Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The hallway looked like a war zone.

Clothes, cables, half-zipped bags, empty coffee mugs. A pair of tangled socks Tyler had just stepped on for the third time. He muttered a curse and kicked them aside, sweeping through the living room in search of the charger for his synth pads, only to circle back and find it already packed in the hallway. Just like it had been twenty minutes ago.

He stopped, blinked, and let out a breathless laugh.

“Okay,” he mumbled, tapping his palm against his thigh. “Okay, again from the top.”

The gear bag was zipped. His backpack sat open by the front door, waiting for one last inspection. He crouched and checked the side pocket... headphones, lyric notebook, still there. Main compartment... toothbrush, meds, razor, retaped travel bottle of shampoo, still there.

He pivoted to the next pile. Laptop bag? Check. Portable keyboard? Packed. Duffel with clothes? Probably overstuffed, but check.

Everything was there. Everything he needed and maybe even more. The checklist had no gaps, no missing pieces, no logical reason for the tight coil still wound inside his chest, and yet, his brain refused to cooperate.

His thoughts darted like startled birds, directionless and loud, flapping from one corner of his mind to the next, nowhere and everywhere all at once. He couldn't seem to land on the task right in front of him, couldn’t hold a thought long enough to finish it before another shoved its way in.

His breath was shallow and fast, it didn’t really feel like panic yet, but if he kept this up much longer, it could get there.

He checked the time. 11:52.

And still no one outside.

Tyler moved to the window for the sixth time that hour, tugging the curtain aside with two fingers. Outside, the autumn sky was thick and gray, light softened by a dense sheet of clouds. His street looked exactly the same as always... parked cars, rusted fences, that one crooked lamppost someone hit back in April.

But his ride still wasn't there.

He wiped a hand down his face and stepped back, he didn’t know why he was nervous.

No, wait... that was a lie.
He knew exactly why he was nervous.

Because Josh had said they'd be there “around noon,” which could mean anything between 11:50 and 12:20 if he was being generous. And Tyler usually wasn’t very generous when it came to things that made him feel this uncertain.

He scanned the room again.

The bags were lined up by the door like a ragged row of ducklings... too many, too heavy, and too full of gear he probably wouldn’t even use. He sat on the edge of the couch and tapped his knee, eyes darting back to the window.

Still nothing.

Tyler had to laugh at himself when he realized how he must’ve looked... pacing around the apartment, peeking out the window every two minutes like a kid waiting for the school bus on their first day. Except there were no parents holding his hand, no packed lunch, no little backpack with a name tag.

And this? This was no school trip.

He wasn’t going to the museum or some local sightseeing spot like a good little tourist, he was about to leave for something he hadn’t expected at all.

He was going on tour.

On tour.

He tried the words out again in his head like a phrase he didn’t know the taste of yet.

If you told twenty year old Tyler that he’d ever step foot on a tour bus again, he would’ve laughed in your face. Or maybe he wouldn’t have laughed at all, maybe he’d just stare blankly and shake his head because that version of Tyler didn’t believe in anything that far ahead.

Truth was, twenty year old Tyler didn’t even believe he’d live long enough to become the version standing here now.

And it didn’t matter that it wasn’t his tour. It didn't matter that the band, the music or the spotlight wasn’t his, because he was about to experience something he never thought he’d feel again. Not in this lifetime. Not on his own, and definitely not beside someone he could proudly call his boyfriend.

That’s right. His boyfriend.

Another thing twenty-year-old Tyler never would’ve believed. Hell, even twenty-seven-year-old Tyler wouldn’t have believed it at the start of this summer

And now.. somehow, he had both of those things driving towards him. A sweet, loving boyfriend, and the kind of whirlwind adventure he thought he’d left behind for good. Expected to arrive any minute now.

It all still sounded like a sci-fi plot in his head, implausible and strange.

And yet here he was, packed, waiting, in a relationship, and still alive.

He kept glancing between his bags, the window, and the phone he’d been checking every thirty seconds, even though it hadn’t buzzed once. At some point, without even meaning to, he started flipping the screen... lock, unlock, lock, unlock... like the motion itself could distract his nerves.

It didn’t.

But on one of those flips, the photo on his home screen caught his attention. Or maybe it hypnotized him. Maybe flip number seven hundred didn’t do much, but on seven hundred and one, he looked, and this time, he didn’t look away.

Just like that, everything else dropped away. The bags, the window, the silence.. He just stared, thumb hovering just above the glass.

It was the same picture that had greeted him for the past few weeks... him and Josh, faces smushed awkwardly together on his tiny couch, mid-laugh, both of them shirtless and a little sweaty from heat or cuddling, or maybe both. Tyler’s eyes were half-closed, his mouth open like he’d just said something dumb. Josh had his face pressed against Tyler’s temple, squinting at the camera and grinning so hard his cheekbones looked like they hurt.

It wasn’t a good photo, not technically. It was overexposed and weirdly cropped, but Tyler had never loved a picture more.

His nerves quieted as he stared at it longer than he meant to, thumb hovering over the screen like he could touch it and feel the warmth of Josh’s skin again. Like the digital version of Josh’s face could ground him the same way his actual presence always did.

It calmed him down, the way only Josh could. Like the photo had some kind of powers of its own.

It had been taken the very first day Josh came over after camp.

Ten days after camp ended, to be exact. Not that Tyler had counted... except he totally did.

The first couple of days after camp were fine, actually. He had things to do... laundry, groceries, sorting through mail that had built up while he was gone. It was easy to stay busy, to keep his head down and pretend like coming home didn’t feel like stepping off a rollercoaster he didn’t want to get off of yet.

It helped that Josh was texting pretty often. A couple memes a day, a “miss you” here, and a “thought of you when I saw this” there. It made Tyler feel a little more tethered.

But by day four, that tether started to fray.

It wasn’t anything dramatic, just little things. Like the silence in the apartment, or the absence of laughter or footsteps just outside his door. The fact that no one called “Ty!” from across the field or shoved a plate into his hand at breakfast or stole his seat at the campfire just to annoy him.

And even though he laid off the private music lessons, he had plenty of work to do. His inbox was a minefield of deadlines and inquiries, but even as he dug in, buried deep in his home studio, he kept catching himself staring off mid-render, fingers ghosting the piano keys, brain looping back to Josh.

It made him irrationally restless, irritated at the time itself, like it was deliberately stretching those days apart into something unbearable.

By day six, he was checking his phone hourly.

Josh had mentioned visiting family for “a few days,” and Tyler kept going over those words like he could squeeze a different meaning out of them. A few days had turned into six, then seven... And he didn’t want to be clingy, God, he didn’t want to be that guy, but every time his phone lit up with a selfie or a message, his chest loosened a little.

Still, by day eight, Tyler was wound so tight he could barely sleep, he stayed up too late finishing projects that didn’t need to be rushed, as if exhausting himself would somehow make the days pass faster.

He never told Josh how badly he missed him, but maybe he didn’t have to. The photos said it all... Tylers tired-eyed grins, his captions like “how many more sleeps now?” or “bet you forgot how good I look.”

Even when missing someone, he was his usual passive-aggressive self about it.

But he bet Josh loved it.

He must have... otherwise Tyler would never have gotten such treasures in return. Josh, sleepy and shirtless in a messy bedroom. Josh, out on a hiking trail with his cousin’s dog. Josh, squinting into the sun like a cute idiot.

Tyler saved every single one like they were proof the waiting was worth it.

And then, finally, the day came.

Josh had sent him a single text around noon.
"omw"

Tyler stared at it like it might rearrange itself into something else. He tried to come up with another interpretation... Otherworldly Mechanical Wizard? Only My Wish? ... anything to keep himself from assuming it meant exactly what he so desperately hoped it did.

He replied with two question marks, but he got nothing back.

The next few hours were a mess. Tyler couldn’t focus on anything, he hovered in his studio, half-finishing things, checking the window, checking his phone, pacing from one end of the apartment to the other. But still, he didn’t let himself get too excited. He couldn’t... because the idea of letting that hope bloom just to have it crushed felt worse than the waiting itself.

But then, sometime in the late afternoon, the doorbell rang.

Tyler froze, literally stopped mid-step in the kitchen and just stood there like his brain short-circuited.

The doorbell rang again.

He padded slowly to the front door, heart suddenly racing like he was about to do something dangerous. He peeked through the peephole and nearly choked on his own breath.

Because there he was...

Josh.

Backpack slung over one shoulder, shifting his weight from foot to foot in that slightly awkward way he always did when he didn’t know if he should just knock again or try to kick the damn door down.

He was really standing there.

Tyler was still frozen, his eye glued to the peephole, when Josh suddenly leaned in and smirked.

“Are you gonna let me in or keep staring at me through your tiny spyhole like a creep?”

Tyler jumped back like he’d been caught doing something indecent and his cheeks went ruby-red in an instant. He hadn’t realized Josh could tell he was standing behind the door. He muttered something under his breath and fumbled with the lock.

The door swung open and their eyes met. Tyler’s were still shining with mild embarrassment, but it vanished quickly.

“Sorry... It just... kinda felt like a dream.” Tyler mumbled, still kind of stunned that this was really happening.

Josh was already grinning though, and God... Tyler had missed that grin. The way it crinkled the corners of his eyes, and how it made his whole face light up like it had no idea how to hold back.

“Good dream or bad dream?” Josh asked.

Tyler just blinked at him, and then, like an idiot, answered with.. “You’re real.”

Josh laughed loudly and stepped over the threshold, already reaching for him. “Sure am.”

They didn’t even make it to the living room, the hug was instant... tight, long and clumsy with Josh's backpack and jacket still in the way. And when Josh finally pulled back, it was only a few inches... just enough to kiss him.

Softly, first, as if he was testing the waters. Then again, deeper, like the wait had been just as long for him, like he’d missed Tyler just as much.

Tyler melted instantly, right there in the hallway, dressed in a loose shirt, faded shorts, and socks pulled high enough to almost count as knee socks.

And just like that, it was real again.

...

When they finally parted, Tyler stepped aside to let Josh in, heart still thudding from that kiss. Josh dropped his bag by the door and looked around, whistling low.

“Looks different with the lights on.”

Tyler snorted. “You’ve never even seen it with the lights off.”

Josh grinned. “Guess I’m about to.”

Tyler showed him around properly then.

He led him to the narrow kitchen, where he did more thinking than cooking. To the too-small living room, with his battered couch and single armchair. Then to the studio tucked behind a sliding door, where cables snaked across the floor like vines in a forest.

Josh took it all in with the kind of open curiosity that made Tyler feel seen in a way that didn’t terrify him.

Then they sat for a while, catching up properly.

Tyler made tea, only for Josh to steal his mug the second he set it down on the table. They kept the conversation mostly shallow, Tyler couldn’t come up with anything too complicated anyway, not with the way Josh was looking at him with soft, undivided attention.

At some point, Tyler offered to reheat some leftover pasta, but Josh just licked his lips, leaned against the kitchen counter and said, “I’ve missed your stupid face too much to eat right now.”

Which, apparently, was the trigger.

Because one minute, Tyler was trying to decide if “stupid face” was a compliment or an insult, and the next, Josh was kissing him again. This time harder and hungrier, hands gripping Tyler’s waist as he walked him backward until his hips bumped the kitchen counter.

“Oh my god... you're really here,” Tyler murmured between kisses, like he still didn’t believe it, even after hours of proof.

Josh laughed softly into his mouth. “You gonna keep saying that, or are you gonna let me appreciate you properly?”

Tyler didn’t have an answer, he was too busy shoving Josh’s jacket off his shoulders and yanking his own shirt over his head. They didn’t even make it to the bedroom, not when the kitchen counter was right there, and Josh had him bent down, panting, writhing and gasping against the cold laminate in no time.

From the moment Josh pushed in, it was fast and messy, maybe even a little desperate... the kind of sex that came with too much pent up energy and too much time apart.

Josh gripped his hips like they were something precious, kissed the back of his neck like a prayer, and whispered all the filthy things he’d thought about during those ten long days. Tyler’s breath kept hitching with every thrust, body strung tight, every sound escaping him raw and unfiltered.

He came undone with a cry that was muffled by the crook of his own elbow, and Josh followed soon after, curling against his back and wrapping him in a sweat-slicked, breathless hug.

“Hi,” Josh whispered, forehead resting on Tyler’s shoulder.

Tyler huffed a laugh. “Hi.”

They eventually stumbled to the couch, still half-dressed, and collapsed in a heap. It was barely wide enough to fit one person properly, let alone two. Tyler’s shoulder hung off the edge. Josh’s hand was wedged somewhere under his ribcage.

It was only now, lying tangled together and laughing breathlessly, that Tyler realized just how wildly unaccommodating his apartment was for two people to stay in. There was always just one chair, one tiny couch, one bathroom shelf already overflowing with products. One sheet on the bed, one towel on the rack, one coffee mug he never offered to anyone else.

Jesus, he seriously needed to make some changes around here.

“Damn,” Tyler muttered, adjusting on the couch for the fifth time. “I need to refurnish.”

Josh shifted closer, threw an arm around him. “Nonsense, this is perfect.”

Tyler rolled his eyes but smiled. “Says the one who’s not hanging off the couch for dear life.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure you won’t fall off, baby,” Josh murmured, tightening his arms around him. “Now shut up and be the little spoon.”

That made them both laugh, their bodies tangled in an awkward, perfect mess of limbs. And somewhere in that moment, between the bad couch and the even worse posture, Tyler reached for his phone on the coffee table, tilted it toward them, and snapped a photo.

Their faces were flushed, their hair a disaster, but their grins were real. Goofy, and soft, the kind you couldn’t fake even if you tried.

...

Tyler was still staring at that photo now, thumb brushing mindlessly across the screen. It had become his wallpaper sometime in the last month, he didn’t even remember setting it. It kind of felt like it had infiltrated its way onto his home screen without him even realizing.

Just like Josh had infiltrated his everyday life.

It was funny how quickly Josh had become part of everything... Of this apartment, of his routines, his mornings and nights. How he crashed his workdays without meaning to, how Tyler would try to push himself to stay focused on work, and either fail spectacularly or end up glancing back to find Josh asleep on the studio couch, headphones askew and mouth slightly open.

He was everywhere. And Tyler had loved every goddamn second of it.

A loud honk shattered the silence.

Tyler flinched, nearly dropping his phone, and his head snapped toward the window. He stepped closer, pulled back the curtain a few inches... and froze.

A sleek, black and absurdly long tour bus was easing into the street like it owned the pavement it parked on. Like it wasn’t a completely ridiculous, surreal thing to see on this quiet block of rusted fences and uneven sidewalks.

The chrome gleamed in the dull autumn light, so polished it reflected the trees and houses back in watery distortion. It took up nearly the entire street, Tyler was pretty sure no other car would be able to pass.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, his heart skipping a strange beat as he stared. Not just at the bus, but at what it represented.

A moving home. For weeks. With strangers.

A loud, noisy vehicle full of late nights, interrupted sleep and a whole lot of unpredictability. A tiny space laced with memories waiting to be stirred in each city they stop in, with the ghosts of the life he once had... and the scars it left behind.

As he stood there, staring at the hulking machine, something cold began to settle in his chest. It wasn’t loud, it didn’t scream, it was the kind of fear that seeped in at the edges, the quiet kind that wrapped itself around your ribs and made it hard to breathe.

The bus was just a vehicle, just metal and rubber and paint, but to Tyler, it looked like a beast. A moving monument to everything he suddenly didn’t trust himself to handle.

God. What if this was a mistake?

The tour meant long days, late nights, shared air, constant motion. It meant no space to fall apart, no room to hide.

What if he wasn’t ready? What if everything that felt okay in theory turned out to be a slow slide into chaos in practice? What if he couldn’t sleep on a bus? What if he couldn’t work?

What if it brought back more than it gave?

His chest tightened even more.

It wasn’t just about logistics or comfort, it was about who he might become out there. He’d worked so hard to build a life that felt steady, predictable and safe. And this... this bus, this tour, this leap, felt like a demolition of all of that. It felt like standing on a cliff with no promise that there would be a net to catch him.

Tyler’s fingers clenched tighter around the curtain. His breath hitched, the panic wasn’t loud yet, but he felt it coming, one heartbeat at a time.

But then the bus door hissed open... and Josh stepped out.

He bounced down the steps like it was the easiest thing in the world, hoodie sleeves shoved to his elbows, curls tousled by the wind, cheeks pink from the cold. And his smile... God, that bright smile, broke the whole scene wide open.

It was absurd, almost laughable, how much lighter everything felt just from the sight of him. Like Josh had stepped out of the shadows Tyler just built for himself and brought the sun with him.

He wasn’t the tour bus. He wasn’t the noise, or the ghosts, or the pressure.

He was the reason Tyler was saying yes to all of it.

Josh looked up, eyes catching on the window like he knew Tyler was hiding behind it. He lifted a hand and waved, grinning like the sky had cracked open just for this moment, and the light behind his eyes was proof.

Tyler exhaled all at once, the tension in his shoulders dissolving as fast as it had come. And just like that, the spiral vanished.

The fear didn't win.

Because there, in the middle of his suburban street, stood the one person who made all of this feel possible and worthwhile and... safe, somehow.

Josh had become part of everything in the past few weeks, infiltrating himself into his home and his life,

And now Tyler was about to do the same.

Chapter Text

The door handle was slippery.

Or maybe it was Tyler’s palm that had started sweating somewhere between the hallway and the threshold, and now it kept slipping on the cool brass as he tried to grip it. His chest felt tight, like he hadn’t taken a full breath in ten minutes.

He adjusted his hoodie sleeve, then immediately rolled it back up. He shifted his weight, ran a hand through his hair and regretted it when he could feel the way it stuck up at the back, stubborn and staticky from the hoodie.

One more breath, he told himself. One more breath, and then open the door.

The air hit him first, cool, damp and sharp with the early scent of rain. It rushed in like it had been waiting for him to move and for a second, Tyler just stood there, staring at the empty space in front of him, like the street might offer some kind of sign.

Then Josh appeared on the front step, all hoodie sleeves and wind-blown curls and that easy, impossible grin that made him look like he’d just woken up in the middle of a perfect dream.

“Hey,” Josh said.

Tyler felt his whole body clench and unlock at the same time. Where Josh looked like sunshine, Tyler felt like a live wire.

“Hey,” Tyler managed, stepping forward to lean into him.

The kiss wasn’t urgent, it was just a moment of stillness, where the rest of the morning fell away for a moment. No packing, no second-guessing, no weight pressing in behind his ribs, just the press of Josh’s mouth and the clean smell of his skin.

When they parted, Josh shifted his weight back on his heels, looking toward the row of bags just inside the door.

“You ready?” he asked.

Tyler nodded. “Yeah.”

He was not.

He said it too quickly, like someone throwing a dart and hoping it lands near the target. His body was buzzing in a way that had nothing to do with excitement. His spine felt too straight, like he was being held up by something artificial. And under it all, deep in his chest, was that low, dragging weight... the kind of dread that didn’t scream, just settled, slow and heavy.

Because what did that even mean?

Ready...

Ready to step onto a moving metal tube with a bunch of strangers and pretend he knew how to belong?

Ready to build something out of this strange new version of himself, all while pretending the old one didn’t still haunt the corners?

Ready to give up the safety of his controlled, familiar world for a life of tight quarters, loud nights, and shared bathrooms?

He swallowed and tried to nod again like that would help him be ready for real.

Without noticing the hesitation, Josh reached for one of the bags and flashed him a grin. “Alright then, let’s get this circus on the road.”

Josh helped him carry the bags down the steps, both of them dodging puddles and cracked concrete as they made their way toward the enormous black tour bus that still looked way too big for this quiet street. Tyler clutched his gear bag like a shield, trailing just behind Josh as they approached.

“You bringing your entire apartment or just most of it?” Josh joked, nudging him with his elbow as they reached the luggage compartment.

Tyler grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t know what I’d need.”

Josh chuckled and swung open the compartment door with a practiced motion. “No, it’s fine. I just hope you’re cool with taking up, like... half the bus.”

Tyler hesitated mid-step.

Josh turned toward him, catching the sudden flicker of guilt on his face.

“Hey,” he said quickly. “I’m just messing with ya. It’s all good, seriously. The rest of the crew barely brings anything. I mean... nobody else is setting up a whole studio back there.”

That got the faintest smile out of Tyler, and he ducked his head, fingers tightening around a backpack strap. “Yeah, okay.”

Josh bumped their shoulders. “Besides, I want you to be comfortable, so... bring all your noise machines and mood lighting and seventeen hoodies. Whatever makes this feel less like a bus and more like home.”

Tyler rolled his eyes. “I didn't bring that many hoodies.”

Josh gave him a look. “Let me guess, you wore one and packed five more.”

“...Shut up.”

...

By the time the bags were loaded, Tyler’s pulse had slowed down a little. Having Josh nearby helped, but his nerves still simmered under the surface, buzzing in his chest and fingertips. His heart pounded harder than it should’ve, and he caught himself biting at his lip, tugging at the hem of his sleeve, fiddling with the loop of his belt.

He kept glancing toward the door of the bus, half-expecting a flood of people to pour out... the rest of the band, the crew or some vaguely intimidating tour manager with three cellphones and judgmental eyes.

Josh caught him looking. “You okay?”

Tyler nodded once, too quickly. “Yeah. Just... first day of school jitters.”

Josh smiled, reached over, and squeezed his hand. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

The inside of the bus smelled like leather and mint gum, with a hint of cold air and something else, something almost too clean, like someone had wiped everything down just minutes before they stepped in.

He took one slow step, then another, trying not to feel like an intruder.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

“...Where is everyone?” he asked, voice just above a whisper.

Josh turned around, walking backwards now as he led him down the aisle. “Oh, uh... yeah. Surprise.”

Tyler narrowed his eyes.

“I forgot to mention,” Josh said, grinning. “The rest of the crew gets on at the next stop. It’s just us for now.”

Tyler blinked at him. Then he blinked again.

“Are you kidding me?”

Josh spread his arms, looking around the empty bus. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

And just like that, something in Tyler’s chest gave out. A knot finally pulling loose after being wound too tight for too long. His shoulders dropped without permission, his breath came easier and steadier for the first time since the bus pulled up.

He hadn’t even realized how much he’d been bracing for all the introductions, the noise, the social tightrope of meeting Josh’s band and crew for the first time. All those unfamiliar faces, those unspoken dynamics he’d be walking into blind. The fear of taking up too much space, saying the wrong thing, being the wrong thing.

But now... now there was a buffer. A pocket of quiet before the chaos. A soft launch into this strange, moving world he was about to enter. He could find his footing first. He could breathe.

“Thank God,” he muttered, running a hand down his face. “You have no idea how much I needed that.”

Josh just grinned and nudged him lightly with his hip before heading back outside. “Let’s get the rest of your chaos on board before you change your mind.”

Tyler followed him down the steps, exhaling like someone who’d just passed a boss level in a video game. Together they hauled the rest of his bags, cases, and the overstuffed duffel he already regretted. Some of it they put into the undercarriage storage and a couple things they loaded into onboard, so Tyler could set up his gear on the bus right away.

By the time the last bag was wedged into place, the driver gave them a quick wave through the side window, and the engine rumbled to life beneath their feet.

And just like that, they were moving.

Tyler stumbled a little as the bus began its slow roll down the street. Josh caught his arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“Okay,” Josh said brightly. “Welcome aboard. Time for the grand tour.”

Tyler huffed a laugh but didn’t resist as Josh pulled him forward a few steps.

“So,” Josh began, pointing off to the right. “This is our front lounge. Chill zone, breakfast zone, game zone, whatever you need. Sometimes people squeeze in here and pretend to watch a movie, but the TV’s usually a little trash, so it’s mostly for background noise.”

Tyler’s eyes scanned the small space... cushioned bench seating on either side of the aisle, windows half-shaded, and a huge TV screen mounted on the wall that separated the lounge from the driver’s cabin.

Josh turned. “And over here,” he said, motioning left, “is our elegant gourmet kitchen. Which is code for microwave, fridge, coffee machine that hates me, and absolutely zero counter space.”

The kitchenette was barely the width of a hallway, but it looked functional. There were a couple shelves for dry goods, and Tyler spotted at least three mismatched mugs crammed into a rail above the sink.

Then came the bunk zone. Josh stepped forward, and the sliding doors whooshed open with a soft hydraulic hiss, like they were entering a spaceship.

“This is where the magic happens,” Josh said dramatically, walking into the dimly lit corridor.

Tyler followed him in, eyes adjusting to the low glow of overhead LEDs. There were a total of nine bunks, six on the left, three on the right, all of them cleared out and left open. Past the set on the right side, tucked against the wall, were some storage shelves and a tiny bathroom, really just a toilet and sink with barely enough space to turn around in.

Tyler slowed, eyes flicking between the capsules. They weren’t huge, but they looked cozy enough. Private, at least.

“Which one’s yours?” he asked, running a hand lightly along one of the curtains.

Josh paused beside him, glanced at the row, and shrugged. “Neither.”

Tyler blinked. “What?”

Josh nodded toward the open bunks. “There are women touring with us, they get the first pick.”

“Oh,” Tyler said, eyebrows lifting. “You´ve got chicks in your band? I don’t recall you mentioning that.”

Josh giggled and looked at him with something warm and amused in his eyes. “There are women in the crew, Ty.”

Tyler stared at him blankly for a beat.

Josh tilted his head, waiting for the realization to click in, but when it didn’t, he added, “We’re on the crew bus, we’re not touring with the rest of the band.”

That stopped Tyler cold. “We’re not?”

“Nope.” Josh popped the “p” and kept grinning. “Trust me, you wouldn’t want that. Besides, their bus is full already, one of us band members would’ve had to hop over here anyway. It just made sense that it’d be us. More space for us too, and probably fewer smelly dudes.”

Tyler let out a short laugh at that, the tension between his shoulders unraveling a little more. “Okay... yeah. That actually sounds like a win.”

Josh shot him a wink. “It is.”

Then he turned, continuing down the narrow corridor toward the back, leading them to the last automatic door.

When this one opened, Tyler blinked again. The back lounge felt... different. Softer, somehow, and a little more lived-in.

The lights were warm instead of cold white, the walls lined with storage compartments. A long couch wrapped around two sides of the room, with a fold-out table built into the wall behind it, nearly invisible when collapsed. The space was quieter too, more insulated, like sound didn’t travel as much back here.

“This,” Josh said, spreading his arms like a game show host, “is gonna be your zone.”

Tyler stared.

“Usually we just use it to hang out or get dressed,” Josh explained. “But it will stay cleared out so you can set up your gear here. Everyone on this bus is cool with it, I checked.”

Tyler still hadn’t spoken.

Josh scratched the back of his neck. “You can make it your own, no one else will be allowed back here without your permission.”

Tyler looked around again. The space wasn’t huge, but it was his... A place to work, to hide, to anchor himself when the chaos outside got too loud. It felt like a gift he hadn’t asked for, or one he didn’t quite know how to accept yet.

“You good?” Josh asked, tone dipping lower now, more careful.

Tyler nodded slowly. “Yeah... yeah, I’m good.”

He turned back toward Josh, taking him in properly now, his hoodie wrinkled from the road, his curls already frizzing a little from the change in humidity, his eyes soft but still bright like always.

Tyler tilted his head. “Thanks for the grand tour," he said and stepped closer. "It didn't have to be that thorough though, you know I have been on a tour bus before, right?"

Josh laughed. “Oh, come on, just let me have my moment.”

Tyler stepped in, closing the space between them, arms sliding around Josh’s waist. “Thank you. I appreciate this... all of it.” he said, his face more serious now.

Their lips met in a slow, unhurried kiss. A quiet press of familiarity, of gratitude, of you’re the only thing that matters in this whole damn moving house.

It remained unspoken, but they could both feel it.

...

Eventually, they made their way back to the front of the bus, where Tyler’s bags and gear still sat in a disorganized pile on the floor. He looked down at it all with a sigh.

“Well,” he said, scanning the mess, “guess I better start unpacking.”

He bent down to grab the first duffel, shoulders already rolling into practical mode, until a solid warmth pressed up behind him. Josh’s chest to his back, arms sliding casually around his waist.
“What’s the rush?” Josh murmured into his ear, his voice a soft hum that made Tyler shiver. “Relax for a while, these things ain't going anywhere.”

Tyler closed his eyes briefly, letting himself lean back into the comfort of it. The hum of the road underfoot, the low rumble of the engine, Josh’s breath against his neck. All of it wrapped around him like a blanket. The steady rocking of the bus jostled them together even closer... and that’s when he felt it.

Josh was... excited.

Tyler’s breath caught. “Oh.”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes searching for Josh’s face. He was met with wide pupils, flushed cheeks and that slightly dazed expression Josh always got when he was already halfway gone.

“N-now?” Tyler stammered, heart jumping. “Here?”

Josh grinned, devilish and unrepentant. “Well... I thought we might take advantage of the fact that the bus is empty and, you know...” His voice dipped lower, hips giving a suggestive little thrust. “Christen the thing.”

Tyler let out a helpless gasp, clutching at Josh’s hands where they’d settled possessively around his waist.

The sensation of Josh hard and thick against his backside sent a hot, dizzying pulse through him. He could feel the press of it through both their clothes, undeniable and hungry, and it flipped a switch in him so fast he almost groaned. His thighs tensed, heat coiling low in his belly, every nerve seemed to zero in on that single point of contact, already aching for more.

“Joshua William...” he muttered, mock-scandalized and breathless.

Josh was already mouthing at his neck from behind, kissing a path just under his ear, arms tight around him like he didn’t plan to let go. Tyler closed his eyes, shuddering from the inside out, but even then, a small rational part of his brain pushed through the fog. “How long do we have? Before the others board?”

“Long enough,” Josh replied vaguely, lips never leaving Tyler’s skin. He nipped lightly at the base of his throat.

“Joshhhh,” Tyler whined, pressing back against him, “how long?”

Josh sighed dramatically, still kissing, still clinging, then finally lifted his head. “About two or three hours,” he said, slipping both hands up under Tyler’s shirt, fingertips ghosting across bare skin. “Plenty of time, relax.”

That was all Tyler needed, he turned in Josh’s arms, slid his hands around the back of his neck, and leaned in close, their noses brushing.

“Well,” he said with a grin, voice low and teasing. “In that case... where do we start?”

Josh caught his lower lip between his teeth, tugged gently, then smoothed it over with a slow lick of his tongue.

“Hmm...” he said as he started guiding them backward, step by step, until Tyler felt the counter nudge the backs of his thighs.

Josh’s eyes glinted. “I was thinking...” he said, pressing Tyler more firmly against it, “...right here.”

The kiss that followed was anything but slow, it was a hungry thing, all tongue and teeth and heat. Their hands roamed, tugging and grabbing, clothes shifting in ways that felt both clumsy and inevitable.

Josh gripped Tyler’s hips and lifted him, settling him on the narrow edge of the kitchenette counter, more sink than surface, but neither of them cared. Tyler’s legs wrapped around Josh instantly, pulling him in, grinding up into him without shame.

It was messy, it was hot, it was so fucking filthy.

Tyler loved every second of it.

It was almost comical, really... how he’d gone from a restless, anxious bundle of nerves to flushed and pliant, legs spread wide, hands buried in Josh’s shirt, breathing like he’d just run a mile.

Just an hour ago, he was pacing the living room, fretting about the bus, about the people, about the tour, and now? All it had taken was a bit of privacy, the promise of two hours alone, and Josh slotted perfectly between his thighs.

God, he was so easy.

The bus swayed gently around them, but Josh kept them both steady, one hand braced behind Tyler’s back as the other tugged the hem of his shirt lower, kissing down his jaw, licking across his collarbone. Tyler gasped when his head bumped the shelf above them for the fifth time.

“Fuck,” Josh muttered, pulling back just enough to look at him, hair wild, lips shiny, eyes dark. “I’d take you right here if it wasn’t a full-on health hazard.”

Tyler let out a whine, the image of Josh pushing into him right there on the grimy little counter searing into his brain. His cock twitched helplessly in his jeans.

Josh bit his lip when he saw Tyler’s already fucked out expression, tilting his head toward the bunk corridor, and said, “Should we take this somewhere less... sharp shelving, and more... fluffy leather?”

Tyler was already hopping down. “You had me at less sharp.”

Josh grinned and grabbed his hand, starting to tug him toward the back, but Tyler resisted, pulling back with a quick, “Hold on.”

He crouched down and rifled through the side pocket of one of his bags. Josh stood there, brows raised, until Tyler straightened up and held out a small travel-sized bottle between two fingers. His cheeks were a little pink, but his smirk was proud.

Josh’s eyes lit up. “Tyler Robert... Look at you, coming prepared.”

“Shut up,” Tyler muttered, nudging Josh in the side as he passed him. “Like you’re any less filthy.”

Josh was still laughing as they made their way through the bunk area and into the rear lounge. The couch back there wasn’t huge, but it was deep and low, the cushions soft on their skin. Josh flopped down with a dramatic little bounce and Tyler climbed into his lap without hesitation.

He settled over him easily, knees bracketing Josh’s thighs, his hands resting lightly on his chest as he looked down at him with a grin.

“Hi, handsome,” he said, voice low and a little smug.

Josh grinned back, all teeth and adoration, then slid a hand around the back of Tyler’s neck and tugged him down into a kiss. It started slow, all teasing licks and plush mouths pressing lazily, but it didn’t stay that way for long.

Tyler shifted, rolling his hips down, and Josh moaned into his open mouth, fingers clenching reflexively at Tyler’s waist. The kiss turned hot fast, tongues tangling, breath heavy and uneven. Then Tyler did it again, grinding down harder, and both of them gasped.

Their bodies were already slick with heat, their jeans doing a miserable job of keeping them apart. Josh’s hands slipped lower, cupping Tyler’s ass and pulling him in tight as Tyler rocked against him again and again, friction sparking between them like it was the only thing they knew.

“Fuck...” Tyler breathed against his lips, “...Josh."

Josh was nodding, breathless. “Yeah. Yeah... same.”

Tyler stood long enough to shove his pants down to his thighs, then kicked them off completely. Josh pushed his own jeans down just far enough to free himself, already leaking, flushed dark with need.

When Tyler straddled him again, Josh reached for the lube, popping it open with one hand.

“Let me prep you,” he said, voice gone rough.

Tyler nodded, already bracing his hands on Josh’s shoulders. “Be quick about it,” he added with a smirk.

Josh let out a low laugh. “Demanding.”

Still, he was more than happy to oblige. He slicked up his fingers with practiced ease, the cold gel catching briefly on his skin before it warmed. He reached between Tyler’s thighs, palm grazing his inner thigh before his fingers found where they were meant to go.

The first finger slid in easily, Tyler’s body welcoming him without resistance. Tyler moaned, loud and shameless, and his head tipped back as his thighs trembled around Josh’s hips.

“Fuck,” Tyler gasped. “Yeah... more.”

Josh worked him open, watching every twitch of his face, every catch of breath. When he added a second finger, he curled them just right, angling until he felt Tyler jolt in his lap.

Their position had Tyler leaning forward slightly, his arms still braced on Josh’s shoulders, which meant Josh had perfect access to the smooth slope of his neck and shoulder. He pressed his mouth there, kissing slow and wet, lips dragging across warm skin.

Then he bit down, just enough to make Tyler shiver, and pushed his fingers deeper at the same time. Tyler made the kind of noise that made Josh want to ruin him right there.

Tyler was riding his fingers now, shallow, desperate rocks of his hips that made every pass more obscene. His breath hitched every time Josh curled his fingers just right, the wet sounds between them dirty and perfect.

“Okay,” Tyler choked after a moment, eyes glassy. “Fuck, okay... enough.”

“Yeah,” Josh breathed.

Tyler backed off as Josh slicked himself up quickly, breath shallow, hands a little shaky with anticipation. Then Tyler took over, steady and sure, lining himself up above Josh’s cock and slowly guiding him in. The stretch was slow and exquisite, his thighs trembled slightly as he sank down, inch by inch, mouth open in a silent curse.

Josh clutched his hips, eyes wide and reverent, unable to look away. “Jesus,” he breathed, like it was holy. “You always feel so fucking good, baby.”

Tyler didn’t answer, his jaw was slack, eyes heavy-lidded, entirely consumed by the feeling. He started to move with long, steady rolls of his hips, palms braced on Josh’s chest for balance. The burn of it grounded him, tethered him to the here and now, to the sweat-slick warmth of Josh beneath him and the way every pass dragged a low moan from both of their throats.

He never would’ve imagined that the very first thing they’d do after boarding the bus would be this. That they’d take one heated look at each other and throw caution to the wind.

But God, did he love it.

He loved the feeling of Josh... real and solid under him, skin hot where his clothes didn’t cover, breath catching in his throat, lips parting to whisper Tyler’s name like a prayer. He loved the way Josh looked up at him, eyes dark and glassy with lust, the kind of gaze that made Tyler feel like the only person in the world.

Like this moment wasn’t crazy or reckless or impulsive, it was right.

And for once, everything else stopped mattering.

He leaned forward, still riding Josh with slow, greedy rhythm, and tilted his head down to kiss him. It was messy, tongue and heat and panting groans swallowed between open mouths.

Josh gripped him tighter and used the new angle to thrust up into him with small, sharp snaps of his hips that made Tyler gasp into the kiss, breaking it with a moan.

Tyler folded against him with a broken noise, burying his face in the curve of Josh’s neck, moaning helplessly into his ear with every push. One hand slipped down between their bodies, wrapping around his own cock, and started jerking himself in time with Josh’s rhythm. Each thrust made his hand stutter, made his grip tighten, until he could barely keep the movements smooth.

Josh’s hand slid up his back, palm splayed between his shoulder blades, holding him in place as he fucked up into him.

“Ty,” Josh whispered, voice ragged, “fuck... you’re clenching so tight. I swear, if you don’t stop doing that I’m gonna come so deep you’ll still be leaking it when the rest of the crew gets on.”

Tyler let out a strangled moan, the filthy words crashing into him like lightning. He twitched in Josh’s lap, thighs going tight, nails digging into Josh’s shoulders.

"Oh my God, Josh..."

That was it.

He came with a broken cry, painting the front of his own shirt, body going taut and then slack against Josh’s chest. He trembled in his arms, breath hiccuping as he rode the last waves of it out, still impaled, still full.

Josh groaned low in his throat and thrust up a few more times, before spilling inside him with a full-body shudder and a quiet, awed “fuck…”

He didn’t let go right away. One hand held the back of Tyler’s head, the other arm wrapped tight around his waist, keeping him pressed to his chest like maybe he needed the anchor too.

The only sounds were their breathing, hot and wet against skin, and the low hum of tires on asphalt as the bus kept rolling beneath them. The rest of the world stayed outside.

Tyler didn’t speak, just let himself be held, forehead pressed to the hollow of Josh’s neck. He could feel Josh’s heartbeat against his cheek, fast and fierce.

His own wasn’t much calmer.

For a long minute, they stayed wrapped around each other, shaky and fucked-out. And it wasn’t just about the sex... it was the way Josh's arms never loosened, not even now. The way his hand still moved slowly up and down Tyler’s spine, grounding him with every pass. The way neither of them said a word, and somehow that silence spoke louder than anything else.

Tyler had spent years trying to protect himself by staying untouched, unreachable and unshaken, but with Josh’s chest rising and falling beneath him, with the warmth of him still buried deep inside, he didn’t feel exposed.

He felt safe.

Even here, in the unfamiliar hum and sway of a moving tour bus, with its strange walls, narrow corridors, and unknown miles ahead.

And that realization settled something inside him that had been uneasy since the second the bus pulled up to the curb.

When Tyler finally pulled back, he glanced down at the front of his shirt and groaned. “Oh man… I put effort into this outfit.”

Josh snorted. “Trying to impress someone?”

Tyler rolled his eyes, but didn’t immediately deny it. Instead, he muttered, “Well, duh. I’m kinda meeting your band today...”

Josh smiled, brushing a hand down his side. “Relax, nobody’s gonna care. Besides, judging by the size of your bag, I’m pretty sure you brought plenty of backups."

Tyler snorted, fingers curling into Josh’s damp curls. “Asshole.”

Josh grinned wider. “Your asshole though.”

Chapter Text

The bus slowed with a subtle hiss of brakes and the low rumble of its engine shifting into idle. Tyler looked up from where he was curled up in the front lounge seat, knees tucked up, a half-drunk cup of tea cooling in his hands.

Outside the wide window, a parking lot stretched out under the bright gray sky. It was mostly empty, just a few rental cars tucked into one corner, and a row of mismatched vehicles lined up along the fence. A small group of people stood near the front in a loose cluster, each standing beside at least one wheeled suitcase.

They were deep in conversation, making no move to board the bus.

Except for the one woman who slammed her trunk shut, then strode past the others, heading straight for the bus like she owned the whole damn parking lot.

Tall, sharp-shouldered, dark hair pulled into a tight low ponytail, phone in one hand, suitcase handle in the other, and a battered black backpack slung over her shoulder. She wore slim cargo pants, a fitted jacket, and a no-nonsense expression that could probably part a crowd. Josh straightened beside Tyler, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

“That’s Sam,” he said as the bus doors hissed open. “Tour manager. Best not to mess with her.”

Tyler stood quickly, brushing crumbs off his sweatpants and trying not to look like a kid meeting the headmistress.

Sam stepped up onto the bus and immediately nodded at Josh. “Hey, you. Good to see you.” Her voice was brisk, clipped but not unkind. She gave Josh a one-arm hug, then turned to Tyler, studying him like she was mentally sorting him into a folder.

“You must be the boyfriend.”

Tyler blinked. “Uh... Yeah. Tyler.”

She shook his hand... firm, professional, zero nonsense. “Nice to meet you. Welcome aboard.”

Before he could say anything else, her phone buzzed in her hand. She glanced at the screen and sighed, already turning away. “Gimme a sec,” she muttered, stepping past them as she took the call, her voice dropping into a fast paced string of logistics.

Her phone buzzed again the second she ended that call, and she didn’t even look up as she answered it, pacing toward the kitchenette with her backpack still over one shoulder.

Tyler exhaled slowly... Well, that was painless. He figured she most likely wouldn’t have the time or interest to scrutinize him, at least not now. He felt a little lighter as he watched her pace, maybe this wasn’t going to be a spotlight moment after all.

The next to climb on was a guy built like he’d once played high school football and never entirely stopped. Late forties, sturdy frame, a bit of a belly under his flannel, dark brown hair fading to gray at the temples.

“George!” Josh said with a grin.

“Hey, kid,” George said, patting Josh’s shoulder in a warm, practiced gesture before turning to Tyler. “You the other Tyler?”

“Uh-h- huh?,” Tyler murmured dumbly before he could stop himself.

Because... what? Other Tyler?

He was confused.

Did Josh used to date another Tyler and just forget to mention it? Was this some weird inside joke? He glanced briefly at Josh for help, but had to look back quickly as George stepped closer, clearly expecting a handshake.

Tyler barked out a short, confused laugh and accepted the extended hand. George shook it with confident vigor, utterly unfazed by Tyler’s hesitation. “Nice. Good grip. We’ll get along.”

Then he moved past them and dropped into one of the front lounge seats like he’d been living there for a week already. He pulled a thermos of coffee from his bag, leaned back, and settled in like this was his living room.

Tyler rubbed the back of his neck. That was... weird. But before he had time to fully process it, the bus door opened again, and this time, it wasn’t just someone boarding.

It was a hurricane.

“JOOSH!”

Two near identical blondes burst up the steps, trailing duffel bags, wild laughter, and the kind of chaotic energy that made Tyler’s spine straighten on instinct. He was mid-sip of his tea and nearly choked.

The same face, twice.

Great, he could already picture the slow descent into madness when he inevitably called one the wrong name. The teasing would be relentless... God.

They were shiny haired, wide smiling women who looked like they could sell you crystals and murder you in the same breath. One had a camera case bouncing against her chest, the other a tote bag slung over her shoulder with what looked like the band’s logo.

They tackled Josh in tandem like he was their long lost brother, squealing and wrapping their arms around his neck as they planted dramatic kisses to his cheeks.

“Mandy,” Josh wheezed, one arm around each of them. “And Missy.”

The hug was... longer than necessary. Definitely more heartfelt than Tyler had expected or was comfortable with, but he didn’t get a chance to question it because the moment they pulled away from Josh, they turned to him, grinning with the kind of enthusiasm that made him feel like he’d just walked into a bachelorette party by mistake.

“Oh my God, Josh,” one of them said, nudging him with her elbow but keeping her eyes locked on Tyler. “Is that him?*”

“You didn’t say he was so handsome,” the other added, practically bouncing on her toes.

Josh beamed, clearly proud of himself for pulling this off. “Yeah. That’s Tyler.”

Both women were already walking toward him with hands outstretched, and before he knew what was happening, he was being pulled into one hug and then another, both of them talking at once... “So good to finally meet you!” “We’ve heard so much”...and he barely managed to squeeze out a breathless, “Yeah, you too.”

Once they finally loosened their grip, Tyler sent Josh a pointed look. “You didn’t say you had a fan club."

They were... a lot. But even with the overwhelming energy, he could tell it was genuine. There was no calculation in their smiles, just warmth, and a whole lot of volume.

Josh rolled his eyes fondly. “Oh yeah. They’re harmless though.”

“Mostly,” Missy added, already ducking past to dump her gear onto one of the lounge seats.

Tyler watched them fan out across the space like they’d done this a hundred times. Missy headed toward the kitchenette, humming something, and Mandy was rifling through a storage bin under the seats with casual confidence, already claiming space like she lived here.

Tyler was still standing in the same spot, awkwardly clutching his mug, bracing himself for another whirlwind introduction. But no one else climbed aboard. He glanced toward the open doorway, waiting for more footsteps, more duffels, maybe a couple gruff tech guys with gear cases and resting bitch faces, but the silence held.

“That’s it?” he asked, eyebrows lifted as he turned to Josh.

“For now,” Josh said, stretching lazily against the door frame. “Matt’s meeting us at the venue, he does backline and lights, needed to be there early. And Tyler’s already there too. He handles most of the sound and pyro.”

Tyler blinked. “Ohhh... There’s another Tyler?”

Ah. George’s earlier comment made sense now. Okay, that’s what he meant. Huh... go figure.

Josh grinned, clearly enjoying the dawning realization. “Yup. Kind of the brain of the whole show. Everything you hear and see? That’s him. I think you’re gonna like him.”

Tyler narrowed his eyes in automatic suspicion.

Right... because when had he ever liked someone on the first try?

It took more than a shared name and a few skills. Hell, just look at Josh... Tyler had spent weeks clocking him at every turn before letting himself admit he liked him. He wasn’t the type to warm up easily. New people meant new risks, new dynamics, new reasons to be annoyed, or even worse.. to be let down.

Josh saw it all play across his face and just laughed. “Okay... just try not to fight anyone before we even get there.”

Tyler didn’t dignify that with a response, just pulled a face and moved to sit back down beside the window. Outside, Sam was still pacing with her phone to her ear, barking into it like the entire tour depended on her... which, to be fair, it probably did.

Inside, George was already dozing off with one arm flung over his eyes, and the twins were arguing over something about fridge shelf space.

The chaos had almost settled.

For now.

...

Tyler still sat by the window, watching everyone settle in. Bags thudded into storage cubbies, zippers buzzed open and shut, voices overlapped in casual chatter. He stayed tucked into his seat, hands buried in his hoodie pockets, quietly tracking the rhythm of it all.

And as he did, he felt a strange mix of feelings unfurling inside him. Relief, mostly. Because no one was paying him too much attention, no curious stares, no over-the-top introductions, no exhausting small talk.

But beneath that relief was something else. Not quite sadness, not even disappointment, just... a small, nagging ache. Like a balloon that never fully inflated.

Josh had told him, more than once, that people had been asking when he was finally going to bring someone along. Tyler had braced himself for more fuss, more curiosity, maybe a few questions, or even a moment of feeling special.

But there was none of that. Just a few polite greetings and the faintest flickers of interest before everyone moved on, returning to their routines like this was any other day. And he didn’t know why that got to him. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted. But whatever he expected, this wasn’t it.

And he didn’t usually like it when expectations went unmet.

He was still chewing on that feeling when Josh’s voice rang out from the bunk area. “Ladies! Stop fighting and come pick your bunks before I assign you one myself.”

The twins stopped mid-argument and practically skipped down the hallway.

Tyler stayed in his seat at first, listening, trying not to be curious. But curiosity was a beast with teeth, and it got the better of him. A moment later, he was pushing to his feet and heading toward the bunks, keeping a careful distance but wanting to see where everyone ended up.

Mandy and Missy claimed the two lower bunks that faced each other without hesitation.

“We need to hold hands while we fall asleep,” Missy declared.

“Or else we can’t dream the same dreams,” Mandy added.

They both dissolved into laughter. It was clearly a joke, but Tyler had a feeling there was some real twin logic behind it too.

Missy then wandered toward the front, calling, “Sam! Which bunk do you want?”

