Work Text:
Tyler sat at the desk, adjusting his tie. “Hello! Welcome to FPE ESPN, the show where I am… slightly out of breath and I have a desk. I’m starting to regret this decision. I’m Togg Dunseph, and over on the side there is Jog Joen. Jog, how are you feeling?”
Josh nods, his finger on his fake earpiece. He smiles. “Thanks Togg. Tonight, I’m outside, and dare I say, it’s a great day to be here.”
Tyler smiles faintly, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Perfect day, even?”
“Far more than perfect. No, it’s wonderful.”
Tyler narrowed his eyes at the camera. “Wonderful. Wow. Okay. Jog Joen is reporting live from the Land of Sunshine and Happiness, where apparently nothing bad has ever happened to anyone, ever.”
Josh pressed a hand to his chest, looking deeply offended. “Togg, I’m going to have to ask you to remain professional.”
“I am professional.”
“You’ve been playing with your tie for the last four minutes.”
Tyler immediately dropped his hands beneath the desk. “That's an accusation with no supporting evidence.”
“There's literally a camera on you.”
“Fake news. Next question.”
Josh laughed, and Tyler found himself smiling in spite of himself. It was easy to do that around Josh. It had always been easy, actually, which was probably part of the problem. “Anyway,” Josh continued, straightening up and returning his attention to the camera. “As you can see, the weather is absolutely fantastic tonight. The sky is clear, the temperature is lovely, and I have absolutely no complaints.”
“None?” Tyler asked.
“Not a single one.”
“Not even one tiny, microscopic complaint?”
“Not one.”
Tyler leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Well, folks, you heard it here first. Jog Joen has achieved a state of inner peace previously thought impossible by modern science.”
“I'm a very peaceful man.”
“You put a hole in our apartment wall last week.”
“That was an accident.”
“You threw a drumstick.”
“It was an accident.”
“It went through the drywall, Josh.”
Josh paused. “...I was aiming for the door.”
Tyler burst out laughing. It came out louder than he'd intended, his head dropping forward as he covered his mouth with one hand. Josh watched him from the other side of the desk, grinning with the kind of satisfaction that suggested he'd been trying to get that exact reaction.
“There he is,” Josh said.
Tyler's laughter softened. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, what do you mean, there he is?”
Josh shrugged, looking suddenly very interested in the fake microphone clipped to his shirt. “You haven't laughed like that in a while.”
For a moment, Tyler didn't have a response.
Josh cleared his throat, smiling. “Well!”
Tyler stared at him, the echo of his own laughter fading into the sudden, quiet hum of the studio lights. The studio around them seemed to shrink, the colorful faux-brick backdrop blurring at the edges.
"You're making things up," Tyler muttered, looking away to busy himself with a stray stack of blank cue cards. He evened the edges with a sharp, deliberate tap-tap against the wooden surface of the desk. "I laugh. I laugh all the time. I laughed at your terrible knock-knock joke yesterday."
"That was a polite exhale through your nose, Togg," Josh pointed out, his voice dropping the playful broadcast cadence for something a bit softer. He leaned into his microphone, crossing his arms over his chest. "There's a distinct difference between a 'work' laugh and an actual, human-being laugh. The science of broadcasting is very precise on this matter."
"There is no science of broadcasting."
"There is now. I invented it. Just like I invented that hole in our drywall."
Tyler let out a short, breathy huff that hovered right on the edge of another smile. He crossed his arms too, mirroring Josh. "You are incorrigible, you know that? We have a broadcast to finish. Millions of people are waiting with bated breath to hear about the weather in the Land of Sunshine and Happiness."
"Right. The weather." Josh blinked, looking back out toward the imaginary horizon of their apartment living room. He cleared his throat and instantly snapped back into his overly dramatic reporter persona, complete with a sweeping hand gesture toward the empty corner of the room. "Yes, Togg, turning back to the live feed here—conditions remain pristine. Not a cloud in sight. Though I am starting to suspect the anchor back at the home desk is experiencing severe interpersonal turbulence."
Tyler rolled his eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward, betraying him entirely. "The anchor at the desk is going to cut your live feed if you don't wrap this segment up in the next thirty seconds."
