Chapter Text
When Tyler woke up, he was greeted with the hardness of his desk, the cool wood flush against his face, and his mind drifting slowly back to consciousness. He found himself sleeping in his studio more often than not lately. It wasn’t necessarily comfortable, but it was a space away from everything. It felt like a safe haven, a place to escape the realities of his life and let his creativity fester like a wound. Of course, he had his own wounds to attend to, his own crosses to bear, but he had been doing a very narrow job at avoiding them.
Six months. Almost six months since the last show.
He pushed the voice back down.
Scratching at his head, running his fingers through the grease in his hair (most likely from not showering for at least a few days), he sat up in his desk chair. It squeaked a bit when he turned in it. He’d add looking for a new chair to the list of a million other priorities he was putting off.
He had a small beige couch in the studio, a grand piano in the corner, his Amiibos lined up perfectly on his desk with three different monitors. He had this studio created a few months ago in order to maximize the work for this next album. It almost felt like an underground bunker--he could hide down here for hours, days even, and he’d be alright. He didn’t know why he didn’t sleep on the couch last night, but if he had to guess, he probably fell asleep in the middle of wrestling with an idea.
And so far, that’s all he really had. Just ideas. Sure, he had decided that for this next record, he wanted to be completely cut off from any outside influence, as well as produce the entire thing himself. He wanted this to strictly be his own vision. But all these songs were different. They continued his Blurryface storyline, but this was more expansive.
This was an entire world.
A city, lined with graying streets, filled with thousands of citizens succumbing to a darkness personified by his own anxieties. An escape. A place to run to--not quite safe, but not as dangerous if he abided by the thrum of its dead pulse.
He didn’t even have a name for it yet. All he had was the story, the things he had seen in his mind since before even the Emotional Roadshow tour started. He had been sitting on the ideas for a while, and he knew that artists made concept records, but he didn’t want anything to be half-assed. He wanted to know every single detail about the world he created--and so far, he was still figuring it out.
And he was figuring it out alone .
He had told no one of his visions, save for Jenna. Other than that, the world was completely oblivious.
As he blinked his eyes, flexing his fingers and stretching a bit, he figured that he needed some air. He knew that he spent too much time down here, trying to piece every single detail together, agonizing over bass lines and vocal parts and trying to make them perfect. He overworked himself most days, he realized, but he didn’t know how to stop. He’d push himself to the breaking point, tooth and nail, if it meant creating something perfect.
He loved and hated that about himself.
He stumbled to his feet, scratching at his pair of gray sweats as he climbed up his stairs to go up to the next level of his house. He always felt like he was entering back into reality when he did this, almost like his studio was suspended in some sort of different dimension. Like a liminal space, almost. It probably only made sense to him, so he didn’t voice these thoughts.
Shuffling quietly to a small coat closet by the front door, Tyler opened the door without a sound and fished out one of his heavy winter coats, a pair of black gloves, and his orange beanie. The hat definitely felt brighter than him. The grogginess was deeply rooted behind his eyes. They stung from the lack of good sleep while he searched for his notebook, only to find it right in his coat pocket where he left it.
Heading to the back door, he slipped on his snow boots and left silently. It had been snowing for the past fews days, but this morning, the air was quiet. Nothing but a few little flurries swept about the air as he made his way down his porch steps, bracing the railing so he wouldn’t slip and fall.
He needed to get out of the house, and this was a way to do it, even if he much preferred only going outside when the weather was agreeable. However, he also knew that if he didn’t go outside at all during the winter months, he’d end up even more depressed than usual, so he decided to make his peace with it.
Walking around in the woods behind his house in the morning was a different sort of experience. Most days in the summer, the trees appeared to be green and thriving. Summer turned to autumn. Autumn turned to winter. Now, the trees were barren, only cloaked in a soft dusting of snow. He tried to soak in inspiration as he walked, letting the crunch of the ground beneath him and the stillness of the life around him strike him with imagination.
After a few minutes full of the sound of nothing but his strolling and the occasional bird’s chirp, Tyler made it to his favorite spot. Once he had moved in, he put a wooden bench here in the perfect place. It was positioned to see the sunsets, the stars, the endless sky through the clearing of trees. It was absolutely magical, but truth be told, Tyler hadn’t made as much use of it as he thought he would. It was a bit of a hike to get out here, and sometimes, by the time he made his way down, it didn’t feel worth it anymore. Especially if he didn’t have anyone to share it with.
You have Jenna , the voice reminded him as he brushed off the snow on the bench before taking a seat.
Jenna was different. They both had done this before, and Tyler was left with the insecure feeling that she didn’t really “get it”.
He let out a sigh as he tried to rationalize why he was debating himself, or why he counted every step it took to get here, or why he made sure it was the same number every time.
Two hundred eighty-nine. He liked odd numbers, but the fact that he was so close to two-hundred and ninety bothered him. He forced himself to take a smaller, unnecessary step in order to even things out.
