[Pete; Migraine by Twenty One Pilots captured in The Live Room]

FIVE:: when you get 'the talk'

After they'd stopped yelling, my head stopped spinning from Paul's proximity, and Pete had excused himself to go order a pizza in the silence of a different room, Paul had proceeded to introduce me to his friends.

Landon who was funny and a little eccentric, was also the youngest of the group besides Pete. My assumption of him being the most immature was confirmed when their ages were announced, him being nineteen- I'd been seventeen, turning eighteen soon- his brother Brandon older by only a minute.

Brandon seemed nice enough and you could tell although he was nineteen, he was wiser than the others at a young age, his age only being matched when Paul has announced he was nineteen, Rilee falling in step behind him at twenty.

Apparently they lived in this rinky-dinky apartment owned by the twins' parents and left every once and a while, road tripping around the country and couch-hopping on a regular basis.

Occasionally they would stop here and stay but since Brandon was trying to get into a film school around this area, their trips had been put off and they'd been staying here for a while longer than expected.

That and the fact that they missed staying in one place for a while instead of living in 'moving circus complete with no air conditioning' as Rilee had so innocently put it.

I'd also learned that they ran a YouTube channel called LightofDay and they had over two million subscribers. Their channel had all types of artistic things including music which Landon grinned like a madman about when they'd played a video of him performing Migraine by Twenty One Pilots.

The guy had skill.

Rilee apparently designed their merch and appeared frequently in videos with Paul and Landon while Brandon did all the technical work. To say I was impressed was an understatement.

After watching a few videos, laughing at the pranks they'd pulled, and promising I'd subscribe later on, Pete had decided to ask about me.

"Well, I'm seventeen, I'll be eighteen in about two months and I play soccer."

I glanced at Paul who was staring at me intently, his eyes examining my face under tight scrutiny. His eyes seemed to have finally registered that I was in fact less than fine and the ice pack was barely stopping the bruising and swelling. My face hurt like hell and so did my body as I tried to move myself around without showing too much pain, "What happened to your face?"

Pete's eyes widened as he sat himself back on the couch next to his brother, his hand came out to swat his arm, "Dude, don't pry!"

My palms were sweaty, my teeth latching onto my bottom lip as I tried to find a reason to excuse myself, "Uh... Where's your bathroom?" I asked, my smile more forced than before my eyes trained on my bruised knuckles.

Rilee answered kindly as she kicked her feet up on Brandon's lap, "Down the hall, second door to your left."

I briefly heard Landon yell a, "Don't use the blue soap!"

"Why not?"

They chuckled, Rilee giggling out the explanation, "It's not soap."

: : :

Somehow within the time it took to navigate myself to the bathroom, I made my way into a room, a bedroom to be exact. There were two beds in this room proving my assumption that they had to share. My eyes ran over the perimeter as I made my way further, looking around.

What confused me was the fact that the left side of the room seemed to be lived in and then the side closest to the window was completely spotless. My eyes glanced around the walls and the block letters on opposing walls. The left wall said RILEE written in big letters and the floor was littered with scrap paper, a mountain of sketchbooks propped up on a bedside table. There was also a computer sitting on a painted desk in the middle of the room, separating the sides.

The wall closest to the window had PAUL written in big black letters smeared with paint and as I looked further down onto the small makeshift bedside table, there were paint cans upon cans, canvases stacked against the wall. a painting peeking through the overlapping white, a sheet covering most. Aside from the covered painting, the walls were covered in paint, a not done mural I supposed although you couldn't tell exactly what it was at the moment. But even though the main attraction was the wall, I couldn't keep my attention from the painting.

Making my way over, I reached up to run my hand across the sheet to pull it open a bit.

I was curious.

"What are you doing?" Paul's voice sounded through the room , giving me goosebumps as I spun on my heels. His voice wasn't accusing but more confused as he plopped his back on his bed after fixing the sheet over his canvas.

"Uh nothing, I was just... looking out the window."

"In my bedroom?"

"Y-yeah." I tried to laugh it off. "It-it sounds weird now that we're talking about it but the view's nice and I kinda—" intruded on your space. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

Paul nodded, crossing his arms behind his head and laying down on them, facing the ceiling. I was about to head for the door when his voice stopped me. I hadn't expected him to talk when he did, his tone holding nothing short of curiosity and concern, "What happened to your face?"

