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Tyler can’t really remember when the first butterfly arrived.
In a way, it feels like it’s always been there, fluttering gently around his ribcage since the moment he met Josh. Or maybe even before then – something that materialized in the breaths taken between the two of them in one of those tiny venues Twenty One Pilots first played.
Josh’s joy at those gigs, and gigs in general, was so palpable. It was like his body couldn’t contain all the positive things he was experiencing, so he had to headbang, to jump, to cheer and clap and dance. Tyler would be lying if he said his gaze hadn’t snagged on Josh back then, as if Josh’s presence was a magnet.
And it only got better once the two of them actually met.
Josh was many things, and the number just grew and grew as he and Tyler got closer. He was gentle, but protective of his friends and family. He was quiet, but also funnier than most people assumed. And from the very start, Josh was attentive – more attentive than most.
He paid attention when Tyler said he didn’t love physical contact, but somehow he’d worm his way right next to Tyler on the couch when they had friends over. More than once, they’d accidentally fallen asleep right next to each other. The Mario Kart loading screen continued to loop on the TV as Tyler’s head lolled onto Josh’s shoulder. And even though Tyler truly preferred not touching people in most scenarios, somehow it just felt different when it was Josh.
Tyler only noticed the first butterfly about a year into their friendship. They’d stayed up late into the night talking about their hopes and dreams, as early twenty-somethings did. They wanted a lot of the same things, at least professionally, with the underlying cause of creating music that connected people in a special way. That told them “You’re not alone” in ways both explicit and subtle.
“I want to make music for more than just me,” Tyler said, scraping his pointer finger along the fabric on the beat-up couch. “Writing songs is a way for me to express myself, yeah, but… I want them to be a resource for other people, too.”
Josh sat up from where he’d been lying on the floor, frowning slightly. He regarded Tyler as he shoved a hand into his dark hair.
“Ty, no offense, but you already do that,” Josh replied carefully. “So do you mean you just want to keep doing it? And on, like… a bigger scale?”
Tyler felt his face flush, a twisting sensation gripping his stomach.
“What do you mean?”
A knowing grin played across Josh’s lips.
“You’re always your own worst critic, dude. You may want to keep doing bigger and better things, but that doesn’t mean what you already made isn’t great.”
“The first album was… fine,” Tyler acquiesced, “and I don’t hate it. But even though some people connected with it, I’m not sure a ton of people would.”
“I did.” Josh’s voice was steady, and his warm, dark brown eyes locked on Tyler’s, as if his eye contact could make the statement even more true. “I did, and I’m sure more people than you’d think would, too.”
Josh stretched, lacing his fingers together in front of him and leaning forward. His elbows popped. He exhaled deeply, blinking, before looking back up at Tyler.
“What you do – it’s something special, Tyler. And I’m so glad to be a part of it now.”
In that moment, Tyler realized that the hollow feeling in his stomach was actually a butterfly. Full of life, darting around. Something that made him feel lighter.
And the butterflies just multiplied over the years.
ʚɞ
Josh notices more than people realize. It’s not so much that he’s a calculating person who tallies someone’s wins and failures; it’s that he’s spent so much of his life being the relatively silent guy in the corner who has little else to do other than take everything in.
So it was incredibly obvious to Josh when Tyler began to really open up to him.
It didn’t happen overnight, but it still happened quicker than Josh expected. At first, Tyler was a bit of an enigma. Outgoing yet reserved, so comfortable onstage yet very aware and sensitive to what other people thought of him. So Josh made the out-of-character decision to approach Tyler first. Mainly to talk about Tyler’s band, of which Josh was very much a fan. But there was something else too.
In the years since, Josh has heard it called an “invisible string.” Something tying people together, intertwining their fates without them realizing.
Tyler brings out parts of Josh that Josh didn’t know he had. It’s a trend that’s continued throughout their friendship – no matter how much Josh thinks he knows about himself or Tyler, Tyler always manages to unearth something unexpected.
Over the years, Tyler has insisted on encouraging Josh to talk more in interviews. Josh knew when they started to gain an audience during Vessel that he would be expected to speak occasionally in promo videos and interviews – there was, after all, only two of them in the band – but this is different.
“You have an interesting perspective,” Tyler said one day. They were sitting with Mark in Tyler’s living room, all three of them unwrapping their Taco Bell orders. Mark nodded in agreement as he shifted the paper to uncover the first bite of his crunchwrap.
Josh’s face burned. “I really don’t think it’s that interesting,” he mumbled, stopping to take a sip of his Baja Blast. “At least, not enough to share often.”
He set his cup down on the ground, furtively checking to make sure the lid was on tight before letting his eyes drift back to Tyler.
“Plenty of bands have drummers who are quiet. That’s sorta our thing. A lot of us go hard on our instruments because we’re soft-spoken otherwise.”
