Chapter Text
Tyler woke up as he did every morning, feeling just as drained as when he’d gone to bed. The ache of sleep still tugged at his muscles, but he shoved the sheets aside and sat up. The room was dim, the faintest hints of dawn bleeding through the heavy hotel curtains. The sun hovered just below the horizon, stretching shadows across the world.
They were on the move again today, aiming to leave by 10 a.m., but Tyler always liked to be up early. He stretched, his arms stiff and heavy, trying to shake off the sluggishness. Yet something felt off. He couldn’t name it, but the unease lingered at the edge of his awareness, like a half-forgotten dream clinging to him. He chalked it up to anxiety—it had been gnawing at him lately, after all.
His stomach growled, breaking through his fog of thoughts with an urgent reminder of simpler needs. Shaking his head, he grabbed his bag and began packing, going through the motions of getting ready. His mind, however, kept drifting, that faint wrongness pulsing like a low hum in the back of his skull.
When he stepped into the corridor, the air was cooler than he’d expected, carrying the faint smell of cleaning products and stale carpet. He crossed the hallway to Josh’s room. If he knew his best friend, Josh was probably still dead to the world, buried under covers and snoring. Tyler hesitated, then raised a hand and knocked, wincing at the echo. Waking Josh this early wasn’t the nicest thing to do, but something was pulling at him—an instinct, a voice whispering in the back of his mind to get him, now .
He waited, anticipating the usual sight: Josh’s groggy face, eyes barely open, hair sticking up in wild directions. Instead, the door creaked open to reveal a stranger.
Tyler’s stomach dropped.
The man staring back at him looked every bit as tired as Josh might have, but that’s where the similarities ended. His face was unfamiliar, framed by unkempt hair and a scowl that made it clear he wasn’t thrilled about being woken. Tyler’s words stumbled out.
“Uh—sorry. Wrong door.”
The man muttered something unintelligible and slammed the door shut. Fair enough. Tyler stood there for a second, shame heating his cheeks as he stared at the closed door. How had he gotten the wrong room? Josh’s room was just a few doors down... wasn’t it? He glanced up and down the hallway, frowning.
Something wasn’t right.
His eyes drifted to the carpet. Had it been this color last night? The walls seemed... different, too—subtly so, but enough to make his gut twist. He scratched at the back of his neck, that vague sense of unease blooming into something sharper. Where was Josh, and why didn’t anything feel familiar anymore?
He headed downstairs, hoping a good breakfast would shake off the strange feeling gnawing at him. Surely, Josh would show up when he finally dragged himself out of bed. Tyler deliberately avoided thinking about how he could have sworn the elevators had been on the other side of the hallway last night—or how he was pretty sure they’d been on the third floor, not the fourth.
Why did everything feel so off all of a sudden?
He tried to shove the unease aside, blaming it on exhaustion. The tour was relentless, city after city, with barely enough time to sleep, let alone decompress. This was only the U.S. leg, too. What would it be like when they moved on to Europe? He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shake off the creeping doubt.
Stepping into the lobby, he spotted Mark, their manager, sitting at a small table near the breakfast buffet. Mark was hunched over his phone, scrolling with one hand while munching on toast with the other. His furrowed brow made Tyler think of an accountant balancing too many numbers—exactly the energy Mark always brought to the table.
Tyler grabbed a plate and piled it with eggs, bacon, and a waffle before sitting across from him. “Morning,” he greeted, his voice still rough with sleep.
Mark glanced up and gave a small smile. “Morning. Hungry, huh?”
“Starving.” Tyler speared a forkful of eggs. “I don’t know why. Feels like I didn’t eat for days.”
Mark chuckled softly, but his eyes didn’t leave his phone. “Good. Keep it up. We’re back on the road by eleven.”
Tyler frowned, pausing mid-bite. “Eleven? I thought you said ten.”
Mark sighed, lowering the phone and giving Tyler a tired look. “No, I said eleven. Do you ever listen when I talk?”
