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At sixteen, you decide that love isn't for you. That's not to say you don't believe in it, because you do. You see it in the way your parents look at each other, you see it when you hug your friends goodbye as they head home, you see it when your sister Maddy lets Jay have her share of dessert. Love is real, and it's beautiful. But it is not for you.
Because you are a mess, and your mind is a dark cave of self-pity and destructive thoughts. You don’t know who you’re supposed to be anymore, and you don’t know if you ever did. You have no idea where your life is going, or if you even have a purpose at all. Who could fall in love with someone who has no purpose?
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At seventeen, you dig out the old keyboard your mom got you as a present when she couldn't think of anything else to buy. You're bored out of your mind so you decide to play around with the keys. Pretty soon you're playing something that sounds like a tune, and it's one you've never heard before. In fact, you don’t think it’s ever been heard before. And it feels good. To know you've created something out of thin air, and it's new, and it's yours. You get addicted to the feeling. You want to create more.
And so you do. You write songs about your creator, about drowning, about being alone, and even about damn Taco Bell. You write that song about love and how it isn't for you, and you put all these creations together and call it an album and for the first time in a long while you feel like you’re doing something right.
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At twenty one, you and two of your closest friends have formed a band. It's named after a play you studied in college, and it's definitely not the best at the moment but it feels right. Chris is on the drums and Nick plays the bass, and the basement is your studio. You take the constant, dull pain in your chest (right above your heart, and it makes you feel like there's never enough breath to catch) and transform it into music.
It's not easy. Zack keeps flushing the toilet and slamming doors upstairs, and sometimes the lyrics are so raw that you have to stop recording to wipe your eyes on your sleeve. You wonder if the album is a bit too dark, and consider writing some songs about love- it’s what everyone does. But then you remember the album is a reflection of your mind, and the album is a mess, and who could fall in love with someone whose mind is a mess?
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At twenty two, you're playing a show at a small venue. It's nothing close to what you imagined in your dreams, but you have to start small, right? The crowd is as energetic as less than a hundred people can be, and as you pour your heart out for them to witness, you begin to think that maybe, just maybe, you have found the beginning of a purpose.
At the end of the show, Chris leads you over to a table near the back and introduces you to his friend. You don't really want to because you're tired- singing about the things you do is not easy. But you comply anyway, because Chris is one of your best friends and you don’t think you’ll end up hitting it off with his friend anyway. You never do.
A man about your age is sitting with a small smile on his face. There's nothing extraordinary about him at first glance- brown eyes, brown hair, average height. But his smile, oh god, his smile makes his eyes crinkle at the corners and you find yourself smiling back. His name is Josh, and he tells you that your music is something that he's never heard before, and he'd love to hear it again. The two of you exchange numbers and leave with rosy cheeks. After a few days you two meet up again, and you find yourself opening up to a stranger.
Except he doesn't feel like a stranger. There’s something about him that draws you in, and you know that you can find trust in him. By the end of the night, he knows about your dreams, and he knows about your favorite songs, and he knows why you fear the night. The best part? You know those things about him too.
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At twenty three, Chris and Nick have left the band. They have their own lives to take care of, and they don't want to be dragged down by a career that might never take off. It hurts, but you forgive them, and you understand. Anyway, Josh is here as the drummer now, and he has a passion that you’ve never seen in anyone before. You wonder if he sees that same passion in you, and if that’s why he did not hesitate to say yes when you asked him to join the band.
Sometimes you wonder if he’ll understand the lyrics you’ve written, and if he’ll think your mind is too dark for him to stick around. But then one day you walk into his apartment (he did give you a key, after all), and you find him still in bed, eyes bloodshot and mouth trembling, and you realize he needs this music just as much as you do.
So if he gives you hugs unexpectedly throughout the day and lingers for a second too long, you do not complain.
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At twenty four, life seems to be at its peak. The band has been signed to an amazing label, and you traveled with two of your favorite bands around the world. Vessel has been released, and right now you and Josh are on tour. Every night you see your dream coming true. The songs started out with you screaming at an empty studio, and now you’re standing in front of hundreds of kids just as broken as you are, telling you to stay alive. For them, and for Josh, you do.
Josh has recently dyed his hair, and right now it’s a bright blue. He thinks it looks punk rock, and you think it looks like cotton candy. You say this to him, and he does that laughter where he throws his head back and his tongue pokes through his teeth and you feel like you’re finally home.
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At twenty six, the two of you are sitting in a local diner in Boston and you realize that your initial impression of Josh was completely wrong, because there is absolutely nothing ordinary about him. His eyes are the color of the wood of your piano at home, and his hair, now dyed red, is the same color as Blurryface’s eyes.
You’re looking down at the menu and you declare that you know what you want to order. You look up, and Josh is already staring at you, his eyes unblinking and his mouth slightly open.
And you realize you’re in love.
You laugh out loud. Josh looks startled, but you just laugh harder, because my god how did it take you so long to realize? You’ve been in love with him ever since you saw him at that small venue in Columbus and somehow, it took you years to realize.
Josh asks you why you’re laughing, and you just tell him that you’ve been really, really blind.
