Chapter Text
Over the years they had settled into this quiet ease in their relationship, both in professional and casual setting alike. It had been fifteen years and counting of being in a band together after all, it would be strange to not be as close as they were, given the trial and tribulation they faced together along with their loyal crew. To know what the other was feeling at a glance, to be able to make each other laugh when one was upset, to comfort the best way they knew when something bad happened. To simply revel in the moment on stage at the end of a show, knowing both felt the same way, exhausted but proud beyond the world.
Which was why it was obvious to Josh that something had been bothering Tyler the past few days. He knew a lot of things about Tyler, perhaps too much, perhaps everything if that was possible (or maybe it was plausible).
They were on stage for the last rehearsal of the day before their London show tonight, crew members walking about trying to get everything ready and perfect as per Tyler’s high standards. Josh just took a break from soundcheck and was hunched over his phone on his drum throne, checking notifications and scrolling his private social media while his mind scrolled through his memory of the past couple of days with Tyler.
The ticks were clear as a house fire; the way Tyler constantly drummed way too hard on his knee as he was sitting, shifting in his seat a little too often, his lips pursed with that signature glare of his that made the interns (and some of the older team members) gave him a wide berth, and the--
“Hey Josh?”
Josh looked up from his phone to see the singer looking at him from across the stage, slipping the device into the back pocket of his pants, “oh, sorry. Yeah?”
“…nah, never mind, forget about it,” Tyler waved his hand dismissively and walked off the stage as if nothing happened.
That was the third time that day Tyler asked for him but shrugged it off as if he couldn’t be bothered with what he was about to say, which was a classic Tyler move, if only he didn’t look like a soaking wet miserable cat doing it as he searched for Josh’s eyes then scurried away. It must really be bothering him, whatever it was. It usually took some prying on his end for Tyler to finally admit anything, but Josh didn’t mind.
Seeing that leaving Tyler as he was for the foreseeable future would be somewhat a disservice to their professional workflow, at the very least for tonight’s show, Josh stood up to go after him. It also bothered him that the singer was upset about something, and he didn’t like when Tyler was anything but smiling and laughing with his usual mischievous charm.
He walked off stage, catching Mark with a nod.
“Hey so I’m just gonna-,” he gestured with his thumb toward backstage. The other was working on his laptop propped up atop Tyler’s piano but gave a quick thumbs up, so Josh left without further ado, not wanting to distract the man any longer.
He figured Tyler would be at his dressing room by then, escaping the bustle of constant movement and work before their show in a few hours. It was 2PM and Josh knew Tyler hadn’t eaten anything but Red Bull since breakfast, so perhaps a late lunch would lift up his mood a little bit. There was a Taco Bell 10 minutes ride away, or maybe he could order delivery, in case Tyler was feeling too overstimulated to go out right now. Was he even in the mood for tacos? Maybe a burrito? Tyler loved them too much to not be in the mood, and perhaps Josh was overthinking a little bit.
“Hey Tyler?” he knocked a couple times outside of Tyler’s dressing room, listening for the muffled ‘yeah’ from inside, “dude, I’m coming in, ok?”
He saw Tyler sprawled across the couch, left arm hanging behind the seat while his right scrolled through his phone, legs crossed in a display of boredom. His shoes were gone, haphazardly shucked on the carpeted floor, leaving him in his calf-length white socks, toes curling and uncurling like they had a mind of their own.
“Hey, what’s up?” Tyler barely looked up, a flitted glance at Josh as he crossed the room before looking back at whatever was on his phone screen that had him so invested.
Josh threw himself onto the couch, lifting Tyler’s legs to make room for himself as if it was the most natural thing in the world, then putting them back on his lap. He leaned back with a sigh and tilted his head to the ceiling to release tension, before rolling his head to look at Tyler, who by then had put his phone on his chest, screen down.
Josh’s lips quirked, and when he saw Tyler forcing down a smile, he grinned wider, which never failed to make the singer let out an amused snort as he shook his head, “what?”
“Wanna grab something? It’s already 2,” the drummer mentioned casually, his left hand absently massaging the other’s feet.
“Told Mike to get me a burrito,” Tyler murmured, “shoot, you wanted anything? I forgot to ask, my bad.”
“No, it’s fine I can get something later,” Josh waved off. He was pulling the socks off, unfurling Tyler’s toes as he massaged them with more intent, pleased with himself when he heard the other sigh.
