renojadee

[renojadee]

Letter Of An Old Poet

(josh dun x indigo blue (personal OC))

——

INDIGO

The lights in this club are too fucking red.

Like they’re trying to make everything look sexier than it is—like they can cover up the beer stains, the old piss smell, the regret clinging to the ceilings. But they can’t. They just make it feel like hell has mood lighting.

I adjust my guitar strap and exhale. Rowan’s bass thrums behind me like it’s trying to shake the truth out of me. Bug’s already tapping out some impatient rhythm on his snare, like we owe this shithole our best.

I lean into the mic. “We’re Glass Spine. This one’s called Blood on the Shower Curtain.”

The crowd doesn’t care. Why would they? It’s a Wednesday night. Everyone here’s either drunk or trying to forget someone. Same as me.

We kick off the song, and for a second, I disappear into it. Muscle memory, fury, grit. But then—

I see him. Back of the room. Hoodie up, hands jammed into his pockets like he’s trying to hold himself together.

Josh.

My stomach drops so fast I almost miss a chord. My fingers catch on the wrong fret and it squeals. Bug gives me a look like what the fuck, and I try to recover, but it’s too late. I’m already unraveling.

Josh Dun. Alive. In this club. Watching me.

He looks exactly the same and nothing like I remember. He’s thinner maybe. Or taller. Or maybe I’m just not high enough to blur the edges.

We haven’t seen each other in—what, two years? Three? Since that motel in Columbus with the broken AC and the last time I thought about dying for real.

I push through the rest of the set like I’m walking on glass barefoot. Every lyric feels like a confession I didn’t consent to. I can feel him out there, still as stone. Still listening. Still not moving.

I hate him for coming.

I hate him for not coming sooner.

I hate that part of me wants to walk straight into his arms and let it all fucking collapse. The set ends. A blur. My throat’s raw, my hands are shaking, and I feel like I’ve just puked my soul on the floor.

I don’t wait for applause. I just bolt backstage.

——

JOSH

I shouldn’t have come.

I told Tyler this was a bad idea. We were just supposed to grab a drink. Low-key. No past, no drama. Then he picks this club—the one with live music. I didn’t even think. Just followed him in.

Then I saw her.

Indigo Blue.

Same name, same sneer, same fucking boots. Like the universe lined it all up just to see if I’d crack.

She didn’t see me at first. I could’ve walked out. Should’ve walked out. But my feet felt nailed to the floor.

When she saw me, it hit her like a punch. Her fingers slipped, just for a second, but I saw it. Felt it in my chest. She kept going like nothing happened, but I know her too well. That wasn’t nothing.

Her voice broke me. Same voice that used to whisper things to me in the middle of the night when our hearts were beating too fast from whatever the fuck we took. Same voice that used to beg me not to leave, and then later, beg me to stay the hell away.

And now she’s singing like she’s bleeding. And I’m just standing here like an asshole, ghosting through her set like I don’t still dream about her on the worst nights.

Tyler’s beside me, vibing. He doesn’t know anything. Just thinks she’s good.

“She’s kinda amazing,” he says.

I nod. But it feels like swallowing broken glass. Because all I can think is:

I was supposed to ruin her, and instead, she survived me. And I still don’t know if I’m proud or pissed.

——

INDIGO

I slam my guitar into the case and don’t even bother coiling the cord. It’s a miracle I made it through the last song without screaming or crying or both.

Bug catches up to me first.

“Yo,” he says. “What the actual fuck happened out there?”

Rowan’s right behind him. Arms crossed. Eyes sharp. “You tanked the set. You good?”

“I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.”

I stare at the ground, trying to keep the world from spinning. “I saw someone.”

“An ex?” Bug asks, already dreading the answer.

I groan. “You could say that.”

“Is it who I think it is?” Rowan asks, quieter now.

I nod again. “Josh.”

They don’t need more than that.

Bug runs a hand down his face. “Shit.”

Then there’s a knock.

Rowan opens the door, and in walks this tall, soft-eyed guy with a polite smile. “Hey, sorry. Just wanted to say your set was amazing. Like, really powerful.”

Tyler.

Behind him, in the doorway, not stepping in, just… there—Josh.

He looks like a fucking ghost. Same hoodie. Same silence.

I don’t say anything.

Bug leans in, mutters, “That’s him, huh?”

I don’t respond. Just grip the water bottle in my hand like it’s keeping me from sinking.

Rowan steps forward. “Cool. We’re skipping drinks.”

Tyler blinks, confused.

Josh meets my eyes for half a second. Then he turns and walks away again. Like he always does.

[renojadee]

hey kids

the gays and i are doing stick and pokes, so chapters will be written.

( @worth-whale

@im-a-freaking-joy )