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At twenty seven, you and Josh are backstage at a venue in New Jersey. Emotional Roadshow has taken a toll on both of you, but Josh has been getting the worst of it. You walk up to him and you see that his eyes are red, and it’s not because of the eyeshadow. You take his hands in yours and press your foreheads together. And you tell him that you know what it feels like, when everything is going too fast and you can’t breathe and it seems like everyone wants you to fail. And you tell him you will be there to catch him, because he was always there to catch you.
When he presses his lips to yours, you know you have finally found someone permanent.
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At twenty eight, you and Josh announce that the band will take a break from touring. For the past few years, your home has been a tour bus, and as exhilarating as it was at first, the both of you want to be able to sleep on a real bed that isn’t in a dingy hotel. The past tour has been emotionally taxing anyway, and the bigger crowds are just as intimidating as they are exciting.
The two of you take this opportunity to treat yourselves. Days are spent inside watching TV, and you’ve barely exercised at all. You spend so much time at Josh’s apartment that it might as well be both of yours, and there’s no way to distinguish whose clothes are whose anymore. You find out more about him than you ever did when you lived on the bus: how he likes his coffee, what songs he likes to dance to at three in the morning, what movies make him cry without fail.
This is what being safe feels like, you decide, as you pull the covers over both of your bodies and hold his hand. You’re facing each other in bed and though the room is dark, you can see a faint outline of his face because a street lamp is shining through the window and the moon is out. You always used to be afraid of the moon. It was a symbol of the night, when your mistakes caught up to you and robbed you of sleep. Now it’s just a pretty sight, but you think Josh has beaten the moon in that contest.
You wake up every morning next to him now, and you spend your days walking through the city hand in hand, pointing out every dog you see and dancing in the rain if you forget your umbrella. You used to never understand what people meant when they said that the eyes are the gateway to the soul, but when he looks into your eyes and tells you he loves you, that you’re his happiness, you think you finally get it.
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At twenty nine, you and Josh are in the mountains. He bought the cabin for you as a surprise, and it’s nestled deep into a forest and next to a small brook. The view of the sunset is perfect and the sound of birds chirping and water running is so much better than the sound of a busy city. You never knew this was what you needed to clear your mind, but Josh did, and that means more to you than you could ever put into words.
One morning you wake up and the space beside you on the bed is empty. The sheets are still messy from last night when the kiss became something more. You can hear Josh walking in the small living room. You go outside and see that he is still wearing his pajamas. He smiles nervously when he sees you, which you think is strange, because there is never anything nervous about his smile when he’s with you. You ask him what’s wrong. He says nothing is wrong, because with you nothing can be wrong. He strides over to you, reaches behind him, pulls out a small white box from his pockets, gets down on one knee.
You say yes to the easiest question you’ve ever been asked.
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At thirty, you’re in a tuxedo and you’re on a beach. You haven’t seen Josh the whole day and your fingers are itching to touch him. Your mother left you hours ago after fussing over your hair and fixing up your tie countless times. You guess that she is sitting in the front row right now, maybe even more restless than you are. Zack is your best man, and Jay is one of the groomsmen. Maddy is the most beautiful groomsmaid you’ve ever seen, and she playfully shoves you in the shoulder when you tell her that.
You know Josh is wearing a suit that matches yours- light blue, almost pastel, with a white carnation tucked into the pocket and a silver tie. He’s outside at the altar, probably playing with his fingers the way he does before playing in front of bigger crowds. You, on the other hand, are waiting inside a beach house that belongs to Josh’s sister Abby, who gives you a hug before running outside to join the rest of the guests. Ashley hugs you too, and whispers in your ear, thanking you for giving Josh a reason to smile and hope. You don’t know what to say, so you just smile and hope she understands.
It’s a few minutes before you’re expected to walk out, and you think back to when you were seventeen. Your mind was a mess then, and it’s still a mess now. How on earth did Josh manage to fall in love with you? You start to wonder how someone so bright could fall for someone whose mind is as dark as yours, but your thoughts are cut short when your father takes your arm and starts to guide you outside.
Every doubt you had vanishes when you see Josh at the end of the aisle, who is smiling with his tongue poking out between his teeth and his eyes crinkled at the corners. He’s looking at you like you’re the sun, like you’re the reason he gets up every morning. And you realize that you are his sun. You are the reason he gets up every morning. And he is yours.
The rest of the night is a blur. You say your vows with shaky breaths because you’re trying so hard not to cry, and when you put the rings on each other’s fingers, you feel like the earth has slowed down time for you. Later on when you’re dancing, you rest your head on his shoulder and tell him that you lost happiness years ago, and you found it again in him. He laughs quietly in your ear and hugs you tighter.
Perhaps love is meant for you after all.
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At forty, you and Josh have a daughter. She’s ten by now, and her name is Jenna and she has blonde hair and eyes that remind you of Josh’s old blue cotton candy hair. She reminds you of hope and the first breath of air you take when you come up from underwater. You and Josh are still playing shows, making music, telling those kids that staying alive is so, so worth it.
