Chapter Text
It was just another festival day.
The backstage had been thrown together with temporary walls and exposed metal structure that looked like it might come apart as easily as it had gone up. The air carried a strange mix of raw sawdust and the sharp, synthetic sweetness of cheap air freshener trying, and failing, to make any of it feel like it wasn’t built in a hurry.
Tyler was sunk into a worn black leather couch that had likely seen hundreds of bands just like them, his legs stretched out and crossed loosely over a low table in front of him. Josh sat quietly at the other end of the room, a familiar anchor in the chaos, while they waited for the techs to tear down the stage and rebuild it again for their set.
They’d been in here for a while now, already warmed up and dressed in their stage clothes, and this small pocket of time felt like the closest thing they got to peace all day.
It was still chaos, especially with the constant hum of crew voices and the drag of equipment bleeding through the walls.
Tyler barely noticed any of it though…
His attention was fixed on his phone, thumb dragging across the screen in a steady rhythm, as image after image flickered past. Every now and then, he paused, zoomed in and studied the lines of a drawing or a shading of a photograph for a second longer before a heavy sigh would escape his lips, and he'd move on again.
He’d been doing this for days.
Any spare moment he could find between travel, soundchecks, late nights and early mornings, he came back to it. Scrolling, and searching, and trying to pin down something that had been sitting at the back of his mind for a long long time.
Something he was actually trying to make real after months of just considering it.
The problem was, he wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for.
He knew he wanted a tattoo. And he knew exactly what thing he wanted tattooed on him. That part was easy. But the idea only existed in his mind in a rough, unfinished shape, and nothing he found ever came close to what he imagined. It was either too empty, too literal, or just too far from what it was meant to represent.
Nothing on the screen could ever hope to contain the living, breathing thing it was meant to honor.
And it always ended the same way. The endless scroll became a blur, a meaningless river of ink and skin, until the images dissolved and nothing on the screen made sense anymore.
And right now, he was right on the edge of that again.
With a quiet sigh, Tyler let his phone dip slightly in his hand and looked up, his eyes landing on Josh instantly.
He was in a constant, gentle motion, swaying back and forth on a wooden stool at the makeup table, one hand scrolling his own phone while the other twisted a strand of his curly hair in a mindless loop. He was a universe away, completely sealed off from the storm raging in Tyler’s chest.
Tyler watched him for a moment longer than he meant to.
There was something soft and unguarded about him like this. The harsh overhead lights didn’t do anyone any favors, but somehow Josh still caught them in a way that made his skin glow. He looked almost unreal in the middle of all this noise.
Peaceful. Beautiful.
Tyler exhaled quietly through his nose.
Right.
There it was again.
Josh... the beginning and the end of it all. The reason he was even looking for that stupid tattoo in the first place.
Tyler’s focus softened, his eyes sliding somewhere past Josh’s form until the room blurred.
A familiar, bitter fantasy bloomed in his mind...
A world where he didn’t have to do this at all. A world where the space between them wasn't a chasm he was terrified to cross. A world where he didn't have to translate the language of his heart into songs and symbols and cryptic messages in hopes for the translation to come through.
If only things had been different and simpler. Then none of this would be necessary. None of the careful thinking, and the constant searching for ways to say something without actually saying it.
He would be spared this low-grade fever of yearning, and wouldn’t have to keep figuring out how to make it hurt less.
Sometimes it felt like the whole world knew.
There were moments where he was sure he couldn’t have made it any clearer. Moments where he took everything in him and just... put it out there, shouting his love from a stage for the world to hear, pouring his soul into lyrics, holding Josh's gaze for a second too long or letting his hands linger on him longer than necessary.
And he knew that people saw it. He just wasn’t sure if Josh ever had.
Because somehow, every song he wrote for him, every small gesture on stage, every quiet attempt to show him what he couldn’t say... it all seemed to pass right by him. Like a light through a ghost, like it had never been there at all.
Tyler’s jaw tightened slightly.
Maybe Josh really was just that oblivious. Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he saw it all, and just chose not to.