"Threats of censorship on live television? Scandalous. The public will hear about this," Josh declared, grinning widely. "Back to you, Togg."
"And we're clearing the line," Tyler said, shaking his head as he tapped a final cue card onto the desk. He looked across the room, meeting Josh's gaze, a look that felt entirely too honest for a makeshift news broadcast, yet entirely necessary. The warmth in the room had nothing to do with the weather report, and everything to do with the fact that, for the first time in a long while, the weight on Tyler's shoulders felt a little bit lighter.
"Cut," Tyler whispered, though the smile finally reached all the way to his eyes.
The heavy studio lights flickered back to full brightness with a quiet hum, signalling five minutes until the final night report.
Tyler sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared down at his desk. In the rush between segments, his tie had completely twisted around itself, the knot pulled crooked and the fabric wrinkled from where he'd been tugging at it off-camera.
"Hold still," Josh said, stepping back over from his side of the anchor desk. Tyler blinked, looking up just as Josh reached down. Without asking, Josh’s fingers brushed against the collar of Tyler’s dress shirt, carefully loosening the crooked knot.
The studio suddenly felt a lot quieter than it had two minutes ago. Tyler froze, his breath catching slightly in his throat. Up close, under the sharp glare of the studio rig, he could see the faint golden flecks in Josh’s eyes and the small, focused fold between his brows as he worked.
Josh’s thumbs brushed against the skin just above Tyler’s collarbone, a brief, accidental touch that sent a sudden, warm jolt straight through Tyler's chest. Tyler swallowed hard, his eyes fixing on the center of Josh’s chest, suddenly acutely aware of how close Josh was standing, how warm he smelled like worn leather and stale coffee, and how loud the steady tick of the studio clock seemed.
"You always do this when you're stressed," Josh murmured softly, his fingers working dexterously to smooth down the silk and reset the windsor knot. His voice was lower now, stripped of all the broadcast bravado.
"Do what?" Tyler asked, his voice coming out a little rougher than intended.
"Tug at your collar," Josh said. He smoothed the fabric flat against Tyler’s chest, his palms resting there for just a second, a beat too long to be purely professional, before slowly sliding away. He looked up, meeting Tyler’s eyes. For a moment, neither of them moved. The banter from earlier was entirely gone, replaced by a thick, quiet weight that seemed to pull the air right out of Tyler's lungs.
Josh didn't step back. His eyes lingered on Tyler's face, searching for something, his hand hovering near the desk.
"Thirty seconds to live, gentlemen!" the floor manager’s voice boomed over the speakers, shattering the stillness like glass.
Josh blinked, breaking the spell. He took a quick step back, clearing his throat and smoothing down his own suit jacket, though a faint flush had crept up the back of his neck. "There. Perfect."
Tyler touched the knot of his tie, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Thanks," he muttered, trying to find his anchor voice again.
"Positions!"
Josh slid back into his chair across the desk, putting his fake-prompter earpiece back in place. He flashed Tyler a quick, sudden smile—one that felt far more personal than anything meant for the camera.
"5... 4... 3..." the floor director gestured silently.
The red ON AIR light slammed back on. Tyler sat up straight, clearing his mind as best he could, though he could still feel the phantom warmth of Josh's fingers against his collar.
"Welcome back to FPE ESPN's final night update," Tyler said into the camera, his voice smooth, even if his pulse was still racing. "I'm Togg Dunseph..."
"And I'm Jog Joen," Josh added smoothly, turning toward Tyler with a look that made Tyler's stomach do a complete flip. "Reporting live."
|-/
The quiet hum of the studio faded behind them as the green room door clicked shut, cutting off the last echoing sounds of the late-night crew wrapping up on set.
The room was dimly lit, cozy, and tucked away in the back corridor of the station. A long garment rack stood against one wall, lined with backup suits, while a low velvet couch sat opposite a pair of vanity mirrors framed by soft bulb lights.
Tyler set his briefcase on the coffee table, unbuttoning his suit jacket and slipping it off his shoulders. He hung it neatly on the rack, but as he turned back around, he found Josh standing right there, having dropped his own jacket onto the back of the couch.
