Archive of Our Own

The house was quiet.

Too quiet.

Josh could hear his own blood pounding in his ears like a drum beat, the steady rhythm amplified by the brutal silence arround him. It wasn't a comforting quite he usually welcomed after the chaos of touring, nor the peaceful stillness he craved.
This quiet felt heavy, suffocating, like the stillness settled into the walls and pushed out all the air from arround him. The faint hum of the refrigerator was the only constant sound, and even that felt muted, like it was swallowed by the stillness.

Josh grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, desperate for something to break the silence. But the voices comming from the screen were wrong. they sounded distorted, like they didn't belong in this space.
The laughter comming from the television grated against his nerves, sending shivers of discomfort down his spine. He shut the television off with a sharp click of the remote. The silence rushing back to fill the void that swallowed him.
Josh briefly stared back at the black screen for a moment before pushing himself up from the couch.

The air in his house felt flat and stagnant, as though it hadn't moved in days It was the kind of air that clung to your skin and settled in your lungs, making every breath feel a little ahrder than the last.
He made his way into the kitchen, unsure of what else to do, and opened the dishwasher.
The dishes had been sitting there for days, waiting, just like everything else in his life. He began to put the cutlery away, the metallic cling filling the small space. It wasn't loud, but it felt sharp, like nails scraping a chalkboard. With each cling his jaw tightened, and his teeth clenched together, as if his body was physically trying to hold back the tension he felt.

Outside, the occasional sound of a car passing, or the mumer of distant voices filtered in through the kitchen window, but insted of being comforting, it felt invasive. Too close, like strangers standing next to him, whispering in his ears. He tried to ignore it, but every noise seemed to creep under his skin, making him restless. Josh slammed the dishwasher shut once again. The dishes would wait another day.

Josh noticed that his hands were trembling. It started in his fingers as a faint, irregular tremmor, that he tried to steady by gripping the edge of the counter.
It didn't help.
The tremble came and went, unpredictable, and infuriating. He stared at his hands, willing them to stop, but they didn't listen. His breathing grew shallow as he stood the, still gripping the counter, frozen in time, feeling the weight of everything he couldn't control pressing down on him.

Josh tiptoed down the hallway, carefully avoiding the creaky spots on the floorboards, because even the faintest sound made his bones ache with exhaustion.
The purple shadows under his eyes grew darker each day and was a stark contrast against his ashen skin that now matched the dreary grey skies outside. When he catches glimpses of himself in the mirror, or the blackend TV screen, he bearly recognised the hallow, unkempt version of himself.

__________________________________________

The mornings were the worst. Josh woke up alone, the silence in his house ringing in his ears. He stared blankly at the ceiling, the small crack in the plaster holding his attention for way to long. The bedsheets were tangled and half-hanning off his mattress, evidence of yet another restless night spent tossing, turning, and teetering between nightmares and moments of uneasy awareness.
More than once he jerked awake, his breath shallow and his eyes scanning the room for a sound that hadn't been there.
His bedside table was cluttered with forgotten things, books covered in a layer of dust, empty mugs abandoned on the table and floor days ago, and a phone blinking with unread notifications he didn't have the energy to answer.
Eventually, he rolled onto his side. pulling the blanket tighter, and begging for sleep to take him once again.

The alarm went off for the third time. It shrill pierced the quiet, jarring him back to the surface. He fumbled blindly for the snooze button, silencing it with a groan.
The blanket felt like a shield, heavy and comforting, so he burrowed deeper, blocking out the faint light spilling in from the closed curtains.
He pressed a pillow over his head, shutting out the world entirely.

When the alarm went quiet again, the stillness it left behind was deafening. It was a silence so profound it made his teeth clench and his jaw tighten. It wasn't the peaceful kind of quiet, it was invasive, the kind that seeped into his thoughts and wouldn't let him rest.

