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In the tour bus, the retching can be heard from every corner- , because it's a goddamn tiny bus. It echoes, unpleasantly, from the dingy bathroom to where Tyler's getting a glass of water from the sink. He sighs, takes a sip to soothe his throat, sore from singing, and moves over to the bathroom. There's a pause in the gagging, interrupted by some heavy breaths, and then it starts up again with another heave.
Tyler doesn't say anything once he opens the door and sees Josh keeled over the toilet seat, hand against the cold tile wall to steady himself, chest moving rapidly in and out as his lungs try to maintain some oxygen intake while taking out all of Josh's breakfast, lunch and dinner. Watery bile is all that's making it out now, a gross spluttering noise as it spurts its way out of his throat. Josh coughs, three times, chest crumpling further. He's noticed Tyler, because it's hard not to notice another person in such a cramped space. He shakes his head weakly, body swaying. Tyler rushes up to steady him before he can do something stupid like fall into the toilet, hands finding purchase on his waist and hugging him from behind, as Josh sniffs and paws at the paper roll, swiping off a square to wipe his mouth.
Josh's shirt is damp from sweat. Tyler heard him practicing for a bit earlier, but that was hours ago. More likely, the sweat's from a panic attack that lead to the throwing up. Tyler gives him a tight squeeze, makes sure Josh is less unstable than before and breathing fine (well, breathing better- less shallow, deeper now, and not staccato-panicked in between dry heaves) then goes out to get his glass. When he gets back Josh has stumbled his way to the sink and is splashing his face with cold water, rubbing at his eyes hard enough to hurt. Tyler sets the glass on the sink, the sharp sound making Josh wince- his head is probably going through a blender right now- and then finds a towel to dry off his face. Tyler props his chin up with one hand and dabs at his cheek, then his forehead, his browbone, his nose, his jawline. Josh settles with the motions, like a dog relaxing at a ruffle of the fur, eyelids fluttering shut and muscles loosening from their previous tautness. Drying off the last sheen of water, Tyler offers the drink, tilting it up to his lips for good measure. Josh huffs out a laugh, but accepts it all the same.
He starts off slow, hesitant, but ends up gulping it down with a frenzied thirst, leaving him gasping once he's done. With a short, breathless exhale, he murmurs, "Sorry," ducking his head and avoiding Tyler's eyes.
"What, for drinking too fast?" Tyler jokes wryly, using his other hand to wipe away a drop of water from Josh's chin, and resisting the fleeting urge to lick it off. Josh laughs, again, humouring him before going quiet and guilty again.
"No, no, for… that. Sorry," he repeats, "You shouldn't have to deal with that. It's gross, and embarrassing-"
Tyler puts a hand to his mouth. His lips are still wet, sticky with drying water. "It's not. C'mon, Josh, we're the mental health band. Nothing's wrong with your anxiety."
Josh sighs, and slumps forward to lean his head again Tyler's chest, light blue hair tickling at his collarbone. "I know, I know, I forget that sometimes." Softly, he nuzzles his cheek against the thin fabric of Tyler's shirt, his voice muffled by it. Tyler sighs, fondly, and puts away the glass to embrace Josh with both arms, pressing him as close to him as possible.
"I'll always be here to remind you," he promises, and places a into kiss to Josh's hair.