josh smiles at him, and brings him in for a one-armed hug. “It’s nothing. Now, come on, the light’s green.”
Tyler does call him, and Josh answers, and they talk, and the same cycle repeats for a number of weeks before Josh goes, “Do you wanna just meet up? We both live on campus and I’m using up all my minutes, man. Cheap data plan.”
And when Josh sneakily goes to hold his hand when they go out for coffee, Tyler doesn’t stop him.