“Are you mad at me?” He suddenly looked up, hand stopping.
Tyler looked at him with a strange expression.
“Why would I be mad at you?” the singer pursed his lips, squinting his eyes, “did you do something?”
Josh shrugged, “I don’t know. Don’t think so?”
“Then I’m not.”
“Well, you’re upset about something,” the drummer pushed.
“What? No.”
“Ty, please,” Josh raised his brow, “even Shap was too chicken to tell you that one of the cryo broke down so he went to Mark instead, he told me all about it.”
“What?” the singer jolted up, work mode turning on in alarm, his phone slipping to the carpeted floor with a soft thud, “the show is literally tonight, what the hell is he doing—“
“Relax, we got it covered,” Josh assured, watching as the other sagged back down.
“Why would he be scared to tell me that himself? It’s not like I’m gonna fire him,” Tyler mumbled, twisting to grab his phone, putting it on the coffee table beside the couch carelessly. "Might chew him out into a coma, but still."
Josh snorted. “You were glaring everybody down since yesterday, you don’t notice?”
“Yeah, well…” the singer muttered, trailing off, not bothering to finish the sentence. He had this deviant look in his eyes, telling Josh to leave it because he wasn’t going to admit anything, even though he looked away nervously when Josh stared back.
While Tyler was known for being a menace that terrified everyone when he was in his moods, there was a quiet intensity to Josh that made people, even Tyler, know when to not mess around. No one had really seen him snap since it took a lot to bother him out of his skin, Tyler tried numerous times but Josh just remained in his usual sweetheart energy that more often than not melted the singer into giving up before he reached that line. The fact that it had been fifteen years without much to speak of in terms of a valid crash out was the actual terrifying thing about the drummer.
Josh tilted his head in that annoyingly endearing way, taking one of Tyler’s hands in his while the other was still busy squeezing his foot—now reaching his calf—and traced circles over his palm with his thumb. God, was he annoying.
“Come on, you can tell me anything,” the drummer coaxed, half-chuckled, with his stupidly sweet voice, always so indulgent as if he was speaking to a toddler. The way he babied Tyler needed to be studied because what kind of grown man in his late thirties be so spoiled for attention by his fellow man who was also his band mate for over a decade who was also in his late thirties? Anyone else did this Tyler would be barfing in their face.
“Alright, fine,” Tyler groaned. There was a faint flush on his cheeks, Josh noted, but he covered it with his arm swung over his face.
“So, there’s this girl, right?”
The drummer stopped his ministration on Tyler’s leg, and Tyler peeked through his arm and huffed a short laugh at that flawless execution of a kicked puppy look.
“What are we, highschoolers?” he rolled his eyes, “not like that, stupid. I meant the new interns we took in a week ago for this leg of the tour? One of them, Dinah? Posh accent.”
“Oh,” Josh exhaled sheepishly, feeling dumb for jumping into conclusions, “yeah, blond highlights, septum piercing? She’s cool.”
“Uh huh, the one who’s been trailing after you like a lost puppy,” the singer added casually.
Josh blinked slowly, once, twice. “I guess…?”
She did tell Josh that she drummed when she was in college and wanting some pointers in picking the skill back up again. He coached her around an hour or so at the end of the work day for the past few days, which made Tyler go back to the hotel by himself.
Did Josh know where this was going? He knew where this was going. And it took him by surprise. Tyler never really cared who was hanging around Josh before, given how long they've known each other, so he was taken aback by the rare display of jealousy—
“Yeah, anyway,” the singer started, interrupting Josh from his train of thought, “she got me this box of donuts the other day, right? Something about her niece’s birthday and had leftovers and she was like ‘oh I was gonna put this in the staff lounge but you can have some if you want, Tyler’ and I was like, well I want the whole thing, jokingly, of course, but she actually gave me the box? So I felt bad about it because she was clearly just kissing ass not wanting to piss me, but she already went off, so I guess it’s mine now, whatever. I took one, I think it was pistachio raspberry? It was. Literally. The best donut, Josh, ok?”
Huh?
“And the next day I asked her where she got them from because the box didn’t have any name on it, all artisanal and shit, and she was like, ‘oh it was actually just around the corner’ and she gave me the map location for it, sweet,” he took a breath, “remember when I asked you if you wanna go out for lunch yesterday and you were doing your drum routine so I went by myself? Well, I was actually looking for the shop but of course it was closed because apparently, they close every Friday,“ Tyler continued on his rant.
