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"ow. ow. ow. shit. christ. ow. ow. ow. ow."
"one more."
it's nearing 11pm, if not already 11pm in cleveland, ohio, and tyler joseph has twisted his ankle on josh dun's drumstick. quite literally.
a couple minutes ago feels like hours. tyler running around, hopping from platform to platform during trees. he just ..kinda stepped on the stick full force on his right foot. and sent himself almost flying.
(it's really not that bad. he hopes it wasn't that bad.)
his knee made contact with the edge on his way down as he's scrabbling to stay on the stage, and josh's voice was immediately crackling to life in tyler's in-ears, voice panicked and eyes wide behind the wall of cryo-smoke.
'please don't tell me that was the drumstick.'
and tyler made a point to prove that it was when he chucks it out to the pit below, running on adrenaline to get him through the rest of the song.
each step down produces a different vocalization out of tyler’s throat, hobbling on his left foot and trying so, so hard not to apply pressure on his right.
it’s clearly not working. even with josh’s gentle coaxes to lean into him, that he’ll help burden the weight.
this isn’t the first time in his life that tyler has twisted an ankle. definitely not. years of basketball made him think that he could handle this.
(he can not handle it. there's a difference between being 17 and the next major worry is graduation and being 33 with 2 kids and definitely not having the same bones as you did. yeah, sure, he still has to stay fairly active to even perform half the stunts he wants to perform this tour, but he's not.. in his youthful prime.)
(god, he feels old just even letting himself think that. youthful prime, he's fucking 33. that's still young. ..ish.)
it’s just that it’s the first time he’s twisted an ankle while performing. at least in very recent years.
he’s eaten shit at shows, he knows that.
there’s flying off his piano because he miscalculated his jump towards the end of roadshow, but at least most videos from the crowd’s perspective had tyler falling behind it—the only footage of the full damage and the skinned arm afterwards was caught on mark’s camera to be shown in some sleepers video months later, tyler forgot which one.
there was also reading and leeds.
and falling so hard during heavydirtysoul to the point where he blacks out. he still thinks it’s stupid to wear the braces, though. they look dumb. and it’s not like those are preventing the concussions he might get anyway.
and then there’s the endless videos of him falling from the lack of support of the crowd during trees. those still haunt the corners of his mind.
but twisting an ankle, though? seriously? on a drumstick?
josh pats his side to get his attention, getting a low, distracted hum as an answer.
"do you think you'd be okay on your own while i go find help?" there's a slight flavor of worry tinging the edge of josh's voice from what tyler can pick up. almost too nervous to talk in case tyler's already on the anger stage in his ankle injury grief speedrun. "if they're not on their way here already, i mean."
tyler blinks up and to his right, eyes wide and lost in the haze of pain and running josh's question through his mental systems.
hey, no, wait a minute. josh is still here. worry about that first.
“but don’t you—”
“they can go one night without extra drumsticks, you’re more important.”
y’know, even after dating for 4 years (though josh insists it’s 7. tyler sure as hell doesn’t remember any elaborate airport confessions before josh went through security and hid away in LA for 6 years,) tyler still find it hard to wrap his head around the fact that josh would prioritize him over anything else.
there's a hint of amusement in the next words josh says, careful arm hugging tyler's waist just a little tighter. "you already threw that one to the crowd, anyway, that'll be enough for them."
oh, yeah, the fucking drumstick he stepped on.
josh must've caught the flash of the pained expression tyler briefly lets through, though, because any semblance of a smile he had starts dropping. awkward and apologetic. eyes casting down to tyler's injured foot.
"i'm sorry."
"i know."
not like that'll do anything.
tyler grimaces at the sensation of his body being off balance, even worse that he's unable to do anything about it. standing tall and keeping his left leg as rigid as possible. kind of mirroring a flamingo, right leg brought up and bent behind him. or at least just moving it around off the ground. anything to not put more pressure on it.
he thinks he fucked up his knee. hurts to bend it.