I hesitated before biting my cheek and rocking on my heels, my eyes wandering around the room as I tried to make it seem like less of a big deal, "Calum."

I heard a creak and turned to see Paul sitting up in his bed. His eyes were glued on me as I fidgeted nervously, he seemed to be really invested in what I had to say. He pushed his sleeves up before standing and placing a hand on my shoulder, his socks creating little indents in the carpet, "That guy you were..?"

I nodded, "Yeah," he motioned his hand as if to tell me to elaborate. I sighed, "I told him I loved him, he rejected me, he said some shit about my sister, we fought, and he went ham on my face."

It went silent, I don't know what I was expecting but it definitely wasn't to be wrapped up in Paul's arms. His hand drew big comforting circles on my back as he held me, the rise and fall of his chest steadying my train of thought as it took everything in me not to have those emotions hit me hard.

Paul's voice came out remorseful and raspy as if he hadn't spoken for a while. My throat closed up, "I'm sorry."

I shrugged, men don't cry, "It's okay. I mean, it's not all bad."

I could hear his humor as he pulled away and held me at arms length, the curvature of his smile sending the corner of my mouth shooting upwards, "Whys that?"

I laughed, trying to add some sense of humor I order to make the situation less awkward. It was one of those moments where I could either keep talking about the shit going on in my life and make him uncomfortable or laugh it off. And I pretended my feelings weren't feeling, numbing my mind, "I found out that he's an asshole before falling further in love with him."

"That sucks."

Why was I about to start fucking crying? "Everyone knows."

"Jules." It was soft and his hand was on mine and it felt so nice. I almost couldn't hear him, my heart was pounding so fast. "It's no one's business. Fuck them. You've done nothing to deserve this."

I shrugged.

"People are gonna talk but they don't matter."

"Did people talk about you?"

"I'm sure."

"It's not all bad." He smiled. "I'm here talking to you."

"I like talking to you."

"Me too."

He nodded, and almost as if he were reminding me, I felt my throat closing up. "You're gonna feel good eventually now that it's off your chest but that was no one's place to take that from you." He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and I'd committed that to memory. It was his nervous habit, "So, I'm sorry."

"Don't sweat it."

Paul shrugged at me, pushing my shoulder lightly so I walked back a few steps. He sighed falling back onto his bed, holding himself up on his elbows as he looked at me, "If it's any consolation, you're nice, you're a good brother, and you're really appealing. You can do way better than some asswipe like that. "

I bit back the heat that threatened to rush to my face and rubbed the side of my nose, forgetting about the pain. I smiled, "Thanks."

"You've got a nice ass too."

: : :

"Hey J," my dad greeted as he'd walked into my room later that night, his knuckles barely grazing the door. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket but his business attire was still clinging to him as the style in his hair gave out. My dad was a tired man although only in his early forties, numerous cases in which he would stress started to create bags under his eyes and a five-o'clock shadow that didn't look at all planned to be there.

"S'up dad?" I asked as I concentrated on not hitting myself in the face with my soccar-ball; I laid on my back, tossing it in the air and catching it. I didn't have any friends to talk to at the time and that hurt, what hurt even worse was the fact that my sister was awkward around me now and Paul hadn't called once.

I tried to recall when Paul had become something high on the lists of what contributed to my happiness.

My dad scratched his stubble before making his way further into my room, purposely leaving the door open as he sat on my old gaming chair that I hadn't used in years, "Can we uh talk?"

I shrugged, "Sure." Focusing on not dropping the ball, I kept bouncing it up into the air with the palms of my hands making sure not to catch.

He cleared his throat, "How did things go with Cal?" He asked, catching me off guard.

"What?" My head whipped to the side as I stared with wide-eyes at my father, the ball plummeting down and hitting the side of my nose. I clutched it painfully as he continued to talk, oblivious to my pain.

He scoffed, "I was born at night but it wasn't last night. How are things going?"

My sister would call that sass, something that apparently stereotypical gay guys had.

Good thing, I wasn't that stereotypical.

I breathed out through my mouth, evenly as I tried tilting my head back to relieve blood flow which only sent in the crushing headache. My eyes screwed tight, "We're not really er speaking at the moment." Or any moment.

Dad nodded, "You know I support you, right?"