“Yeah, but you’re literally half of our band,” Tyler countered. “And you’re–” He stopped short, nose crinkling as he scowled into his taco. “I don’t know. You’re special.”
A fluttery sensation bloomed in Josh’s navel, a fire licking its way to brush against his ribcage. He looked around the room helplessly, trying to grasp at what he could possibly say in response to that. Framed art of landscapes that Jenna had just scored from a yard sale sat passively on their walls, refusing to help him.
Somewhere along the way, Tyler had gotten comfortable saying things like that about Josh to anyone who would listen. It was somehow something that Josh never got used to. He didn’t mind it, of course – it always felt nice to get recognition. But it wasn’t always about his drumming or his work ethic. Sometimes, it was about… everything.
“I like everything about Josh,” Tyler had said in a behind-the-scenes video Mark had put together during their recording sessions for Blurryface. He’d said it in that self-deferential way that occasionally bothered Josh; Tyler was a great human being who often had trouble seeing his own worth. And when he framed himself against Josh, it didn’t necessarily make Josh feel good.
But that audio clip… it haunted Josh. It replayed in his mind sometimes on sleepless nights, butterflies flitting around in his stomach.
Tyler isn’t always vocal about what he is thinking or feeling. He prefers to let his thoughts show through his actions, no matter how small they are. So when Tyler does feel the need to speak, he shares his affection loudly and frequently.
“I think it’s safe to say that being in a two-man band is as close as you can get to dating someone,” Tyler once joked in a fan press conference. Josh had grinned at Tyler as he answered. “So yes, I would date him.”
The fans in the room laughed, charmed, hanging on every word.
“Why?” Tyler asked, planning on answering the next part of the question. He paused for a split second – Josh could see the gears in his head turning as he decided whether he was going for a genuine or comedic answer. “It’s because he’s perfectly everything I’m not.”
Everyone in the room “awww”d, Josh sticking his lower lip out in a pouty expression that spoke to just how endearing he found Tyler’s answer. But under the surface, the wholesome answer had gnawed at Josh, the butterflies returning and lighting every nerve on fire. They flew around each other, circling endlessly like a weather vane on a windy day.
And those were just the things Tyler said. The little things he did – well, those were another story entirely.
ʚɞ
Neither of them knew how to use words to describe it, but every little action of care and love that they showed each other seemed to manifest as butterflies in their stomachs.
Tyler would text Josh late at night, sometimes when Josh was already asleep, about how thankful he was to have Josh as a friend, as a bandmate, as a creative partner. Josh would wake up to these messages, bleary-eyed, astonished to see the words that Tyler somehow had the presence of mind to write at 2:14 a.m.
And so another butterfly would spawn.
Tyler started going out of his way to tee Josh up for the perfect joke in an interview, encouraging him with a little eyebrow raise and a huge, shit-eating grin. It began to feel more and more natural for Josh to bring out his goofy side in the right circumstances. Before, he usually only felt comfortable revealing it to Tyler. But now, he’d improv little quips when being asked questions, wheezing out a soft laugh when he saw that Tyler had found it funny right off the bat.
The butterflies would gather together in a little cloud in the pit of his stomach sometimes. One more than one occasion Josh thought he was going to barf. But even when that temporary sensation would pass, he could still feel them fluttering around, jostling his nerves, making it hard to think straight.
He kept finding his thoughts drawn back to Tyler. He’d think about Tyler’s patience when trying to get Josh to open up a bit; he’d think about how Tyler never minded when Josh got a little too touchy-feely. And he’d also think about the perfect slope of Tyler’s nose; his bright, sharp gaze; his uneven bottom row of teeth; the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled.
So it wasn’t just the things Tyler did. It was everything about him.
He opened Josh up in every way.
And Josh did that for Tyler, in his own unique ways.
Tyler has never been the most emotionally stable person. Realistically, he knows that deep down most people aren’t, or at least they haven’t always been. But as time has marched on and he’s adapted to the world around him, Tyler has come to learn that certain things stabilize him better than others: a Taco Bell taco; a blindingly hot shower; a long drive through Columbus’s quieter areas with the windows of his car rolled down.
More than anything, though, the thing that stabilizes him best is Josh.
It’s both physical and mental; it’s both tough love and sweet, small, unasked-for acts of care.
Tyler vividly remembers a moment so mundane that other people would probably have brushed it aside. But he holds it dear, curled in his arms protectively, because it’s just one more example of Josh Dun’s empathy.
It was right before the band’s hiatus. Tyler had started to constantly shut himself in his basement so he could write new songs undisturbed. He’d work until 3 in the morning, when his eyes would finally go too cross-eyed to understand the scribbles that were supposed to be lyrics. Unfortunately, Josh caught on to this pattern.
