Work Text:
Tyler meets him at the music store. He slams a record down on the counter, stabbing its side into the wood. He points at it.
"Would you like this?" Tyler asks. He points again, and leans on the edge of the record. It bends and bends until it snaps clean in two.
“That’ll be $27.50.” He throws Tyler a hundred-dollar bill, takes the record and leaves.
Tyler meets him at the music store again. He takes another record from the shelf a week later. The album, named Evolve, lands gently on the counter, with no cracks, no breaks, no shatters. He’s gentle, he pets it, and hands Tyler a fifty-dollar bill before leaving.
His feet are silent against the wooden floor. He’s not wearing any shoes. His hair is messy and blue and leaves a strand on the countertop.
—
A party finds Tyler a week later.
Its music discovers Tyler’s feet before the disco lights seek out his eyes. He can feel the vibrations creep into his legs and settle into his beating chest as he walks home from the end of his shift.
He tries to avoid it, turning a corner that promised to be the escape route. But the party finds Tyler, swallows Tyler whole in its dead, purple lights and its meaningless puke that had the audacity to call itself music.
Panic swells in Tyler’s throat. People begin to crowd around him and push him farther to the center of the room. A ceiling grows above and the walls become one inch too small. The floor begins to bounce and shake with each foot and each beat drop and each scream. A man grabs Tyler by the wrist and drags Tyler closer to the vomiting speakers.
Tyler tries to snake through the dense group, pushing and pushing through hands, but everyone holds him back, shoving him further into the mass.
Tyler doesn’t dance.
Tyler can’t dance.
The music is ripped from the room and nobody dances anymore. Silence stabs through the floor, smacks the party in the face and leaves everyone wounded with shock. They turn and boo at the DJ. A shrieking drunk yells the loudest.
Tyler looks up to the DJ. The girl behind the garbling noise punches a man in the face as she screams for her computer. He steps back from the girl.
It’s him. Him with the computer tightly held in his hands. Blue hair whipped and standing on its ends. He hisses at the DJ and bolts from the room through a door Tyler never saw open.
Tyler runs after him. The crowd finally gives way; Tyler can finally flee.
---
Tyler meets him in an alley way. Him sitting in the alley with the computer glowing in his face. He presses a button, the computer growls, and he screams back at it.
“Are you okay?” Tyler asks.
He looks up. Eyes wild, feet black as coal, hair as blue as the sky. His mouth falls open and the words, “I am okay.” fall from his lips in staccato, monotone fashion. It’s the first time Tyler’s heard him speak, and his voice sounds horrible.
“Who are you?”
He stands. It’s like a coin flipped. He’s on his bare, black feet, standing with such a posture that Tyler felt an intimidation that would crush him. His hands drop to his sides and he smiles a charming, charismatic smile.
“I’m an alien,” he says. His voice sounds beautiful; a legato connecting a soft melody.
He leaves the computer, and walks deeper into the alley way.
---
Tyler sees him at the music store. He’s picking up three records from the rack, and placing them down on the counter with a smile on his face. Tyler shuffles and scans them. The Human Condition, Cage the Elephant, and Queen: Greatest Hits.
“What’re they for?” Tyler taps the stack of records.
“A mission.” He answers. “Something very important.”
He hands Tyler the exact total in cash and walks away gracefully with the records tucked underneath his arm.
---
Tyler sees him on the street while walking home from work. Tyler stares at him; makes no attempt to say hello.
He matches Tyler’s blank stare. “Tyler, a surprise.” Smiling sharply, he speaks in flat accents that strike the floor in three words.
“How did you know my name?”
He throws the question completely aside. “Something’s secretly out of control, Tyler.” He says. “Do you know?”
“Know what?” Tyler crosses his arms. He’s speaking like track 11: Morning in America. The chorus begins reading itself in Tyler’s head.
“You do know!” His face rises like a double sharp.
“Know what?” Tyler repeats.
He waves his hand, “Come with me.”
Tyler is hesitant to follow. He walks directly across the street and yells at speeding cars.
But he’s looking over his shoulder, just once, and that convinces Tyler to cross the crosswalk and follow him into a dark alley — a shadowed alley with a door hidden at the end.
He holds open the door, a too gold light drifting across the ground and onto Tyler’s black shoes.
Hold on his breath, Tyler takes a step and walks in.
At first, the room is unbearable. Too bright, too yellow, and too many records glued on the walls. At second, the records become overwhelming. At third, the room settles on beautifully chaotic.
There are too many records to count. Too many cassette tapes, CDs, snare drums and iPods that hang from the golden walls.
“What is this?” Tyler is stunned.
“My mission,” the alien says, “For my mission. I am not finished.”
He reaches for an album. Some Nights, says the label and he presses it to Tyler’s hand.
“You do know the chaos in this,” the alien says, “Feel it.”
Tyler doesn’t dare move his hand. He doesn’t need to. Under his calloused fingers, he feels the grooves and the edges in Some Nights that might have never been intentionally put there. He notices that Tyler notices and smiles that sharp smile.
“What’s your mission?” asks Tyler.
“It’s classified. But in time, maybe you will know what it is.”
—
Tyler greets him at the music store. He’s wearing shoes with bright red socks. His clothes fall neatly on his frame and he walks like a ballerina through the racks of records, selecting two, and placing them on the counter. The Fray and Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys.
“You’re total will be $75.86.” He hands him the exact change and begins to leave, but Tyler calls, “Have you actually listened to any of these?”
The alien pauses. He turns slow in his new shoes to face Tyler’s question.
“Every single one.” he answers, “And every single one feels sadder and more broken than the first.”
—
“I can’t name this feeling.” He says. They’re back in the golden room with Night Visions pressed underneath Tyler’s hand.
“Its desperation.” Tyler answers quietly.
“Makes sense,” he answers, bland minor chords smudge in his voice. “He sings of missing something in this.”
Placing Night Visions to the side, he lays The Dark Side of the Moon on Tyler’s fingertips next, and a vibration of unnamable feeling grooved in the record makes its way up Tyler’s arm.
“Why don’t we just listen to these instead?” Tyler asks.
He shoots Tyler a look void of all glee. “You can’t gather everything just by listening, Tyler. There’s more to life than just purely listening.”
“Is that your mission, then? To seek us in song? Do more than listen?” Tyler tries.
“That’s classified.” He answers too quickly.
—
Months fly by. A new routine of working and greeting the alien settles into place; the music store is running dry of music.
He shows up every day, telling Tyler every day his mission is getting closer. More melodic and andante words fall from his mouth with a stronger and more elegant poster to his shoulders. He feels records, asking Tyler every day what the record feels and brushes it on Tyler’s hand. His smile stands.
“I just need one more.” He says, and buys five.
—
A knock appears at his apartment door. Tyler’s roommate is kind enough to answer it, and is quick to say, “It’s for you, Tyler.”
The alien stands at the door. He stands at the door. A hat covering his bright blue hair, a smile on his face, hands stuffing his pockets.
“What are you doing here?” Tyler is genuinely curious. How did you find my apartment? Is genuinely terrified.
“Tyler,” he pauses, “I have the last record.”
“The last?”
Nodding, he holds out How to Save a Life.
“There’s a meaning I don’t get. But you do, Tyler.”
“I do?”
“Tyler,” pausing one second too long, he says: “My name is Josh, and I need you for this mission. Do more than just listen carefully; everything is important.”
Surprise sends his words flying from his head. Tyler can’t do anything but nod.
Josh smiles, opens his mouth, and speaks.