Somebody Else (Tyrus One-Shot)
Summary:
"Cyrus turned to the door that had creaked open, knowing he should have felt reassured by the face that peeked through, looking at him with concern. Hell, 3 months ago he would’ve immediately let loose all tension, walked over to him and sunk in his arms, forgetting everything that was tying him up in a ball of stress.
But this wasn’t 3 months ago. This was now, and seeing that face, at that time, when he was questioning everything, he knew."
Loosely based on the song 'You're Somebody Else' by flora cash
Words: 3254
thank you to @indubitablywrong for helping me out!!!
AO3 LINK IN REBLOG
~~~~~~~
Pressure.
Wasn’t it supposed to be the feeling of weight, pressing down on your chest, suffocating you? Gripped around your heart like a black vice?
So then why did Cyrus feel instead that he was being pulled apart? Like he was a piece of elastic tied to two sticks being tugged and tugged and tugged, stretched thin in the middle? Like he was going to snap at any second, breaking and tearing his world apart?
Because that was what he thought, groaning loudly, as he leaned back against his chair, bending back, the harsh light of his study desk illuminating his scattered papers and almost-negatively charged laptop. His head felt like a supernova had decided to cram its way into the spaces between his skull and his brain, filling up his body in blinding pain. The room was dark, and Cyrus had somehow been lucky enough to get his own room, so there was no roommate to worry about.
He slumped forward, the vibrating of his phone drilling a bore in his mind right above his nose, ramming pain all the way in. He hadn’t slept in what felt like aeons, and every fibre of his body wanted to pick himself up off the chair and collapse into bed. Alone. But he couldn’t do that. Because there was drama club, and the magazine, and the newsletter and not to forget his coursework, and goddamn it there was the pressure again, tearing him up bit by bit by bit.
He could just send one text…
No, it was too hard.
But he was just a building over….
But he was never around, never free. Neither was Cyrus, really. They rarely got to see each other, except for their regularly scheduled date nights twice a month where every time they met, the dates grew shorter and shorter.
So basically, he wasn’t texting him because it wasn’t working out.
So then what was the point of him being at that university when the whole point of him choosing it was to stay close to him?
Cyrus shook his head, ignoring the dull muscle ache in his neck. He couldn’t think about that. His hand itched for the phone, half of him pulling him toward it with millions of tiny invisible hands, pushing to send just one text to the name that used to hold a million hearts after the contact name, but now was just a word. But the other half of him had cuffed his wrists to the table, keeping him locked there, knowing that if he sent that text, one thing would lead to another and everything would crumble around him, scattering like tiny pieces, mixing in with the dust that floated in the air during the day when the sunlight wafted in through the windows. But in the end, he didn’t need to send the text.
Because the storm had been building the past 3 months, each raindrop, each bit of debris soaked up into a big black cloud. Every silent streak, every ignored call, every skipped date, every time they let each other go a bit more, all accumulated into a ball of lightning and thunder, tied up in an ugly knot in that same black cloud. A cloud that now stood at Cyrus’ door, with all the fury straining and fighting to get out.
And it was about to.
“Cy?”
Fuck.
Cyrus turned to the door that had creaked open, knowing he should have felt reassured by the face that peeked through, looking at him with concern. Hell, 3 months ago he would’ve immediately let loose all tension, walked over to him and sunk in his arms, forgetting everything that was tying him up in a ball of stress.
But this wasn’t 3 months ago. This was now, and seeing that face, at that time, when he was questioning everything, he knew.
Cyrus knew it was the end.
So he stifled a sigh and got up from his chair.
“Hey Teej.”
TJ walked in, switching on the light of the room as he walked in. He stood to the side, opposite Cyrus, hands stuffed in his pockets as he balanced on the balls of his feet. The distance between them was so, so much. They never used to be like this, they never had this distance between them. But now here they were, on opposite sides, facing each other with no words to say to the person they loved so dearly.