Putting his head in his hands while he shivered, his breath crystallized in the air. He was pretty sure there were icicles hanging from his tongue, but he had also come to know that in his twenty-eight years of life on this Earth, he was a very dramatic creature. His blessing and curse.
With shaking hands and a shaking heart, he began to scribble his thoughts. Most words he took in out here amounted to nothing and would only be some sort of drabble, but sometimes he could salvage a few parts of whatever he came up with and repurpose it into something new. Sometimes it was lyrics; other times, an idea for his world. Sometimes both. He really didn’t have any control over how the inspiration came to him, and he didn’t like the way he felt when he forced it.
He didn’t know why he picked the worst conditions to take his creativity from. He supposed that the winter was the predator and he had merely fallen prey to its brash and violent comfort. It was vindictive . Manipulative . Morose.
Sort of just like you , the voice echoed again before he pressed further down with his pen. The ink pooled a bit in one spot in his frustration.
He began writing furiously. Most of it was nonsense, but he needed a way to get it out. He wished he could breathe fire, wished he could warm up his bones that had felt cursed to an eternal chill ever since the last show in summer. He felt like he had never fully come back from that. He was burning, but none of the flaws could thaw him.
A heatless fire , he scribbled, before deciding to underline it. Something had stuck.
He wrote about the city in his mind, the nine prisoners wrought to inflict the pain of a false light onto the citizens. He penned the weather of the city, how the air of the street would burn just like this, even if the sun was clear. But the sun would never shine. Everything would be cloudy, cursed to the mundane.
He envisioned the streets before imagining himself following them out of the city, making it into another unnamed place. Not quite where you want to be, but not back where you were before. A sort of in-between. An indeterminate point between A and B.
His clothes were camouflaged, the fire had heat…he had thousands of others on his side.
But it wouldn’t matter if he stuck with the people he only knew from a distance, his supporters that only knew one side.
He needed the one who understood him. He needed the one that would always save him.
He needed--
He couldn’t finish the thought. No use dwelling on it now. He got up, shoving the journal in his pocket before he got too worked up about it, and jogged back to his house, not caring if he wiped out in the snow completely. He didn’t, but he still wouldn’t have minded the temporary burn and the accompanying numbness. At least it would take his mind off things.
Opening the door quietly again was a lost cause. He quit the act halfway through as he realized that there was movement coming from the kitchen. The smell of pancakes wafted through the air as the sound of a sizzling pan hummed out its tune.
Tyler took off his boots, turning around and looking up to see that Jenna was cooking.
Jenna . His wife.
It was still a word that he was getting used to, even if they had been married for two years.
“Hey, Ty! Didn’t know you went out,” she said cheerfully, as she always was, while she scooped the pancakes onto their plates.
“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep this morning,” Tyler mumbled before unzipping his jacket and sticking it back into the coat closet. He took off the beanie, dusting off some of the snowflakes with his gloves before taking those off as well.
“Aww,” she voiced sympathetically.
Tyler thought she was probably thinking that he should spend more time sleeping in an actual bed with her, but he just couldn’t seem to get himself to do it during this…break. He didn’t like the word hiatus, even if that was technically what people were calling it. He just couldn’t find the energy to make it upstairs to their bedroom once he was down in the studio, and something about facing Jenna in the dark, especially lately, was more than he could bear. The dark was when all his anxieties and worst fears came out to play. Jenna was good for the daytime. At night, he was all alone.
“Well, I made breakfast! Chocolate chip pancakes, your favorite!”
She looked over to him, beaming with a bright smile, hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Tyler felt a little happier at the gesture, so he walked over and gave her a kiss on the cheek before sitting down at the table.
She brought over their plates and some glasses of water; a sunflower yellow plate for her and a dark cerulean plate for Tyler. He thought the colors matched each of their personalities well.
He took his silverware in his hands and started to eat before he noticed exactly how much food there was. It wasn’t unlike Jenna to go all-out, as she loved to cook and was constantly experimenting, but Jenna really only made this much food when something was wrong and she needed to soften the blow.
Tyler tried to disregard the hole in his stomach as he took a bite of his pancakes.
Jenna made small talk with him, asking about what he was working on, and Tyler obliged. He always did, and Jenna was always so interested and supportive to hear what he had to say. He always appreciated her honesty, because Tyler could always count on her to give it to him straight.
At first, when he originally told her about the concept record, she seemed skeptical, but she warmed up instantly after Tyler explained and showed her some of the songs. Now, it seemed like she was gradually incorporating more subtly yellow pieces of decor into the house. Tyler appreciated the enthusiasm. It made him smile.
As they came to an end with their food, the chatter dwindled. Tyler looked up to see that Jenna had a slightly blank expression, almost like she was searching for the right words but just couldn’t find them.
Tyler finished taking a sip of his water, placing the glass gently next to his empty plate before she finally spoke up.