Sam didn’t look up from her phone. “Middle one on the right side,” she said, waving her hand dismissively before turning back to whatever crisis was happening in her earpiece. Missy shrugged and shoved Sam’s bag into the bunk above hers.

Tyler lingered in the narrow corridor, hands brushing the hem of his sweatshirt, until he gently tugged on Josh’s sleeve.

“When do we get to pick?”

Josh turned toward him with a grin. “What... scared you might end up under George?”

Tyler just rolled his eyes, which was easier than admitting he was just hoping to land near Josh. Or, ideally, directly next to him, but considering the width of these bunks, that was not happening.

Josh leaned closer, dropping his voice just a little. “Well... the ladies have chosen. And I’m kind of tour royalty, so... I get to pick next.”

“Royalty, my ass!” Missy shouted from the lounge, her voice bright with mischief.

Josh leaned around the doorway and hollered back, “Hey! I heard that!”

Tyler laughed softly, turning toward the back row of bunks. His eyes hovered on the bottom one, the only one still untouched, but he hesitated... some combination of nerves, indecision, and quiet hope flickering behind his eyes.

The automatic door behind them hissed shut, sealing off the corridor and giving them a moment of quiet privacy.

Josh stepped close, hands landing gently on Tyler’s waist. “So?” he murmured. “Which one do you want?”

Tyler glanced up, nervous and hopeful. “That one,” he said, pointing at the lower bunk.

He didn’t get into why. He didn’t say out loud that the bottom bunk felt like the only one tucked away enough to feel private and safe. Or that it mattered to him, maybe more than it should’ve, to have a place that didn’t leave him too exposed.

But he didn’t have to explain it. Not with Josh.

By now, there was a quiet understanding between them... the kind built in dark cabins and long nights, in shared silence and unraveling truths. Josh had already seen him at his worst back at camp, he knew what to expect. Which was probably why Tyler didn’t even hesitate before saying the next thing.

“And I want you to be in this one,” he added, pointing to the bunk above it.

Josh let out a warm laugh, stepping into Tyler’s space until his chest brushed against him. “Well, aren’t you greedy? Picking for both of us.”

Tyler flushed, uncertain if it was from the embarrassment or the full-body heat of Josh’s presence. He glanced at the lounge door, checking to make sure it was still closed, then leaned in just slightly, his lips brushing Josh’s ear.

“Well... you know how much I love having you above me. On top of me.”

Josh sucked in a sharp breath and his fingers tightened on Tyler’s waist, but he didn’t move further, like he was holding himself back.

“Tyler Joseph,” he murmured just above whisper, biting his lip. “You’re a menace.”

Then he stepped back, just far enough for the air to cool between them. Tyler missed his warmth instantly. The sudden space felt like a quiet betrayal, but judging by the look on Josh’s face, he hadn’t wanted to move either. He lingered in that hesitation, like if things were even slightly different, he’d still have his hands on Tyler.

But then Josh’s expression softened, eyes sweeping over him with that quiet, attentive gaze that Tyler was still getting used to... like he saw right through him and still liked what he found.

“You doing okay?” Josh asked, voice quieter now. The playful edge from a moment ago had shifted into something tender.

Tyler nodded slowly. “I... yeah, actually. I expected worse.”

And he meant it.

He’d expected to feel out of place, like some awkward tagalong clinging to Josh’s side, but... everyone had been fine. The chaos had started loud, but they were all just acting like this was a regular Tuesday. Like they’d done it a thousand times before. Which... maybe they had.

Sam was already buried in whatever crisis she’d walked on with, George passed out cold in the front lounge with his hat pulled over his eyes in under half an hour, and the twins were...

Well...

The twins were definitely the wild card. It wasn’t that they weren’t friendly, they were... maybe a little too much. They bantered with Josh like old friends, touched him without hesitation, like it meant nothing.

And Tyler... didn’t quite know how to feel about any of it.

“I just...” he said, the words pushing their way up before he could stop them, “don’t know how I’m gonna work with two beautiful girls around who have no problem throwing themselves all over you.”

He tried to pass it off like a joke, pitched his voice casual, but the heat behind it betrayed him.

Josh caught it immediately, his eyebrows lifted, smirk forming like a slow sunrise. “Are you jealous?”

Tyler didn’t answer... didn’t really have to.

Josh saw straight through the silence. But instead of laughing, he took a step back into Tyler’s space, claiming it again, this time with intent. The air shifted, all teasing tension and something darker underneath.

“Well... You wanna know what I’m gonna have a hard time working around?”

Tyler tilted his head, cautious but curious. “What?”

Josh held his gaze for a moment, just long enough to let the anticipation build, and then he leaned in, his mouth brushing Tyler’s ear as he whispered.

“Having my sexy boyfriend around every damn day... and having zero privacy to enjoy him the way I want.”

Before Tyler could react, Josh took his hand and gently guided it down, pressing his palm against the heat straining beneath his jeans.

Tyler’s eyes went wide. “Again?”

Josh just bit his lip, grinning against the corner of Tyler’s mouth as he ground into their joined hands.

“What can I say?” he murmured. “I can’t control myself when you’re around.”

He kissed the corner of Tyler’s mouth and leaned in close to his ear. “Let’s just say... you don’t have to worry about the girls.”

Before Tyler could respond, before the next roll of Josh’s hips even finished, the door hissed open again, and Josh stepped back instantly, smooth as ever, like nothing had happened. Tyler barely managed to yank his hand away in time as George poked his head into the corridor.

“Hey, which bunks are still free?”

Josh turned to him, grinning like he hadn’t just been grinding a very obvious hard-on into his boyfriend’s hand. Like he wasn’t flushed, sweating slightly, and wrecked with want.

“Middle left’s open,” he said casually, “and all the top ones.”

George nodded, completely oblivious to the tension thick in the air, or to the way Josh’s jeans still looked criminally tight, and made a beeline for the bunk.

“Ah.. perfect for my old knees.”

Josh glanced over his shoulder at Tyler and winked as he adjusted himself with zero shame and wandered back toward the front lounge.

Tyler exhaled and followed, pulse still thudding in his throat.

This was going to be interesting.

...

Tyler was halfway out of his seat before the bus even came to a full stop.

He hadn’t realized how much his body needed stillness until it arrived, after hours of humming road beneath them, the silence made his muscles ache with relief. He stepped out into the crisp afternoon air and let the chill hit his skin, breathing in deep like the cold might anchor him to the ground.

They were in some wide parking lot behind the venue. Another bus was already parked there, glossy black like theirs, the windows mirrored against the sky. Nearby, two massive transport trucks stood with the logo of a rental company stretched across the side. Probably gear trucks.

A small cluster of people loitered around the second bus... four middle-aged men in sweatpants or faded jeans, standing in a loose circle with coffee cups and slouched postures. Behind them stood three women of varying ages, chatting just out of earshot, and weaving between them were two kids chasing each other around the parking lot.

Tyler blinked.

Okay... Weirdly domestic, but it was probably just some crew with family tagging along.

Josh appeared at his side a moment later, shouldering his bag and glancing around the lot like this was nothing new.

They both stretched instinctively. Tyler rolling his shoulders with a wince, Josh tipping his head back with a long, dramatic groan.

“God,” Josh muttered. “I’m not built for sitting that long anymore.”

He dropped his bag and did a few exaggerated jumping jacks, arms flopping like a dead weight, clearly more for comedy than function.

Tyler almost joined him. Almost.... but then he caught a glimpse of the group by the second bus watching them. He didn’t know who they were yet, and until he figured it out, he was not about to risk doing flailing warm-ups like an idiot in front of a bunch of strangers.

He lowered his arms and cleared his throat instead.

Tyler squinted against the sun and turned to Josh when he finally stilled beside him. “So... when’s the rest of the band getting here?”

Josh looked at him sideways. “Uh...” He hesitated, eyes narrowing like he was trying to figure out if Tyler was joking. “They’re... already here?” He nodded toward the group Tyler had just been watching.

Tyler froze. Then turned again, slowly.

He looked at the group with fresh eyes now. And, okay... okay... now he saw it.

A bandana knotted around one wrist, a leather cuff on another guy’s arm, pilot sunglasses pushed up into thinning hair, a t-shirt with a classic Van Halen album cover stretched across a soft, round belly, a faded skull tattoo on one shin, barely visible under rolled-up sweatpants..

Tyler’s face twisted.

“What?” Tyler said flatly. “That?”

Josh arched an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Tyler kept staring. He counted at least two graying heads, one of them sporting a full horseshoe bald spot. There was a long beard stained yellowish near the mouth and a couple of unmistakable beer bellies stretching faded band tees and aging leather jackets. One guy had a braided goatee with beads in it, another was wearing socks and Adidas slides.

Slides. With socks.

“Jesus,” Tyler muttered, then turned to Josh, eyes wide in disbelief. “What kind of band are you even in?”

Josh frowned. “I told you... Classic rock tribute.”

“No, no.” Tyler waved a hand. “You didn’t say you’re in a dad band.”

Josh blinked. “What do you mean?”

He knew what Tyler meant, he just didn’t like where this was going.

His body still ached from the ride, shoulders tight, lower back stiff, and he hadn’t even had coffee yet. All he wanted was a five-minute stretch and a calm start to the tour. Instead, Tyler was squinting at his friends like they’d rolled straight out of a retirement home in a rock-band cosplay.

“I mean...” Tyler scoffed, laughter bubbling just under his breath. “They’re old, dude.”

Josh’s jaw tensed as he looked back at them.

“And?” he said flatly.

Tyler stared at him, a little baffled. “And... I just didn’t expect you to be playing with guys who could literally be your dad’s age.”

Josh’s mouth tightened, his arms crossing loosely over his chest. “What are you getting at, Ty?” he said, his tone edging on defensive. “I’ve told you all about this band... every possible detail. Do you not remember? Or weren’t you listening at all?”

That landed harder than Tyler expected. The sting in Josh’s voice made him straighten, suddenly unsure of what he’d stepped into.

Tyler’s mind raced, trying to picture when those conversations had even happened. Josh had mentioned the band, back in that hazy post-camp blur, during those ten days holed up at Tyler’s place, wrapped in blankets and each other.

But if he was being honest... most of the time Josh had been talking, Tyler hadn’t exactly been using his ears.

He remembered straddling Josh’s hips on the living room floor, working the tension from his lower back, fingers digging into the firm muscle of his shoulders. He remembered how Josh had sighed into the pillow as he talked, something about the tour and rehearsals.

And Tyler nodded along, totally focused... on the shape of Josh’s ass.

“Oh,” Tyler said slowly, realization creeping in like smoke under a door. “I think I might’ve... not been entirely present during that conversation.”

Josh just stared at him, unimpressed. And maybe a little hurt.

“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

His posture shifted again, arms falling to his sides, his face unreadable now. “Old or not,” he said, voice firmer, “these are my friends. My band.”

The words sat heavy between them.

“I like playing with them. I chose to play with them. I don’t know what your problem is or why their age matters.”

And okay... maybe Josh was being a little more defensive than necessary.

Tylers words had landed somewhere tender... not because Josh was embarrassed of the guys, but because... maybe deep down, this wasn’t exactly the picture he’d imagined either. Maybe part of him had dreamed of something flashier, more glamorous, a crowd of twenty-somethings going viral every other night.

But this was the offer he got, this was the path he took, and he was proudly showing up for it, even if it didn’t always shine.

Tyler winced.

The dissonance between what he’d pictured and what stood in front of him had been jarring. But that was a him problem. Because the truth was... none of his expectations had been met so far. Not the bus, not the crew, not the band.

And that discomfort of not knowing where he fit into any of it built up fast. It made him judgmental, tense and snappy. And, yeah... rude.

“No,” he said quickly, tone softening. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter... I didn’t mean it like that.”

Josh didn’t respond immediately, and the pause dug something anxious into Tyler’s chest. He took a breath and tried again, this time slower and more honest.

“I’m sorry. I just... I don’t know. I guess I was expecting a boy band for some reason.”

That got a small snort out of Josh. Just barely... but it cracked the tension like sunlight through a cloud.

“Well,” he said, glancing back at the group, “these guys definitely wouldn’t survive a synchronized dance routine.”

Tyler let out a breathy laugh, relieved that Josh wasn’t mad, hoping that he still had a chance to show he wasn’t going to screw this all up.

Josh glanced sideways at him, his voice easier now. “So... you good if I introduce you?”

Tyler hesitated, his stomach flipping again, but he nodded. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

Josh smiled faintly, and they started walking toward the band.

Here goes nothing.

Chapter Text

The green room was bigger than Tyler expected.

A cluster of soft leather couches and mismatched armchairs formed a lazy U-shape around a coffee table, where someone's open notebook sat abandoned next to an empty Red Bull. Along the far wall, folding tables sagged under trays of lukewarm food and fruit platters, most of which had already been picked through.

They’d all been here for almost an hour now, gathered under the command of Sam, who stood at the center of the room with a tablet and the kind of presence that made everyone sit up a little straighter. The couches were overstuffed, so half the crew had taken to the floor, legs crossed or knees pulled to their chest, some already scribbling notes while Sam went down the list.

Logistics, venue layouts, call times, equipment checklists, loading instructions... Sam rattled through them like bullets.

She talked for almost an hour before she turned things over to a safety engineer whose name Tyler forgot the second it finished echoing through the room. He was a compact man with graying hair and bright sneakers, who had taken them through safety protocols with deadpan efficiency.

"Do not, under any circumstances, step over the yellow tape near the pyro unless you're trained," he'd said, laser pointer flicking toward a floor diagram projected on a portable screen. "They go off hot and fast. If you're anywhere near them when they fire, you'll be lucky to only lose your eyebrows."

The room had rustled with nervous laughter.

By the time the briefing wrapped, most of the crew had scattered back to work. Only the band and a few lingering crew members now hovered near the banquet table, chatting casually in a loose circle.

Tyler stood slightly behind Josh, a paper plate in one hand, picking absently at a piece of breaded chicken he didn’t really want. The food was fine, but his appetite wasn’t there. Mostly, he was just trying to blend in, to stay quiet and forgettable while he absorbed the strange new social rhythm in front of him.

The others talked easily, their laughter low and rough around the edges, voices overlapping in a way that made it impossible to tell where one story ended and the next began.

Joey was the one talking now, his voice warm and gravelly, like he’d spent decades shouting over amps.

“Remember that venue in Illinois?” he said with a crooked grin. “Catering was so good I asked the chef to marry me. She laughed right in my face... then made me a custom omelet the next morning anyway. That’s love, man.”

Tyler watched him from the corner of his eye.

Big old Joe. That’s what he’d called him from the moment Josh introduced them earlier that day.

Joey looked like the oldest of the bunch... broad shoulders, a sturdy build, and a beard that looked like it had seen more barbecues than bar fights. There was nothing threatening about him, not a trace of ego in the way he carried himself. He had one of those faces that looked like it smiled even when it wasn’t.

Tyler found himself strangely calm in his presence.

He shifted his gaze when Denny answered with a noncommittal grunt.

“Better than that venue in Phoenix,” he said. “All they had was Slim Jims and peanut M&Ms.”

Denny reminded Tyler more of a funeral director than a guitarist. He looked like someone who had once been painfully cool and never quite let go of it. His hair was slicked back and dyed a little too black to be natural, he wore a fitted black button-up, the sleeves rolled to his forearms, showing a line of old tattoos. His sunglasses were still on, despite being indoors, which made him look both mysterious and mildly ridiculous.

When they’d met, he’d only muttered a quick “hey,” and Tyler still couldn’t tell if he was aloof, or if that was just Denny’s version of friendliness. He didn’t get a chance to figure it out either, because the two rascals in puberty turned out to be his kids and they had stolen his attention before Tyler could get a better read on him.

Tyler’s attention shifted again, this time to James, who’d been quiet so far and only now let out a dry laugh. It sounded almost surprised, like he wasn’t used to joining in.

“I actually kinda liked that one,” he said under his breath.

Tyler still wasn’t sure what to make of him. James hadn’t said much during the introduction, just nodded along like he was living in some other internal world. His buzz-cut hair, thick-rimmed glasses, and vintage band tee gave him the vibe of someone who was quietly cool without even trying. Tyler couldn’t decide if that made him endearing or simply hard to read.

They were all weird in their own specific ways, but overall, harmless.

That is, until Mick chimed in.

“Oh yeah, I remember that one too,” the frontman said, voice dripping with the kind of swagger you either found charming or wanted to punch out of someone. “They had these mirrors in the green room you could fuck in front of.”

The group laughed like it was a well-worn bit, but Tyler didn’t smile. He kept his expression carefully neutral and glanced sideways at Josh, who just chuckled politely and awkwardly sipped on his beer.

Of course it was Mick. Or... Dick Mick, as Tyler privately renamed him.

He had a deep tan, curly graying hair past his shoulders, and a leather vest with no shirt underneath... like it was still 1987 and no one had the heart to tell him. On his fingers, there were enough silver rings to outfit a biker gang, and there was something in his smirk that made Tyler’s stomach tighten in all the wrong ways.

He had all the pretentiousness of a frontman, but none of the humility it took to be a good one.

When they first shook hands, Mick hadn’t even looked him in the eye.

“Ahh,” Mick said with a wide, lazy grin. “So you’re the famous boyfriend.”

Tyler reached out automatically, then immediately wished he hadn’t. The handshake was weak, all fingers and no grip, the kind that made you want to wipe your hand on your jeans after. Mick’s gaze flicked over him once, disinterested, before landing on something in the distance, like Tyler wasn’t worth a second of his time.

“Cute,” Mick had added vaguely, before moving on.

Tyler hadn’t liked the man from the jump.

Now, as he forced himself to focus on chewing, the chicken tasted flat and pointless in his mouth. He didn’t know what he’d expected from these people, but it wasn’t this. The disappointment simmered under his ribs, he thought maybe Josh would be hanging out with someone cooler... people who felt more like him and less like... well, this. Less like Mick.

But then again, was Tyler even allowed to expect anything?

So far, every one of his expectations had already been knocked sideways. None of them matched what he’d pictured, and his irritation had already made him snappy and pushed him close to hurting Josh's feelings earlier. Maybe the truth was, it was better not to expect anything at all. Better not to judge, either.

This wasn’t his band after all, he was just along for the ride.

...

Joey was the first to steer the conversation somewhere softer, leaning back in his chair with his plate balanced on one knee.

“Man, I kinda wish Nancy could’ve made it out for the tour,” he said, his voice warm and easy. “But her bedtime’s like... half past eight now, she’d fall asleep before we even finished the set. Gonna miss her.”

The group chuckled, the kind of laughter that wasn’t really at Nancy’s expense. It was affectionate, just like Joey’s whole face was as it lit up when he mentioned her. Something about that made Tyler’s chest ache a little.

“Hey, at least you’ve got someone to go back home to,” James said, his tone mild but not unkind. “I’m starting to think my keyboard’s the only one who loves me anymore.”

Denny snorted. “Yeah, well, at least your keyboard doesn’t roll its eyes when you order another guitar pedal.”

That got another ripple of laughter, and Tyler watched the way they fell into the rhythm of each other’s jokes, like they’d done this for decades, which... they probably had.

Tyler shifted closer to Josh, his shoulder brushing Josh’s arm, but he still felt like an outsider, orbiting a group with its own gravity. He forced himself to take another bite of bread just to stay busy.

Then Mick leaned back with that practiced rockstar ease, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Well, I’m lucky to have my girl here with me,” he said, tilting his chin toward the other side of the room, where Sasha, his girlfriend, was laughing with Denny’s wife and a couple of crew women.

She looked twenty-something at most... with long black curls and shiny lipstick on lips that looked almost unnaturally plump. She was too young to be dating Mick, honestly. He could’ve been her father.

“Although...” Mick dragged the word out, like he was about to deliver a punchline, “...I was hoping there’d be another girl around her age this tour... someone she could hang out with.”

His gaze slid briefly to Josh, holding eye contact for a second before it shifted to Tyler, giving him a pointed, almost dismissive glance.

“Guess she’s stuck with the old crew for girl talk again.”

The group chuckled politely, like it was just Mick being Mick, but Tyler felt the words like a spark under his skin. It was said with a casual smirk, like it was nothing but a joke, but the undertone was there, and it sat heavy, like oil in water.

It wasn’t a direct dig, but there was something in the way he said it... light, playful, yet weighted, like an unspoken shame you didn’t bring someone she’d actually click with. Shame you didn't bring a girl.

Tyler’s jaw tightened.

Josh chuckled once, the sound tight in his throat. “Yeah, she’ll survive,” he said lightly, lifting his beer for another sip.

Tyler knew that tone. He knew the way Josh’s shoulders stiffened, the polite laugh that was more defense than humor.

Mick raised his eyebrows, mock-innocent. “Guess so.”

Tyler bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted copper. He forced his expression to stay flat, unreadable, but every muscle in his shoulders went taut. Josh’s gaze flickered sideways at him with concern, like he knew just what Tyler was thinking, but he didn’t say anything, not here, not in front of everyone.

Tyler cleared his throat, the sound sharp in his own ears. After a beat, he stepped forward and set his plate down on the table with more care than necessary, like he was holding himself in check. Then he stepped back, hands sliding into the pocket of his hoodie as if to keep them from balling into fists.

He turned slightly toward Josh, but his intention to leave was clear even before he spoke.

“Gonna find a bathroom,” he said, voice flat but not cold.

...

Tyler didn’t find the bathroom.

He didn’t need one.

What he did need was to get away from Mick before he started saying things that would get him kicked off the tour before it even began. His chest burned like there was static trapped under his ribs. He understood why Josh didn’t bite back, why he just laughed it off... Josh wasn’t a conflict person. He’d rather take the hit and move on than start something ugly.

Tyler got that. He did.

But it didn’t make the heat under his skin any less sharp.

Mick’s dig might have been subtle and coated in charm, but Tyler heard it, he felt it. Growing up with a father who made homophobic comments like that had left Tyler sensitive to even the faintest tone. This was a tender spot, and Mick had pressed it without hesitation.

Tyler’s jaw ached from clenching.

It wasn't easy, but leaving was the best decision he could make. If he stayed, he’d end up throwing some pointed, honest comment back at Mick, and that wouldn’t be the best move. Not on the first day. He could also practically hear Josh’s voice, calm and pleading... Don’t give him the satisfaction, Ty.

And who knows, maybe that was what Dick Mick wanted. To push until Tyler snapped, to make him look like the asshole in the room while Mick sat there with his smug rockstar grin.

Yeah... not happening.

He didn’t pay attention to where he was going, he just walked. Past stacks of black road cases, plastered with old tour stickers, tangled coils of cable spilling from crates like metal vines. A turn here, a turn there. He doubled back when he nearly walked into an exterior door that led outside. The echo of his own footsteps was the only sound in the wide, empty halls.

At some point, he ended up at the edge of the stage.

The setup was nearly finished, the chaos of the crew shouting across the room and gear being dragged into place from earlier had quieted to a low hum. The stage looked almost ready to breathe on its own.

Something pulled him forward.

Tyler took the steps up onto the stage, the soles of his shoes whispering against the scuffed black surface. The smell of metal, dust, and faint wood polish rose up, and it hit him like a ghost from another life. He moved slowly, almost reverently, weaving between mic stands and pedalboards.

Josh’s drum kit sat center-left, already set up and gleaming under the dull house lights. The chrome hardware caught the light, every stand polished and locked into place, the snare perfectly angled, the kick drum logo freshly stenciled. Tyler crouched down, fingers brushing the edge of a tom like it was some kind of artifact.

On the other side of the stage, James’s keyboard rig was wired and waiting. Two stacked synths, a maze of color-coded cables running to a small forest of DI boxes. Amps lined the back wall, each labeled with tape and names scrawled in sharpie. The floor was mapped with neon gaffer tape, marking where every stand, pedal, and monitor needed to sit.

It was neat, meticulous, a puzzle laid out to perfection.

And Tyler knew it all.

He didn’t have to read the labels, he could trace the entire signal chain in his head without thinking.

His chest tightened as memories spilled in... small stages, cramped clubs, long nights when he was the one doing all of this. No crew, no safety net, just him, hauling every cable, tuning every mic, patching every line by hand. Sometimes his friends helped, but mostly it was on his shoulders.

Back then, he’d trusted no one with his setup. It wasn’t pride exactly, it was knowing that no one else would care the way he did. He wanted it flawless. Every light cue, every patch, every echo from his vocal delay had to be exactly right.

He’d been good at it, too. His shows had been tight, clean and professional.

And people noticed.

Because soon enough, it wasn’t crammed bars anymore, it was real stages with real lights, and no matter how big the floor space was, it was always filled with people. It had been a dream come true, but it also meant more work, more exhaustion, more hours spent perfecting the setup than actually performing.

Not that it mattered. It all ended as quickly as it began, after everything went down with Gavin. And he hadn’t stepped on a stage since.

Up until now.

When Josh asked him to join the tour, he’d been scared... Of what the environment would stir up in him, of how he would feel once he stood under stage lights again. But now that he was here...

He felt fine.

Better than fine, maybe. His stomach still twisted, but not with fear. There was no panic clawing at his throat, no hollow dread. Just... a quiet hum of curiosity as he traced the neat path of cables across the stage, as he admired how beautifully complicated it all was, as he imagined the moment the lights would hit and the drums would roll.

He was still tracing the routes with his eyes when a voice cut through the quiet hum of the venue.

“Yo... I’m short on hands. Plug that XLR into channel four, would you? We’re finalizing the patching.”

Tyler blinked, caught off guard. He turned to see a tall, dark-haired guy standing a few feet away, crouched by a rack of equipment. His plain black, dust-streaked shirt clung slightly to his back, and his work jeans had seen better days too. He looked like someone who lived backstage, in the grit and chaos of it all, but there was an easy confidence in the way he moved.

His hair was a little too long to be tidy, falling into sharp, piercing blue eyes that stood out against the dark scruff of a few days’ beard. The contrast made him look both rugged and sharp at the same time. He was athletic in that wiry, functional way... lean muscle from lifting gear and crawling under stages, but not broad like Josh.

The guy raised his eyebrows, still holding the cable in his hand, waiting for Tyler to take it from him.

“Oh... yeah,” Tyler muttered, walking the few steps over and bending down to grab it.

The familiarity of the work hit him like muscle memory. He didn’t even need to think, he just moved across the stage, fingers quick and sure as he found the correct input on the box and clicked the connector into place, feeling the satisfying lock of the latch.

“Good,” the guy said with a nod. “Can you check that line for me? Just give me a tap when you’ve got signal.”

Tyler crouched and traced the cable run effortlessly, giving it a quick flick with his hand before glancing toward the rack and lifting a thumb. The man gave a satisfied nod, already coiling another spare line.

“You comfortable with patch bays?” the guy asked, half a grin playing at his mouth.

Tyler almost laughed. “Yeah. What do you need?”

“Here,” the man said, motioning him over to the snake loom that sprawled across the stage like a steel vine. “I need these split channels patched to monitors... blue tape’s left wedges, green’s the drum fill. Can you sort those while I re-run this power line?”

“Got it,” Tyler said without hesitation. He moved with an easy, unhurried precision, crouching down to slot each connector where it belonged, wrapping the excess slack so nothing tangled. His hands knew the work like an old language. He checked the labels twice, quick and instinctive, his mind automatically mapping the whole system as he went.

The other man kept calling out tasks, a rhythm forming between them.

“Mic check on the kick?”

Tyler adjusted the stand and tapped the drum head with his knuckles, listening to the thud echo through the PA. “Kick’s clean. What about overhead?”

“Give me a sec... yeah, good. Switch to the snare.”

They moved seamlessly, like they’d done this a dozen times together, Tyler tightening loose clamps, running cables flat so no one would trip, and testing lines with a practiced ear.

By the time they were done, Tyler’s pulse had settled into something calm and grounded. The anger and nerves were gone, instead replaced by sheer focus. It felt good to be useful, to remember that he was good at this.

“Good work, man,” the guy said, standing up and wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Seriously... you saved me some time and running.”

Tyler shrugged. “No big deal.”

“Big deal to me,” the guy said with a grin. “You new here? Haven’t seen you around.”

“Uh... yeah. Tyler,” he said, extending an arm, almost out of habit now.

The guy laughed. “No shit? Me too. Guess we’re both Tyler.”

Tyler blinked, the realization hitting him all at once. This was the Tyler Josh had mentioned earlier on the bus. The sound engineer he’d supposedly get along with. For some reason, Tyler hadn’t pictured him like this, but now that they were face to face... it made sense.

The man wiped his hands on his jeans and shook Tyler's hand, still grinning. “Everyone calls me Shap, though.”

Tyler nodded, feeling a strange flicker of ease with him. “Shap,” he repeated. “Okay, that works.”

“So what’s your deal? You crew or band?” Shap asked.

“Uh... neither,” Tyler said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m with Josh, actually.”

Shap froze for half a second, then grinned wider. “Ohhh. You’re that Tyler. His guy.”

Tyler’s cheeks warmed. “Guess so.”

“Man, you had me fooled,” Shap said, shaking his head. “You handle gear like someone who’s done this for years.”

Tyler’s gaze dropped to the floor as he shrugged slightly. “I’ve... had some experience,” he admitted softly.

Shap leaned his weight onto one foot, studying him. “You sticking around for the whole tour?”

“Yeah. Well... some of it.”

“Cool,” Shap said easily. “If you get bored, come help us set up. Seriously. You’re way faster than the last tech they gave me.” He grinned, hoisted a coil of cable over his shoulder, and started heading toward the side stage. “Good to have another Tyler around.”

As he watched him go, Tyler’s lips curved faintly.

Josh had been right... he liked the guy.

Chapter Text

The arena looked huge when it was empty, the rows of vacant seats stretching out into the dark, stacked high like some quiet, watching crowd. The lights were on but dimmed, and everything echoed three times louder than it would once the space was full.

It was almost hard to believe the place only held a 5k capacity. It’d look completely different tomorrow, packed wall to wall with people, every seat filled, the standing area tight with bodies.

Right now, though, the floor belonged to the crew.

Tyler stood at the barricade, fingertips curled around the cool metal rail, staring up at the stage.

Around him, a few others hovered... Sasha, texting with one hand while chewing gum like it owed her money, her heeled boots wildly impractical for the concrete floor. Denny’s wife leaned over to show her something on her phone, and the two of them laughed too loudly.

Missy crouched nearby with her camera, snapping silent shots.

Matt, the youngest tech, darted past with a bundle of cables slung over one shoulder, yelling something about DI routing to no one in particular. George was planted behind the monitor board, all focus, murmuring into his mic while watching the levels rise and fall on his display.

Nobody paid much attention to Tyler. Which was fine... he wasn’t paying attention to anyone either.

Because Josh was behind the drum kit.

And God, he was beautiful.

He was sitting tall on his throne, sticks spinning between his fingers during every lull, shoulders back, neck loose, looking like he belonged there more than anywhere else on Earth. His skin gleamed under the stage lights, his body glistening faintly with sweat even though they’d barely gotten started.

Shirtless, of course, because why wouldn’t he be?

It hadn’t just been a summer thing, apparently. It wasn’t about heat, or effort, or putting on a show. Josh was simply wired like that... bare-chested, golden-skinned, unapologetic.

And he had to know Tyler was watching, there was no way he didn’t feel it.

Every time his arms flexed mid-fill, every time he tossed a stick in the air and caught it one-handed without looking, it felt like a private performance. His abs flexed when he leaned forward, shoulders broad and slick when he pulled back. Faded black joggers rode low on his hips.

There were even fresh bruises blooming under his ribs... probably from an enthusiastic collision with the snare rim.

Tyler could’ve written poetry about them.

He tried to look away, tried to shift his gaze toward Missy’s lens flare, or over to Denny tuning his guitar with that stoic little frown... but every time, Tyler found himself drawn back to Josh.

But even watching his glorious boyfriend got old after a while.

Because the soundcheck dragged

It was a mess of stops, starts, and long pauses filled with crew chatter. Tyler stood through three partial songs and at least five aborted transitions before his back started to ache and his jaw ticked in frustration. Every time Josh found a groove, someone cut in through the in-ears with a new adjustment.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault, this was the necessary evil. It had to be done if they wanted the set to run clean tomorrow. But damn, it was hard to watch Josh build up momentum, his body alive with it, and then get yanked out mid-fill like someone unplugged him.

Eventually, Tyler peeled himself off the barricade and made his way toward the sound booth, where Shap had waved him over earlier.

Shap spotted him approaching and shot him a knowing look. “Boring as hell, huh?”

Tyler glanced back toward the stage. “I mean, it’s... necessary, but yeah.” He hesitated. “Not exactly the most fun part to watch.”

Shap smirked and jerked his chin toward the booth. “Not over here. Come on... this is where it gets good.”

Tyler stepped up beside him, blinking at the bank of monitors, touchscreens, sliders, patch bays, and blinking LED readouts that stretched across the booth. It looked like mission control.

Shap tapped a few keys on the laptop nearest him. “Alright, let’s play.” He flipped quickly between lighting scenes on the MA3 console, selecting cue stacks and launching them with a fluid hand. “Watch this.”

The lights across the arena shifted. Overhead rigs rotated, and a row of side spots dipped low, casting dramatic shadows across the stage. A pair of laser fixtures pulsed in a slow sweep, painting faint green lines through the lingering haze in the air. Even the house lights faded into a moody amber wash.

Tyler’s eyes widened. “Holy shit.”

Shap grinned, flicking back to his lighting software. “We pre-programmed the whole show in MA3. It’s all synced... every cue, every blackout, every pulse is tied to timecode from the main playback. But right now I’ve got manual control, which is waay more fun.”

He moved over to the next workstation, where a massive touchscreen displayed a mixing interface. Dozens of virtual faders danced in real time.

“You familiar with this one?” Shap asked, fingers skimming across a touchscreen mixer labeled with channels. KICK, SNARE, TOM1, TOM2, OH L, OH R, BASS DI, GTR MIC, KEYS L, KEYS R, and so on.

Tyler squinted at the software. “It looks familiar, but I don’t think I’ve used this exact one. I mostly work with Ableton these days.”

“It’s Allen & Heath,” Shap said. “Pretty similar to Ableton if you’ve used that for performance routing. Just more robust for live band setups. All the mixing’s digital, but we still run analog backups through the rack in case anything goes to shit.”

Tyler nodded slowly, gaze locked on the console. “Yeah... this is insane.”

Shap’s grin widened. “I mean... Ableton’s killer for solo acts and live looping. This, though? If you’re running a full band with backing tracks, scene automation, and in-ear mixes? Nothing better.”

He flicked through the interface, isolating the drum bus, adjusting EQ bands with a fingertip. Tyler heard it immediately... the thump of Josh’s kick got rounder and warmer. Then the highs lifted, pulling out the shimmer in the cymbals.

Shap made another quick change, cutting the bass guitar out of the main PA for a few seconds to demonstrate its sub-group routing, then slid it back in with a low-end swell that made Tyler’s chest buzz.

“This is what I live for, man,” Shap said, eyes glued to the screen, hands moving with surgical precision. “I mean, the setup’s cool... sure. But this part? Sculpting it, making it hit just right? This is the shit.”

Tyler was transfixed, he barely noticed how close he’d leaned in, or that his mouth had parted slightly. His whole body had tuned into the sound like it was breathing for him.

He glanced back toward the stage again. Josh was mid-fill, a blur of limbs and sweat. But Tyler didn’t look as long this time, his interest was spiked by the magic of the soundbooth.

...

They kept going like that for a while... Shap bouncing between panels, Tyler soaking in every word, every subtle shift in the mix. He was still leaning in when Shap suddenly cocked his head, pressing a hand to the earpiece looped over his shoulder.

Then he grinned.

“Ohhh yeah. Its about to get hot in here”

Tyler paused, his brain took a second too long to catch up, mostly because his eyes had just flicked to the stage again, where Josh was toweling off his neck, abs flexing with the motion, skin flushed and gleaming under the rig lights.

Honestly? It was already plenty hot in here.

Tyler dragged his gaze back and gave himself a mental slap to get out of his hormonal haze and focus.

“What?” he asked, trying to sound neutral.

Shap wiggled his eyebrows. “Pyro cue. We’re about to test the flames.”

Tyler’s eyes flicked back toward the stage, catching Josh adjusting his snare mic while George said something into the talkback. The rest of the band had spread out, waiting. Josh draped the towel around his neck and gave someone a thumbs up.

Shap leaned toward the corner control unit, an entirely separate screen setup, with its own panel of switches and a joystick-style safety release. Tyler hadn’t even noticed it before.

“We only run this during full techs,” Shap explained. “But I always do a trigger check before the first show. Last thing we need is Mick’s hairspray catching fire mid-chorus.”

Tyler snorted. His gaze found Mick, standing near the front of the stage in tight faded jeans and a bandana, gesturing theatrically at someone in the wings.

“Well, I wouldn’t really mind seeing that,” he muttered under his breath.

But apparently not quiet enough.

Shap let out a short laugh, glancing sideways. “What, not a fan of our main man?”

Tyler winced, caught, but didn’t deny it. He shrugged instead. “Well... yeah... you could say that.”

Shap gave a knowing nod and turned back to the console. “I get it... he can be a bit of an asshole sometimes.”

“Hmm,” Tyler said quietly, because bit of an asshole didn’t even begin to cover it.

His eyes dropped to the joystick Shap was maneuvering. “So you don’t test this onstage?”

Shap shook his head and flipped open a red plastic safety cover. “Nah. This is just a quick calibration to make sure everything’s in sync with the track markers.”

He clicked on the intercom. “Confirming visual clearance for FX test. Firing pyro test one. Count in: three... two... one...”

The boom that followed wasn’t sound. It was heat.

Four fire cannons erupted in front of the stage in perfect sync, spitting thick pillars of flame into the air. The blast wave rolled through the venue and hit Tyler square in the chest, dry and blistering even from dozens of feet away.

“Whoaa-” he gasped, stumbling half a step back.

Shap just laughed. “Yup. They’ll get that three times during the second chorus tomorrow. Adds a kick, doesn’t it?”

Tyler stared, watching the shimmer distort the air above the stage. Josh’s silhouette blurred behind the heatwave, sweat-slick and glowing orange at the edges. The flames faded, but Tyler’s pulse didn’t.

“Josh didn’t mention the fire.” Tyler stared, still blinking at the heat haze.

He knew the shows weren’t exactly small. They were inside a 5k capacity venue after all, and it was sold out for tomorrow night, but he hadn’t expected stage-synced flame bursts. It wasn’t just a concert, it was a full-scale production.

Wow.

Shap laughed at his expression. “Oh just wait when you see the cryo. That’s next.”

Tyler rubbed his eyes. “There’s cryo?”

“CO₂ jets. Kicks in a few times during the show.” Shap leaned back in his chair and stretched. “This show’s got everything. Full light sync, fire, haze, strobes, cryo, even goddamn confetti cannons.”

Tyler didn’t respond. He was still watching the smoke trails rise from the stage, already imagining what tomorrow night would feel like with five thousand people screaming under it all. The thought made his chest flutter a little, but it was starting to get weighed down by exhaustion.

They’d been at it for hours. The adrenaline from the pyro had faded, and the buzz of newness was finally giving way to something heavier behind his eyes. He rubbed them again, this time slower.

“How much longer d’you think?” he asked, voice softer now.

Shap glanced over, caught the slump in Tyler’s shoulders, and snorted. “Sleepy?”

Tyler gave a lazy shrug. “Little bit.”

Shap checked his screen. “Should be about half an hour more. Just one last cryo sweep and some failsafe checks, then we’re done.”

Tyler nodded, but part of him wished they’d just call it now. His legs ached, his head was buzzing, and more than anything, he wanted to get back to the bus, crawl into the little borrowed corner of the world, and maybe, if he was lucky, wrap himself around Josh for a minute before they both passed out.

...

Tyler didn't get to cuddle Josh at all.

He ended up catching him just offstage, in the narrow hallway behind the loading ramp, where it was dim and quiet, at least compared to the arena behind them. The second Josh saw his exhausted expression, he smiled softly.

“Ty...” Josh’s voice dropped, all warm concern. “You look tired, you should call it a night.”

Tyler gave a slow nod, too tired to argue, eyes already half-lidded as he looked up at him. “Yeah... you coming too?”

Josh grimaced with a pout that was almost apologetic, then shook his head. “Wish I could. I’ve gotta stay a little longer, my in-ear wasn’t getting the pyro countdown. George and I need to figure out why.”

Tyler’s brows pinched. “Shouldn’t that have been programmed before the tour even started?”

“I mean, yeah,” Josh said with a little laugh, “but welcome to tour life, I guess.”

Tyler frowned. “Do you really need that though? You’re behind the drums. It’s not like you’re gonna accidentally walk into it when it fires.”

He heard it the second it left his mouth... how dumb and unfair it sounded. He knew Josh needed the countdown in his ears. It was basic safety protocol. But the frustration slipped out anyway, sharp and a little too needy. He didn’t mean to be pushy, he just... couldn’t help it.

Josh raised his eyebrows, then cracked a small grin. “What... do you actually want me to burn?”

Tyler groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

He was being selfish, he knew that. But ever since they arrived at the venue, the day had blurred past so quickly, and somehow, despite being in the same building, he felt like he’d barely seen Josh. And now all he wanted... all he’d been wanting since he started dozing off in that arena chair, was a quiet moment curled up together.

Josh was already grinning wider, teasing. “Yeah, I do... but what do you know, I might feel dramatic tomorrow and pull a mid-set backflip.”

Tyler gave a tired, unamused snort. “Yeah, yeah. I know. I just...” He rubbed the heel of his hand over his face. “I’m so fucking tired, and I kinda hoped you’d be there when I crawled into bed.”

Josh stepped closer at that, gentle hands finding Tyler’s hips. His voice softened. “I know... I want that too.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Tyler’s temple, then lingered there for a second. “But I’ll be at least another hour, I don’t wanna keep you up. Go ahead, get cozy... I swear I’ll stop by your bunk and give you a quick cuddle before I crash. Promise.”

He looked Tyler straight in the eye when he said it.

Tyler nodded slowly, unable to stop himself from yawning mid-response. “...’kay.”

Josh smiled again and gave his side a quick, reassuring squeeze. “Sleep good, baby.”

...

Josh didn’t get to keep his promise.

Because when he finally stepped onto the bus... quietly, carefully, like he was trying not to break the night, it was already past 3am. The inside was dark except for the faint blue glow of the floor lights and all bunk curtains were drawn.

George trailed in behind him with a muttered “Night,” heading straight for his own bunk without waiting for a reply.

Josh paused at the edge of the narrow hallway, gaze landing on the one curtain he wanted to pull back more than anything.

Tyler’s.

He peeked in slowly, tugging it just enough to see the soft rise and fall of Tyler’s breathing. His hair was rumpled, face smushed against the pillow in a way that made his cheek look round and unfairly soft. One arm was curled tight around the edge of the blanket like he was hugging it in Josh’s absence.

Josh just stood there for a moment, heart catching in his throat.

God, he looked so peaceful... like he really belonged here.

Josh swallowed, a wave of something warm and quiet settling over him. Gratitude, maybe... or disbelief... that Tyler had said yes to this. That he’d agreed to come on the road, to share this weird, messy, and loud life. And even though today had been long, even though Josh barely got to see him between the tech checks and stage notes and sound problems, Tyler hadn’t complained.

He’d been here. He’d stayed.

Josh let the curtain fall back into place gently. Then he climbed into his own bunk and pulled his curtain shut with a soft click.

He should’ve passed out right away, he was dead on his feet, but instead of calming him, the exhaustion under his skin buzzed. His body was tired, but his brain kept spinning.

Today had been... a lot. Big venue, pyro tests, last-minute patching, and still, Tyler had looked at him like that from the barricade. Like he was something worth watching..

It almost made Josh's chest flutter all over again, but his brain didnt let him linger in the feeling too long. Because then came the memory of Tyler calling this project a "Dad band."

It was like a pebble in his shoe he couldn’t shake loose. Tyler probably hadn’t meant it in a cruel way, but it still sat weird and heavy in Josh’s chest.

Because... yeah. When had he become part of a dad band?

He used to laugh it off, the guys were... seasoned, sure. But they were still sharp, still putting on a damn good show. But now, Tyler’s voice from that afternoon kept echoing back.

"They are old, dude."

And he wasn’t wrong.

Josh rolled onto his back, staring at the dark curve of the ceiling.

He wasn’t ashamed of where he was, not really. Touring was what he’d always wanted, he’d worked hard to get here. The band wasn’t flashy, but they were good. The crew ran a tight ship, the fans showed up, and it paid good money.

That should be enough.

But now Tyler was here... Tyler, with his sharp instincts and his brutal honesty and that quiet intensity that made Josh want to be better... Suddenly, being enough didn’t feel like a given.

He wanted Tyler to be proud of him. To be proud with him.

And today, it felt like maybe… he wasn’t.

Josh pressed the heel of his hand gently against his chest, where that soft ache was blooming. He tried to breathe through it, but it didn’t quite leave. So he turned onto his side, tucked his arms in close, and shut his eyes tight, deciding to just sleep it off instead.

Tomorrow was the first show.

Hopefully it would change Tyler’s view on this band.

Chapter Text

Josh knew something was wrong...

There was a gnawing tension in his chest, something he couldn't quite put into words, but it sat there, heavy, like the pressure drop before a storm. Something quiet and dense that had been there since the show started.

Since Tyler never showed up to watch it from the side stage like he promised.

He hadn’t appeared by the stage, he hadn’t been up in Shap’s sound booth. Josh hadn't caught a glimpse of him anywhere and he’d been scanning the venue like a hawk. As far as Josh could tell, Tyler hadn’t watched the show at all.

And that hurt more than he wanted to admit.

He’d been looking forward to seeing Tyler’s face out there, to catching his eye while he crushed it on the drums, to winking at him during his solo, to teasing him with tongue flicks and twirled sticks and that grin Tyler always pretended to be unimpressed by.

He’d been looking forward to the moment Tyler would rush over afterward, breathless and buzzing and say something that would make Josh blush and laugh at the same time.

But none of that happened.

At first, Josh thought Tyler was just running late. That maybe, he went to grab a Red Bull, or got distracted talking to someone, or lost track of time digging around the bus for his favorite hoodie. Maybe he stopped by catering and stuffed himself with leftover food. Something like that. Something normal.

But by the seventh song in the setlist, Josh stopped hoping. He stopped believing Tyler would come.

And sure enough, he never did. He never appeared with a smirk, never leaned against the wall near the stage entrance with that glint in his eye. There was just... absence. A Tyler-shaped void.

And it was messing with Josh's head.

He kept drumming, because he had to, but it wasn’t the same. His limbs were too tight, his face was too serious, he wasn’t smiling, wasn’t feeling the crowd, wasn’t showboating the way he usually did. Part of it was disappointment, a bigger part of it was frustration, but under all of that... there was a feeling Josh hadn’t wanted to name until now.

Something was wrong.

Josh felt it in his bones.

Because Tyler had promised. He’d said he couldn’t wait to see Josh perform, and Josh had believed him.

So where the hell was he?

Josh walked offstage the second the lights dimmed, skipping the usual sweaty group hug and post-show high-fives. He didn’t say anything, just peeled away from the others and disappeared backstage, his mind already mapping out all the places Tyler could’ve gone.

But Tyler was nowhere to be seen.

Josh scanned every shadow, his chest buzzing with leftover adrenaline, but none of the good kind. He checked their dressing room, the catering, he even went into the bathrooms and checked the stalls, calling out Tyler’s name like an idiot. But he got no response.

Frustration slowly turned into confusion.

He started stopping people from the crew, asking if anyone had seen Tyler, but most just shook their heads. A few offered vague guesses, none of them helpful. He even risked pushing back toward the venue, brushing past a few lingering fans to check with Matt or Shap. No one knew anything.

The tension in his chest tightened.

Back in the dressing room, the rest of the band was already halfway through a post-show beer. They cheered when Josh reappeared, someone handed him his drink automatically, but he didn’t take it. Didn’t explain. Didn’t care.

“Have any of you seen Tyler?” he asked instead.

They all paused, blinked at him, then slowly shook their heads. Josh was about to really lose it, but then Missy stepped forward, camera still slung around her shoulder, her brow knit with concern.

“Actually... I think I saw him,” she said. “Right before the show started.”

Josh’s heart kicked. “Where?”

She hesitated. “Near the back entry. He- uh... he bumped into me pretty hard, almost knocked my camera out of my hands.”

Josh blinked. “Okay, but... what? Where was he going?”

“I don’t know, he didn’t even stop to apologize, he just... bolted.” She paused. “He looked kinda pale. Scared, maybe. Like he’d seen a ghost.”

Josh’s stomach dropped.

“What do you mean scared?”

Missy shrugged helplessly. “I mean scared, Josh. I don’t know what happened. But he looked... off.”

Josh didn’t wait to hear more, he muttered a distracted thank you, turned on his heel, and grabbed his bag from the corner. His hands were starting to shake as he unzipped it and frantically searched for his phone.

