AREA CODES

four

a/n: yeah enjoy this cause i liked writing this !! comment because i love all of you

***

By the grace of God, Tyler didn't have to go into either of his jobs the next morning.

The knowledge of him having a well-deserved off day was actually given to him by Charlie, because that kid knew more than most of the people he lived with, age disregarded. The four year old caught Tyler in the hallway (he was wrestling with his jacket, working to brush his teeth, and slip his shoes on his feet at the same time) at six in the morning, his small, clear voice floating up to where Tyler stood, fighting to fix himself as best as he could afford.

"You don't work today, Ty." It caused him to freeze, confusion spilling through Tyler like wet paint. He could've sworn he had shifts to cover for the next, like, decade. It was rare he was getting a day off. A Saturday, at that. "You need to check your schedule more often. They're helpful."

Tyler, dumbfounded, stood where he was. "I have a schedule?"

Charlie's eyes rolled fondly, the kind of  fondness that siblings should give to each other. "Yes. It's on the side of the fridge. Pat even highlights your work hours."

So, that's how Tyler fell back into bed with gratitude in regards to his brothers hanging off his lips. He woke back up at around noon (six hours of sleep doing wonders for someone like him, someone who ran like he did) and was met with the smell of cigarettes dancing through his house, slipping through the thin walls and dancing under the space of his door. In annoyance, his eyes rolled. He hadn't even been awake long enough for them to fucking focus.

"Who's fucking smoking?" Tyler screamed loudly, to no one and to everyone. He wasn't going to receive any form of response and he knew so, so he just shoved the covers off of his half-naked body and cleared his throat. His entire body still seemed drenched in sleep and, fuck, exhaustion as a whole, and he staggered to his feet, boxers slipping half-way down his pale hips, hair flying around his head. Jesus. "Put the fucking cigarette out, assholes."

When he made it down the stairs, dressed in a robe filled with holes and covered with some random stain he couldn't identify, he was met with the sight of Vicky and Daniel sitting at his kitchen table, the both of them passing a cigarette (that's where he smelled it) back and forth. Vicky was playing with her hair and taking a deep drag, and Daniel sat with his bare feet propped up on the scratched wood, Playboy magazine in his hand. "Good morning, asshole," Daniel started out, wiggling his eyebrows. "Heard you got a pizza delivery last night."

Tyler glanced around the kitchen, eyebrows raised at the mess, like he expected it to pick up itself. Pizza boxes were strewn everywhere, all over the oven and on the counters, and the trash was full with paper plates, overflowing onto the floor. And, somebody didn't even bother to attempt to throw their plate into the garbage. It just sat on the counter with a dirty napkin.

"Or you got smart and looked around the kitchen," Tyler's voice choked out, shrugging his shoulders. He was feigning nonchalance, when his entire mind was whirring at the thought of the one person who sent him the fucking pizza. God, Josh's jacket was still on his living room floor. He needed to wash it. "I've got to clean it up. It's dirty in here."

"So, who the hell bought it, Ty?" Vicky questioned, smirking.

Immediately, the words fell from Tyler's lips. "I don't know."

"You're a liar," she said, smile filled with smoke while she handed the cigarette over to Daniel. He breathed that shit in like oxygen was hardly necessary, anymore, and laughed at a thought he had inside of his own head. "You know who sent it to you. You have to know. No one gives anyone anything, over here. Not for no reason."