Work Text:
3rd POV:
Tyler didn’t know when he started writing this stupid song, but when he started, he knew it was too important not to finish. Not important to him, not to anyone else, except the small voice in the back of his head. The one who hated the fact that his mom couldn’t quite grasp the fact that her husband was dead. The small one that knew he had to protect Taylor, the one who couldn’t like them starve when their mom refused to get out of bed to cook, or buy groceries, or do laundry. It wasn’t angry, nor sad, just one who grew up too fast to process. But then came that fuck-ass field trip.
Maybe it wasn’t as “fuck-ass” as Tyler would like to admit, mostly because he officially noticed Logan Fields. Learned him to see him as more than a peer, classmate, or a stereotypical “nerd”, but as a friend. And lately he’s been wanting more, even after learning about his grandpa’s drinking problem. It was Tuesday when Logan left the group hangout early after a phone call. He thought they didn’t notice, but Tyler did. The way his grandfather’s voice slurred and cut loudly through the phone as he yelled. Logan left on the verge of tears, and Tyler offered to drive him home.
They took a detour; Logan had cried, telling him, and Tyler, in turn, told him about his mom. It was hard, very hard, but Logan cried, holding his hand, tightly gripping Tyler’s calloused fingers, and maybe emotions weren’t so bad to acknowledge. After that, they called each other, crying, laughing, annoyed, etc. It was their thing, their secret closeness. Tyler picked up his guitar and stroked downwards to tune it. He hadn’t touched it since… God knows when. But he knew how to play, and that was that. 3 AM on a Sunday was the night Taylor had stayed up listening to Tyler hum incoherent words and strum his guitar softly from the other side of their thin wall separating their rooms. Taylor stayed up, smiling, knowing something brought back his spark; he hadn’t picked up that guitar since Dad died. She sat up and pressed her ear to the wall to hear him clearly. She stayed there listening.
“Baby, please.”
“It's the way you speak…"
"Forming words so easily.”
Taylor froze upon hearing the words. Her brother, Tyler Hernandez, was singing and calling someone, maybe nonexistent–, maybe real, baby
“And I think of the way you think.”
Her mind wandered. Tyler never mentioned feelings. And now he was playing guitar AND singing about feelings. Weird.
“It keeps me from falling asleep.”
“In that grave I call a bed,”
Taylor whispered to herself, confused by her twin’s words.
“Until you called me up and said:”
She held her breath.
"'I haven't stopped crying,"
"My grandpa’s been drinking,"
"I need a place to stay.”
“I don't want to be here,"
"He's saying the words that he promised he would never say."
"That liquid he consumes…"
"Makes him speak the truth.'"
‘Grandpa’ gave it away. Her heart stopped; she knew who it was, Logan. She’d sensed something was going on weeks ago; twin telepathy, she called it.
“And I said, 'No, it's not that at all"
"It's that bottle of lies for a troubled heart,"
"It's standing on the edge of a mountain top…"
"Screaming anything he wants, like"
"'Look at me, look at me, look at me, look at me"
"Look at me, look at me, look at me, look at me"
"Because I exist, I exist, I exist, I exist, I exist, I exist.'”
Taylor heard a sigh, but he continued.
“I remember the way you shook.”
Taylor's body ached as she heard him. Holding herself against the wall was uncomfortable, but she loved hearing this.
“It's a shame that we're not soulmates, because if I didn't know better, I'd say this feels pretty good.”
Taylor looked at her hands, eyes wide, as she heard him quietly admit he thinks Logan could be his soulmate.
“And how could I be scared... when I stretch and feel you're there?”
She pressed against the wall harder as his voice got quieter.
“So shut your mouth.”
“Because these words will speak themselves..”
“I can feel them in these blankets, and they're surrounding your figure, embraced in the quilts.”
“And I can't help but think…”
“You're my missing puzzle piece.”
Her lips made a tight line; she was trying not to smile. Her brother was in love, and she was all for it.
“I wake up in the hallway, I'm looking for sunlight,”
“With the rays that will cure me of the pain that keeps my lungs tight,”
“Ignoring the voices and feelings that tell me to get out of this house.”
Her heart dropped. He was talking about himself. She waited for the next lines, preparing herself, but nothing would’ve prepared her for the next part;
“I can't make them stop.”
“I'm just like my mom.”
She almost cried– scratch that, she did cry.
“And you said, 'No, these demons will fall. You're so precious to us all…' ”
“And I said, 'I, I can't do this alone, I still need you to hold.' ”
She let a tear slip as she rose slightly from the wall, almost not catching the last verse.
“So don't let go, don't let go, don't let go, don't let go, don't let go, don't let go…”
“Because I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid.”
She heard a curse as she knocked on his door and slowly opened the door, her face red and blotchy from crying. “Ty..?” She whispered, he set down the guitar quickly, “Taylor? Hey– Hey, what's wrong?” She laughed wetly. “I should be asking you that.” Tyler’s face scrunched in confusion. “What–?” “Your song; it was about you and Logan, wasn’t it?” She interrupted, not needing confirmation but not wanting to assume. There was a long silence, the kind that was a piece of evidence in itself. “Did you hear all of it?” He knew the answer. He knew she had, and she was going to press into his feelings; he choked out a sentence.
“Don’t tell him.” He let a small tear run before rubbing his face. “Don’t make it a thing, please.” He begs, finally looking up at her with glossy eyes. She nodded and sat down beside him, the mattress dipping slowly as he saw her cautiousness. She leaned against him, resting her cheek on his shoulder, “For the record: he likes you back.” She hugged him and left the room slowly, giving him time to decide if he needed to be alone.