He yanked it out and shot off a text without thinking.

Where are you? Are you okay?

He stared at the screen in anticipation, willing the three dots to appear, but patience wasn’t really on his side right now, not with Missy’s words still echoing in his head. So not even a full minute passed before he gave up waiting and hit call.

Come on, come on-

No answer.

“Damn it,” he hissed, shoving the phone to his ear again and bolting out of the dressing room, pacing the narrow hallway. He tried again. And again.

Each time, it went to voicemail.

His heart was thudding now, that creeping unease blooming into full-blown panic.

Where was he?
Why was he scared?
What had gone so wrong... and when?

Josh thought back to the last time he saw him. It wasn’t that long ago, maybe an hour before the show, and Tyler had looked fine. More than fine, actually...

He was flushed and flirty and soft around the edges. He’d teased Josh so hard in the green room, Josh had actually been grateful when someone pulled him away, otherwise he would have gotten a boner in front of the whole band.

There was no hint of fear in Tyler’s eyes, no panic, no distance. Everything had felt right.

Hell... The whole day felt like a dream.

...

After the night shift Josh pulled the day before, he woke up almost embarrassingly late.

He groaned when the light sneaking in through the curtain hit him square in the face, then rolled over and cracked one eye open like it personally offended him. A second later, he shoved the curtain aside and sat up, blinking blearily at the empty hallway.

He rubbed his eyes and yawned like a cartoon character, his shirt clung a little to his chest and his hair felt like a tangled mess. He scratched at it uselessly, then staggered out of the bunk, groaning like his body forgot how to move.

Ignoring the quiet snort that came from somewhere in the back lounge, he clumsily beelined into the bathroom. When he emerged a few minutes later, marginally more human, his gaze immediately landed on the empty bunk below his own.

Empty. Of course.

But then he caught a glimpse of movement through the open door at the back of the bus, and there he was... Tyler, bent over a tangle of cables, soft in the morning light. He looked peaceful there, focused, one hand running absently through his hair as he adjusted some piece of gear.

Judging by the setup, he’d been up for a while already.

Josh smiled, groggy and amused... Tyler had basically called half the crew old yesterday, but it was totally him who was the grandpa of the group... early to bed, early to rise, craving a moment of silence before the day really started.

Josh leaned against the doorframe and just watched him for a second.

“Hey,” he said finally, voice still thick with sleep.

Tyler looked up and grinned. “Morning,” he replied, then made a dramatic show of checking his nonexistent watch. “Or... well, technically it’s almost noon, but... rock star life, right?”

Josh huffed out a lazy laugh and dragged himself into the room, flopping down onto the bench beside him. His limbs sprawled in every direction, one knee bumping gently against Tyler’s thigh. He tilted his head back against the cushion, letting his eyes drift across Tyler’s flushed cheeks, his soft messy hair, and the way his lips curled just slightly.

God, he was beautiful.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come cuddle you last night,” Josh murmured. “I got back stupid late.”

Tyler looked at him for a moment, his gaze skimming across the whole rumpled, half-asleep mess Josh was right now. And Josh could only hope the look worked in his favor.

“It’s okay,” Tyler said gently, voice quiet in the hush of the lounge. "You can make it up to me now."

They leaned in together like it wasn’t even a decision, just an instinct, or gravity... a silent agreement that this was the first thing they wanted to do right now.

The kiss was light and unhurried, more a press of mouths than anything else. The kind of kiss that said I’m here, without needing to add anything else. They lingered in the comfort of it and Josh’s heart slowed down inside the moment.

This had quietly become his favorite place on earth... right here, skin to skin, Tyler’s mouth warm against his.

When they finally parted, he stayed close for a second longer before pulling back with a soft smile. His eyes drifted toward the table beside them, taking in the spread of cables and gear, neatly arranged with a quiet precision.

He nodded once, clearly impressed. “Nice.”

Tyler hummed, following his gaze, looking quietly pleased with it himself. It didn't look like much, just a modest setup tucked into the corner of a moving vehicle, but it was functional.

Josh’s stomach let out a tragic-sounding growl like it had an opinion on the matter. Tyler raised an eyebrow, and Josh pulled a face like he’d just betrayed himself.

“Are you almost done?” Josh asked, eyes hopeful.

Tyler shrugged. “I can be. What’d you have in mind?”

Josh’s grin spread slow and wide, soft with affection and just a little crooked. “Come have lunch with me?”

And really... who was Tyler to say no to that?

...

They stopped by the venue first, just long enough to grab a quick shower and change into clean clothes. Josh tugged on a faded tee and ran wet fingers through his hair in the mirror, then watched Tyler do the same through the reflection. He looked good, like he’d accidentally walked out of a music video and into real life. Josh had to look away before he got ideas.

He didn’t have to be back until four, which gave them a decent window to just... breathe, and be together.

They walked for a while, enjoying the sunny weather, then found a small restaurant a few blocks down. The kind of place with uneven tables and faded menus, warm light spilling through the windows and a din loud enough to drown out any accidental flirtation. Not that Josh was planning to be subtle.

They picked out different dishes and immediately started swapping halfway through, feeding each other bites and arguing over who got the last fry. If anyone had been watching, they probably would’ve thought they were just two chaotic friends, a little too handsy, and definitely too loud and giggly.

But there was something warmer humming underneath it all. Josh kept catching himself watching Tyler when he laughed, feeling this strange, solid kind of fullness in his chest. Like he couldn’t believe he got to have this.. that he got to have him.

When their plates were mostly empty and their bickering had faded into the comfortable lull of post-lunch laziness, Josh slouched into the booth beside him and nudged his foot against Tyler’s under the table.

“I’m really glad you agreed to come,” he said, and he meant it more than he could say.

Tyler looked up at him, surprised for a beat, but then he smiled a soft and slightly crooked smile. “Me too,” he said. “I mean... I had my doubts, but...” His shoe nudged back. “I’m excited to see my boyfriend rock out there.”

Josh flushed immediately and ducked his head, but couldn’t hide the grin breaking across his face. “Even if he’s playing in a ‘dad band’?” he teased, throwing in the air quotes for maximum effect.

Tyler rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t matter what band it is... I’m pretty sure he’s gonna eat.”

That line loosened a knot in Josh’s chest he hadn’t even realized was still there. And when Tyler kept looking at him like that, with open affection and something else shimmering behind his eyes, Josh couldn’t help but lean a little closer.

“So does that mean he gets, like... a pre-show motivational gift?” he asked, voice playful but low.

Tyler arched an eyebrow. “Oh? And what would that gift look like, exactly?”

Leaning closer, Josh dropped his voice into a whisper, right at Tyler’s ear. “I think he’d really love like... a backstage blowjob or something.”

Tyler made a humming sound that was criminally casual, but Josh didn’t miss the way goosebumps rose along his arm.

“Oh?” Tyler said, and his voice was practically silk. “And what happens if I don’t give him that gift? Would his leather pants be... way too tight the whole show?”

Josh made a sound that was far too close to a groan, and reached under the table to tug Tyler’s hand gently onto his thigh. He guided it slowly up until it rested right over the heat of his crotch. Not hard yet, but tipping closer by the second.

“They might,” Josh said, the words tight and breathy, “especially if you’re looking at him like that from the sidelines.”

Tyler bit his lip and tightened his grip just enough to make Josh suck in a breath. “Well... we can’t have that, can we?”

Josh was dangerously close to suggesting they take a little detour to the restaurant bathroom, but before the words could fully form, his phone buzzed violently on the table.

Fuck. It was already pushing four.

He groaned and pressed his forehead to the edge of the table for a second before grabbing the check and tossing a few crumpled bills down. They left the place buzzing with unresolved tension and a trail of unspoken promises.

...

Back at the venue, Josh was swept away almost instantly by Denny and Mick for a pre-show meeting, and the last glimpse he caught of Tyler was a quiet wave and a suggestive smirk as he wandered off into the backstage maze.

The meeting itself wasn’t anything new, just a quick rundown of the setlist, a few reminders about transitions and solos, and a discussion about that extended intro Mick had been obsessed with since rehearsal. Something about it needing more “drama.” Josh nodded along while Denny offered to cue him with a heel stomp, which somehow turned into a ten-minute ramble from Mick about ‘showmanship’ and ‘owning the damn stage.’

Denny nodded like his head was on a spring, Joe offered something vaguely wise about energy and intention, and James stared at his phone the entire time.

Josh, meanwhile, drummed lightly on his thighs while his mind wandered somewhere completely different.

It wandered to a pair of brown eyes, to a smirk across a restaurant table, to a hand squeezing just hard enough to make him forget where he was

God, he was turning into a horny teenager.

That was the effect Tyler had on him ever since camp... and even now that he was part of Josh’s chaotic world, it hadn’t settled down at all. If anything, it escalated. Somehow, the madness of tour only made Josh want him more.

The thought of him lingered in his chest like static, or like a soft hum of something too good to be true.

By the time the meeting wrapped and everyone started peeling off toward their soundcheck routines, Josh had barely heard a word. He wandered slowly toward the main floor, already picking up on the low thrum of powered-up gear, bass buzzing faintly through the walls, and a high ring of feedback that someone quickly muted.

He cut around the side of the stage, planning to head toward the back, but something stopped him.

Two familiar voices.

One belonged to Shap, low, easy and always sounding like he’d seen it all twice and still wasn’t impressed. The other was light and teasing, but laced with something honest underneath... Josh would recognize that voice anywhere.

“You can watch the show from here, y’know. I’ll even let you push buttons if you’re nice to me,” Shap offered.

Josh edged closer, careful not to make a sound as he stayed behind the curtain, listening.

“Nah, man... I wouldn’t wanna get in the way. Besides-” Josh heard the smile in Tyler’s voice before he said it. “-I think I’m gonna watch from the side.”

Josh stilled, heart hitching in his chest.

Shap responded with a dry, “But the sound is way worse there.”

A short silence followed. Josh imagined Tyler’s shrug, or maybe that little lip twitch he got when he was about to be stubborn, and then Shap’s laugh cracked out loud.

“Ookay, I see where your priorities are. Well, when you get bored of watching your half-naked boyfriend sweat under the lights, you’re always welcome back here.”

Josh blinked, and his face split into a ridiculous, uncontainable grin.

He heard Tyler giggle and reply a short, “Yeah. Not happening.”

Josh pressed his fist against his lips to keep from making a noise, his whole face was flushing hot. He knew Tyler liked him, but hearing him talk like that so openly, even to someone like Shap, was something else. It wasn’t just teasing, it was admiration, it was pride.

It was everything Josh had wanted to believe in, and it was real.

And God, it made him want to walk out there and kiss Tyler senseless in front of everyone in the building.

But instead, he turned on his heel and ducked back the way he came, the stupid grin still glued to his face. He tried to walk it off, but his body was already vibrating with energy. His fingers itched for his drumsticks, his adrenaline already kicking in, and all he could think about was seeing Tyler’s face just offstage, right there, watching him.

He was so hyped about how tonight was gonna slay.

...

Well.

It didn’t slay at all.

It sucked.

Because instead of a great show, instead of hearing Tyler’s thoughts and teasing feedback, instead of finally making good on that backstage blowjob promise, Josh got Tyler’s absence.

His mind spun, trying to trace a line from then to now, from Tyler’s easy laugh in the sound booth to this pulsing silence on the other end of the phone.

What had gone wrong?

He called again, but the line just rang and rang, until eventually it cut to voicemail. Josh lowered the phone from his ear with a shaky breath, staring at the screen like it might offer some explanation. Or a message, a clue, anything.

Instead, he heard a voice call out behind him. “Hey- uh, Josh?”

He turned around fast, even though it wasn’t the voice he was so desperate to hear, but there was an urgency in it he couldn’t ignore. A younger crew tech, flushed from running, jogged toward him, holding something out.

A phone.

“Found this by the stage entry, figured it was yours?” the guy said, handing it over.

Josh took it without thinking, his brain way too overworked to tell him his phone was already in his other hand. But the guy didn’t wait for Josh to respond, he was already walking down the hallway by the time Josh looked down.

And there it was...

Tyler’s phone.

Cracked slightly in the corner, the lock screen glowing with a photo of the two of them, curled up on a couch, Josh’s cheek pressed against Tyler's shoulder, both of them smiling like idiots. And just below the image were several missed calls.

From Josh.

Calls Tyler couldn’t have answered, because he didn’t have his phone on him.

Josh stared at the screen, heart pounding in his chest like it was trying to claw its way out.

What the fuck is happening?

He gripped the phone tighter, like it might slip through his fingers if he didn’t hold on. A hundred questions flared at once... Why would he leave his phone? Did he drop it? Was it an accident?

None of it made sense.

And all he could feel was the absence, the wrongness of it.

Just hours ago, everything had felt golden. He’d been high on adrenaline, giddy from lunch, full of affection and heat and the promise of seeing Tyler at the side stage. He’d been ready to show off, to impress, to play the hell out of this set with his boyfriend right there to see it.

Then came the letdown, the "where is he?", and the ache settling in his chest when it became clear Tyler wasn’t coming.

Then confusion, frustration, the gnawing feeling that something had shifted without him noticing.

And now this.

Fear.

Real fear that lodged deep in his gut and made it hard to breathe.

Because this wasn’t just some flake-out, or a mood swing. This was Tyler’s phone left behind. This was Missy saying he looked scared. This was Tyler gone.

And Josh hated where his brain took him next...

Camp.

Back to all those times Tyler had pulled away without warning, all those moments when things felt like they were finally settling, only for him to vanish behind a wall again. It took him to the hurt of being left hanging, with his heart in hand.

He told himself it wasn’t the same, this wasn’t camp. And Tyler wasn’t that boy anymore.

But the feeling still crawled up the back of his neck, cold and familiar. That creeping dread that maybe he’d missed something, maybe he’d pushed too far. Maybe his band wasn't good enough for Tyler after all. Maybe he wasn't good enough.

Josh clenched his jaw and shook his head, fast.

No.

No. He wasn’t going there. He refused to go there.

And deep down, he knew it didn’t add up. Everything that had happened today, none of it matched this narrative his brain was scrambling to build. That was just old wiring, his own fear was lying to him.

And whatever the real reason behind Tyler's absence was... it didn't matter now.

He needed to find him first.

He just needed to know Tyler was okay.

Chapter Text

Being on tour, there usually weren’t many places you could go to hide.

It was either some quiet corner of the venue, maybe a dark hallway, an unused greenroom, or a stack of road cases no one touched. Or, if you were lucky, somewhere outside the venue, like a loading dock or behind a trailer. Not exactly cozy, but secluded enough to disappear for a while.

That was it. That was the whole map.

Other than that, there were always people around, either crew or staff, or even fans if you strayed too close to the wrong door. And since Josh had no idea what had happened, no idea what had gone wrong, the only way to find Tyler was to go through each of those options one by one and hope to God something stuck.

He had already torn through the inside of the venue, looking in every hallway, every room, every possible shadow. But there was no sign of Tyler, just an echoing silence that was starting to feel personal.

The next logical step was outside. If Tyler had panicked and bolted, maybe he hadn’t gone far. Maybe he just needed air, space, or a place to breathe.

So that’s where Josh went, swiftly walking the perimeter of the building, his boots crunching gravel and cigarette butts, his breath ragged in the cold night air. His bare chest heaved with every step, skin clammy with leftover adrenaline, and panic sweat beading at his temples.

“Tyler!” His voice cracked in the dark.

The name bounced off concrete and scaffolding and vanished into nothing. The air smelled like diesel and wet metal and someone’s half-crushed cigarette.

He ducked around the loading ramp, his boots slapping wet pavement, and nearly tripped over a loose coil of cables. One hand flew out to catch the wall, fingers scraping cold brick, but he didn’t stop, just pushed off again, faster now, lungs burning with each frantic breath.

“Tyler- fuck..Tyler!” His voice was going hoarse now.

He stopped for half a second, dragging in a breath that caught in his chest, and listened, desperate for a response. But there was nothing. Just the distant echo of people still inside the venue, laughter, chatter, the tinny pulse of someone’s speaker, and the rustle of gear being packed up.

Josh shook his head, the panic rising sharper now. His hand dragged through his curls, yanking hard at the roots in a helpless motion. His eyes scanned the shadows, searching every corner like they might miraculously give him something back.

This was useless, Tyler could be anywhere. It could take hours to find him out here.

Usually, Josh would try to think like him, get into his head, and follow his instinct. Where would I go if I was Tyler? But that was the problem. He didn’t know what kind of state Tyler was in, and without that... he couldn’t even begin to guess.

But then Missy’s voice flashed in his head, saying that he looked scared, and it shifted something in his chest.
Okay, okay... So where would a scared person go?

Probably not somewhere bright or noisy. Somewhere safe, somewhere dark, and close, and hidden. Somewhere nobody would look.

And then it hit him... sudden, stupid, and so fucking obvious it made his breath catch.

The bus.

Of course. Of course. It was probably the only place Tyler might feel remotely safe, the one space on this whole chaotic tour that was his. Why the hell hadn’t Josh thought of it earlier?

He took off like a shot, heart pounding against his ribs, the cold night air scraping his lungs raw. His fingers fumbled for his laminate as he rounded the corner, nearly slipping on the slick pavement in his urgency. The line of trucks and buses loomed ahead like sleeping beasts, hulking in the shadows under the harsh wash of the floodlights.

He spotted theirs instantly... second from the end, blacked out windows, the familiar streak of stickers near the back wheel. His breath caught again as he sprinted toward it, everything narrowing to that single door.

The chip reader flashed red before turning green. Josh didn’t even wait for the beep to finish, he slipped in before the door fully opened and climbed two steps at a time.

“Tyler?” he called out, voice loud and shaky, hope and desperation tangled together and already fraying at the edges.

But the bus was dark, and far too quiet.

He stumbled down the narrow aisle, palm dragging against the wall for balance as his eyes adjusted. He reached Tyler’s bunk and yanked the curtain open in one sharp motion.

Empty.

A hard spike of panic stabbed into his chest.

“Fuck-” he swore under his breath, spinning around so fast he nearly lost his footing. He tore open the other bunks one by one, calling Tyler’s name again, softer this time, already knowing he wouldn’t answer.

Nothing. No one.

Just the faint scent of detergent and Tyler’s shampoo lingering like a memory that was slipping through his hands.

Josh’s hand slammed a curtain shut, the sound too loud in the silence. His throat burned, his heart was hammering now, not just with panic, but with the weight of hope slipping through his fingers.

He stormed down the aisle toward the back lounge, half-convinced he’d find Tyler curled up on the bench with his headphones on, maybe asleep. Maybe this was all just a misunderstanding, maybe he’d open the door and it would all make sense again.

He stabbed the button beside the automatic door three times, like urgency could speed up the mechanics.

Please... please just be there.

The door slid open with its usual slow hiss. Josh didn’t even have to step inside to know.

No...

He froze in the threshold, chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles white, every nerve in his body lit up and screaming. His vision blurred for a second, like tears were threatening but couldn’t quite break through.

He spun around, desperation clawing its way up his throat. His eyes scanned the bunks again like Tyler might’ve slipped in while his back was turned. He knew it didn’t make sense, but logic was no match for the need clawing at his ribs.

“Tyler, please, come on...” his voice cracked as he pushed into the tiny bathroom, hand trembling on the latch.

Empty.

He stood there for a second, silent and unmoving, right in the center of the bus. That was it, there was no other space Tyler could be hiding out. No curtain left unopened, no shadow left unexplored.

And, fuck...

Josh was so sure he’d find him here.

So sure.

The realization hit him hard, knocking the wind right out of him. His lips began to tremble, and his eyes stung before he could even process the feeling. He blinked hard, willing it all away.

But a tear slipped down anyway, hot and involuntary.

He swiped at it with the back of his hand, breath hitching, frustrated and scared and furious with himself for not knowing what to do, for not knowing where else to look.

But he had to keep looking.

He had to.

Another tear fell. Still, he grit his teeth, inhaled sharply, and forced himself back into motion.

He stumbled down the stairs, boots heavy on the metal steps, and stepped into the night again. The door hissed shut behind him.

The cold slapped against his bare chest like a warning, sharp and unforgiving, but Josh barely registered it. His skin steamed in the chill, too hot with panic and adrenaline to feel anything else.

He pressed his hands into his hair and looked around wildly, like the answer might suddenly appear behind a tree or a worn out dumpster bin.

There was nothing though. Just an empty, silent parking lot.

Josh let his head fall back for half a second, blinking up at the stars, his eyes stinging and breath coming in short clouds of fog. He wanted to scream. He wanted to rip his hair out, claw the sky open, rewind time and make it so none of this ever happened.

But he couldn’t.

And screaming wouldn’t help, neither would tearing himself apart.

What would help was not giving up. He couldn’t stop, not until he knew Tyler was okay. Even if it meant searching the whole fucking city. Even if he had to bang on venue doors or knock on strangers’ windows in the middle of the night.

And then, just as he was about to turn around and walk anywhere... he saw it.

A weird shape. A sliver of shadow tucked in the narrow wedge between the bus and the gear trailer hitched behind it. Low to the ground, a shadow where no shadow should’ve been at all.

Josh froze.

His pulse jumped so hard he nearly choked on it.

He slowly stepped forward, peering into the gap, the blood roaring in his ears so loud it drowned out everything else. He leaned in, eyes straining to make sense of the shape, until he saw it. A hunched figure, curled in on itself.

And he knew.

“Jesus fuck- Tyler,” Josh breathed, stumbling toward the narrow space between the bus and the gear trailer. “Oh my fucking- thank God.”

He crouched low, knees hitting the cold pavement as he reached into the shadows, hand landing on a familiar hoodie sleeve. The fabric was damp, gritty and cold against his skin. Josh’s fingers gripped it like it might anchor him too.

Tyler didn’t even flinch though.

Josh scooted closer, heart in his throat, eyes adjusting just enough to take him in.

Tyler was pressed into the tight wedge of space, spine against the trailer, knees drawn up like he was trying to fold himself smaller. His arms wrapped around them, and his face was expressionless, like the part of him that lived behind it had gone somewhere far away. His eyes didn’t track Josh, they stayed fixed on some invisible point in front of him, glassy and unblinking. Dried tear streaks cut through the dirt smudging his cheeks.

Josh touched his shoulder gently and gave it a light shake. “Ty?”

No response at first.

Then slow as a record dragging in molasses, Tyler tilted his head. His eyes found Josh’s face, or maybe his chest, his necklace, or some tiny speck to focus on. And then, barely above a whisper, so small and broken it almost didn’t sound like him...

“Josh?”

Josh’s breath caught. “Oh my God,” he choked. “Baby... what the hell-?”

But Tyler didn’t answer, he didn't seem to even register the question. He just kept staring, and shivering, his lips parted and chapped like he’d been breathing shallow and quiet for hours.

Josh reached up and brushed some hair back from Tyler’s clammy forehead, the gesture more an instinct than anything else.

Okay.

Okay, this wasn’t a time for questions. This wasn’t about figuring anything out right now, this was about getting him out.

“Alright,” Josh said softly, firmly, dragging in a shaky breath. “We need to get you out of here, yeah? Think you can stand up for me?”

Tyler didn’t respond.

Josh shifted, kneeling fully now, ignoring the cold seeping through his pants. He held out both hands, palms up. “C’mon. Just grab on, I’ve got you.”

It took a few seconds, but then Tyler’s fingers finally moved, tentative and trembling. He let Josh pull him up, his legs unfolding slowly like they barely remembered how to hold his weight. As soon as he was upright, he swayed and fell forward, straight into Josh’s chest.

Josh caught him without hesitation.

“That’s it,” he murmured, arms tightening around him. “I got you. Good... Now let’s walk, yeah? Let’s get you inside.”

Tyler didn’t say anything, but he let Josh guide him. His hands were like ice. His whole body was cold and limp, shaking in a way that made Josh wonder if it was just cold, adrenaline, or something deeper. It made him wonder just how long Tyler was hidden down there.

They made it to the doors slowly, Josh supporting most of his weight, and when they hissed open and they reached the steps, Tyler mumbled something.

“W-wanted to get in,” he whispered. “´t was locked.”

Josh paused, brow furrowing. He looked down and saw Tyler’s laminate still hanging around his neck, the chip badge resting against his chest. Tyler had the key to the bus right there, which meant... that he wasn’t just panicked when he tried to get inside the bus, he was gone, dissociated, too deep in it to access basic logic.

“Oh, baby...” Josh murmured, heart clenching.

Josh didn't say anything more, there was no point in pointing it out now. He just got them up the steps slowly, keeping one arm tight around Tyler’s waist and the other ready to catch him if his knees buckled again. He nudged the door shut behind them with the back of his hand and led him straight to the front lounge.

“Sit here, okay?” he said gently, guiding Tyler onto the padded seat by the table.

Tyler sank down like gravity was stronger than it had ever been. He slumped forward slightly, shoulders rounded, hands loose in his lap. Josh hovered for a second, heart still pounding.

He still had no idea what was going on, no idea what Tyler had run from. And he didn’t know what to do or how to act. He wanted to fix it, wanted to do something, but this wasn’t the kind of hurt he could bandage or talk through. But Tyler was freezing, his body visibly shivering under the hoodie, and that was at least one thing Josh could help with.

“I’ll be right back.”

He bolted to the bunk area, shoved open his curtain, and dug for the thick blanket he always kept at the foot of his bed. It smelled faintly like cedar detergent and a little like him. He was back in the lounge in under ten seconds.

“Here,” he said, unfolding it and wrapping it carefully around Tyler’s shoulders, tucking it in like he might come undone if he didn’t. Tyler pulled it tighter with numb fingers, clutching the edges close to his chest, but the tremors didn’t stop. His face stayed slack, his lips still pale, and his eyes were open, but they weren’t quite seeing.

Josh crouched in front of him, uncertain.

“I- okay. I’m gonna make you some tea, alright? Just something warm. It will help.”

He didn’t know if that was true. Honestly, he might’ve been saying it more for himself than for Tyler, like if he could somehow anchor them both. It might make this feel less helpless.

Tyler didn’t answer, but he blinked once and gave the smallest nod.

Josh nodded back like it was a deal. “Okay. Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

He turned toward the kitchenette, filled the kettle with shaky hands, and flicked it on. The water started to hum, a building sound that barely registered under the roar still pounding in his ears. He glanced over his shoulder, Tyler hadn’t moved an inch. Still hunched under the blanket, eyes somewhere far away.

Josh fixed the tea, added a squeeze of honey, and carried the mug back, careful not to spill.

“Here,” Josh said softly, crouching beside him again and holding the mug just within reach. “Careful, it’s hot.”

Tyler took it slowly, like his fingers barely understood how to hold things. The warmth seeped into his hands through the ceramic, a gentle pulse of heat that he didn’t seem to register at first. But then he inhaled, a shallow breath through his nose, and Josh watched something almost imperceptible flicker behind his eyes, like the scent reached him even when words hadn’t.

Josh sat down beside him, close, but not quite touching. His whole body was humming with tension.

He didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what was safe to do.

He had no idea what had happened... if someone had said something to him, if Tyler had seen something, if something at the venue had triggered him somehow. Had someone hurt him? Or had it been something else entirely... something internal, something silent and sharp that Josh would never see coming?

He didn’t know. And it terrified him.

He didn’t know if it was okay to touch him, didn’t know if it would hurt more than help. He didn’t know if he should ask, or just wait, or sit here silently until Tyler said something.

But Tyler looked so small, so lost, like something inside him had gone all quiet and dark.

So Josh decided to trust his gut.

He slipped an arm carefully around Tyler’s shoulders and pulled him in, gentle as breath. At first, Tyler didn’t respond. His body stayed stiff and cold beneath the blanket, shoulders high and jaw locked. Like he wasn’t sure what to do with the contact. Or if he even deserved it.

Josh exhaled helplessly through his nose, rested his cheek lightly against Tyler’s hair, and slid his fingers through the tangled strands at the nape of his neck. The rhythm was slow, soothing, grounding. He didn’t say anything, just held him and breathed with him, trying to make himself a safe place.

The tea’s steam fogged Tyler’s lashes, the scent of honey and herbs mingled with the familiar, steady scent of Josh... Sweat, deodorant, and that tiny hint of smoke from the show. Tyler blinked again, and his fingers tightened slightly around the mug. His body shifted just a little toward the heat.

And then he started to shake again.

But this time it wasn’t cold, it wasn’t panic, it was something closer to grief.

Josh felt it before he saw it, The way Tyler’s ribs trembled beneath the blanket and the sharp, hitching breath that hit his own collarbone. Then the mug clinked softly against the table as Tyler set it down, hands suddenly empty, and he turned into Josh like he couldn’t hold himself up anymore. Josh’s arms were around him instantly, Tyler collapsed into his lap, face buried in his shoulder, and he started to cry.

“Hey... hey, baby- shhh, it’s okay. I’ve got you, I’m here-” Josh murmured, the words tumbling out in low, broken repetitions as his fingers kept threading through sweat-damp hair

“I’m sorry,” Tyler gasped. “I’m sorry- I’m so fucking... Josh, I’m sorry-”

Josh’s heart shattered.

He’d seen Tyler shaken before, he had held him through tension and anxiety. But never like this. Never a full collapse. Never his strong, sharp, fast-talking boy reduced to sobs in his arms like the world had split open beneath him. He didn’t know what to say, he just knew that this.. this pain.. shouldn’t be inside someone like Tyler. Not alone.

So he held him tighter.

“Shhh. It’s okay. It’s okay, Ty. Everything’s okay now.”

Josh kissed his temple, held the back of his neck, thumb stroking over damp skin. Tyler clung to him like something might still tear them apart, but his breathing started to slow and the sobs faded into quiet shudders. The tears didn’t stop, but the panic was ebbing. He was coming back.

After a minute, Tyler eased back just enough to lift his head. His face was wet and blotchy, eyes glassy... but his eyes found Josh’s. He was there.

“Fuck...” he whispered. “Josh, I’m sorry.”

Josh shook his head and reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, pulling it gently from his tear-streaked face.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” he murmured.

Tyler sniffled, and his eyes fluttered closed at the touch. Josh cupped his face fully now, palm warm against tear-slick skin, thumb sweeping gently over the highest curve of his cheekbone.

“Ty,” he said softly. “Can you tell me what happened?”

He didn’t press, just asked.

Tyler’s eyes filled again, but the tears didn’t shake him this time, they just brimmed at the edges, steady and silent.

He nodded, but it took him a second to speak. He opened his mouth like he had words, but they came out disjointed and shaky. Like broken pieces that didn’t quite connect.

“I was... I wasn’t expecting...” His eyes darted somewhere to the side, unfocused again. “I just wanted to wave at Shap..f-from the side stage... for good luck. That’s all. I didn’t think- I didn’t know-”

His voice cracked. Josh could see the effort it took to keep going.

“I wasn’t expecting... all those people,” Tyler whispered. “Josh, there were so many. I- I couldn’t- I couldn’t breathe, it was- it was like... like back then.”

Josh’s heart lurched.

He didn’t know exactly what Tyler meant by then, but he was starting to get an idea. The way Tyler’s words kept catching in his throat, the way his whole body seemed to brace for something invisible... this wasn’t something small. This wasn’t just stage fright, it was something deeper. Old wounds with teeth.

“Hey... Hey, hey.” He leaned in, hand resting gently at the nape of Tyler’s neck. “You don’t have to tell me everything right now, okay? Let’s just breathe. Let’s calm down a little first.”

Tyler’s jaw clenched as he nodded, lips pressed together like they were keeping something from spilling out.

Josh gave his knee a reassuring squeeze, biting his lip as helplessness clawed at him. It was only now sinking in just how serious this was. That whatever had happened tonight, it had ripped something in Tyler open. That this wouldn’t be fixed with just a hug and a hot drink, he needed to stay here with him.

There was no way he would leave Tyler alone right now.

A tiny, bitter flicker of guilt gnawed at his ribs, because he realized he’d disappeared from backstage without a word. No check-in with the crew, no celebratory drink with the band, no offer to help wrap the gear like he always did. He just vanished. And he knew nobody would blame him if they saw the state Tyler was in right now, but it still stung. Like he’d failed two places at once.

So he reached for his phone and tapped out a quick message to the tour group chat

"found ty. staying w him on the bus tonight. he’s okay-ish but needs me. sorry I can’t help tonight."

He hit send, then flipped the phone face-down on the table, silencing the world outside their little pocket of quiet and glanced back at Tyler.

“C’mon,” he said softly, nudging the mug closer. “Drink the tea. It’ll make you feel better.”

Tyler reached for it again, slower this time. His hands were steadier, and he took a small sip like it was the first real thing he’d tasted all day. The silence between them wasn’t heavy anymore, it was just.. careful. And they sat like that for a little while... Tyler curled under the blanket, Josh right beside him, not saying much, just being there.

And eventually, Tyler spoke again, voice still rasped but steadier.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it to the show...”

Josh opened his mouth, about to repeat that it was fine, of course it was fine... but Tyler kept going.

“I was gonna,” he said, eyes trained on the tea like it could explain something he couldn’t. “I really was. I- I felt okay.. here, during the rehearsals and today's soundcheck. I thought I was fine.”

Josh stayed quiet and let him speak.

“I thought I could handle the space and the... chaos,” Tyler said as his fingers tightened around the mug. “It felt manageable before. Safe, even. But when I went back there later tonight...”

He swallowed hard.

“When I looked up and there they were... all those faces, the lights, the noise, the smell... I-”

His breath caught. His eyes blinked once, his gaze went somewhere distant... and then he was somewhere else.

...

White light slammed into him first, hot, sharp, and blinding. It wasn’t the soft wash of rehearsal lights, it was a wall of brilliance that erased the edges of everything, pinning him in place.

And then the faces came into focus.

Rows and rows, tiered high into the dark, a thousand pairs of eyes locked in his direction. He didn’t know if they were actually looking at him, but it felt like they were, every gaze a weight pressing into his skin.

The noise hit next. A low roar at first, like the inside of a seashell, swelling so fast it turned into something jagged and deafening. It filled his head until it wasn’t sound anymore... it was pressure.

His chest seized, his stomach pitched like he’d stepped too close to a cliff and his fingers went numb around his phone.

Breathe.

He tried, but the air scraped raw on the way in, shallow and useless. His ribs locked up, his vision tunneled at the edges, and the floor tilted beneath him.

And then it wasn’t tonight anymore.

The lights shifted... not stage lights now, but those same blinding spots from that night, burning down into his eyes while his hands gripped the piano frame to keep himself from falling. The crowd blurred and reshaped, all noise and shadow and the sour reek of spilled beer. That sick-sweet hum in the air, that same crushing sense that they could see right through him, that they could see everything.

The clatter of his own voice cracking on the wrong note.

The exact moment he knew he couldn’t finish the set.

The weight of the fall on that stage.

The way his vision kept getting darker and darker until there was nothing left but the taste of blood and metal in his mouth and the ringing thought that he was just about to... stop existing.

The present bled in and out of the memory, the crowd in front of him tonight flashing into the crowd from back then, the noise becoming the same, the lights blinding in exactly the same way. His body didn’t care that it wasn’t the same night. It didn’t care that years had passed.

It was all happening again.

His knees went soft, his breathing stuttered into short, animal gasps. His skin prickled with cold sweat, and all he could think about... all that made it through the static in his brain was.

Get out. Get out. Get the fuck out of here.

...

“Ty? Ty?”

The voice sliced through the noise like a rope cutting into water, yanking him up hard and fast.

The lights vanished first, collapsing into the softer glow of the bus. The roar of the crowd drained away into the low hum of the generator. The cold sweat still clung to his skin, his chest still rose in uneven pulls, but he wasn’t standing under stage lights anymore, he was here... sitting in the lounge, with a mug of hot tea in his hands.

“You’re shaking again...” Josh’s voice was closer now, warm and careful.

Tyler’s breath stuttered, his eyes focusing on Josh’s face, on that steady, familiar anchor. “Sorry,” he rasped.

His gaze lingered, flickering over Josh’s features, then his expression crumpled just slightly, and he gave a small, self-deprecating shake of his head, more at himself than anything else.

“I’m sorry, Josh. I just... when I stepped on that stage, I don’t know why I expected the place to still be the same. To still be empty. God, I’m so stupid-”

“Oh, Ty...” Josh’s voice was soft, almost breaking. “Don’t say that. Did it- did the people bring back some memories?”

Josh was still trying to understand, but his gut already knew. He knew what that night meant. The images from the grainy video replayed in his mind, sharp and brutal, like it was just yesterday when he watched it.

Tyler nodded once. “I didn’t even know I remembered... that night,” he whispered. “I thought I wasn’t there for it. But tonight it just... resurfaced.”

Josh’s throat closed. He pulled Tyler in tighter, burying his face in his hair, willing away the sting in his own eyes. “I’m so sorry, Ty...”

Tyler’s head tilted, confusion knitting through the haze. “What are you sorry for? I mean... it’s me who’s all fucked up here. I didn’t even get to watch your show.” His lips trembled, regret cracking his voice. “I don’t think I can...” The last word came out barely above breath. “...ever.”

Josh shook his head instantly. “No. No, no-Ty, look at me.” He lifted his chin gently until their eyes met. “I don’t care about that at all, baby. Whether you watch the show or not... I just want you to be okay. And if that means you stay here on the bus and never step into another venue again, I’ll be okay with that. I just want you to feel safe.”

Tyler sniffled and nodded, tears threatening again. “I feel safe right here.” He pressed in closer, arms tightening around Josh’s waist.

Josh melted, even as his chest ached. He wrapped him tighter, holding on like he could shield him from every ghost still clawing at the edges.

Eventually, the exhaustion in Tyler’s body pulled heavier than the adrenaline. Josh felt it in the way his weight settled. “Let’s lie down,” he murmured.

Tyler nodded, but only if Josh came too. So they squeezed into Tyler’s narrow bunk, limbs tangling awkwardly until they found a fit, Josh’s chest warm against Tyler’s back.

Tyler was asleep in minutes, his breathing slow and even. Josh stayed awake longer, forehead pressed to his shoulder, eyes fixed on the dim ceiling.

Relieved, protective, but still buzzing with fear.

He didn’t know how the hell they were going to move forward from this... but with Tyler here in his arms, safe and breathing, he knew they would.

Chapter Text

By the time the sun rose, the new venue was already alive.

Tyler could hear it before he even stepped outside... the clatter of metal rigs being wheeled across the pavement, the buzz of early-morning chatter from the crew, the familiar low rumble of diesel generators humming behind the buses. They must’ve arrived in the middle of the night, parked and plugged in while everyone was still asleep.

He wasn’t even surprised he’d slept through the whole thing. After everything that happened the night before, he’d passed out hard and hadn’t stirred once until daylight was leaking through the blackout curtains.

He pushed open the bus door slowly, blinking against the daylight as he stepped down onto the asphalt. The morning air was cool against his face, the kind that promised warmth later, but for now felt sharp and grounding. He tugged his sleeves down past his wrists and took a slow breath.

Josh was already outside.

A few yards ahead, just past a stack of black road cases, he was pacing the edge of the lot, phone pressed to his ear. Tyler stopped for a second. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but Josh’s voice carried just far enough to catch.

“Yeah... yeah, it was bad,” Josh was saying. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, fingers tugging at the strands. “I didn’t know what to do.”

Tyler’s stomach twisted.

“I mean, I-” Josh’s voice cracked slightly, then steadied. “He seemed fine all day.”

A pause.

“Yeah... I know. I know it’s not that simple.”

Tyler swallowed hard and took a few slow steps forward, staying just out of Josh’s line of sight. He wasn’t sneaking, he was just... weighing it. Trying to decide if he should be hearing this or not.

Josh kept pacing, one arm crossed tightly over his chest, phone still pressed to his ear. “Honestly, I had no idea what to say. I just... I didn’t want to make it worse. I was so scared I’d say the wrong thing.”

Another pause and this time, Josh exhaled with something like relief, and his voice softened.

“Thank you... seriously. I knew you were the right person to turn to.”

He nodded a few times in small and slow movements, and then murmured, “You too... Bye.”

And then he lowered the phone.

That was the moment Tyler stepped fully into view, and Josh turned around just in time to see him, his body going still mid-step, eyes widening slightly in surprise.

For a second, neither of them said anything.

Josh let the phone fall to his side, his expression unreadable. Tyler stood a few feet away, arms folded across his chest, heart thudding quietly under his hoodie.

“Who were you talking to?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

Josh hesitated. There was a faint flush rising on his cheeks, the kind that betrayed more than guilt... something closer to vulnerability. Like he'd hoped he wouldn’t have to say it. But this wasn’t something he could lie about. Not to Tyler.

“I, uh...” Josh cleared his throat, his gaze faltering for a split second. “I spoke to Jenna.”

There was a beat of silence.

And then Tyler felt it...

That familiar sting. The way his stomach clenched as the name landed.

Because of course it was Jenna.

Who else would Josh call after what happened yesterday? After the way Tyler had vanished... shut down, shut off, curled up like a fucking wreck behind the bus. Of course he’d need to talk to someone. About the boy with the panic attacks, the one with the fucked-up past and the fucked-up mind.

And of course he’d turn to the person who knew Tyler best.

Tyler dropped his gaze as it all came rushing back. The shame, the cold panic, the feeling of falling apart in someone else's arms, of ruining everything just by being himself. He wasn't in a panic now, but the hollow that lived in his chest still felt raw. And underneath it, there was anger...

Not at Josh... at himself.

For running, for missing the show, for proving, in every awful way, that he was unreliable. For showing Josh that he wasn't just flirty, clever and intense. That he wasn't always grounded and capable of impressive things, he was a burden. He was a mess.

He was broken.

He hated that Josh had seen him like that. He hated that it might’ve confirmed every horrible suspicion Tyler still carried about himself. That he was too unpredictable and too unstable to be counted on.

He imagined the conversation they must’ve had. Jenna, calm and experienced, talking Josh through what to do, probably telling him that these things happened. That Tyler wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. That he was still worth loving anyway.

His gaze dropped, and his mouth pressed into a hard line. He chewed on the inside of his cheek like he was trying to bite back something ugly.

And Josh saw it happen. Saw the way Tyler’s expression folded in on itself, how his shoulders drew in like he was trying to disappear. Like he was already slipping into that place in his mind where self-hate bloomed fast and brutal.

“Hey...” Josh said quietly. “Ty.”

He took a few tentative steps closer, reaching out slowly, like Tyler was something delicate that might startle and shatter if handled wrong. His fingers brushed over the back of Tyler’s hand, then curled around it softly, pulling his palm into his own.

“I-” he started. But the words caught.

What did he even want to say? I know what you’re thinking? He didn’t. But he had a feeling. A pretty good one, maybe. He could see Tyler punishing himself in real time, he could feel it, heavy and sharp between them, but saying that out loud would only make it worse.

So instead, Josh exhaled and said, “I’m sorry I talked to Jenna without asking you first.”

That made Tyler’s head snap up, confusion flickering in his expression like a breath of wind through smoke.

Josh held his gaze and went on, steady but quiet. “I... we talked about you.”

Tyler’s mouth pressed into another tense line. He chewed at his lip now instead, like he was trying to bite down on every instinct telling him to shrink away. But Josh didn’t let go.

“And I know that probably feels weird, but... ” he said softly, thumb brushing gently over Tyler’s knuckles. “Try to understand. I was-” He broke off and shook his head. “You really scared me yesterday.”

Tyler’s eyes lifted again, and this time, there was something raw behind them as he watched Josh closely, searching his face.

“When I didn’t see you by the stage,” Josh said, voice quieter now, more fragile, “and then Missy said you looked scared when you bumped into her, and then... when I couldn’t find you for so long...”

His hand tightened slightly around Tyler’s.

“And then, when I did... I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to help.” His voice cracked. “I’ve never dealt with anything like that before, and I just... I want to be here for you."

He let out a shaky breath, eyes flicking to their joined hands like they might steady him.

“But I don’t really know how,” he admitted. “So... I turned to the one person I thought would.”

Tyler swallowed hard.

He could feel it all in Josh’s voice... the fear, the helplessness, the way he was still shaken by it. And it broke something open in him, that quiet, aching honesty that Josh had been scared too. That he’d been lost, not because of Tyler, but with him.

And yeah... maybe it hurt a little that he called Jenna, but it made sense, Tyler understood. Because if the roles were reversed, he probably would’ve done the same.

His shoulders sank slightly and his voice came out smaller than he meant it to. “I’m sorry.”

Josh shook his head before the words even finished leaving Tyler’s mouth. He stepped in, pulled Tyler close without hesitation, wrapping both arms around him, tucking him in like something precious.

“Don’t be,” he murmured into his hair. “None of what happened is your fault, Ty.”

And for just a second, Tyler almost believed it.

He closed his eyes and let himself feel the weight of Josh’s arms around him. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Josh pressed a kiss into his hair. “You don’t have to thank me.”

They stood there for a moment in the soft noise of the distant snippets of conversation, and the scrape of wheels over pavement, holding onto each other like they weren’t quite ready to let go.

Eventually, Josh pulled back just a little, hands still resting at Tyler’s waist. “I’ll have to go soon. Are you gonna stay on the bus today?”

Tyler nodded. “Yeah... I think I’ll get some work done, actually.”

Josh gave a small smile, one hand sliding down to squeeze gently at his hip. “Okay.” Then, with just a touch of hesitation: “I’ll bring you lunch.. and I'll text you about everything, okay?”

“Okay.” Tyler answered with an open and grateful expression.

Josh nodded again, pressing one more kiss to Tyler’s temple before stepping back. “We’ll make this work, baby. Don’t worry.”

...

And they did.

Not perfectly, not without effort, but somehow, in the blur of back-to-back venues and too little sleep, it started to work.

Josh threw himself into the tour like it was second nature... running between soundchecks and stage calls, setlists and crew briefings, balancing the band’s moods and last-minute crises with something close to grace. His schedule was a mess of scattered press slots, chaotic greenrooms, and endless “just one more thing” moments. But no matter how busy he got, he never forgot Tyler.

He texted constantly with updates, check-ins, the occasional stupid meme or blurry selfie from backstage, and he always showed up at the bus with food, usually just when Tyler realized he’d forgotten to eat again.

Because Tyler? Tyler was a ghost for most of those days.

He kept to the bus, tucked into the back lounge that doubled as his studio, surrounded by cables, and half-finished projects. He lost hours there without even noticing, fingers flying over keys, hunched in headphones while his laptop bathed him in blue light. When he got in the flow, he barely moved except to refill his water or drag his hoodie tighter around him when the A/C kicked in. It wasn’t exactly healthy, but it was something he could control.

Sometimes, Missy would pop in to steal fresh batteries or memory cards, giving a quick wave and disappearing again. Sometimes Shap barged in, swearing under his breath, digging through his bunk like a man on a mission until he finally found the inhaler he always left in the same damn place. He’d huff a thank you, wheeze something about dying at forty, and vanish just as fast.

It almost became a rhythm.

Even Jenna reached out. After Josh told her what happened, she sent Tyler a gentle message, just checking in, no pressure. He didn’t know what to say at first, but over the next few days, he found himself replying. She never pried or judged, she just... listened, even over the phone. And he hadn’t realized how much he’d needed that.

And in the quiet moments between the rush, he and Josh kept finding each other. Little pockets of peace tucked into a very loud world.

Sometimes it was lunch on the bus steps, paper plates and sweet tea balanced between their knees. Sometimes it was a walk in the city, or a quick grocery run that turned into a giggling sprint through the snack aisle. Sometimes it was Mario Kart in the front lounge, their legs tangled together, shrieking at each other over banana peels and lightning bolts while George watched from across the aisle, half-amused and half-annoyed.

And for a while, it felt like that was enough.

But it was around three days later when the rhythm started to falter.

Or maybe it was five days? Tyler wasn’t really sure anymore, time had started blurring somewhere between the first skipped lunch and the tenth opened project file. Days melted into nights without much distinction, and he hadn’t needed to count them anyway... He was working, he was focused, he was okay.

Mostly.

He’d gotten a lot done... cleaned up tracks, labeled stems, tuned layers that had been bugging him for weeks. The muscle memory of it all had kicked in fast, and his brain latched on like it was the only solid thing in reach. But now that the to-do list was mostly checked off, he sat back on the bench and realized that there wasn’t really anything left to fix. Nothing else to bury himself in.

Nothing, except maybe something for himself, something new, something real.

He opened a blank session and stared at it for a while.

And waited.

Melodies came, here and there, but nothing stuck. No lyrics, no voice in his head trying to get out. Just the soft fuzz of a brain that felt like it had said too much already.

By late morning, he felt... restless. Not in a bad way, not jittery or spiraling, just tired of feeling like a shadow, of making Josh deliver meals to the bus like he was convalescing.

So he checked in with himself... physically, mentally, emotionally. He did a quiet little scan from head to toe, and when he didn’t find anything sharp or screaming inside him, he stood up, stretched, and grabbed his beanie and his water bottle. And for the first time since the show he’d missed, he stepped off the bus and headed to the venue.

