Work Text:
Tyler knew Josh. First and foremost, he was his best friend for nearly a decade. But after ten years of a relationship that danced the border between bandmates, friends, and something more, the brain of the person that bond is shared with becomes just as familiar as the back of your hand. Josh’s body language became the skin stretched over his tan knuckles. His vocabulary known as well as the few freckles littering Tyler’s wrist. His brain being the neatly trimmed cuticles that Tyler continues to gnaw at day in and day out until they bleed and he can complain about them again until he’s taken to get another manicure.
When the warning signs started, when the responses coming from the drummers lips turned a little bit more hesitant, when the voice got softer, the breathing shallower, of course Tyler noticed. Of course he knew what was going on, what kind of night this would quickly turn into. It was when Josh knocked over a cup of water with hands that were shaking beyond his control that sealed the deal. The Josh themed countdown that was slowly ticking in Tylers head was getting close to zero, knowing exactly what was going to come next.
“I’m heading back to my room. I’m,” his voice was soft. Shaking. Delicate. “I’m tired. Long day. Sorry.”
The few crew members lounging in the small hotel seating area looked up from their phones just long enough to regard the drummer with a nod, confirming that they heard him and nothing else. Another time Tyler would have been the one to clean up the spilled water on the coffee table with one hand, his other one occupied with Josh’s knee, thumb rubbing slowly back and forth over where his name was inked in. He would be the first one to tell Josh that he’s alright. It’s okay. It’s no big deal. Let’s go to my room and watch a movie and comment on the mediocre acting like we could do any better. But tonight he just stood up with him, shrugging when Josh met his eyes.
“M’ tired, too. I’ll walk with you.” Tyler gave a short explanation, averting his eyes towards the elevators.
The walk was almost silent, the only noise occupying the air around them being Josh’s controlled, calculated breaths that kept getting shorter and shorter, no matter how much the drummer was trying to disguise that. A calloused, warm hand brushed Tylers own soft, cold one. Another time he would have picked up on that signal, took the bait, held his best friends god damned hand because that’s what they did. He should. He was going to. But then he felt it. The emotion boiling in the bottom of his stomach, sloshing around with the three cans of Redbull and the squashed down regret he kept in there. Acidity climbing the lining of his organs, threatening its way up. The next destination was his throat, and then his eyes, and he wasn’t fucking about to do that. Not anymore. He wasn’t that person anymore. So he pulled his hand away, running it through his hair that was just long enough to start curling at the edges, taming the beast in his stomach for the time being.
They parted ways, unlocking their neighboring hotel rooms in sync, both hands shaking from somehow similar but practically opposite reasons, seeking solace in their separate spaces. It felt like a weight was off of Tylers chest as soon as the heavy wooden door shut behind him, a Josh sized hole in his heart plugged immediately from the concept of what he knew he was going to do. He tossed his belongings onto the king bed where his backpack already took place on, wallet and phone landing with a soft thud.
It was around this time when the guilt started lapping its way up Tyler’s body, the back of his mouth burning, stomach churning, his conscious disgusted. The soft crying from the room next to his didn’t help.
Tyler swallowed thickly, shaking out his limbs one by one as he made his way over to the bathroom, going about his nightly routine on muscle memory alone, washing the daily grime off of his face and hands, meticulously applying creams and lotions, ignoring the way his head was pounding and hands shaking. His phone dinged, a low buzz vibrating the hotel bed, causing Tyler to pause his actions for a split second, sending the quickest prayer up to god that it was an email. Not that God had done him any favors in his life, or answered any of his impending questions, but he figured if there was any time for the guy to start, he hoped it was now.
Soon he found out that now was definitely not the time, freshly cleaned hands turning over his phone, the notification lighting up his freshly cleaned face. A text.
really need my xanax, dude. new prescription doesn’t get in until next week. do you know if its shown up anywhere?
The monster was back in full storm, clashing with the pain in his head, ripping at his neurons and cells and chromosomes and everything that composed his little failure of a body, the filthy excuse he had for a soul, and the joke that was his brain. He was crashing, falling fast and hard, staring at the little screen, the little message from the contact that marked his only emoji use in history, two yellow hearts punctuating Josh’s name in all lowercase. The duffel bag was left unzipped by his own hands early, beanie tugged from the top of his bag as an afterthought right before he left his room. His hand delved in again, zipping at a hidden pocket on the inside, kept for his vices and coping methods only, whether healthy or not. He reached blindly, feeling his way past a journal, past a plastic bag filled with little black rubber bands, until he could wrap three fingers around a familiar bottle, pulling it out and opening it methodically. Pinching a oblong white pill between his thumb and forefinger, he quickly pressed it to the back of his tongue, swallowing it dry.
Minutes passed. The monster was shoved back behind bars, chemicals whipping it into shape. The crying from next door got louder, and Tyler progressively cared less and less.
He responded, promptly locking his phone.
nope.