The jab was playful, but Tyler’s unease flared again. He sifted through his memory, trying to recall last night’s conversation. He could almost hear Mark saying “ten,” but the details were blurry, like a dream slipping through his fingers. Was he just imagining it? He shrugged and mumbled, “Must’ve misheard you.”
Mark didn’t respond, already absorbed in his phone again. Tyler turned his focus back to his plate, but the food didn’t taste as good as he’d hoped. The wrongness still lingered, like static in the back of his mind, and he couldn’t shake the sense that he’d stepped into someone else’s life without realizing it.
After breakfast, Tyler headed to the tour bus to stash his things and make sure everything was ready for their departure. Inside, the space was as chaotic as ever—sprawled jackets, empty water bottles, someone’s stray sneakers—but something about it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t the usual lived-in mess he was used to. It was off in a way he couldn’t put his finger on.
He let out a sharp breath, rolling his eyes at himself. Get it together, Tyler. His nerves were clearly playing tricks on him. He didn’t have time for this kind of spiraling—especially not today.
Still, as the minutes ticked by, his anxiety refused to budge. Josh was nowhere to be found. Sure, Josh was a heavy sleeper, but this was pushing it. By now it was nearly ten, and they were supposed to leave in an hour. Yet no one else seemed remotely concerned.
Instead, they peppered Tyler with questions about tonight’s show in the next city—small logistical things about lighting cues and setlists that needed final approval. He answered on autopilot, grateful for the distraction, but the wrongness hung over him like a shadow.
When the clock crept to ten-thirty, he couldn’t ignore it anymore.
Tyler found Mark near the driver’s seat, reviewing a clipboard. “Hey,” he started, keeping his voice casual, “shouldn’t we wake Josh up or something? It’s almost time to go.”
Mark glanced up, distracted. “What?”
“I mean…” Tyler hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “I tried waking him this morning, but I couldn’t remember which room he was in. Ended up banging on the wrong door and annoying some random guy.” He chuckled nervously, hoping Mark would brush it off like no big deal.
But Mark didn’t.
He just stared at him, his expression shifting slowly from confusion to something darker.
“Who are you talking about?” Mark finally asked.
Tyler blinked, sure he’d misheard. “What do you mean? Josh. My drummer. The guy who’s always late.” He tried for a grin, but it fell flat.
Mark’s frown deepened, his voice lowering. “Tyler, there’s no Josh on this tour.”
Tyler stood frozen, barely processing what he’d just heard. His mouth opened, but his voice felt thin.
“Is this... is this a prank?” he asked, the words wobbling with nervous laughter.
Mark didn’t look up from his clipboard. His brow furrowed, his attention already back on logistics, as though Tyler wasn’t worth a second thought.
“Ah, very funny,” Tyler said, his voice rising as he stepped closer. “I’m talking about Josh Dun . You know—drummer for Twenty One Pilots? My bandmate?” He enunciated every word, slow and deliberate, like he was explaining to a child.
Mark let out a long sigh, finally meeting Tyler’s gaze. “Tyler, I don’t have time for whatever this is,” he said, exasperated. Then he turned back to his papers, ticking boxes like the conversation was over.
Tyler’s stomach churned. “No. No, this is stupid.” He let out a short laugh, but it didn’t sound convincing even to him. “Okay, fine, so Josh is trying to prank me. Real original. Is everyone in on this?”
Mark didn’t reply. The steady scratching of his pen against the clipboard filled the silence.
Tyler felt a pang of irritation sharp enough to cut through the fog in his head. He’d pranked Josh plenty of times—it was part of their thing—but this? This was taking it too far. Worse, it wasn’t even funny.
The idea that Josh wasn’t real was a long-running fan joke, sure, but it had always been harmless. Laughable, even. So why was it making him feel... uneasy now?
He turned abruptly and left the bus, frustration mingling with something colder in his chest. He needed someone— anyone —to tell him where Josh was so he could end this bizarre, unfunny gag.
Spotting a technician near the back of the bus, Tyler quickened his step.
“Hey,” he called, keeping his voice casual, “have you seen Josh?”
