Chapter Text
Something smelled off—not rotten or foul, just unfamiliar. The scent was sharp and earthy, like someone had spilled an entire bottle of essential oil into the bunk below. Groggy, he shifted under the stiff sheets, their roughness irritating his skin. The eucalyptus scent, mixed with mint, was getting stronger, invading his nostrils. He moved around a bit more, chasing after the last bit of sleep. But the sheets kept being the way. The more he came to his mind, the more it felt off. Did he fall asleep in a random bunk instead of his own ? That thought jolted him awake.
He shot upright, heart pounding, and scanned his surroundings. He definitely wasn't in their Tøp tour bus. He threw the sheets off of him, panic silently setting in his stomach as he got out of his bunk. He found a completely different bus. It definitely was a tour bus - sheet music, instruments cases and a metronome were laying around - but not theirs. He could hear a faint humming in the distance. He stumbled around not fully awake yet, looking at tour tickets for a band named The Belles. He never heard the name. That was definitely strange, he couldn’t remember how he got here. He searches for the exit, thinking the owner of the bus would not be terribly happy finding a stranger here.
As he got to the lounge, he stopped dead in his tracks. There was a poster of The Belles – the name on the tour ticket. The front woman was sitting on the guitarist's shoulder making faces, the bassist another woman was sitting in front of a drum set, leaning into the bass drum. She was wearing a cowboy hat tipped over her face. And behind the drums was… Him. Smiling at the guitarist. They were posing like they had been best buds for a long time. He squinted at the poster, making sure it was him and not a doppelganger. Was it some really elaborate prank from Tyler ? It could be but it seems a bit much to create a whole new bus tour for a prank. As he stared at himself on the poster a voice chimed in.
“Wake up, buttercup!”
A cup of coffee appeared in front of him. He blinked at the woman, standing there, trying to make sense of the situation. It was the front woman from the poster. She was smaller than him with bright ginger hair, she looked way to awake for him. She forced the coffee cup into his hand.
"Wow, were you really that wiped out after last night's gig?" She asked, furrowing her brows.
"Huh," Josh croaked, not really following what was happening now.
"Come on, bud', Kay cooked us a real breakfast today," Josh found himself sitting at a small table with the bassist and the guitarist from the poster. Kay—the other woman, according to the blur of names his brain barely clung to—nudged his arm as he plopped down beside them.
“What do you think, Josh?” she asked, glancing at him with a smile. Her expression was warm, almost sibling-like, as if they’d shared countless inside jokes.
Josh gaze dropped at his coffee “sorry, wasn’t listening.”
The guy - Tuck ? – chuckled “Dude, you must be so out of it, you went completely ape shit on the drums last night. I thought you'll never recover," the three of them laughed, easy and familiar. They kept on talking about the previous night’s show like Josh wasn’t so out of place.
The smell of coffee and eucalyptus was dizzying and the soft chatters of the three was a distant buzzing. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be here.
"What's going on?" He cut them off, a bit louder than he meant to.
The table fell silent. They looked at him quizzically. Kay brows creased with concern. "What d'you mean? Are you okay, Josh?” She said his name with such ease, such care. “You look… pale."
He gulped, feeling his skin tingle. He stood up unable to stay put for one more second "No, I - huh - sorry, but.. where's Tyler?"
“Tyler?” asked the guy, scratching his head. “You mean Kay’s brother?”
Josh looked at the three of them. They seemed genuinely curious about the situation. Even a bit concerned. Like he was the crazy one.
“No, not...him. Tyler,” Josh said slowly. “My best friend, my…bandmate.”
The three exchanged puzzled looks. “Dude, we’re your band,” said Tuck, sounding genuinely confused. “Did you hit your head or something?” He laughed a little but it was obvious he was worried.
None of this felt real. His legs were shaking. He said something about getting some fresh air and made his way out of the bus. His lungs felt tight. He needed to find Tyler, to shake himself awake from this bizarre dream.
Outside, he took a big gulp of air, trying to clear out his thoughts. He fumbled for his phone and fished it out of his pocket. His breath caught. The wallpaper was wrong.It wasn't a picture of Tyler with their dog anymore. It was a picture of him with The Belles. He was in front with Kay holding up a cowboy hat and Tuck mid-laugh, he was himself laughing in the picture.
Belle was in the background running after them. He unlocked his phone slowly, praying to at least find Tyler's phone number in his contact. But no. There was no trace of his best friend. He opened his camera roll only to find pictures of concerts with The Belles. Concerts he didn’t remember, faces he never even saw before. As he sifted through the pictures he even found one of him with his brother. He remembered this picture except Tyler was supposed to be in it too. Where are you Tyler? And where am I?