It was still calm inside the building. The show was tomorrow, so there were no fans yet, just the usual clutter of gear cases, crew chatter, and the occasional curse echoing down the hall. Walking through the halls was weirdly nice, almost nostalgic. And when Tyler reached the catering room and peeked inside, he paused.

Because everyone was there...

Josh looked up first, his eyes went wide like he genuinely couldn’t believe it. And then, without missing a beat, he got up and crossed the room, one hand instinctively sliding around Tyler’s waist, anchoring him there like it was second nature.

“Hey,” Josh murmured, warm and low, brushing a kiss to his temple in a quick hello. He didn’t say anything more, just kept his hand at Tyler’s back and gently walked with him into the room, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like Tyler wasn’t returning from some kind of emotional wilderness.

It almost felt normal.

Which was terrifying in its own way.

Luckily, salvation came in the form of a leather vest and a smirk.

“Oh look who decided to show up after a week,” Mick called from the table, raising a brow in mock disbelief. His voice dripped sarcasm, but he laughed at the end like he was trying to hide it.

A week? Shut up, Dick Mick, Tyler thought. It wasn’t a week.

The others mostly offered polite smiles in his direction. James gave a hesitant wave, Denny just nodded like he wasn’t sure if Tyler was mad at them or something and Joey might’ve been asleep in his chair.

Tyler could feel his stomach tighten a little, the edges of his self-consciousness prickling. But then Josh leaned in and whispered, “Ignore him. He just wants to be the center of attention.”

Tyler rolled his eyes, but obeyed.

And then the door opened again, and before they turned around to see who it was, Tyler's name was being called out.

“Tyyyyyy!”

Shap’s voice hit the room like a warm front. He strode in with the confidence of someone who had never once second-guessed being happy to see someone, and immediately pulled Tyler into a bear hug.

“Good to see you here,” Shap said, still grinning. “I was just making fun of Matt’s cable management. Dude’s out there sorting XLRs like he’s colorblind and late for something. I told him I’d bring you along to show him how it’s done.”

That pulled a full laugh out of Tyler... teeth and everything.

God. He really was fond of this man.

“Yeah, well,” Tyler said before his brain could stop him, “I’ll make sure to stop by later.”

And he meant it.

Because right now, the thought didn’t scare him. Not with the venue mostly empty and the energy around him this calm. Not with Josh's grounding presence right here.

And it wasn't not just the physical closeness, the warmth of his body or the sound of his voice. It was the way Josh seemed to radiate this quiet, unwavering steadiness, an aura that settled over him like a weighted blanket. The way he made Tyler feel normal despite the last few days being anything but.

When Josh turned toward Shap, slipping easily into a conversation, Tyler found himself watching without even meaning to. He tracked the movement of Josh’s lips, the way his mouth curved in a half-smile before it reached his voice, the way his eyes crinkled just a fraction when something amused him.

And even buried in conversation with someone else, Josh still seemed tethered to him.

The hand at Tyler’s waist hadn’t stilled once, sliding in slow, absent circles... like a silent reminder: I’m not talking to you right now, but I’m here, okay? And then there was the subtle way Josh leaned into him without thinking, like even mid-sentence with someone else, his body knew where Tyler was.

Whatever Josh was doing, he was always with Tyler in some way. Physically, emotionally, or mentally. Like he just… existed in his orbit.

And while Tyler's eyes still followed the movement of Josh's lips, a breath caught somewhere high in his chest, and his stomach gave a small, unsteady flip. There was a sudden, sharp awareness of how full his chest felt, like the space inside him had been quietly taken up without asking.

He blinked.

Oh....

Oh, he probably fucking loved this boy.

He blinked again, as the thought sat there, solid and startling, like it had always been waiting for him to notice.

Which was… new.

He couldn’t remember ever thinking the word before. At least not like this... not without a trace of irony or hesitation. And yet here it was, not arriving in some grand romantic swell or cinematic declaration, but right here, in a stupid catering room with stupidly bad coffee and stupid folding chairs.

It felt so real it almost scared him.

He cleared his throat, like he could somehow cover up the thought that hadn’t even been spoken, and turned toward the buffet. “So, what’s on the menu today?”

Josh just smiled, oblivious to becoming the object of a life-altering revelation, and helped him fill his plate with everything and more.

...

After lunch, Tyler kept his promise to swing by and help Shap.

The moment he stepped onto the stage, he instantly felt the difference in his own headspace. It was mostly stripped down up there, just the skeleton of what would be tomorrow’s show, but it still had a quiet hum to it. The air buzzed faintly from open channels, amps clicking on and off in the distance, cables unspooling like veins across the floor. There was still a lot of work to do to make it run perfectly.

It was like a song demo waiting for the masters and mixes.

Shap was crouched near the wing, elbow-deep in a road case full of cables, his hair sticking out at odd angles like he’d run both hands through it a dozen times already. “Oh! Hey!,” he said when he noticed Tyler approaching.

“Stage nerd reporting for duty,” Tyler said with a big grin and a quick salute.

Shap’s laugh came from deep in his chest, his whole body shaking with it. He waved Tyler over with a broad sweep of his arm, already pointing at a stack of cable runs before Tyler had even reached him. “Alright, first... these need to go to the side-fills, and don’t let Matt touch them, I swear to God...” he rattled off instructions without pausing for breath, the kind of easy trust that made Tyler feel welcome before he’d even picked up a cable.

They worked side by side for a while, Tyler slipping easily into the rhythm. He found himself setting up a run from the main snake of cables to the side-fill monitors, checking the strain relief on each connection before moving on. It was muscle memory... the kind of thing he’d done in the past without even realizing he was learning it. He even tested a couple of Shap’s wireless packs, adjusting the gain trim when one of them was peaking too hot.

“You ever think about doing this full-time?” Shap asked at one point, glancing up at him from where he was labeling a DI box.

Tyler shrugged, looping a cable into a perfect figure-eight. “Not unless music completely craps out on me. But... I guess I like it. Always have.”

Shap grinned. “Yeah, you’ve got the eye for it. And the hands. Some people just... don’t get it, y’know? They’ll throw a coil on the floor like a bowl of spaghetti and then wonder why it’s all fucked next time.”

“That’s ‘cause you let them touch it,” Tyler said dryly, tossing him a properly wrapped one.

Shap laughed again, so hard this time that the air seemed to catch wrong in his lungs. He doubled forward with a sharp cough, then another, bending at the waist and bracing one hand on his knee.

“Whoa,” Tyler said, dropping the cable in his hand and moving closer. “You good?”

Shap waved him off with the other hand, coughing into the crook of his arm, but it didn’t stop right away. It was rough, rattling deep in his lungs, the kind of cough that seemed to scrape on the way out. Tyler put a steady palm between his shoulder blades, rubbing once before giving him a firm slap like his mom used to do when he’d choke on water as a kid.

“Easy,” Tyler muttered.

Shap cleared his throat hard, still catching his breath. “Ugh... m’fine. Just... dry air in here,” he rasped, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Happens every time.”

“Maybe stop breathing dust for a living,” Tyler said, though it came out softer than his usual sarcasm.

“Occupational hazard,” Shap replied with a crooked grin, but his voice was still rough. He gave it another moment before straightening up again. “Alright. Let’s finish this before I pass out and you have to carry me.”

When the last connection was checked and the stage tape smoothed down, Tyler dropped onto the edge of the stage, letting his legs dangle into the empty pit. His palms rested against the worn boards, feeling the faint vibration from something running in the backline. Shap stayed below, leaning against a big road case, his gaze sweeping over the work they’d just finished.

For the first time in days, Tyler felt... good. Not just okay, not just functional, but actually present. There was something about this work, the order in it, the quiet satisfaction of cables neatly run and gear ready to go, that made his mind settle in a way nothing else could.

The squeak of sneakers on the stage floor drew Tyler’s attention, and he glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Josh stepping up from the wing, a bottle of water in one hand and his sticks tucked into the back pocket of his jeans.

Josh’s gaze swept the stage like he was checking the setup out of habit, but it softened the second it landed on Tyler.

“Hey,” he said, voice warm in the way that made the word feel like a touch.

“Hey,” Tyler echoed.

Josh crossed the last few feet and dropped down beside him at the edge of the stage, close enough that their knees brushed. His palm settled on the edge behind him, shoulders slouching in an easy curve. “Looks good up here,” he said, nodding toward the gear.

“That’s ‘cause I did half of it,” Tyler replied with a crooked little smile.

Josh’s mouth curved in return, his eyes crinkling faintly. They talked for a few minutes... nothing important, just easy back-and-forth about how the morning had gone, a dumb story about the bass player losing his phone in his own bunk, a passing comment about tomorrow’s setlist.

When Tyler laughed, Josh looked at him in a way that made it feel like he was storing the sound away in his brain.

From down on the floor, Shap’s voice cut in, playful but with that knowing edge that made Tyler suspicious. “Well, I think I’m gonna crash for a while on the bus,” he announced, rolling his shoulders. “Didn’t really get much sleep last night.” His eyes flicked between them, and then he smirked. “Don’t let Matt near my cables.”

Tyler opened his mouth for a comeback, but Shap was already heading off toward the wing, leaving the two of them alone in the big, echoing space.

Josh bumped his shoulder lightly against Tyler’s. “I’m really proud of you,” he said, quiet but sure.

Tyler blinked at him, something in his chest going loose and warm. He didn’t know what to say right away, so he just looked at him, taking in the softness there, the sincerity that was almost too much to hold.

And he was right back in the catering room earlier today, back at the moment he realized how Josh was there for him in so many ways, how that presence could steady him without a word. How he’d quietly come to a realization that his feelings for Josh were stronger than he’d let himself believe.

Which made the next sentence feel easy to say.

“Wouldn’t be able to do it without you,” he said finally, and it came out so soft it felt like the words themselves were leaning against Josh.

Josh’s mouth twitched into the kind of smile that started slow and spread, like it was being pulled up from somewhere deep.

“Nonsense,” he murmured. “You could’ve done this all on your own.”

Before Tyler could argue, Josh shifted the hand that had been braced behind him and brought it up, cradling his face with a touch so careful it made Tyler’s chest ache

“You’re the strongest person I know,” Josh said, and it didn't sound like flattery, it sounded like a fact.

Tyler’s eyelashes fluttered and his heart gave a quick, unsteady skip. A soft breath slipped past his lips before he could stop it. And then he just couldn’t take it anymore, he leaned in and closed the distance, kissing Josh with everything he didn’t have the words for.

Josh accepted it without hesitation, kissing him back just as fully, his hand sliding from Tyler’s cheek to cradle the back of his head, keeping him close.

Kissing like that felt different here, in the middle of a cavernous, half-lit stage with nothing but quiet around them. It felt like a gift, like they’d stolen something rare.

Tyler’s hands lifted almost without thought, hooking loosely around the back of Josh’s neck and the kiss deepened. The slow slide of lips against lips turned into a hungry claim when Josh tilted his head, his tongue brushing against Tyler’s in a way that made heat spark low in his stomach. Tyler tugged gently at the hair at Josh’s nape, earning a low sound from him, and Josh leaned further in, pressing into him until Tyler had to shift back to keep his balance.

It wasn’t enough.

The stage was cool under his back when he gave up trying to stay upright, Josh following him down, only breaking the kiss for a moment before finding his mouth again. One of Josh’s hands braced beside his head, the other sliding toward the small gap between his shirt and jeans. His fingers found skin, warm and soft, and Tyler gasped into his mouth when Josh’s hand curved against his waist, stroking slowly, possessively.

It didn’t stop at Tyler’s waist. His palm slid up, dragging the hem of his shirt higher until his fingertips brushed the edge of his ribs, sending shivers skittering across his skin. Every pass of his hand was a little slower, pressing in just enough to make Tyler’s breath hitch.

Their mouths moved together like they’d been doing this for hours, each kiss feeding into the next. Josh’s lips kept finding his, then his jaw, then back again, like he couldn’t decide which part he wanted more. And somewhere in the far-off rafters, the soft echo of their breathing seemed to bounce off the empty seats, making every gasp sound louder and more intimate.

Every shift of fingers over bare skin sent heat pooling low in Tyler’s stomach until it was almost unbearable. His fingers fisted loosely in the back of Josh’s shirt, keeping him close, his legs bent and knees slightly raised, caging Josh between them.

The tension wound tighter with each touch. Tyler’s breath grew shallow, his body arching without thought into every point of contact, chasing it, needing more. Josh’s hand at his side slipped further around, his thumb brushing just above the waistband of his jeans in a slow, lazy circle that made Tyler bite back a groan.

It was too much and not enough all at once.

“Fuck...” The word slipped out on a ragged exhale, his head tipping back against the stage. “Josh-” His voice caught before he forced it out again, low and needy. “I need you so bad right now.”

Josh tore his mouth away just far enough to speak, his breath brushing hot against Tyler’s damp lips. “Oh, baby... I’d take you right here on the stage if I wasn’t scared someone would walk in on us.”

His palm tightened at Tyler’s hip, fingers digging into the muscle there in a way that made Tyler’s whole body jolt. He bucked his hips up in return, a teasing grind that had them both breathing harder.

“I dont care. Do it,” Tyler murmured, his tone dipping into something wicked. “Maybe Dick Mick would get such a gay-scare it’d slap all the smug outta his mouth.”

Josh froze for half a beat, pulling back just enough to look at him with one raised brow, lips twitching with amusement. “Dick Mick?”

A flush rose hot under Tyler’s skin, but he still smirked a little. “Yeah... just a lil nickname I came up with.” He tugged at Josh’s shirt, pulling him back down before the moment could cool.

Josh went willingly, catching Tyler’s lower lip between his teeth and sucking lightly before giving it a playful nip. “We’ll talk about that later,” he murmured, voice low enough to vibrate in Tyler’s bones. “Right now, I want you thinking about one dick only.”

His hips pressed down in a slow, rolling grind that had Tyler’s head tipping back, a soft sound catching in his throat at the perfect drag of friction between them.

“Oh, trust me,” Tyler breathed, his hand sliding down to palm the curve of Josh’s ass and pull him in tighter. “I think about that dick all the time...”

This time, the sound Josh let out was a low, unguarded moan, his hips pressing harder, chasing the contact. “Fuck…” he muttered, like the word was ripped out of him.

“Let’s find somewhere private.”

Chapter Text

Turns out finding a private space on tour was harder than either of them expected.

It started as a playful hunt for somewhere, anywhere they could get a few minutes alone. The back lounge was their first hope, but Tyler barely had time to get his fingers in Josh’s belt loops before Missy strode in, searching for her laptop and talking a mile a minute about needing to back-up her material right now.

Josh stepped back, and Tyler pretended to study the wall like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

They tried slipping into the greenroom next, but catering was just rolling the trays of leftover food out of the room, and they had that kind of energy that said they weren’t going to be done anytime soon.

A narrow backstage hallway seemed promising... quiet, shadowed, but just as Tyler’s hand slid under Josh’s shirt, two stagehands rounded the corner pushing a rack of mic stands, nodding politely like they didn't see anything happening.

For one desperate second, they even considered the bus... but that would mean inviting a whole different kind of drama by breaking one of the unshakable rules of tour life. The ones that were printed out and duct-taped to the small fridge in the kitchenette.

- Label your food or it’s fair game
- No microwaving fish
- Don’t shit on the bus
- Don’t fuck on the bus

After weighing the pros and cons of privacy versus the inevitable humiliation of getting caught, they decided to rule it out. No amount of horniness was worth being immortalized in tour gossip.

Still, by the fifth failed attempt, neither of them was laughing anymore. They weren’t even touching, just walking together down some half-lit corridor, hands shoved in pockets like they’d given up on pretending it was still fun. The constant stop-start had wrung the urgency right out of them, leaving nothing but a low, frustrating ache.

They stopped near an unused door, close enough to hear faint echoes from the stage. Josh turned toward Tyler and reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together and giving a single, lingering squeeze.

“Damn,” he muttered, a rueful half-smile tugging at his mouth. “This is harder than I expected.”

Tyler huffed a quiet laugh that wasn’t really a laugh. “Yeah. Guess we’re cursed.”

It should’ve been funny, but it just... wasn’t.

They looked at each other with that mix of want and disappointment, like two people who’d been circling the same fire all day but could never quite step into it. All they had now was the warm press of their palms and the pull of eye contact

Well, at least they still had that.

But to make it even worse, Josh’s phone buzzed in his pocket with quiet urgency. He glanced at the screen, jaw tightening. “Ahh, shoot.. band meeting. I’ve gotta-” He squeezed Tyler’s hand again before letting go. “I’ll find you later, okay?”

Tyler nodded, but didn’t move as Josh walked off. Just stood there in the hallway, hands empty, feeling the dull throb of want settle somewhere under his ribs like a bruise.

…

It didn’t discourage them from trying again.

The next day, they made it all the way to the showers. They’d scoped it out earlier, somewhere between load-in and lunch, slipping down the long corridor behind the venue where the water pressure was rumored to be halfway decent. The plan lasted right up until they stepped inside and realized the showers were mixed.

They were pretty sure most of the guys in the crew weren’t exactly setting hygiene records, and weren’t especially concerned about them, but the thought of Mandy or Sam, or worse... one of Denny’s kids, walking in and finding two naked men tangled up together in a cloud of steam was enough to make them both back out before the door had even swung shut.

And so it went. One failed attempt after another. It was frustrating, nerve-wracking, and every miss only seemed to make the wanting worse.

Josh, of course, took it in stride. He had that maddening ability to just laugh it off, press a quick kiss to Tyler’s temple, and say something like we’ll get there, baby.

Tyler.. did not.

Somewhere along the line, his impatience mutated into something sharper, turning him into full bratty mode, and he started testing Josh’s self-control, just to see how far he could push before it cracked.

It started small... resting a hand a little too high on Josh’s thigh during lunch, fingertips tapping idly against the seam of his jeans while everyone else was busy talking. Leaning in to murmur something innocuous, only to let the edge of his mouth brush against Josh’s ear and feel the shiver it sent down his spine.

Then it escalated... a palm dragging low across Josh’s stomach when they squeezed past each other in the cramped merch booth. Whispering what he wanted, what he’d do if they were alone right now, while they stood side by side at the coffee station, George just a few feet away.

Josh would flush almost instantly, ears going pink, his laugh turning uneven as he tried to focus on whatever he’d been doing. Sometimes he’d shoot Tyler a look, equal parts you’re in trouble and God, don’t stop, but he never told him to knock it off.

Which only made Tyler worse.

The tension thickened until it felt like there was no space between them that wasn’t charged. It was there in the way Josh’s hand would linger at the small of Tyler’s back, in the way Tyler’s eyes would drag down to Josh’s mouth and stay there too long.

It should’ve been fun. And for the most part, it was. But when another day dragged without them finding so much as five uninterrupted minutes, Tyler’s brattiness curdled into something else.

Not anger, exactly, just a restless, unsatisfied heat that had nowhere to go.

The more he sat in it, the more he realized he was only making himself miserable. If they couldn’t find time alone, fine... he could at least find something else to do before he drove himself insane. So Tyler thought that maybe he could distract himself with something that still made his blood buzz in a good way.

And lately, that meant Shap. Tyler had learned pretty quickly that hanging around the sound booth was one of the only places he could be useful and stay out of the way. And Shap never seemed to mind him hovering.

So instead of looking for Josh, he headed for the booth.

...

The main soundcheck was already underway when Tyler slipped in beside Shap.

He stood in front of the console, shoulders hunched, both hands moving with the kind of economy that came from doing the job so long it was muscle memory. The booth itself hummed softly, a low chorus of fans and processors, like the whole space was breathing in its own quiet rhythm.

Tyler knew this was probably the last truly calm moment the venue would see all day. In less than two hours, the place would start filling, and if he didn’t want to risk another panic episode, he’d have to be gone before the crowd pressed in.

He still felt fine, but there was a hum under his skin... the faint, prickling awareness of what was coming. He could almost feel the people already waiting outside, their energy pooling and pressing against the walls. Excitement, impatience, chatter... all of it filtered through Tyler’s imagination until it almost made him dizzy.

He shook it off.

Doors didn’t open until six, and it was just a few minutes past four now. The soundcheck would only run twenty minutes. He was fine.

Shap glanced over his shoulder, gave him a quick nod of acknowledgment, then turned back to the board. Tyler moved up behind him, close enough to see over his arms.

The console was a sea of faders and knobs, LED meters pulsing green and yellow with the music. Shap’s fingers slid faders up and down in deliberate motions, trimming a decibel here, boosting the mids there. His other hand adjusted EQ sweeps in smooth arcs, a fingertip circling the high-mids for Mick’s mic before pulling them back down when the singer pushed too hard.

When he wasn’t on the audio, Shap’s eyes flicked to a smaller panel of lighting cues. He tapped in commands without looking, syncing the wash lights to hit on the snare, testing the spotlight positions, flipping a switch that washed the stage in deep cobalt before returning to a neutral white.

Tyler watched it all like a hawk.

In his head, he moved the controls with Shap, predicting where his fingers would land next, and nine times out of ten, he guessed right. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“You’re following me,” Shap said without looking up, a faint grin tugging at his mouth. “Wanna try?”

Tyler’s brows shot up, but he nodded instantly.

Shap stepped back just enough to give him room, and Tyler slid into his place like he belonged there. His fingertips settled over the faders, the smooth resistance of the sliders grounding him immediately. Shap stood just to his right, murmuring short cues as the band ran through their checklist.

And Tyler loved it.

Loved how just a small adjustment changed the way Josh’s snare snapped through the room. Loved the weight of control, knowing the sound of the entire band was in his hands. Loved that, from here, he wasn’t just watching, he was shaping. Controlling the feel of the whole damn space.

It was a rush, different from performing but almost as intoxicating.

When he glanced over at Shap, quick and excited, the man was grinning knowingly. “I know, right?”

As the last line check wrapped, Shap reached forward, killed the channels one by one, and the booth dropped into a comfortable quiet. The LEDs dimmed and the gear slept for now.

Tyler’s pulse was still riding the edge of the high, like his body hadn’t gotten the memo that the rush was over.

Shap glanced at him, then leaned his hip against the console, his expression shifting into something more thoughtful. “Can I ask you something?”

Tyler blinked, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. “Uh.. sure?”

Shap’s usual easy smirk was gone, replaced by a softness threaded with something Tyler hadn’t seen before.

“I don’t mean to overstep, but... what happened to you watching the shows from the sidelines? You always disappear right before we go on.”

Tyler froze. His breath hitched before he could stop it. He hadn’t expected that question.

The quiet in the booth stretched taut, and his fingers curled loosely against his jeans, nails grazing the denim like some small part of him was bracing for impact. He kept his gaze fixed somewhere over Shap’s shoulder, because meeting his eyes felt like it would split something open too easily.

“That’... complicated,” he said after a beat.

Because it was.

And he wanted to leave it at that... the neat answer, the easy one, the safe one.

But the way Shap was looking at him with the mix of genuine interest and quiet concern made him hesitate. Shap had been easy from day one, the one person Tyler could always drift toward without feeling like he was intruding. He’d taken him under his wing without being asked.

Maybe he deserved more than a brush-off.

“I-” Tyler started, but then he stopped, scratching at the back of his neck. He looked at Shap again, weighing it.

Shap didn’t push, just waited, giving him that steady space to either speak or stay silent.

So Tyler took a slow, steady breath. “I wanted to. I was gonna,” he said, the words awkward, stilted. “But then...” He trailed off again, frustration flickering in his eyes.

Because how could he even begin to explain that? What version of it could he give someone without making them see too much, without making himself feel it all over again?

He sighed, ran a hand down his face, and pivoted.

“I used to perform. My own music. Played my own shows.” Another pause. “But my last gig...” He swallowed hard, gaze drifting past Shap to the empty arena floor. “... didn't exactly end well for me."

His voice dropped, quieter now. “And the show reminded me of that. Turns out that even after all these years... I still can’t face it.”

Shap didn’t speak right away. Instead, he gave a small, knowing tilt of his head. “Oh... so that’s why you know your way around all this.”

“Yeah,” Tyler admitted quietly. “I mean... I did my own setups, I wasn’t big or anything. No crew behind me.” He hesitated, then added, “And here... I guess I’m okay helping with the gear when the place is empty, but when I stepped on stage with people already in the venue... it just-” He cut himself off, jaw flexing. “It triggered some bad memories.”

“Oh, I see...” Shap’s voice was careful. “What happened? ...Back then?”

Tyler’s eyes flicked toward him, then away. “...I’d rather not.”
But Shap’s expression stayed so open and so patient, that something inside him wavered.

“I almost died out there,” Tyler said at last, his voice so low it was almost lost under the hum of the equipment. “Not by anyone else’s cause. I- I wanted to- I tried to- ” The words stalled on his tongue, unfinished, like saying them all the way might crack the air between them.

Shap’s brows pulled together, not quite following, but when he saw how distressed Tyler looked, he lifted a hand slightly, warding off the weight of the moment.

“Hey... hey. It’s fine. You don’t have to tell me all the details.” And then, after a beat, “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re still here. It’s a pleasure knowing you.”

Tyler’s chest tightened... not painfully, but in a way that made it hard to speak for a moment. Shap was right. At the beginning, he might have regretted that his attempt had failed, but now... a few years later, with his life steadier, with good friends around him and Josh at the center of it all... he felt grateful to still be here too.

“Yeah... yeah, it is. Just a shame I can’t watch the show like I promised,” Tyler said with a small, rueful smile.

“Hey,” Shap replied, letting his usual grin creep back in, “it’s fine. I’ll ogle Josh’s muscles for you.”

Tyler blinked. “...What?”

“Honestly, the man’s lucky I have a wife,” Shap went on, deadpan, “otherwise his form would’ve turned me gay years ago.” He laughed with his whole body, just like he always did.

Tyler barked out a short, startled, but genuine laugh, and some of the weight on his chest loosened instantly. He let that relief wash over him, grateful that Shap wasn’t pushing the knife deeper into the wound, grateful for the reprieve.
But then a thought tugged at him.

“Hey, so... why don’t your wife and kids tour with you? Don’t you miss them?”

“Oh, yeah,” Shap said immediately. “Miss ’em every damn day. But I don’t get that kind of privilege, I’m just a poor crew guy.” He laughed, light but a little self-deprecating. “Besides, kids still gotta go to school. Can’t afford homeschooling like Denny can with his pay.”

That made Tyler pause. If Denny’s pay was high enough to afford that, Josh’s probably was too. Which... well, Tyler stopped himself before the thought could go somewhere sharp, but still, curiosity tugged at him.

“Wait... how much are they making from this?”

“You never talked about it with Josh?”

Tyler shook his head.

Shap’s mouth curved into something between a smirk and disbelief. “It’s like... a lot, Ty. Like... disgustingly lot for a tribute band.” He gave a low chuckle.

Tyler just nodded slowly, deep in thought. The number Shap wasn’t saying was sticking in his mind like a splinter.

“But hey,” Shap went on, “I’m not complaining. I get to see some beautiful places, travel with my buds, sleep in a nice hotel room every now and then...”

Tyler paused... A hotel room.

Now that caught his attention.

He’d been dreaming about a hotel night for days now... about a real bed, soft sheets, and most importantly, Josh in that bed with him. Against him. Under him. Above him. Tyler didn’t discriminate. But after almost two weeks on the road, they still hadn’t slept anywhere other than the bus, even when the city hops had been short enough to make a hotel possible.

Maybe the label was just saving money on them.

“Yeah, speaking of hotels... when does that happen?” Tyler asked curiously.

Even as he asked, his brain flicked back through the past few days... this morning, yesterday, the day before that. To all those failed attempts to find a private space to actually be with Josh. The way he missed just lying in bed with him, feeling his warmth, the quiet, the closeness.

He was so deep in that thought that Shap’s voice almost startled him.

“It’s tonight! Actually... or like, tomorrow morning, I guess. Depends how fast we wrap things up here.”

Tyler blinked. “Wait... what?”

“Yeah,” Shap said, grinning now. “Only an hour long ride to the next city, and tomorrow’s off. Which means two beautiful, peaceful nights at a hotel. Gah… I can’t wait for a normal shower, dude…”

Tyler’s pulse kicked hard in his chest as the meaning sank in.

“Oh. Oh... I gotta go find Josh,” he said quickly, already pushing off the console.

...

Tyler spotted him across the green room, standing at the coffee station with his back to the room, watching the slow stream of coffee pour into his paper cup. The hiss and drip of the machine masked Tyler’s footsteps as he crossed the space, weaving between cases and chairs until he was right behind him.

He leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed the shell of Josh’s ear. Josh jumped slightly before relaxing again when he realized it was Tyler.

“Hey..." Tyler murmured into his ear, for some reason deeply satisfied that Josh realized it was him without even looking back. "So when exactly were you gonna tell me we’ll be spending the next two nights in a hotel room?”

Josh's shoulders tensed slightly before he glanced back with a crooked smile. “Oh... I thought you knew.”

Tyler gave him a flat and unimpressed look, because how the hell would he know?

Josh could see the sassy question written plain in his eyes.

“There’s a schedule posted on the bus door,” he added shortly, turning back to doctor his coffee like that explained everything.

“Oh...," Tyler said, actually genuinely surprised by that information. Was there really? How had he missed that? Maybe it was because every time he walked past that door, he’d been too busy flirting with Josh..

And then he spoke. “Please tell me we’ll be rooming together... alone?”

Josh’s mouth curved into that faint, infuriating smirk, the one that always made Tyler suspicious. “I dunno... Sam’s assistant is the one doing the bookings. But we might.” His tone was maddeningly casual, like it wasn’t a certainty.
Tyler narrowed his eyes. “We are, aren’t we? We so are... and you totally already know it, Joshua. Don’t play with me.”

Josh’s smirk deepened, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “Well, from my perspective, it’s you who’s been playing with me. Pretty unfairly too, might I add.”

Tyler mock-scoffed and stepped further in like he was just going to give him a casual hug from behind. Except while one arm went around Josh’s waist, the other slid subtly under the waistband of his pants, fingertips pushing low enough to graze the soft line of hair at his crotch.

“Yeah...” Tyler murmured, his voice low enough that no one else could hear. “You gonna try and tell me you didn’t like it?” His fingers spread against his skin possessively.

Josh shivered against him, a sharp inhale betraying how close that line was. His teeth caught his lower lip, eyes flicking to the room to make sure no one was watching.

By the time Tyler’s hand slid out, smooth and innocent, Josh had already turned in his arms, sliding both hands over Tyler’s waist and leaning in close enough for his breath to tickle his ear.

“All I’m saying,” Josh murmured, low and deliberate, “is that it’s gonna be my turn to play soon. And boy... am I gonna play.”

Then he stepped back, but not before letting his palm brush over the front of Tyler’s shirt, dragging across both nipples and lingering just long enough to draw a sharp, involuntary sound from Tyler’s throat. His fingers pressed in a final, teasing push before he let go.

Tyler’s breath caught, his body lighting up with an almost physical ache. Heat pooled low and heavy in his stomach, every nerve keyed toward the thought of that hotel room like it was the only place left in the world.

Josh’s grin was pure trouble as he turned away, lifting his coffee again like nothing had happened.

And Tyler was left standing there, the thought of that hotel room burning like a promise.

Chapter Text

For the first time all tour, the bus was alive.

Usually, rolling in this late, or this early, depending on how you looked at it, meant everyone wordlessly climbing into their bunks and trying to knock out before the highway hum faded. But tonight was different. In less than an hour, they’d be pulling into their next stop, and instead of parking behind another venue, they were heading for something far rarer.

A hotel.

The mood was almost giddy. Even the ones who’d be usually half-asleep by now perked up, the whole front lounge buzzing with the kind of energy that came from knowing you were about to stretch out in a real bed. Sam, who was usually the first to disappear with her laptop and start planning for the next city, even let herself be coaxed into a celebratory drink with the crew, which was originally initiated by the twins. Naturally.

Laughter bounced off the walls as stories were swapped, dumb in-jokes retold, and someone started an off key singalong that somehow roped in half the bus. It only died down when Shap fell into another coughing fit, hacking so hard it pulled everyone’s attention.

“Christ... man,” George muttered, reaching over like he could somehow steady him.

Shap waved him off with a tight smile and fished blindly through his bag until he found his inhaler. One long pull later, his breathing evened out, but the rasp in it lingered. The moment hung awkwardly until someone cracked another joke, the noise slowly building again, but not quite to the same volume.

Thankfully, it wasn’t long before the bus rumbled to a stop, the hiss of the air brakes pulling everyone’s focus toward the tinted windows. Outside, the hotel’s glass front caught the glow of the streetlights, promising warm showers, clean sheets, and for Tyler, something he’d been thinking about all week.

The rooms were claimed in a quick, chaotic spill of bodies and luggage, the crew scattering the moment they had key cards in hand. Tyler and Josh were among the lucky ones with a single room, which meant no roommates, no interruptions, just privacy.

Finally.

Even though it was barely morning, that strange, buzzing adrenaline kept them upright. They were still sweaty, road-worn, and smelling faintly of the last venue, but none of it mattered. The second their door shut, they dropped their bags near the wall, exchanged one long, electric look and then Tyler’s hand was in Josh’s hair, yanking him into a kiss that landed somewhere between desperate and punishing.

Josh met him with equal force, pushing back until they were stumbling blindly into the room. They caught on walls, shoulders bumping frames, fingers catching in belt loops and shirt hems. When they broke apart for air, Tyler murmured, “God, wanted to do this for days-” not even finishing the thought before sealing their mouths together again.

“Then stop talking and kiss me,” Josh shot back in the next breathless gap.

By the time they hit the bed, Tyler was down to his shirt and half-undone jeans, Josh ended up on top, knees bracketing Tyler’s hips, pressing down hard enough to make Tyler moan into his mouth when their cocks rubbed through denim.

It was sloppy, hot, and so charged from days of teasing that neither of them cared they were still half-dressed. Josh rolled his hips slow and deliberate, dragging another sound from Tyler that went straight to his head.

“Fuck... Josh,” Tyler gasped, his hands sliding under the back of Josh’s shirt, nails grazing skin. “Feels so good-”

Josh didn’t bother answering, just shoved a hand between them, undoing both their pants with quick, fumbling precision. He pushed their underwear just low enough to free them both, before his palm wrapped around them together.

Tyler’s head dropped back against the pillow with a groan so loud Josh had to bite back a laugh. “Yeah,” Tyler panted, “fuck, just like that... don’t stop-”

Josh couldn’t have if he wanted to. The heat, the slide of skin-on-skin, the way Tyler’s face tightened with every stroke, had him right on the edge already. He muttered against Tyler’s jaw, low and rough.

“Missed you so much, baby. All week, thinking about this. About how you look when you fall apart for me...”

Tyler’s breath hitched, hips jerking into the rhythm. “Keep talking like that and I’m- fuck..."

Josh glanced down, catching the sight of his fist moving in a perfect seal around both of them, Tyler’s cock flushed and leaking precum that smeared across his knuckles with every stroke. The sight almost undid him right there.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice gone to gravel. "Gonna come for me? Right here in my hand?” Each word was broken by the pace of his breathing. “Do it. Make a mess for me, Ty.”

It only took a few more strokes before Tyler groaned, hips losing their rhythm as he came, thick and hot over Josh’s hand and across his own shirt. Josh kept stroking, using it to slick the movement over both of them, and the wet heat combined with the sight of Tyler gasping under him was enough to tip him over too.

He came with a stuttering moan, head falling forward, his release streaking across Tyler’s stomach as his body shuddered with the force of it.

And then they just breathed, foreheads touching, their shared smile small but heavy with the same thought... Finally.

Josh rolled to the side, still close enough that their legs brushed, letting himself rest in the glow for a moment.

They didn’t linger long though. Eventually they pushed themselves upright, took a quick shower to rinse off, changed into fresh underwear, and then let the slow pull of exhaustion drag them under. Within minutes, the hotel room was quiet, both of them out cold in the soft sheets.

...

Josh woke first.

For a few moments, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling while his brain caught up with his body. Then he turned his head and found Tyler, cocooned in the blankets, knees tucked up, one arm wedged under the pillow, hair a rumpled halo against white sheets.

God he looked so soft like this.

It was such a contrast to how intense and sharp-edged Tyler could seem sometimes.

But Josh had known from the very beginning that underneath that shell, there was a softness, a deep sensitivity that could feel fragile at times. He’d seen it whenever Tyler forgot to guard his walls, or when his confidence cracked, when overthinking tipped into spirals, when panic tightened his chest and trauma spoke in his place.

The quiet rush of gratitude that he was here hit Josh all over again.

Because being close to someone like that wasn’t effortless. It was careful work, it was choosing words, choosing tone, choosing when to step in and when to just hold still. But Josh wouldn’t change a single thing.

As if Tyler sensed from his sleep that he was being watched, he stirred, stretching into a slow, boneless sprawl before curling back in, eyes fluttering open for half a second.

“Mornin’,” Tyler mumbled, the word half-swallowed by the pillow.

Josh smiled. “Morning.”

They traded lazy touches, half-cuddling, half-dozing, Tyler drifting in and out until Josh’s stomach made a low, unmistakable growl.

Tyler cracked one eye open. “Hungry?”

“Starving.”

Room service was the obvious answer. Josh grabbed the menu, rattled off a few choices, and Tyler added a couple more with zero shame. Once the order was placed, they settled back on the bed, fully awake now that food was on the way.

That was when Tyler got handsy.

It began innocently enough, just his fingertips tracing lazy circles over Josh’s stomach, nails catching lightly on the fine trail of hair there. Josh barely glanced down, assuming it would stop.

It didn’t.

The next pass dipped lower, skimming just above the waistband of Josh’s underwear before retreating again, like he hadn’t done anything at all. Josh’s breath hitched despite himself.

A third pass, slower this time, and his fingers slipped under the band entirely, warm and deliberate. Josh’s eyes snapped open.

“Ty...” he said with a warning edge, though the smile gave him away. “The food’s gonna be here any minute.”

“So?” Tyler’s grin was pure trouble, his hand now resting right where Josh was starting to harden, not moving, just letting the weight of it hang there until Josh pushed him back lightly.

“Behave.”

Tyler groaned in protest, flopping onto his back. “You said you were going to play with me...” He sprawled out, legs spread just enough to draw the eye, his half-hard bulge obvious through soft underwear. Then his hips lifted in a slow thrust. “Play,” he said again, this time like it was an order.

Josh could only shake his head in disbelief, grinning despite himself. He leaned over and kissed him deeply, catching his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Stop being a brat.”

Tyler didn’t get a chance to answer... a knock at the door cut through the air, merciful and maddening all at once.

When Josh opened it, the smell of warm bread, crispy bacon and fresh coffee hit them first. Their stomachs answered before their brains did and whatever tension had been coiling between them just moments ago dissolved on the spot, chased out by hunger. They barely remembered to thank the hotel staff before shutting the door and tearing into the trays like they hadn’t eaten in days.

After breakfast, they were too full to even think about anything rough. The idea of crawling back into bed was tempting, but so was the thought of open air, of not being trapped in a rolling tin can with six other people.

So they went out.

No plan, no rush, just wandering hand in hand through unfamiliar streets, stopping when something caught their eye, letting the city’s slow rhythm set theirs. It was the first real day off they’d had together, and it felt almost like vacation.

They found a small, tucked-away café and claimed the back corner, the kind of spot where no one noticed you unless you wanted them to. Tyler ordered something decadent and chocolate-heavy, Josh went for a flaky pastry and strong coffee, and for a while they just existed there, content in the quiet hum of clinking cups and low conversation around them.

Josh was the one to break it.

“So, that’s officially almost two weeks on tour today.” He stirred his coffee slowly, watching the steam curl. “Four more to go for me and... what... two for you? When did you say you were heading home?”

They’d never set a hard date, Tyler just left it floating and Josh had never pushed. He didn’t care about the exact date, only that Tyler was here at all. Secretly, he hoped he might stay until the end, but after the other night... after the way Tyler still couldn’t step inside the venue once the crowd started filling in, Josh knew it might be wishful thinking.

Tyler only nodded, eyes on the swirl of cream in his mug. “Uh... yeah. In about two weeks, I think. Once we head a little more south.” His lip caught between his teeth, his gaze flicking up to Josh, almost shy.

Josh didn’t expect him to start again.

“I know this probably isn’t how you imagined it going.”

Josh tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean... I know you’ve been looking forward to me watching your shows, cheering for you. And I have been too. But instead I’m just... hiding in the bus half the time like a coward.”

Josh stared at him like he couldn’t believe he was still carrying that weight. He slid his chair closer until their knees bumped. “Hey. Look at me.”

Tyler did.

“You’re as far from coward as you can be, okay?” Josh’s voice was low and steady.

“When I first asked you to join me, I was so sure you were gonna say no.” His thumb brushed the edge of Tyler’s knee, grounding him. “But you came. Even though it meant leaving your job hanging for a while. Even though you knew it might be one of the biggest challenges you’ve faced, considering your past.”

The words weren’t pity, they were full of quiet appreciation, and Tyler felt them settle deep.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat, “and then that past got the best of me and I ran away from it like a scared little boy.”

Josh reached for his hand, wrapping warm fingers around his palm. “Yeah... so maybe it did. Maybe it got you. But you still stayed, even after that. And if that doesn’t scream strong, I don’t know what does, Ty.”

They just looked at each other for a long moment. Tyler’s chest felt too full again, that same sharp, overwhelming feeling, the one that kept creeping in lately. And it was so strong right now that he had to do something with it.

So he reached across the table, hooked a hand behind Josh’s neck, and pulled him in for a firm, close-mouthed kiss. A kiss meant to say everything he wasn’t ready to put into words yet.

He hoped Josh felt it.

...

When their butts began to tingle from all the sitting, they decided to walk off their café sweets with a lazy drift through the city.

They strolled through a park first, where they cut across grass paths and stopped by a fountain just to watch the pigeons fight over scraps. Then a souvenir shop that was more dust than charm, where Tyler shoved a neon sun visor on Josh’s head and doubled over laughing until Josh retaliated with oversized bug-eye sunglasses.

They were kicked out after the third hat selfie.

From there, they wandered into a small record shop, flipping through crates until Tyler found an ancient bootleg of a band neither of them had ever heard of, swearing he needed it just for the ridiculous cover art. At one point they even ducked into a photo booth, the strip of shots coming out crooked and overexposed, Tyler half-choking from laughing too hard in the last frame.

By the time the sky dimmed, hunger pulled them toward a restaurant tucked on a quiet street. It was cozy, all candles and heavy wooden chairs, a little fancier than either of them would’ve usually picked. But Tyler noticed the ease with which Josh handed over his card, and it struck him again, that this tour wasn’t just about scraping by. Josh was making real money here. Tyler wasn’t doing bad himself either, and together, well... he didn’t feel guilty about the splurge at all.

They ordered, they ate, trying to tune down their usual chaotic habit of stealing bites from each other’s plates. They drank wine that came in glasses too thin to risk gesturing with. The food was plated like art, the kind of meal that made Tyler raise an eyebrow before admitting it was actually delicious.

There was a young waiter who lingered longer than necessary each time he checked on them. His curious glances flicked between their laughter and the way their knees brushed under the table, like he was trying to puzzle out if they were just good friends or on a date. Josh caught it and smirked, while Tyler made it a game to feed Josh the last bite of dessert on purpose, grinning when the waiter walked past right at that moment.

Tyler was halfway through a story about Mandy’s disaster merch folding system when he froze mid-word. His eyes caught on the front door.

“Ugh.” The sound slipped out before he could stop it.

Josh looked up, following the line of his gaze. “Oh, hey,” he said brightly, like he’d just spotted an old friend. “That’s Mick.”

Tyler’s jaw clenched. Yeah, no shit...

Dick Mick, leather vest and all, was striding in with his hand candy Sasha hooked on his arm like some kind of a prize. Tyler’s stomach flipped just seeing them together.

Josh’s brightness faltered when he glanced back and saw the look on Tyler’s face. “Jeez, chill babe” he murmured, relieved when the hostess steered Mick and Sasha to the far side of the room.

Tyler tore his eyes away, “Sorry. I just... can’t stand the dude.”

Josh shrugged like he got it. “Figured. Was it that little jab he threw the other day?" Tyler didn't respond. "’Cause if so, you don’t need to worry, he just thinks he’s funny. He's not.”

“Mm,” Tyler scoffed, biting down on his tongue. But before he could stop himself his thought came out: “I mean, he sticks his nose in everyone else’s business but walks around with someone who could be his daughter. That’s speakin’ levels.”

Josh pursed his lips, torn between defending Mick and... not. He sighed. “Yeah. He’s always been like that.”

Tyler narrowed his eyes. “Always?”

Josh rubbed at his temple. “Not Sasha, specifically. Just... the pattern.” He exhaled. “Honestly? Year and a half with her is the longest I’ve ever seen him stick with anyone. Guess she hasn’t gotten tired of him yet.”

Tyler barked a laugh. “Or maybe he hasn’t run out of money.”

Josh gave a helpless little shrug. “You said it, not me,” he cut in quickly, shaking his head. “Anyway, I don’t wanna talk about him anymore.”

“Yeah, well, me neither,” Tyler said, though his eyes flicked back across the room. “Except... he’s kinda looking our way right now.”

When he turned to look back at Josh, there was mischief glinting in his eyes. The look that meant he was already planning trouble. Josh knew that look.

Josh frowned, a little wary. “So?”

“So...” Tyler shifted closer, leaning in until his lips brushed Josh’s ear. “Let’s give him something to look at.”

Before Josh could protest, Tyler was kissing him. Not just a sweet press, but slow and deliberate, tongue slipping in, hand curling behind Josh’s neck. Josh meant to pull back, but the taste of wine on Tyler’s mouth was too good, the slide of it too much, and soon he was lost in it too.

When they broke apart, Josh was breathless, but Tyler wasn’t even looking at him. His eyes were locked across the room, satisfied. “Yeah. Take that, Dick Mick.”

Josh followed his line of sight... Mick, face bent over the menu, cheeks red in the sour way of a man who’d just swallowed something bitter.

Turning back, Josh shook his head with mock disappointment. “You’re a menace.”

Tyler grinned, all teeth and victory, then slid his hand under the table to squeeze Josh’s thigh. “Yeah? You gonna do something about it?”

The suggestion in his tone was like gasoline on the spark already smoldering between them. Josh gave him a look that was half warning, half already giving in. The want was sharp and undeniable. He dropped his napkin, drained the last of his glass, and leaned in.

“You know what?” he said, voice low. “Why don’t you follow me back to the hotel and find out.”

...

The door had barely clicked shut behind them when Tyler shoved Josh back, trying to pin him against the wall like he had a dozen times before. But Josh was faster this time. He twisted out of reach with a dancer’s ease, spun them around, and before Tyler could blink, it was him who hit the wall instead, chest pressed forward, one arm wrenched up behind him.
He let out a sharp gasp, the sound swallowed by plaster as Josh’s body caged him in, solid and unyielding.

This wasn’t how Josh usually moved with him. Josh was supposed to be the sweet one, careful and gentle, letting Tyler take the lead. But now? His grip, his weight, the way his breath dragged hot against Tyler’s ear... it was commanding. And fuck if that didn’t make Tyler’s whole body light up.

He tried to squirm free, more instinct than intent, but Josh only tightened his hold. His fingers locked hard around Tyler’s wrist, the other hand clamping firm on his hip, pinning him flush against the wall.

Tyler realized he wasn’t getting out. Josh had him. He was out of control.

His cock twitched helplessly in his pants, heat flooding through him at the thought of being trapped like this, being taken like this. And slowly, instead of fighting against it, Tyler let go. He pressed his cheek harder to the wall and steadied himself between Josh’s body and the plaster, holding his breath as he waited for what would come next.

Only then did Josh finally speak.

“You’ve been awfully pushy these past few days, Tyler,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous against his ear.

Tyler shivered. The words hit almost as hard as the weight pinning him, sending a bolt of heat straight down his spine.

“Touching me backstage,” Josh went on, “choosing the most inappropriate moments to rile me up.”

His mouth grazed along Tyler’s neck, hot breath followed by sharp teeth sinking just enough to make him jolt. Tyler gasped when Josh shoved him harder into the wall, the full press of his body leaving him no room to move. The sharp sting of teeth faded into the steady, merciless hold of muscle and grip.

“And you did all of that on purpose,” Josh hissed against his skin, grinding forward so Tyler could feel the hard, undeniable line of his cock through his jeans. “Knowing very well there was nothing I could do about it.”

The sound that left Tyler was halfway between a whimper and a moan. His hips twitched back involuntarily, chasing that pressure, that proof of how badly Josh wanted him. Heat surged through his chest at the thought that this... this roughness and command, was all because of him.

“Exactly. Behaving like a needy little brat,” Josh said, tightening his hold as his voice dropped into something steel-hard and devastating. “But that time is over.”

Tyler’s cock throbbed painfully in his pants, every nerve alive under the weight of Josh’s body. There was no hesitation in him tonight, no careful pauses or second-guessing, only raw, relentless confidence. And God, it was undoing Tyler from the inside out.

