Chapter Text
A face in the crowd immediately caught Tyler’s eye—the House of Heroes drummer, Joshua Dun was in the audience.
Tyler chuckled. House of Heroes was a small, up-and-coming band that could potentially give Twenty One Pilots a run for their money. Twenty One Pilots was a two person band—well, they hadn’t always been a two person band.
The band consisted of Tyler Joseph and Chris Salih. Chris was slightly heavier set and Tyler was the personification of a fence post.
Tyler finished the last lyric of the song they were playing and grabbed the microphone off of the slender, matte-black stand.
“I see we have some visitors tonight!” Tyler shouted into the microphone that was way too close to his face. “I see one familiar face.” He smirked, pretending to squint his eyes, though he already knew who it was. “Joshua Dun from House of Heroes!”
The crowd erupted in cheers. Knowing most of the fans of Twenty One Pilots, they also listened to House of Heroes. The two bands were a pair that went hand in hand.
“I don’t want to sound like a fanboy or anything…but you are a fantastic drummer, Mr. Dun.” Tyler mumbled into the microphone in his iconic Blurryface voice—fans had coined this as the ‘Blurry accent’.
Josh stood awkwardly in the crowd, giving a slight nod to the compliment. The crowd erupted around him, a few pats to his shoulder, a few people simply yelling in his direction.
Tyler shook his head, giggling at the sight.
“Do you all have time for one more song?” Tyler spoke into the microphone, trying to pull the crowd's attention back to the actual concert.
—
The show was amazing, as it always was. He bowed with Chris at the front of the stage. He said his normal phrase—‘We’re Twenty One Pilots, and so are you!’ Then walked off stage. Only to be greeted by his stylist, Lilly.
“Great show, Ty!” She spoke, patting his back gently. She was a short woman, ginger hair flowing down her shoulders to her chest.
Tyler gave a small nod, a silent ‘thank you’ before continuing past her to his dressing room. Chris followed shortly after, another pair of footsteps following him—he expected Lilly to enter the room and propose a new outfit for their next festival show.
“Ty, we’ve got a visitor, are you at least decent so we can come in?” Chris cackled through the very open door.
“Yeah. When am I ever not decent?” Tyler giggled, leaning over the back of his chair, opening the door further to allow both of them entrance into the room.
“Well—there was that one time…” Chris started. “With those red tights…”
”Shut up.” Tyler spoke seriously, seeing the face following him into the room. “Joshua Dun?!” Tyler practically shot up from his chair, extending a hand to meet Josh’s.
Josh slowly reached his hand out, meeting Tylers. They shook hands, Tyler held on for a moment too long, before pulling back and rubbing the back of his neck, a normal nervous/excited tic for him.
“Uh. Well. You can call me Josh. No need for formalities.” Josh almost exactly mirrored Tyler’s stance, same facial expression, same mannerism.
Josh was slightly shorter than Tyler, a little bit bulkier—with muscle. Josh’s hair was brown and messy, a few strands laying over his eyes. A few piercings covered his face—a lip ring, a septum piercing, and two nose rings.
This is what alternative looked like. Josh was a spitting image of what Tyler wished he was. Josh looked so comfortable in his own skin, even if his mannerisms didn’t show it.
“Oh. Okay.” Tyler’s hand slowly slid back to its normal position at his side. “I’m Tyler. I’m sure you—like, already knew that. Or something?” Tyler giggled awkwardly.
“Yeah. I do know that. You’re a phenomenal singer and lyricist. I wish that our lead singer could write like you do.” Josh giggled.
“Oh, I’m sure you don’t mean that.” Tyler waved a limp hand in front of his face, scoffing breathlessly. “I just write my thoughts onto a page, I don’t think you could even call that lyricism.” Tyler was practically fishing for compliments at this point. He knew that he was a good lyricist, he’d been told it countless times—but to hear it from his favorite drummer would mean more.
”I do mean it.” Josh smiled. “You write beautiful lyrics and convey them in a way that touches your fans, emotionally. They also touch me.” Josh immediately flushed. “I mean—they also touch me emotionally.”