"Josh?" He nearly dropped his phone as Kay appeared, holding boxing gloves and pads.
"Thought it might help," she said, holding the gloves out. "You always feel better after a good punch session, right?" She put the pads on, taking a stance. She was right, it did help. But only close people knew that about him. Kay was looking at him expectedly and for a split second, another image overlaid what he was seeing. Like dozens of the exact same memories superimposing : other parkings lots, other day time, Kay with different outfits on, always taking a stance with the pads. "Come on, Dun, it'll help you clear your head."
It was like an electric shock to his core. Without thinking, he slipped on the gloves, grateful for something solid to focus on. Ready to fight. Ready to sweat it out.
They exchanged a few hits, like they always did. He knew that somehow, the choreography of their movements engraved in him. He focused on it. Maybe it would shake off this weird feeling of not belonging where he obviously belonged.
After boxing, he immediately hit the shower, it’s only after getting out of it, he realized he didn’t need to ask directions. He instinctively knew where things were. His favorite shampoo was there amongst other products he had never seen before. His toothbrush was between a red and a blue one. It was unmistakably his stuff, laying around like he’s lived here forever. As he brushed his teeth, looking straight at himself in the mirror, he started replaying memories in his head. He tried recalling Tyler’s face only to start wondering what color his eyes were. Did he never notice? Or maybe…
Maybe Tyler wasn’t real.
He shivered. Was it a dream? A very vivid, very long dream? But then, how come he couldn’t remember The Belles? If he really was part of them. He looked at his phone again, staring at him, so happy to be surrounded by those strangers. Who was he? What was he supposed to do, now?
He got out of the bathroom, still completely baffled at the situation. Only Tuck was here, looking at CD’s with great attention. Josh felt so out of place, not sure what he should do now. He stood there at the edge of the lounge area, arm crossed over his chest. The eucalyptus scent was still there – Belle should calm down on the essential oil – the thought troubled him. Tuck looked up at him.
“What are you doing? Don’t just stand there,” Tuck said, glancing back at his stack of CDs. Josh slowly sank onto the couch, eyes drifting around the room. A pile of novels sat in the corner, next to a few cowboy hats—Kay’s, no doubt. Shit. He rubbed his hand over his face, trying to make sense of it all. Nothing felt right.
“Dude, you’re being weird this morning. What’s going on with you?” Tuck’s serious tone actually managed to break through Josh’s fog for a second.
“I... I don’t know. I just feel… out of place,” he muttered, his voice quieter than usual. Tuck’s expression softened immediately.
“I get it. Touring’s tough, and we’ve been hitting big shows back to back. It’s bound to mess with your head a little,” Tuck said, shrugging. “But hey, that’s the life we signed up for, right? We should be happy about it.” He placed the last of the CDs back into a box, then turned with a smile. “If you ever need a break, don’t hesitate to say something. We’ve got your back.”
It was reassuring to hear, Josh wondered if he could tell them about this “dreamed” life. He wasn’t sure it was a dream yet but the more he thought about it, the more it felt like it made the more sense.
“Oh shit, we should get going man,” said Tuck looking at the time “Belle and Kay must be waiting for us to rehearse.”
As he followed Tuck to the greenroom, he started to feel his fingertips prickles. Like his body was preparing for something. He started dreading being behind the drums, he couldn’t remember a single song he performed with The Belles. He had no idea what kind of music they were making together.
Belle seemed a bit annoyed that they were late, but Josh couldn’t even focus on her words; his ears were buzzing, drowning out everything else. He sat down behind the drum kit, eyes fixed on his hands as if they belonged to someone else. The rest of the band chatted amongst themselves, unaware of his inner turmoil. They took their positions, and Josh instinctively picked up his drumsticks. As Belle hit the first notes, he watched his hands move on autopilot—slowly at first, syncing up to the rhythm Kay had laid down.
It was a song he didn’t recognize; the lyrics felt foreign, like they were in another language. Belle’s voice took on an eerie, almost primal pitch as she wove in throat singing, adding a raw, animalistic energy to the music. With each song in the setlist, he looked on, a strange mixture of fascination and horror growing inside him. His hands seemed to have a life of their own, each beat landing flawlessly, as though the rhythm had been hardwired into him. It was unsettling, watching himself perform with a precision he didn’t remember learning, as though he was a spectator of his own body.
