Work Text:
Finishing a tour is like coming off a high. The first few times it’s a relief, but increasingly Tyler just wishes it wasn’t over.
It’s not that he hates being back in Columbus. Having the time to breathe, take a break, and keep writing - he loves that. But traveling around the world with his best friend, performing in cities he could only dream of visiting as a kid, well. He’s beginning to think he loves that more.
Depression never exactly leaves. He’s found a lot of ways to alleviate it, but when he pulls his suitcase through the front door of his house that weight always settles in his chest again. There’s something about looking at the dark streets of his neighborhood that sends him back to the worst times. He has an irrational fear that he’ll wake up and discover that the last few years were just a dream. That really, he’s still that tired, lost kid who didn’t know anything about anything.
For once, he and Josh aren’t on the same level. Josh loves touring, he loves being home and seeing everyone, he loves life. No matter where they are, Josh finds a way to be both excited and comfortable. It helps that, on a fundamental level, Josh hasn’t changed much. He can slip back into his everyday life and spend time with friends from high school like he hadn’t back flipped and played the drums in front of a sold out crowd on another continent only a week prior.
Tyler envies this. He feels like a new person every time he puts his thoughts down on paper, and he hasn’t talked to anyone from high school in years. Columbus doesn’t fit him, not anymore.
His mom says that there’s always a silver lining, and Tyler can see one. Coming home makes him itch with impatience and a desire to go somewhere and go there fast (when he’s not too exhausted by himself to move). He does his best writing in Columbus; he reaches his lowest lows.
The other silver lining is that Josh is there. They hang out and go to diners and throw fruit at traffic signs and sometimes, sometimes, it’s enough to quiet Tyler’s mind. When it isn’t, Josh doesn’t leave. He seems just as happy sitting in Tyler’s room with someone who might as well be catatonic as he is flipping through cassettes in a music shop. It’s the shiniest silver lining Tyler could ever hope for.