“I got what you meant.” Tyler cackled, folding at the waist.
Chris stood in the corner of the room, watching the two boys in the middle of the room chatting. It was like the boys had known each other for years prior—though this was their first time officially meeting.
“Well. If it flatters you—I would love a drummer like you. Not that—not that Chris isn’t a fabulous drummer…Because, Chris,” Tyler motions to the bulky, bearded man that stood in the corner. “you are an amazing drummer. But, Josh—you are just electric in a way that I can’t explain vocally. Every drummer should strive to perform at your level.”
Chris’ eyebrows furrowed, turning around and exiting the room.
“Listen. Now that Chris is gone…If you ever think about leaving House of Heroes…know there will always be a place here for you. Chris has been thinking of leaving for quite some time…but, I have no one to fill his spot, and I can’t to everything by myself.” Tyler muttered quietly. “I’d love to have you as a drummer, to become something bigger than House of Heroes.”
Josh’s face contorted into something of anger and hurt.
“I don’t—I don’t think I’d ever leave House of Heroes.” Josh frowned. “I don’t think any amount of money or fame would make me want to leave—no matter how good your lyrics, or songs are…I wouldn’t leave something that they worked so hard to create.”
Josh turned around and walked out, without saying a word.
—
Tyler had been sitting in his chair at his vanity for about thirty minutes in an empty room—only the sound of the stage crew moving things on the stage a few hundred feet away filled the room.
He looked at his reflection—really studied it. The black paint that covered his hands and neck, only cracking at the creases in his rough, calloused skin. The white glasses that sat on top of his head, slightly crooked. His eyes roamed, finally meeting the eyes staring back at him through the mirror.
His eyes looked kind, but something else lingered underneath—jealousy? Sadness? Hatred?
He shook his head as Lilly walked back into the room.
“So, Ty. For the festival next week—I found this outfit. I know the incident that happened with the tights last time…but, they really looked amazing on you. It helped that you wouldn’t have to continuously pull your socks up, and stuff.” Lilly spoke cautiously, the air in the room was charged. ”This outfit has the traditional cargo pants—though, we could trade those out for black skinny jeans…” She scribbled onto a notepad. “I was thinking of the flower kimono again, white shirt—or even black.” She scribbled again.
“Can we talk about this some other time? My thoughts are in the way, right now.” Tyler waved her off, hearing her exit with no speaking.
Tyler made it known to his crew that he had issues communicating, especially when his thoughts got in the way. His crew, for the most part, knew to leave him alone when this happened.
A few moments later, Tyler heard more footsteps coming near the room.
“Not now, I’m having another episode.” Tyler giggled, his old friend Jenna used to call his emotional breakdowns ‘episodes’. Granted, that was when she didn’t know the severity of the situation.
Jenna and Tyler weren’t friends anymore. She was his old stylist and Lilly had replaced her after that.
One of the venue workers came in anyway.
”We have another group tomorrow. It’s almost midnight. It’s time for you to leave. We don’t have time for this, respectfully, Mr. Joseph.” The tall, muscular, blonde man spoke. His nametag read ‘Glen’ in fancy calligraphy.
“Oh. Okay.” Tyler shook his head. “Let me change really quick and I’ll get out. Thank you.” Tyler nodded, dismissing him.
As soon as the door shut, Tyler quickly undressed, shoving the dirty, sweaty clothes into his black duffle bag, then grabbing the black tracksuit that sat on his vanity, slipping it on. He grabbed the bag quickly, and left the room.
—
Tyler and Chris arrived back at the hotel room they’d rented for that weekend. It was a relatively small show, nothing too big. But, they had the funds for the room, and it was better than driving back to Ohio late at night, into the morning.
Tyler stepped inside first.
”I’m gonna shower. Gotta get all this shit off of my face and hands.” Tyler motioned to his face with his hands, Chris just nodded, walking past him and sitting on the left bed, farthest from the window.
Tyler clicked the door shut, locking it, and then stripping himself of all clothes—being careful to not touch any of the white appliances in the bathroom with his stained hands.