He wasn’t even listening to the music anymore; his eyes stayed glued to his hands, still in shock as they moved in perfect sync with every song. Somehow, he knew each one by heart.
“Girl, we told you not to do the throat singing part in rehearsal; you’re straining your voice,” Kay scolded, frowning as Belle shrugged it off.
“It’s fine! I wasn’t even going full-out,” Belle replied with a dismissive smile.
“Josh, say something,” Kay’s voice broke his daze, jolting him back. She looked at him expectantly, as though he was supposed to back her up. Even Belle seemed taken aback by his silence.
Tuck clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Leave him alone, he’s exhausted. Let’s head back to the bus and relax before the show tonight.”
Tonight? Somehow, the fact that they had a show coming up hadn’t registered with him. Anxiety spiked; he didn’t feel remotely prepared, even after seeing himself play each song flawlessly. What if he messed up onstage? The others would realize something was wrong—that he wasn’t supposed to be here. And then…
Tuck patted his back. “Yo, let’s go. You look like you need a nap.”
The big show was about to start. In the whirlwind of preparation, Josh hadn’t had time to think. Now, standing backstage, he took in the scene around him. Half a glowing moon hung above, casting a soft bluish light over the stage, smoke billowing through the air to give everything a hazy, witching-hour glow. Apparently, this was The Belles’ aesthetic—a strange, haunting mystique that he didn’t quite feel comfortable in yet. Kay and Belle were dressed in flowing white gowns with ruffled layers, and for a split second, he dreaded he might have to wear something similar. But his own costume was simple: plain black pants and a T-shirt. He exhaled, grateful for something familiar.
Tuck, of course, had a bit of flair to his look—a subtle shimmer in his flared pants and flashy boots that made Josh grin. The band itself seemed like an odd clash: Tuck’s laid-back teasing, Kay’s quiet, introspective vibe, and Belle’s bubbly, overly friendly personality. The band was called The Belles, after all—it made sense that the style and spirit seemed to reflect Belle’s own bright, dreamlike energy.
The roar of the crowd brought him back to the moment, and he could feel their excitement buzzing through him, that familiar pre-show rush. Belle stepped forward to speak to the audience, her voice rising to meet their cheers, but as he looked out into the crowd, something shifted. A flash of memory struck him: a different stage, warmer, awash in yellow and red, with Tyler bouncing around next to him, hyping up the crowd with his usual energy.
Then the lights snapped back to the present, and his hands fell to the drums.
The thrill of a concert pulsed through him, yet it was fragmented. He felt the beat—familiar, yet foreign. He knew the drums but not the rhythm, felt the energy of the crowd but not the connection with his band. He blinked, eyes wide, searching the stage as if Tyler would be there. But it was only Kay, her cowboy hat glinting as she lost herself in the bassline, the deep notes guiding him, anchoring him.
And then it happened. That strange feeling from rehearsal was back, but stronger now—a sharp, eerie sensation that hummed through the air. Belle’s voice wove into the melody, but there was something about it tonight, something that blurred the lines between music and magic. Her voice wasn’t just leading a song; it was casting a spell. The crowd chanted with her, every voice blending into something ancient and almost pleading. It wasn’t the kind of music Josh usually connected with, but right now, it felt right, like it was calling to a part of him he hadn’t known existed.
He drummed harder, letting the rhythm possess him, feeling himself sink deeper into the chant. The question gnawed at him, louder than the beat in his head: Was this the dream, or was his real life with Tyler?
His hands pounded harder on the drums, each hit louder, more desperate, trying to drown out everything else. He wanted to lose himself in the noise, to disappear into the spell. He glanced up, half-hoping to see Tyler—but there was only Belle, staring straight at him, her voice dropping out of the song even as the music swelled around them. She didn’t break her gaze, didn’t flinch. Slowly, she turned back to the audience and raised her hand toward him.
“The best drummer in the whole world, Josh Dun, everyone!” she shouted, and the crowd roared, their cheers layered over with a faint echo of Tyler’s voice in his memory.
He played on, caught up in the frantic rhythm, feeling as if he could keep going forever. As if he had to. As if this performance held some kind of answer he couldn’t afford to miss. His hands ached, his heart pounded, his vision blurred. And then, the song ended. The stage fell silent, leaving only the audience’s wild cheers.
Sweating and panting, he barely registered the applause, his mind split between two stages, two lives: one here, and one with Tyler. As the lights dimmed and he stood with the band to salute the crowd, the dizziness took over. Reality fractured around him, blurring the edges of both worlds, until it became too much. He swayed, the lights spinning, and then everything went dark.