__________________________________________
He hasn't wanted to see anyone for days. weeks.

The days blurred together in a monotonous cycle of waking, existing, and falling back into a fitful sleep.
Friends and family would call, their names lighting up his phone screen, and he would freeze.
He dreaded careful questions, the ones steeped in well-meaning concern, and the looming danger of them suggesting plans to meet up. He didn't have the energy to invent excuses or the will to explain what he couldn't even articulate himself.
Wasn't the problem that he was alone? That his isolation felt like a weight sinking him?
Yet the thought of seeing anyone, of filling the silence of small talk and forced smiles, made a pit in the bottom of his stomach.
His hands would tremble, his breathing would quicken, and he'd stare at his phone, as if it were his kryptonite insted of his lifeline.

The phone would ring and ring. Josh would watch it with bittern fingernails, teeth grinding at them down to the skin until they bled. He would wait for the ringing to stop, for the voicemail notification to ping, and then shove the phone facedown on the table, as if turning it over could silence the guilt that came next.
The guilt never left, it only lingered, pressing harder with each ignored call and unanswered text.

Tyler had sent him an email days ago. He couldn't recall exactly when. It had sat, unopened in his inbox, it's subject line bold and instant, like a demand he couldn't bring himself to meet.
He told himself he would read it later, but later never came. He couldn't summer the energy to bring himself to care what it said.
Deadlines, meetings, expectations it all felt irrelevant, like something that belonged to another version of himself. A version he couldn't remeber how to be.

He couldn't remember that last time he logged onto social media either.
The thought of scrolling through curated lives filled with snapshots of laughter and success filled him with an ache he couldn't place.
What could he possibly share with his fans? A picture of the same, unmade bed he hadn't left for days? A picture of the empty plates and mugs that littered whatever surface he found to place it on? There was simply nothing to share.

__________________________________________

Josh stopped eating proper meals.

Insted, he ate at odd hours of the day and night, drivern more by desperation than hunger. He'd wait until his vision blurred and went black whenever he stood up too quickly or until the trembling in his hands became impossible to ignore.
When his legs thretend to give way beneath him, he would stumble into the kitchen, shove whatever he could find into his mouth and call it enough. It didn't matter what he ate; a spoonful of peanut butter straight from the jar, or an expired Granola bar. Nutrition wasn't the goal; survival was.

Plates and glasses never made it back to the cupbords. They stayed where he left them: scattered accross the floor, abandoned on the countertops, balanced on windowsills, or shoved behind the sofa, like dirty, forgotten secrets.
The mess accumulated arround him, yet he bearly noticed anymore. The dishwasher hadn't been run in days, knives cluttered the sink, crumbs lined the countertops, and towers of mugs balancing on the drying rack that threatened to collapse with the lightest touch.

And then one day, he reached into the cupbord for a plate and found nothing. They were all gone, buried somewhere in the chaos of his home, and Josh didn't care. He didn't even bother to look for them. He ate straight out of whatever container the food came in, and when the cupbords began to empty, he bearly registered that either. The emptiness didn't bother him. Nothing did.
The gnawing ache in his stomach, the stale smell of uneaten leftovers, the growing pile of unopened mail on the table- It all blurred into the same haze of indifference.

Josh no longer felt like a person. Personhood was distant, abstract, something he vaguely remembered but he couldn't grasp anymore. It was as though he was watching himself from a distance, detached and disconnected from the body he still inhabited. He'd left himself behind somewhere, yet his body continued going through the motions, dragging him along like a puppet on strings.
Nothing mattered anymore. Not the food, not the mess, not the hallow ache that sat heavy in his chest. Josh existed in a fog, waiting for something to change, but unable to summon the will to make it happen.
__________________________________________

Josh stopped opening the curtains.

The light felt intrusive, almost accusing, and he couldn't bear to face it. The windows stayed covered, the world outside reduced to muted shaddows and faint sounds that bearly reached him.
His bedroom became a caccoon of darkness, a space where time seemed to stretch and warp, making it impossible to tell where one day ended and the next began.

He stopped getting out of bed for days on end. The weight of his body seemed to much to lift, and the thought of facing the day- even to do the simplist things- felt impossible.
The bed became his refuge and his prison, the blankets pulled tight arround him like armor, protecting him from a world he didn't want to rejoin.