What the fu—
“So I went there this morning and guess what?” the singer exclaimed, “they don’t open until 4PM because the owner-manager person was away, they had that posted on the door sign and everything and I was like man screw this, day ruined. Again. And I wanted to ask you if you wanna go there later because I’m so invested in this donut shop now, but I felt stupid for being that invested, and we have a show tonight anyway so I can’t be eating that junk if I wanna get through the whole set without spilling my guts out.”
Maybe he was done now? He looked like he was, finally slumping down on the couch again after the animated burst of energy rambling about donuts of all things. Jealous my ass. He should’ve known, stupid, really, to think that it was something as dramatic as that.
“So you want to drop by the shop tomorrow before the flight…?”
The answer was immediate. “Yes, please.”
Josh let out a huffed laugh, shoulders shaking in mirth, “wow, Tyler.”
“It’s that good, dude!” Tyler nudged the drummer’s rib with his foot, “I think you’re gonna love the chocolate mousse one, gosh, just thinking about it man. Oh, I gave the rest to the other interns because I’m not that heartless so. Should’ve left one for you huh?”
Josh threw his hands up in an exaggerated exasperation, “dude I thought you were pissed about something! Almost gave me anxiety before the show and stuff.”
“I mean, I was pissed about the donuts!” Tyler giggled fully, taking his legs away now as he sat up properly.
“Well, you brought up Dinah hanging around me so I was like woah shit is he jea—”
There was a knock on the door, interrupting Josh, and a muffled ‘Tyler?’ that sounded like Mike, one of their assistants.
Tyler got up with a grunt and opened the door. There was Mike, a scuffled, stocky man in his late twenties with Metallica t-shirt and backwards cap, holding a paper bag with Taco Bell logo on it. “Got your burrito.”
“Hey, thanks dude,” Tyler took it, checking the content with restrained giddiness. Mike went away as quickly as he came.
“What did you get?” Josh asked, hovered behind the singer as he peered down nosily over the content of the bag. It smelled like junk food heaven. He still preferred Chipotle though.
“Burrito supreme with extra-large nacho fries,” Tyler smirked smugly.
“You know we have a show tonight?”
“There’s always room for Taco Bell,“ the singer sing-songed, breaking into a musical number worshipping the fast-food restaurant as he walked to the table pushed on the opposite end of the room.
“Oh,” Tyler paused, looking back at Josh as if forgetting something.
“What were you gonna say?”
Josh stared back blankly.
“Before, you know,” the singer elaborated, setting down the food all too cheerfully, “Mike interrupted you, you were gonna say something.”
The drummer stammered as he pulled a chair opposite of the other, “no, forget about it.”
Tyler grinned like Cheshire cat, “but you were gonna say that you thought I was jealous of the intern, weren’t you?”
The red that exploded on Josh’s face told him the whole story. Tyler cackled, reminding Josh of an evil witch of some sort, definitely no hint of innocence in that laugh at all.
“I think it’s a valid concern,” the drummer tried weakly.
“Oh papi, you’re way too smitten to see other people,” Tyler cooed in a fake sweet tone, patting Josh on the knee.
The one that had the word ‘Tyler’ written messily across in permanent ink, needled deep into his skin surface.
Josh bit his lip, feeling heated all of the sudden. Tyler didn’t notice though, he was too busy choking down his greasy burrito in between sips of coke, humming the legendary tone of Taco Bell Saga.
“Hey bud, you’re helping me with the fries ok, I ain’t eatin’ all that before the show.”
Bonus Story
“Dinah, I swear to god are you pulling my leg?”
The young woman looked up from her laptop, caught off-guard by the lead singer of her favorite band and current boss looking like someone ruffled his feathers badly. She let out a dumbfounded ‘wuh?’
“We went to the shop three days in a row now and it’s still closed!” Tyler, the aforementioned lead singer, threw his arms in a ‘what the hell man?’ kind of indignation, which, valid.
“Oh man,” she wiped her hands on her jeans, standing up hastily, “I’m so sorry Tyler, they were always open before, I know one of the staff who works there, do you want me to ask them?”
“No, we’re leaving soon and it’s an hour drive from this hotel,” the singer groaned, spinning around with his palms pressed into his eyes. Poor Tyler. …was she gonna get fired though? Fired because of donuts. At least she’d have a story to regale her friends with at the bar tonight.
“…you think they do deliveries from London to Columbus?”
Well.