Josh rolled his hips again, slow and punishing, and Tyler moaned helplessly. His body strained against the hold, but not to break free, only to lean deeper, to feel it more. He melted into it, surrender spreading through him like heat, until even being crushed against the wall felt like the safest place on earth.

“Now it’s gonna be you who takes what I give,” Josh growled against his ear. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

That broke something open inside Tyler. His face pressed harder into the wall, his knees threatening to buckle as the weight of Josh’s body and words crashed through him. He was trembling, not from fear, but from the sheer force of want flooding him, stripping him bare.

“Fuck...Josh-” he gasped, the heat inside him mounting sharp and fast.

Josh bit down on his earlobe, tugging hard. “Yeah? You like that? Like me taking control over you, baby?”

Like it? He loved this. Loved the way Josh flipped the script on him without warning, loved being caught, pinned and controlled.

Every word cut straight to his cock. He squeezed his eyes shut, dizzy with the mix of humiliation and hunger, surrender flooding every muscle until the only thing left was want.

“Answer me,” Josh demanded with another roll of his hips, voice like steel.

Tyler groaned, his throat raw with it. Josh like this... confident and dominant, was something he hadn’t even known he craved until now. And after all these days, pent-up and aching without real release, it was exactly what he needed. The shock of it only made his chest swell tighter with love, admiration, hunger... for Josh to know, to recognize, to give him this without Tyler ever having to ask.

And maybe Josh needed it too. Maybe what Josh wanted tonight was Tyler submitting, Tyler obeying.

And Tyler wanted nothing more than to give him that.

“Yes.” The word tumbled out rough and helpless. He added a softer, “Yes, Josh... want you to take me. Do whatever you want to me.”

He pressed his ass back in offering, desperate, begging for more.

Josh’s growl vibrated against Tyler’s spine before he abruptly stepped back. Tyler barely had a second to catch his breath before Josh spun him around, catching his wrists and shoving them high above his head. His back hit the wall again, but this time Josh’s mouth was on his before he could gasp.

The kiss wasn’t soft. It was teeth and tongue and hunger, Josh devouring him like he’d been starved for days. Tyler whimpered into it, his lips stretched wide as Josh licked deep, kissed hard, only pulling back long enough to breathe before surging in again. His wrists ached in Josh’s grip but God, he loved being held down and kissed until his lungs burned.

When Josh finally broke away, both of them panting, his voice was a rough command. “Get down on your knees.”

It hit Tyler low in the gut and he almost laughed, half out of nerves, half out of disbelief, but the heat in Josh’s eyes wiped every doubt clean. God, he didn’t even know he liked this side of Josh until now, but every second of it made his body burn hotter.

So he obeyed, knees hitting carpet, palms sliding down Josh’s thighs as he sank down. He tilted his chin up, eyes blown wide and hungry, watching as Josh undid the button of his jeans, then the fly, then shoved denim and briefs down far enough to free himself.

He wrapped a hand around his cock and stroked lazily, teasing himself in front of Tyler’s face, letting him look. And Tyler did, his mouth parting like instinct, lips wet, pupils swallowing every inch.

Josh took one step forward, and Tyler didn’t even need words. His lips opened obediently, and Josh pushed in with one controlled thrust, groaning when the wet heat closed around him. Tyler moaned like he was tasting something decadent, eyes fluttering shut, throat working as he swallowed around him. His own cock twitched violently inside his pants, leaking into his briefs.

He set a rhythm, bobbing his head deeper each time, tongue slick against the vein, hollowing his cheeks to pull more out of Josh. His hands braced Josh’s thighs tight, nails digging through denim.

“Fuck... Tyler,” Josh hissed above him, head falling back. “Missed those lips stretched around my cock.”

The words made Tyler moan helplessly around him, sending vibrations straight up Josh’s length. Josh’s thighs trembled and his hand flew to Tyler’s hair, gripping hard for balance as Tyler took him deeper, lips wet and shiny, spit starting to gather at the corners of his mouth.

Tyler’s eyes fluttered open, glassy and desperate, flicking up at Josh with a silent plea that said harder. Take it from me.

Josh growled again, understood, and began to move. His hips took over the thrusts, slow and testing at first, and Tyler only groaned, taking him, pushing closer until Josh was fucking into the wet heat of his mouth. Tyler’s cock ached, precum soaking his briefs as the helplessness and the surrender wrung every nerve inside him.

“God- so good,” Josh moaned, voice breaking. He thrust a few more times, pace stuttering, then pulled back suddenly. Tyler gasped, chest heaving, a slick string of saliva still connecting his lips to the tip of Josh’s cock. Josh stared down at it, swearing under his breath. “Jesus...”

“Get up.” His voice was sharp and breathless. “Up- on the bed. C’mon.”

Tyler scrambled to his feet, dizzy with want, and had barely made it two steps when Josh’s next command came.

“Lose your clothes.”

He stripped without hesitation, shirt hitting the floor, jeans next, briefs peeled away sticky with precum. Across from him, Josh was shedding his own clothes, and Tyler’s eyes roamed openly, watching every movement of Josh's defined muscles.

“How do you want me?” Tyler asked, biting his lip, body flushed head to toe.

He wasn’t used to asking that question. Usually, he was the one deciding, calling the shots, taking what he wanted exactly how he wanted it. But Josh was in control now, and the shift thrilled him just as much, if not more. He wanted to follow wherever Josh’s wishes led, wanted to give him everything he asked for.

Josh’s eyes darkened, raking over him, voice low and certain. “Hands and knees. Face the headboard.”

Tyler shivered at the order, but turned without question, climbing onto the bed. He crawled forward on all fours, spine arching naturally, ass pushed high in open offering. He glanced back once, lips parted, hungry and inviting.

The sound Josh made was primal.

In the next second his hands were on Tyler’s ass, kneading, spreading him apart like he’d been waiting for this exact view all day. His fingers dug in possessively, teasing at the sensitive skin, and Tyler whined, dropping his head between his shoulders, already trembling with need.

“Oh my god, baby,” Josh groaned behind him, voice already wrecked. “You look good enough to eat.”

The words alone made Tyler moan, a desperate heat running through him. God, he hoped Josh meant what he thought...

And then he felt Josh’s hands spreading his cheeks wide, exposing him completely, and a warm spill of spit landed right between them. Tyler gasped at the sudden wetness, then moaned outright when Josh’s thumb smeared it down to his rim, circling it with just enough pressure to tease.

“Please, Josh...” Tyler begged, hips jerking back against the thumb like his body was desperate to pull it inside.

“Yeah...” Josh rasped.

And then his mouth was there instead.

Tyler nearly sobbed when Josh’s tongue circled his rim, licking in slow before flattening out and dragging up through his crack. His cock twitched helplessly, dribbling precum onto the sheets beneath him.

“Oh fuck...” he whimpered, thighs shaking.

Josh hummed low in his throat, like Tyler tasted better than anything he’d ever had, and then he dove back in, eating him out with a hunger that made Tyler feel devoured. His tongue worked him open, licking, pressing, teasing, the warm spit-slick sounds filling the room obscenely. Tyler clutched the sheets, his body bowing back toward every movement, shameless in how he offered himself up.

“Josh-” he gasped when he felt a finger replace the tongue, pushing inside slowly. His breath caught on the intrusion, then melted into a whine when it curled just right.

“That’s it,” Josh murmured, voice hot against his skin. His free hand held Tyler spread wide while the finger pressed in and out with controlled motion. Then came another, stretching him further, scissoring gently until Tyler was keening, his cock dripping steadily onto the mattress.

“Fuck... Josh... please-” Tyler’s voice broke as Josh’s fingers brushed that spot deep inside.

Josh bit into one ass cheek, hard enough to leave a mark, and pumped his fingers deeper. Tyler almost lost it right there. And then, just as Tyler was unraveling, Josh pulled away. His fingers left him empty, his mouth gone from his skin.

Tyler whined, dizzy with need.

But Josh moved fast, shuffling up until his cock smacked down heavily between Tyler’s cheeks, dragging wetly across the spit and lube already there.

“Yeah? That what you want, baby?” he taunted, voice low and ragged as he ground himself between Tyler’s cheeks without pushing in. “Want my cock inside you?”

“Yes-” Tyler moaned, nodding frantically, pressing his hips back in offering. “Please, Josh, please.”

Josh groaned like he was barely holding himself together. “Hmm, yeah.” His hand slid over Tyler’s hip, steadying him. “Pass me the lube.”

Tyler’s dazed eyes flicked up toward the nightstand, and sure enough, the little bottle sat there, waiting. He stretched one arm out desperately, fingers scrabbling until he caught it, tossing it blindly back over his shoulder.

“Hurry,” he begged, voice hoarse, shoving his ass back in emphasis.

The sharp slap came instantly, cracking across one cheek, making him yelp.

“Watch your mouth, bratty boy,” Josh warned, though his other hand was already uncapping the lube, slicking himself up with quick, eager strokes.

Tyler whimpered at the sting, at the heat in Josh’s voice, and his cock leaked all the more against the sheets. But then Josh was finally lining up, the broad head nudging right against his rim. For one charged second, he just held there, both of them shaking.

And then he pushed in.

The head slipped past the tight ring of muscle, stretching him wide, and Tyler groaned loud and raw, his back arching as pleasure cut sharp through the pressure.

“Fuck, Ty,” Josh gasped against his ear, voice breaking.

Tyler’s eyes rolled shut, mouth falling open as his body clenched around the intrusion, already melting into the sheer bliss of finally being filled.

Josh’s palm pressed hard between Tyler’s shoulder blades, and at the same time, his hips drove forward, burying his cock deep with a single, merciless push. Tyler’s arms gave out under him, collapsing face-first into the sheets as a desperate, guttural moan ripped out of his chest. It was so loud Josh was sure the neighbors could hear.
He didn’t care. Not even a little.

He pulled back and slammed forward again, immediately setting a deep and unrelenting rhythm. With his free hand, he reached for Tyler’s wrists, uselessly tangled beneath him, and yanked them back. Twisting them into one grip, Josh used the leverage to pound harder, to keep Tyler pinned while he drove into him.

“Needy little thing...” Josh gritted out between thrusts. “This is what you get when you play with fire.”

The words hit just as hard as the pace did. Tyler could only whine in response, body strung tight, every thrust dragging him into the mattress. Quiet whiny “Yeah, yeah, yeahs,” spilled out of his mouth in breathless repetition, his ass pushing back helplessly to meet the punishing rhythm.

Josh wasn’t just fucking him, he was claiming him, like all those days of holding back had finally broken loose. And Tyler could feel how every snap of Josh’s hips said I want you, I need you, you’re mine.

And he wanted nothing more than to be taken like that.

Josh angled his hips lower and leaned over him, and the effect was immediate and brutal, hitting him dead-on, slamming into his prostate every single time. Tyler’s eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open wide in a silent wail, overwhelmed by sheer sensation.

“Fuck, you feel so good, Ty,” Josh groaned, sweat dripping as he kept the pace. “So fucking tight.”

Tyler moaned with him, his voice ragged, his body trembling under the assault. With his wrists restricted behind him, he couldn’t move, couldn’t touch, couldn’t do anything but take it.

“J-Josh...” he gasped weakly, his cock grinding raw against the sheets with every shove forward. He was close, so close he could barely form words.

“Yeah, baby?” Josh’s voice was wrecked, but the taunt was still there. “You gonna come like this? Gonna come from me just... taking what I want?” He punctuated it with sharp, snapping thrusts that made the whole bed jolt.

Tyler’s brain short-circuited. He never thought he’d come like this, pinned down, used like nothing but a hole... and yet his body was already breaking for it. The humiliation, the helplessness, the sheer power of Josh over him... it was everything he didn’t know he needed.

He let out a high, broken whimper, biting his lip until it nearly split before crying out in a plea that didn’t even sound like words anymore. Josh could see it, he could see his boy unraveling, eyelashes fluttering, back bowing, every muscle trembling...

And then Tyler shattered.

His orgasm ripped through him, untouched cock spurting against the sheets as his body convulsed around Josh. White streaks painted the fabric beneath him while Josh fucked him through it, relentless, holding his wrists tight until Tyler went limp, spent and gasping.

Josh slowed only when Tyler’s aftershocks made his whole body twitch, then pulled out carefully, rolling him onto his side. Tyler lay there, pliant and wrecked, his chest heaving as Josh propped himself up beside him, one hand brushing sweaty hair off his forehead.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of their breathing filling the room, Josh watching the rise and fall of Tyler’s chest like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

When Tyler finally blinked back into focus, his lips curved in a dazed little smile. “Jesus, Josh...” he rasped, voice shredded. “That was...”

Josh’s grin softened, almost tender. “Yeah?” he prompted gently, like he really wanted to hear it.

“Just... absolutely fucking amazing,” Tyler admitted, still half-gone, voice breaking on the words.

Josh leaned in and kissed him, quick and hungry first, but then he slowed down, brushing tiny pecks against swollen lips. “Hmm,” he murmured, lips ghosting over Tyler’s. “Glad to hear that.”

Tyler melted into the kisses, every muscle slack, his body still thrumming with the aftershocks.

He thought maybe that was it, that Josh had wrung him dry, that the night had burned itself out. But then he felt Josh’s hand slid down again, wrapping around his still-aching cock and his eyes widened as he realized Josh hadn’t come yet. He watched, transfixed, as Josh stroked himself slowly, precum slicking his palm, his cock still flushed and rock hard.

Josh caught his gaze and smirked darkly.

“Yeah," he said, as if confirming that Tyler was seeing that right. "You better catch your breath quickly baby...”

Before Tyler could respond, Josh shifted forward, sliding his body over his, skin hot and slick where they met. Tyler gasped, limp cock trapped between them while Josh’s still-hard length dragged across it.

“’Cause I’m about to take you again,” Josh finished, thrusting with obscene, deliberate pressure.

Tyler’s eyes flew wide, a strangled moan catching in his throat when he glanced down and saw the head Josh’s cock smearing precum across his stomach.

“Oh my god, fuck...” he whimpered, staring up at him in disbelief. “Who are you and what have you done to my sweet love-making boyfriend?”

Josh’s grin turned wolfish, hips grinding smoothly, coating Tyler’s skin with every stroke.

“You teased him right out of me,” Josh replied darkly. Then his mouth brushed Tyler’s ear, his voice a promise and a threat all at once.

“And I did warn you I was gonna play, baby.”

Another thrust, heavier, slicker, dragging his cock against Tyler’s sensitive skin until Tyler gasped, already trembling again despite how wrecked he was.

Josh kissed him once more, soft and deceptively sweet, and then pulled back just far enough to look into his eyes.

“Hope your schedule’s clear tonight...”

Chapter Text

The chaos of the tour was back in full swing before they even reached the venue.

Trucks were angled tight against loading ramps, their hydraulic lifts whining as cases rolled down onto concrete. Crew voices carried in bursts from inside the hall, someone shouting for a wrench over the low hum of a diesel generator. Watching the rhythm of it all from across the street, Tyler realized, again, just how lucky he was that his boyfriend played the drums instead of working the crew.

Because if Josh had been a tech, they’d have been up at dawn, probably running on nothing but stale coffee and muscle memory. There wouldn’t have been time to wake up slowly, tangled under hotel sheets, pressing into each other until Tyler’s full bladder forced them out of bed. No leisurely breakfast, no drawn-out debate about how to get to the venue. And definitely no detour for coffee that didn’t taste like metal and regret.

Though to be fair, if Josh had been crew, Tyler wouldn’t even be here in the first place.

But Josh was not a tech, or any other kind of roadie. He was part of the band. So instead of being already up and running, they had the luxury of padding through the morning with the indulgence of people who could afford to be late.

The crew bus had pulled out from the hotel parking lot hours before they even checked out, so once their bellies were full, they strolled into the lobby with their backpacks, handed over their key cards, and let the receptionist call them a taxi. They’d asked to be dropped a few blocks from the venue, just so they could wander into a local café first.

They texted Sam while standing in line, half out of politeness, half in self-preservation, and like a proper tour manager, she rattled off orders for half the crew in just under two minutes.

Which was how they ended up juggling a ridiculous number of cardboard trays, trying not to spill ten cups of coffee at once. Josh, steady as always, carried most of the weight without breaking stride, while Tyler trailed behind with only one tray in one hand, and his own cup in the other.

But not even playing coffee boys could take the bounce out of their steps.

Yesterday, they’d had an amazing day off, didn’t do much except eat, laze around, and just... be close. And maybe after what Josh put him through at the end of the night, Tyler should’ve felt drained, but he actually felt the opposite. He was wired in the best way, full of energy, steady in his skin. For the first time since the panic attack, he wasn’t jittery or twitchy or waiting for something to crack.

That was the magic of Josh Dun.

And his skilled hands.

And mouth.

And cock.

Tyler huffed out a laugh at himself, shaking his head like that would scatter the thought before it got too detailed. He forced his focus back into the room instead, handing off cups as people came to claim their orders. Once the trays were mostly empty, there were still a few cups left, and Tyler was pretty sure he hadn’t seen Shap yet. So he grabbed one, called a quick “see you later” over his shoulder to Josh, and bounced away down the hall.

The venue floor was a different kind of chaos than outside. Tyler slipped through the side entrance with a cup of coffee in each hand, his own already half-empty, Shap’s still steaming. His smile was easy, shoulders loose, he looked relaxed, happy and satiated.

Totally zen. No more bratty Tyler for anyone.

Shap spotted him right away from the corner of the stage, his face breaking into a grin. He reached out instantly, making grabby hands for the coffee, but then his eyes flicked up and took Tyler in. His grin turned sly.

“Good hotel night, I assume. You look... well rested-” He was already laughing before he could even finish the tease, but the laugh snagged in his throat and turned jagged.

He didn't even get a proper hold of the cup before he shoved it back into Tyler’s hand, turning away as a sharp cough tore out of him. He buried it in the crook of his elbow, shoulders shaking until he managed to wrestle it down. Tyler stood there frozen for a beat, not sure if he should reach out or keep back.

When it finally eased, he cleared his throat. “Yeah, well... can’t say the same about you.” He took a tentative step closer, brows knitting. “You okay?”

Shap waved a hand, still catching his breath. “Yeah, yeah, sure. I’m fine.. just my asthma acting up.”

Tyler eyed him for a second, unconvinced, but handed him the cup again anyway. “If you say so.”

Shap took it gratefully this time, already turning his attention back to the chaos around them. And it was chaos...

Onstage, local crew were assembling trusses, bolting in light rigs, and tightening safety lines that dangled like spiderwebs above the deck. Two guys in black were down on their knees, taping cables in neat, invisible lines across the floor. A forklift beeped in reverse as it maneuvered another rack of amps into place. Backline techs moved in waves, setting up drum risers, unfolding stands, hauling instruments out of cases. A few security hovered at the perimeters, radios clipped to their vests, already scanning doors even though it was hours before showtime.

Even the band members passed through every now and then, looking busy and important, heads ducked together before disappearing again.

And despite the place being in such a rush, Tyler felt steady.

He didn’t drift on the sidelines for long. Instead, he rolled up his sleeves and jumped in with Shap, Matt, and George, helping get everything ready to bring the sound to life. At first he picked up cues from Shap, doing whatever was needed, but soon he was already moving on his own initiative, instinctively finishing tasks before anyone even asked.

There was something grounding about the teamwork. It felt good to be part of something real, instead of just clinging to his boyfriend and looking like a lost puppy. Even just being accepted among people who did this for a living, being trusted to handle it alongside them, felt like a small victory. And more than that... it felt good knowing he was actually contributing to making the show run, even if he got to watch it himself.

They worked like that for hours, the four of them a moving machine, and Tyler barely noticed the time passing. He didn’t even register how little he’d seen Josh since they’d split off that morning. He only got a short glimpse of him when they finally took a break and ducked into the catering room for a quick bite.

It was already buzzing, people walking in and out. When they walked in, Josh was halfway to the exit, stuffing his mouth with food like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. He was dressed in some ridiculous “rockstar” getup, all studs and leather, and Tyler’s only chance to react was with a slow lift of his brows. Josh shot him a guilty grin around a mouthful, waved, and then bolted, still chewing as he disappeared down the hall.

The lazy rhythm of yesterday had been replaced by today’s full-blown chaos, and Josh was clearly being swept along in his own current.

...

The day passed like time forgot how to be linear.

But that’s probably what happens when you have to set up a whole venue in a single day. Not that it was impossible, but usually the crew had the luxury of spreading the work across two days. This time, though, the venue had been booked solid until the night before, so today everyone was paying for the “day off” with double the work.

When soundcheck finally came, Tyler found himself behind the safety of the booth again, nerding over the maze of control panels with Shap while the band trickled onstage. He let himself sink into the moment, watching Josh, now dressed back in sweatpants and a half-crumpled shirt, settle behind the kit.

From the very first note, everything seemed to be running smoothly.

And finally, finally Tyler got to see Josh play properly, without interruptions, without someone telling him to stop because a piece of gear needed to be adjusted or switched. Josh’s whole body locked into rhythm the moment his sticks hit the skins, fluid and precise, power behind every strike. And Tyler watched him with ultimate awe.

He was a good fucking drummer.

And god, did he look good being good.

Tyler was so caught up in the sight of him that it took him a beat too long to notice the coughing beside him. Shap had doubled over, one hand clutching the edge of the console as the other pressed hard to his chest. His breath came ragged, face red, eyes wet with the force of it.

He fumbled toward the controls, rasping out, “Could you- I need-” before stumbling out of the booth entirely.

Tyler’s gut clenched, but instinct shoved him forward. He slipped into the vacated chair, right in front of the million blinking lights and shifting colors, hands hovering over the panel, fingers ready to move the faders if something went wrong. Relief flooded him when everything stayed stable. For a breath, he thought maybe he’d lucked out.

At least until Mick decided to get clever.

The frontman leaned too close to the monitor wedge with his mic in hand and let out a warbled hum, feedback squealing through the system like knives to the eardrums. Tyler swore under his breath, diving across the console. He yanked the fader down, adjusted the gain back to a sane level, and killed the rogue frequency before anyone’s ears could actually bleed.

Across the stage, Tyler saw Mick scowl as if he were the victim. Like it wasn’t enough that he was the only one in the band who still refused in-ears, clinging to his precious wedges instead. Idiot couldn’t even handle those properly.

“What a fucking dickhead, honestly,” Tyler muttered, sliding the levels back to where Shap had kept them.

The booth fell quiet again, save for the distant thud of Josh’s kick drum. Tyler glanced toward the door, unease prickling in his chest. But just as he was about to step away from the panel, Shap reappeared, pale but upright, a hoarse apology tumbling from his throat.

“Sorry, dude,” Shap croaked, grabbing the edge of the desk for support. “Swear the dry air in this place is gonna kill me.”

Tyler studied him for a while, unsure what to think of it. “You sure you’re okay? You need meds or something?”

Shap shook his head, taking his seat again with a wince. “Nah, I’m good. Sam’s got me covered. Thanks, though.”

Tyler nodded slowly, but he didn’t miss the way Shap’s hand trembled as he reached for his coffee again.

The soundcheck wound down after that, the last notes echoing off the empty arena walls. For the first time all day, the pace seemed to slow. Tyler was still leaning against the console, trading quiet words with Shap, when a familiar voice chimed behind him.

“Oh, there you are...”

He turned to find Josh picking his way toward the booth, balancing a plate stacked high with food. He must’ve raided catering to make up for whatever he’d missed earlier. Tyler grinned, warmth sparking in his chest, but he didn’t move from where he stood. Instead, he kept up the thread of conversation with Shap while Josh plopped down nearby, happily demolishing his plate as he listened.

By the time Josh had finished eating, he drifted closer, shoulder brushing Tyler’s as he leaned on the panel too. Shap was glancing around the empty floor, rubbing a hand absently over his thigh.

“Hey, should we sit?” he asked after a moment. “My legs are kinda killing me.”

So the three of them wandered down the short steps to the lowest row of seats, sinking gratefully into the cool plastic. The stillness was strange after a day of nothing but motion, but in its own way it felt earned.

Shap started talking jokes, complaints, stories... and before long Tyler was leaning forward, hanging on every word. Tales from previous tours, near-disasters with pyros that almost singed George’s eyebrows off, Mick forgetting entire verses and bluffing through with nonsense lyrics, Josh once splitting his jeans mid-show and having to finish the set with duct tape holding him together. Shap’s delivery was dry, Tyler’s laughter loud, and Josh’s quiet chuckle the glue between them.

Time slipped without them noticing, their laughter filling the cavernous space. Until...

“Uh, ’scuse me? This is my seat.”

Tyler jerked his head up. A woman stood in the aisle, maybe in her forties but dressed in a teenager’s uniform of ripped jeans and heavy eyeliner, one brow cocked as she hovered with her ticket in hand.

For a second the three of them just stared. Then Tyler blinked, heart lurching, and looked around.

Sure enough, the arena wasn’t empty anymore. The seats were filling fast, people streaming down the aisles, the low roar of voices rising in the background.

The air felt suddenly different. The scrape of seats folding, the rustle of jackets and bags, the squeak of sneakers against concrete, it all layered into a hum that pressed in from every direction. Above, house lights dimmed slightly, casting a warmer glow over the sea of movement. His chest tightened at the sheer density of it, the reality of so many bodies, so many eyes that would soon be turned toward the stage.

“Shit,” Tyler breathed, pulse spiking.

Before panic could claw its way higher, he felt Josh’s hand close around his. He was already tugging him to his feet, murmuring apologies to the woman as they backed out of the row. Tyler’s gaze swept the crowd, bracing for the snap of something awful, for that crushing spiral from before... but it didn’t come.

“You okay?” he asked quietly once they’d cleared the aisle, but still stayed close, fingers laced tight.

Tyler looked at him. His heartbeat was kicking hard, but it hadn’t tipped into chaos, it was just a surge of adrenaline from the shock. He blinked, surprised by his own voice when it came out steady. “I... yeah. I think so.”

And the truth of it startled him. But there was no dizziness, no cold sweat, no sense of falling out of himself. And even though he expected this to be something to knock him flat again, he stayed upright, breathing, and fine. Josh’s hand wrapped around his had to be part of it, grounding him without even trying.

They moved quickly anyway, weaving through the corridors until the swell of the audience noise dulled behind the doors. Somewhere along the way they lost Shap, but Tyler barely noticed until they were alone in one of the long backstage hallways, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead.

“Uh.” Tyler scratched the back of his head, not sure what he was supposed to feel now that it was over. Josh hadn’t let go of his other hand the whole time, and he gave it another squeeze like he wasn’t planning to anytime soon.

Tyler glanced down at their joined hands, at how ordinary it looked, and how extraordinary it felt. His pulse was still running high, but instead of panic it just felt like leftover static buzzing under his skin. And maybe that was okay. Maybe this was what okay looked like now.

“So I’m gonna head out,” Tyler said after a beat, voice gentler now. “Work on some music, maybe.”

Josh nodded immediately. “Yeah, okay.” His thumb dragged once more across Tyler’s knuckles before his grip loosened a little.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Tyler melted a little at the worry in his eyes. He could see how much Josh was still turning it over in his head, searching for cracks in Tyler’s voice, in his body language, like he couldn’t quite believe it yet. Josh’s hand was gentle, but firm too, like he wasn’t ready to let go until he was absolutely sure.

Tyler stepped back in and pressed a soft kiss to Josh’s lips, reassurance tucked into the touch. “Yeah. I really am fine, don’t worry about me.” He pecked him one more time with a crooked grin. “See you after the show?”

Josh let out a small nervous laugh, relief breaking across his face as he gave his hand one last squeeze before finally letting him go.

Tyler turned, slipping down the hallway, letting the fluorescent lights blur overhead, and the buzz of backstage chatter filled the silence Josh’s absence left behind.

He hadn’t lied when he said he was fine. His chest was steady, his pulse no longer racing, but there was something lingering inside him. Not panic exactly, more like... confusion.

Because for days now, he’d believed it was the sheer crush of people in the venue that had broken him last time, that set off the spiral he hadn’t been able to escape. But tonight, when the seats had filled, when strangers pressed in on every side, he’d held himself together. And maybe it might've been because of Josh and his calming presence, but was Josh really some kind of superhuman shield? Or was the truth something else?

Maybe it wasn’t the crowd itself. Maybe it was the place. The stage.

The thought landed with a strange sort of clarity. The panic attack hadn’t happened in the sound booth, or in the seats, or even in the hallways. It had happened when he was standing onstage, looking out into the swell of faceless people. That was what had undone him.

So he realized that maybe... just maybe, there was still a way forward. Maybe if he let go of the idea of watching the show from the sidelines and accepted Shap’s offer to sit with him in the booth instead, maybe he could see Josh play after all.

And just that tiny thought, that glimmer of possibility, made his chest ease. The tightness that had threatened to build earlier loosened, leaving behind something lighter, something almost like hope.

By the time he reached the bus, he was already setting his mind on the night ahead, plotting melodies he wanted to chase once he opened his laptop.

For the first time in days, the idea didn’t feel impossible.

Tyler climbed onto the bus with all the confidence of someone who had a plan, ducking into the back lounge to unzip his gearbag. He pulled out everything he might need... laptop, audio interface, his little portable keyboard, headphones, notebook, a pen that clicked satisfyingly in his hand.

He laid it all out neatly on the table like he was building an altar.

For once, there were no client deadlines pressing down on him, no half finished projects guilting him from a to-do list. He’d cleared all that already, which meant this moment was his, ready to be filled with something that belonged solely to him.

He opened a fresh session on his laptop, the empty project window almost daring him to leave his mark. Normally that blank screen would have mocked him, but tonight it felt like a possibility. His chest was still light from earlier, from that small thread of hope he hadn’t thought he’d feel again, and the energy spilled into his hands.

The first hour was trial and error, scrolling through sounds, testing textures, auditioning synth patches until one finally stuck. He started stacking chords, and before long, the mess of sketches began to cohere into something real. Drafts turned into a melody, melodies began to link, and suddenly there was a shape of a song forming.

Time loosened around him. Once or twice he surfaced long enough to stretch or to hit the bathroom, catching the muffled thuds from the arena, proof that the show was alive and raging without him. But then he was gone again, sinking back into the glow of his screen, fingers moving with certainty.

He knew what he wanted this song to sound like. Even if the words weren’t there yet, even if the lyrics still refused to come, the sound carried the feeling... clear, hopeful, building into something that felt like forward motion.

And he was completely unaware of anything else happening around him.

...

Josh started the show sharp, sticks striking with the kind of precision only muscle memory could carry. His body locked into rhythm the way it always did, fluid, automatic, but his mind was somewhere else. Or rather... with someone else.

He was still worried about Tyler.

He kept seeing his face from earlier, that soft, reassuring kiss before he walked off to the bus alone. He’d said he was fine, and maybe he was, but Josh knew panic didn’t always come like a lightning strike. Sometimes it crawled in later, after the adrenaline drained, catching you when you thought you were safe. He’d seen it happen once already, and the memory had sunk its claws into him. The idea of Tyler spiraling again while Josh was trapped here for another two, maybe three hours, made his gut twist.

He hit harder, trying to drive the worry out through the drums, but it stayed lodged behind his ribs.

By the midpoint of the set, the unease hadn’t eased, it had grown. Something about tonight felt... wrong. Even the band was off. James kept casting quick glances toward Denny, brows raised like he was checking if he’d heard the same thing. Notes slipped just a little, cues came late, like everyone was distracted. Josh tried to blame it on himself, on the noise in his own head, but the more he listened, the more he knew it wasn’t just him.

The sound wasn’t sitting right.

It was subtle at first, little cracks in the mix, like the whole thing was tilted half a degree. But toward the end, it got worse. Guitars felt buried, vocals tinny in his ears, even Joey’s bass, normally unshakable, started to waver at the edges.

And then there were the looks.

Not just from the band now, but from the sides of the stage. Crew talking into their headsets with clipped urgency, people pacing faster, cutting glances toward the backstage. That kind of communication happened every night, these shows were an organized chaos, but this was different. This was sharp, urgent, panicked.

Josh’s heart hammered, and not just from the workout of the set. His hands kept moving, keeping time for the band, but his mind was already back on Tyler.

Was he okay? Did he make it back to the bus? What if he hadn’t? What if he’d frozen somewhere again, alone this time, and Josh wasn’t there to ground him? What if this emergency was about him?

By the time they launched into the final song, the tension was undeniable. Something had gone wrong. His sticks moved on autopilot, blasting through fills, but his brain was half tuned into the chaos bleeding through his in-ears. Fragments only, his pack still glitching like it had earlier in the tour. Every other line cut out, voices fractured.

“...clear the aisle as soon as possible-”
“...ask security then!”
“...we need the aisle clear-”

Then the fireworks cue hit, and nothing happened. No blast, no fire, no smoke. The grand finale fizzled, leaving only the raw sound of instruments straining toward the finish. The band exchanged quick, wide-eyed looks, but kept playing, the crowd oblivious. The roar of thousands masked the frantic rushing just offstage, crew darting back and forth with faces too tight to mistake.

Josh’s throat felt like it was closing, he barely heard the last cymbal crash. The moment the others stood to bow, he stayed rooted on his throne, flicking his mic live, his voice urgent and breaking.

“Is something happening? Someone talk to me, please.”

For a moment, nothing... just static. Then George’s voice came on, tight and breathless.

“Yeah, fuck... we have an emergency.”

Other voices bled through behind him- “Clear the aisle for medics! Move, move!” -before George came back on, harsher now.

“It’s Tyler. Fuck... fuck. He collapsed.”

Josh froze.

His ears rang.

The crowd’s cheer blurred into a deaf roar, the drumsticks slipping from his hands as the world tilted sideways.

What the fuck do you mean Tyler collapsed?

Chapter Text

Tyler was so deep in his project that he didn’t notice the door at first.

It was the frantic movement that finally made him flinch, eyes darting forward, hands freezing above his keyboard. His headphones slid halfway down his neck, the melody he’d been layering cutting to silence.

He blinked, still catching up, as one of the crew, someone whose name Tyler didn’t even remember, stormed down the aisle, heading straight toward the bunks. The guy’s gaze skimmed the rows in a rush, stalling for a moment with a frustrated sigh, like he’d already forgotten what he came for.

Then his eyes registered Tyler sitting in the back lounge.

“Shit... oh good, you sleep here, right?” he blurted, but didn’t wait for an answer. “Which bunk is Shap’s?”

Tyler, still frozen, only lifted a hand to point dumbly. In seconds the guy had yanked open the nearest curtain, shoving bags aside with frantic hands.

“Uh- no,” Tyler said quickly, snapping out of it and finally pushing himself up. “That’s Sam’s. Shap’s up top.” He hurried forward before the guy could wreck something important, trying to rescue Sam’s stuff from getting tossed around.

The crewman spun toward him, eyes raking over Tyler in a flash before he scrubbed a hand through his hair, still wired tight with stress.

“Do me a favor, bro. Grab his personal stuff and bring it inside, yeah? I gotta run.”

And then he turned around, pounding back down the steps, leaving Tyler staring at the empty aisle, pulse suddenly a little too loud in his ears.

“Wait-“ Tyler finally called after him, but too late, the bus door already slid shut behind him.

Fuck...

Tyler chewed the inside of his cheek, staring at the door. What was he supposed to do now?

He wasn’t exactly keen on walking into the venue while the show was still going. Sure, he’d been thinking earlier about maybe being able to handle it, but that didn’t mean he was ready now. That was too much, too soon.

But the look on the guy’s face, the panic and urgency, spiked something sharp inside him. Whatever this was, it mattered. If Shap needed his stuff badly enough for someone to sprint onto the bus like that, it had to be important. Inhaler, maybe... or meds. Something that couldn’t wait.

The backpack was right there, stuffed into the corner of Shap’s bunk. Tyler tugged it free, feeling the weight settle heavy in his hand. It felt even heavier with the thought of carrying it into the venue.

But Shap was his friend. And Tyler didn’t leave his friends hanging.

Even if it meant risking another panic attack.

He slung the bag over his shoulder, took a breath that barely filled his lungs, and pushed outside.

The roar hit him instantly... crowd noise, massive and alive, spilling out of the building in tidal waves. For a second he stood frozen on the pavement, fingers gripping the strap like a lifeline. Then he set his jaw and moved. One step, then another, carrying himself forward on half held breaths toward the pulsing heart of the arena.

He wasn’t going on stage, he was just delivering something important.

He could do this.
Surely nothing was going to happen..

...

Out on stage, Josh hadn’t moved from his kit since the music stopped, frozen in place after George’s voice had broken through his in-ears.

He finally unfroze when the bow was over, his body lurching forward before his brain even caught up. He beelined for the stairs, the sticks he’d dropped still rolling somewhere behind him.

His head was a loop of panic, only a loud fuck fuck fuck what happened? Why? Where’s Tyler? and please let him be okay running through his mind. The crowd’s roar was nothing but white noise in his ears.

He cut down the steps two at a time, already angling toward George by the monitor world, expecting him to be the most informed person here, when he slammed into someone rounding the corner.

The impact was hard, sending them both stumbling back. Josh staggered, blinking fast as he lifted his gaze to make sure the other person was okay. And then he froze.

Tyler.

Standing, breathing, conscious, alive.

For a heartbeat the world seemed to stall, the fluorescent hallway light catching on Tyler’s face, flushed from movement, eyes wide in shock. Josh’s panic broke loose in a rush. He grabbed hold of him, hands tight on his shoulders like he needed proof.

“Tyler? Fuck- Tyler, are you okay? You’re okay! They said you-” His words jammed, his brow knotting, because Tyler looked anything but collapsed. “They said Tyler collapsed.”

Confusion flickered hard across Tyler’s face, his eyes darting sharp past Josh, back toward the sound booth. Realization slammed in a second later. “Fuck... Shap collapsed? Is he okay? What the fuck happened?”

Josh’s breath stuttered. For a second he just stared, frozen. Then another wave of disbelief hit, so raw it felt like his chest might cave in. And then it landed.

Shap.

It had been Shap, not his Tyler.

Relief thundered through him so fast it almost buckled his knees, but it was short-lived, already curdling into fresh fear for the man who’d been holding their whole show together.

And suddenly it made sense. Of course the mix had felt unstable all night, of course the sound had been sliding in strange directions... Shap had been unwell in the booth, fighting through it until he couldn’t anymore.

Before Josh could get another word out, a crew guy came barreling past, eyes wild and breath uneven, snatching the bag Tyler carried straight off his shoulder. “Thank you, dude!” he barked, already sprinting back to where he’d just come from.

Josh barely registered him, his eyes were drawn instead to the medics spilling into the corridor, the stretcher cutting through the bodies like a knife. And on it, unmistakable even from here, was Shap.

Josh and Tyler both froze. The noise of the crowd was still loud, but in the hallway they could hear the medics shouting orders, wheels squealing and boots pounding.

Their eyes met in the middle of it, both of them lost, worried, bracing against the same rising dread. Tyler didn’t even seem to register that he was standing in the middle of the full arena, in the crush of chaos that had broken him once before.

It didn’t matter right now.

...

The medic stretcher was gone, swallowed by the echo of boots and the slam of the loading bay doors. What lingered behind was silence, or at least as close as backstage ever got, hushed voices, the rustle of cases being shifted, the low hum of a generator outside.

One by one, people from the crew gravitated toward the green room. By the time Josh and Tyler stepped in, most were already there, scattered across couches or perched on road cases, faces tight and uncertain. Nobody really knew what had just happened, only that it had been bad.

The door banged open again and Sam came striding in, hair frazzled, phone clutched in one hand, her eyes razor sharp despite the rush in her breath. Matt trailed close behind her, pale and quiet, his hands flexing restlessly at his sides.

“Alright, everyone, listen up so I don’t have to repeat this a dozen times,” Sam said, her voice cutting clean through the murmur. “Tyler Shapard, our sound tech, fell sick during the show. Severe asthma attack compounded by a respiratory infection. He collapsed in the booth.”

A beat of stunned silence followed. Then the reactions rippled in... curses under the breath, soft “oh my god”s, heads shaking, someone running a hand down their face. The empathy was raw, even among the ones who barely knew him. Shap had been the quiet backbone of every show, seeing him go down was a shock to everyone’s system.

Sam didn’t let it linger, she inhaled sharply, pressing it down into business. “Good news is he’s stable now. He’s on the way to the hospital, getting what he needs, and the show finished with the audience barely knowing there was an issue.”

Some of the crew exhaled, murmuring relief. A few turned toward each other, already starting to talk, but Sam clapped her hands once.

“Now. You leave the worrying to me. What I need from all of you is to get back on track. We’ve still got a venue to tear down, and everything needs to be loaded tonight so we can hit the road as soon as possible. All hands on deck.” She scanned the room, already delegating. “Matt’s staying behind to handle Shap’s setup. I’ll need one or two of you on backline to support him. If he points at you, go. No complaints.”

And with that, she was already dialing out on her phone, pacing toward the door like the conversation was over.

Josh and Tyler exchanged a glance, both of them still reeling, the weight of it all sitting heavy in the space between them. Neither spoke, but it was etched across their faces anyway... the sick twist in their stomachs at the thought of their friend collapsing mid-show.

For Josh, the panic from earlier was still echoing, that bone deep terror when he thought it had been his Tyler who’d gone down. Gratitude sat sharp in his chest now, seeing him here, safe and breathing. But that relief tangled instantly with dread for Shap instead.

Tyler saw it, felt it, mirrored it in the slump of his shoulders. They didn’t need to say it out loud, their silence said everything.

Then Matt stepped closer to them, his voice low but urgent as he looked at Tyler.

“Man, listen... I know you’re not crew, but do you think you could help?” His eyes searched Tyler’s, hopeful, and a little desperate.

Tyler hesitated only a second before nodding. “Yeah, of course.”

“What... what actually happened to Shap?” Josh asked beside him.

Matt let out a breath, dragging a hand over his face. “I dunno, man. He kept saying it was just his asthma acting up, but he was running himself ragged. By the end he was coughing so hard he just blacked out. Body gave up on him.”

Tyler’s stomach twisted. Josh only nodded, jaw tight, both of them standing there with nothing else to say.

...

It was nearly three in the morning by the time the last case clamped shut. Truck after truck rumbled out of the loading dock, taillights vanishing into the dark until only the echo of diesel hung in the air. Inside, the venue was stripped bare, cables pulled, lights down, the stage nothing but scuffed black decking again. Local staff drifted in with brooms and trash bags to sweep up what was left behind.

There was no afterglow tonight, no wind-down with beers, no laughter bleeding out of the loading bay. Everyone felt it. The band had slipped out quietly, subdued for once, and the crew just worked.

Josh and Tyler stuck by Matt, helping him shoulder Shap’s part of the teardown.

The console had to be broken down, wrapped, and lifted into its case, racks of processors disconnected and labeled, wireless packs sorted into foam slots, snakes and looms coiled neatly so they wouldn’t kink. Every DI box, splitter, and monitor return got logged, taped, and stowed.

It was careful work, heavier than Tyler expected, his palms burning by the end of it from dragging cases across concrete.

Nobody spoke much. Orders were given in nods, in gestures, the three of them moved in sync, focused on the work, because talking would’ve meant thinking too much about why they were doing it.

By the time the last cart was rolled onto the truck, Tyler’s arms hummed with dull ache. He watched the bay doors slam shut, the clang echoing like a period at the end of a sentence, and felt emptier than he wanted to admit.

When they finally climbed onto the bus, it was like the air itself sagged. No one lingered in the lounge, no chatter, no music. People peeled off to their bunks one by one, too spent to even mutter good night.

Josh crawled into his, tugging the curtain half-shut, but he let one hand dangle into the aisle. Tyler reached for it automatically as he settled in beneath him, their fingers tangling, warm and tired.

The silence pressed heavily, but it wasn’t lonely. For a while Tyler just let the rhythm of Josh’s breathing anchor him, eyes drifting half-closed. His grip loosened before long, exhaustion dragging him under until Josh’s hand went slack, dead weight against his own.

He fell asleep a minute later, to the distant murmur of Sam’s voice, still talking into her phone in the front lounge.

The bus carried them through the rest of the night, the low rumble of the engine a lullaby that held them in uneasy sleep. By the time it stilled in the next city, dawn had already smeared pale light across the curtains.

Tyler stirred at the muffled sound of the bathroom door sliding open and shut. He blinked awake just in time to see Josh’s feet hit the floor in the aisle, the curtain swaying as he drew it open. Tyler made a soft sound in his throat and reached out, catching his ankle before he could move away.

“Hey,” he rasped, voice still thick with sleep.

Josh paused, glanced down, and the tired smile that touched his face was all warmth. “Hi,” he said before turning again to wait his turn outside the bathroom as Mandy slipped out with a muttered “mornin’.”

By the time Tyler managed to unfold himself from the bunk, his joints popping as he stretched, the front lounge was already alive. The twins were hovering over the tiny counter, brewing what smelled like an entire pot of coffee, while Sam was dead to the world on the couch by the window. Her head lolled against the glass, mouth slack, phone still dangling from loose fingers.

“Jesus,” Tyler muttered, taking in the sight.

“Yeah,” Missy said without looking up, pouring grounds a little too aggressively into the filter. “Now it’s starting to feel like a real tour.”

The bus grew louder as more people cycled in and out, some heading straight for the venue showers, others shuffling past in search of caffeine. Josh reappeared, meeting Tyler by the cramped kitchenette, their hips bumping as they both reached for mugs like it was a race. Tyler dug out a box of cereal and shook it experimentally, hoping there was enough left for both of them. Josh opened the fridge and sniffed the milk carton like a man about to gamble with his life.

Behind them, Sam finally stirred. She groaned, blinking blearily, and then sat up with a start, like she’d surprised herself by falling asleep at all. Her phone slipped against her chest before she caught it, squinting down at the screen with unfocused eyes.

Her expression sharpened as she scrolled, the grogginess falling away, replaced by a sharp edge of business. She pushed herself up, still reading, and disappeared toward the bathroom with the phone clutched in her hand.

When she came back, Josh caught her eye. “Any news about Shap?”

Sam hesitated, just for a breath, then gave a small shake of her head. “Yeah. His wife texted me an hour ago.” She sighed, rubbing her forehead. “It’s not looking good.”

The cereal box paused halfway to Tyler’s bowl as he and Josh shared a look, Matt shuffling into the lounge just in time to catch the last words. His face went pale.

“What do you mean?” Tyler asked quietly. “Is he...?”

Sam shook her head again, sharper this time. “No, no. He’s gonna be fine.” She exhaled, long and tired. “It’s not looking good for the band.”

That pulled Josh up short. “What do you mean?” He repeated the same words, but the question was aimed differently.

Sam just pressed the heel of her hand to her face, dragging it down with a grimace. “I’d better call a band meeting,” she muttered, already thumbing through her phone again, shutting them all out with the glow of the screen as she stepped out of the bus.

The three of them sat there in the thick silence she left behind, the smell of burnt coffee hanging heavy in the air, the weight of her words louder than any noise.

...

The air in the staff room was heavy, clinging, even though the AC hummed somewhere overhead. Mismatched chairs had been dragged into a rough circle, couches pulled forward from the walls. The carpet was littered with half-empty bottles of water, someone’s hoodie crumpled in the corner, and the faint tang of bus diesel and yesterday’s fast food clung to everyone’s clothes.

No one was really talking. The low murmur of jokes, half-arguments and bursts of laughter that usually filled this space during these meetings, had been replaced by a charged quiet. People shifted in their seats, fidgeting with their phones, picking at labels on bottles, avoiding each other’s eyes.

Josh sat tense on the edge of a chair, knees bouncing, his hand locked tight in Tyler’s. He hadn’t wanted to let him go, not even for this. Tyler could feel the tremor in Josh’s grip, the way his body was wound up like he was ready to bolt. The same energy had crawled under Tyler’s skin, though his nerves came less from the room and more from Josh’s desperation, from the weight of how much this all clearly meant to him.

Sam finally came in. Her stride was steady, but her face carried the look of someone already bracing for impact. She didn’t sit, she planted herself at the front of the circle, phone still in her hand, and scanned the room once before speaking.

“Okay,” she started, her voice rough but firm. “Good news first. Shap is stable. He’s conscious, he’s breathing on his own, and the doctors say that with some steroid treatment he’s going to be okay soon.”

The exhale that rolled through the room was almost a collective sigh, shoulders slumping with relief. Josh’s hand went slack in Tyler’s for a moment, like his muscles had let go all at once.

“But.” Sam’s tone cut through before anyone could fully relax. “His recovery is going to take time. The hospital’s keeping him under observation, and they don’t recommend he goes back to work anytime soon.” She exhaled, a faint shake of her head. “And consequently, there's bad news... because the label isn’t able to provide a substitute sound engineer on such short notice.”

The words hung in the air like smoke and shock rippled around the circle. Some exchanged stunned looks, others just stared blankly at the floor.

“Are you saying that-” someone started.