At night when sleep refused to come, he would wounder aimlessly through the house. He'd pace the hallway, his steps slow and dragging, hands trailling along the walls to steady himself.
Sometimes he'd stop in the kitchen and stare into the fridge, not because he was hungry, but because he didn't know what else to do.
Sometimes he would find himself in the living room, standing in the dark, staring at nothing.

What was the point?

His phone rang every few hours, it's bright screen lit up the dark room, but he ignored it. He didn't have the energy to speak to anyone, let alone explain how he felt; why he was in the endless cycle of nothingness.
The number of missed calls and unread emails climbed higher, little red notifications stacking up like accusations, but even that didn't stir him.
He'd glance at them sometimes, a flicker of guilt in his chest, but the feeling quickly dissolved into nothingness.

On rare days, when he managed to drag himself out of bed Josh would sit at his drum kit he set up in the dark basement. He'd grasp the drumsticks, his hands hovering, waiting for the spark of inspiration that never seemed to come. He would sit there for minutes, sometimes hours, willing himself to play something, anything, but the silence streatched on, and his chest tightened with panic.

Josh hadn't listened to music in what felt like weeks. Or was it days? He couldn't remeber the last time he pressed play on a song, the last time he'd felt the comforting melody wrapping arround him. Music had allways been his escape, his lifeline, but now even that felt distant and unreachable. The silence was deafening, but he couldn't bring himself to fill it. Insted, he sat with it, letting it engulf him, until it became just another part of the emptiness he carried.
__________________________________________
His phone rang, an annoying sound that seemed to pierce through the thick silence in the room. Josh groaned and rolled over, pulling the covers more tightly arround himself, as if the heavy fabric could shield him from the noise. But the phone continued to ring. rentless and insistent, louder and more obnoxious with each passing second.
He tried to blurry his face in his pillow, but the sound was so maddening, that he finally sat up. With a deep sigh, he grabbed his phone off his night stand. swiping the screen with a dull swipe, just to make the ringing stop, if only for a brief moment.

"Hey" Jenna's voice came through the phone, bright and full of energy.
Josh winced, the sharpness of Jenna's cheer grated against Josh's fragile state.

"Hey" Josh replied. His voice rough, giving evidence that he hadn't spoken out loud in weeks. The words felt foreign in his mouth. He hoped his voice didn't betray him, didnt reveal how dry and cracked it was from disuse. He hoped it didn't give away how deeply he retreated from everyone and everything.

"I haven't heard from you in a while" Jenna started, she tried his best to mask the concern in her voice. "Tyler said you've not been to see him in the studio."

The mention of Tyler sent a pang through Josh's chest, but he didn't acknowledge it, he couldn't. Not when the thought of being arround people, doing anything that resembled a normal life, felt like a mountain to steep to climb.

"Yeah I've been... I've been tied up." Josh muttered, staring at the blank space in front of him, the room still dark despite the late morning sun peaking through the curtains.
The words felt empty hallow, an excuse that didn't begin to even cover what was really happening. His mind was clouded, his body heavy, as if he were living in some other version of his life, not quite here, not quite gone.

Jenna didn't buy it of course. She never did. "You've been avoiding us, dude." her voice shifted just slightly, her concern dripping through the facade. "Is everything OK?"

Josh didnt answer right away. His fingers played absently with the edge of the blanket, tracing patterns in the fabric, hoping that it would ground him.
He wanted to tell Jenna everything; about the days that blurred into each other, about the emptiness that gnawed at him, about the fear that suffocated him whenever he tried to imagine tomorrow. But the words wouldn't come.
Instead he replied with a rehearsed "I'm fine."

There was a brief pause on the other end, that spoke volumes. Jenna was no fool. She knew something was wrong, but Josh wasn't ready to admit it.
“I’ve been a busy, you know.” Josh said. His voice cracked slightly as he pushed his hair back from his forehead, fingers trembling as they caught in the tangled strands.