Cyrus kept his gaze down, scratching through the skin on the inside of his thumb, already drawing blood, but he couldn’t stop. He gnawed on his lips, his teeth hitting an open cut and he almost let out a hiss, but he was used to it. There was nothing else he could do, because TJ wasn’t moving or saying anything, and he didn’t know what to say or do, because they hadn’t been alone in a room without other people for more than 6 weeks, and they had only seen each other on their date nights, in a café or a restaurant, surrounded by loud crowds as they shrank into silence within 10 minutes. Finally, he caved, asking the question clawing at the back of his mind.
“What are you doing here?”
TJ looked up, startled out of his own thoughts. Only then, Cyrus realised he had been muttering to himself all the while Cyrus was looking down. He had been pulling at his hoodie (another stupid basketball one) as he appeared to rehearse something in his mind. He coughed slightly, wiping his nose. “I, you didn’t answer your phone. So I came to check on you.”
Cyrus huffed softly, picking up his phone, exhaling as he saw the 35 missed calls. “Sorry I, I was busy,’ he said quietly, setting down the phone on the scattered papers and books. He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing what was coming, because he had just added the last drop of rain to the thundercloud, and it was one drop too many. And now it was going to burst.
He heard a light scoff, and opened his eyes, looking at TJ, who was turning away. “Yeah. You’re always busy,” he said, words dripping from his mouth like poison from spikes.
Cyrus looked down, drawing a shaky breath. “I, I’m sorry, I just have,” he muttered, nervously running his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry.”
He sat back down, sinking into the back of his chair, his headache not helping him focus or keep his vision up. He knew the matter wasn’t over, but the small, naïve part of him wished it was, wished TJ would sigh and wrap him up in a hug, tell him it was okay and that he had nothing to be sorry. But he knew better. He had everything to be sorry for, and he knew that TJ deserved to be mad, and he knew the exact fucking words that were going to leave his mouth in 5 seconds, the ones he didn’t want to hear from TJ, but he knew he had to because he was all out of luck. He was all out of time, time that he had held in his hands like he was the owner, letting TJ believe him blindly. But he had to give it up. Because he needed to face the words.
“We need to talk, Cyrus.”
There it was.
Cyrus gulped, pushing himself off the chair, walking over to the side of the room where TJ stood, but still keeping too much space between them. He kept his eyes down, the rug’s hues blinding and captivating him, taking him away, anywhere but where he was. The small kid still stuck inside him hoped that when he sat down, grabbing TJ’s hand and pulling him down like at a sleepover, the rug would become their magic carpet, flying them away to a future where they made it, where college was a place where even though they were plagued by stress, they would find an anchor in each other. They would fly by graduation, smiling together as their parents cried over photographs. They’d dance through their futures, sailing down the aisle, ending up together, sitting together. Holding hands as their grandkids played in their backyard as the barbeque smoke wafted through the air. Together. That was what he wanted to fly to, holding TJ’s hand, trapping his fears there. But that was a fantasy. And Cyrus had to wake up.
So he looked up, tears already brimming. And TJ was looking away, playing with his fingers. And Cyrus knew that he was itching to grab Cyrus’ hand, just like was itching to grab TJ’s. But they couldn’t do that, it would just make it harder.
They both just stood there, unsure of who should start. How does one pick up the sledgehammer and strike the first blow into a relationship?
It wasn’t the first blow. It was the first of the last blows. The foundations were blown. Now just to tip it the right way.
TJ finally sucked in a deep breath. “Cyrus, I,” he started, his voice choked with unsaid words and wasted tears. “When we,” he started again, looking up to hold back tears from falling, words wavering. “When you told me you’re going to the same college as me, I, I felt so happy. I remember, I, I, spun you around just crying of happiness,” he smiled sadly to himself, spinning his fingers, Cyrus’ memory pulling that visual to the forefront of his mind. “I thought, ‘This is amazing! I’ll see Cy and we’ll make it through college together,’ and I just felt happy,” TJ laughed to himself, wiping away a stray tear. But his smile fell. “But, even then you started to slip away. You just, you looked like you were pushing a smile on your face. And every time I saw you drop your smile when you thought I wasn’t looking, it fucking killed me,” he said quietly, voice breaking like glass falling on the ground. TJ looked up, tears now flowing down his face like a polluted river, a barrage of water coming to drown Cyrus, choking him and dragging him along with the current. “And then,” he continued cruelly, shrugging. “As soon as we got here, it seemed like you took everything you could to keep yourself busy, to keep me away.”