He carefully grabbed the silver knob, turning it to face the ‘H’ engraved in the metal. As soon as the steam filled the room, he stepped in the shower, immediately scrubbing the paint off his body—after everything was back to his normal skin tone, he grabbed the bar of soap and scrubbed his skin.
When he deemed himself clean, he wrapped the white towel low around his waist, and grabbed the dirty clothes off of the linoleum floor. He walked back out into the cold environment of the hotel room—shoving the dirty clothes into the duffel bag.
“What an outfit.” Chris cackled at Tyler’s outfit—only consisting of the thin white towel hung low around his waist, his v-line peeking over.
“Well, I didn’t bring pajamas. Probably will just put on my pre-show clothes.” Tyler laughed, looking at Chris who was shirtless, in only plaid pajama pants.
“Eh. You could just put on your sweatpants from after the show. You didn’t wear them for crazy long.” Chris shrugged. “It’s only me in here anyway. Not like another Jenna situation where she airs out everything about you—“
Tyler cut Chris off. “Even though Jenna and I aren’t friends anymore doesn’t mean we can talk bad about her. She did her job—a good job at being my stylist. Of course, she had some issues with her behavior outside of work, but that doesn’t immediately make me hate her.” Tyler furrowed his eyebrows, getting frustrated.
“Sorry. I didn’t know that it was that deep, bro.” Chris chuckled, grabbing another fistful of Cheeto Puffs and shoving them in his mouth.
“No, it’s all okay. It just ticks me off, she wasn’t a bad person. Did she make bad decisions that ultimately cost her her job? Yeah. But that’s her fault, and we’ve talked about it since.” Tyler shrugged, grabbing a pair of boxes and his sweaty, dirty sweatpants from the duffle bag.
“Yeah.” Chris tried to speak around a mouthful of Cheeto Puffs.
Tyler waddled to the bathroom on the coarse carpet, then stepping onto the cold, slick linoleum. He shut the door, dropping the towel and slowly getting dressed. As soon as his boxers and pants were on, he looked at the mirror, staring at his geometrical tattoos, slowly running his fingers across them. A silent reminder of what he’s gone through and what he’s persevered.
He let out a deep breath, hanging the towel up and making his way to the bed closest to the window.
His phone vibrated on the shared nightstand in between beds. He sighed, throwing his head against the headboard behind him. Chris looked over at him from the TV, giggling at his annoyance.
Tyler sighed once more, before grabbing his phone off of the nightstand.
A text from Lilly.
Lilly: I know that you were upset earlier, so we couldn’t talk about the outfits for next weekend—however, we should really get this sorted at some point soon. I only have so much time to reach out to brands to get these.
Tyler began typing back, before he could send his text, Lilly sent back a sketch of the potential outfit. A white shirt with his floral kimono, a pair of black cargo pants, and his signature white glasses.
Lilly: Though, if you’re not feeling the cargo pants, they are easily able to be switched out with a pair of skinny jeans. I just really need a reply so I can reach out to the brands to get these items again.
Lilly: Also, not that it matters…but the red tights are back in stock.
Tyler began typing again.
Tyler: Anything works for me. I just don’t want another situation with the red tights.
Lilly: You have to remember I’m not going to take a picture or video of you in just them and post it. I’m a new stylist. You have to trust me, just as I trust you.
Tyler: Whatever you can get still, I’ll wear. Are we getting anything for Chris this time?
Lilly: Chris normally wears almost the same thing every time. He never likes my options. I’ve given up—so unless he’s willing to take my advice, then he’s wearing the same thing.
Tyler: Copy that.
Tyler rolled his head over to look at Chris.
”Do you want to be styled by Lilly, or no?” Tyler mumbled with half-lidded eyes.
Chris looked over, giggling, a Cheeto puff falling from his hand onto the pristine white sheets.
“Absolutely not. Last time I was styled it was horrible.” Chris shook his head.
”Okay. Whatever you say.” Tyler sighed, sitting his phone back on the nightstand between the beds. He rolled onto his side and slowly fell asleep to the sound of a chip bag crunching and the reality TV show playing in the background.