(he's absolutely, pretty sure he fucked up his knee.)
the stage above them vibrates to the instrumentals of good day, upbeat piano keeping them company in the awkward silence before there's a shout of tyler's name down some hall.
the pair barely have a chance to look up before the venue staff and band security flocks around them like vultures, cutting off josh from the rest of them and moving as a mass to get tyler into the common area. immediate medical attention, probably. don't know what else it would be.
josh just looks dejected when tyler barely gets the chance to look over his shoulder. watching as he starts a slow pace to follow the rest of the group after a moment of hesitation.
on one hand; this is his fault. tyler knows it's his fault and tyler will make sure to tell him that it is indeed, his fault. the other, though, is that josh is his boyfriend and the one that can handle tyler's.. y'know, whatever the fuck it is. maybe it's internalized ableism. the adhd diagnosis he got when he was 8 makes sense, the autism diagnosis he got when he was 28 doesn't.
but whatever it is, tyler trusts josh with it.
tyler looks back in front of him and he hobbles with the crowd, foreign hands on and under his shoulders and all around his torso. he gets why they have to do that, he really does, they're all concerned and panicking. doesn't mean he won't hate it though. the injuries are still fresh and he's already sore and out of it from the entire show in general.
the common area comes into tyler's field of vision and he squints, the light bouncing in the back of his skull upon entering and igniting a headache he didn't even know he was having.
the crowd around his disperses one by one and start to wander and pace around the room, some leaving for non-tyler related things, others on the hunt for more professional medical personnel. something like that.
tyler feels the couch under him and he almost crumples under his own weight, forcing himself to lean back instead of forward. josh's presence is only acknowledged by tyler by the way the small congregation of concerned staff parts like the red sea for the drummer as he makes his way to his partner.
there's also some.. it's a figure in front of him as josh closes in at his side, the only barrier between them being the arm rest of the couch. it's a guy. it's somebody from the band's crew. he thinks it's travis. the thing has his voice. asking questions tyler's not answering. probably on how he's feeling. or telling him they need to start checking injuries now, or whatever needs urgency.
and the figure just feels exhausted, radiating off in waves and hitting tyler full force. the aftermath of the initial panic weighing down on him like a father with a toddler too rowdy for his own good, hands on his thighs for balance as he starts crouching to be more eye level with his boss.
(tyler knows the feeling. the father of a toddler part, anyway.)
“..tyler.”
that breaks through the fog. something clicks on.
”yeah, i know.”
it can’t be much worse than taking your pants off at the grammys.
tyler glances down before his hands reach the drawstrings, pulling one and undoing the tight knot he tied it at; already missing the feeling of it hugging his waist.
he toes off his boots after a moment of struggle, especially with his right foot, to make the process just a little bit easier—be kinda hard to try and take his pants off with those shoes on. not impossible, just.. frustratingly hard.
he can feel the skin around his injury peel off in little bits and pieces at the edges, clinging to the inside of his show pants and his leg twitching, trying to stay still despite the white hot bites of pain that ride through his nervous system.
tyler tries to keep a straight face, getting to the point where his knee pops out of the other end of the waistband. scuffed up and bloody and a just.. it's just a straight up gash. running horizontal across his knee, away from the anatomical vertical of his leg.
and it's a mess.
and oh, that’s.. that’s not good at all.
tyler barely gets the chance to let his eyes widen at.. whatever the hell he's looking at, before josh’s hands are gently smacking themselves over them. maybe he gets a grunt of protest. just at the sudden lack of visual stimuli.
“you’ll thank me later.” and a kiss on tyler’s cheek as an apology. “i’ll let go when there’s something covering it.”
and what tyler hates the most at this very moment is that he will thank josh later.
he doesn't know who else does it, but somebody gets his pants off the rest of the way. josh's hands help with the start of the right leg, being the only one tyler trusts enough to touch those areas of his body.
but they come off.
and it's like vibe arsenic got leaked into the atmosphere.
worried murmurs surround tyler as his face scrunches under josh's hands. one of his own goes up to nudge at josh's arm, a cue to let go, but he doesn't budge.
it's bad. it's gotta be bad if josh refuses to let him look. tyler can handle a few scrapes and cuts, but whatever he saw for .5 seconds looked so much worse.
he feels the heat of josh's presence by his head, his voice hushed by tyler's ear. "they're getting ready to disinfect it."
it's a gentle warning, and tyler can feel his eyes tracing whatever's in front of them on the table. and tyler can hear the sound of someone flapping around a single use package to have it settle at the bottom. probably the wipes.