“That’s not,” Cyrus tried to speak up, his voice small, but TJ ignored him, pushing ahead painfully.
“And it worked,” he sniffed, rubbing his red nose. “I got busy too, trying to fill the time you used to hold. But you never left my mind, and that fucking sucked. Because in my mind we were okay, and I still dreamed of walking down the fucking aisle with you,” TJ almost yelped. “But out here,” he said forcefully, his words growing louder and louder. “We barely even look at each other during our so-called dates! So tell me, if that’s us being fucking okay Cyrus!” he broke into a yell, immediately pulling his voice back, leaning against the wall, heaving as if all the breath had been knocked out of him.
Cyrus pressed his hand to his mouth to stop the whimper that was leaving his lips. He looked down, tears filling up his vision, keeping him feeling like he was underwater, being dragged further down. “TJ, I,” he whimpered, unable to find words to tell him, to explain, to fight for them. But there was nothing.
“I love you Cyrus,” TJ said quietly, his voice heavy. “But I can’t do this. I, I can’t keep doing this.”
That should have been the end, the final words, and they both would walk away and break down alone. But for some reason, this small part of Cyrus, the part that had been muscled down by pressure and guilt and stress, the part that led Cyrus to trust TJ the first day on those swings, to grab that shirt from the MintChip sale to go to him, the one that pushed him to look for TJ in Andi’s backyard that fateful party, wrestled its way out. And that part wanted to fight for TJ to stay, for them to stay together, to try and stop him from leaving.
“TJ, I,” he said, grabbing him by the arm, immediately letting go. God even grabbing each other’s arms had become weird. “I’m sorry, just please don’t leave, we, we can work this out! I’m sorry I’m so busy, but, but it’s not because I wanna stay away from you! I love you, I love you so fucking much, that’s why I decided to come here instead, so I could stay with you. TJ, please we can work this out, just don’t leave,” he said in one breath, tears pricking his eyes, some even rolling down as his voice grew higher and higher the more he felt the panic rise up, bubbling like an angry ocean.
But TJ just stopped, looking up slowly, eyes red and puffy. But his expression was cold and accusing, and Cyrus felt a shiver run down his spine. He had never looked at him like that before.
“What do you mean you chose to come here instead?”
Cyrus seized up, moving back. No no no not that question. Why did he have to ask that question? Why did he have to catch that? “W-What do you mean?” he said, letting out a short laugh.
“Cyrus,” TJ said plainly, looking at him painfully. And Cyrus caved, letting a tear slip out as he looked down.
“I applied here at the last minute, when you said you were going after you got your early action,” he whispered, gulping the knot that had built up in his throat. “I actually got into Stanford like I wanted to, but I rejected it.”
“What?” TJ whispered, and Cyrus squeezed his eyes shut, his face scrunching up as he felt the sobs hiding behind the thinly veiled curtain of his control. “You got into the place you wanted to, and just decided to say fuck it and apply last-minute here?” he asked, walking forward, up to Cyrus. “What, because I was here? What the fuck Cyrus? You told me you didn’t get it anywhere so that’s why you were applying here!” he said loudly, and Cyrus flinched, looking away.
“If I told you why you would’ve made me go to Stanford,” he said quietly, and TJ scoffed loudly.
“Cyrus, Stanford was your dream! And you gave it up just because of me!” TJ said, pinching the bridge of his nose as he paced back and forth. “And worse than that, you lied to me!”