Tyler didn’t know. He never really knew how Josh felt. Because for all the subtle, indirect ways Tyler tried to show his feelings, he never dared to speak them out loud.
I love you.
You’re my everything.
Do you love me back?
He couldn’t.
The thought of shattering what they had... their friendship, their music, the entire ecosystem they had built together, was a terror greater than the pain of his own silence.
It was too much to risk.
So he never did.
Years ago, there had been a flicker of hope. A moment when the world outside their bubble had seemed to lean in and listen. The internet had ignited, their fans piecing together the truth from fragments of stage banter and shared glances, speculating that maybe, they were something more than just friends.
For a brief, dazzling time, it felt like someone else had finally seen it for what it really was, and Tyler prayed it would be enough for Josh to see it too.
But then there was that unfortunate interview.
A question that was asked a little too directly, a moment where the pressure lingered a little too long, and Tyler had panicked. He laughed it off. He brushed it aside and turned it into something light and easy. He made it a joke.
And that’s what it became.
Just a joke. Something harmless to tease, something to stir the crowd with. Something that didn’t mean anything.
Josh had gone along with it, of course, just like he did with any other joke Tyler came up with, always playing his part in the gag. He treated this the same way, and he probably never gave it any deeper thought ever again.
He probably never stopped to consider that maybe, it had been real.
Tyler’s eyes resettled on him now, tracing the landscape of his face. The messy hair, the blank and unassuming expression, the faint pink on his cheeks, the full lips that glistened, perpetually moist from the unconscious sweep of his tongue.
A bitter, metallic taste filled Tyler’s mouth and his chest tightened with a familiar vise.
He had chosen this. He had chosen to live with this constant ache in his chest, his feelings so deep and powerful that containing them turned into physical agony. People were supposed to acclimate to chronic pain, weren't they? It was supposed to dull over the years and fade into the background. Tyler was supposed to get used to it.
But he never did.
Not when his heart stuttered every time Josh looked at him just a second too long. Not when something in his chest pulled tight every time they hugged. Not when he caught himself losing track of everything else when Josh got caught up in a conversation with someone who wasn’t him.
And Tyler knew he should have done something about it a long time ago. He should’ve cut it off, let it go, and force himself to move on. God knows he'd been nursing this flicker of hope long past its last ember.
But he never could.
Because Josh wasn't just his bandmate. He was his best friend, he was the keeper of Tyler's demons, the one person Tyler wasn't afraid to be ugly in front of, knowing he'd be met with understanding, not judgment. He was the pillar that held Tyler’s world upright. He was his safe place.
He was also the love of his life.
But love could be quite painful when it was unrequited. It backed up, flooded the system, and drowned Tyler from the inside out. And after years of living with the overflow, it was simply too much to hold.
But it was time to let go of the fantasy. It was time to release the idea of Josh ever being his, and accept that this love would only ever be his to carry. It was all just too painful to keep holding on.
It didn’t mean the feeling would disappear. It wouldn’t. He knew that much. But maybe he could contain it, seal it off somehow.
Which was why he had decided to trade one kind of pain for another.
He needed something permanent. A pain that was sharp and clean, a pain he could choose and control. A pain that would scab over and scar, becoming a mark of devotion instead of this invisible, festering wound that never healed.
A tattoo.
The idea had lived in his mind for a while, always just feeling too drastic, or bold, or too… permanent. But then, so was his love for Josh.
Maybe the symbolism was perfect after all.
Tyler blinked, pulling himself back into the present, his gaze settling once more on Josh’s gently swaying form.
In that moment, watching him absentmindedly twirl a strand of hair between his fingers, something inside Tyler shifted, and a stubborn, devoted ember of hope he thought he’d just smothered flared to life again.
Maybe just… one more time.
One final, desperate grasp at the edge of the cliff before he let himself fall for good. One last reach... subtle, of course, just like always.
Tyler drew in a slow breath, teeth catching lightly on his lip before he spoke.
“What do you think about like... passive love declarations?”
His voice cut through the quiet, soft but sudden, the question sort of coming out of nowhere, hanging strangely in the makeshift space.