"you doing okay tyler?"
it's somebody else in front of them both, their voice radiating sympathy as they just gently nudge his leg, his sign to move it a little more, to stick it out a little straighter. which he does.
he doesn't want to scare the crap out of the poor venue staff. (tour crew is a different story.)
"..it could always be worse."
it's coupled with an awkward smile, with his soft voice raising just a little higher in an attempt to be nonthreatening.
"on the count of three?"
"don't even count down, just—"
there's a swipe of an alcohol wipe and tyler's lips are drawn to a impossibly tight line, his arm jumping in place of his leg and chewed up nails embedding themselves in his palm. there's barely a fraction of time between jerking his thumb up to keep going, just get it over with, before another 2, 3, 4, another 5th before the stinging is alleviated with a slower hand.
it's probably a towel, it's better than nothing.
he's trying not to cry but tyler knows josh can feel his tears against his hands. and he can feel his own lip wobbling, eugh.
there’s rustling and some questions tyler doesn’t need to answer before he hears the click of ziploc bags, head moving towards the sound out of confusion.
(which forms into immediate relief once the bags of ice makes contact with his knee and foot.)
josh chuckles above him, the way tyler slumps into the cushions with a sigh is endearing.
he did say he’ll let go once something hid the injury from tyler, though.
“hands are coming off. it’s gonna be bright, open your eyes slowly.”
josh's hands are careful as they move off of tyler's eyes, giving him time to transition from the dark to the light. featherlight fingertips wiping away the mess of tears around tyler’s eyelids.
he blinks them open, squinting before immediately doing his best to sit up and look at the floor instead of the lights directly overhead.
tyler can catch the sound of josh wiping his hands against the couch. and the sound of somebody asking josh if he can help with something. and the sound of josh’s boots against the carpet, fading out and turning into the sound of his boots on the linoleum. rubber hitting in uniform taps that grow softer until it’s like he wasn’t there at all.
tyler in 2 hours is probably going to think this is hilarious and milk it for what it’s worth. retweet something that gets him giggling in the darkness of his hotel room. make silly comments during interviews tomorrow morning.
tyler right now kinda just wants to die. or be anything and everywhere else than be in pain and near josh. especially far away from josh.
the josh that's fucking off with first aid to try and remedy the fact that his right (his right! his dominant side!) foot is out of commission, and trying to remedy the fact that his left knee can barely bend without the exposed pain receptors shooting up and down and sideways all around the leg.
it's the fact that this has never happened before is what gets tyler going, though. the fact that in the 10 off years they've been touring together, and 11 since josh even joined, and this is the first time tyler's slipped on a something than his own feet. and it belonged to josh. what the fuck.
(he needs to remind himself that it was an accident. he saw the briefest flash of yellow during heathens above josh's kit, that was probably what it was. they probably both thought that it'd roll off one way or another by the time tyler ran over there.)
(and he can't say it's the crew's fault, either, it's generally really dark in the wings with the occasional flash of light from the visuals. they probably didn't even see it.)
doesn't mean he still can't be mad over it.
he comes back right as the pot is about to boil over, softening at the little sympathetic smile that josh is giving him. throwing the wooden spoon over in hopes that he doesn't have to clean up the residue later.
"we found some stuff."
he holds out the roll of bandages and some black thing, the velcro shining in the light. somebody else has gauze pads.
tyler watches as josh hands off the supplies one by one to somebody else, somebody more qualified, as they crouch down to get a better look at what they’re doing before just opting to sit. step by step.
he looks up to where josh stands, arms full and watching intently before catching tyler’s movements from the corner of his eyes. looking up to a lazily pointing finger and tyler narrowing his eyes as his ankle reflexively jerks at the sensation of being touched. reactivating the pain receptors.
“fuckin’ set me up.”