“I’m saying I’m doing everything I can to get tomorrow’s show to run,” Sam cut in sharply. “But right now we’re short a sound engineer. The label doesn’t have one available, my connections are either booked or on the other side of the country. I’m saying there’s a possibility we might need to cancel shows until Shap is okay. Or until I find someone else.”

“What?” Joey’s voice cracked through the stillness. “How long are they keeping him?”

“They said two weeks minimum,” Sam said. “Might be three.” Her shoulders sagged, the fight briefly leaving her voice.

“Holy shit,” Denny muttered, shaking his head. “That’s... that’s almost the whole rest of the tour.”

The silence that followed spoke louder than anything. Tyler’s stomach sank with the weight of it, watching disappointment and fear cloud every face around him. This wasn’t just a job for them, it was their life, their momentum, their identity. And now it all dangled on one fragile thread.

And Tyler felt it too. He’d only just begun to imagine watching Josh play for real, maybe even sitting in the booth where he could breathe. But if the tour died here, that chance vanished with it.

The silence cracked when Mick surged forward, his face flushed, frustration written in every line of his body.

“So that’s it? The tour is over just like that? What the fuck do you mean the label doesn’t have a backup tech?”

Sam’s expression didn’t even flicker. She’d clearly been expecting this. “The label isn't that big, they don't have anyone free, not tomorrow, not next week. I’ve already burned through every contact I’ve got, and there’s no backup tech. If I can’t find someone by tomorrow, we cancel. That’s the reality.”

“Bullshit.” Mick jabbed a finger toward her, his voice rising. “It’s not a small label and you know it. They’re cutting expenses on us. We’ve got sold-out shows, for fuck’s sake... what more do they want?”

Everyone else stayed quiet, letting him flare. The room seemed to shrink around his anger, heat rising with every word.

Sam inhaled, steady and controlled, then spoke with diplomacy sharpened like glass. “Mick. Please. Calm down. It’s not about cutting corners. You’re not the only band on tour right now, there just aren’t enough people. I am doing everything I can to find another sound tech.”

Mick opened his mouth again, ready to explode, but Joey’s voice cut across first. “Isn’t there a way to cover for Shap with people we already have here?”

Heads turned toward him. Hope flickered faintly.

“Yeah, isn’t Matt a sound tech too?” someone else chimed in.

Matt gave a quick shake of his head, his jaw tight. “I am, but dude, I need to run the lights.”

“Then fuck the lights,” Mick snapped. “Program some basic shit, call it a day. Sound’s more important.”

Sam’s eyes flicked toward Matt, and for a heartbeat she seemed to consider it, lips pressed in thought. Then she shook her head. “No. We’re doing this properly, or we’re not doing it at all. Matt, you sure there’s no way you could handle both?”

“Well, I-” Matt hesitated, then scrubbed a hand down his face. “No. No way. There’s too much. Stage cabling, mics, instruments, signal routing, the booth, the whole console, the pyro cues... it’s not a one-person job. We can’t do this without Shap.”

George spoke up then, quieter but certain. “Yeah, shit. I mean... I can cover for some of it. But a lot of that stuff is something no one else knows. No one but Tyler.”

Another wave of desperation darted around the circle.

“No one but Tyler?” Sam echoed.

Matt sighed, his voice stumbling. “Yeah... no one but Shap. I mean Tyle-”

His voice snagged, the word hung broken in the air. Realization flickered across his face like a switch being thrown. His eyes sharpened, widened, a spark of possibility breaking through the exhaustion. Slowly, almost reluctantly, his gaze slid until it landed squarely on Tyler.

“Wait-” Matt said slowly, pointing now. “Tyler knows all that work.”

“Yeah, we already established Shap’s the only one who-” someone started, exasperated.

“No. Not Shap...” Matt’s voice snagged mid-sentence. His gaze shifted, sharp and sudden, locking straight onto Tyler.

The room stilled, and for a beat, nobody spoke. Tyler felt the heat of a dozen stares tip onto him all at once, pressing heavy against his chest. His pulse skittered.

Matt’s finger lifted, unmistakable now.

“...Tyler.”

Chapter Text

The city felt colder than it should have.

Wind pressed in off the river, carrying the damp bite of rain that hadn’t started yet, and the clouds overhead were the heavy, low kind that made the world seem smaller. Tyler walked with his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, sneakers scuffing the wet pavement, the faint hiss of water against stone following him like static.

It matched the way he felt inside... gray, unsettled and stretched thin.

He hated the look on Josh’s face when he’d said he needed a walk alone. Just those words, just that request, and Josh’s whole expression had cracked, like Tyler had asked for something unthinkable. He hated that he’d put that fear in him, that his avoidance and disappearing acts during the first few weeks of camp had carved such deep grooves that even a simple plea could cut Josh open. But still... he needed to step away, he needed the space.

Because now his thoughts were louder than ever, tumbling over each other. Every step along the river seemed to stir them faster, overlapping, spinning until he couldn’t tell which was fear and which was reason.

Because what they were asking of him wasn’t just a small favor. It wasn’t passing Shap a cable, or tweaking a panel while someone else watched his shoulder.

It was everything.

Running the whole sound, doing Shap’s job... From the stage setup he’d learned to manage without thinking, to the impossible weight of mixing a live show. In a sold-out arena. With thousands of people in it.

The words alone made his throat close.

He stopped at the railing, gripping the wet metal until his knuckles went pale, staring down at the churn of the water below. How had he even let himself get pulled into this? One day he was helping out in the booth to kill time, and now... now he was standing on the edge of something that could either save the tour or ruin it spectacularly. The weight of both possibilities pressed down on him until his breath came thin.

And as the wind scraped cold against his face, his mind dragged him back to that morning, to the circle of chairs and the weight of too many eyes. To the exact moment Matt had said his name and everything shifted.

...

“No. Not Shap, ...Tyler.”

The sound of his name cracked through the silence like a spotlight snapping on. A dozen heads turned, every pair of eyes in the circle was suddenly on him, and his chest started hammering so hard it felt like it might punch through his ribs.

What was happening?

He watched as Sam slowly stepped forward a few paces, her expression still sharp but threaded with curiosity. “Tyler? ...what do you know about Shap’s work?”

Tyler froze, wide-eyed, caught like a deer in headlights, the weight of their attention pressed down until his chest barely remembered how to pull in air. His tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Before he could even try to answer, Matt leaned in, words spilling quick. “He’s been shadowing Shap for weeks now. Even worked the panels in the booth.” His gaze bounced between Sam and Tyler, eager and almost pleading. “He’s good!”

Tyler’s stomach bottomed out. His pulse thudded in his ears, the rest of the room smearing at the edges of his vision, muffled like he was underwater. Slowly, the meaning landed... what they were asking, what they were about to put on him.

He managed to rasp, “I- you’re not serious?” His voice cracked in disbelief, staring at them like they’d all lost their minds.

But Matt only stepped closer, almost electric with urgency. “Oh, but we are. Right Sam? We’re serious. We need another sound tech, and you basically are one, dude. I’ve seen you work.” He looked back at Sam like he’d just solved the world’s biggest crisis, confidence radiating where Tyler felt nothing but dread.

Seeing Sam’s face tip toward agreement made Tyler’s heart stutter faster, cold sweat prickling at the base of his neck. He felt panic curling its claws into him already, muscles twitching like they wanted to flee. Josh’s grip in his hand tightened, and Tyler realized belatedly that he’d been squeezing back with near desperation, clinging hard enough that Josh shifted restlessly, eyes darting to his face, searching for cracks.

Sam’s gaze lingered on him a beat longer, then shifted back to Matt. “So what are you saying? Is Tyler able to step up for Shap? Do his work?” Her tone was cautious, but a faint light of hope had already started edging her expression, a flicker of possibility behind her eyes.

Matt didn’t hesitate. “Yes! I mean... I think between me, Tyler, and George, we can make it work.”

The whole room leaned in on that moment, breaths held, staring between them like the outcome of the entire tour had suddenly narrowed to this. Tyler sat in the middle of it as if the whole exchange was happening inches away from his body but not to him. But his mind knew, his body knew, and neither were sure if they liked what they were hearing.

Sam’s eyes flicked back to Tyler, her brow pinched like she could see the panic clawing at him. She opened her mouth, maybe to slow things down, maybe to give him an out, but Josh beat her to it.

“Hold on, guys. Let’s pause right here.”

His voice cut clean through the noise. He glanced at Tyler, who was staring blankly into the space, pale and stiff, before turning a sharp look on Matt. “Did you even stop to consider that maybe Tyler isn’t comfortable with what you’re asking, dude?”

Matt blinked, thrown for only a second before rushing to defend himself. “Why? He’s been helping since the beginning, it’s not like-”

“Isn’t that what you should be asking him too, Joshua?” another voice cut in.

The words came from Mick. He’d been quiet until now, jittering his foot in the corner, but suddenly his voice sliced through the circle, sharp and biting. He stepped closer, his lip curled. “For the sake of your own tour? Our tour?” His gaze flicked between them, then landed on Josh with a challenge. “Or are you just too scared your princess of a boyfriend wouldn’t be able to handle it?”

The silence afterward was heavy.

Tyler felt the words slam into him, his chest tightening like he’d been struck. Heat crawled up his throat, rage bubbling raw, his mind screamed back... fuck you, you fucking dickhead, but his voice stayed buried, his throat locked too tight to push anything out.

The next sound came like a crack of thunder.

“Shut the fuck up, man.” Josh’s voice was low but lethal, every syllable sharp. His whole body was tense, jaw locked, eyes burning. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Tyler’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide. He’d never seen Josh like this... never heard him spit venom at anyone, let alone his own bandmate. Some part of him wanted to feel steadied by it, wanted to let the defense soothe the sting Mick had left, but the pressure of everything else still smothered that spark before it could settle, the weight of panic still sat on his chest, unrelenting.

Mick licked his lips, his eyes narrowing further, body shifting forward like he was ready to start something right there in the circle. The tension went knife sharp, the whole room teetering on the edge of breaking.

“Okay, that’s enough.”

Sam’s voice cut like steel. She was already moving, planting herself between them with a hand raised toward Josh’s chest, her eyes locking onto Mick’s before his could ignite. “Let’s calm down, everyone.”

Her tone was smooth, but her gaze slipped back to Tyler almost immediately. He saw it in her face... the curiosity, the hope, but also the sharp awareness of his shallow breathing, his shock.

She didn’t miss a thing.

“Actually,” she said firmly, pivoting to the rest of the room. “Meeting’s over for now. Everyone get back to your assigned jobs please.”

It only took seconds for the chairs to start scraping, and shuffling started, people moving quickly, eager to escape the heat that had just sparked.

“Mick,” Sam added without looking at him, her voice even sharper. “Take a walk, yeah?”

He glared but turned away with a huff, muttering under his breath as he shoved out the door with heavy steps.

The room emptied fast, scattering until only a handful remained. Sam’s gaze flicked back to the small cluster she wanted. Matt, George and Tyler. “You three stay, okay?”

Then she caught Josh still rooted in place, his jaw tight, hand locked in Tyler’s. Her brow arched, like she was silently telling him to move along, but Josh didn’t budge. ¨

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere,” he said with a finality.

Tyler’s hand squeezed Josh’s like a lifeline, gratitude spilling into the pressure of his grip.

The room felt thinner once the crowd drained out, the buzz of voices fading with the shuffle of footsteps and Tyler’s lungs filled easier, at least a little. Without all those eyes pinning him down, without Mick’s anger burning across the circle, the pressure loosened its grip, but it didn’t disappear entirely. The heaviness stayed, sitting deep in his chest.

Sam was quiet for a beat, like she was giving him time to breathe before she laid it all out. When she finally spoke, her voice was even, measured.

“So. I understand you’ve been helping Shap with his work, and that you’d be able to step in for him?”

Tyler’s throat felt dry. He forced himself to nod, words stumbling. “I- yeah, but- ”

Sam cut gently across him, holding up a hand. “Look. I can see this is uncomfortable for you. And maybe we’re asking too much. But...” She let the word hang, her tone softening as she searched his face. “You could really save our asses here.”

Tyler swallowed hard, the words sinking heavy.

“Not just us... you could save the whole tour,” Sam continued, deliberate now, every syllable like it was set down on the table between them. “There are thousands of people out there who already bought tickets, who are counting down the hours, who don’t know the show might not happen. You could make sure they get what they came for.”

Tyler blinked hard, the scale of it making his stomach twist.

Sam pressed on, her gaze steady, voice threading with conviction. “You could keep the crew working. You could keep the band alive out here. You could keep all of this moving forward... for Matt, for George, for everyone who depends on this. Even for Shap when he is ready to join us again.”

That one landed like a punch.

For a moment, Tyler really thought about it. About the crew, about the band, about the crowd out there, and he hated that it was even on him, hated how impossible it felt, but the truth was right there in Sam’s eyes... if he said yes, this whole thing stayed afloat. And then, unavoidably, his mind slid to Josh. To the way he lit up behind the kit, to the way his whole body thrummed with joy when the music locked in, to how much this tour meant to him.

Tyler found himself caught between dread and something dangerously close to hope. Almost against his will, his eyes flicked sideways, up toward Josh.

Josh’s expression was taut with worry, but there was something else underneath it too, a flicker of hope he couldn’t hide. Even knowing Tyler was spiraling, even seeing it plain on his face, he couldn’t help it. Tyler could feel how much he wanted this, even while he sat solid at his side, ready to shield him from the pressure.

Tyler’s chest squeezed, tangled in knots. He didn’t trust his voice, not with everything slamming into him at once, but Sam wasn’t asking for words yet. She simply leaned forward, her tone gentler than it had been all night.

“Tyler... would you please consider it?” His chest rose in a shaky breath. “You don’t have to answer right away,” she added quickly, reading the panic still etched into his features. “Take some time. Think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”

The silence stretched. Tyler felt the weight of Josh’s hand in his, the pounding of his own pulse in his ears. His lips parted, and after a long moment, he managed a slow, uncertain nod.

Sam exhaled softly, the faintest trace of relief slipping into her face. “Okay,” she said simply.

The quiet that followed was unbearable. Tyler felt pinned in it, small under so many eyes. It was like being a kid again, caught in the middle of a roomful of adults who’d just scolded him, except no one had said anything harsh. It was only expectation, and somehow that was worse.

He couldn’t take it another second.

“I... I need to-” The words cracked as he pushed himself up, his hand slipping out of Josh’s. He didn’t look at anyone as he turned and strode for the door.

Josh hesitated just long enough to glance around the room, then bolted after him. “Ty!” he called, his voice sharp against the hush. Tyler didn’t stop, his strides carried him down the hall faster now, like he could outrun the air still choking him.

“Ty!” Josh called again, this time breaking into a run. He caught up in a few beats, reached out, and closed a careful hand around Tyler’s wrist. The touch made him halt mid-stride.

“Ty, please...” Josh’s voice had dropped, softer now, urgent in a different way. “C’mon. Let’s talk about this. You don’t have to decide alone.”

For a moment, Tyler stood there frozen, Josh’s hand warm around his. He held on, like part of him wanted to give in, but his gaze slid past Josh’s shoulder, unfocused. His throat worked as he shook his head faintly.

“I... I need to think about this alone, Josh.”

And before Josh could answer, Tyler slipped free and kept walking, leaving Josh standing behind with nothing but the echo of his retreat, and the helpless worry etched across his face.

...

The slick chill of the railing under his palms snapped him back, the roar of the river replacing the echo of voices in his head.

For a moment he just stared at the dark churn, lungs dragging at the damp air. Then his mind tipped forward again, unspooling the nightmare version of what lay ahead, painting the first possibility in brutal detail.

The arena... full, heaving, buzzing with thousands of bodies. Everyone pressed into the pit, spilling up into the stands, energy vibrating off the walls. And there he was in the middle of it, inside the sound booth, the stage in the front. The heat of people pressing in on him from every directiong, the faders under his hands blurred as sweat slicked his palms. His chest locked tight, breath strangled shallow. The mix slipped, sound cut, the crowd’s excitement broke into confusion, and heads began to turn. One after another, faces spun toward him, a sea of eyes watching, waiting, judging. His vision tipped sideways, panic clawing from the inside as the crowd watched him take yet another fall.

His heart kicked, the panic spiked so suddenly he almost lost his balance, his body convinced it was happening now. Tyler dragged in a breath, shaking his head hard, forcing himself back into the present. The cold helped, the wind knifing against his cheeks, the iron bite of the railing steady under his hands.

That was one way it could go.

But not the only way.

Another picture slid in, sharper and steadier. The same booth, the same crowd, but this time he was focused, his hands were firm on the controls, his ear tuned to every nuance, every shift. The sound roared alive through the arena because of him, balanced and powerful. The audience surged higher, carried on the mix he was shaping. The band locked tight in their groove, the whole show soaring.

And Josh behind the kit... lit up, sweat dripping, his whole body alive with rhythm. He played like the world was on fire, and Tyler knew in that moment he could be the one making it possible.

Heat flickered under his ribs, almost pride, almost thrill. He could hold this together. He could keep the crew working, keep the jobs alive, keep the music from dying here. He could make Josh happy.

He could also shove it right back in Mick’s face, prove him he wasn’t anyone’s princess, prove he could run the sound and be fucking good at it.

For a heartbeat he even felt the pulse of excitement at doing what he loved, the possibility of standing there in the booth not as a liability, but as the one steering it all.

And then the rush broke, reality sliding back in.

His grip eased off the railing, the wind filled the silence. He was calmer now, steadier than before, but no closer to an answer, because both futures were still possible. He could make the show soar, he could also wreck it worse than if it had been canceled altogether. He could risk another panic attack. He could make himself look weak in front of everyone.

There were so many pros, and so many terrifying cons. Even after an hour of walking, of spiraling, of weighing them over and over, he still didn’t know what to do.

So he reached for the only person who might cut through the noise.

Jenna.

He bit his lip, tugging his phone from his pocket with stiff fingers, barely feeling the smooth glass against his skin because his hands were so cold. His thumb hovered over the screen, hesitation dragging like gravity before he finally typed.

what if I’m about to agree to something I know might break me?

She was used to questions like this from him... cryptic, non-specific, dressed up as philosophy instead of confession. It was easier that way, safer than her knowing exactly what storm he was standing in.

Her reply lit up his screen within a minute, sharp but steady, a mix of encouragement and tough love that was all Jenna.

If it’s just fear talking, you can fight it. But if it’s your body saying no, listen. Only you’ll know which it is.

And not even a ten seconds later, another bubble appeared.

And maybe ask someone who actually cares how this turns out. You’ve got people now, Ty. Let them in.

Once again, Jenna’s words cut straight through the static.

She was right.

He’d thought he could untangle this alone, but the truth sat heavy and clear... he needed to talk to Josh.

Josh knew what shows were like, he knew the weight of a crowd pressing in, the burn of anxiety under the lights, the pressure of carrying a performance on your back. And most importantly, he knew Tyler. Tyler realized, with a thud of clarity, just how much he needed Josh’s opinion, not as a musician, not as part of the band, but as the one person who saw him clearly enough to know what he could and couldn’t handle.

By the time he turned back toward the venue, the thoughts were still there, but his mind had softened around them. He thought about just yesterday, how he’d actually considered trying to watch the show from the booth for the first time, how he’d really believed he might be able to do it.

He’d imagined that moment being on his terms though, with Shap there beside him, ready to ground him if panic came, and more importantly, with time to decide. He hadn’t thought the choice would hit this fast and hard. But in the end, it really wasn’t so different, except now it wasn’t just watching... it was actively participating on the show.

As the shape of the venue pushed closer through the dim streets, Tyler tugged his phone free again. This time he texted Josh.

can we meet outside?

The reply came instantly.

ofc. tell me where.

Relief tugged at him as he shared his location. A little patch of park beside the venue, scattered with benches and an overgrown line of bushes trying to hide the graffiti. He sank down onto the nearest seat, the paint-scrawled wood cool beneath his palms, and tried to still the restless tap of his foot while he waited.

When Josh appeared, Tyler’s chest loosened in a way he hadn’t realized it was knotted. Josh’s shoulders dropped the second their eyes met, the sharp edge of tension bleeding out of him as he crossed the small park.

They both gave a soft, almost shy “hey” when Josh sat beside him, knees bumping lightly.

Tyler could feel it radiating off him... the relief of just being here, the thrum of curiosity he was holding tight behind his teeth. Josh wanted to ask so badly, Tyler could see it in the way his fingers twitched against his knees, in the way his jaw flexed, but he was holding back, choosing silence instead of pressure.

And just that... that patience, the restraint, only made Tyler want to make this boy happy even more, give him something real in return.

But still, the question pressed at his chest until he couldn’t take it anymore, he tore his gaze away. He fixed his eyes on the dark stretch of grass across the park, on the blur of headlights through bare branches.

“What do you think I should do?” His voice came low and raw, without any kind of softening. No build-up, no lead-in, just the question, bare and heavy.

Josh went still beside him. Tyler didn’t even have to look to know, he felt the way Josh’s breath caught, the tiny pause in his body, like he’d been hit unprepared.

“I...” Josh dragged in a breath, shaky. “Ty...” His hand twitched on his knee, fingers flexing like he wanted to reach but didn’t dare yet. “I want you to do only what you feel comfortable with. I don’t want you putting yourself at risk of- ” His voice faltered, heavy with memory. “ -of another breakdown.”

Tyler frowned, his chest tight. Of course Josh said that. It was soft, safe and careful, exactly the kind of answer he expected Josh would give. And yet... not the answer Tyler wanted.

He turned his face toward him, eyes steady in the dim light. “Okay, then let me rephrase.” His voice cut sharper now. “What do you want me to do?”

Josh’s breath left him like a blow, he dropped his gaze, staring down at the cracks in the pavement. His jaw tightened, throat bobbing as silence thickened between them.

“Don’t do that to me,” he muttered, voice tight, almost pleading.

But Tyler didn’t look away. His silence pressed harder than words, pinning Josh in place. And his eyes said it all... don’t dodge me. I need you to be honest.

Josh exhaled slowly, shoulders slumping, and finally lifted his gaze. His eyes were glassy, torn between want and guilt. “I- of course I want the show to happen. Of course, selfishly, I wish you’d do it.” He hesitated, lips parting like the words cost him something. Then softer, almost tender, “and not just because I want to play, but also because... I think you’d be really fucking good at it.”

Tyler’s breath snagged, his heart thudded harder than it should have at those words. “Really?”

“Yes.” This time there was no hesitation, no stumble. Josh’s mouth twitched into the faintest smile. “Shap talks about you all the time, you know. Like... the man’s professionally in love with you. Says you’ve got the instincts, the ear, the feel for it. And I see it too, Ty.”

Tyler’s chest clenched. He wanted to believe him, wanted to sink into that warmth, but the fear still pressed sharp underneath.

Josh’s hand shifted closer on the bench, not quite touching, but close enough that Tyler felt the ghost of it. His voice softened even more. “But listen... I still care more about you than the show. I’d be sad if it ended here, yeah. But I’d take that over watching you go through another awful throwback. I don’t care about the tour if it means breaking you. You come first. Always.”

The words cut through Tyler like nothing else. Tyler’s chest cinched, his throat prickling with heat. He swallowed hard, looking at him with something raw, almost overwhelmed. Josh would give it all up for him... his tour, his band, his dream... just to keep him safe.

It was too much. It was everything.

His voice shook when it finally came. “So you don’t think I could do it?” Not biting, just... wanting to know.

Josh snapped his head up, eyes fierce. “No. That’s not what I’m saying. Not at all.” He leaned in a little, the heat in his voice almost trembling with conviction. “I mean... you’ve been in the booth before. Last time, when people poured in... you handled it, you didn’t collapse, you stayed standing. You can do this.”

Tyler pulled his sleeve over his wrist, rubbing at it like he could scrub off the doubt. “Yeah... maybe. I think it really was just the stage that set me off.” A pause, then quieter, his voice almost a confession: “But still... it just might have been you.”

Josh blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

Tyler lifted his gaze, steady and unguarded for once. “You were right there when it happened, when the crowd started coming in. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t.” His chest rose in a shaky breath. “Your presence does more than you know, Josh.”

Josh’s heart thudded hard at that, warmth spilling through him so fierce it almost hurt. But the edge of doubt tugged at it too, because Tyler was right... Josh wouldn’t be in that booth with him. He’d be onstage, halfway across the arena, too far away to be the anchor Tyler needed.

Josh bit his lip, eyes flicking away as he thought, as if pulling through every possibility. And then, suddenly, the spark lit. He turned back, a thread of excitement breaking through.

“Wait,” he said, voice urgent, alive with sudden possibility. “What if I could still be there? Not physically, but... what if I could talk to you? During the show. Would that help?”

Tyler blinked, startled. “Talk to me? How-?”

“I could ask George to set up a private IFB channel for my in-ears.” Josh leaned forward now, hands gesturing as the idea spilled out. “Just one line, for us. If you needed me, if it got too much, I’d be right there. You’d hear me.”

The world seemed to still. Tyler stared at him, wide-eyed, the thought unfurling like a lifeline. He let himself imagine the noise of the booth, and Josh’s voice threading through, grounding him, pulling him back. His throat clenched, eyes stinging with something close to hope.

“I... that... could actually help,” he whispered, voice breaking on the edge of disbelief. “You think George can do that?”

Josh nodded, certain now, eyes steady on his. “Yeah, I think so.”

They held each other’s gaze, and for the first time all night, the silence between them wasn’t suffocating, it was alive. Charged with the fragile spark of possibility. Tyler’s stomach still twisted, fear still knotted sharp and heavy inside him, but Josh’s faith, his promise of a voice in his ear, gave him just enough courage to reach.

“I guess...” Tyler’s breath shook, but his eyes stayed on Josh’s. “I guess I’m doing it then.”

Chapter Text

Tyler didn’t even know how it had happened.

One moment, he was telling Josh he was going to take the leap, and the next he was standing under the bright wash of the sound booth, an IFB pressed to his ear, someone’s clipped instructions spilling through it while the countdown to showtime ticked closer.

The hours between blurred into something he could barely hold onto. Announcing his decision to Sam. The quiet exhausted cheer that rippled through the crew when they officialy told them the tour is safe. The small celebration before everyone finally dragged themselves to bed. The morning spinning alive before he was even awake... George and Josh pulling him into the tangle of cables and headsets to get their private channel tested, Sam sweeping in with a contract like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She pulled it on him out of the blue, because apparently “The crew trusts you, and I trust the crew. But the label doesn’t know you, Tyler. They want everything covered legaly.”

Which, of course, was fair. But still, Tyler had sat hunched in the corner of the green room for what felt like forever, combing line by line, because he refused to put his name down blind. His pulse had spiked again when he reached the page with the pay figure, staring at it long enough for disbelief to claw through him before he forced himself onward, filling in personal details and signing all four copies with a hand that wouldn’t stay steady.

By the time the paperwork was filed away and the ink was dry, the rest of the day had already swallowed him whole.

There was no room to overthink, no chance to spiral, not even enough time to linger with Josh... though somehow, Josh still made moments happen, still found the time to check in on Tyler. A hand brushing his back when he passed him on stage. A smile tugging at his mouth when he found Tyler hidden away with the contract. A whispered “you okay?” dropped like an anchor in the middle of motion.

Then came the general soundcheck, which was heavier than all the others, because it was also Tylers first real test run. With Sam standing too close behind, her presence a weight on the back of his neck, every adjustment felt like walking a tightrope. But somehow he got through it, every cue checked, every level balanced, and when they finished, Sam looked calmer and maybe even a little bit pleased.

It stretched longer than expected, dragging into the evening, until the gap between soundcheck and doors blurred into nothing. Tyler had been left with barely enough space to grab a drink of water, let alone catch his breath. He found himself triple checking things he would be usually confident about, eyes scanning the board, then scanning it again, fingers tracing switches like they’d betray him if he looked away.

The whole day had been a whirlwind.

And now, here he was.

Just minutes from the beginning, the booth around him humming alive, his focus narrowed to a frantic, shifting list in his head. Every new cue that popped in his in-ears rearranged it again... check this, reset that, watch for the signal, don’t forget the sequence. His chest buzzed with it, a low current of adrenaline that built sharper with each passing second.

Then the final countdown began.

The numbers seemed to thud straight into his chest, each one louder than the last. Adrenaline surged sharp and hot, tangling with the fear that hadn’t let go all day. The weight of it was staggering, the sound of the whole show balanced on his hands. Thousands of people waiting for something flawless, and if he slipped, they’d all hear it.

Another cue crackled through his ear, snapping him into motion. He forced a breath, eyes cutting to Matt’s hands as they moved steady over the lighting console. A quick flick of switches dimmed the stage to black, and in the darkness, Tyler sent the pre-recorded intro rolling. Low, shivering tones filled the arena, building tension like smoke in the air.

The crowd answered immediately, a roar swelling so loud it rattled his ribs. The sound bled in through the booth glass, wrapped around him, pressed into him from every direction.

Then a silhouette broke against the dimmed lights.

Tyler’s lungs locked. He didn’t need to look twice to know who it was. The set of the shoulders, the line of his arms as he settled behind the kit...

Josh.

And it slammed into him like a wave... he was really doing this. Not just shadowing, not just watching from the wings. He was running sound for this band. For his boyfriend.

And as if on cue, a voice slid warm and steady into his ear.

“Hey. How you doing back there?”

The voice curled warm through his ear, steady even against the thunder of the crowd, and Tyler felt himself loosen just a fraction. His shoulders dropped, posture unclenching and relief swept in sharp... the channel worked and Josh’s voice was right there

Tyler tapped the mic on his headset, breath catching. “All good so far.” He swallowed, then let out the truth before he could bite it back. “No, actually... I’m nervous as hell. I can’t believe this is really happening.”

“You’ve got this, babe.” Josh’s answer came without a hitch, soft and sure, and Tyler let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

God, he wanted to believe him.

The kit thundered a moment later as Josh rolled into the intro, sticks snapping sharp against the snare. Tyler’s eyes cut sideways to Matt, who was already at work on the light board, flooding the stage with a wash of moody blue. The glow broke over Josh like water, catching in the sheen of his arms, his whole body framed in rhythm.

And then, as if that wasn’t enough to make Tyler’s chest twist, Josh’s voice slipped through his ear again. “Remember, I’m always here if you need me.”

Tyler’s head snapped up, startled... Josh hadn’t missed a beat. Still drumming, still locked into the groove, and somehow talking like it cost him nothing.

“How the hell are you-” Tyler cut himself off with a shaky laugh. “Focus on drumming, would you?” he muttered into his mic, equal parts awe and exasperation.

Josh’s reply was instant, laced with a grin Tyler could hear. “You should know firsthand I’m good at multitasking when it comes to... mixing physical activity and talking.”

Heat flared across Tyler’s cheeks, so sudden it nearly knocked him off balance. He ducked instinctively, glancing sideways at Matt, irrationally worried he might have heard, but of course Matt was oblivious, lost in his lighting cues. Also, this line was private... just them. Which somehow made the flush worse.

Tyler dragged in a breath, forcing himself back to focus. He was grateful, though, that Matt was there beside him. Not just for the lights and pyro, which Tyler didn’t know how to operate, but as a quiet ballast against the chaos. But even so, he could feel the adrenaline burning through his veins, every nerve buzzing sharp.

The intro swelled toward its end, and one by one the band took the stage. Each figure stepping into the light ratcheted the crowd higher, the roar mounting up until it was just a wall of sound.

And Tyler’s focus snapped harder and sharper. With so many moving parts in front of him, with this many tasks demanding precision, there was no space left to panic.

And so the show began.

The first song hit like a freight train... the kick of the drums, the thrum of bass, the guitars snapping sharp into the air. Tyler’s hands moved on instinct, riding the faders, catching the first jolts of imbalance before they could spill into chaos. His chest thundered in rhythm with it, heart hammering as hard as the subs beneath the floor.

Josh’s voice slipped into his ear every chance it could. Not constantly and never really distracting, just little check-ins between transitions, in the cracks where the noise dipped low. Tyler always managed some clipped and breathless reply

It felt like he held his breath for the first four songs straight. His pulse never dropped, palms damp against the console, his focus stretched razor thin across every input, every flicker of sound.

Only after nearly twenty minutes did something start to shift. The board under his fingers stopped feeling like a foreign machine and started to feel... balanced. The mix began to settle, not perfect maybe, but steady enough that Tyler could breathe deeper, trust it for a moment at a time.

But the tricky thing about big venues was that nothing stayed the same for long. The crowd itself bent the acoustics, shifted the feel. What sounded balanced at soundcheck in an empty hall shifted the moment the crowd filled in. Thousands of bodies changed the air itself, softening the highs, swallowing echoes, bending the mix in ways he had to keep chasing. If people stood still, swaying or nodding along, the sound carried one way. If they jumped, clapped, moved like a wave, the air thickened, and the edges blurred.

Tyler had to ride it constantly, shifting, adjusting, keeping the pulse alive.

And then there was the band itself, each song its own puzzle. The keys needed space when the melody turned delicate, or they’d be lost under the weight of everything else. The guitars, especially when Denny kicked on one of his dirtier effects, had to be reined in so they didn’t scrape harsh against the crowd’s ears. Joe’s bass demanded balance too... smooth, but with enough grit to rattle bones.

And even though Tyler couldn’t stand Mick half the time, he still found himself chasing the man’s vocal line with precision, determined to make it right. Vocals were the trickiest, especially with Mick refusing in-ears. He relied on stage wedges, and if he pivoted too far, if he lost the sweet spot of his monitor, he overcompensated... shouting sharp, throwing the whole balance off. Tyler had to catch him and smooth him back into place.

And then there were the fireworks.

Not that they touched the sound in any way, but they definitely touched him. The first time Matt pushed the pyro cue, Tyler was so locked on the console that he barely heard the countdown in his in-ears. His fingers were mid-shift on a fader when the world outside the booth exploded in fire.

The flames shot skyward with a roar, heat blasting so strong it reached all the way back to him. Tyler’s head snapped up, eyes wide, the booth glass flashing orange across his face.

“Whoa!” The word tore out of him before he could stop it.

Matt grinned without looking away from his own board, hands already dancing for the next cue. “Hell yeah, baby.”

Tyler shook his head, half a laugh caught in his chest, but his pulse spiked sharp with the aftershock.

And even after that first time, he never fully got used to it. Every blast still made him jolt, the flare of light and heat slicing across his focus. He tried to anticipate it, tried to mark the rhythm of when Matt’s hand hovered near the button, but most of the time he was too deep in the sound to remember.

He soon found out that the slow ballads were his favorite.

It meant no fire, no sharp blasts, just a low fog curling over the stage floor and soft light washing through it. Also, Mick usually planted his mic back into its stand for those, rooted to one spot, which meant the vocals held steadier, and the mix easier. It gave Tyler the rare chance to lift his eyes from the board and simply watch.

And his eyes weren’t interested in anything but the small figure behind the kit.

Even from this distance, he could see it all... the glint of sweat catching on Josh’s skin, the way muscle and motion blurred together, every hit pouring joy through him. Josh looked lost in it, swallowed by rhythm, and somehow brighter for it.

Something cracked wide in Tyler’s chest.

Gratitude, sharp and almost overwhelming. Not just toward Josh, but toward himself. Because if he’d given in to the fear, if he’d said no, if he’d let panic win... none of this would be happening. Josh wouldn’t look this alive right now. And Tyler wouldn’t be here, sharing in it.

He was scared still, yes, but proud. Proud he’d taken the risk. Proud that Josh’s faith in him had been right. Proud that he was running sound for this band, in an arena this big, when only days ago he’d never even imagined it would be possible.

And then his gaze drifted wider... the crowd.

For the first time, he really saw them. In front of the booth, around it, even behind, hundreds, maybe even thousands of people packed tight and moving as one. His breath hitched, panic prickling sharp at the thought of all those eyes, all that weight of strangers. His gaze darted too fast across the faces, a pulse of dread rising...

But then it struck him.

Not a single head was turned toward the booth, every pair of eyes was locked on the stage, on the music, on the show. The sound was just part of the current sweeping them along, invisible, unnoticed, and that was how it was supposed to be.

The realization hit like a burden sliding free from his chest. They didn’t care about the boy in the booth, they cared about the band. They cared about the music.

And with that truth, Tyler’s lungs filled deeper than they had all night. He could finally breathe again.

...

The feeling when the show finally ended was indescribable.

The last chord rang out, cymbals crashing, bass humming low until it all bled into silence. The roar of the crowd swallowed the gap instantly, surging higher as the band bowed in unison, then disappeared offstage.

Tyler felt like he was floating. His whole body buzzed, adrenaline still spiking sharp and high, flooding every nerve. His chest heaved, but it wasn’t panic, it was the high of surviving something impossible. His hands trembled over the console, staring at it like it might vanish if he looked away.

He’d done it.

He’d really done it.

No collapse, no spiral, no disaster... Just the show, alive and loud, and he’d carried it.

The stage lights clicked dark, and a second later the big fluorescents of the arena flared on, breaking the spell. The show was over.

Tyler’s throat tightened around the rush of disbelief, his whole body stuck somewhere between laughing and crying when movement caught his eye. One figure pushed against the current of bodies spilling toward the exits. A cap pulled low, curls sticking damp beneath it, shoulders barreling forward.

“Ty!”

Josh’s voice cut across the din, and Tyler’s head snapped up. He’d been staring blankly under his hands until that sound yanked him back. His chest stuttered at the sight of him weaving fast through the dispersing crowd, ignoring the fans who tried to stop him, too focused and intent.

And then he was there, shoving past the edge of the booth.

Before Josh could say a word, Tyler moved.

It was like something overtook him... no thought, just pure need. He surged forward, caught Josh’s face in both hands, and kissed him. Hard and desperate, as if Josh was the only real thing left in the room and Tyler had to anchor himself to him before he dissolved completely.

Josh froze for a second, caught off guard, then melted into it, his hands instinctively circling Tyler’s waist, pulling him close. The kiss lingered, messy and raw, until Tyler finally pulled back.

Josh’s face split into a grin, breathless laughter slipping out. “Okay...” he said, like he was trying to convince himself this was a perfectly normal greeting after a show. His eyes were wide, stunned but glowing, and his hand stayed firm on Tyler’s hip like he wasn’t letting go.

“I’m so fucking proud of you, Ty.” The words landed with a squeeze to Tyler’s side.

Tyler just stared at him, wide-eyed, his whole body still suspended somewhere high, like he hadn’t come all the way back down to earth yet. “Uh-huh,” he managed, the sound barely more than a breath.

His gaze slipped lower before he could stop it, down the line of Josh’s throat to the sweat glistening between his collarbones, sliding down his chest and over his stomach. Tyler swallowed hard, dizzy with the sight, with everything rushing through him at once.

By the time his eyes climbed back up, Josh was watching him with a question caught on his face. Tyler didn’t answer it, he just grabbed Josh’s hand and tugged, urgent and wordless.

Josh went willingly, stumbling a little at the force of it, a laugh breaking out as Tyler pulled him toward the exit of the booth.

“Okay? Uh... good work, man?” Matt’s voice called behind them, kind of hesitant and awkward.

Neither of them looked back though.

Tyler’s only focus was forward, threading them through the narrow halls backstage, his grip iron on Josh’s hand, until he shoved blindly at the first door they came across.

It happened to be a cramped tech control room, all low light and humming machines, the walls lined with metal racks and LED panels that glowed in shifting reds and greens.

Perfect... just what Tyler needed.

Before Josh could even take a breath to ask, Tyler shoved his back into the racks, the clang of metal vibrating behind him as Tyler’s mouth crashed against his. This kiss was nothing like the one in the booth. It was hungrier, his tongue pushing past Josh’s lips, his hand possessive on Josh’s bare skin and already tugging at the waistband of his shorts.

Josh groaned into it, head tipping back against cold steel as Tyler ground their hips together, pressure sharp and desperate. Heat flared instantly through him, a moan catching when Tyler rolled against him again, harder.

And then, suddenly, Tyler was gone.

Josh blinked, then looked down with ragged breath, only to find him already on his knees between his legs, hands urgent, shoving his shorts down in a messy drag, palming over the half-hard bulge in his briefs like he couldn’t get to him fast enough.

“Jesus, Tyler...” Josh gasped, half warning, half plea, but his body was already giving in. His cock twitched under Tyler’s hand, quickly swelling.

“Fuck-” Tyler muttered, more to himself than to Josh, as he freed him, stroking until Josh was fully hard, flushed and heavy in his grip. “I need... I just need-”

Josh’s heart lurched at the rawness in his voice. For a split second, he thought about stopping it, about pulling Tyler up and asking if this was really what he wanted... right here, right now, after everything. But then he caught the look on Tyler’s face, wild, unmoored, adrenaline still thrumming under his skin, his whole body wired with the need to do something with it.

Josh knew him well enough to know this was one of his ways of coping, of grounding himself.

And Josh really wasn’t about to argue. Not when Tyler was already tugging his briefs down, already lowering his mouth, his tongue sliding hot and wet over his balls.

“Ty...” Josh groaned, head falling back against the rack, the word torn out of him. His cock jerked in the air, desperate for more.

He looked down just as Tyler’s mouth closed over him, lips parting, tongue working as he took him in, sucking hard.

Josh’s hand flew to Tyler’s hair on instinct, not tugging, just threading through, stroking, grounding himself in the dark mess of it. “Fuck... you were so good,” he breathed, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. His chest still buzzed with pride, the night heavy on his tongue. “So good tonight.”

Tyler moaned around him, the sound vibrating down Josh’s cock, and Josh’s stomach tightened with the reaction. He pushed on, voice thick with awe. “I’m so proud of you, baby... how you managed the sound, how you held it all together...”

Another keen shudder ran through Tyler, his eyes flicking up, glazed but desperate. His pace quickened, throat working as he pushed deeper.

“Everyone heard,” Josh groaned, hips jerking despite himself. “Everyone heard tonight just how good you are.”

When his eyes dropped, he caught sight of Tyler’s hand shoving past his own waistband, dragging his cock free, stroking himself messy and urgent, precum slicking his fist.

“Fuck... baby... babe... so hot,” Josh moaned, words breaking apart as his body trembled.

Tyler swallowed him deeper, like it was the only thing that mattered, like he lived for this. His throat flexed tight around him, and Josh’s head slammed back against cold steel, a broken sound tearing from his chest.

“So good for me,” he gasped, voice shaking as his legs threatened to give out.

The praise hit like fuel, spurring Tyler harder. He bobbed his head in a feverish rhythm, one hand stroking himself to the same frantic pace, the other squeezing Josh’s balls, gentle but firm enough to make Josh’s knees buckle.

“Holy sh- Tyler...” Josh moaned, the world tipping, his whole body strung tight as wire. He steadied himself against the rack, fingers curling hard in Tyler’s hair. “Fuck... fuck... Ty, I’m gonna-”

The words choked off as Tyler shoved him all the way down his throat and fucking swallowed.

That was it... Josh came undone with a groan that shook out of him, his hips jerking, vision blurring as the orgasm ripped through him. Tyler fell apart with him, stroking himself into his own release, both of them lost in the tangle of heat and sounds.

They collapsed side by side, backs sliding down the rack until they hit the cold floor. Tyler’s chest heaved, sweat slick at his temples, his hand still trembling faintly where it rested against his thigh. Josh let his head tip back, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath as the aftershocks ran through him.

“Jesus, Ty,” he whispered, voice still a little rough. “You’re insane.”

Tyler turned his head first, a half smile tugging at his mouth, crooked and disbelieving. Josh caught it, huffed a breathless laugh of his own, then leaned sideways to press their foreheads together. For a long moment, all either of them could do was breathe, sharp and uneven, soft laughter slipping between it like neither of them quite believed what just happened.

Josh’s hand found his, fingers slipping through automatically, holding tight as their breaths slowly evened out. The silence stretched again, but softer this time, until Josh’s voice threaded low.

“You okay?”

Tyler blinked, the question sinking deeper than the obvious. Josh’s eyes searched his, not just checking after the rough edge of what they’d done, but after everything tonight.

Tyler’s throat worked. He let the quiet sit for a moment, then gave the smallest nod, eyes steady on Josh’s. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I think I am.”

Relief rippled through Josh, so visible it almost knocked Tyler over. He squeezed his hand tighter, let out a long, shaky exhale, and leaned forward to press a slow kiss to his temple.

“Good,” he murmured into his skin. “Because I’ve never been so fucking proud in my life.”

Tyler closed his eyes at that, warmth breaking over him, sinking deeper than the adrenaline, deeper than the exhaustion. For the first time all night, he let himself fully believe that he had made it through, that he hadn’t fallen, that he’d given Josh something real.

He curled closer, shoulder brushing Josh’s, their fingers still tangled tight. The machines hummed low around them, but for once, the noise in his head was quiet.

When Josh’s breath finally softened into a sigh, he glanced around the cluttered little room, then back at Tyler with a crooked smile.

“As much as I’d love to stay here forever,” he murmured, “we should probably get out before the crew starts looking for us.”

Tyler let out a small huff of agreement, though part of him wanted to stay hidden, wrapped in the bubble they’d carved out. Still, he tugged his shirt straight, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and watched Josh do the same, both of them trying to make themselves look halfway presentable. It almost felt like sneaking out after doing something they weren’t supposed to... and maybe they weren’t, but Tyler couldn’t bring himself to care.

They slipped back into the hallway, the low hum of post-show chaos still buzzing through the building. Tyler still felt a little light headed, like his body hadn’t caught up with everything it had just gone through. His skin buzzed with leftover adrenaline, his chest still heaving, and for a second he swore he might spin off the ground if he didn’t hold tight to Josh’s hand.

But they hadn’t made it halfway to the green room when a sudden shout split the air.

“There he is!”

Before Tyler could even blink, George came barreling toward him, grinning wide, and right behind him were Matt, Joe, Denny and even James. Mick wasn’t in sight, but Tyler barely had a second to register that before strong hands closed around his arms and waist, lifting him clean off the floor.

“Got him!” George crowed.

“Our man!” Matt yelled, his voice breaking into laughter.

“Our savior!” someone else shouted, and then, with a cheer, they were tossing him up.

Tyler yelped, his stomach swooping as he left the ground, only to be caught again by a tangle of hands. The second toss was easier, the third almost made him laugh, and by the fourth he was breathless, caught between disbelief and the sheer ridiculousness of it.

“Sound engineer extraordinaire!” Denny bellowed, voice echoing down the hall.

Josh finally caught up, his grin wide and proud, slipping in under Tyler’s back for the next catch. “Hell yeah,” he laughed. “That’s my guy!”

Tyler’s cheeks hurt from smiling. His heart felt like it might break right out of his chest, but not from fear this time... from something bright and overwhelming.

Up there, weightless for those few seconds in the air, he could feel it all pressing in on him. Not panic or scrutiny, but celebration. Their joy, their relief, their gratitude, it surrounded him and lifted him higher than their arms ever could.

Carried above them, laughter spilling through the hall, Tyler realized he wasn’t only celebrating the sound. He was celebrating himself.

He didn’t just feel like the one who’d saved a show, he felt like he’d salvaged a piece of his own soul. Well... him and Josh. Because he knew he never could’ve done it without him.

Ever since camp, ever since he’d allowed himself to open up... every risk and every trembling step forward had been brutal and terrifying, but with Josh at his side, they’d also become bearable. And sometimes even rewarding. Whether anyone else noticed or not, it was always Josh who made the impossible just a little easier.

Josh’s calm presence, his steady reassurance, had somehow become louder than any scrawny voice in Tyler’s head telling him he’d fail.

And even now... in the center of attention, carried and hugged and cheered for, Tyler’s gaze sought out only one thing...

...and that was the smile that mattered to him the most.

Chapter Text

The bus was still when Josh woke up.

The hum of the engine long gone, and in the bunk beneath him Tyler was out cold, curled tight under the thin blanket. As Josh peeked in, he saw his chest rise and fall in the slow rhythm of real rest, the kind Josh hadn’t seen on him in days. After what he’d pulled off yesterday, Tyler deserved to sleep until noon if he wanted.

Josh lay there for a moment, his head awkwardly hanging from the bunk as he just watched him, pride pressing warm against his ribs. Not for the music... he’d always known Tyler had skills, but for the fight it had taken to even step into that booth. For the fear he’d faced down, the way he’d carried it and somehow turned it into something steady and graceful.

Tyler had done more than hold the sound together. And Josh couldn’t have been prouder.

When he finally slipped out of the bunk, he realized that, apart from Tyler, the bus was empty. Everyone else must’ve already migrated inside, so he tugged on a hoodie, shoved his curls under a cap and stepped outside ready to follow the faint trail of voices and clatter of the catering room.

The air was thick with the smell of burnt coffee and chatter, a handful of crew were clustered around folding tables, the band slouched in their chairs with paper cups in hand, all of them looking various degrees of half-awake. Sam sat off to the side with her laptop open, her brow furrowed even this early.

Josh had no urgent call time yet, but the caffeine itch was real, so he queued up at the coffee machine.

