TITLE; Farmer Chords

AUTHOR; allyyyyy

SHIP; Drake/Josh

DISCLAIMER; I don't own them, even if I'd really like to.

RATING; G, really. It's slash if you squint but definitely not explicitly so. But we all like subtext, yes?

SUMMARY; Josh has a nightmare and Drake isn't there.

WARNINGS; Well none, it's future!fic though, I suppose.

WORD COUNT; 504.

AUTHOR'S NOTE; This is my first time writing anything in this fandom and so hopefully it does the pairing justice. Oh and the song is Farmer Chords by Ben Gibbard.

I can't begin to compete with you
and everyone knows
I know you know it, too.
It's a complicated fear
that grows with every year
and it's walking on it's own, finally
All I can offer are farmer chords,
these simple rhymes and you painted in words
You can sing this when alone
or whistle it through your teeth
and it will feel like home
no matter how far you'll be
from my lonely arms outstretched
just beyond your reach
singing "ooh, baby, please..."

There are nights when he wakes up in a hot sweat, panting and absolutely terrified of nothing and everything all at once. Those are the nights that without even bothering to adjust to the light, he stammers out of bed, bleary eyed and shaking, and moves directly for Drake's bed. Only he isn't there. It's just a door to a closet that contains the remains of his once life.

Those are the nights that he picks up his phone. Those are the nights that he dials a number that is forever engrained in his brain. It is three hours earlier there and he knows that he'll be awake but he doesn't answer. Those are the nights that he hears two rings before it clicks to voicemail. Those are the nights he doesn't need to talk; he just needs to hear it. To hear the strum of chords dancing around one another, weaving an intricate pattern that he is certain you would find winding through his heart, dipping into soul and defining him more than words ever could.

Crumbling back into his bed, he presses his head back against the headboard and listens until his breath calms and he feels less like the world might just swallow him up whole. The melody ends and there are no words only a beep. He doesn't speak, he doesn't have to. He just hangs up and calls right back.

There are four more rings before the voicemail clicks on again, more than normal. And maybe that is more comforting than the song, than the lullaby that stills his very being. It's the hesitation so deep that he can almost see a hand lingering over a button on the phone, needing desperately to answer but knowing what was needed more.

Drake could answer. He could put the phone to his ear and listen to a voice so many miles away. He could sit there and just listen to the steady stream of breathing that would filter through to him, the constant up and down that was all he needed as much as Josh needed the song. But he doesn't because somewhere along the way he had given him a place that rested just a bit higher than himself.

No instead he waits, his phone clung to his chest as he counts out chords in his head and hums along with a tune that he knows by heart. And while across the country, sleep finds Josh again, a phone still tangled against his neck, Drake needs only the polyphonic chime that tells him there is a message waiting for him as well. One that is void of words and chords but rather the living breathing proof that he is still there and that he is ok now.

With the faintest grasp at a smile, he slinks lower in his own bed and falls asleep with the phone pressed against his ear, the hum of breathing and a muttered declaration enough to push him into the abyss of sleep and contentment.