“and you can be mad at me later, now try and stay still.”
he finds it very hard to stay still.
maybe it's because he hates the concept of other's up in his personal space, but the process of getting.. whatever this is, on his foot, feels almost violating. tensing and locking his shoulders up as they wrap it and somehow work it around the ice bag. it's just uncomfortable.
and he still can't stay still after the fact.
tyler's almost entered an almost nonverbal state from everything else when mark pops in and asks to get a video of josh explaining what happened, giving a reluctant hum as an all clear. it would probably get them sympathy points, it would probably get twitter rolling and reprimanding josh in the ways that tyler desperately wants to.
they’re gonna have a fucking field day over this.
he can sense josh turn to him after stumbling and explaining the last half hour, feel the awkward grin in his voice.
josh tends to be the one who laughs in uncomfortable situations. awkward situations that include dropping your drumstick and having your bandmate slip on it.
always trying to be polite regardless.
"i'm gonna buy you dinner, or something."
that gets a little smile out of tyler, at least—been a while since they went to dinner together. alone. they didn't have much time between the end of europe and the start of icy to be purely, truly alone. a day to themselves in the comfort of their own house. because there's always something with practice or tour or management or crew or scheduling or..
he throws up a peace sign for the camera and babbles something about being twenty one pilots and so are you, dropping his head back down and draping his arm back over his eyes as soon as mark puts the phone away. the light is stupidly, annoyingly bright. nobody's turned it down. his head is throbbing at the same tempo as his knee.
there's a moment of quiet outside of mumbled conversations and people walking in and out of the room. the most calm since they got off stage, the initial wave of panic finally settling.
and then there's a hand on his arm. it's josh again, he would recognize those calluses anywhere.
"put your arm down, ty."
"it's gonna be too bright."
"i know," he feels josh's palm brush against his forearm, careful not to irritate the pseudo-carpet burn (if you would even call it that. floor burn? stage burn?) before sliding it back up. fingers loosely wrapping around tyler's hand. "but i need you to put your arm down so i can do this."
tyler’s face scrunches with hesitation before slowly peeling his arm away, the pressure against his forehead replaced by a little kiss of gratitude before he drops the arm to his side entirely. his eyes are still closed, though.
tyler feels himself flinch at the sudden contact at his neck before his body relaxes at the warmth, eyelids unclenching. his body leaning into the washcloth that drapes around his neck, warm water barely having the chance to drip down and stain the shirt with reactivated body paint before josh swipes it back up into the circular motions.
he must be cleaning up the blurry paint. better him to do it than tyler with his fucked up arms. or, arm. maybe as an apology for being the inadvertent reason tyler is stuck on this couch, doubled up in ziplock bags filled with crunchy ice cubes.
“that's warm.”
“ran it under the faucet just for you,” josh's voice is as warm as his neck feels, a soft cadence for his ears only. sweet and gentle no matter how long tyler has been grumbling at him. “i just need you to tilt your head back the tiniest bit more.”
josh does it for him anyway, using his left to brush the pads of his fingers under tyler's chin to lift it up by a degree or two, bringing the cloth around to the front. over the adam's apple, down to the dip in his collarbones.
the repetitive pattern is soothing, probably the kindest thing that’s happened to his body since he woke up this morning. the washcloth feels like it came out of the dryer, whatever hasn’t been soaked by the sink that brushes up against him is soft and forgiving.
tyler keeps his head up as josh moves his hand away to continue his job, swapping the use of one hand for another for easier access to the other side of his neck. he doesn’t say much, if at all as josh skirts at his jawline. small strokes.
there’s a second, dry cloth that runs back over the previous one’s path, patting the skin dry and making sure nothing’s left behind before josh gives a quiet, short hum to signal that he’s done.
tyler blinks his eyes open and they scan above him, tracing up the arm to josh’s face, which is more or less lost in thought. deep in some brain trenches.
“thanks.”
josh is almost surprised at the gratitude. flinching reflexively at the sudden voice and the shock flashing in his eyes for a brief moment before relaxing, starting to put away the cloths. he still smiles. wants to put tyler at ease above all else.