He liked the easy atmosphere of this morning. After everything they’d gone through in the past few days, after Shap collapsed and they were thrown into uncertainty, and then the threat of the tour crumbling pressed on them, this felt almost surreal. The suspense of waiting for Tyler’s decision, the gamble of handing the sound booth to someone uncertified... it all could’ve gone so differently.

But Tyler had stepped up, he crushed it, and shut down every single doubt hanging in the air.

And thanks to that, they all could enjoy another soft morning, before the chaos started all over again. Thanks to that, Josh could quietly stand in line and think back to the way it all felt last night.

During the after-show buzz, people hadn’t stopped talking about it. Crew members clapping Josh on the shoulder, bandmates circling back to say they didn’t expect it to go that smooth. Joey, with his quiet way of passing things along, had told Josh that even Mick was impressed, though he’d never say it out loud.

And then Joe leaned in with a smile, “I noticed he’s a bit different,” he said, careful but without judgment. “But he seems like a good kid. And he knows his shit.” A laugh, then softer, “You chose good, son.”

The words had been sitting with Josh ever since. He hadn’t realized how much he needed someone’s approval spoken out loud until it was right there. Joe wasn’t his dad, but in moments like that he felt the same kind of steady, unshakable presence. It softened something inside Josh he hadn’t even known was tight.

And even now, standing in line, eyes fixed absently on the slow drip of coffee into the paper cup, the memory and all those feelings swerved through him again. Pride, gratitude, and a rare sense of ease in his chest.

But of course, he didn’t get to bask in it for long. His cup finally filled, warm and steady in his hands, and just as he turned back-

“Hey, Josh… can we talk for a sec?”

Sam stood a few feet away, tone casual but her eyes sharp. The shift in her voice cut straight through the quiet bubble he’d been floating in, and he blinked, pulled back to earth in an instant. Surprised, but not enough to argue, he gave a small nod and followed her to an empty table.

He sat across from her, coffee warming his palms, steam curling up like it might buy him time, but Sam’s expression said otherwise.

“You been on your phone at all today?” she asked, her voice a little clipped.

Josh frowned... that wasn’t the opener he expected. “No. Left it in the bunk,” he admitted. “Why?”

“Has Tyler?”

The frown deepened. What the hell kind of question was that? Why was she asking about that?

“I don't think so, he’s still asleep.”

Sam gave a small nod and folded her hands, eyes steady on Josh's face. “We need to talk about him, I think.”

A jolt went through Josh’s chest. His brain instantly kicked into overdrive, filling in blanks that weren’t there. Was something wrong with the sound last night? That couldn't be, right? Everyone had said it was good. Sam herself had practically high-fived Tyler over it. So what, then? Did the label have some kind of an issue? Some technical clearance thing? Maybe Tyler wasn’t officially registered on the crew contract yet?

His pulse climbed, the questions stacking too fast, until Sam’s voice cut through them.

“It’s nothing bad... probably.” She paused like she had to pick her words. “It’s just...” She hesitated again, then shot it out. “Does he use social media at all?”

Josh blinked, thrown a little bit sideways. That was... not on his bingo card. The tone in her voice though, like she’d already gone digging and didn’t find what she wanted, made his stomach twitch.

He thought of Tyler and the way he’d once explained it, almost offhand.. “I stopped bothering with all that years ago. If I want to talk to someone, I’ll just text them.” No Twitter threads, no Instagram highlights, no curated feeds, just a couple of chat apps and a small circle of people who mattered. Josh knew there was more behind it, something tied to his past and his mental health, but he’d never pressed.

“Not really, no.” Josh said at last, his voice firmer than he felt. “Why does it matter? What’s going on?”

Sam blew out a sigh. “Well... the thing is...” She made a face, like she wished she didn’t have to be the one saying this. “He’s kind of a thing right now on social media.”

Josh blinked at her, the words didn’t land at first, not in a way that made sense. "He is?" He blurted, then added. “How- what do you mean? Like...? Was he so good people noticed?”

Because that he could believe. Tyler had been incredible last night. Maybe some nerd in the crowd had clocked him at the booth and started threads about the “mystery engineer” who saved the night. That’d be funny, actually.

But Sam’s nose wrinkled. “Not exactly," she said, already swiping her phone open. "You both are kinda... trending."

Josh’s grin faltered and his mind skidded, waiting for her to elaborate, to fill the hole she’d just opened under his feet. She didn’t though. Not with words, anyway. Instead, with a sigh, she pushed her phone across the table.

Josh lowered his gaze.

And froze.

Because down there, on that screen, was a picture, bright and undeniable... but it wasn't just Tyler.

Josh was there too.

The booth around them was blurred out in the background, the focus sharp where Tyler’s hands framed his face, where Josh’s own body leaned helplessly backward, where their mouths pressed together in a tight kiss.

His stomach dropped.

“Oh...” It slipped out of him, flat and dumb, the only sound he could manage as his eyes traced the caption beneath: ”who the hell is kissing my drummer??????”

For a moment, Josh just stared. His brain lagged behind, refusing to slot the pieces together. Because first of all... he hadn’t even known people paid that much attention to him. He was just the drummer. He’d always been a background noise, just a guy behind the kit while Mick soaked up the spotlight. He didn’t think of himself as anyone’s “favorite,” and definitely not someone worth tweeting about.

And second... why the hell did anyone care who he was kissing? The thought hit strange, like stepping into a patch of light he didn’t realize was there. He didn’t know whether to laugh or sweat.

He looked up at Sam with wide eyes, still lost, and she met his stare with a grim little nod. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “So... it kind of became a thing overnight. There’s people tweeting about you two everywhere.”

Josh blinked, his grip on the paper cup tightened until the seam gave a soft crinkle.

Sam swiped, flicked the phone toward him again, and his gaze fell to the endless scroll. Not one post, not just a stray picture, but dozens of them. People calling Tyler the mystery man, calling him mystery boyfriend. Thread after thread with screenshots, zoomed-in shots of their faces, captions full of crying emojis and key smashes and endless speculations.

“Jesus...” Josh muttered, barely more than a breath.

Sam nodded, her expression unreadable. “Yeah. You two are quite the attraction right now.”

The words barely made it through the buzzing in his ears. Attraction... Him and Tyler. He knew the band had a solid fanbase, but he’d never once imagined anyone would care about him like this. And even though it felt kind of good to be in the spotlight, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was for the wrong reason. Because he didn't get attention for the way he played, but for who he was kissing.

Josh’s thoughts stumbled hard, veering somewhere between awe and dread. He couldn’t decide whether to be weirdly touched or completely sick to his stomach.

And then something sharper came circling in his mind. Why was Sam showing him this? Why not just let him stumble across it on his own phone later? It had to mean something if she wanted to talk first thing in the morning, before Tyler even woke up.

A sudden, uneasy thought punched through him.

“I... Is the label mad?” The words came out faster than he intended. Because what else could it be? Maybe they were worried about bad publicity.

But Sam shook her head at him once. “No. Label doesn’t care. If anything, it’s the opposite. This kind of attention expands your fanbase. They already started calling you two a ship.”

Josh bit his lip, frown cutting deeper, because that only confused him more. If the label didn’t care, if fans thought it was cute, then why the hell did Sam look like this mattered? Why was she saying they needed to talk about Tyler like it was a problem?

“Then why...” He faltered. Why are we talking about this? Why does this feel bigger than just a trending hashtag?

Sam laced her fingers together, leaning forward. “Listen,” she said gently, eyes holding his. “I’ve noticed Tyler is... delicate, in some aspects.”

Josh’s jaw tightened, but he couldn’t exactly argue. She wasn’t wrong.

“I can see he keeps to himself... he doesn’t seem like the type who’d enjoy sudden attention." Her voice softened further, careful with each word. “I just thought you’d want to know about this.” She hesitated, then added, “Because people are curious. They’re already trying to figure out who Tyler is.”

Then she looked Josh straight in the eyes. "And I’m gonna be honest with you, the tour barely survived when Shap fell sick. It only survived because Tyler stepped up. I just need to know this isn’t the kind of thing that could jeopardize it again, if Tyler isnt comfotable being in the light."

The words slammed through Josh like a bass drop. Of course this wasn’t about gossip, this wasn’t Sam scolding them for kissing in public... this was a check-up, this was a warning.

Because at first glance, it might’ve seemed harmless, maybe even cute. So they were trending. So what? Josh even had the fleeting thought of showing Tyler later, of laughing about the way fans were already keysmashing over them. But the thought barely had time to spark before the punch landed... this wasn’t harmless at all.

Because this wasn’t just anyone. This was Tyler. Tyler, who Josh knew would rather live in the shadows. Tyler, who carried a past that would most likely cause problems if it ever saw daylight.

Oh fuck.

Josh’s heart started hammering, thudding so loud it drowned out every sound in the room. Because if people dug too far, if even one curious fan stumbled onto the wrong corner of the internet...

It all hit him like a fist to his ribs.

The video, the articles... All of it was still out there, buried deep but not gone. Not even Josh was supposed to know about them, no one was. And if they resurfaced...

Josh’s breath went ragged, gaze pointed at one spot in front of him. He could picture it too clearly, the headlines twisting Tyler into something unrecognizable, the world gawking at his worst, most private moment. The very thing he’d fought to bury dragged back into the light.

His palms went clammy against the coffee cup.

Oh my god.

“Uh- yeah, I get your point. And uh... H-how bad is it?” Josh’s voice cracked, his grip tightening on the coffee cup like it could hold him steady. “Is anyone... close to finding out who Tyler is?”

Sam shook her head. “Not to my knowledge.” But her brow pinched at his tone, her eyes narrowing like she was trying to read between his words. “Josh, is there... something bad they can find?”

The question gutted him. He swallowed hard, throat catching, his mind screamed yes, but his chest burned with the weight of silence. This wasn’t his story, it wasn’t his secret to hand over.

He bit the inside of his cheek until it hurt, then forced a slow shake of his head. “No. No, of course not. I just...” His voice thinned, but he pushed through. “Like you said... I’m sure Tyler would rather no one knew about him. That’s all.”

The words burned on his tongue. He hated how easily they came out, hated the way they twisted truth into something hollow.

Sam studied him for a beat too long, suspicion flickering at the edges of her gaze. Josh held it, refusing to flinch, even though his pulse was still galloping. Finally, she sighed and sat back.

“Well, I'll see what I can do about damage control” she said, softer now, “I’ll leave it up to you whether you tell him or not. But I’m pretty sure it’ll die soon anyway. People move on quickly these days.”

With that, she stood up, packed her stuff, and gave him one last nod before walking out of the room.

Josh gave a stiff nod too, but inside he was reeling.

Because she was probably right, the trend would fade, the posts would sink, and fans would latch onto the next shiny thing. But the what-ifs gnawed at him, sharp and relentless.

For a long moment he just sat there, coffee cooling between his palms, his eyes fixed on the paper cup like it might give him answers. His thoughts kept circling, messy and loud. A flicker of bitterness cut through... he hated whoever had taken that picture, whoever had thought it was fine to turn something so private into public fodder. But the damage was done. Nothing he or anyone else could do to undo it.

The only question that mattered now was the one that pressed against his ribs.

Should he tell Tyler?

The chances of Tyler stumbling across it himself were low... he didn’t scroll feeds, didn’t chase trends, his world was just texts and calls to the people he trusted, nothing more. So if Sam really did damage control, if the staff kept a lid on it, then Josh might be the only person who could bring it to him.

But did he really want that?

Because telling Tyler meant possibly planting another demon in his head, one he didn’t deserve to carry. Josh knew exactly where Tyler’s mind would go... straight to that dark corner of the internet, to the video that should’ve never existed. And Josh would rather swallow glass than let Tyler spiral back there now.

Not after yesterday.

Not after he had clawed his way through a wall of fear and come out the other side, victorious.

Tyler deserved to bask in that glory, to keep the win without another shadow dragging it down.

Josh stared at the rippling surface of his coffee until it stilled, cold and forgotten. Eventually, he told himself that silence was the right call. Better to let Tyler sleep easy. Better to keep that rare, peaceful look Josh had seen on him this morning. Better to protect the light he’d just fought so hard to find.

“Hello? Earth to Josh.”

The voice jolted him, cutting clean through the fog in his head. He blinked up fast, startled when he found Tyler standing right in front of him, coffee cup in hand, brow cocked, a crooked grin playing on his mouth.

Josh’s cheeks burned hot. Not just because he’d been neck deep in thoughts about Tyler, about whether to tell him or protect him, but also because somehow, he hadn’t even noticed him walk in, hadn’t even noticed the coffee machine going again. Tyler had been here long enough to brew himself a fresh cup, and Josh had been too wrapped up in his own head to see it. Jesus.

Tyler chuckled at his awkward blink. “You look real deep in thought this morning.” He slid into the chair across from him, gaze soft but searching. “You okay?”

Josh opened his mouth, sure something would come out, but nothing did. He shut it again, then gave a rough shake of his head, like he could physically scatter the heaviness off his shoulders. “Yeah. Yeah, just... zoned out, I guess.” His laugh came too tight, but Tyler didn’t seem to notice.

Instead, he just nodded, biting lightly at his lip as he watched him. There was something lighter about Tyler this morning, an ease in his smile, a glint in his eyes, none of the troubled storm Josh had grown so used to bracing for. He looked soft and almost playful.

God, how could Josh even think about dropping the bomb on him? He definitely couldn’t he be the one to take that glow away.

A nudge against his shin pulled him back again. Tyler’s foot pressed gently against his under the table until Josh’s gaze snapped up. Tyler smirked, biting his lip and his eyebrows raised.

“So...” he started, voice a little teasing. “You know what happened yesterday?”

Josh blinked, heart thudding inside his chest. His mind stumbled immediately to the kiss, to the trending posts, to all the things Tyler couldn’t possibly know. Or could he? His throat went dry.

Tyler didn’t give him long to panic though, he leaned in a little, his grin widening. “I mean... apart from the obvious.” He rolled his eyes to the side cheekily. “You know what else happened yesterday?”

Josh stalled as his pulse started tripping. Was Tyler hinting at it? Did he somehow know?

“Uh...” Josh started, fumbling.

But Tyler saved him, lips twitching as he said, “I finally got to watch your show. Watch you play.”

Oh... OH...
Oh, yeah. Of course. Jesus.

Relief hit him so hard it was dizzying. And... Tyler was right. Him watching the show had been the plan from the very beginning, but then his panic attack made it seem impossible, like one of those things they’d just have to give up on. And yet somehow, yesterday, it happened. Only... in the whirlwind of the night, with the panic, the pressure and the adrenaline, neither of them really stopped to notice.

They’d been so focused on Tyler surviving the booth that they’d both forgotten he finally saw the whole show.

“Oh my god, that’s true!” Josh blurted, shifting forward in his chair, excitement bubbling into his voice.

Tyler’s grin widened at once when Josh finally matched his energy. “Yeah!” he laughed with a spark in his eyes.

The shared thrill was contagious, enough to sweep Josh’s earlier worries off the table, at least for now. He leaned in, eyes bright. “So? What did you think?”

Tyler huffed a small laugh, like he’d been waiting for that question.

“Well, I mean, the first half I was kinda busy freaking out,” he admitted with a shrug, “but... I really enjoyed the performance.” His gaze flicked up and down Josh’s form, deliberate and slow, before settling back on his face. “Especially yours.”

Heat bloomed across Josh’s cheeks so fast it made him duck his head, his lips catching between his teeth. It was such a simple line, but it landed heavy and warm right in his chest.

He risked a glance up. “Yeah?”

Tyler was already waiting, his grin teasing. “Yeah.”

And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he reached out and slid his fingers over Josh’s hand where it rested on the table. His touch lingered, soft strokes along his knuckles, their fingers weaving together and then lazily pulling apart again.

“You know what I noticed, though?” Tyler asked, voice playful.

Josh raised his brows, heart tripping slightly. “What?”

“In the audience,” Tyler said, eyes glinting as his fingers traced idle patterns over Josh’s skin, “there were significantly more... younger girls standing where there was a clear view of the drum platform.” His grin sharpened as Josh’s face twisted into a puzzled frown. “You aware you’ve got your own fanclub?”

Josh blinked at him, genuinely thrown. Fanclub? Him? The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind, he was barely aware people cared enough to post about him at all until Sam showed him this morning. He’d always assumed those crowds pressed close to the stage were there for Mick, not... him.

“Oh my god, Josh... you’re so precious,” Tyler said, his laugh soft and affectionate when Josh didn’t answer right away.

Josh huffed a laugh of his own, still stunned. “I mean... wh- how do you even know they were there for me? Could’ve been Mick...” The words sounded flimsy even as they left his mouth now.

Tyler lifted his brows high, giving him a look that said Really? You actually believe that? He shook his head with a little giggle. “Y’know... it’s funny how sometimes you’re so full of yourself... teasing and flirting with like.. no shame at all. And then other times you’re so completely clueless. It's cute.”

Josh flushed at the word, heat rushing up his neck, but his thoughts snagged on what Tyler had just said. And... maybe he was right. Sometimes Josh did come off confident, especially in Tyler’s eyes. Josh thought back to camp, those first few weeks when he went after what he wanted without hesitation.,

It probably looked bold and fearless, but the truth was, half the time that confidence was just a mask, something he wore so no one could see the weak, uncertain parts underneath. He knew how to play the part, but he never felt entirely comfortable in it.

Except now, with Tyler, it wasn’t a mask at all anymore. With Tyler, it just felt... natural.

Josh bit his lip, grinning sheepishly. “I... uh, hah. I don’t know. Guess I’m like that just with you.”

Tyler leaned back in his chair, grin stretching wide. “Well... fine by me. You keep doing that.”

He tugged his phone out then, glancing at the screen for a second. Josh’s stomach gave a small lurch, his mind flashing back to the trending posts, but it vanished quickly when Tyler smirked across the table.

“I’ve got a couple more minutes,” he said, voice low and suggestive. “You wanna be bold right now?”

Josh bit his lip, pulse jumping. It didn’t take him long to get on board.

The two of them stood almost in unison, Tyler’s hand slipping into his, tugging him gently toward the door. They walked out of the room side by side, a quiet charge passing between them, both of them already carrying something wicked in their minds.

And the drama from the online world went completely forgotten.

Chapter Text

Tyler had five shows behind him now. Five nights of heart-thudding countdowns, five nights of hands sweating on the console, five nights where his entire body felt like a live wire until the last cymbal crashed. And five nights where, somehow, nothing exploded.

Well... almost nothing.

The nerves still hit him in waves, especially in the hours before doors, when the arena loomed empty and echoing, and he knew in just a few hours it would be filled with thousands of voices he’d be responsible for corralling into something that resembled music. But each night, when the lights went down and the roar of the crowd hit, something steadier unfurled in him.

He was still nervous, maybe he always would be, but the panic that had nearly drowned him that first night was softening into something else. Focus, awareness, and a fragile, growing kind of confidence.

On the morning after the third show, his phone buzzed with a number he didn’t recognize. He stared at it for a second before he fumbled it to his ear, half expecting another logistics call from Sam, but then...

“Tyler?”

His stomach jolted. “Shap?!”

“Yeah, man.” The voice was thin, background noise like faint beeping and chatter telling him that Shap was calling from a hospital room.

Tyler froze in the middle of the bus lounge, unsure if he should sit or stand or just evaporate. “Oh, uh... hey. How are you doing?”

Shap let out a low chuckle that sounded tired. “Alive. They’re keeping me a few more days. But listen. I heard what happened after... y’know. I know what you did.”

Tyler’s breath stuttered, his mind tripped over a dozen possible responses... an apology, a defense, maybe both at once, but before he could choke any of them out, Shap continued.

“Not surprised, honestly.” His tone was steady, a dry warmth Tyler hadn’t realized he’d been starving for. “You’ve got the ears for it, the knowledge too. Makes sense that you stepped up.”

Tyler’s throat tightened. He wanted to argue... I didn’t step up, I panicked my way through it... but the words stuck. All he managed was a weak, “Really?”

“Really,” Shap said firmly. “And I’m glad it landed this way. Tour’s still running, crew’s still working, the band’s still playing. That’s not a small thing.”

Something hot pricked at the back of Tyler’s eyes. He wasn’t used to being the reason something worked. Usually he was the crack in the system, the piece that broke, the one who needed patching up or pulling back from the edge. But now... Shap was thanking him.

“I mean it,” Shap went on. “You saved their asses. And mine, too. I'll still have a job to come back to when I get out of here. And that’s thanks to you, man.”

Tyler pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, grinning helplessly at the floor like an idiot. His chest felt too big for his ribs, all tight and buoyant at once. He wasn’t the fuck-up this time, he wasn’t the problem, he was the reason something kept going.

“I- uh... wow. Thanks,” he stammered. It felt stupidly small, but it was all he had.

Shap snorted softly. “Don’t thank me, man. Just keep holding it down until I’m back.” A pause, then, “Couple quick tips for you for tonight’s arena... Pre-ride the vocal comp before the wedge kicks in, it’ll save your life if Mick leans too hard into his mic again-”

Tyler scrambled for a notebook as Shap went on, scribbling messy numbers, but really he was just listening to the calm certainty in Shap’s voice. Each word settled him deeper into his chair, like the ground under him was actually solid.

“Got it,” he said. And he meant it.

By the time they hung up, Tyler felt lighter than he had in days. Some small part of him had been braced for anger, for Shap to be territorial, to resent him for stepping into his seat. But instead, Shap had given him gratitude, respect, and a handful of practical tricks. It was almost disarming.

It also sealed something inside him.

For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like the one who needed saving, and it felt good to be on the other side of the spectrum. So whatever time Shap needed to recover, Tyler would hold this job for him. He’d shield it like it was his own.

...

Him and Josh had been good lately too.

There’d been a stretch right after that first show where Josh seemed glued to his phone more than usual, thumbing through it in quiet corners, face pulled into something Tyler couldn’t read. It only lasted a day or two though, before he slid back into himself again and the phone stayed forgotten on the bunk shelf. And Tyler never got the chance to be properly annoyed about it.

And then, for the first time since the tour started, they let themselves just be. They were playful and cheeky, like only the two of them could when they were together. It was like some tension between them had cracked open after the second show, both of them finally able to exhale at once. Tyler could still feel the memory of Josh’s grin from that night, wide and reckless, something soft and wild sparking in his eyes.

They’d both seemed happier than ever before.

Tyler liked that. And he liked that he got to see Josh glow every night behind the kit, drenched in sweat and joy. He liked that he got to witness it from the sound booth, to hold it together in his own way so Josh could shine in his.

And more than once, Tyler caught himself thinking how grateful he was that he’d taken the leap. That he hadn’t run, that he hadn’t folded under the panic. Don't get him wrong, it was scary as hell, even halfway through shows, his chest was still tight and his brain wanted to bolt, but he had Josh’s voice in his in-ears, steady and grounding, reminding him to breathe, reminding him he wasn’t alone.

So he pulled through.

And the reward of that... the swell of pride, the clean rush of relief, the way people clapped him on the back afterward... he carried that with him for days. He found himself feeding off it, almost hoarding it, like some rare proof that he could actually do this and that he could be someone who held things together instead of watching them fall apart.

By the time each next show rolled around, there was a weird cocktail in his gut... dread, but also this strange fizz of excitement. And when it went smoothly again, when the lights dropped and the final note hit and no one was running toward him with panic in their eyes, the good feeling doubled back.

And Tyler noticed that this energy stuck to Josh too. Because Josh was like that when it came to good things. He was infectious when he was happy, and it radiated around him. And lately, whenever Tyler looked up from the booth and saw him drumming, it was obvious how much Josh loved this.

And Tyler was almost sure Josh was just as grateful as he was that it hadn’t all come crashing down.

It wasn’t all without a flaw though.

By the third show with Tyler in the soundbooth, the good thing about Josh’s glow had a brittle edge to it. Because happy Josh meant spontaneous Josh... and spontaneous Josh meant he started taking up more space on stage in ways Mick didn’t always like.

Little things at first... a grin and a wink at the front row, a cheeky fill where the chart called for a rest, standing up on the drum throne to sell the moment. Then came bigger things... like wandering to the edge of the drum platform during a slow song to give the crowd a show or high-fiving the kids pressed against the barrier.

Tyler had laughed the first couple of times and even teased Josh after a show, and watched Josh’s grin spread across his face like he was being tickled from the inside.

But Mick didn’t laugh at all.

It started to happen in the wings and then bled into the soundchecks, and even into the set. Sharp words in between songs, a clipped line thrown the way of Josh’s back when he walked past mic stands. Tyler heard the barbs in his line... Mick’s voice, small and carefully poisonous. He saw the way Mick’s jaw tightened when the crowd cheered a little harder for a drum solo, the way the frontman’s eyes would flick to Josh as if measuring him against some invisible standard.

Tyler guessed what it was. He’d seen enough of the game to read a predator’s twitch... ego spooked by attention it couldn’t control. Maybe Mick was used to being the sun, maybe he hadn’t sat well with someone else catching light around him. Whatever the reasoning, the result was the same... Mick hunting for tiny reasons to pick an argument, to remind Josh whose band it “really” was.

And Josh... Josh was annoyingly unflappable. Mostly he just laughed it off, answered with a joke, or walked away from a prodding comment like it wasn’t worth the oxygen. Once or twice he’d fire back with some soft retort that smoothed things over. Tyler watched it unfold with his stomach tightening, he couldn’t understand the patience. If it was him, he’d have snapped, and maybe not with words but with fists.

The instinct to protect, to shove back when someone picked on the person he loved, sat heavy and unwieldy in his chest, but he held himself back. He had enough on his hands running sound, the last thing the tour needed was the sound guy picking up fist fights with the band.

But the resentment didn’t stay neat, it moved through him in small electric currents. Tyler told himself it was nothing, he told himself Josh could handle it. He told himself a thousand times that he was here to make the show sound right, not to referee egos.

And yet, every time Mick’s voice cut sharp or every time Josh’s grin dimmed just slightly under the weight of it, something inside Tyler bristled. He hated the way it chipped at the edges of what should’ve been pure joy. Hated that Josh was too easy going to let it show, too quick to smooth things over instead of standing his ground. Maybe that was noble, maybe it was maturity, but to Tyler it felt unfair, like watching someone brilliant forced into a box that didn’t fit.

Because if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t really understand why Josh wasted his time and talent with this band altogether. A band that wouldn’t appreciate his spark, his skill, or the way he could rile up a crowd without even trying. Sure, the show was good and technically speaking, they were all good musicians. The set ran smooth, the cues landed, the cryo blasts and fireworks hit their marks. It was polished, it was impressive.

But for what?

Where was the soul in it? What message did it send? They were a tribute band, recycling the same old songs night after night, songs born decades ago in someone else’s head. Tyler couldn’t wrap his mind around musicians who were okay with that being enough. Playing someone else’s work on loop, chasing applause for echoes, leaving no room for creativity or spontaneity, no hidden corners for meaning.

It wasn’t what music was supposed to be... not for him.

And maybe, deep down, it bothered him more than he wanted to admit that Josh seemed content with it. Because Tyler could see it clear as day... Josh was talented, creative, endlessly so. Mick could scold him all he wanted for daring to veer off-script, but Tyler knew those moments, those flashes of instinct, were where Josh’s real brilliance lived. He had so much more to offer than just being a cog in someone else’s wheel.

But then Tyler would look at him onstage, radiant and grinning, clearly in love with the rush of it, and he couldn’t say a word. Couldn’t bring himself to drag shadows over something that made Josh light up like that.

Until Mick started picking at him.

Now, it was different. Now, Josh’s joy came filtered through tension, and Tyler felt the shift in his own chest every time it happened. He told himself not to care, but he did. He told himself it didn’t matter, but it kept circling back, nagging at him like a wrong note buzzing under the surface.

...

They’d just finished lunch at a little corner place, nothing fancy, just warm food and space away from the noise. Now, they wandered through the city aimlessly, hand in hand, the late afternoon light stretching long shadows across the pavement. Josh’s thumb brushed over the back of Tyler’s hand in idle patterns, his whole energy loose.

Tyler tried to mirror it, but his head wouldn’t shut up. Thoughts chased each other in loops... about the shows, about Josh and Mick, about everything unsaid. He didn’t want to ruin this quiet, didn’t want to drag weight into their afternoon, but silence made the questions itch even more.

“Hey so...” Tyler said suddenly, the words sounding too sharp in the calm. He softened it with a sideways glance. “What’s your musical history anyway? Did you always want to be a drummer?”

Josh blinked like he’d been startled out of a daydream. For a second his brow furrowed, then he gave a small shrug, the kind that looked casual but bought him time. “Yeah, I guess. Ever since I sat behind the kit for the first time.”

Tyler tilted his head, studying him. “When was that?”

Josh frowned slightly, trying to pin the memory down. “I dunno. I think I was thirteen... maybe fourteen.” His tone carried the faint warmth of nostalgia, but it didn’t stay long.

Tyler nodded, biting his tongue before another question tumbled out. “How’d you end up in this band?”

Josh shot him a cautious look from under his cap, like he was trying to read whether Tyler really wanted the answer. Tyler kept his expression as straight as he could, and eventually Josh looked away again.

“Um... there was an audition,” Josh said, voice shifting into shyness. “Kind of recommended to me by my...” he hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “...by a friend of mine.”

Something about the pause snagged in Tyler’s chest. A friend... Why did it sound like Josh didn’t want to say more than that? Tyler almost asked, but decided to let it slide, tilting his head with a faint smile instead. “An audition? Well, that shouldn’t have been necessary, right?”

Josh huffed a laughless sound, shaking his head. “Yeah... I didn’t get in actually. At first.”

Tyler stopped short, staring at him wide-eyed. “You’re joking.”

Josh met his gaze for just a second, then looked away again. “Someone else got it. But then they changed their mind after a month, and then Sam called me.”

Tyler blinked, still caught on the words. Didn’t get in. Second choice. His gut twisted... how the hell could anyone overlook Josh? He squeezed his hand tighter. “Well... it was a sign they should’ve gone with you right away. I doubt anyone else could’ve done this better.”

Josh’s lips tugged upward, the appreciation soft but real. “Thanks.”

Tyler meant it. More than he could say. The idea of Josh being anyone’s backup plan made his chest burn.

After a few steps, he asked, “You’ve been in a different band before this one though?”

Josh’s mouth curved into a smaller smile. “Yeah. Me and my friends had one in high school.” His voice trailed, then he pursed his lips. “Didn’t really work out once we all went separate ways.”

Tyler’s curiosity spiked sharper. “Do you miss it?”

Josh looked at him sideways. “Miss what? The band? That was a long time ago, Ty.”

Tyler shook his head quickly. “No... I meant more like... the creative process. Writing your own songs and stuff.” His teeth caught on his lip as soon as the words slipped out. This was dangerous territory, he could feel it immediately in the way Josh’s shoulders stiffened, in the faint frown pinching his forehead.

“I don’t know...” Josh said slowly, almost like he had to taste the words first. “Maybe a little.”

Tyler’s pulse ticked faster, he should’ve stopped there, but the push was stronger than the caution. “Have you ever thought about doing that again?”

Josh’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing slightly, like he hadn’t expected the question to go further. “What?” The word was blunt and dumbfounded, but underneath Tyler could already sense the irritation brewing.

“You know...” Tyler kept his tone careful, but his chest tightened. “Playing in an original band.”

The air between them shifted.

Josh let out a heavy sigh, one that seemed to drag his shoulders down with it. “Where are you going with this, Ty?” His voice wasn’t sharp yet, but the weight behind it was. Because he already had a feeling. Because deep down, he knew.

Tyler had never hidden the fact that he thought tribute bands weren't really his thing, that he couldn't quite see the point of them. Josh still remembered that first day of tour, the offhand “dad band” comment that had stung more than Tyler probably realized.

He thought they’d moved past it. He thought Tyler liked the performance, liked watching him. He thought Tyler was proud.

“I already am in a band, why would I-”

“Because you have so much more to offer,” Tyler cut across him, heat spilling out before he could stop it.

He stopped walking, tugging Josh to a halt on the sidewalk so he could face him. “You’re so talented, you have this drive that most drummers don’t. And you don’t deserve to get scolded every time you improvise something brilliant. You should be praised for it.”

Josh scoffed and looked away, his jaw tight. “What do you think I should do?” he asked, but the words weren’t a question. They were armor, sharp and brittle. “I might be talented, but it’s not like bands are lining up at my door.”

“Then start one,” Tyler shot back without missing a beat.

Josh’s voice rose, frustration spilling out with it. “With who?” His hands sliced through the air. “I don’t have a roster of best-friend-guitarists on speed dial. And I have a band. It pays. It’s working. Why would I throw that away for maybe?”

Tyler felt heat climbing his throat, the stubborn part of him refusing to back down. “Because the maybe looks a hell of a lot more like you. And this-” he waved vaguely toward the venue skyline “-this is you holding back.”

The words landed heavier than he meant. He could see it instantly in the flicker that crossed Josh’s face, the way his mouth pressed thin, the way he flinched like he’d been struck.

“So what are you saying?” Josh’s voice dropped low, trembling with hurt under the edge of anger. “That this... the thing that I love...is what? Lesser?”

Tyler flinched too. That wasn’t what he’d meant. God, that wasn’t what he’d meant at all.

“No,no...” he said quickly, voice rough. He hesitated, then pushed on a little softer. “I just think you have so much more to offer. Whenever you let yourself be creative, when you improvise... it’s so good, Josh. I could listen to you build beats for hours. I just think it’s a shame the rest of the world doesn’t get to hear it too.”

Josh’s anger dimmed, flickering into something far more painful. His gaze fell to his hands, fingers curling in and out like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Yeah. I wanted that once too.” His voice cracked on the edges, quieter now. “But it didn’t work out, I wasn’t enough. And right now I have this. And some days? This is what keeps me breathing.”

The words landed like a stone in Tyler’s chest. And that look on Josh’s face, caught somewhere between defiance and grief, cut him open.

Tyler wanted to say more, wanted to argue that Josh was enough, that he deserved more than scraps. But another voice inside reminded him that maybe he wasn’t so different. He was telling Josh not to settle while he was still clawing through his own shadows, still unsure if he’d ever climb out.

Who was he to tell Josh how to dream?

So instead, he swallowed the knot in his throat and simply nodded, a little sadly. “I didn't mean to put it like that,” he murmured after a beat, the words soft. “I’m sorry, Josh.”

His chest ached with how inadequate the apology felt, but it was all he had, it was the only way to bridge the space he'd just opened. He looked at Josh for a long moment before reaching out, taking his hand into his own and gently running his fingers over Josh's knuckles.

Josh let him.

The fight thinned into silence, their eyes locked in a held look neither of them knew how to end.

And then Josh’s phone buzzed.

Both of them flinched slightly at the sudden sound. Josh pulled it out of his pocket and glanced down at the screen, brows knitting in surprise before he said out loud, “...Jenna?”

Tyler’s head snapped up at the name. He leaned subtly toward Josh, eyes catching on the glow of the screen just long enough to see it for himself. Jenna.

A flicker of unease darted through his chest. Why was Jenna calling Josh, and not him? Had they been talking behind his back? The last time Josh had spoken with her directly was right after his panic attack at the first venue... or at least, that was the last time Tyler knew of. He hadn’t realized they’d kept in touch.

But judging by Josh’s startled expression, he hadn’t either.

Josh shot him a quick glance before swiping the call open. “Jenna?”

Tyler couldn’t hear what came through the other end, only the way Josh’s face shifted, softening into an easy grin the second she spoke. It was like her energy spilled right through the line and onto him. Tyler’s stomach twisted, they’d been tense just minutes ago, prickling at each other, and now Josh looked lit up again, laughing softly under his breath.

“No... no, Ty and I are actually on a walk right now,” Josh said, voice warm into the phone as he turned his grin toward Tyler for a second.

Tyler really hated that he couldn’t hear her.

“Nah, it’s actually all good.. Ty’s been killing it every show,” Josh said, and that grin sharpened, proud and unshakable.

An invisible weight slipped from Tyler’s shoulders. He’d been worried he’d upset Josh with his ambush, pressing into things Josh clearly felt insecure about. And now, Josh was still smiling proudly about him, like none of that had stuck.

Hell... Why could Josh still be proud of him for something so small, even when he’d been nothing but a mess, but Tyler couldn’t do the same? Why couldn’t he just accept Josh’s band for what it was, instead of judging it for what it wasn’t? Why couldn’t he be more like Josh, and less like himself?

He hated himself sometimes.

There wasn’t much time for self-loathing though, because Josh’s eyes suddenly went wide. “Really? Yeah! Of course!” He paused, then bit his lip. “Well... it is, but don’t worry about that, I can get you in.”

Tyler looked up at him sharply. Josh’s gaze was already locked on his, something buzzing behind it, like he was silently telling him, you’re gonna want to hear this.

“Sure thing! Just let me know and I’ll put you on the list,” Josh said finally, nodding along his words. A beat later, he wrapped up the call with, “Yeah, you too. Bye, Jen.”

He hung up, the line clicking off, and for a second just stared at the black screen in his hand. Then slowly, a grin spread across his face again as he lifted his eyes back to Tyler.

“So,” Josh said, lips curving. “Guess who’s coming to the next show?”

And just like that, the sharp edge between them softened, their earlier clash dissolving into something closer to excitement

Chapter Text

The front lounge was still half-shadowed, the kind of soft gray light that came through tinted windows when the sun hadn’t quite decided on the day yet. The bus rumbled steady beneath them, a low hum through the floor that made the mugs on the shelf tremble just slightly with every turn of the road.

Sam claimed the corner seat, her tablet abandoned beside her for once, cradling a coffee in both hands. The twins sat next to her, hunched close to each other as they whispered and laughed at something on one of their phones.

Josh was across the aisle, next to Tyler, his long legs stretched out, socked feet braced against the base of the opposite bench. He looked loose, still half drowsy, hair curling in a way that said he hadn’t bothered taming it after rolling out of his bunk. Tyler’s own mug sat warm between his palms, the steam curling up like he could breathe it in and slow himself down.

The rest of the bus was quiet. Behind the closed doors of the bunk hall, the others were still out cold, and for once, there was no rush pulsing beneath their skin. No frantic schedules or checklists hanging over their heads today. Just the steady roll of the bus carrying them toward the city where they’d land for three whole nights.

Two sold-out shows, a hotel stay, and a rare stretch of stillness.

And Tyler shouldn't forget Jenna.

The thought made his chest lift like it had been waiting all night for the reminder. His best friend would be here tomorrow... her laugh, her presence, the anchor of someone who had known him before all of this. He couldn’t help it, he felt a little giddy. The kind of happiness that sat restless under his skin, impossible to contain.

Whatever sharpness lingered from yesterday, the words exchanged between him and Josh, the raw edges of a conversation that had almost tipped into a fight, it had dissolved somewhere in the quiet hours of the night. Replaced now by the low buzz of anticipation that seemed to run through all of them. They’d been looking forward to this stretch of the tour since the routing first landed in their inboxes.

It felt like the exhale they’d all earned.

Tyler let himself sink into the sway of the bus, the murmur of the twins, the taste of tea on his tongue, Josh warm at his side. For the first time in days, it felt like the air itself was telling them to breathe.

And then, somewhere between the clink of mugs and the quiet laughter, it hit him.

This... this stretch of shows, this city they were rolling toward... it was supposed to be his end point. By now, he should’ve been packing and bracing himself to step off the bus and fly back into his old life. This was only supposed to be a temporary guest, a summer fling with tour life before retreating home.

But that was before Shap’s collapse. Before Sam looked him in the eye and asked him to step up. Before Tyler found himself in the booth with trembling hands and no safety net, and somehow... somehow he pulled it off.

His plans had shifted without him even noticing when. At the start, when the panic had swallowed him whole before the first show, he’d hidden in the bus and buried himself in work, finishing nearly every project that had been weighing him down. And now, with the deadlines gone, and the rest of the projects postponed, the world outside blurred to the rhythm of the road, there wasn’t anything forcing him to leave.

And he didn’t want to.

Even with the undercurrent of panic that still buzzed through his chest before every show, Tyler had found something in this. The soundbooth wasn’t just survival anymore... it was his. A place where his hands mattered, where the small movements of a fader or dial shaped what thousands of people would hear. Where he wasn’t a dead weight, he wasn’t just tagging along... he was part of the machine that kept it all alive.

And Josh... well, there was no universe where he wanted to step away from Josh now.

The thought almost made him laugh into his mug, though it wasn’t funny so much as startling. Just months ago, at camp, he’d worked so hard to cast Josh as the villain in his story. He’d pushed, resisted and twisted himself in knots to keep away from him. And now here he was, orbiting closer every day, choosing to stay not just for the music, but for the boy who had somehow made it safe to trust again.

Josh hadn’t just shifted the walls Tyler built, he’d torn holes in them, big enough for light to get through.

And that light had pulled Tyler somewhere he thought he’d lost forever. Back into the life he’d sworn off, the pulse of tour, the mess and miracle of live music. And maybe he wasn’t on stage anymore, he wasn't the artist at the center, but he was still in it.

He was back.

And he wasn’t just watching from the sidelines, he was part of the process and it was changing him. The tour was changing him.

Josh was changing him.

At moments, it was almost scary...

Like when his eyes landed on Josh across a room, or across the kit, sweat flying as he hit the downbeat, and something inside Tyler just... ached. Not the light ache of a crush or the easy warmth of a fling, but deeper, heavier, the kind of ache that whispered this isn’t just a cute boyfriendy thing anymore.

He had feelings for Josh. Real ones. Strong enough that sometimes they pressed against his ribs like they wanted out. Strong enough that they scared him, because he knew what it was to carry feelings that big for someone, and he knew how easily they could burn him down.

It hadn’t ended well the last time.

Which was the reason he hadn’t said anything. Even though he’d known for a while, even though the words lined up on his tongue some nights when Josh was curled against him in the back lounge, breathing steady and unguarded. He wanted to say them, but fear held him back... fear of silence, fear of a look he wasn’t ready to see, fear that the ground would crumble under his feet if he tipped the balance of what they had.

So he kept them inside. He let himself feel, let it rush and swell in his chest, and then he packed it back down again, storing it where it was safer.

But sometimes... sometimes it leaked out anyway.

Like when he was setting up James’s keyboards, hands moving automatically through cables and connections, and then he’d paused, just for a second. Just long enough to press a chord, and then another, and suddenly he wasn’t checking wires anymore, he was playing. Some strange mix of melancholy and hope spilling out of him, notes stringing together like they’d been waiting.

And in his head, words followed, natural and uninvited, threading themselves into the melody.

He hadn’t sung them out loud, just hummed under his breath, but it was enough to catch him off guard when he realized what he was doing. What he was unconsciously writing. And who he was writing it for.

-

“...you alright, Ty?”

Josh’s voice pulled him hard out of his thoughts, out of the half formed song still humming in his chest. Tyler blinked, the bus lounge sliding back into focus. He flinched in his seat, heat crawling up his neck. God, if Josh only knew what he’d been thinking about just now.

“Yeah... uh.” He lifted the mug like a shield, awkward sip covering the flush in his cheeks. “Just zoned out. Sorry.”

Josh tilted his head like he wanted to press, then let it slide. He turned to the others, his voice easy. “Sam was about to tell us something exciting, right?”

Tyler straightened a little, grateful for the deflection. He shifted his mug between his hands, eyes flicking to Sam.

She gave a small smile, ever the diplomat, folding her hands in her lap. “Well, yeah. I just got some good news actually.” She paused just long enough for everyone to lean in. “Shap’s been dismissed from the hospital. He’s on his way to meet us right now.”

The words slammed into Tyler like a jolt of electricity. Relief lit up his chest, sharp and bright... He was so glad that Shap was okay, that he was coming back.

But laced through it, tangled so fast it almost strangled the joy, was a mild panic.

What did that mean for him?

Was he supposed to step aside the second Shap set foot on the bus? Was he about to become a dead weight again? Just another plus one trailing behind Josh, taking up space but not needed?

Tyler hadn’t realized until this very second just how much he fell in love with what he was doing here. How much being behind that board mattered to him now. It had given him purpose, steadiness, a reason to keep standing when he wanted to fold.

He wasn’t ready to lose it.

He didn’t have to sit in the spiral long though, because Sam’s voice cut back in, smoothing the sharp edge.

“Now before you cheer, he’s still supposed to rest,” she said firmly. “He might be present, but he won’t be able to work for at least another few days.”

Her eyes landed squarely on Tyler. “I’d still like to count on you, if that’s okay.”

The knot in his chest loosened so suddenly he almost laughed. Instead he quickly blurted out, “Yeah. Yeah, of course. As long as you need.”

At the exact moment, Josh’s hand found his knee, a quiet squeeze of reassurance that made his stomach flip.

Sam gave him one of her rare, tight little smiles. “Thank you.” Then she added wryly, “he’ll be at your disposal if you need advice. I’m pretty sure he won’t be able to stay away from the booth even if he tried.”

That finally pulled a laugh out of Tyler. God, what a reversal. It should be the other way around... him offering to help Shap, and now it was Shap being offered to him, like the whole world had tilted sideways while he wasn’t looking.

Unbelievable, really, how everything had turned out.

...

The venue was booked for some other event that night, so instead of pulling into the loading dock like usual, the bus veered straight toward the hotel. Three whole nights in the same city. No miles rolling under them after the encore, no stumbling onto the bus at 2 am with ringing ears and adrenaline still clinging to their skin. Just hotel beds, showers with actual water pressure, and the luxury of stillness.

The promise of it was enough to soften everyone’s edges. As soon as the driver eased into the curb, bodies peeled off the bus in slow waves, each person disappearing into the revolving door with their own brand of exhaustion. Suitcases dragged across the lobby floor, elevator doors dinged open, and one by one, the noise of the group dissolved into quiet hallways.

Tyler felt Josh at his side the whole way up, not loud or pushing, just a steady presence shadowing him down the corridor. It wasn’t until their own door shut behind them, clicking softly into place, that Josh finally spoke.

“You okay, Ty?”

Tyler froze in the middle of the room, his bag still slung over his shoulder. He turned at the sound, brows knitting as if he hadn’t even realized his silence was noticeable. “Hmm?” Then he caught up and exhaled. “Oh... yeah. I am. Just...” His hand raked through his hair as he searched for the word. “Overwhelmed, I guess.”

Josh leaned against the dresser, arms folding across his chest, watching him with a quiet crease between his brows. Overwhelmed? He hadn’t expected that one.

Tyler shifted under the weight of it, looking vaguely guilty, like it was a confession instead of an answer. “It’s not bad,” he rushed on. “I mean... it’s good stuff. Shap’s coming back, Jenna will be here tomorrow and we’ve got an actual hotel night.” He gave a small laugh. “It’s just... a lot to process, kinda.”

Something in Josh’s chest gave. Of course. God, why hadn’t he thought of that? He’d gone straight to assuming Tyler was weighed down by something bad... the usual pressure, or the pace of the tour. But it wasn’t always the bad that overloaded him, sometimes even good things stacked up too fast, leaving him blinking at it all, trying to catch up.

Josh scrubbed a hand over his jaw, half a facepalm, half a smile at himself. “Oh.. yeah. I guess that makes sense.” He hesitated, watching Tyler for a beat longer, then he asked gently, “You wanna talk about it?”

Tyler shook his head right away, then again, slower, like he was making sure the answer stuck. “No... I just wanna enjoy the stillness while it lasts,” he murmured, his eyes drifting around the room, the clean sheets, the wide windows, the promise of silence. His shoulders sank a little as if just saying it let some of the pressure go.

Josh let his eyes wander the room too, easing the tension. “Yeah, I mean... this place is a nice change.”

And it was.

Soft lighting, polished furniture, and more space than any of them were used to after weeks of bus bunks and dressing rooms.

Tyler let his bag drop with a thud onto the king-sized bed. “Sure is,” he said, grinning faintly. Sam’s assistant must’ve had some kind of magic touch with bookings. Tyler had never met her, but in this moment, he was pretty sure he’d hug the woman if she appeared in the doorway.

Josh didn’t bother with finesse, he just let himself flop onto the bed, arms and legs sprawled like a starfish, staring up at the ceiling with a satisfied sigh. Tyler’s smile lingered at the edges as he watched him, then he turned away, padding toward the bathroom.

It was quiet for a stretch, just the hum of the AC, and Josh was slowly letting his mind drift when he heard it.

“Oh my god...”

Tyler's voice cut through the space with a hint of awe, the kind of tone that slipped out when you stumbled on something you liked. Josh lifted his head halfway, waiting for more, but Tyler didn’t appear. Only his voice did, floating out through the cracked door.

“Oh my god, Josh... you gotta see this.”

Josh huffed a laugh to himself, dragging a hand down his face. He’d been perfectly content to sink into the mattress for an hour or two, but there was something in Tyler’s tone, urgent, breathless and threaded with wonder, that tugged him right back to his feet.

When Josh slowly started padding toward the bathroom, he wasn’t expecting much. Maybe some fancy tile, a bigger mirror, whatever had Tyler sounding like that. But the second he stepped through the doorframe, the words left his mouth before he could stop it.

