twenty one pilots one shots

Cracks

A/N: It's 12:14 AM and I haven't posted a one-shot in a while so here you go

People involved: Tyler and Josh

Warning(s): Suicide, self-harm mention

It was 2, 3 in the morning and I had woken up to the sound of my phone ringing.

I sat up, groaning and reached to grab my phone.

I frowned at the unknown number.

But I answered anyway.

I got out of my bed to help wake myself up a bit as I began the conversation.

"Hello?"

"Is this Joshua Dun?"

I swallowed. "Y-yes, sir. This is he."

"Look, this isn't easy for me to tell you, son, but I have to."

I felt my blood run cold, the goosebumps rising on my skin. "T-tell me what?" I stammered, an uneasy feeling churning my stomach.

The man on the other line sighed. "I'm afraid that your friend, Tyler Joseph, has just committed suicide."

My fingers lost their grip.

I heard my phone thudding on the soft carpet.

All the air in my lungs escaped its cage in a single, shocked exhale.

My knees turned to water and I fell to my knees, the reservoir behind my eyes overflowing.

The tears caused an irritating sensation as they pricked at my eyelashes, refusing to spill for Tyler.

I could faintly hear the man on the other line say "Hello?" and "Mr. Dun?" repeatedly.

My whole body shook as I felt a wave of freezing cold air gust through my very being.

I tried to breathe regularly so I could calm down, but my lungs didn't seem to want to filter the air I breathed in if Tyler's lungs weren't either.

I swallowed hard and picked my phone back up.

"Th-thank you, sir."

"Are you okay, Mr. Dun?"

"My best friend just killed himself, of course I'm not okay!"

In my head, the words were supposed to be angry; how dare this man ask me such a thing?

But the tears clogging my throat distorted my words, making them come out rough and croaky.

"I-I'm sorry, Mr. Dun. I'm sorry for offending you, and I am sorry for your loss. Good-bye, Mr. Dun."

The line went dead.

I sighed shakily and hung up.

I looked down at my phone and unlocked it, swiping to get to my photos.

I clicked on the album titled "Tyler <3".

578 pictures of my best friend in the whole world.

I chuckled at one where he was making a funny face.

I smiled at one I took on his fifth-year anniversary of his being clean from self-harm.

He must've broken that streak just minutes ago.

As I went through the album, I grew increasingly more angry.

He was smiling in so many of them, and now he'll never smile again.

I lost it when I got to video I had recorded a few months back.

It was him singing a modified version of "Truce."

I'll stay alive, stay alive, for you...

I will die, but now my life is free

I'll take pride in what is sure to die.

I gritted my teeth, hot, angry tears pouring out of my eyes.

"LIAR!" I screamed, hurling my phone at the wall.

I watched as the projectile collided with the still wall, my phone screen shattering instantly and my case flying off.

I began to wail, hugging my knees to my chest. "Liar..." I muttered, over and over. "Big, far liar!"

The tears of sorrow finally decided to drip off my eyelashes, leaving a salty taste in my mouth.

I now hold my phone in my hand, staring blankly at the cracks.

Today, these cracks turn two years old.

Now these cracks serve as a grim reminder of all the things I didn't do that could've saved him.

Now his ghost runs through these jagged, angry lines; threads of his paranormal being soaking into my skin as I ran my thumb over his new home.

In these cracks was a memoir of the biggest screw-ups a best friend could make.

"Don't let me be gone," He had begged against my lips.

Now all I had left of him was these cracks engraved on my screen.

"Two years..." I muttered, rubbing my thumb over the cracks for what must've been the millionth time. "Feels like two centuries without you, Tyler."

Two years.

Two years of grief.

Two years of anger.

Two years of guilt.

Two years of counseling.

Two years of loneliness.

Two years without him.

Two years was too long.

I open up the notes on my phone and began to type.

It's only fair that I crack, as well.

And that was it.

That was my final message to the world.

I set my phone down with the note still open and walk to the bathroom.

If I'm gonna go out now, I might as well go out like Tyler did; an empty pill bottle in my dead hand, and cuts on my raw wrists.

So I did it.

I created 17 cuts, 9 on the left wrist, and 8 on the right, just like Tyler.

I had never seen so much red before.

I scrambled for a pill bottle and shakily uncapped it, downing it all in one swallow.

I was growing weak.

I was dying.

"I don't care about whatever comes after this, Tyler; I just hope that wherever I go, we'll be able to fix each other's cracks."

I close my eyes and let out a sigh as my body goes still.

______________

Man, I hate this lol

But vote and comment anyway bc most of you seem to like my crappy writing.

Stay alive |-/
-Bailey