Anyone else might have been thrown off by it, but Josh didn’t react. He was used to this, he was accustomed to Tyler’s cryptic, philosophical dives appearing without warning, dropped into silence like some loose threads from whatever had been turning over inside his head.
The best thing about Josh was that he never questioned the source, he simply answered. Which, right now, was a small mercy, because Tyler had no idea how he’d explain this one if he had to.
"What do you mean passive?" Josh replied, his eyes still glued to his phone.
Tyler let out a quiet breath.
Of course Josh didn’t know what he meant.
“I mean like...” he started, searching for something that didn’t give too much away. “I don’t know... like in high school. When someone starts listening to their crush’s favorite band, or wears their merch, just hoping they’ll notice.”
Or writes songs about someone. For someone. Like I did for you.
The thought slipped in, sharp and bitter, but he swallowed it down.
“Or like... doing things they normally wouldn’t, just so the other person might pick up on it,” he continued instead. “Instead of just, y'know... saying it. Out loud.”
It wasn’t a great example. It was vague and clumsy, but it was the safest thing he could offer without straight-out outing himself right then and there.
"I think that's kinda cute, actually," Josh said after a moment, a small shrug lifting his shoulders.
Tyler pressed his teeth into the inside of his cheek, considering that.
Maybe it could be cute. At the beginning, at least. When it's new. When everything feels light and exciting and full of possibility, when there is maybe still something to wait for.
But was it still cute if it lasted for weeks? Months? Years, even?
“Even if it’s like... an ongoing thing?” Tyler asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “And the other person still doesn’t notice?”
That made Josh look up.
His eyes met Tyler's for a fraction of a second, a jolt that made Tyler's breath catch, before they drifted away, focusing on some point in the corner of the room as he thought it over.
“I mean...” Josh started slowly, his hand still absentmindedly twirling a strand of his hair. “If someone’s tried over and over and the other person still doesn’t get it... I wouldn’t really call that cute anymore.”
He paused, shoulders lifting in a small, careless shrug.
“Then it’s just... kind of sad, I guess. Like- where’s their self respect?”
The words landed harder than Tyler expected.
Right.
Sad.
Even pathetic, maybe.
“Besides...” Josh added, almost as an afterthought, already drifting back to his phone. “That person doesn’t deserve them anyway, if they’re that blind to it.”
Tyler swallowed.
Oh.
Yeah.
Funny he should say that.
"I mean..." Tyler began, the words catching in his throat, "maybe they're not trying hard enough?" he finished, the sentence tilting uncertainly into a question.
Was that really it? Was that what he’d been doing wrong all this time? Not trying hard enough?
His jaw tightened slightly.
How many songs? How many layers of lore, how many shared hoodies, how many lingering glazes and cryptic questions? What was the magic number? What final sacrifice would be required to make Josh finally see?
How much was supposed to be enough?
“Or maybe...” Josh cut in, pulling Tyler out of his thoughts, his tone thoughtful but light, like he was just finishing a passing idea. “Maybe the person doesn’t want to notice.”
He tilted his head slightly, giving a small, satisfied nod to himself, like that settled the question altogether. Then he dropped his gaze back to his phone.
Conversation over.
Something in Tyler’s chest tightened sharply. No... tightened wasn’t the right word. It tore. The ache flared, sudden and bright, like something had split open inside him, deeper than before. Like whatever fragile piece of hope he’d been holding onto had finally given way.
Fuck...
Did he really have to say it like that?
Was that intentional? The thought hit before Tyler could stop it.
Was it really possible that Josh wasn't oblivious at all? That this whole time, he'd been sending his own message, loud and clear, simply by choosing to ignore it?
It didn’t quite sit right with Tyler in that moment, not with how easily Josh slipped back into what he’d been doing on his phone, not with the complete absence of hesitation, of discomfort, of anything that suggested he’d meant it as more than just a passing comment.
But Tyler's body didn't care about strategy or subtext. It only knew the sharp, familiar sting of being rejected. Again.
That was it. The last nail in the coffin. The final, silent snap.
“Yeah... maybe.” Tyler managed quietly, the word rough around the edges as his breath forced its way back into his lungs.