“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry,” Cyrus pleaded, walking up to TJ, reaching out to cup his cheeks as tears rolled down his face fast, faster than his heart’s racing beat. “I just wanted to be with you TJ, please understand. I, I love you and I couldn’t, just leave,” he continued, as TJ pushed his hands away and he sniffed loudly, trying to wipe away the tears, his breath hitching more and more. He couldn’t find any air to breathe, but he had to find it in himself to gain control, because TJ was there, angry with him, and he had to get him to not hate him. “I just wanted to be with you.”
“Cyrus, that isn’t like you!” TJ said, turning around, eyes red as tears brimmed in them. “You’re the kind of person to know their dreams and then somehow make it happen. That’s who you are! You’re set in your decisions!” TJ ran his fingers through his hair, looking away. “You, you’re right here, and I don’t even recognise you! You’re somebody else!”
“I’m sorry,” Cyrus whimpered, leaning against his chair, chest heaving as sobs started to escape his lips, and he tried to hold them back, he really did. But the dam had broken, the last brick knocked out as the water poured, storming and flooding everything it touched. But Cyrus looked up and saw TJ leaning against the wall, tears streaming down his face as he breathed heavily. Both their dams had broken, and they used to be able to fix each other, to repair every crack impeccably. But now, they both had lost each other’s blueprints.
Cyrus looked at TJ, who looked up to look at him, eyes shining in the white dorm light with the tears that stood till there. And all the fight that small part of him had left him, knowing that this was the end.
So, Cyrus crossed the room, each step feeling like walking on burning coals, the broken glass scattered across the floor. He walked up to TJ, the black cloud stopping its thunder and lightning, the theatrics and horror and fury over. All that was left was rain. Cold, cold rain. Pouring down in buckets, drenching the rubble of their relationship. Cyrus could almost feel the rain as he cupped TJ’s tear-stained cheek. He could barely see over the teardrops hiding his eyes, but it didn’t matter anymore. It was the rain, after all. Rain hid everything.
So Cyrus kissed TJ, pulling him to him, kissing him with all the emotion he had lost over the past 3 months. He tried to get TJ to feel what he wanted to say.
He had fucked up.
He loved him more than anything.
He was sorry.
He was sorry.
Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Goodbye. And TJ kissed him back equally fiercely, trying to say the same things back, trying to make Cyrus realise that this was inevitable, that this wasn’t just him, or just TJ, it was both of them. That he was sorry.
When they pulled away, cheeks wet and out of breath, they hugged each other, both too scared to let go, to strike the last blow. But eventually, they had to.
They pulled away, and Cyrus nodded, letting the tears fall down as TJ caressed his cheek one last time, walking out the door, closing it behind him with a soft lock.
And the dam broke again, and Cyrus collapsed to the ground, screaming as tears formed a river. And he screamed and screamed and screamed until there was no more air in his lungs and his voice cried for him to stop.
On the other side of campus, TJ did the same, and Marty pleaded at his door, trying to get him to open it. But he just screamed and cried, punching the wall every now and then until his knuckles were raw and it hurt to move them.
And the rain poured around the rubble, and Cyrus and TJ let themselves get drenched, not bothering for an umbrella as they let it pour around them. But with it was the feeling of a weight being lifted, and pressure’s stretch lessened ever so slightly.
Because this had been inevitable.
They would be okay. Not soon. Maybe they would look back every now and then, a pang of regret in their heart. And Cyrus would remember TJ in every hoodie he touched as he strolled through a store, and every time he would walk into a bakery and see a blueberry macadamia muffin. And TJ would remember Cyrus in every swingset he would pass, and every time someone offered him a chocolate chocolate chip muffin.
They would be okay. But for then, they would let the storm pour down on them.
~~~~~~~~
sorry not sorry
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@imhereforthetryus @thelonious-jagger-smitten @youve-got-to-be-kippen-me @tjskipping @luzawithoutu
Taglist for this fic:
@bambiandambi @tyrus-and-the-swings @tylercamebackyes @heart-eyes-kippen