“So, are you ready for the big day today?” she asked, almost like she was purposely trying to be overly casual.
Tyler gave her a bit of a confused look. “Uh yeah, lot’s of new backing vocals to sing. Busy, busy, busy.”
“That’s not what I meant, silly,” Jenna teased, prodding Tyler’s arm from across the table.
“Well, then what is it?” Tyler asked, letting out a bit of a nervous laugh.
Jenna laughed along with him before realizing that Tyler still looked puzzled. “C’mon, don’t play dumb.”
“I’m not,” Tyler said, a bit more serious this time. “Did we have something planned for today or…?”
“Tyler.” The way she said his name made him move his eyes from the pink sleeves of her shirt back up to her deep blue eyes. “Josh. He’s coming home today, remember?”
Tyler felt his entire stomach drop to the floor.
His face must have gone as white as a sheet, because Jenna was holding onto his wrist a little tighter, leaning in closer to him from across the table.
“Tyler? You alright?”
He couldn’t get his mouth to move for a while. He felt glued to his seat, trapped in his own body. His mind was a pinball machine with a million different thoughts bouncing every-which-way until he couldn’t keep up with them anymore. Sweat started to form under his sleeves, which made it harder for him to focus on breathing. The panic hit him in waves.
All Tyler could do was nod shakily that he was okay, but even someone who didn’t know Tyler at all could tell that something was wrong, much less his own wife.
“I…he didn’t tell you?” Jenna asked quietly, more of an admission to herself than a question for Tyler to answer.
He replied anyway. “No,” he got out. His voice already felt hoarse. “No, he didn’t.”
There was a bit of a pensive silence before Jenna decided to broach another roadblock that had been causing tension between them. Jenna would mention Josh, and remind Tyler to text him or make plans. Tyler would always wave her off, assure her that he was just busy, but that they were still staying in contact.
Tyler felt awful for lying.
“Did something happen between you two?” she asked after a while.
Itt was a simple question, right?
All he could remember was yelling. So much yelling. Josh’s hands on his body, pushing him into a wall after their last show. He was absolutely furious for Tyler going behind his back, for ending the entire tour and putting them on a break.
Without telling him.
Tyler could practically still feel how hot his tears stung as they streamed down his face. He couldn’t say a word.
He hastily let out another nod, unable to vocally confirm what had happened. He had tried to forget the memory for the past six months, but every time he fell back into a dark place mentally, he’d never be able to escape it. He could remember everything in so much vivid detail that he’d never forget it for the rest of his life.
He hadn’t registered that Jenna had now moved and sat in the seat next to Tyler. She gently brushed her fingers over Tyler’s knuckles, and Tyler involuntarily wrapped his hand with hers and held onto it tightly.
“When’s the last time you guys talked?” she asked as she rested her head on Tyler’s shoulder.
Josh used to do that a lot.
He felt hollow.
“Not since the last show.”
“Jesus,” she muttered before she could stop herself. “Ty, that’s like six months.”
“160 days,” he admitted automatically. Jenna turned her head up, giving a surprising look. “Sorry. I can’t help it.”
She just gave him another look of sympathy before holding onto him a little tighter.
“What happened?”
Tyler instantly tensed up. He felt his entire body seize at the thoughts, the unpleasant memories leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, replacing the pancakes.
Jenna seemed to understand that it was still a touchy subject. “Look, you don’t have to tell me now, but I’m always here, okay? We’re married, Tyler. It’s just you and me.”
It used to be just you and him.
Tyler felt like he could throw up.
“Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “Just you and me.”
“Exactly.”
Jenna smiled, cupping Tyler’s cheek and bringing him to make eye contact with her before she left a kiss on his lips. Tyler closed his eyes, leaning into it, breathing deep. She pulled away and gave Tyler’s cheek another stroke.
“It’s gonna be alright. Wherever you wanna tell me, I’m here.”
“Thank you,” he said honestly, and he really did mean it.
“Of course. What kind of wife would I be if I didn’t take care of you? You’d be hopeless without me,” she giggled.
Tyler gave a weak smile at that. “The sad thing is that you’re probably right.”
“Oh, stop it,” Jenna teased as she got up to her feet, giving Tyler’s hair an affectionate ruffle. Tyler leaned into it before she pulled away. “C’mon. You don’t have to see him today if you don’t want to, but you’re gonna have to do it soon. And if you’re gonna be around, I’m gonna put you to work.”
With that, Jenna reached into another broom closet and handed Tyler a bucket filled with cleaning supplies. Tyler made a face of disapproval.
“Oh, come on. First week of the month is always cleaning week.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” Tyler sighed, and Jenna gave him a look of triumph.
He followed her up the stairs, presuming that they were going to clean their bathroom first. As much as Tyler groaned as he trailed behind her, he was quietly grateful for the work.
He needed something to keep him busy and to keep his mind off Josh.
Letting out another sigh, he caught up to his wife and began to join her with scrubbing their shower.