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The first thing Tyler noticed was that the dressing room smelled exactly the same.
Sometimes, he felt like he could measure his career in rooms - a series of venues, studios, and dressing rooms, telling a success story that Tyler barely let himself fully believe, even still.
This room, though - it lived at the center of his mind, a reference against which all the others were compared. The peeling green-painted ceiling and off-white floors had borne witness to so many versions of him and Josh, and being there thrust Tyler back in time with overwhelming clarity.
It had been a terrifyingly big deal, the first time they’d sold the Newport out. If he closed his eyes, he could still remember the conversation that he and Josh had had that night, word for word, three feet from where he now stood. Tyler had always had a searingly good memory, for better or for worse. Was it branded into Josh’s psyche, the same as his?
It was November, 2011, all over again. He’d just found out that a couple guys from a big label were out in the crowd - not the one they’d ended up signing with, but at the time, it had felt like an immensely big deal. It had felt urgent for Tyler to know that Josh was going to stick around, that he was really, truly in this, because it seemed all at once that they had reached a point of no return.
In the wake of everyone else leaving, he’d needed to know right then and there that Josh was in this with him for the long haul - because none of it felt like something Tyler could face without Josh there, too.
It was a feeling that hadn’t changed much over the years.
But of course - of course - Josh had promised him forever like it was nothing. No-back-up-plan Josh Dun, who had already proven his fierce love and loyalty, had been certain about their future in a way that Tyler never quite could be.
Tyler’s trance was broken by a quick three knocks at the door, unable to form a “come in” before Josh was already side-stepping his way into the room.
“Are you kidding me?” he scoffed teasingly, making his way over to the standing fan at the other end of the room, and pointlessly lifting his mesh shirt up to let the air blow against his stomach. “I don’t have a fan in my room!”
Tyler’s heart was unbearably full - aching, in a good way. He’d be lying if he said that this run of small shows hadn’t at least partially been an excuse to get to this moment, right here, in this room with Josh.
“Maybe we should buy A.C. for the venue. You know, now that we have the means - give back a little to the place that made us.”
Josh turned to him, letting the crop top fall back down over his hips. From behind him, the fan still cast ripples through the thin fabric, making it cling to his ribs.
“I don’t know,” Josh said, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “This is exactly how I remember it. Cramped, and - yeah, hot.”
Cool relief washed through him at the thought that Josh had been reminiscing, too. He never let Tyler feel like too much - and anyway, nostalgia loved company.
“Were all the clubs this hot?” Tyler laughed, half trying to brush past the moment, and half really trying to remember. They had been, of course - they’d played shows sweaty enough to soak them down to their socks, only to retreat to the stale 90 degree air of the van to sleep.
He was sobered by the notion that he’d gotten so much less tough, over time. His body had gotten used to comfort, and it was a strange and uneasy realization, like he’d lost the scrappiness that they’d built so much of their career on. He could feel the passage of thirteen years in every cell of his body.
And Josh - well, Josh had just stayed beautiful. It was as simple as that.
A strip of skin peeked out between his mesh crop top and the waistband of his shorts, and if they’d had the time, Tyler would have gotten on his knees to kiss it, slowly, from left to right.
Something about this room.
In his memory, these four walls contained so many seasons of Josh and Tyler; so many versions of their love for each other.
Neither of them had to say anything. Josh’s small smile and deep, sparkling eyes were enough for Tyler to know that they were drowning in the same tide of memories. How could he have ever looked at those eyes and wondered whether Josh would stay?
Something capsized, and both of them grinned; Tyler missed which one of them moved first, but it didn’t matter. He let himself be pulled into a tight hug, warm breath tickling him where Josh’s nose pressed into his neck.
This was the epicenter. He felt exactly, completely home.
“Hey,” Josh breathed into him.
“Hmm?”
Tyler could feel his smile spread out against his skin. “We sold out the Newport.”
“Oh, shut up,” Tyler choked out, the only alternative to crying, and gripped Josh tighter.
They were so unhurried, in this familiar position, and Tyler could have stayed here forever - had spent a million forevers here already, pressed against Josh's chest.
“I can’t stop thinking about how huge the sold out crowd felt,” Josh said over his shoulder. “That first time. And now this is a small show.”