They were both sitting in the basement studio, taking sips from lukewarm Redbulls as they talked over the storyline they wanted to create for the next album. It was early afternoon but Tyler couldn’t stop his eyelids from drooping, even as he spoke about his ideas for Trench.
“Dude, are you okay?”
Tyler startled a bit despite Josh’s even tone.
“Oh! Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just been having trouble sleeping lately.” He lifted the can of Redbull weakly. “These guys are my best friends right now.”
Josh frowned, hesitation taking root as his gaze swept over Tyler.
“You’ve been staying up late to write.”
It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. One that carried no judgment, only concern.
“Well, yeah,” he mumbled, reaching up to grab a piece of hair at the top of his head. He started to slowly roll it back and forth in his fingertips. “But I mean– it’s not a big deal. You know me, I work until stuff is perfect.”
Josh frowned again, this time accompanied with a very audible huff. But he turned his focus back to the computer screen in front of them.
After that, Tyler would receive a random text message from Josh every night around midnight:
“You’re a great writer. Go to sleep.”
“You won’t be any good tomorrow if you’re exhausted.”
“You deserve rest. Go to bed.”
And Tyler’s personal favorite:
“I’m going to hide all the Redbull in your house if you don’t go to sleep now.”
And those were small gestures compared to what Josh Dun went out of his way to do.
After one particularly draining show on the Icy Tour, Tyler’s legs nearly buckled underneath him. As he stumbled offstage, he panted, his body utterly spent. The crew led him and Josh to a staircase that led back to the green room within the underbelly of the arena.
“I got no legs left,” Tyler wheezed, stopping short of the set of stairs. He leaned over and set his hands on his knees. “My legs are gone.”
Wordlessly and quickly, Josh stepped in front of Tyler and crouched. When Tyler hesitated for a split second, Josh turned his head to the side and made eye contact.
“Get on.”
So Tyler slid onto Josh’s back and wrapped his arms around Josh’s neck. Josh grabbed the undersides of his calves, and stood before calmly carrying him down the stairs. As if this was just another occurrence on a normal day for Josh.
Because to Josh, Tyler knew, helping the people he loved like that was just as natural as breathing. As natural as the butterflies that they had both grown accustomed to.
ʚɞ
Butterflies in your stomach can be fickle. They can come and go in the blink of an eye; they can carry so little or so much weight. Many people often associate them with the feeling of a crush, or something fleeting. They either fizzle out or turn into something that hardens into a long-lasting, reliable feeling.
The butterflies weren’t like that for Tyler and Josh.
They built up over time, like snowdrifts that slowly accumulated over the course of a days-long winter storm. With each act of love toward one another, no matter how small, the number of butterflies grew. Then, one day, they became impossible to ignore.
They’d both changed since meeting each other. That much was obvious – to both the people around them and Josh and Tyler themselves.
Josh was still on the introverted side, but he was quicker with a joke or an additional detail for a story, even when talking to someone new.
And Tyler…
“A little softer than I used to be,” he’d mumbled one night.
His head was resting on Josh’s shoulder, just like it first had all those years ago. They were sitting next to each other on the couch – not a threadbare one, but one that was actual furniture that real adult humans would own. Tyler intertwined his fingers with Josh’s, feeling the warmth and the familiar calluses.
“Huh?” Josh breathed, eyes half-lidded, slow-blinking as he tried to wake back up. The light from the TV flickered over his face as Tyler lifted his head.
“I’m a little softer than I used to be,” Tyler repeated. He turned to look at Josh, placing a hand on the side of his jaw. “You did that.”
A mix of shock and understanding passed over Josh’s face as the statement sunk in.
“It wasn’t just me,” he said slowly, moving his hand up to cover Tyler’s. “You did stuff yourself, too. We’ve both done a lot of growing over the past few years.”
Tyler chuckled.
“Yeah, I guess we’ve both changed a little.” He tilted his head to the side. “You’re bolder. You shine brighter.”
Josh grinned back. Tyler started to rub gentle circles along his jawline, scraping the pad of his thumb across Josh’s stubble.
“You know something, Ty,” Josh said, his eyes sliding shut once again as he focused on the heat from Tyler’s hand, “you still give me butterflies. Even a decade after knowing you.”
Tyler brought his other hand up to the opposite side of Josh’s head, cradling it.
“Same here.”
Tyler cracked a crooked smile – soft, careful, but not fragile.
“It’s like all those butterflies broke us out of our little chrysalis that we had,” he mused. “We’re the best versions of ourselves now.”
Josh opened his eyes.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said. “I love you.”
Tyler pressed his forehead against Josh’s, feeling the slight rumble between their skin as he said, “I love you too.”
Then he slid down and kissed Josh. Slowly, openly, like they had all the time in the world.
And still, those butterflies remained.