He tore his gaze away from Josh, fixing it on a meaningless point on the wall. His vision swam, his throat closing into a tight knot. He didn't even realize tears were welling until he had to blink them away. He swallowed against the lump in his throat, the weight of Josh's words settling like a stone.
God, he needed that tattoo. Now more than ever.
Fuck it.
Fucking fuck it.
His legs dropped from the table, feet hitting the floor a little harder than necessary as he straightened up, grip tightening around his phone as the screen lit up in his hand.
He was going to find something.
He was going to find that design.
And he was going to go through with it.
But before his thumb could even swipe to unlock, a sharp knock rattled the doorframe.
"Ten minutes, guys! Get ready!" A grey-haired man leaned just far enough through the door to deliver the message before disappearing again.
The shift was immediate though.
They both straightened, the moment snapping cleanly into place as they fell back into their routine, and just like that, Tyler swallowed everything down and turned his focus back into the room, back to the present.
He pushed himself up from the couch, checking his clothes and his gear, and as they moved toward the door, he gave Josh a quick, playful smack on the shoulder. Easy and casual, like nothing had happened.
Like Josh hadn’t just knocked the last fragile piece of something loose inside him.
There were people to entertain and his dream to be lived right now. He’d deal with the rest later.
The tattoo could wait a few more hours.
…
It took a few more days of desperate searching before Tyler’s frustration finally began to spill over.
He had mined the internet, scoured every app and site, hunting for that single image that would finally click. But none of them ever did. There were images he found technically brilliant, pieces he could admire from a distance, but they never quite reached him. They were always just... off, missing something he couldn't name.
And inevitably, his hope began to wear thin, because after a while, the internet simply had nothing new left to offer.
Things only shifted once that restless edge started bleeding into the small, mundane moments of his day. Once his frustration stopped being contained.
Once Josh noticed.
They were sitting in the back of a car, being driven from the hotel to the venue for that night’s show. The ride itself was quiet, filled only with the steady hum of the engine and the soft hiss of tires against the road. Josh had his head turned toward the window, watching the landscape roll by. Wide fields washed in color, scattered with blooming flowers, the kind of view that felt almost unreal amidst their usual chaos.
Tyler couldn’t have said where they were.
And not just the city, he didn't even know which state.
For days now, there had been only one thing occupying his mind, pushing everything else to the margins. It had seeped into him so completely that it was starting to show, slipping through the cracks of his carefully maintained composure. His fingers moved sharper, more impatient against the screen, each swipe carrying a little more force than it needed.
Josh was the one who finally broke the silence.
“What is up with you?” he asked, turning away from the window, his attention settling fully on Tyler. His eyes slid down to the phone in his hand.
"You look like you're about to put that thing through the window."
There was no accusation in his tone, just a quiet, genuine concern.
Josh knew Tyler well enough to recognize when something was off. Tyler didn’t let things show easily, not outwardly at least, not in a way that affected how he moved through the world. So when it did slip through and it started to surface like this, it meant something had already been building for a while. Josh never ignored that.
Tyler both loved and hated him for it.
With a quiet sigh, Tyler locked the screen and let the phone drop to his lap, his head falling back against the cool leather of the headrest. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to let a little of the steam out. Just enough to take the edge off.
“Uhh...” he started, the tension in his voice difficult to hide. “It’s just... I can’t find something I’m looking for.”
He chose his words with care, skirting the truth without stepping too close to it.
"Oh?" Josh's shoulders eased, as if he'd been bracing for something far worse. He shifted his whole body toward Tyler in an open, unspoken invitation. "Maybe I can help. What are you looking for?"
Tyler let his eyes fall shut for a moment and a quiet, frustrated sound slipped from the back of his throat, low enough that it almost blended with the hum of the car.
God, he wished he knew.
He opened his eyes again, letting them linger on the ceiling of the car for a moment before his gaze dropped back to his phone, as if the answer might suddenly appear there on the darkened screen if he stared long enough. Then he gave a small, defeated shrug.