They’d voice the same wild and momentous feeling during Tour de Columbus, but it bore repeating.
Back then - the first time - the size of the crowd had felt intimidating to both of them, so strange and disorienting to look out into the hall and not be able to see everyone’s faces. Now, they cherished shows like this for their intimacy. The shift in perspective left Tyler dizzy - pulled taut between feeling like a lifetime had passed since then, and feeling like he was playing dress-up, still the exact same kid who’d stood on that stage with a keytar and a dream.
“Me too,” Tyler admitted, playing mindlessly with the fabric of Josh’s shirt between two of his fingers. “Can’t stop thinking about the ones we’re playing tonight - like, stuff we debuted on this stage being oldies now, somehow.”
He’d been nervous about getting the words right then, too. Now he just hoped he could remember them.
This stage. The first place that Josh had seen him play, and after, where they’d met - God.
Josh pulled back, running a flat hand over Tyler’s still mostly-buzzed head, the other one still slung around his waist.
“I love you, y’know,” Josh grinned, and amazingly, still, Tyler blushed.
“I know,” he promised, and let himself drown in the familiar press of Josh’s lips against his. Tyler took the time to run gentle hands across the strip of Josh’s exposed abs, measuring the swells of Josh’s inhales and exhales under his fingertips.
They made out languidly, unhurried, all urgency stripped away by the certainty that Tyler would never have to wonder if another kiss was coming. Every year, every drum beat, had built another layer of trust: Josh wasn’t leaving.
A quiet knock at the door registered in the back of Tyler’s mind, but neither of them moved to pull away. Everyone who mattered knew, and everyone who knew mattered.
“Knock knock,” Debby repeated pointlessly, with Jenna close on her heels. Josh pulled away to smile at his wife, and the sight of the girls - glowing, gorgeous, and dressed for summer - made Tyler’s heart falter in his chest. They were so beautiful, all three of them, and Tyler was spellbound for the hundredth time by the amount of love he had somehow wound up entwined in.
With a kiss to Josh’s cheek, Debby turned straight for Tyler, wrapping him in a huge, warm hug. He still didn’t understand how such a small person could always be so warm, always envelop him like that. She didn’t let go for a minute, really hugging him, and Tyler welcomed it, pressing his nose into the lingering smell of her herbal shampoo. She was such a unique comfort - and a new one.
It had taken so long for this ease to develop between them; or, more accurately, it had taken a long time for Tyler to let it develop, to let himself trust her. He didn’t do closeness half way. As Josh and Jenna well knew, you either had none of Tyler, or all of him - and the latter was a privilege he reserved for very few people. It had taken years, and he was grateful that she’d been so patient.
Tyler watched Jenna press a kiss to Josh’s forehead, and was struck by the ridiculousness of how unwilling he had once been to share Josh. It was, he realized, a fundamental misunderstanding of how love worked.
There had never been a finite amount.
“I’m so glad you can be here for this one, Jen,” Josh was saying, as Debby pulled back from Tyler with a gentle squeeze of his shoulder.
Jenna smiled, exhausted, but so present. They had all missed her so much.
And then it was Jenna’s hands around him, kissing his left cheek, and then his right, and then his mouth. He smiled into it, in spite of himself, giddy with affection.
“They’re so excited out there,” came Debby’s voice from behind him, canny as ever, knowing exactly what he needed to hear. “You can feel the energy. It’s a different level from any of the other small shows.”
Tyler had known it would be, of course - but hearing it still felt like a gift. In 2011, they had broken their backs trying to fill this hall, and now their fans had to perform similar gymnastics to even get their hands on a ticket. It was mind blowing, and humbling, and Tyler would never allow himself to take it for granted.
He was so goddamned lucky, for all of it.
“You earned this,” Jenna whispered into his temple, just for him. “All of this - you deserve it. You know that, right?”
He looked to Josh, who reached out, squeezing his hand and then letting it go.
Tyler knew.
“Let’s go play a show,” Josh beamed, because of course, of course he remembered Tyler’s refrain from all those years ago.
He closed his eyes, trying to memorize exactly how this moment felt, preserving it for a future Tyler; trusting, he realized, that there would be one.
“Yeah,” Tyler agreed, lifting watery eyes to Josh. “Let’s make a little more history.”