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Tyler wasn’t supposed to know about this.
Josh had spent years making sure of that—hiding it, burying it, doing everything he could to be the best friend Tyler needed. The one he could rely on when things got too heavy. Whatever feelings Josh had were irrelevant. As much as they joked about their bond, about their so-called love , that’s all it was: a joke between best friends who shared everything.
Josh had made his peace with it. Had tucked those feelings into some deep, dark corner of his chest and moved on. Moved forward. Never let himself stop to think or feel for too long.
Until now.
Their friendship was too important to ruin over something as dumb as unspoken, unreciprocated feelings. Josh had become an expert at dodging, at deflecting, at appreciating every hug but never lingering too long. When people talked about their bond and Tyler would say, I love Josh , he’d just smile, nod, and play along.
What else could he do? Certainly not confess. That would be the stupidest thing he could possibly do.
Tyler would fall in love someday. Josh would watch. He’d give a thumbs up. And he’d be fine.
Tyler would never, in any case, know how he felt.
Except now, he did.
And Josh hated himself for how it happened.
A dumb mistake. One he should have seen coming.
Over the years, whenever the weight of it all became too much, he had typed everything out—poured himself into his phone screen, spilling every feeling he could never say out loud. The longing, the love, the fear. The desperation of it all. The quiet, heartbreaking acceptance that he would never confess.
Dozens of notes, scattered through his phone. Full of grammatical errors and over-the-top confessions, probably typed out either drunk or in the middle of the night. Words meant for no one. He never reread them. Never deleted them. They just sat there, like little yellow sticky notes cluttering the corners of his mind—reminders he never dared to look at too closely.
And now Tyler had read them.
Josh didn’t know which one. He just knew Tyler understood .
It had been so stupidly simple. Tyler had asked for his phone to write down a grocery list, and Josh had just— handed it to him . As if he hadn’t just unlocked his desperate heart and placed it in Tyler’s hands on a silver fucking platter.
Now, Tyler was staring. Eyes unreadable. Lips pressed together. The phone still open on the Notes app.
Josh almost blurted out, I can explain .
But there was no explaining his way out of this.
Tyler’s grip on the phone tightened. He licked his lips slowly, then looked away—like the sight of Josh was suddenly too much . His eyes darted, searching.
For what?
Josh didn’t know. Maybe an exit.
"You know it’s a joke, when we say we’re—Josh, you know it’s not real?"
God. Did he know. That all the "he's my soulmate" and "I love him more than anyone" were just that—a joke. Not completely, maybe. Tyler did love him, but not like that. Never like that.
And now Tyler was making sure Josh knew that. He probably thought this was his fault, that he had led Josh on. But he hadn’t. He never had. Josh had always known what they were. They never toed the line.
He just fell in love with Tyler because—
Just because.
And now Tyler was looking at him again. His expression was so wrecked that Josh’s breath caught in his throat.
Why did he look so heartbroken? That wasn’t fair. Josh was supposed to be the one with his heart in shambles.
Josh squared up.
"I know," he said. Because there was nothing else he could say.
Tyler's jaw clenched. His eyes welled with unshed tears.
"Josh, I'm so sorry," he murmured, voice wavering slightly. "I'm not—I don't like you like that."
Josh took a step forward. Tyler took a step back.
He could see it happening—Tyler’s mind running a mile a minute, spiraling into something Josh didn’t want him to. This needed to stop. Now.
"I'm not asking you for anything," Josh said, holding up his hands in a silent truce—because Tyler kept backing up like he couldn't put enough space between them.
Then Tyler's hands flew to his hair, his grip on the phone loosening. The device clattered to the ground, but he didn’t even flinch. He just turned away.
"No, no, Josh, you can't do this to me!"
Josh froze.
Do this to you?
The words knocked the breath from his lungs. His hands slowly dropped to his sides as he stared at Tyler, trying to make sense of what he’d just heard.
"Do this to you?" he repeated, dumbly.
Maybe he hoped Tyler would correct himself. Say he hadn’t actually said that.
But Tyler wasn’t listening. He was shaking his head, fingers tangling in his hair, his whole body wound so tight it looked like he might snap in half. Then, suddenly, he spun back around, his eyes locking onto Josh’s with a piercing intensity.
"Since when?!" His voice cracked, bordering on a shriek. "Does our friendship even matter to you?"
More than anything , Josh wanted to say.