“What have you been busy with?” Jenna asked, her tone light but curious. There was a muffled sound in the background, almost like someone else had their ear up to the phone, listening to the conversation.
“Uhm, just been taking Jim for lots of walks.” Josh replied quickly, the lie sliding off his tongue with practiced ease.
Lies. So many lies. They stacked up like bricks, building a wall that separated him from everyone else. He wondered, fleetingly, if one day he’d lose track of them all. If one day they’d come crumbling down around him.

He shifted uncomfortably, his gaze drifting to the window where a single drop of water trailed slowly down the glass. It was raining. Of course it was raining. The sky outside was dull and grey, a perfect match for the cold, stagnant air inside his flat. He couldn’t summon the energy to turn on the heating, so the chill crept into his bones and settled there, making him feel even heavier than before.
This was it, wasn’t it? The crash everyone had always seen coming. The inevitable spiral that had been whispered about in worried tones behind his back. Hadn’t Mark once told him he was a train wreck waiting to happen? And the countless times Tyler told him to try therapy, to take medication, to do something, anything, to stop this slow descent?

But Josh hadn’t listened. He hadn’t wanted labels, hadn’t wanted to admit that something was wrong. And now here he was, finally fulfilling everyone’s expectations. If nothing else, at least he could say he was consistent. He could fall apart with the best of them.

“Have you been avoiding us?” Jenna's voice cut through the haze, pulling Josh sharply back to the present.

“No, why would i do that" Josh lied again, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. He ran his cold fingers over the creased bedsheets, his stomach churning as he realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d changed them. Couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything that felt like taking care of himself. The concern in Jenna's voice made him feel worse, made him think of long nights on tour buses and sessions in studios that felt too big, too much. It was a reminder of who he was supposed to be, of the person he used to be, and it made the emptiness inside him feel even more unbearable.

“So, you’ll head down to the studio soon?” Jenna asked, carefully casual. “Tyler was wondering where you’d got to. He said he couldn’t reach you. He wanted to come down, work on the songs he said you two talked about?”

Josh heard the unspoken question beneath the words, the quiet plea for some reassurance, some sign that he was okay. But Josh didn’t have any to give.

“Sorry,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “I forgot about those. I'll revist them sometime this week." Another sidestep, another excuse, another cowardly dodge.

There was a silence on the other end of the line, a silence that stretched just long enough to make his chest tighten.

“Right. Well, better go then,” Jenna said eventually, her voice carefully neutral. “I’m heading out to dinner with Tyler in a bit.”
Josh nodded, then realized Jenna couldn’t see him. His thoughts were racing again, tripping over themselves in a desperate bid to keep up with the conversation.

“No problem,” he said hollowly, the words sounding as empty as he felt.

“If you need anything, just give us a shout, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he replied, but he didn’t mean it. And then he hung up.

The phone slipped from his hand and landed softly on the bed. Josh stared at it for a long moment, then looked around the room.
The curtains were still drawn, the air was stale, and the faint smell of damp lingered in the corners. He ran a hand through his hair and winced at the greasy texture. How many days had it been since he’d showered? He couldn’t remember. Couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Slowly, painfully, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. The floor was icy beneath his bare feet, sending a shiver up his spine. He wandered to the living room, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated, and collapsed onto the sofa.
He layed there for hours, drifting aimlessly in the space between waking and sleeping. The light in the room shifted as the day gave way to evening, the streetlights outside casting long, flickering shadows on the walls. The ceiling creaked above him as his neighbor moved around, and the distant hum of cars on wet pavement filled the silence.

Josh stared up at the ceiling, his mind blank, his body heavy. The world felt distant, like it was happening to someone else entirely. And he lay there, waiting for absolutely anything go change.
__________________________________________
The next afternoon, Josh stared at the cracked plaster on the ceiling and briefly considered going down the street to the supermarket.
The thought hovered in his mind for a moment, fragile as a soap bubble, before it popped. What was the point? He’d have to find his shoes, his jacket, and his wallet, and even the idea of brushing his hair felt insurmountable. He didn’t want to see people, didn’t want to stand in line and make small talk with the cashier, didn’t want to feel the cold air hit his face and remind him of the world outside.