“Holy sh-”

Marble tile gleaming under the lights, a rainfall shower that looked big enough for three, and a bathtub deep enough to drown in. It wasn’t just a hotel bathroom. It was a fucking spa.

Josh let out a low laugh under his breath, already getting ideas. “Jesus.”

“Yeah,” Tyler said in agreement. He shot Josh a sidelong glance that lasted a little too long, his lips quirking at the corner.

Josh caught it, and in an instant, the room felt smaller and hotter, and his mood tilted in a way that had nothing to do with luxury bathrooms. He bit down on his lower lip mischievously, eyes dragging over Tyler’s face. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

The faintest glint lit up Tyler’s eyes, which was an answer enough, but he still turned toward Josh slowly, shrugging. “I don’t know,” he said, voice suggestively pitched low. “How would I possibly know what you’re thinking?”

Josh stepped in, hands naturally sliding onto Tyler’s hips, thumbs pressing into the bone. The air between them tightened, sparking with a quiet challenge neither of them said out loud.

“Hmm,” Josh hummed, leaning closer. “You wanna hear me say it, don’t you?”

He pushed, guiding Tyler back until the cool tile met his spine. Tyler’s hands found their place on Josh’s waist, clinging as his breath caught. Josh caged him in, bracing one palm against the wall beside his head.

And fuck, Tyler smelled good.

Not a cologne or a detergent... just him. Warm skin, sweat faded into cotton, something that was so distinctively Tyler it made Josh dizzy. He buried his nose in the crook of his neck, breathing him in deep. Tyler shuddered against him, and Josh smiled into his skin.

“Mmh.” He pulled back just enough to see him again. Tyler’s pupils were blown wide, his mouth parted, like he was caught in the brink of something he couldn’t name. Josh’s hands tightened on his hips. “Y’know,” he murmured, nose brushing Tyler’s, “we’ve got the whole afternoon off.”

Tyler’s lips parted like he was either ready to answer or eat him alive, but Josh tilted his head, teasing, keeping the kiss just out of reach.

“Why don’t you let me help you take your mind off things?” His words brushed right against Tyler’s mouth, warm and wicked.

Tyler’s chest hitched, and Josh grazed his lower lip against his, close enough to taste but not enough to give. He exhaled slowly into Tyler’s mouth, drinking in the way his body trembled again.

“Let me overwhelm you in a different way, baby,” Josh whispered, and Tyler actually whined. He fisted the fabric of Josh’s shirt, yanking him closer like he’d die if the space didn’t disappear.

“Please...” he whimpered against his lips.

And that was all it took.

Josh's mouth finally crashed into Tyler’s, hot and open and desperate. There was no careful build-up, no easing into it. It was teeth and tongue and breath, messy and consuming. Josh devoured him like he’d been starving for it, like every second of holding back had finally come to a head.

Tyler clutched at him like he was the only thing holding him upright, pulling him closer, deeper, chasing every scrape of teeth. Josh’s hands dragged over his hips, up his sides, fingers pressing hard through the fabric just to ground himself.

The kiss tilted between them, equal parts fire and plea, both of them pouring too much into it, not nearly enough.

Josh groaned into his mouth, hips pressing forward instinctively, like his body couldn’t help itself. Tyler gasped, and the sound only made Josh kiss him harder, lips bruising, tongues tangling. He swallowed every noise Tyler gave him, greedy for more.

The tiled wall was cold against Tyler’s back, but Josh’s body burned against his front, and the contrast made him dizzy. Every time Josh nipped at his lip, every time he ground closer, Tyler’s knees threatened to give.

Tyler was wrecked already, lips bruised, chest heaving, cock straining in his jeans. Every second of Josh’s mouth had been too much, and not nearly enough. He felt like he couldn’t stop kissing him if his life depended on it, but there was another pressure building in him, something heavier than lust.

He wanted this to last.

Because ever since the tour started, everything seemed so rushed. Like they barely had the time to really enjoy each other without having the pace of the tour pressing in on them from every direction.

“Wait... wait, hold on...” Tyler gasped against Josh’s mouth, words barely breaking through the messy kiss.

Josh froze instantly, pulling back just enough to search his face, eyes sharp with worry. “What... what is it, Ty?” His voice was breathless, but his hands kept moving anyway, caressing the warm skin under Tyler’s shirt like he couldn’t let go.

Tyler dragged in a shaky breath, staring at Josh’s kiss swollen lips. God, he wanted to dive back in, to lose himself in it, but the thought pressed against his ribs like a warning. He wanted to savor this, cherish it, not let it slip away in a rush.

“I- you said it yourself.” Tyler’s voice cracked low, almost shy, as he bit his lip and slid a hand up Josh’s chest, fingers grazing his throat, curling into his curls before sliding back down. “We have a whole afternoon...” His words dropped to a whisper. “Let’s not rush this.”

Josh’s pupils blew wider, tracking the pull of Tyler’s teeth on his lip. His hold on Tyler’s hips tightened, but he didn’t move otherwise. “I can do that,” he said, his tone tilting into something teasing. “But can you?”

Before Tyler could answer, Josh’s hand slid lower, away from skin and toward the hard outline pressing against his jeans. His palm cupped him through the denim, squeezing slow and deliberate.

“You’re so hard already,” Josh murmured, his voice husky with want. Tyler whimpered, hips jerking into his hand without permission.

“You sure you can take it slow right now?”

Tyler’s head thumped back against the cold tile. His hands fisted into Josh’s shirt, knuckles whitening as Josh’s touch dragged pressure across his cock. “Fuck...” he whimpered, eyes squeezing shut when Josh pressed harder.

“I just don’t want this to be over so fast,” he confessed, words tumbling out between breathless moans. His hips betrayed him though, thrusting into Josh’s hand anyway, chasing friction he couldn’t resist.

Josh hummed low in his throat, lips grazing the line of Tyler’s jaw as he pressed his body closer, grinding heat to heat. His voice was molten against Tyler’s skin. “And have you thought about the version...” His mouth trailed kisses down his neck, teeth tugging at his earlobe.

Tyler shivered violently.

“...the version where this lasts-” Josh’s hand palmed him harder, slow and steady “-and I still make you come right now?”

He bit into Tyler’s neck just as his hand pressed firmer, and Tyler moaned, head rolling back, hips straining upward helplessly.

“The version where I make you come multiple times, baby?” Josh pulled back just far enough to watch the realization paint itself across Tyler’s flushed face.

“Fuck... please,” Tyler whined, his voice breaking.

Josh’s mouth curved into a wicked grin. “Yeah?” He let the question hang for a second before taking a step back, just enough to undo the button of Tyler’s jeans and drag the zipper down. His hand slipped inside, knuckles brushing heat and damp. “Wanna come for me like this? Pressed up against the wall, still in your clothes?”

“Josh...” Tyler gasped, every muscle tight, but it turned into a strangled moan when Josh freed him, cock heavy and flushed in his grip. Precum already slicked the head, and Josh swiped his thumb over it before dragging down his length, slow and obscene.

“Worked up so easily,” Josh muttered, eyes glued to the sight of Tyler in his hand. He smeared the wetness down the shaft, stroking languidly, savoring the way Tyler shook. “Such a mess. So wet for me, Ty...”

Tyler was a wreck, head tipped back against the wall, breath coming in shallow bursts, desperate whimpers falling from his lips. “Yes- fuck... yes-”

Josh leaned up to steal another kiss, filthy and quick, before sinking to his knees. Tyler’s lips parted as he looked down, his cock twitching at the sight.

“Fuck, Josh...” His voice broke, high and needy, when Josh licked a slow line from the base to the tip, tasting him with a low groan.

“Wanna taste you so bad, baby,” Josh murmured, and then took him into his mouth.

The heat was overwhelming, wet and tight, Josh’s tongue flattening against the underside as he sucked. Tyler’s knees nearly buckled, his hand shooting to Josh’s curls to steady himself. “Oh my god-”

Josh set a pace, slow at first, lips gliding down inch by inch, spit dripping as he worked him deeper. Tyler’s hips gave a sharp, involuntary thrust, and Josh moaned around him, the vibration making Tyler cry out.

It got filthier fast when Josh took him deeper, choking slightly, spit pooling and slicking his chin, obscene sounds echoing in the tiled bathroom. Tyler couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, his pulse hammering as his thighs trembled.

“Josh... fuck- I can’t-” he gasped, chest heaving.

The pull inside him coiled tighter with every drag of Josh’s mouth, every press of his tongue in just the right spot. It was unfair, the way Josh seemed to know exactly how to undo him, the scrape of teeth, the swirl under the head, the deep hum that vibrated straight through Tyler’s spine. His thighs shook, muscles burning as he fought to stay upright.

He buried his hand deeper in Josh’s curls, clutching like he needed the anchor just to keep breathing. Josh groaned at the tug, the sound spilling right around Tyler’s cock, wet and filthy, and it shot straight through him.

“Josh-” Tyler’s voice cracked, high and wrecked. His hips stuttered forward, chasing the slick heat of Josh’s throat. “Josh, Josh, I’m so- so close-”

Josh moaned again, swallowing him down greedily, and the vibration shattered what little control Tyler had left. His head slammed back against the tile, eyes rolling shut as the pressure clawed at the edges of him, unbearable and inevitable.

Josh pulled off with a wet pop, stroking him tight and fast with his hand, his lips red and glistening. He looked up through his lashes, face a mess of spit and precome. “Come on, baby,” he coaxed, voice rough and low. “Come on my face.”

That wrecked him.

Tyler’s whole body seized, a choked moan tearing from his throat as he spilled hot and messy across Josh’s lips, his cheeks, dripping down his chin. His vision went white for a second, his body trembling violently as Josh milked every drop from him with steady strokes.

When he finally sagged against the wall, boneless and gasping, he blinked down at the sight. Josh, on his knees, grinning through the mess, his face streaked with Tyler’s come, tongue darting out to catch what he could.

Tyler flushed scarlet. “Jesus,” he muttered, his voice a little small now, "...sorry."

Josh only grinned wider, filthy and beautiful, stroking his thighs as if to ground him. “Mhm, ’sgood...” his voice dropped into something suggestive and hungry. "I wanted it," he giggled as he licked his lips obscenely. “Besides, I can think of at least three different ways you can clean me up in this bathroom.”

The heat that shot through Tyler’s stomach made it clear...

...this was nowhere close to being over.

Chapter Text

The venue was already humming with the usual pre-show rhythm when Tyler ducked under the truss, both hands buried in a crate of coiled cables. Someone was testing a lighting rig above him, bright flashes strobing across the floor every few seconds. The smell of gaffer tape, metal, and burnt coffee hung in the air, strangely grounding.

Tyler didn’t mind it. He’d been there since early morning, methodical and silent, his fingers working through tangles of cables like it was second nature. His focus tunneled so hard he barely noticed the ache in his knees or how long it had been since breakfast. Every few minutes he hummed under his breath, a few scattered notes that had been following him all week, yet unformed but persistent.

He was halfway through sorting the XLRs when a voice cut through the noise behind him.

“Well, if that isn’t a sight for sore eyes.....”

Tyler froze, head snapping up at the sound. The coil of cable slipped from his fingers, landing in the crate with a soft thud. Because that voice... he’d know it anywhere.

“JENNA!”

He spun around so fast he nearly tripped over the edge of the case. She was standing just a few feet away, grinning like she’d been waiting for this moment, a bright guest laminate hanging from her neck. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders, a little wind-tousled, eyes sparkling the same way they always did when she was about to make fun of him.

“Hey, superstar,” she said, spreading her arms wide in invitation.

Tyler didn’t even think, three quick steps and he was wrapping her up in a hug that lifted her slightly off her feet. The familiarity of her hit him all at once... the perfume, the warmth, the fact that she still smelled like summer even in late November.

“Heyyy,” he murmured into her neck, his voice soft, almost disbelieving.

“Hey, Ty...” Jenna’s voice softened too, amusement threading through it. She pulled back, hands still resting lightly on his shoulders as her eyes ran over him once, then again. Her brow arched, teasing already.

“Well, look at you,” she said, smirking. “All bright and glowy. You actually look... happy.”

Tyler blinked, a bashful laugh caught somewhere in his throat. He opened his mouth to respond, but his mind tripped immediately over the memory of yesterday... of steam and skin and Josh’s mouth on his, of the hotel bathroom and everything that followed. His face went warm enough to match the lights overhead.

Jenna noticed the blush, of course she did. Her grin only widened.

“What?” she teased. “Did I miss something?”

Tyler cleared his throat, rubbing at the back of his neck, suddenly very interested in the floor. “Uh... yeah, no, it’s just-” he stammered, trying to find a safe answer and failing miserably.

And in that moment, the memory from last night unspooled behind his eyes, vivid and unstoppable.

It flickered through his mind like snapshots...

The first shower, steam clinging to the glass thick and heavy, and Josh pressed against him, the water slipping down their skin as his hands spread soap over Tyler’s entire body.

Tyler had teased him then, fingers tracing lazy circles over Josh’s slick skin, feather light touches that made Josh groan and twitch in his hand. It hadn’t taken long for Josh’s patience to fray as he’d turned Tyler around with a low growl, pinning him softly to the wall, his cock sliding between Tyler’s ass cheeks, the glide made effortless by the soap. His hips rolled slow, grinding between them, not inside, just there, heavy and deliberate, the tip catching where it shouldn’t.

Tyler’s voice, half whisper, half whine, saying things he couldn’t believe were leaving his mouth. Josh groaning against his ear, fucking the slick space between them until he came with a sound that still echoed in Tyler’s skull.

Then the bath... foam up to their chests, knees brushing under the water, Josh looking too good with his curls damp and his smile lazy. They’d talked for a while, enjoying the rare moment of calm, at least until Tyler’s restlessness caught up with him again. His foot found Josh under the surface, teasing, coaxing, innocently sliding over his length until Josh’s head tipped back and he swore softly.

Then Josh's patience snapping in two as he dragged him out. Water sloshed over the edge, both of them dripping, Tyler barely catching his breath before being thrown onto the bed.

What followed blurred into something wordless. Josh taking him apart piece by piece, flipping him over, pulling back when they both got too close, only to drive back in harder. Over and over until Tyler couldn’t tell where one of them ended and the other started. They’d both been shaking by the time it broke, breathless and spent, collapsing together on the sheets.

The second shower had been slower, softer. Josh’s hands gentle this time, tracing Tyler’s shoulders, rinsing shampoo from his hair, pressing small kisses to the back of his neck.

They were both a little dazed when they got a message from Matt, that Shap’s checked in, and they were going for dinner later.

The evening had been warm, easy. The kind of night that made everything else fade out. Shap had hugged Tyler solid and warm, gratitude radiating off him. Tyler could still feel that squeeze, could still hear the laugh that followed when Shap joked about how many times Mick must’ve messed with the stage monitors while he was gone.

They’d eaten well, laughed harder, Tyler fell asleep in Josh’s arms after, muscles sore, heart full, and for the first time in weeks, he had felt entirely settled.

So yeah... no wonder Jenna saw it. No wonder he looked happy.

Because he was.

Especially now that she was here too.

“-It's just.. I’m just so happy you’re here, Jen,” he finally said, his voice softer than he meant it to be. He wasn’t ready to explain why he was so giddy, not the whole reason anyway, but she saw right through him anyway.

“Mhm...” she hummed knowingly, tilting her head with that familiar grin. “I’m taking you out for a coffee when you finish here. You need to tell me everything.”

Tyler’s ears went pink, but he grinned at her cheekily, unable to help himself.

...

With Shap back, still technically “off duty” but unable to stay away from the stage, or the booth, everything moved faster. He hovered like a benevolent ghost, pointing things out, nudging Tyler toward shortcuts, keeping the whole process humming. By late morning most of the heavy lifting was done, and Tyler found himself with a rare pause between tracing signal lines and the main soundcheck.

So he took Jenna at her word. Ditching Josh with a quick excuse about catching up with her, he caught the small, understanding smile Josh gave him before disappearing through the side door.

It felt ridiculously good to have her here.

Tyler felt like a kid who’d just won his first ribbon, babbling about the sound booth as though it was a prize he couldn’t wait to show off. He told her everything, how his fingers shook the first time Sam handed him the board, how he’d slowly found a rhythm, how his nerves hadn’t exactly gone away but had shifted into something steadier, something he could work with.

Jenna just nodded, sipping her coffee, tilting her head like she was cataloguing every word. She had that way of making him talk without even trying. One arched eyebrow here, one small hum there, and Tyler’s mouth would run on its own, spilling details he hadn’t even meant to share.

Even things he definitely hadn’t planned to mention.

Like the hotel bathroom yesterday, minus the explicit part, but still enough to have her laughing into her cup.

“Oh, I wish my hotel had a bathroom like that,” she said first, eyes wide in mock envy. Then her tone shifted into more casual, but with that lilt Tyler knew too well, “So you and Josh are still going strong, huh?”

He caught the fishing instantly... But still, he nodded, cheeks warming, then went quieter, his smile turning a shade more serious.

“Yeah,” he said. “I mean... he’s probably the only reason why I’m still here.”

He hesitated, caught himself. “Not like... alive.” He tried to make it a joke. “I have you for that.”

Jenna rolled her eyes, but there was softness under it, the kind of look that said she was glad he could even joke about it now, but not quite ready to laugh herself.

“No, I mean...” Tyler ran a thumb over his cup. “I probably wouldn’t have agreed to do all this if Josh didn’t support me so much.”

Jenna just looked at him for a beat and then nodded knowingly, eyes softening as she did.

Tyler’s voice softened. “He really has been amazing since the start,” he said, almost to himself. “I don’t know what I’d do without him. Especially after I freaked out at the first show...”

He trailed off for a moment, eyes unfocused, the memory flickering behind them. “He pulled me back so fast. Like... he didn’t even hesitate.” His thumb rubbed the rim of his cup, slow and thoughtful. “And apart from you, he’s probably the only person who ever made me feel like it was okay to be a little broken.”

Jenna’s smile turned tender, that kind of quiet, emotional curve that said she was seeing him. This Tyler sitting across from her wasn’t the one she’d known a few years ago. He wasn’t guarded, or hiding behind sarcasm, or ready to bolt at the first sign of vulnerability. He was open now, soft-edged, still learning how to handle it, but changed in a way that made her chest ache with pride.

She reached across the table and covered his hand with hers, squeezing gently. “I’m really proud of you, Ty,” she said softly. “I hope you know that. You’ve grown so much these past few months.”

Tyler pressed his lips together, his throat tight. That kind of sentimentality was always dangerous with Jenna, she could undo him with just one look and a few words. Seeing her proud like that hit deeper than he wanted to admit.

She saw it on his face, of course. She always did. So she squeezed his hand once more, then pulled back with a teasing roll of her eyes. “Although,” she said lightly, “I’m a little offended. I’ve been telling you this for years, and it only sinks in when a guy says it?”

The shift worked... Tyler barked out a loud, unguarded laugh, the kind that made nearby tables glance over. “What can I say?” he grinned, shrugging. “Josh has done the unimaginable. It’s like he’s a magician or something.”

Jenna raised an eyebrow, amused. Tyler caught it and smirked, eyes glinting with mischief. “He’s got a magic wand and everything-”

“Okay, TMI!” she cut in, wrinkling her nose. “Some things I don’t need to know, thank you.”

They both dissolved into laughter, the kind that left them breathless, cheeks warm, eyes glinting with joy. It felt easy again, like the world had finally given them a breather.

They kept talking, lingering over half empty mugs, catching up between fits of laughter and comfortable silence. Tyler told her about the crew, about Sam’s dry humor, about how the twins somehow managed to argue and adore each other in the same breath. Jenna shared little updates from home, stories about mutual friends and the everyday world Tyler had left behind.

Time slipped too fast, as it always did with her, and it wasn’t until Tyler glanced at his phone that his stomach dropped. “Shit- I’m gonna be late for soundcheck.”

They scrambled up, gathering coats and cups and unfinished pastries. Jenna leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Go,” she said, smiling. “I’ll head to my hotel and get changed. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Of course,” Tyler promised, his grin crooked and fond.

They split at the door, Jenna heading toward the streetlight glow outside while Tyler jogged back toward the venue, cutting through the side entrance with his laminate flashing.

He was halfway down the corridor when a loud noise stopped him in the tracks. A noise of people arguing.

There were raised voices, sharp, low and heated, spilling out of the green room. It was the kind of tone that made his stomach twist before he could even make out the exact words.

He didnt have to listen for long to know who these voices belonged to.

Mick... and Josh.

Oh no.
Not this again.

Tyler’s pulse spiked instantly. He took a few silent steps closer until the words became clearer. The door wasn’t even shut, but Tyler froze in front of the doorway before he even meant to stop.

“...No, you need to hear this, Joshua,” Mick’s voice was sharp enough to cut through the hum of the corridor. “Because you seem to have forgotten your place in this band over the past few weeks. I don’t know what’s gotten into you... if you’re just delusional or if your fuck-ass boyfriend planted this idea in your head, but you’re gonna stop those damn theatrics tonight. Do you understand?”

Tyler’s chest went tight. The air inside the green room was charged, humming like a live wire, and Tyler could feel it even from the hall.

Anger pooled deep in his ribs, hot and unstoppable, spreading outward until he could feel it tingling in his fingers.

Because how dare Mick talk to Josh like that? Like he was above him, like Josh was some disposable part of the machine instead of the reason the whole damn thing still worked. Josh, who poured his heart into every show, who carried half these songs on his back while the rest of them coasted.

Tyler’s jaw clenched, every instinct screamed to walk in there, to tell Mick to shut the fuck up, to remind him exactly who he was talking to.

His thoughts were halfway to forming words when Josh’s voice cut through, sharp enough to slice right through the noise-

“What idea are we even talking about, Mick? That I want the show to be better? Jesus... sorry for caring about it so much.”

The sound of it hit Tyler like a shift in the air pressure. Josh’s voice wasn’t the calm, unflappable one he was used to. There was no steady humor, no effort to smooth things over, this was frustration cracking through, sharp and raw, like something he’d been holding back for too long.

Tyler could hear the fatigue underneath it, that brittle edge that said Mick’s words weren’t just pissing him off anymore, they were getting to him, they were landing.

“Oh, don’t start with that,” Mick snapped, his tone thick with disdain. Tyler could hear him pacing, heavy boots dragging across the floor. “You’ve been trying to rearrange half the setlist, changing fills, changing transitions. It’s not your job to rewrite shit we’ve been playing for years.”

Josh’s laugh came out sharp and humorless. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

The silence that followed hit like a slap.

Even Tyler’s breath caught as the words hung there, echoing loudly in the sudden stillness. For a second he wasn’t sure if he was proud of Josh for finally saying it or terrified of what would come next. The silence was deafening for a while, so he dared a glance around the doorframe.

Josh’s back was to him, shoulders tense, hands flexing at his sides. Mick stood a few feet away, startled mid-stride, jaw clenched and eyes dark as they slowly lifted from the floor to Josh. Behind them, there was disbelief, quickly replaced by anger.

“What’d you just say?” Mick growled, his voice low and dangerous as he took a step torward Josh.

Josh didn’t back down though. “Maybe that’s the problem," he repeated, voice steady but sharper now as he squared his shoulders, angling himself toward Mick.

Tyler had never seen Josh like this. His usual calm was gone, his jaw was tight, his chest rising in quick, shallow breaths, fists flexing at his sides. The air around him looked like it was vibrating, like he was ready to either throw a punch or break.

Then Josh followed through.

“You’ve been playing the same songs the same way for years,” he snapped. “And you think that’s fine. You think your show is fire just because you throw on a vintage leather vest and wink at the girls in the front row. Maybe it’s time you accepted that they’re not there for you.”

Oof... Tyler blinked hard. He wasn’t used to this side of Josh.

He wasn’t used to that soft, sweet boy using words to cut. To hurt. It should’ve felt good, it should’ve been satisfying to finally hear someone take Mick down a peg, but it didn’t. Because if there was one thing Tyler already knew about Mick, it was that he always hit back twice as hard.

And sure enough... Mick scoffed, his anger twisting into something uglier. He took another slow step forward, the mocking grin spreading across his face.

“Oh, surely you don’t think they’re there for you?” he sneered.

Josh didn’t answer. And his silence was mistake number one.

Mick’s grin widened. “Oh my god, you do,” he said, letting out a sharp, humorless laugh. “That’s cute.” He shook his head, pretending to pity him. “You poor, delusional kid.”

The fake smile dropped as something darker slid into his expression... something venomous.

Tyler could see Josh start to fold in on himself in real time. His shoulders hunched slightly, the tension in his neck turning from defiance to something closer to retreat. Josh wasn’t built for fights like this, Tyler knew that. He had one good strike in him, one burst of confidence before the doubt swallowed him whole.

And Mick knew that too. Which was why he twisted the knife.

“Maybe it’s time you accepted that you’re just a drummer,” Mick spat. “Nobody can even see you behind that kit of yours. Why would anyone stand in the front row to stare at a wall of cymbals?”

Tyler felt the air leave his lungs as Josh’s gaze dropped to the floor. The fight drained out of him in one visible motion, shoulders falling, hands going slack at his sides.

Mick smirked, taking that as a win. He stepped close enough for his next words to land like a slap.

“Make sure you remember your place when you get up on stage tonight, Joshua.”

And then he was gone... turning on his heel and storming out of the room, boots thudding against the linoleum.

Tyler stood frozen in the hallway, his pulse hammering, every nerve in his body vibrating with fury. For a second, all he could hear was the echo of that last sentence ringing in his head.

Mick brushed past him with a low growl and an eye-roll, muttering something under his breath as he passed.

Tyler didn’t stop him. Didn’t throw one of his usual barbed replies, didn’t even move. He just stood there, jaw clenched, heat rising up his neck, watching Mick disappear down the corridor as the anger boiled hard and hot in his chest. He stood there for another half a second, jaw tight, before he slowly pushed into the room.

Josh was pacing now, shoulders tight, one hand dragging through his curls over and over in frustration. He hadn’t even noticed Tyler standing in the room. He was too deep in it, still vibrating from the argument, from everything Mick had thrown at him. His expression was distant, hollowed out in the way people look when they’ve been holding something back for too long and it finally cracked through the surface.

“Josh...” Tyler’s voice came out quiet at first, just enough to catch his attention.

Josh froze. Then he slowly looked over his shoulder, startled to find he wasn’t alone. For a second, his expression was blank, like his brain was trying to catch up, like he couldn’t quite process how long Tyler had been there or how much he might’ve heard. That question answered itself a moment later when Tyler’s voice came again, a little sharper with anger.

“What the hell?” Tyler demanded, throwing one arm toward the door Mick had just stormed through.

Josh turned fully this time, and the look on his face made Tyler’s stomach twist.

It shifted in real time... from shock to something closer to wrecked. His brows pulled together, lips parting slightly like he’d been caught mid-breath, eyes dark and glassy. The hurt sat deep in his eyes, raw and unguarded, and the realization flickered across his face in one flash of pain when he realized that Tyler had heard all of it.

It was one thing to be shredded apart by Mick’s words, but it was another thing entirely for Tyler to witness it... to see him stripped down like that, small, cornered and humiliated.

“Josh, seriously, what was that?” Tyler pressed, voice rising before he could stop it. He stepped further into the room, anger still coiled beneath his ribs. “Does he normally talk to you like that? You don’t deserve that shit-”

Josh’s shoulders tensed. He shook his head, voice quiet but firm. “Tyler, please...” He turned away again, dragging a shaky hand through his hair. “Just drop it.”

But Tyler couldn’t. The anger, Mick’s words, the injustice of it all, the sight of Josh standing there like he’d been shrunk by someone who didn’t deserve to touch him, it had already caught flame inside him.

“No,” he said, taking a step after him. “You’ve been putting up with this for weeks. For what? For him to keep treating you like some backup musician when you’re the only one who actually gives a damn out there?”

Josh’s breath hitched, not from surprise, but from that familiar tension of being backed into a corner. His eyes flicked up for a moment, wide and pleading, the kind of look that said please, not now.

“Ty, please-”

But Tyler was already too far gone to hear it. His words were faster than his thoughts, sharp from the adrenaline, from the leftover heat of anger that wasn’t even aimed at Josh in the first place.

“Seriously, what... what is this band even doing for you, Josh?” he pushed, stepping closer, his voice trembling with emotion. “You’re too good for this. You could be-”

“No, enough!” Josh snapped, the word slicing through the air like a whip. The sound of it was harsh and full of something raw... because he knew exactly where this was going. He knew Tyler was about to twist the knife in a way that would hurt.

Tyler froze for half a second, startled, his chest heaving, but then frustration surged right back up. “You could be doing so much more than this, Josh! You’re wasting yourself with these assholes. I’ve told you before- you’re the only one with heart in this whole damn-”

“Tyler, stop.”

The tone was different this time... sharp, brittle, almost pleading. But Tyler was too far in to hear it.

“No... I mean it, Josh, I-”

Josh knew he did. God, he knew. Every word out of Tyler’s mouth came from that same place... the fierce, unfiltered love that made him reckless when he thought someone was being hurt. But this wasn’t the time. Not now. Not when Josh was still bleeding from Mick’s words, not when the noise in his head hadn’t stopped since that door slammed.

What Tyler meant as care hit Josh’s ears like criticism. It wasn’t a hand reaching for him, it felt like another shove.

He shut his eyes tight, as if he could block it all out... the echoes of Mick’s voice, Tyler’s sharp insistence, the pounding of his own pulse. The pressure inside him built fast and unbearable, the kind that clawed up his throat until it found its way out.

Tyler was still talking, voice cracking with urgency. “-someone else who appreciates your talent, or start a thing of your own... do something that actually means-”

Josh’s hand slammed against the back of a chair, the sound sharp and violent as it skidded across the floor.

“And what, Ty?” His voice broke the air... loud, raw and trembling on the edge between anger and heartbreak.

Tyler’s mouth fell open, but nothing came out. His pulse thundered in his ears as he stared at Josh, wide-eyed. He’d never seen him like this, the fury in his face, the glint in his eyes that looked almost wounded.

“You volunteering to start a band with me?” Josh’s voice came rough and wild, chest heaving as he turned fully toward him.

Tyler froze. The words hung heavy in the air, suspended between them like glass waiting to shatter.

Josh was breathing hard, eyes wild, voice rising again before he could reel it back. “Yeah? You gonna be in the band with me? I wonder how that’s gonna work... a singer who can’t even step on stage in front of a crowd.”

Silence...

...instant and deafening.

Tyler’s stomach dropped. The anger in his chest dissolved into something cold, sharp, and hollow all at once.

One last unsteady exhale left his mouth as he looked at Josh with disbelief. The eyes that met his were still burning, wild with leftover anger, Josh’s chest rising and falling too fast, his whole body locked in that defensive stance like he was waiting for impact. Waiting for the words to land.

And they did.

They landed hard.

Tyler didn’t even recognize the person standing in front of him. Not the Josh who held him through panic attacks, not the one who kissed him slow and careful, who made him feel safe in his own skin. This was someone else. Someone hurt, lashing out because he didn’t know what else to do.

But it didn’t make the words hurt any less.

They still found their mark... every syllable like glass, cutting deep, sharp and merciless. They jabbed under Tyler’s ribs like the sharpest knife and twisted inside the wound. Because they weren’t just cruel.

They were true.

And they came from the person he loved.

Chapter Text

The green room was still humming with the aftermath of their argument, the noise still lingering even when the shouting had stopped.

A folding chair sat skewed in the corner, one leg bent at the angle where Josh had slammed it earlier. The air felt thick and charged, the kind that sticks to your skin after a storm.

Josh hadn’t moved. He stood rooted to the spot, chest rising fast, eyes locked on the empty space where Tyler had been moments ago. The echo of retreating footsteps still lived in his head... small, uneven steps fading down the hall, and it made his stomach twist. He could still see the way Tyler’s face fell, could still hear his own sharp voice, cutting through the air like something he didn’t recognize.

For just a second, there was a pinch of regret. It bloomed somewhere deep in his chest, but before it could take shape, something heavier crashed over it. Everything inside him folded in on itself, his thoughts blurred into noise and he couldn’t think straight, couldn’t reach the part of himself that usually knew how to make things right.

The words he’d thrown earlier weren’t really him. They were a defense mechanism. An instinct. It was the body lashing out because it couldn’t bear another hit.

And the quiet didn’t really help, it made everything louder inside. Mick’s voice, Tyler’s silence, the echo of you’re just a drummer looping like static through his head. Each repetition sank deeper until he almost believed it.

He ran a trembling hand over his face, dragging his palm down hard like he could wipe the heat away. This wasn't the first time this has happened... once again, he just wasn’t enough. Not out there, not in here, not anywhere.

The sane part of him, the one buried somewhere under the adrenaline and the self-loathing, knew it wasn’t true. He knew that what Mick said was bullshit, that what he said to Tyler was worse. But the Josh standing in this room couldn’t find that version of himself right now. He was locked in something much smaller.

Survival mode.

The kind that stripped you down to impulse, set up your nervous system to fight and defend, and shut down everything else... including the healthy conscience.

“Josh?”

The voice cut through the static haze in his head, startling him. Sam stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a clipboard tucked under one elbow. Her brow furrowed when Josh didn’t answer right away.

“What are you still doing here?” she asked, tone somewhere between irritation and concern. “Soundcheck’s about to start.”

For a second, Josh just stared at her like he didn’t understand the words. The room felt both too loud and too quiet... the hum of amps bleeding faintly through the wall, the buzz of a bad light overhead. Sam’s eyes lingered on him a moment longer, scanning him like she was trying to figure out what exactly had happened here.

“You good?” she asked finally, voice softer.

Josh’s body reacted before his brain could and he gave a small, jerky nod. His hand twitched at his side, then he moved, too fast, almost mechanical, reaching for the bag he’d left by the chair. The movement looked wrong, like watching a machine come back online after being powered down for too long.

“Yeah,” he managed, but it came out quiet and unconvincing.

Sam held his gaze for another beat, sighed through her nose, and just said, “Alright. Let’s go,” before turning back toward the stage.

Josh followed a few seconds later, head down, the fog still thick around him. Not gone... just shifted.

...

Saying the soundcheck was tense would’ve been an understatement.

Josh, usually the one joking first, keeping the energy loose, was silent this time. He sat behind his kit like a ghost... jaw tight, eyes blank, drumming through the motions with the detachment of someone half asleep. The sticks hit the skin and cymbals exactly where they should, but there was no life behind it. No spark, just rhythm.

Mick, still simmering from earlier, stalked around the stage barking small orders, but he didn’t go near the drum riser once. The distance between them wasn’t just physical, it felt like a fault line that everyone could see and no one wanted to cross.

The rest of the band felt it too... that strange, invisible weight pressing down on everything. They played quieter, spoke softer, avoided eye contact. Every little sound seemed to echo too loud, a dropped pick, a squeal of feedback, a cough from someone in the wings.

Even offstage, the mood bled outward. The crew worked in hushed tones, heads low. and the whole venue felt like it was holding its breath.

In the booth, it wasn’t any better. When Tyler arrived, Matt and Shap exchanged the kind of silent looks that said more than words ever could... worry, confusion, a quiet “don’t ask” agreement.

He didn’t say a word to them. No “hey,” no smile, no explanation. He just walked in, slower than usual, shoulders drawn in like the air itself was heavy. His face wasn’t angry... it was something quieter, sadder. The kind of look people wear when something inside them has caved in. His eyes were distant, red around the edges like he hadn’t slept, and when they met nothing in particular, they carried that hollow, faraway ache of someone who’d just lost something important.

He moved through the motions anyway. Hands steady, expression thoughtful but vacant, the corners of his mouth twitching now and then like he was on the edge of a thought he couldn’t quite finish. He adjusted levels that didn’t need adjusting, rewired lines that were already fine... anything to stay busy, to keep from stopping long enough to feel it.

He didn’t look up once. Not at the stage, not toward Josh. He just kept his eyes glued to the board like if he looked anywhere else, he’d come undone.

The air in the booth felt almost solid. Every movement sounded too loud... the click of a switch, the drag of a cable, all of it wrapped in a silence so fragile no one dared break it.

The soundcheck went like that, long and short at the same time. The kind that stretched endlessly, yet somehow ended before anyone realized.

When the last chord faded, Tyler didn’t even wait for it to die fully before he cut the board. A clean, abrupt click and the main outputs were muted, all channels dead. No warning, no “good job, guys,” just silence. He stood there for a second, hands still on the faders, staring blankly at the board as though he could dissolve into it. And then he turned and left, his head bowed low, vanishing into the dim hallways of the arena without a sound.

No one said anything.

One by one, the rest followed suit, a shuffle of chairs, muted zippers and quiet footsteps. The room emptied in silence, like everyone had silently agreed that whatever this was, it wasn’t theirs to fix.

Matt and Shap lingered a little longer in the booth, both still staring at the doorway Tyler had disappeared through.

“Well...” Matt said finally, his voice cutting through the thick quiet, “that was weird.”

Shap huffed a short laugh through his nose, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. “Yeah. That’s an understatement, man.”

He turned his head toward the stage below, eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. Mick was striding off like a man who’d already convinced himself he’d won something, chin high, arrogance radiating off him like cologne. Josh, on the other hand, hadn’t moved from his kit. Just sat there, sticks loose in his hands, eyes unfocused, staring somewhere beyond the lights, like he couldn’t remember what came next.

Shap exhaled quietly. “Pretty sure it has something to do with our peachy frontman,” he muttered in a dry voice.

Matt snorted, shouldering his backpack. “That’s a bet I wouldn’t even take.”

They shared one more silent glance before Matt clapped Shap lightly on the shoulder and left the booth.

Shap stayed just a moment longer, eyes flicking once more to the stage. Josh finally stood, the movement slow and deliberate, like each limb was remembering how to function. Then Shap turned back to the board, killed the lights, and left too.

...

By the time the show rolled around, nothing had changed much. If anything, the silence had calcified, stretched thin but unbroken, taut as wire.

The in-ears buzzed with only the essentials. No small talk, no jokes, no easy chatter between songs... just clipped confirmations, countdowns, and cues. “Standby for house lights.” “Track two ready.” “Go.”

The private IFB line between Tyler and Josh stayed dead, unused for the first time since Tyler had taken over the booth.

George noticed, his brow furrowed once or twice, hand hovering near his talkback button like he wanted to ask, but he didn’t. He didn't dare. Whatever had gone wrong, it wasn’t for him to touch.

From his spot behind the kit, Josh still looked like a ghost.

He played every beat exactly where it needed to be, perfect as ever, but there was nothing behind it. No pulse or joy. His face was blank, eyes heavy-lidded and distant, hands moving out of habit more than drive. The music filled the room, but it felt hollow.

The crowd screamed, but he barely heard it tonight.

He kept his gaze low, deliberately avoiding Mick, drumming through the noise, through the fog, through the slow dissolve of anger and humiliation that still burned under his skin. Each song bled into the next, a blur of motion and muscle memory, until time lost shape entirely.

It wasn’t until halfway through the show that the fog finally started to lift.

It happened slowly, like surfacing through thick water, first the awareness of his hands, then the weight of the sticks between his fingers, then the dull ache in his wrists. He started noticing things again. The lights strobing off the cymbals, the pulse of the bass through the floor, the heat slicking the back of his neck.

For the first time all night, he remembered where he was. And with that came the remembering of everything else.

The lights blurred, the crowd became one faceless pulse, and for the first time since the green room, he felt it... the weight of what he’d said. The words themselves. The way they’d left his mouth sharp and unfiltered, and who they’d hit.

Tyler.

The realization sliced through the noise, sudden and clean, like someone cutting the power mid-song. His chest tightened, breath catching in his throat. He kept playing, body on autopilot, but every beat now felt wrong. His brain split between the rhythm under his hands and the replay of the look on Tyler’s face when he said it.

The guilt crawled up his throat like static.

Finally, for the first time since the show started, he looked up, scanning the dark beyond the stage lights until his eyes found what they’d been searching for. The booth, shadowed at the back of the arena.

Even from this distance, even with the lights blinding his line of sight, Josh could tell there was the familiar figure outlined behind the control desk, shoulders hunched forward, head bent low. Relief hit first, sharp and fleeting. He’s here.

But it didn’t last.

Because something about the way Tyler moved told him everything he needed to know.

No lingering glances, no tiny waves, no silent check-ins through the glare of stage lights. He was focused, but not in that soft, grounding way Josh knew. This was different, this was cold precision. Tyler wasn’t avoiding distraction, he was avoiding him.

The sight hollowed Josh out from the inside.

He kept drumming, there was no other option, but every hit felt heavier now, more desperate. His hands were sweating, the sticks slipping slightly against his palms. His breathing turned shallow, quick and uneven, each inhale snagging in his chest.

And the regret, the one that had been sitting somewhere quiet in the back of his mind since the moment the door closed behind Tyler, finally broke loose.

It didn’t come as a single blow now, it came in waves, sharp and unrelenting, swelling higher with every beat he played. Because now it wasn’t just what he’d said echoing in his head, it was what he couldn’t take back.

He’d told the person he loved the one thing that could cut him deepest. And now Tyler couldn’t even look at him.

Josh’s vision tunneled for a second, the arena blurred at the edges, lights streaking across his eyes. His chest felt too tight, like there wasn’t enough room for air.

What the hell have I done?

His mind spiraled, looping through the memory, his own raised voice, the tremor of hurt in Tyler’s, the split second of silence before he slowly backed out of the room and walked away. And now, here Josh was, forced to sit with it. Forced to keep playing.

There was no way to fix it, not right now. No way to reach out, no way to speak, no way to be heard over the roar of the music.

For a second, he thought about using their private line, the one that would open the quiet, a direct channel just between them... but then what? What could he even say?

Sorry?
I didn’t mean it?

The words jammed somewhere behind his teeth. None of them sounded big enough, not compared to what he’d said. Not compared to the way Tyler had looked at him.

He could still see it, that exact moment seared into his mind. The way Tyler’s eyes had gone wide, then small. The way his breath had left him like someone had punched the air out of his lungs. The stillness that followed.

That was what he remembered. Not the words.... The look, the hurt, the betrayal.

Something inside Josh cracked.

The tears came before he even noticed them. Not the ugly, shaking kind, but the quiet ones. The kind that burned before they fell, gathering at the corners of his eyes and slipping down his face, lost under the heat and the sweat and the motion.

The show went on, and he was supposed to keep the rhythm, keep time, keep it together. From the outside, nothing was wrong. His sticks moved, the beat landed, the fills came when they were supposed to. But on the inside, it was chaos.

And there was nothing to do but sit with it.

Sit with the fact that he’d hurt someone he cared about, because he couldn’t handle his own goddamn insecurity. Because he’d let Mick’s poison crawl under his skin until he lashed out at the only person who ever made him feel like he was enough.

It got worse when the set slowed down.

Those were the moments when Josh usually looked for him, during the softer songs, when he knew Tyler had a little more room to look around. He lifted his gaze from the drums, hoping, searching the booth out of habit.

And surely, Tyler was still behind the board, face unreadable in the dim light. His posture all control and focus, the same as before.

He never looked back.

Josh waited through the first verse, then the second, then another song. Nothing...

And it wasn’t like Tyler was staring down at his hands the whole time... no. His gaze actually kept moving. To the stage, the seats, the crowd. Just never to Josh. In fact, he seemed to be scanning the audience more often than ever tonight.

Josh’s lips pressed into a thin line as he finally looked away, giving up.

Tyler would rather look at the audience... The same audience that once terrified him.

Josh felt something cave in his chest at that.

God, he needed this show to end already. He needed to get off this stage, to find him, to tell him he was sorry, that he didn’t mean it, that he was an idiot, that he was scared... anything. He just needed the music to stop so he could breathe again and go beg for forgiveness.

...

When the show finally ended, Josh slipped offstage before the house lights even came up, drumsticks still in hand. His pulse hadn’t settled the entire set, not during the encore, not during the bow he barely remembered taking. He headed straight toward the side corridor, the one that led to the booth, to the hallway where Tyler usually waited.

Except tonight, he wasn’t there.

Josh scanned the area again, eyes darting between racks, cases, and crew. The usual sight of Tyler leaning against the wall, headset slung around his neck, waiting, wasn’t there tonight. The space looked wrong without him.

He found Shap first as he emerged from the same hallway.

“Have you seen Tyler?”

Shap glanced up from packing away his monitor, brows knitting together. “Not since the lights went up,” he said, and looked to Matt. Matt only shook his head, a small frown pulling at his mouth. The two of them shared a quiet look, quick but noticeable, like they’d just put something together neither of them wanted to say aloud.

Josh’s chest tightened. “What?”

“Nothing,” Matt said, a little too fast. “He probably just went out to get some air.”

Josh nodded, even though his pulse didn’t believe it. “Yeah... sure.”

And well... his gut was right. Because if Tyler had just gone out to get some air, he was getting a whole lot of it... hours of it. He hadn’t come back.

Josh kept it together... somehow. He packed up with the rest of the crew, helped put away some of the gear, smiled politely when someone thanked him for the show. He held himself together with the single thread of logic that this was just the first night out of two. That Tyler was in the booth before, that he was probably fine, just not ready to talk yet. Josh was sure he would find him at the hotel later.

Except he didn’t.

The room was dark when Josh unlocked the door, the low click echoing against the walls. The air was still, untouched. His duffel sat where he’d dropped it that morning and Tyler’s side of the bed, the chair, the corner where he left his hoodie, was empty.

Everything looked exactly the same as it had when they’d left for the venue... Tyler’s charger still plugged in by the nightstand, his shoes lined up by the door, a half-empty water bottle on the dresser. He hadn’t even come back here after the show.

For a few seconds, Josh just stood there in the doorway.

The quiet pressed heavy against his ears. It stretched out long enough for his body to register it... the hollow sound of nothing. And then the dread came, blooming slow and hot in his chest, spreading until it made it hard to breathe.

No.

No, no, no.

This couldn’t be happening again.

The anxious churn that had been simmering all evening finally broke the surface... panic, then desperation, then anger at himself, and even at Tyler. Because sure, he’d said something hurtful, but was that really all it took? One fucking sentence? Was that enough to make Tyler walk away from him?

His hands shook as he fumbled for his phone, calling before he could think. It rang out. Still he tried again. Nothing...

So he texted. Several times. The little “delivered” mark glared back at him, unchanging.

The tears came quietly again... not violent, just a slow spill of heat down his face he barely noticed until his vision blurred. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t even want to justify himself, he just wanted to apologize. To fix it.

He sank down on the carpet, back against the wall, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. His fingers tangled in his curls, tugging, like pain might stop the panic clawing at his ribs.

Then his phone buzzed.

His head shot up so fast the room tilted. He snatched it from the floor, heartbeat kicking up.

But it wasn't Tyler.

It was Jenna.

Just one message... an address, and a string of numbers. And below it, only three words.

please come soon.

Josh stared at the message for a long second before his brain caught up with his eyes. It was like the words moved slower than they should have, sinking in piece by piece.

The words... The address... From Jenna...

Fuck.

She must be with Tyler.

The realization hit him so hard it sent him upright before he even knew what he was doing. The speed at which he picked himself up almost left wind behind him... one second he was on the floor, the next he was moving, heart pounding, copying the address into his phone with shaky fingers while searching for his hoodie. The earlier spiral had flipped into something frantic and fast.

He punched the address into maps, thumb trembling as he ordered an Uber right away.

In the hotel hallway, he nearly collided with George, James, and Denny. George offered him a small polite smile, while the other two only glanced up with the tight, awkward energy that had followed them since the show. Josh barely acknowledged any of it though, he was already halfway down the corridor, trying to shove his hoodie over his head while typing a quick reply to Jenna with his other hand, nearly tripping over his own feet in the rush.

By the time the elevator took him all the way down to the lobby, his phone buzzed again... the driver was already there.

He slid into the backseat, breath still uneven, the cool night air following him in before the door shut. And then... then the silence hit, when his body stopped moving and the noise in his head finally caught up.

Why was it Jenna who texted him?

Why not Tyler?

His chest tightened, heartbeat quickening again.

Was Tyler unable to answer himself? Was he okay? Was he hurt? Did he... did he hurt himself?

The thought sliced through him before he could stop it...

No.

He refused to go there. He couldn’t. It couldn’t be that. Right?

But then again… why was it Jenna who sent the message? Why did she sound so urgent?

And where the hell was this address taking him?

The car sped through the city, lights blurring across the window. Josh’s reflection looked pale in the glass... wide eyed and haunted. Every bump in the road made his stomach twist tighter.

He gripped his phone like it was the only thing keeping him upright, eyes flicking to the little blue dot crawling across the map. The closer it got, the worse the nausea grew.

Then, finally, the driver slowed.

Josh blinked, looking up to see an old vintage building coming into view... brick façade, a worn neon sign flickering in the damp night.

A hotel.

The numbers in Jenna’s text suddenly made sense.

They were floor and room numbers.