[ooo we starting a job today boys]

We're all surprised to say the least, when two days later the author of Graveyard Blues turns up, and it's two separate people.

Joshua Tyler is a pseudonym for a pair named Josh Dun and Tyler Joseph. Josh's hair is shaved at the sides and dyed on the top, and Tyler's is growing out but it's still decently short. They both like the color yellow a bit too much, and I could easily throw their bodies in a garbage bin if the occasion ever arose. I'd just have to strip the bright colors and burn them to ashes.

Brendon and Taylor are overwhelmed in their presence, and I imagine Hayley would be too. I don't understand the big deal, but that's far from important. I should have read at least the first book.

Graveyard Blues was — and is — a hit series. They're practically millionaires, and they give most of their earnings to charities and people in need. Either way, they can afford to fire most of the crew and rewrite half the script, because that's what they do.

At first, they're dramatically concerned with the casting choices. They sit down with the major and minor characters, and end up firing everyone but me, Taylor, the stunt doubles, a handful of extras including the ones trained in acting like zombies, and Jenna. She's promoted.

Josh looks us over while Tyler starts listing other actors he believes would be a good fit for the open positions to run them by us. "I think we only got a say with you two. I'm so glad, honestly, because—"

"Do you guys have a psychic connection?" I can't help but blurt it out. I know it's difficult to write a book with another person, and to have it flow so well is a feat on its own. Brendon glares at me and angrily squeezes my hand. He can't believe I asked that.

Tyler glances up from his phone for a moment to glance over me again. "You're just like Dallas." His voice is monotonous, uninterested. I like him. It doesn't seem like he gives a shit like his partner does.

Josh nods. "Yes you are, and definitely. That's why we started writing; we were really good at it when we worked together. It's like we share the same brain."

Taylor and Brendon are quickly involved, drastically more so than I pretend to be. "That's so cool! When one of you gets hurt can the other feel it? Can you guys hear each other's thoughts? Are you telepathic? Can you see the future too? What am I thinking of right now?"

They're frowning and giving the other concerned looks. "No telepathy or mind reading, but yes to the first one," Josh lifts his elbow and peels off a large pale bandage covering a deep purple burn mark, "Tyler was upstate and I bumped a hot pan on the stove when I was cooking dinner."

Then Tyler carefully rolls up the sleeve to his button-up and shows us a red bruise exactly where Josh's is, in the same place and same shape. "I was eating cereal for dinner and I literally thought I was fucking dying."

"Of happiness because we're so in tune with each other!"

"I passed out and almost drowned in my cereal milk, Joshua."

Josh purses his lips and folds his hands on the pile of paperwork in front of him. His smile is forced, and a little distressed. "We're very excited to be working with you guys as this mess continues. On that topic, are the other crew members any good?"

Taylor shrugs. "Fire the prop manager, and that's it. He sniffed my hair yesterday."

🔪

I don't know what switch flipped, but he's all over me for the rest of the activity-less day. We spend the day at a little lake in the middle of nowhere while Josh and Tyler try to sort everything out on their own.

We'd headed down to a little store to pick up snacks and supplies for a picnic, and he held my hand the entire time, and kissed me four times, only one of those on the cheek. I reciprocated twice, only for the cameras.

The lake is disgusting. The drastically increasing population of invasive Zebra Mussels has taken a toll on the native wildlife, so there is really nothing left but water and mussels.

He sits at the edge of the water, holding a Tupperware container packed with strawberries and mango slices. He's happy as can be, content with the silence and my presence a few feet behind him.

I don't want to get too close to the water while he's there with me. It'd be too easy and taunting to end everything. I take a picture instead and send it through to Instagram with a heart in the caption.  The notifications pop up on his phone beside me — djw tagged you in a photo, djw just posted a photo, hayleyyy liked a photo you were tagged in, joshuatyler commented on a photo you were tagged in. He has notifications for everything.

Brendon turns to me from the shore. "I heard Josh and Tyler found a new actor for the secondary character. They're like, book-Taylor's witchy friend I think."

"Okay."

"...Do you wanna guess who it is?"

"No."

He sighs and stares at me through his sunglasses. They're blunt responses, but the truth. "Pete Wentz, the guy from that one horror movie you liked. Can you at least try to play along next time? I hate when you do that."

I met Pete at a premiere a few years ago, when he was invited to the first showing of a film I starred in. We talked for a few minutes until he ran off to sneak in a bag of McDonald's for the screening. That was all I'd heard about him, and I didn't care to learn any more. He also starred in a movie about a serial killer. That was a good one, but not very lifelike. Psychopathy was depicted all wrong. "Sorry."

He locks the Tupperware container and crawls up the sand to sit beside me and start munching on another cup of fruit from the cooler bag he insisted on bringing. "It's fine. Ready for the animal adoption tomorrow morning?"

I am not. I don't believe spending a few hours with small animals would be beneficial to maintaining a stable level of sanity, but he thinks it will. He's usually right. "No. How long is it?"

"Two hours. The whole event lasts until sunset, so be thankful we're only there for a bit. It'll be fun I think. You'll like the dogs."

I don't believe I will like the dogs, but I nod anyways and rope him into my grip. He likes hugs, and I don't, but it's a humanizing action so I do it frequently. He curls into my chest and forgets everything about me.

"It would be fairly easy to pick you up and toss you in the lake." I nudge him in the hopes he'd move before I actually take action, but he mumbles to himself and grabs on to my shirt tighter. His eyes are closed and his breaths turn to shallow sighs.

He'd be mad if I did it, but slight psychological torment is often an expression of affection. He'd get over it quickly too, so maybe it wouldn't even matter. It's not like I care. Clothes can dry. Cellphones can be replaced.

Either way, I slip his phone out of his pocket and kick the towel over it. He barely even stirs when I pick him up like a monster lifts the unconscious love interest in a film. He does cling on to my shoulders as he wakes up and realizes I'm standing in the lake up to my waist, and his shorts are centimeters away from the waves.

"I thought you liked the water."

His nails start digging into my skin. "If you don't put me down right now I swear I will let the hamster loose in your bed! It shits everywhere!"

"My bed is your bed as well, so nice try, but I will put you down." He relaxes, until I lean forward and dunk both of us. It's at the perfect depth, as soon as my feet leave the sand, there's nothing.

I stay there underwater even after Brendon's peeling his drenched shirt off and untying his shoes. I'm floating in a sea of nothingness.

I feel nothing, I hear nothing, and I can barely breathe. I couldn't care less if I stopped breathing. People would be sad, they'd miss me, and maybe I'd get a few social media tags trending on Twitter, but I don't care. I wish I could show Brendon; he wanted to know what it felt like, but he never understands. Maybe he isn't supposed to.

I watch him run his hands through his hair and the water drops ripple on the surface. He looks down at me and frowns, and his hand dips under to grab my shirt and pull me above the water.

I expect him to be upset, but he's smiling and splashing around when I wipe my eyes. "What were you doing down there? It can't have been that interesting — this lake is so boring. I'd rather watch beige paint dry."

Brendon still loves me. I don't understand, but I don't plan to argue. Whatever helps me seem like the average actor in the eye of the public, I can muscle through it.

I shrug and reach for his hand under the gentle waves. "It was quiet."