Without the bright anchor lights and the barrier of the broadcast desk, the space between them felt impossibly small.
"Great show tonight, Togg," Josh said softly, his voice carrying none of the exaggerated energy from earlier. Just warm, quiet sincerity.
"Stop calling me Togg, we're off the air," Tyler murmured, though there was a fond, undeniable softness in his tone.
Josh stepped closer, reaching up to gently rest a hand against Tyler's shoulder. "I'm serious, Tyler. You were great. It's really good to see you smiling again."
Tyler looked up, meeting Josh's gaze. In the quiet dimness of the green room, everything else—the long hours, the ratings, the stress of the live broadcast—seemed to drop away completely. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribs, but for the first time all night, he wasn't nervous at all.
Leaning in, Tyler closed the last bit of distance between them.
The kiss was soft, gentle, and slow, standardizing everything that had been hovering beneath the surface between them for months. Josh’s breath caught in a sharp, quiet gasp before he relaxed into it, his hand sliding up from Tyler’s shoulder to cup the side of his neck, his thumb resting gently against Tyler’s jaw line.
When Tyler finally pulled back, just an inch or two, Josh was looking at him with a wide, breathless smile that made Tyler's chest feel completely full. Tyler’s heart melted. Josh pulled him in for another kiss, letting it linger on the corners of his lips. “For the road,” he whispered, smiling warmly. “Goodnight, Dunseph.”
“Goodnight, Joen,” Tyler whispered in response, letting the other man go.
|-/
The red ON AIR light glowed bright above the studio set, illuminating the news desk where Tyler and Josh sat side-by-side.
Tyler smoothed the front of his jacket, though his tie was immaculate tonight, neatly knotted and centered. He looked into the camera, a genuine, easy smile coming far more naturally than it had twenty-four hours ago.
"Welcome back to FPE ESPN's late-night wrap-up," Tyler said, his anchor voice clear and confident. "I'm Togg Dunseph, and joining me once again from the field—or, technically, three feet to my left, is Jog Joen. Jog, what's the report for tonight?"
Josh adjusted his fake earpiece, grinning as he leaned into the microphone. "Thanks, Togg. I'm happy to report that conditions remain exceptionally fine. Temperatures are mild, the skies are clear, and the overall outlook for the foreseeable future is surprisingly bright."
Tyler couldn't help the small laugh that escaped him. "Surprisingly bright, huh?"
"Extremely," Josh said, turning his head to look directly at Tyler, his eyes warm and full of quiet amusement. "Predicting zero chance of interpersonal turbulence tonight."
"A bold forecast," Tyler replied, tossing his script lightly onto the desk. "We'll hold you to that, Joen. That wraps up our coverage for tonight. For FPE ESPN, I'm Togg Dunseph."
"And I'm Jog Joen. Goodnight, everyone."
"And... we're clear!" the floor manager called out.
The studio lights dimmed to their standard house setting. Almost immediately, the broadcast formality evaporated. Josh unclipped his lapel mic, tossing it onto the desk before sliding his chair back to stand up.
"See? Perfect report," Josh said, crossing his arms and leaning against the edge of the desk. "No drywall damage, no technical difficulties, and your tie stayed straight the whole time."
Tyler stood up, stepping around the desk toward him. "That's because I didn't have someone messing with it right before we went live."
"Hey, I was fixing it," Josh pointed out, a sly grin playing on his lips. "Though I think my method after the show was much more effective."
Tyler felt a familiar warm flush creep up his neck, but instead of brushing it off, he smiled and stepped into Josh's space. "Is that so?"
"Definitely," Josh whispered. He reached out, his fingers lightly resting against Tyler's waist, pulling him just a little bit closer in the quiet shadows of the off-air studio. "In fact, I think it should be part of the standard post-show routine."
"I'll have to check with the producers," Tyler murmured, leaning in until their lips met in a slow, lingering kiss that completely washed away the remaining stress of the workday.
When they pulled apart, Josh was beaming, his hand sliding down to wrap around Tyler's fingers. "Come on," Josh said quietly, tugging him gently toward the exit. "Let me buy you dinner tonight."