But things are a little different now. Just yesterday Josh laughed at you when he spotted a few white hairs on your head, and you have begun to notice how the crinkles by Josh’s eyes are not always from smiling. You’re beginning to sing songs about things that younger people can’t relate to- how you wish you had done more in life, how you wish you had made a bigger impact. You worry that maybe you’re truly starting to sell out, and maybe it’s time to step down. Then you think about the fans that grew up with you, and how they’re still around, and your fears calm down for now.
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At fifty five, you hair is almost completely grey and your fingers start to hurt every time you bend them too much. Wrinkles appear by the corners of your eyes and everywhere else on your face, and you swear you see some dark spots when you look in the mirror. Josh is starting to look older too. His hair is still dyed a soft purple, but the skin over his cheeks is no longer firm and the muscles he worked hard to build up in his youth are gone now. Jenna is twenty five and in college, and she’s found meaning in the music that you and Josh created when you were her age. It breaks both of your hearts when you find her crying in her room during Christmas break.
Your parents died a few years ago, and as much as it still hurts to think about them, they live on in your songs. You never did buy her a house of gold, and he couldn’t stay even though you needed him to, but as long as the crowds keep singing those songs, they won’t be forgotten.
The shows are nowhere near as hyped up as they used to be. They still sell out arenas, but you no longer have the energy to jump off your old piano or dance around stage as if the sky controlled your limbs. Josh’s arms can’t drum to the faster songs now, and you’re finding it harder to scream into the microphone every other night. You sing about wanting to be a better father now, about what death might bring. And as much as you love those kids who followed you on this journey and are growing old too, you’re tired. You’re so tired.
You’ve been singing about demons and insecurities and mental illness for decades now. You need to write, and you need to perform, but singing so often about such dark topics has left you drained. You start to wonder if the fans will be okay after you’re gone.
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At sixty two, Twenty One Pilots plays their last show in Columbus, Ohio. There’s an indescribable air to it, a mixture of nostalgia and adrenaline and something bittersweet. It’s the loudest show you’ve ever played, and you and Josh try your best to make it the most memorable. You go out in the crowd during a few songs again, something you haven’t done in years because your bones hurt too much, and although it is uncomfortable, you can’t stop smiling throughout the show.
The last song you ever play is the one you wrote thirty eight years ago to tell those kids to stay alive. Those kids are here now, which grey hair and aching joints just like you, and you can’t help but cry a little because you realize that so many of them decided to stay alive after listening to this song.
At the end of the concert, you and Josh stand in front of the audience, and bow, just like any other show. Neither of you want to leave. You want to stay there on that stage forever, soaking in the cheers of the crowd and tell them they are lovely until the end of time. But the night must come to an end, and you tell them you are Twenty One Pilots, and so were they.
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At seventy, you and Josh have moved to a tiny cottage in the countryside. No one here has heard your names, and you prefer it that way. Sure, you keep up with fans on social media and go out to cities to interact sometimes, but the quietness of the country is exactly what you need after more than thirty years of singing in front of thousands of people.
Your back aches every morning now, and Jenna has a kid. Ruby visits you and Josh every weekend, and she’s a reminder that there’s promise in new life.
Josh still looks like perfection to you. His eyes still crinkle when he smiles and his tongue still pokes out between his teeth. His eyes are still the most beautiful shade of brown you’ve ever seen, and his tattoos are still your favorite piece of artwork. The two of you still hold hands when you sleep. Whenever you have the energy to play a song on your piano (the same one from that first show forty nine years ago, that you used in every tour and every show since then, that you never replaced because it was a reminder of your roots and a time when things were simple), Josh is right next to you on the bench, lightly drumming on his knees the way he used to during live acoustic performances.
You both have new tattoos by now, and years ago (you can’t remember exactly what year anymore), you decided to get another set of matching tattoos. Even now your heart beats faster when you remember the way Josh looked at you when he said “I love you” into the microphone to be transcribed into audio waves. The tattoo of those waves is now on your chest, right beneath your heart, and his tattoo is on his left bicep. His name is still on your thigh, and sometimes, when you close your eyes, you can still hear those kids from all those years ago singing Bohemian Rhapsody as Josh tattooed it on you, and you can still hear Josh’s breath hitching in his throat when the needle first touched your skin.
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At eighty, you find yourself carrying a bouquet of flowers (statice and primrose, Josh’s favorites) and leaning on a polished cane as you walk through the first grass of spring. You make your way towards your destination, and when you reach it, you have to spend a few moments to regain your breath. Climbing up hills is hard work for you now.
A slab of white marble juts out of the ground, with the name Joshua William Joseph-Dun engraved in it. You set down the flowers in front of it and sit down. Nothing new. You’ve been doing this every week since he died.
You tell him about your week, how Ruby came to visit and how she found his old drum kit. You tell him about how it was the same drum kit whose head he broke from that one show back when you were still young. You tell him how much you miss him, how much you miss holding his hand to sleep, how much you miss his dark brown eyes and his lips and his obnoxiously dyed hair. You tell him that he gave you a reason to believe in love again, and you aren’t afraid of death anymore because he’s on the other side.
A few hours later, when you’ve talked about everything you can think about, you slowly stand up, pat the stone, and make your way home.