His mouth opened. But the words— the right words —wouldn’t come.
Tyler’s expression hardened. He swallowed hard, forcing down every ounce of bravery he had left. The feelings had been suppressed for so long, he didn’t know how to voice them anymore—at least, not without sounding needy and desperate.
Which, of course, was exactly what he was.
Exactly what he didn’t want Tyler to see.
"It doesn’t matter since when," Josh said, trying to get ahead of the whirlwind that Tyler was becoming. "I’m your friend. I’m happy with that. I don’t need anything else."
Tyler studied him. Hard. His eyes twitched slightly, then flicked downward. He reached for the phone, swiping it open without hesitation.
Josh’s stomach plummeted.
Shit.
Tyler hadn’t even needed him to unlock it.
He could have found this way sooner than Josh ever realized.
Tyler’s jaw clenched as he scrolled, his eyes narrowing, nostrils flaring. He wasn’t just reading the words—he was searching for something. Some kind of proof. A pattern. A deeper betrayal.
Josh felt sick.
"When he grabbed me in that crowded bar," Tyler suddenly read aloud, making Josh’s eyes snap to the floor in shame. "His fingers digging into my arms—"
Josh squeezed his eyes shut. No. No, no, no.
"I died a little inside. I know he just didn’t want to lose me in the mass of people. But the way he kept whispering in my ear—"
Josh’s breath hitched.
Tyler’s gaze flicked up. Just for a second.
Then he took a breath—like each word cost him something to say.
"—made my whole body throb in a way I haven’t felt in years."
His voice was hard. Cold. Like he was trying to drill Josh’s own words into his skull.
Josh’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.
He remembered that night. How he had typed out his desperate thoughts in the car, fingers flying over the screen while Tyler— Tyler —was peacefully drooling against his shoulder. The rush of confession in the safety of the moment.
And now here it was, being thrown back at him.
Tyler kept scrolling.
His lips moved as he read under his breath, his fingers swiping through years of buried feelings.
Josh lurched forward, reaching for the phone, desperate to stop this humiliation before it swallowed him whole.
Tyler stepped back. Fast.
Josh swallowed, his heart pounding.
Then Tyler’s eyes landed on something. His whole body went still.
Josh felt it before he even heard it.
"This one dates back to 2015, Josh," Tyler scoffed, his voice thin with disbelief.
Then he scanned the words, reading aloud as he went.
"I can’t stop loving him," he murmured.
Josh flinched.
"His eyes are so soft, and his smile makes my day. Sometimes I know I’m the luckiest man to work alongside this love of a man. He’s the best—"
Tyler stopped. Blinked. His mouth snapped shut.
Josh’s face burned. He didn’t even remember the exact words, but he knew what this was. 2015. Blurryface. When everything had started. When he had been so goddamn in awe of Tyler, it made his chest ache.
Tyler’s eyes flicked back to the screen. His voice softened.
"—the best lyricist I’ve ever known," he finished, barely above a whisper. "I love how his brain works and that he understands—"
He stopped again.
His shoulders were heaving.
Josh wanted to reach out. Wanted to say something— anything —to make this easier, even if he was the one who had just shattered them.
But Tyler wasn’t looking at him.
Not until he was.
Suddenly, Tyler turned, eyes wide and terrified.
"You—" His voice cracked. He tried again. "You."
Like that explained anything.
Josh swallowed. "I’m sorry."
Because what else could he say?
Tyler shook his head. Closed his eyes.
"I don’t know how you do it," he exhaled, voice weak.
Josh blinked. "What do you mean?"
Tyler’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. He licked his lips, gaze flicking down to the words still open on the screen.
"Your love, it’s—"
Josh inhaled sharply.
"Too much."
"Beautiful."
They had spoken at the same time.
Josh froze, his pulse roaring in his ears.
Tyler stared at him.
Had he—had he heard that right?
Tyler shook his head. "You need to stop."
Josh’s whole body stiffened.
Tyler was asking for the impossible.
How could he ever stop loving him after years of longing? How could he rip this feeling from the bottom of his heart and pretend it had never taken root? If it were that simple, he would have done it a long time ago.
Hell, he tried .
Dates, flirting, kisses with people who weren’t Tyler. He had spent years convincing himself that he could like someone else , that the right person might come along and make him forget.
It never worked. Josh was always drawn back to him.
"I can’t," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can’t do that."
A tear slipped down Tyler’s cheek. Then another.