"Deal," Tyler said, closing his briefcase and following him out into the quiet corridor.
—
The neon sign of The Red Star Diner hummed with a low, cozy vibration against the cool night air. Inside, the red vinyl booths were worn soft from decades of late-night regulars, and the smell of fresh coffee, fried hashbrowns, and sweet pancake batter filled the warm room.
It was nearly 1:00 AM, and the diner was almost empty, save for a tired trucker in a corner booth and the cook behind the gleaming chrome counter.
Josh slid into the booth first, pulling off his light jacket and tossing it onto the seat beside him. Tyler slid in right across from him, setting his briefcase on the floor. "I'm telling you, the patty melt here is life-changing," Josh declared, picking up the laminated menu and flashing Tyler a confident grin. "It comes with extra grilled onions and rye toast. You're getting it."
"Who made you the culinary director of FPE ESPN?" Tyler asked, a quiet laugh slipping past his lips as he leaned his chin in his hand, watching Josh across the table.
"I took on the role about five minutes ago," Josh replied smoothly, setting the menu down and leaning forward, resting his forearms on the formica table. The warm, yellow lighting of the diner softened his features, catching the dark brown curls resting against his forehead. "Besides, you barely ate lunch today. You were too busy stressing over the teleprompter graphics."
Tyler sighed, though there was zero heat behind it. "The graphics were misaligned, Josh. The text was overlapping with the lower third. It looked like a high school media project."
"And yet, the world kept turning," Josh said softly. He reached across the table, his fingers gently brushing against Tyler's wrist before sliding down to rest over his hand. "And now we're off the clock. No cue cards, no studio lights, no Togg Dunseph."
Tyler looked down at their joined hands, a wave of easy warmth settling deep in his chest. He turned his palm over, lacing his fingers through Josh's. "Just Tyler and Josh."
"Just Tyler and Josh," Josh repeated softly.
The waitress arrived a moment later, dropping off two thick ceramic mugs filled with piping hot coffee and a small metal pitcher of cream. She took their order (two patty melts, a double order of crispy waffle fries, and a chocolate milkshake to share) before bustling back toward the kitchen.
As the quiet hum of the diner enveloped them, Tyler stirred a splash of cream into his coffee, watching the dark liquid swirl into a rich hazelnut color. "You know," Tyler said, looking up, "when we started this whole ridiculous broadcast gig six months ago, I thought we'd last maybe two weeks before we got fired or drove each other crazy."
Josh chuckled, taking a slow sip of his coffee. "To be fair, we did drive each other crazy. Remember the week we argued over who got to sit on the left side of the desk?"
"You claimed the left side had 'better lighting'!"
"It did! The studio spotlight was angled three degrees to the left! I had science on my side!" Josh argued playfully, his eyes sparkling with delight.
"You made that up on the spot!" Tyler laughed, shaking his head. He took a sip of his coffee, feeling the last lingering threads of tension from the long work week melt away entirely. "But... I'm glad we stuck with it. Even with the drywall incident."
Josh's expression softened, his smile turning warm and genuine. "Me too, Ty. Honestly... doing the show with you is the best part of my day. But being here with you right now? That's even better."
Tyler felt his heart give a quick, sudden flutter. He leaned across the narrow table, resting his cheek lightly against his free hand. "Is that your official statement, Joen?"
"Off the record," Josh murmured, leaning in close until their noses almost touched. "Off the record, I'm completely crazy about you."
Tyler didn't say anything back. He just leaned in that extra inch, pressing his lips to Josh's in a gentle kiss right there in the quiet booth. It smelled like rich coffee and sweet cream, soft and familiar and perfect.
When they pulled apart, the waitress was sliding a plate of steaming hot waffle fries between them.
"Here you go, boys," she said with a warm, knowing smile. "Hot food's coming right right up."
Josh grinned, snagging a fry immediately and dipping it into ketchup. "See? I told you this place was paradise."
Tyler picked up a fry of his own, looking at Josh with a bright, unfettered smile that went all the way to his eyes. "Yeah, Jog. I think you might actually be right."