Tyed

chapter one

Tyler drowns the loneliness of the big city with several different measures, all stacked on top of one another to mask the sadness most effectively. He's never home or at work on any nights that the club's open; not that he needs to worry about work anymore, he thinks with a thrill that's followed by immediate bitterness and anger. The alcohol certainly puts a fuzzy edge on every sharp emotion that accumulates, like grot in a drain, in the back of his mind. When the alcohol itself is fiery and bitter, he likes it, because it gets him drunk quicker. Fire, real fire, he leaves in his past when he can. The heat of another person, though, he always finds quickly and easily, and it's always a good distraction from the unpleasant situations he makes for himself. It's that compulsion that drives him out to a bar with his friends the same day he lost his job.

When Nancy told him she was going, he was already swirling with the guilt of having to tell Tee that he'd lost the job he'd gotten him only just last month, as well as stewing in the anger still left over from the very incident that had lost him said job. It wasn't his fault that his manager was so fucking unreasonable, after all. Tyler had a couple hundred dollars in his account still, some of which would get him rent for exactly one week going forward. The rest, though, could safely be wasted on forgetting his guilt and anger and trouble for exactly one night.

He was surviving on the good will of his three roommates as it was. The only reason he had a job was because Shouto had been constantly on his back about the fact that he hadn't paid rent for weeks. The fact that he tried would get Shouto to shut up for a while, and maybe Tee would take pity on him for a little while after that, and he'd figure out the rest of it when he got there.

When Tyler responded with enthusiasm to follow, Nancy must've known something was up. She implied that would be a bad idea, but reluctantly said she wouldn't stop him. He ignored her reluctance; leaving the house was a good excuse to get in the shower, after all, something Tyler found himself often forgetting when he was in less-than-ideals states, such as currently. A distraction was what he craved right now. A distraction was what Nancy was offering.

Tee gives him a suspicious side-eye as he goes downstairs. Tee's smart, and Tyler's pretty sure he already knows that Tyler's lost his job, but neither of them say anything about it. If he asks, Tyler will say he meant to tell him but was looking for the right time. Which is true, he is waiting for the right time- which, preferably, is when they're both black-out drunk and Tee will only vaguely remember, but Tyler can say 'well I did tell you!' and get away with it.

But the conversation stays away from the topic of Tyler's failures, and he prefers it that way. He's silent, and lets Shouto drive in peace while the other two chat about how crazy Nancy's friend James is. An unspoken boon that Tyler receives is never having to be the designated driver, because Tyler couldn't drive. He'd gotten his learner's permit on his sixteenth birthday, but his mother couldn't drive and his stepfather was always too busy to drive him, so in the past three and a half years, he'd never received enough practice hours needed to go for his license. It was a huge detriment to his mobility, but a blessing when it came to getting drunk off his ass on weekends.

When the four arrive at the bar, Tyler gets hit with the familiar uneasiness that often strikes him when he's met with a crowd of strangers. Their gross, sweaty bodies, strange smells, grabby hands, rough skin- it was always a little scary at first glance. The trick was to bite his tongue and push through it, because the humiliation of running away was worse for his bottomless pride. The trick was to get to them first, to be the one in control of any and every interaction. When Tyler was in control, they couldn't hurt him, and that was what was important.

So he pushes into the crowd first and sidles up to the bar, making the first dent in the meagre remainders of his bank account. "One Malibu and coke, please."