“it’s the least i can do.”
josh comes back around and tyler’s overcome with a sudden and uncharacteristic need for touch. pawing at his arm and pulling it across his chest once he gets it, clinging to it and resting his head against the bicep.
josh doesn’t mind. he even takes his other arm and crosses it over the opposite direction, takes one of tyler’s hands off of him and into his own. resting his chin on the top of tyler’s head.
”better?”
it’s better.
tyler needs a nap. or just a full on sleep. which he nearly gets, starting to nod off in the embrace. the perfect amount of heavy and warm.
he loves josh for several reasons. this is one of them. top 10.
but he almost gets his nap. only prying his weary eyes open to josh gently nudging at his chest, fuzzy brain catching the tail end of his notice that there’s another person here to check up on him.
it’s another staff member, it’s more questions, it’s more injury inspections on a different leg.
tyler likes to think he has a good pain tolerance. a fantastic one, even, with how often he finds bruising by his ribcage and josh pointing them out on his back after every couple of shows. the night sky making a special appearance in the spacial expanse of tyler’s body, making friends with the faint clusters of freckled stars.
clearly, though, he’s hit a tipping point tonight if he’s gripping josh’s hand so hard that he can almost feel the bone splintering under his skin despite the exhausting seeping into the rest of his joints. coming in hot flashes, constant on-and-off squeezes like his heartbeat every time the arena staff even get close to his split knee. the ice (which is still on his damn leg) barely even numbed it.
it's probably the overstimulation and the adrenaline combining like sodium and chloride exploding, and his aching, tired body longing to be crashing the fuck out in tonight's hotel is the table salt result. it’s already crashing the fuck out. he just needs to go to bed. please let him go to bed.
tyler stares at the wall across the room. the ziploc bag is lifted off his knee and tyler flinches as somebody’s fingers gently prod at the skin around it again. making sure there’s no signs of anything that could cause an infection.
josh looks over tyler’s shoulder from what tyler can see through his peripheral, and something’s different.
josh’s face scrunches this time.
tyler barely glances over, head more just gently knocking against josh’s cheek.
“how bad is it.”
“..it’s not disgusting.” tyler’s attempts to look down are immediately stopped by josh’s fingers locking into his hair, restricting movement. “no, don’t look at it.”
tyler grimaces at the insistence. even more at the forceful hand.
"so it's bad."
"i didn't say it wasn't bad, it's just not disgusting," that's a distinct difference that even tyler knows. "they cleaned it up pretty well! you're not.. it's not bleeding, either."
josh doesn't remove his hand until they wrap the knee up. tyler wanted it to be tight, josh made him settle for snug.
everything's a haze by the time they finish up everything else. the insides of a jello container. wobbly and dizzy.
josh's hands are gentle yet heavy on his shoulders and tyler almost jolts at the sudden movement, his head ducking down to talk after giving a brief sorry.
"do you want me to leave you alone?"
tyler wants to say so much to that question. mostly through yelling or griping comments. the weight of his quickly dissipating anger is settling like a stone at the very bottom of his stomach. heavy and warm.
instead he only rolls his head back, eyes closed and nodding.
the weight on his shoulders leaves with a soft alright, the noise of josh starting to back away from the couch and gather his things is the only thing tyler really hears. the audio mixing creature in his brain putting josh at the forefront of his mind above the rest of the crew and medical team.
his eyes open as josh turns the corner of the doorway, footsteps growing further away from ground zero before tyler lifts his head again.
it's intuition. don't go yet. stay for just a little longer. i'll miss you.
"josh,"
josh pokes his head back out from around the corner before sh can even leave tyler's lips, pushing his curls out of his forehead and eyes lighting up just a little bit. a small sliver of hope that tyler actually changed his mind, he wants josh to stay.
and tyler kind of does want him to stay.