Instead, he pulled the blankets tighter around himself and burrowed back down into the cocoon of his bed. It was easier this way, hiding from everything. The flat was silent except for the occasional creak of the radiator and the distant hum of traffic outside.

His stomach twisted in on itself, a dull ache that refused to be ignored. Josh realized he hadn’t eaten today not a bite, not even a sip of coffee and the hollow, gnawing sensation in his gut made him curl into himself further. He thought about the empty fridge and the stale loaf of bread on the counter, the expired milk he still hadn’t thrown out.
The pain was sharp now, but he didn’t care. It was easier to ignore his body’s needs than to summon the energy to meet them. Hunger was just another background noise, another thing to add to the growing list of things he couldn’t deal with.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the ache to fade. All he wanted was for everything to stop, the thoughts, the memories, the weight pressing down on his chest. He wanted to close his eyes and never have to open them again, to be free from the endless loop of days bleeding into nights, of emptiness stretching out before him.
Maybe permanently, he thought, and the thought scared him. But not enough.
__________________________________________

There was a knock at his front door, sharp and insistent, just as Josh's was pacing the room, trying to calm himself in the midst of a panic attack.
He froze mid-pace in the middle of the dark living room, his feet glued to the floor as his chest heaved with shallow, uneven breaths. His hands were knotted tightly in his hair, fingernails biting into his scalp, tears streaming unchecked down his face. His body trembled violently, his knees buckling as he choked on desperate, broken sobs.

The knock came again, louder this time, followed by a sharp rattle as if whoever was on the other side was trying to twist the door handle open.

“Josh?”

The voice was familiar, achingly so, and it made his stomach drop. He froze, his entire body tense, his mind screaming for silence, for stillness.
Don’t answer it. Don’t move. Maybe they’ll think you’re not home.

But the voice came again, clearer now, accompanied by a note of warning that sent fresh waves of anxiety crashing through him.

“Josh, if you don’t open the door, I’m going to call someone who can take it off its hinges.”
His breath hitched, and his eyes darted to the door as if it might burst open at any moment.

Shit.

“Josh” the voice repeated, more insistent now, with an edge of worry that cut through his haze of fear and despair.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

His legs wobbled beneath him as he anxiously chewed on his numb, chapped fingers, his teeth scraping against the tender skin. His thoughts raced in frantic circles, a whirlwind of indecision and panic. His pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out every rational thought.

What were his options? None of them led to peace, none of them let him go back to the quiet, suffocating isolation he had been clinging to for days. If he opened the door, he’d have to face them, face questions, concern, or worse, pity. If he didn’t, they might actually follow through with their threat.
Someone might come. Someone might see him like this.
The thought of being seen, of anyone witnessing him in this state, a disheveled, broken version of himself, made his stomach twist with shame. But the thought of them breaking the door down, of his solitude being shattered against his will, made his chest tighten even further.

He shuffled back a step, his bare feet brushing against the cold floor, his eyes darting toward the window as if considering escape. But there was nowhere to run.

The knock came again, firmer this time, echoing through his house.

“Josh, please.”

The softness in their voice this time, the quiet plea, made his throat close up. He sank to the floor, his back pressed against the wall, his fingers curling into the hem of his shirt as he tried to steady his breathing. His mind screamed at him to do something, to move, to act, but he was paralyzed.
Tears blurred his vision as he clutched at his knees, his body trembling from the sheer weight of it all. Somewhere in the distance, the voice was still calling his name, but it felt far away, like a sound carried on the wind.

He swayed slightly on his feet as he made his way to the front door, his steps uneven as he carefully navigated the mugs, empty glasses, and crusted plates littering the floor like forgotten artifacts of a life he could barely remember.
His hands gripped the edges of furniture as he passed, trying to ground himself in the moment, but the lightheadedness wouldn’t subside. Every breath was shallow, rasping in his throat, and his lungs seemed incapable of drawing in enough air to stop the edges of his vision from blurring.

