Chapter Text
The evening sky above the playground resembled an old and faded piece of paper — grey, not a bright spot in sight. The wind’s gusts slapped across his face, slipped through the thin fabric of a black hoodie that he decided to put on thinking it would be warmer than it looked from inside, as if the cloudy weather wasn’t signalling the opposite. Despite that, the boy didn’t flinch. The swing creaked as he lowered himself onto it heavily this time. It was no longer bringing joy — the chain was rusty, the rubber seat was worn, the creaking almost sounded like a cry. The same as the playground hasn’t been used as intended for quite some time. That’s why he started coming there every evening to try to enjoy the solitude while listening to the radio chatter of his thoughts.
He was seventeen. Five years ago at this very place his mother held his hand while whispering: “We’ll fly high to reach the sky.” He was laughing imagining their trip to the stars. Then cancer happened. It came quietly, like a shadow swallowing every little thing — her laugh, her warmth, her smell. At twelve he realised — it wasn’t just death.
It was the end.
His end.
The world kept spinning, the strangers — laughing, the cars — humming, but he was stuck at the same place where he heard her voice for the last time outside of hospital walls.
“Don’t run away, my sweet…”
Since then he has been numb. No joy, no love, no life. Each day was the same, as grey as the sky in Columbus today. The concept of friendship and people themselves seemed to lose their meaning, becoming a faceless, nameless, blurry mass filling the background of his life.
Dad? He was trying, hard. Every morning started with a note: “Son, the breakfast’s in the oven. Love you. I’ll be late.” And late meant the third shift, the fourth job, and the fifth try to keep them both afloat and not lose themselves in the endless debts and memories. Tyler didn’t get angry anymore. He just stopped waiting for someone to come home before darkness swallowed the city.
He pushed off slightly — the swing swayed a little, as if trying to move something dead inside his chest. Like a broken record, one question kept replaying in his head: “Why wake up tomorrow? To live another day no one cares about except him — and even then, barely?”
He closed his eyes. Sometimes, when the wind was blowing from the right angle, he seemed to hear her voice — quiet, warm, a little raspy from the chemo: “Tyler, my dear son, don’t hide from me.” But it was just the wind. Still… sometimes someone else appeared in this emptiness. Neither his mother, nor his dad. Someone who didn’t talk too much, but stayed close when those boys from the neighborhood would show up, when they whispered “orphan” at school, or when he wanted to lie down on the rusty tracks and wait for the train to come.
That “someone” never used to come to the playground. But today Tyler heard the slight creaking of the other swing. As if someone joined him. Had he imagined that? He didn’t open his eyes — only whispered into the cold air:
“If you’re here… don’t leave. Please.”
The swing next to him creaked again. Quietly. As if someone had sighed.
When he opened his eyes, the world around the playground seemed even blurrier than before. The swing next to him wasn't empty. There sat a boy — about his age, maybe a year older. Dark curly hair falling over his eyes, red-dyed strands in the back, sticking out chaotically from under his beanie, a black jacket with worn sleeves, hands in his pockets. His face was pale but calm — too calm for a place like this at a time like this.
The surprise hit him like a cold wave. The swing beneath him lurched violently, the chains slipped from his fingers — and he fell backward off the seat. The back of his head thudded against the cold sand and grass. Pain shot through his head, but what hurt even more was the fact that someone had seen this humiliating moment of his fall.
The guy on the swing flinched, quickly stood up, took a step forward, but stopped.
“Yo, dude, are you… okay?” The voice was low, a little hoarse, as if he wasn’t used to speaking loudly.
Tyler slowly propped himself up on his elbow, rubbed the back of his head, feeling a bump already forming there. His eyes were wide open — not from pain, but from the surprise of encountering someone else in his forsaken little corner of solitude.
“You scared me,” he exhaled, his voice trembling slightly. “I... I didn’t think anyone ever came here. This place has been dead for three years now. Nobody comes here. It's in the middle of nowhere, almost outside the city. How did you even find it?”
The stranger shrugged, as if the question didn’t matter.
“I was just walking by. I saw the swings through the trees. I thought, ‘It’s quiet here.’” He looked around: rusty slides, broken benches, grass sprouting through cracks in the asphalt. “I didn’t know anyone was here.”
Silence fell. Only the wind whistled, cutting through his hoodie, and a dog barked somewhere in the distance.
Tyler was still sitting on the ground, hesitating to stand up fully. He looked at the stranger — and something in that gaze made his heart beat faster. It wasn’t fear. It was something else. It was as if he’d seen him before, but couldn’t quite remember.