"you should go get changed."
he doesn't say that though. he has to keep up the pissed off persona for another hour at best.
josh just squints and smiles, mumbling something that yeah, he probably should, before disappearing again. tyler'll probably see him in the hotel.
and tyler is alone.
and he's still alone when he makes it to the hotel room first.
the lights are fluorescent and pale and yellow-orange (though objectively better than the yellow-green the dressing rooms) and cranked to the highest setting imaginable, tyler muttering to himself as he immediately goes to dim them. face contorted to permanent grimace as he walks on his bad foot to the nearest light switches.
he was offered crutches. he would rather die than use crutches.
he makes haste, just wanting to get to bed as fast as possible. clambering into it in the near-darkness, collapsing in a grunt. or a huff. some lovechild of the two. stomach first, though.
he doesn't want to deal with the lamps. josh still needs some idea of where he's going when he gets here, anyway.
but he does, forcing his body up by the forearms and rolling onto his back. hissing as he relies on his bad knee just a little too much. it's either that or his bad foot. on the opposite leg.
he gets on his back eventually.
by the time the door squeaks open and josh sticks his head in, tyler's thrown one of his arms over his eyes again. he can't exactly tell if he fell asleep like that or not, but the way tyler's head leans towards the direction of the sound, that's josh's cue that he's still up.
he sets his bag down into the void of the room when he steps all the way inside, closing the door behind himself slowly and making sure it clicks shut before making any sort of attempt to walk.
the only thing josh can perceive is tyler’s half-illuminated frame with the help of the lamps.
he knows better than to turn the rest of the lights on.
tyler hears socked footsteps shuffling on the carpet and suddenly the hotel mattress starts sinking under josh's weight, creaking as his hands hold onto the edge, right next to his thighs. tyler made the attempt to try and move his foot out of the way, to give josh just a little more space, before quickly remembering that he can't. or at least not as much as he was hoping to move it.
he peeks out from under the arm draping over his eyes. josh is a little more than a silhouette, eyes shining due to the lamplight. he's still technically in a tour fit, it's the dusty blue sweater he wears during the campfire sometimes, but the shorts he would wear with it are swapped for sweatpants instead.
it is kinda chilly in here, once tyler thinks about it hard enough.
josh's voice can't be much higher than the quiet electric humming of the electricity in the inner workings of the walls, probably powering whatever the ac would be. it's one of those fancier hotels with the cool little control panel that adjusts the temperature. tyler would've spent the last hour finagling with it. ..y'know, if he could will himself walk to it again.
“how are you feeling?”
josh's eyes are puppylike and almost pathetic, (and tyler means that in the most loving, infatuated way possible,) head tilted to one side like jim does, hair flopping with the gravitational shift.
tyler just lets his arm roll back over his eyes.
“horrible.”
and he's not wrong, exactly. things are definitely less than ideal right now, worse before josh got here, but it's miles better than how he was when it happened in the first place. the knee injury's been reduced to a dull, thudding ache. it's borderline pleasant.
(not in like, the masochistic kind of way. at least, tyler doesn't think so.)
there's a small huff kind of above tyler's box of perception and personal space, and he hums in a way that settles in the center of his throat as josh reaches over and cards his fingers through tyler's hair, leaning into the touch.
he can hear the smile in josh's voice, almost teasing. playing into tyler's stage dramatics like he has been for the last 11 odd years.
"is it that bad?"
"100%. i'm practically dying. god's light encroaches the edges of my vision."
tyler's using his free arm to play out the theatrics that would match his words, a half-assed, claw-handed reach towards the ceiling. waiting to be released from the eternal pain that is a twisted ankle and a busted knee.
"oh, c'mon."
the hand reaches down to tyler's eye arm, using it to gently nudge it back up. leaning down closer to get any semblance of eye contact.
tyler just squints.
“seriously, though, how are you feeling?”
josh leans back and tyler lifts his arm out of his face, blinking. looking to his right side. his foot's still in its cast. or whatever this is. brace? it's not like he broke anything.
but that's the potential tour ending injury. or one of them. the more important potential tour ending injury.
he starts small.
“the arm i can live with.”
tyler reaches over to his left and runs a hand against the scabbing flesh. it's still a little red from the fall, but it only has like, one little nick by the elbow. his nail scratches against the hardened skin, resisting the urge to dig them under the edge and peel it off. it's an interesting texture, one that shouldn't be on him, but he knows better.
"i don't even want to think about my knee right now."