He paused just before the door, leaning heavily against the wall. His fingers brushed the cold plaster, seeking stability. Was it the hunger making him this unsteady? The lack of sleep? Or the fact that he hadn’t taken a proper breath since the knocking started? His entire body felt like it was about to collapse in on itself, like he was a house made of matchsticks, swaying precariously in a storm.

“Josh, I know you’re in there,” the voice outside called again, gentler this time but still firm, the kind of voice that wasn’t going to give up. "Please let me in, Josh.”

Josh's eyes locked on the peeling paint on the corner of the doorframe. He focused on it with a kind of desperation, as if concentrating hard enough on that tiny imperfection could somehow erase the mounting dread in his chest. His breaths came quick and shallow as he pressed his forehead against the cold wood of the door, willing himself to calm down.

Minutes passed, or maybe it was seconds; time was impossible to measure these days. His shaking hand found the doorknob, his clammy fingers hesitating over the cool metal. He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed hard, then turned the knob and pulled the door open before he could think better of it.

Tyler stood on the other side, wrapped in an eye-searingly bright yellow and red coat, a knitted scarf looped several times around his neck, and sturdy boots that were speckled with drops of rain. He was the picture of health and warmth, like someone who had just returned from a brisk winter walk or maybe a holiday retreat.
For a brief moment, the two men stared at each other in silence. Josh's eyes darted nervously to the ground, the hallway beyond, anywhere but Tylers face.
But Tyler was staring at him, really staring, and the expression on his face was unmistakable: horrified.

“Hey,” Tyler said at last, though it came out more like a question. His voice was cautious, like he didn’t know if Josh might break apart right in front of him.

Josh finally looked up, but immediately wished he hadn’t. The way Tylers dark eyes raked over him taking in the unkempt hair, the hollow cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his too-big shirt hung off his frame like it belonged to someone else was unbearable.
The crease between Tylers brows deepened as his lips pressed into a tight line. It was an expression Josh had seen before. Too many times. Concern. Pity. Disappointment.

“What’s going on?” Tyler asked, stepping forward slightly, but still keeping his distance, like he wasn’t sure if Josh might collapse if he got too close.

His throat was dry, his voice caught somewhere in the mess of emotions clawing at his chest. He opened his mouth to respond but found that nothing came out. His mind was blank, save for the deafening echo of the words he didn’t want to say.

Tyler's gaze softened slightly, though the crease in his brow didn’t fade. He lowered his voice. “Josh, you look… You don’t look great, dude. When was the last time you ate? Or slept?”

Josh flinched at the question, his eyes dropping back to the floor. He wanted to lie, to tell Tyler he was fine, but the weight of Tylers concern made it impossible.
Tyler took a cautious step forward, his hand reaching out like he might touch Josh's shoulder but stopping just short. “Please. Let me help.”

Josh's stomach twisted painfully, but he stepped aside without a word, letting Tyler walk into the mess he’d been drowning in for days.

Josh stared at the floor as the silence in the flat seemed to magnify, pressing down on him like a weight. He couldn’t meet Tylers eyes, not after everything. He couldn’t bear to see that horrified look again, the pity, the disappointment. The shame under his skin burned brighter now, twisting and knotting in his stomach until he thought he might be sick.
Tyler's boots clunked softly against the floor as he took a step forward, his eyes scanning the room. Josh didn’t have to look up to know what Tyler was seeing: the mess, the clutter, the overwhelming evidence of just how far he’d let things spiral. He could feel Tyler's presence, heavy and concerned, as though it was filling every shadowed corner of the flat.

“J…” Tyler said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t judgmental, but there was so much weight in that single word that Josh felt like collapsing under it.

“I—I’ve been busy,” He said, his voice hoarse and unconvincing. He realized too late how ridiculous it sounded, given the state of everything around him.
Tyler didn’t respond immediately, but the way he looked at Josh made it clear he wasn’t buying it. Instead, he walked over to the sofa and carefully nudged aside a pile of crumpled blankets and cushions before sitting down.