The man paused mid-task, lowering a box of cables to the ground. He frowned, glancing around as though looking for context. “Josh?” he repeated. “I don’t think we have a Josh in the crew.”
Tyler’s chest tightened, his pulse skipping. “No, not in the crew . Josh Dun. You know, my drummer?” He gestured vaguely toward the bus, hoping something would click.
The technician shook his head. “Sorry, man. No clue who you’re talking about.”
Tyler blinked at him, his frustration spiking. Right. So now the entire crew was in on it. Perfect.
“Great,” he muttered under his breath, clenching his fists. “This is so funny.”
But even as he walked away, the technician’s genuinely confused expression gnawed at him, turning his irritation into something darker.
Tyler grabbed his phone, jaw clenched in frustration. What is Josh even playing at? He opened his contacts, scrolling quickly to the “J” section.
Nothing.
“What?” he muttered, his thumb freezing over the list. He scrolled back up, then down again, slower this time, eyes scanning each name. Josh’s number wasn’t there.
It had to be a mistake.
He searched a third time, his pulse quickening with each pass. Still nothing.
“This... doesn’t make sense,” he whispered. His fingers gripped the phone tighter as he stared at the screen, silently willing the number to appear.
It didn’t.
A cold knot of panic twisted in his stomach. Tyler backed out of his contacts and opened his photos. Fine, he thought. If I can’t call him, I’ll find a picture.
But as he scrolled through his photo library, the knot only tightened. Picture after picture flew by—goofy selfies, shots of the stage, candid moments with the crew—but none of them showed Josh. Not a single one.
Tyler’s hands started to tremble as he slowed down, swiping deliberately through each image. There should’ve been something : Josh sitting at the drum kit, Josh grinning backstage, Josh pulling a stupid face at the camera. But there was nothing.
He squinted at a group photo, desperate now, searching the background for any sign of him—a blurry outline, a hand, a familiar pair of sneakers.
Nothing.
Tyler’s breath hitched. This wasn’t just some prank. It couldn’t be.
His mind reeled. He opened app after app, scrolling, searching, digging for any trace of his best friend. But every time, the answer was the same: nothing.
He hesitated before pulling up the band’s official social media accounts. His stomach churned as he tapped through the posts, heart pounding in his ears.
There were pictures of concerts. Promotional shots. Clips of Tyler on stage, singing his heart out under the lights. But it was just him. Always just him.
No Josh. No drummer.
Tyler’s throat went dry. His hand fell away from the screen, and for a moment, he just sat there, frozen, staring at the phone like it might give him an answer if he waited long enough.
This isn’t happening. It’s not possible. Josh is real. He’s my best friend. He’s... he’s real.
“Tyler!”
Mark’s voice jolted him out of his spiraling thoughts. He looked up to see their manager at the bus door, clipboard in hand. “It’s time to go!”
Tyler nodded mutely, sliding his phone into his pocket with stiff fingers. As he stood, a shiver ran down his spine, leaving him cold despite the heat of the morning.
He turned toward the bus, his footsteps heavy. A single thought kept circling his mind, whispering louder with every step.
What if Josh had never been there at all?
Tyler couldn’t stop thinking. His mind was spinning, clawing desperately at every memory he had of Josh. He could feel it—Josh’s arm slung around his shoulders as they bowed together at the end of the last show, the roar of the crowd washing over them.
But when he’d checked social media earlier, the photos told a different story. He was saluting alone. Always alone. No drummer. No band. Just Tyler, smiling like nothing was missing.
And everyone else seemed to think that was normal.
He wanted to scream. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t true . Josh was real—he had to be real—because if he wasn’t, then...
His chest tightened painfully. Then what does that mean?
The thoughts circling his mind grew sharper, crueler. You’re insane. You’re imagining things. You’ve made it all up. How could you ever believe someone would stick by your side like that?
Tyler gritted his teeth, swallowing hard against the lump rising in his throat. It was terrifying.
“Tyler.”