Josh wished he could wipe them away. Kiss them away. Fix this.
But he didn’t move.
"Josh, you—" Tyler’s breath hitched. His hands curled into fists at his sides like he was trying to physically hold himself together. "You deserve to be loved that exact same way. And I can’t… I can’t do that."
His voice cracked.
"I wish I could, but—"
Another shake of his head.
And just like that, Josh felt his heart sink.
Because Tyler wasn’t mad .
He wasn’t disgusted .
He just wanted Josh to be loved .
And he wasn’t the one who could do it.
Josh had prepared himself for rejection. Real rejection. For anger, for disgust, for a clean-cut wound that he could cauterize and walk away from.
But since when had Tyler ever been a piece of shit?
No. That wasn’t him.
Tyler was loyal and kind, even when he was hurting. Even when he was breaking Josh’s heart.
Josh swallowed hard. He didn’t know how to respond. Didn’t know how to stay in this conversation without completely unraveling.
So he did the only thing he could do. He walked away.
"I’m sorry, Ty'. I really am."
And he closed the door.
Softly.
Tyler could only stand in the wreckage of it all. Rooted to the spot, watching Josh slowly retreat. Any other day, he would have followed him. Made sure he was okay.
But not now.
Now, he could barely move.
The phone in his hand felt heavier than it should, like the sheer weight of the words inside it could crush him.
He shouldn’t read them. He never should have in the first place. But his eyes had caught a few words, and then—well.
Here they were.
His thumb hovered over the screen, then, against his better judgment, he swiped.
"I think he met someone. He didn’t tell me, but I can see it on his face, and he’s so happy! I should be happy for him too. I should fucking accept it and move on, but it hurts. He’s not telling me either! But maybe that’s what I need to finally move on?"
Tyler let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, his chest shuddering at the realization—Josh had been hurting right beside him, and he had been completely blind to it.
He swallowed hard and clicked another note.
"I really try not to dream of it. But it always happens when I’m about to fall asleep. I can almost hear it—Tyler saying my name like I’m his. Softly. Holding me. Because I am his. Even if he doesn’t know it."
Tyler squeezed his eyes shut, the words too much, too heavy.
Jesus.
How had he not seen this?
The longing. The burning love inside Josh.
He had hidden it so well. Or maybe Tyler just hadn’t looked close enough.
Either way, it was mind-blowing.
He forced himself to read another.
"I see him melting under my touch. Kissing me fiercely, like he doesn’t want me to let go. Falling apart into my arms."
Tyler’s breath hitched.
Josh had imagined him like this ?
Things Tyler had never even considered—never even let cross his mind ?
His stomach twisted as his eyes dropped to the next line.
"I hate myself for it. I shouldn’t think of him that way. I disgust myself."
Tyler's whole body locked up.
No.
No, no, no .
Josh had carried this—alone—for years. Standing by Tyler’s side, never letting him down, never letting it show. And on top of it all, he had been mortified by his own feelings. Hating himself for something he couldn’t even control.
The realization was unbearable.
Josh had been suffering.
And Tyler—despite everything—still couldn’t love him the way he deserved.
Maybe he should have put more space between them.
Let them breathe, instead of always inhaling the same air, always orbiting each other like they couldn’t function apart.
Because now, Tyler could see it.
They had built something close— too close. A codependent, tangled-up friendship that Josh had tried so hard not to ruin with his feelings. And Tyler… had he made it worse? Had he fed it without realizing?
Joking about their relationship. Getting in Josh’s space constantly. Complimenting him, touching him, seeking him out like he needed him in ways he never stopped to examine.
It wasn’t wrong, per se.
Tyler had wanted that closeness. Loved that about their friendship.
He just hadn’t realized what it meant to Josh.
And now?
Now, Tyler had asked him to stop. Like it was that easy. Like feelings like this could be put away with a few words.
They couldn’t just pull apart. Their lives were woven together. Their work, their friendship, their entire existence.
So what the hell were they supposed to do?
His eyes flickered back to the phone, to another note.
A simple one. Probably the worst.
"I love him."
Tyler broke.
A sound—wrecked and ugly—tore from his throat. His knees gave out, and he barely caught himself before crumpling to the floor.
One hand clamped over his mouth, his shoulders shaking.
Because this? This wasn’t something he could fix. It wasn’t something he could change.
And deep down, he knew —
That kind of love? He could never give it back.