When was the last time you ate something?” Tyler asked gently, though his tone left little room for evasion.
Josh shrugged, his shoulders hunched up to his ears. He couldn’t remember. Breakfast two days ago? A slice of toast yesterday? Maybe longer? He honestly didn’t know, and the thought scared him.

Tyler sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Okay,” he said, his voice steady. “We’ll figure that out in a minute. But first, sit down.”

Josh hesitated, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. He wanted to refuse, to tell Tyler to leave, to make some excuse about needing to clean up first, but the truth was, he didn’t have the energy to argue. His legs felt like they might give out at any moment.
He shuffled over to the sofa and perched on the edge, keeping as much distance between them as possible. His hands twisted nervously in his lap, his nails digging into his palms.

Tyler turned slightly to face him, leaning forward so their knees were almost touching. “J," he said again, quieter this time. “What’s going on? Really.”

The lump in his throat swelled until it felt impossible to speak. He stared down at his hands, at the dirt under his nails and the faint tremor in his fingers. His breathing hitched again, and he clenched his jaw, trying to stop the flood of tears that was already threatening to break free.
Tyler didn’t push. He just waited, his presence steady and patient. And somehow, that made it worse.

“I don’t know,” Josh choked out finally, his voice barely audible. “I just… I can’t. I can’t do any of it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
His shoulders shook as the tears spilled over again, hot and relentless. He buried his face in his hands, ashamed to let Tyler see him like this, to let anyone see him like this. He’d always prided himself on being strong, on holding it together no matter what. But now, he was unraveling in front of the one person he couldn’t bear to disappoint.

Tyler didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, slowly, he reached out and rested a hand on Josh's shoulder. It was warm and grounding, and Josh clung to it like a lifeline.

“You’re not broken,” Tyler said softly. “You’re just… overwhelmed. And that’s okay. But you don’t have to go through this alone, J. I’m here, okay? We’ll figure it out together.”

The words cracked something open in Josh's chest, and the sobs came harder, shaking his entire body. Tyler didn’t move, didn’t let go, just stayed there, his hand steady on Josh's shoulder, grounding him in a way he hadn’t felt in what felt like forever.

Josh sank deeper into the cushions of the sofa, his fingers knotting together in his lap. The weight of Tylers words pressed down on him, and he felt like he couldn’t get enough air. His throat tightened painfully, and when he finally spoke, his voice cracked.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” he said, staring down at his trembling hands. His fingers felt like someone else’s, disconnected from his body. “I didn’t want anyone to see me like this.”

Tyler let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, though it held no humor. “Bother me? J, we’ve known each other for how many years? I’d rather you bother me than…” He stopped abruptly, shaking his head like he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.
Josh flinched. He knew exactly what Tyler meant but didn’t want to acknowledge it. The thought sat heavy between them, unspoken but glaringly loud.

Tyler sighed and ran a hand through his hair, pacing the room again. “Look, I’m not going to pretend I understand what’s going on in your head, but you’ve got to let someone in. You can’t do this by yourself.”

He nodded weakly but said nothing. What could he say? That he’d tried? That every time he picked up the phone to call someone, the words stuck in his throat like jagged glass? That every time he thought about explaining what was happening, he felt like he was going to shatter into a million pieces?
Tyler crouched down in front of him, forcing Josh to meet his gaze. “I mean it,” he said, his voice firm but kind. “I’m here now. We’ll start small, okay? One thing at a time. When was the last time you had a shower? And, we’ll figure out some food.”

Josh hesitated, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape. But there was nowhere to run. He was cornered, not by Tyler, but by his own mind, by the mess he’d created and the fear that kept him trapped in it.

Tyler stood and held out a hand. “Come on,” he said gently, his tone softening. “Let’s just get you moving. You’ll feel better after eating, I promise.”
Josh stared at Tylers outstretched hand for a long moment, his chest tightening with a mix of shame and gratitude. Slowly, he reached out and took it. Tyler's grip was strong, steady, and it grounded him in a way he desperately needed.