“Um... I don’t think you can really help me,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “I mean... I don’t really know myself. It’s just this... piece of art I’ve been trying to find.”
Josh’s eyebrows shot up, clearly not expecting that.
“A piece of art?” he echoed, a note of surprise slipping into his voice.
Tyler forced a nonchalant shrug. "Yeah. But I don’t have, like... any real leads. No name, nothing. I just... remember what it looked like.”
Well... that was a lie.
He couldn’t possibly remember something he’d never actually seen. But Josh didn’t need to know that. He didn’t need to know that Tyler was chasing an idea, not a memory. And he didn't need to know why it mattered as much as it did. It wouldn’t change anything, Josh wouldn’t be able to help him in the way he needed anyway.
But Tyler would be lying if he said Josh's attention didn't make him feel a little better. He couldn't deny the small, selfish warmth that bloomed in his chest at Josh's concern.
He liked this. He liked being seen, even if Josh was seeing the wrong thing.
“Oh... um.” Josh shifted slightly beside him, fingers picking at the fabric of his shorts as he glanced toward the front window, lips pressing together in thought. “I don’t really know much about art,” he admitted.
They both knew that was true.
Tyler hummed softly in agreement. “Yeah...”
A small stretch of silence settled between them.
“I didn’t know you were into that,” Josh added after a moment, glancing back at him, as if he was trying to pinpoint when this new interest had taken root.
Tyler didn’t give him anything to work with though, just another small shrug, and another quiet, “Yeah...”
He saw Josh frown in his peripheral vision before his gaze dropped to his lap. “Sorry- yeah, I... maybe you’re right,” Josh said with a small, self-deprecating laugh. “I don’t think I’m gonna be much help here.”
He sounded almost embarrassed, frustrated by his own inability to offer a solution.
"But... I dunno," he added, a new thought sparking. "If you can't find the art, maybe try looking for the artist first?"
This time, it was Tyler who frowned, turning his head to look at Josh with a genuinely puzzled expression.
"What do you mean?"
"Like..." Josh's hands fluttered in the air, trying to sculpt the idea into shape. "Artists have a style, right? A fingerprint. Maybe if you follow stuff that looks similar, it might lead you to the artist, which... might lead you to the piece you're looking for specifically."
Tyler’s frown deepened.
That would be a really solid advice... if he was actually looking for a real piece of art. But he wasn’t, he was chasing a ghost. There was no footprint to follow, no trail to trace.
Unless…
His breath caught, just slightly.
Unless he’d been thinking about it the wrong way entirely.
Tyler went still, his mind shifting, rearranging itself around the idea. Maybe it was never about finding the piece. Maybe it didn’t exist because it wasn’t supposed to. His mouth parted in a quiet realization.
Fuck.
That was it.
He didn’t need to find a tattoo. He needed to find the artist.
He needed to find the person whose soul spoke the same language, someone who could take the raw, messy, painful idea in his mind and mold it into something real. Someone whose work didn’t just look good, but felt right.
He didn't need to find that specific design, he only needed to look for the hands that could make it.
That couldn't be so hard, right?
…
Right.
So it wasn’t exactly easy either, but it felt lighter, somehow. Less like chasing something impossible, and more like working toward something that could actually exist.
And that alone was enough for Tyler.
He was so caught up in the shift that he started looking that very same night, once they got back from their show and the noise of the day finally gave way to the quiet comfort of their hotel room.
He and Josh were sharing again, nothing unusual there. They’d both tried the cliché rockstar solitude, having a separate room for each, but it always ended the same way... with one of them knocking on the other's door, seeking the familiar comfort of their shared space. So they stuck with what worked.
Josh had been going to bed earlier these days though, armed with a sleep mask and these… almost industrial grade earplugs to shield him from the nocturnal symphony of Tyler's restlessness.
Because Tyler rarely slept early.
Most nights, he’d pull out his travel synth, slip on his headphones, and lose himself in music until the early hours of the morning, only to finally crash sometime before sunrise. By the time he woke up, Josh was usually long gone, off on a run or at the gym.
Tonight, the synth remained in its case, though. Tonight, Tyler had something else in mind.
