Work Text:
Tyler has this thing he does before a show, where he bounces on his toes, hands tapping out rhythms on his thighs, eyes darting around like he’s trying to keep the energy from spilling over. And I watch him, every time. Can’t help it.
I like the way he pushes his hair back, the way his tattoos peek out under his tank, the way he grins at the crowd like he can’t believe they’re here for us. I like the way he looks at me before we start, eyes wide, pupils blown, and says, “Ready?” like it’s just us, like it’s always been just us.
And maybe it has.
⸻
That night, the show feels like lightning. The stage is tiny, sticky with spilled beer, the lights are cheap and buzzing, but the crowd screams like we’re something bigger. Tyler’s voice cracks on “Ode to Sleep,” but he grins through it, sweat dripping down his neck, and I swear my chest hurts when he looks at me and laughs in the middle of a verse.
We come off stage breathless, vibrating, the world still shaking around us. Mark and Dan are laughing, shoving each other while we pack up cables, the adrenaline making us all feel invincible.
We pile into the van, windows fogged, the air thick with the smell of sweat, sour candy, and cheap deodorant. The four of us in a mess of hoodies and sleeping bags, Dan snoring near the back, Mark sprawled with a pillow over his head. Tyler ends up next to me, knees brushing, his hoodie pulled up, but I can still see the blush on his cheeks when I catch him looking.
⸻
The bets started because we needed something to do on the long drives. Stupid stuff like “who can eat the most sour candy without making a face” or “who can stay awake the longest.” Tyler’s always the worst about it, pretending he doesn’t care while getting that look in his eyes, determined, stubborn.
And I like it. God, I like it too much.
It’s Mark who ruins it, in the best way.
We’re crammed in the van after another show, half-delirious, Tyler flicking candy wrappers at me while we’re waiting for Dan to get gas, and Mark just groans from the front seat.
“Okay, seriously, you two,” Mark says, turning around, “just kiss already and put us all out of our misery.”
Tyler freezes mid-throw, eyes wide, and I feel my face go red hot.
Dan, always the instigator, grins, “Yeah, I bet twenty bucks Tyler won’t actually do it.”
Mark hums, raising an eyebrow, “Double or nothing Josh won’t either.”
Tyler scoffs, trying to hide his blush, “Shut up.”
And suddenly it’s a thing. Another bet layered over the jokes, but it feels different. The air in the van shifts, Tyler won’t meet my eyes, and every time we brush against each other, it’s like electricity.
They tease us, calling us “lovebirds,” elbowing Tyler when he sits too close, Mark smirking whenever I pass Tyler a water bottle. Tyler laughs it off, but I see the way his hands fidget, the way his eyes linger on me when he thinks I’m not looking.
And I’m terrified, because I like it too much, and I don’t know how to keep it light anymore.
⸻
We play a packed show in a college basement, kids screaming lyrics, Tyler practically climbing the ceiling pipes, sweat dripping, voice cracking on high notes while the floor vibrates under the kick drum.
After, we’re all flying on adrenaline, laughter bubbling up as we toss cables into bags, the cheap colored lights still flashing in the corners of our eyes. We’re all standing in the cramped hallway, Tyler’s hair sticking to his forehead, cheeks flushed, and Mark grins, nudging Dan.
“Now’s your chance, Ty,” Mark says, “or what, you too chicken to lose a bet?”
Dan joins in, “Yeah, c’mon, you two don’t have the nerve.”
Tyler rolls his eyes, but there’s a spark there, a heat I’ve seen on stage when he’s about to do something reckless.
And then he steps closer to me, licking his lips, eyes bright. “Let’s just do this already,” he says, voice playful but tight, “kiss me.”
My heart stutters, but I shake my head, forcing a grin, “No, I’m not gonna kiss you.”
“Kiss me.”
“Stop.”
“C’mon, kiss me.”
“Tyler, stop.”
His hand is on my chest now, warm even through my shirt, and his eyes are locked on mine, something desperate in them. “God, Josh, just kiss me.”
And it would be so easy. He’s right there, looking at me like that, Mark and Dan holding their breath, the world narrowing down to just him.
But I take a breath, pressing my hand over his, shaking my head.
“No,” I say softly, “not like this.”
Tyler’s eyes widen, mouth opening like he wants to say something, but I pull away, turning to grab my drum bag, my heart pounding so loud I can barely hear them teasing us as we leave.
⸻
The next day, it’s weird. Tyler’s quiet, pulling his hoodie strings, tapping out rhythms on his knees but not looking at me. I try to keep it light, drumming on the dashboard, humming along to the radio, but every glance feels like it burns.
That night, we get a cheap motel instead of the van. Two rooms, one for Mark and Dan, one for me and Tyler.
The room smells like old soap and stale air, the sheets scratchy, the lamp buzzing faintly. Tyler drops his bag, sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.
“Hey,” I say, shutting the door behind me.
“Hey,” he says, voice small.
I sit next to him, close enough that our shoulders touch, and the warmth of him seeps into me, grounding me.
“I’m sorry,” Tyler says suddenly, not looking at me, “for… yesterday. For pushing it.”
I stare at him, my heart clenching, and I take a breath.
“I didn’t stop you because I didn’t want to kiss you,” I say, voice quiet but steady. “I mean, yeah, I did, but… I like you, Ty. I want our first kiss to be special, not because of some stupid bet.”
Tyler’s head snaps up, eyes wide, lips parted, his cheeks going red.
He’s speechless for once, and it’s so Tyler, so him, that I can’t help but smile.
“I want it to be sweet, and special,” I say, leaning in, hand reaching up to tilt his chin toward me, “like this.”
And then I kiss him.
It’s soft at first, careful, like the world might shatter if we move too fast. His lips are warm, a little chapped, but perfect, and he lets out a tiny sound against my mouth that makes my head spin.
Then his hands are in my hair, pulling me closer, and I can’t stop myself from deepening the kiss, pressing him back against the bed, the cheap mattress creaking under us as we melt into each other.
His hands slide under my shirt, warm against my skin, and I can’t keep my hands off him, tracing the lines of his jaw, the curve of his neck, the beat of his heart under my palms. The kiss turns hungry, desperate, weeks of tension and unspoken words spilling out between us.
We pull back only to breathe, our foreheads pressed together, breath mingling, eyes half-lidded.
“Hi,” I whisper, grinning.
“Hi,” he whispers back, breathless, his thumb brushing over my cheek.
And then we’re kissing again, tangled up, laughing softly between kisses, the world outside the cheap motel room fading away.
⸻
The next morning, Mark and Dan are waiting by the van, coffees in hand, smirks on their faces.
“Took you long enough,” Mark says as we walk up, Tyler’s hair a mess, my lips probably still red.
Dan laughs, “Who owes who twenty bucks now?”
Tyler flips them off, but he’s grinning, cheeks pink, and I can’t stop smiling as I load my drum bag into the back.
Tyler’s hand brushes mine, fingers hooking for just a second, and I squeeze, quick, before letting go.
It doesn’t matter who won the bet.
Because this? This is ours now.