"your knee probably had it the worst."
tyler looks at that next.
the didn't have much time to really process the severity of how bad he fucked it up, but it was bloody enough that it got a collective cringe of the surrounding personnel.
it still feels sore, the injury feels deeper than it actually is. it'll be a miracle if tyler can even bend it when trying to get out bed in the morning.
in the time it takes tyler from looking at his booboos to realizing josh has gone quiet, he feels the bed rock to one side as josh starts to get settled. hands at his side to slide over tyler as much as his body physically allows.
which isn’t much, but it’s enough that josh can lay down without clinging to the edge.
tyler looks over to see josh on his stomach, head laying on top of one hand, the other reaching over to brush a strand of hair out of tyler's face.
there's a distant woosh of cars and traffic below them lays it on the horn every few minutes, creating an ambience all too familiar from then to now. it's just quieter, and not directly next to them as they camp it out in a 24 hour parking lot because they couldn't afford a room between the four of them.
he doesn't necessarily miss that part of the early days. it just set up an environment for too much that he couldn't describe because he didn't have the vocabulary for it. he loves everything else about it, he really does, it was just.. the night. the stupidly shitty sleeping arrangements. josh being his only saving grace by acting as a human weighted blanket.
(and let's be honest, it was 2011. if tyler knew he was autistic back then—he might as well have killed himself right then and there in the doctor's office. the constant overstimulation of touring? knowing full well of what you are and uneducated people would know after you had to tell them as an explanation to behaviors you were exhibiting since you were 4? and no way to regulate it? and your passion is maybe 2 steps off the ground with no hope in sight?)
he blinks and suddenly the sensation of josh is a lot closer than he realized, head lolling to lean on josh's and feeling a hand on his knee. the other arm being carefully tucked under his back. his neck is warm all of a sudden. it pulls him out though, reaching a hand up to drag his face down and bring him back to the present.
"have you eaten anything?"
josh's voice is peeking through the cotton swath of his senses. closing his eyes so he can focus on the sound better.
there's a beat of silence in the waiting darkness, the only sensations tyler is allowing himself to process is josh's hand running a gentle back and forth against his knee, and the gentle in and out motion of his breathing towards the base of his neck. josh is probably looking up at him, all dumb and adoring.
tyler's eyebrows furrow and his eyelids scrunch, searching into the brain's filing cabinet. he had another brief lunch with peter and like, one or two snacks during soundcheck. not a full meal.
"not since lunch." is his final answer.
the vibe around josh changes, more concerned and oh, tyler-like.
the hand is off his knee and josh sits up again, and frankly tyler is trying really hard to not complain about it. it's hard to get comfy on these things. harder when you're sharing it and even worse because.. you get the point. we all get the point.
"scoot."
"i've scooted too much today."
josh just hums as he moves up a little further on the bed, tucking his frame into tyler's side, nose in his hair as tyler lets his head settle into the curve of josh's neck. two pieces of a puzzle that came in the box matched up already. or two halves of a whole being, split up because zeus feared their collective power. something poetic like that.
josh's lips press gently against tyler's temple, and then just a little further down to the shell of his ear. just small little kisses down the hairline. humming a gentle buzz that runs through tyler's system slowly—not enough to overwhelm.
his voice blankets over tyler's senses, whispered as one of his hands takes tyler's into it. swiping his thumb back and forth over the knuckles.
"y'wanna take up that dinner offer?"
tyler’s too exhausted at this point to even get up. all the build up today kinda made him forget he was hungry at all.
are there even any places open this late?
"..now?"
"only if you want."
that level of freedom in decision scares tyler a little bit. the fact that josh would get up and get tyler dinner now if he truly wanted makes him feel bad, almost. yeah, sure, he deserves it after tonight, and josh wouldn't complain because he genuinely wants to do this for him, but it's that inherent guilt of having others do things for you. josh would probably stop him from doing it himself, though.
..his foot's not that injured. he can probably hobble across the room to the microwave if he really wanted to.
"is there some kinda expiration date?"
there’s a pause, and tyler can hear the faint clinking and clacking of gears as they turn in josh’s head. he wants to say yes to be a dick. he knows that’s unreasonable. and there’s still the inherent guilt of putting tyler in this situation in the first place.