Once Josh’s breathing evened out and the quiet certainty of sleep settled over him, Tyler reached for his phone again, and with a renewed sense of direction, he began his search.
He started close to home, typing "tattoo artists Ohio" into the search bar. They’d be back there soon enough, and it made sense to begin somewhere familiar.
The first page of results was a graveyard of sponsored links, but he clicked through them anyway. Their portfolios were slick and polished, the art technically flawless, rendered in that smooth, commercial style that felt more like product than passion.
It was beautiful, perfect, but also hollow, and utterly soulless.
So he dove deeper.
Past the ads and into the raw, uncurated depths of the internet. He clicked through site after site, until the big names gave way to smaller, independent artists. He went straight to their galleries, scrolling through their portfolios, searching for a visual signature, a language he could understand.
He found some incredible work, pieces that held more warmth and authenticity than the bigger shops ever could.
It sent a pang of nostalgia through him, a reminder of when he and Josh were also just two nobodies with a sound, pouring their hearts into music in a world swimming with talent, with no guarantee anyone would ever listen.
For a moment, he wondered if these artists felt the same way. If they were waiting for that one break, for that one moment where someone finally noticed.
He almost let himself get lost in that sentimental haze, but then something on the screen caught his eye.
It was small, easy to miss... just a preview image on a studio page. Black ink, something in motion, an animal, maybe. It was hard to tell at first glance, but there was something about it. Something alive in a way the others hadn’t been.
His finger tapped the link before his brain could even process the impulse.
The page loaded, and the name appeared in stark, simple letters at the top of the screen.
Spooky Tattoo Shop.
The name alone made him pause for a moment. Spooky. It was strange, a little ironic, but then he scrolled, and the work… It was perfect. For the first time in days, the image on his screen didn't disintegrate under the weight of his expectation.
The lines were smooth and precise, but not in that empty, overpolished way he’d been seeing everywhere else. There was weight and intention behind them. Like every piece carried something beneath the surface, something you couldn’t quite name but could still feel.
It was clear that whoever created these understood a tattoo wasn't just a drawing on skin, it was a narrative, a piece of a soul made visible. This art was something else.
Something closer to what Tyler had been chasing this whole time.
He slowed his frantic pace, clicking through to their official gallery, but to his surprise, only four images populated the page. A flicker of disappointment sparked inside him, but before it could catch, he saw a small link at the bottom of the page, directing to more art on their Instagram.
Tyler hadn’t opened that app in ages, but he tapped the link without a second thought.
The app loaded, and more images appeared on the screen. They were different from what was on the website, even more profound, deeper, some of them were messier, some were less curated, but all of them even more real.
Tyler leaned in slightly without realizing it, his heart starting to pick up pace. This was it. He could feel it.
He knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that this artist could take the phantom in his mind and give it a real form, and the justice it deserved. Excitement began to fizz in his bloodstream.
He didn't need to see any more.
He was about to scroll back up, ready to hit the message icon and ask for a consultation, when another link in the artist's bio caught his eye.
A personal profile.
Tyler hesitated for a fraction of a second, curiosity flickering up before he could talk himself out of it. He wanted to see the person behind the art, to understand the hands that could create something that resonated so deeply.
He clicked.
He expected more tattoos, maybe some process photos, healed pieces, snapshots of a studio, but then the profile loaded,
and the first image Tyler saw wasn't a tattoo design at all.
It was…
"Josh..?"
The name slipped out under his breath before he could stop it.
Tyler’s head snapped to the side, his eyes adjusting to the dim light of the hotel room as he looked across the space. A part of him, the irrational, panicked part, expected the bed to be empty, as if that were the only logical explanation for the face now glowing on his screen.
But of course, Josh was still there under the blankets, his chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of deep sleep.
Tyler swallowed hard, his gaze dragging back to the phone.
The world tilted on its axis.
It was impossible. It must have been a cruel trick of the universe, a cosmic joke or something...
Because right there on the screen, was a face staring back at him that he knew like the back of his hand.
But it wasn’t Josh… it was a copy of him.
Spooky.