He let Tyler help him up, his legs shaky and weak beneath him. He swayed slightly, and Tyler reached out to steady him, his hand firm on Josh's arm.
“You good?” Tyler asked, his eyes searching Josh's face.

Josh nodded, though he didn’t trust himself to speak. His throat felt raw, his emotions still too close to the surface.

Tyler guided him toward the kitchen and sat him on the bar stool. "What do you feel like Josh?" Tyler asked as he looked through Joshe's empty cupboards.
Tyler eventually landed on some eggs in the back of the fridge and some bread hiding in the corner of the pantry.
"Eggs on toast?" Tyler suggested.

Josh opened his mouth to protest, but Tyler cut him off with a look. “Seriously, don’t. Just focus on yourself right now.”

Tylers arms wrapped around Josh like a lifeline, but it only made the ache inside him sharper. He stood there, frozen, barely returning the embrace, his arms hanging limply at his sides. Tyler's warmth contrasted starkly with the chill in the empty house, but it wasn’t enough to thaw the ice that seemed to have settled in Josh's chest.

“We’ll fix this,” Tyler repeated, his voice steady but softer now, almost pleading. Josh wanted to believe him. He wanted to latch onto the words and let them anchor him, but they felt like hollow echoes bouncing around inside him, unable to stick.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Josh mumbled after a long pause, his voice so quiet he wasn’t sure Tyler even heard him. His throat burned from the effort of speaking, from the tears he was trying to choke back.

Tyler pulled back slightly to look at him, his hands still gripping Josh's shoulders. His gaze was unwavering, full of concern, but there was no pity in it. That was the only thing Josh was grateful for at this moment, Tyler didn’t look at him like he was broken beyond repair. He looked at him like someone worth helping, even if Josh couldn’t see that himself.

“One step at a time,” Tyler said firmly. “We’ll start with getting you out of here, alright? Just pack a bag, whatever you need for a few days. We’ll sort everything else later. You can come stay with Jenna and I for a while until we fix this.”

Josh hesitated, glancing around his home. The thought of packing, of deciding what to bring, felt insurmountable. Every little task felt like a mountain he couldn’t climb. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out.
Tyler seemed to sense his hesitation. “I’ll help,” he offered quickly. “We’ll do it together.”

He nodded numbly, not trusting himself to speak. He shuffled toward the bedroom, Tyler following close behind. The room was just as chaotic as the rest of the appartment, clothes piled on the floor, an unmade bed, and a half-empty mug of tea on the bedside table that looked weeks old.

Tyler didn’t comment on the mess, for which Josh was grateful. Instead, he walked over to the closet and started pulling out clothes, laying them neatly on the bed. “Just grab what you need,” Tyler said over his shoulder, his tone calm and matter-of-fact, as if this were any other day and not the culmination of Josh's slow unraveling.
He moved mechanically, grabbing socks, underwear, and a hoodie that felt slightly too big but comforting nonetheless. Tyler handed him a duffel bag he’d found in the corner, and together they packed it. The task was simple, almost mundane, but it left Josh feeling drained.

When they were done, Tyler zipped up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Alright,” he said, his voice lighter now, like they’d accomplished something significant. “Let’s get out of here.”

Josh followed him to the front door, his movements slow and heavy. He paused before stepping outside, his hand gripping the doorframe. The thought of leaving the appartment, his dark, miserable cocoon, felt overwhelming. But staying felt worse.
Tyler noticed his hesitation and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said gently. “You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

The words hit Josh harder than he expected, and he felt another wave of tears threatening to spill over. But this time, he let them fall.
He nodded, wiping his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. “Okay,” he whispered.

Tyler smiled. a small, tentative smile, but it held a flicker of hope. “One step at a time, yeah?”
Josh took a shaky breath and stepped outside, the cold January air biting at his skin. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt the faintest hint of something other than despair.

It wasn’t much.

But it was a start.