“no.”
tyler muses good answer after another moment and gets the lightest flick to his nose. it scrunches on instinct and his hand gently swats at josh’s. josh swats back.
it’s back and forth before tyler grabs at josh’s wrist with sudden strength, tugging it towards his head and forcing it to lay across his chest.
josh doesn’t fight it. only readjusts after tyler lets go.
there's a moment where the air stills and the room goes silent as tyler thinks over his answer. obviously they can't do it now, it's almost 1 in the morning. and days off are always a gamble. tyler usually spends them sleeping these days. or too nauseous to eat.
he should get that checked out, actually. that's an after tour problem to take care of.
“can we do it when we get home?” he sounds hesitant, almost too nervous to ask—going home is still a good 3 weeks away. this whole thing would be well behind them by that point. a distant memory lost in the haze of tour that'll be brought up every few months, if at all. “after tour?”
“of course,” josh's answer is almost instantaneous. he's probably relieved that he doesn't actually have to scour the streets of cleveland or scroll through doordash for 20 minutes singling out several places of an already limited selection of restaurants and fast food joints for tyler's hyper-specific food choices that only seem to exist between the hours of 1:30 to 8 in the morning.
..jesus christ, tyler needs to be nicer to himself.
“probably be better to do it after tour, anyway.”
yeah, it probably is.
josh readjusts them so tyler's not awkwardly laying on his back all stiff while josh hugs at his side, still avoiding the knee and the ankle as much as humanly possible. gently turning tyler to lay on his right, on his better leg, letting his head rest on his collarbones and pulling the blanket over them both. there's at least a 70% chance josh is going to wake up tomorrow tacky with sweat with the layers he's wearing. tyler knows that josh won't mind either way.
it’s hazy in the back of tyler’s mind as josh maneuvers him, going back to one of the odd hiatus days he wasn’t hiding in his bunker of a home studio. half asleep and curled into josh’s side on the rare days he visits—or josh curled into his—hands warmed by a bowl of some meal they made, watching some specific film for the umpteenth time.
he wants to go back to that. maybe not during a hiatus, he hated it (even with how proud he was of trench,) but.. long enough of a break. long enough that he can sleep for more than 5 hours on a good night. long enough that ro won’t cry when her dads have to go to work—because there won’t be any work to go to that the girls can’t tag along for.
they just need a break, he doesn’t know how else to word it.
there’s a steady hand between his shoulder blades and careful fingers scratching into his back, sensation dulled by his shirt. forcing tyler to draw a deep inhale into his lungs. a factory reset.
his jaw unclenches on the exhale, tired eyes opening a slit to re-familiarize himself with the hotel room again before letting them close.
“you with me?”
“yeah.” back to hiding. probably shouldn't come back out for the rest of the night. or even until they leave for pittsburgh tomorrow morning. “yeah, i’m fine.”
josh's hand slides up and it's back in his hair, taking a small section of it and twirling it back and forth between his pointer finger and thumb. his lips are now at the bridge of tyler's nose, and then his forehead.
"we’re gonna be done soon." it's whispered into his skin like a tattooed promise.
three weeks (and some change) doesn't sound like soon to tyler at all, but the way josh says it makes him want to desperately believe that it is. it's just 25 more days.
"we'll go home as soon as we get everything together after seattle. you can collapse onto the bed as soon as you step foot into the house. i'll take care of the girls and make you dinner," josh hums, letting go of the section and combing his fingers through the rest of the hair instead. letting tyler's imagination wander. for his sake. using the voice he has when tyler just needs raw comfort and familiarity. "and i’ll even make your ketchup mac&cheese concoction and not complain about it."
tyler murmurs something akin to an echo of concoction, sprinkled in with a little dash of it's good, fuck you. pulling the blanket just a little closer with one arm and grabbing an overly plush pillow with the other. he needs to support his neck. he's been sleeping on it wrong for the last few days.
josh snorts, head on the back of tyler's head to support it as he reaches over to the far side of the bed and clicks the lamp off, before turning over and doing the same with the other right next to himself. sending the room into a cold void accentuated by a little too powerful ac.
tyler feels warmth instead.