“I… come here often,” he said quietly. “Alone. I thought I was the only one… an idiot who comes to an abandoned playground while the rest of the world couldn't care less.”
The boy on the swing barely smiled — just the corner of his lips, without joy.
“Maybe we’re both idiots.”
He reached out his hand — to help the stranger up — but the boy stayed rooted to the spot, not knowing what to do, just staring at that hand, then at the emptiness around him, then back at him.
And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like running away.
“I’m Josh. Josh Dun,” the curly-haired guy gripped his hand firmly and pulled him toward him, lifting him off the ground in one confident motion. The strength in his grip was unexpected but not aggressive — just the kind that says, “I’m here, and I won’t let go unless you ask me to.”
“And I’m… Tyler, Tyler Joseph,” he replied, still holding onto Josh’s hand a little longer than necessary. Then he quickly let go, as if frightened by his own weakness, and took a step back. The back of his head still ached, but the pain already seemed distant, muffled.
They stood facing each other in the middle of the abandoned playground. The wind rattled the chains, and that sound — creak, creak — was the only thing breaking the silence. Josh shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and glanced at Tyler from under his hair, which was falling into his eyes.
“Do you come here often?” he asked quietly, as if afraid of breaking something fragile.
Tyler nodded, looking off to the side at the broken slide overgrown with weeds.
“Almost every night. When my dad’s on shift… no one here asks why I’m not at home. No one looks at me like I have to explain myself.” He sighed. “What about you? You’re not from around here. I’d remember.”
Josh smiled faintly — sadly, without warmth.
“I moved here recently. My parents… needed a change. I was just along for the ride. And I was looking for somewhere I could stop thinking. This place... it’s kind of forgotten. It suits me.”
Tyler looked at him more closely. Josh had dark circles under his eyes, as if he, too, hadn’t been sleeping at night. But his eyes weren't empty the way Tyler's were each morning in the mirror. There was something else — fatigue, yes, but also a quiet stubbornness. As if he had long ago decided not to give up, even if he didn’t know what he was holding on for.
“You know,” Tyler said suddenly, his voice barely audible, “five years ago my mom… she died. Cancer. I thought then — that’s it. The end. And ever since then, every day… it’s like I’m just waiting for it to finally be over.”
He fell silent.
Idiot. Who even wants to hear about your mom, your problems? First time meeting someone and you're already unloading. So desperate.
Tyler shook his head sharply, trying to shake off the thoughts. He expected Josh to look away, say something trite, or just walk off. But Josh stayed.
“My older brother…” Josh began, then faltered. “He’s gone too. Not like your mom. He chose to. He just… couldn’t take it anymore one day. I was still a kid back then, but I still remember my parents yelling at each other while I sat in my room thinking, “If I disappear too, maybe things would get easier for them.” But I didn’t. I just became… invisible.”
They were both silent for a long time. The wind picked up, and the swing creaked louder, as if trying to fill the silence.
“Sometimes I feel like I hear her voice. She says, ‘Don’t run away.’ But I don’t know what I’m supposed to run away from. From myself? From all of this?”
Josh nodded, as if he understood every word.
“And I hear my brother. He doesn’t say much. Just… ‘stay.’ And I do. Even though I don’t know why.”
He stepped closer and sat down on his swing. Tyler, after a moment’s hesitation, sat back down on his own — right next to him. They swung slowly, in unison, taking their time as the chains kept creaking.
“You know,” Josh said after a long pause, “maybe we’re both here for a reason. Maybe this place… it found us.”
Tyler turned his head and looked at him. In the twilight, Josh’s eyes seemed almost black, but something warm was burning in them — a dim but steady light.
“Maybe,” Tyler replied quietly. “Maybe we’re just two idiots on an abandoned playground.”
Josh smiled — this time for real, though sadly.
“Then let’s be two idiots together. If that's alright with you.”
Tyler didn’t answer right away. He just reached out his hand—this time not to get up, but simply to shake it. Josh took it. Firmly. For a long time.
They sat like that for a while — the swing, the silence, two guys who, for the first time in years, didn’t feel completely alone. When the sky finally darkened and the first stars pricked through, Tyler said quietly:
“Tomorrow… will you come here again?”
Josh nodded.
“I will. If you’re here.”
“I’ll be here.”
And at that moment, when the wind died down and the swing came to a standstill, Tyler thought: maybe this isn’t the end.
Maybe this is just the beginning.