"What is this about?"

He turned to look at me, stopping mid explanation. I was confused until I realized the multiple injuries on my face. My jaw was a little discolored, bruises where bruises normally wouldn't be, my nose was fifty shades of black and blue, and there was a faint red from the time I'd spent wiping off blood in a certain area of my face. And even though the swelling had gone down, my dad's face was still relatively pale, "It's just- holy shit, what happened to your face?"

I rolled my eyes, "I got into a fight."

"About?"

Letting out a dry laugh, I thought about whether or not to tell the truth, "Oh, I just walked down to the elementary school and picked a fight with an eight year old over which band was better, Naked Brothers or my favorite, the Jonas Bro-"

My dad's chuckle interrupted me as he shoot his head, "Shut it, asswipe."

"Ay ay, Old Man. So, did you need something because the side of my face and my pillow here were about to get reacquainted."

He huffed, "I've been doing research because I care and I'm really unsure if I er... Can talk to you about this kind of..." My dad trailed off as my attention was brought to him and away from my own attempt at humor, "I mean, I accept you one hundred percent and I don't want you to take this as some assholic statement. I just want you to be careful and I want you to be strong. There are a lot of people out there who disagree with this kind of stuff and I- well, I wanted to make sure you're safe and okay with everything." My dad rushed out awkwardly as his hand came over to pull on the joystick on my gaming seat.

"What?" I asked, tossing the soccer-ball high before catching it and staring towards him as he fiddled with the buttons.

"Are you okay with being gay?"

I shrugged, there seemed to be a lot of shrugging in our conversation, "I don't know..."

He sighed, the tone turning onto a deep and undiscovered road that we'd never crossed before, "Son, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable and like you can't, you know... talk to me."

"I'm fine talking to you. Mom on the other hand..."

"What happened exactly?"

I shrugged, "She basically called me a defective sin and told me I was going to Hell."

I heard my father let out a desolate sigh, he seemed upset and that was one of the only times I'd ever seen him letting his emotions go, "Sometimes I just don't understand that woman." His head was in his hands as he ran his fingers through his hair, "I'll try and talk to her."

I simply shrugged again, "It's fine. I wasn't expecting it but it's fine."

Shaking his head rapidly, his hands clasped pin front of him, lips set in a straight line, "No it's not."

"It's fine, dad. Honestly, I get it. It was stupid of me to not expect my preacher mother to disagree with my sexuality."

"Julian, we love you. It might not feel like it sometimes but we love you and we care about you."

Yeah they loved me but to love me you didn't have to like me. I bit my bottom lip, breathing out heavily, "Would you still love me if I wasn't sure about my religion or lack thereof?"

He nodded immediately, not once did he hesitate, "It's okay to not be sure of what you believe in. I remember a time where I was atheist. I always went back to Science because it made the most sense to me but one day, I found something to believe in and I understand how hard that is to not know. It's okay, I'd still love you reguardless."

"Thank you."

"For what?" I didn't even know why I was thanking him, maybe because he didn't make me feel alienated and he understood even though he didn't understand.

"Just... thanks, dad."

My dad brushed off he touchy-feels explanation as his green eyes honed in on my nose once again, "No problem then, there's some aspirin in the kitchen cabinet, we'll go to the hospital tomorrow."

He was standing already as he made his way to the door, tossing my PS3 controller at me as if trying to send me a signal. I knew that signal loud and clear, it was a 'do-something-you-look-like-a-loser' sign, "Aren't we supposed to, I don't know, go get it checked out right after the injury?"

"I'm almost positive it's not broken, night, asswipe."

"Night father," I said mockingly and on his way out, he turned the switch to my light, cloaking me in darkness.

My phone vibrated for the first time all day as it sat in my pocket and a little part of me hoped it was Calum. A lot of me was relieved when I read Paul's name on my screen.

'Night Jules.'

A/N:

I've been more obsessed than usual with Twenty One Pilots, I don't even know why. But Tyler and Josh have been my babes forever and will forever have a place in my heart.

Tyler and I are soulmates...
#Tyler SPREAD THE WORD

Updated: Wednesday, Mar. 4

[its almost Thursday which is only 24 hours before Friday and an hour is only 60 minutes. so therefore it's almost Friday and Friday means I have a full TWO DAYS off of school, FUCK YES.]