FALL AWAY💀⌠J.T⌡

FALL AWAY

this is graphic and not for the faint of heart. please be very careful; there will be no further trigger warnings

"And my skin, it will start, to break up and fall apart."
-FALL AWAY by twenty one pilots

inspired by the song above

words: 15,607

⚜️💀⚜️

"Josh, you need to let him go."

Josh looked up from cleaning his gun, blinking in surprise at the sudden voice. From the corner of his eye, he saw the short but built figure of Mark hovering in the doorway. He paused before looking down at the smudged coffee table in front of him; a spring of the sofa he sat on poked his back.

In the den, the furniture was ripped and torn but usable; Josh often sat on the sad, sagging couch to contemplate how things had come to this, how things had fallen so far, so quickly, to chaos. He'd look at the dirty, glass coffee table and see the reflection man who once had goals, a man with a naive, beaming smile and dreams of starting a band with his best friend, dreams of sharing their music and taking over the world together, a man who missed his drums, missed his siblings, missed his parents, missed his stupid minimum-wage job at Guitar Center. He'd see tired, sunken eyes and permanently downturned lips and scraggly facial hair and features hardened from months of fighting for survival, fighting for a chance to make it just one more day and all for what? He saw a man who'd lost everything he'd ever wanted: his smile, his dream, and his best friend.

He stared at the table for a long while before cocking his gun and standing up from the couch.

"No."

"Josh—"

"I said, no," Josh hissed, voice dark and dangerous. Mark eyed the man's fist, white-knuckling the handle of his pistol, and then his expression, hard and bitter with downcast eyes. Mark shifted uncomfortably in the doorway, swiping a piece of short, dirty-blond hair away from his eyes and licking his lips.

"Josh, we..." His voice broke into a whisper. "We don't even know if he's still in there, man."

Without looking up, Josh raised his gun and fired at the wall next to Mark's face; the sound echoed around the sad, empty room, and the air seemed to drop to an icy chill. Frozen in place, Mark said nothing. The color had drained from his face, leaving nothing but a pale complexion and wide, shocked eyes. Josh kept his face down, but his eyes were undeniably cold when he finally raised his head. Holstering his gun, he picked up a tray of food that had been sitting on the table in front of him and walked towards the door, stopping in front of Mark and looking him dead in the eye.

"Say that again, and next time, I won't miss."

There was rumbling from the staircase: the sound of frantic, descending footsteps. "What happened?! I heard gunfire." Michael reached the landing with a fearful expression. Mark had yet to move. "Nothing," Josh answered, turning to face him, his voice remarkably calm for a man who'd just shot at one of his closest friends. "I'm going to see Tyler."

Josh pushed past Mark, who'd just begun to breathe again and made his way to the basement door, closing it behind him.

"Mark?" The man's head snapped toward Michael, who was eying him carefully, noting his pale complexion and sick features. His voice was confused and frightened; Mark felt similar emotions pumping throughout his bloodstream.

Mark wasn't stupid; he knew what the loss of a loved one could do to someone, hell, he'd lost a friend too. His chest still ached every time he thought of the melodious giggle and cheeky smirk that used to grace his presence every day, but every frantic denial and refusal that spewed from Josh's mouth just made his chest throb more. It had taken him a long time after the incident to get over the loss of his friend, but that had been months ago. Every time his name fell from between Josh's lips, the way he said it with such hope, such determination, like the name that once belonged still did, felt like a tug on the stitches of the wound he felt sure had healed