Mark’s voice cut through the haze, sharp but laced with concern. Tyler glanced up to see his manager standing in front of him, clipboard forgotten at his side.
“What’s going on?” Mark asked, his tone soft but probing. “I can tell something’s wrong with you.”
Tyler opened his mouth to reply, but his voice felt raw, trapped. He took a deep breath, forcing the words out before he lost his nerve.
“You don’t remember Josh,” he said hoarsely. The words felt heavy, jagged, as though they’d scraped their way out of his throat.
Mark’s expression faltered. He shifted awkwardly, like he didn’t know how to respond. “I... don’t,” he admitted cautiously. “Did you... talk about him before, or—did I meet him somewhere?”
His tone was genuine, his face unreadable. There was no trace of humor or deception, just confusion.
Tyler stared at him, the weight of Mark’s words sinking into his chest like lead. He wasn’t sure what was worse: the thought of everyone conspiring to prank him, or the possibility that Mark truly didn’t know who Josh was.
“Mark...” Tyler began, his voice trembling, but he stopped short. He couldn’t break now—not here, not in front of his manager.
Mark’s brow furrowed further, the silence between them stretching uncomfortably. “Tyler,” he said carefully, “if there’s something going on—something I should know—just tell me. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”
But Tyler didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His mind was too tangled in memories that felt real— too real —to question. Memories that no one else seemed to share.
Mark let out a heavy sigh, his clipboard hanging loosely in his hand. “Okay,” he said, his voice softer now. “We’ve got about an hour and a half before we get to the venue. Do you... want to cancel the concert or something?” He hesitated, watching Tyler closely. “You don’t look great, man.”
Tyler frowned, his thoughts a tangled mess. As much as everything around him felt wrong—like his world was unraveling—he couldn’t do that to the fans. Canceling last minute would crush them. And maybe, just maybe, stepping onto the stage would bring some clarity.
Maybe it’ll all make sense when we get there.
His mind latched onto the thought like a lifeline. Josh would be waiting at the venue, he told himself. Grinning, arms crossed, leaning against the wall with that smug “Got ya!” look. It had to be the punchline to some elaborate, awful prank. The idea felt flimsy, but it was the only thing keeping him upright.
Tyler shook his head, unable to speak.
“Right,” Mark said slowly, his concern deepening. “Okay. But if you need anything— anything —you let me know.”
Mark still looked like he was waiting for Tyler to snap, like he was bracing for him to pull the emergency brake on this whole situation. But Tyler didn’t. He stayed silent, staring out the window as the scenery blurred past.
He clung to the fragile hope that when they arrived at the venue, Josh would be there. That it would all click back into place, like a puzzle piece he hadn’t noticed was missing.
Josh wasn’t there.
Tyler stood in the dressing room, his hands gripping the edge of the counter. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, their hum cutting through the thick silence.
It wasn’t a prank.
It wasn’t a joke.
Josh wasn’t real.
The realization hit like a fist to the gut, leaving him breathless. His legs felt shaky, and he paced the small room in uneven strides, his thoughts spinning out of control.
Josh isn’t real. He never was.
The words echoed in his mind, cruel and unrelenting, until they settled deep in his chest like a heavy stone. His knees buckled slightly, and he caught himself against the wall, his palm pressing hard into the cool surface.
How am I supposed to do this?
How was he supposed to step onto a stage, stand in front of thousands of people, and act like he wasn’t falling apart? Like there wasn’t a gaping hole in his reality?
His reflection in the mirror caught his eye—pale, drawn, his shoulders hunched like the weight of the world was crushing him. He barely recognized himself.
Tyler ran a hand over his face, his fingers trembling. The show was supposed to start in less than an hour, and here he was, spiraling.
The thought of facing the crowd felt impossible, but what choice did he have? They were waiting for him, counting on him.
He straightened slowly, his body resisting every movement, and forced himself to take a deep breath. The stage was the one place that had always made sense to him. Maybe it still could.
But as he turned toward the door, he couldn’t shake the gnawing emptiness in his chest.
Josh was gone.
No, worse than that.
Josh had never been there.