joshler oneshots

daddy issues

summary:

tyler is a runaway street musician. josh is an artist with a taste for music.

words: 630

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tyler's ukulele is out of tune.

he frowns at it; he doesn't have his tuner with him and there's no way he can play with it so out.

he doesn't have his phone with him either.

tyler is standing in the middle of a subway with empty pockets and an discordant ukulele.

it's cold.

he shivers in his threadbare black sweater and he ponders, because he can't do anything but he can't go back, he doesn't have enough money for the trip.

he's stranded.

at least it's better off than where he was.

screaming. yelling.

disregard, anger, careless insults and commands thrown sideways with an burning gaze and a flick of ash.

tyler, clean the fucking floor.

goddamnit tyler, what did you do this time?

go to your room, you piece of shit.

you fucking leech.

suddenly, the air seems 10 degrees lower.

there's a gentle tap on his shoulder, and a black haired man grasping a guitar holds out a phone to him.

"name's brendon. looked like you were in a bit of a dilemma."

tyler flushes slightly and mutters a thank you as brendon moves a few feet and begins to strum the guitar, humming quietly.

tyler winces as the pegs of his ukulele creak as he turns them up.

at last, he hands the phone back.

brendon gives him a gentle smile, running long fingers through his hair.

"i perform here on tuesdays in the morning. you could come by next week."

tyler just nods and thanks him again, and brendon gets on the train, still strumming and raising a hand in farewell as the doors breeze closer.

tyler allows himself a smile.

he holds the ukulele to his body tightly, and edges the small box in front of him a little further out.

he strums softly and breathes, breathes the smoky air and wet cement.

he lets his words drift; they float softly into the crowd and press against the overhang above, turning minds to lavender and soft yellow.

people are walking now, clicks and clacks interrupting tyler's serenade.

he sings a little louder.

the words are wind, pushing and weaving and making their ways into consiousness and subconciousness.

a few coins clatter into tyler's box. a short boy with blond hair drops a twenty into the box.

he stands for a bit, recording, then leaves.

the next group of passengers arrive.

a man is walking towards him, his hair soft pink and his clothes are navy blues and soft cream.

there is paint on his hands and his ripped jeans, and his lips are chewed raw.

he stops, watches tyler with awed fascination, hands fidgeting with something as he stands to the side, listening.

he drops 30 dollars and favors tyler with a bright smile and crinkled eyes.

when tyler is there the next day, so is the bright haired man.

he stands a little closer this time and waits for him to finish.

he asks tyler, fidgeting with his long sleeved sweater,

"would it be okay if i painted you?"

his voice shakes a little.

tyler nods, cheeks flushing in embarassment.

his name is josh.

josh sits on a nearby bench.

he moves a few times, frowning slightly.

he sketches.

the sun sets quickly, and tyler is finishing the last song of today.

when he looks up, josh is gone.

josh is sitting crosslegged on a bench when tyler gets there, brighteyed and new splatters of paint on his hands.

he jumps and nearly runs towards tyler, presenting him with a large canvas.

it is filled with pastel purples and reds, and gold makes the painting shimmer. there is dark blue depth in tyler he didn't know he had.

he hugs josh, and josh hugs him back.

a few days later,

the blond haired man comes back, but with a friend.

they want to sign tyler to their label.

when tyler's first ep comes out, the cover is touched with soft purples and yellows.

there are paint smears on tyler's skin too.