He woke up in a daze. For a moment, he thought he was back on the Twenty One Pilots tour bus. The familiar smell of eucalyptus filled his nose, his hopes faded. He opened his eyes and realized he was on the couch in the lounge. The soft sound of snoring filled the room—it was obviously late. Still groggy, he sat up slowly, trying to steady himself.
"Whoa, easy there," came a voice to his left. Kay was sitting nearby, a book resting on her lap. She handed him a bottle of water. "How do you feel?"
He took the bottle with a grateful nod, trying to piece his thoughts together. He felt tired, his head throbbed faintly, and everything still seemed… off. The lighting, the air—it wasn’t right. His body screamed for him to just lie back down and fall asleep.
"Yeah," Kay said, almost as if reading his thoughts. "You should get more rest."
"What happened?" he asked, taking a sip from the bottle. He couldn’t remember anything after the concert.
"You passed out," she replied. "The venue’s security checked your vitals—they said you were probably just exhausted." She studied his face carefully, her eyes narrowing as if looking for something. "You’ve been... different today. I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but you look... lost. Like you don’t even know what you're doing here."
I don’t know what I’m doing here. But instead of speaking those words, he simply nodded, draining the rest of the water. Kay bit her lip, still watching him, a silent concern in her gaze. As she opened her mouth to say something, he got to his feet.
“I’m gonna head to bed,” he muttered, not wanting to face another round of guilt from the band— his band.
He climbed in his bunk. He laid there, surrounded by Tuck's snoring and the humming of the bus. Trying to figure out what was wrong with him. He obviously belonged there. He knew the songs, he knew places of things in the bus and they knew him, what he liked, what he disliked. Not only futile things, they knew on a deeper level. It broke his heart he couldn't return their warmth and kindness, he felt strange in his own skin. How could he have forgotten everything with that band ? How could he have made up an entire other life? He could still remember their songs 'Car Radio' 'Holding On To You', 'Trees'. He loved performing 'Trees' with Tyler. Pounding the drums face to face. Was any of this real? He tried to focus on the memories of them performing that song, but the memory felt scrambled. Like seeing it through shattered glass. He shook his head. Maybe he should seek professional help, something might be very wrong with him if he couldn't remember the people who were supposed to be his band for how many years now.
He took his phone, the screen projecting a halo onto him. The picture of them making a lump in his throat. If they had been on the road for years then he should find some stuff about The Belles online. He tapped the name in the search bar. Articles and pictures came up. He skimmed through some, seeing photographs of their early days. He was younger, he had shaved both sides of his head and rocked a more emo style. They all looked younger : Kay was skinnier, wearing cowboy boot, her hair a blue hue instead of the black wolf cut she's sporting now; Belle seems more shy, apologizing for taking space, her style more dimmed; Tuck looks like a gym bro and don't have the mustache he got now. What hasn't changed is how they look at each other. Friends having fun.
He scrolled a bit more trying to remember any of it. He stumbled upon an interview. It's them a couple of years back at a festival. They just finished their set. They're all sweaty and grinning. He tapped on the video.
"Yeah, yeah, we're definitely having fun!" said Belle excitedly. "Festivals always are on another level," she's giddy, barely focusing on the interview. He can see himself, tapping her shoulder to keep her in line when the interviewer asks a question.
"Why are you called 'The Belles'?"
"Well, I've created the band a while back but no-one ever sticks with my aesthetic and what I wanted for my music so I thought it'll always be only me," she shared a knowing smile with Kay "until those three stick."
"
Until those three stick.
" There was a kind of tenderness in the way she’d said it, like she was proud of their resilience, of him, of how they’d chosen each other to keep this band going. He had seen it in her eyes, in Kay’s quiet loyalty and Tuck’s easy smiles. And yet, here he was, with only shreds of something that felt real. Tyler, their music together, the feeling of being half of something inseparable.
Josh stopped the video, why couldn't he remember? How did he meet them? When did he decide he would stick?
He turned off his phone. His eyes were wide open in the dark. Both life superimposing. Josh let out a shaky breath. He couldn't understand why it didn’t spark anything real inside him, only a hollow echo of what should be there.
He closed his eyes, the image of Belle’s wide smile still lingering, the sound of Tyler’s voice, and a sharp ache blooming in his chest. Tomorrow, he told himself, he’d try harder. Tomorrow he’d be present, get to know these people the way he was supposed to know them, live in this life instead of the ghost of another. But deep down, he knew it wouldn’t be that simple.