(Mis)fortune (Frerard, Petekey)

Chapter 9

Brendon Urie was, if you put it simply, a stripper. Actually, there was no other way to put it, really, because he was, indeed, a stripper. And even though his shy façade might have been very confusing to anyone who had ever met him, he was probably the sluttiest one out there.

But he was good at what he did and proud of it.

Other than that, he was also a great friend, and that would be why he was currently heading towards the bar to pick up one of his friends off the floor and not sucking his boyfriend off in their bedroom.

And if Gerard hadn't gotten so shitfaced he could barely see, he would have been grateful for Brendon's kindness. But all he had gotten out of his mouth was just a mix of slurred words that didn't make any sense to Brendon.

The dark-haired man was maybe kind of wishing Ryan hadn't been sick that night so he could help him with the idiot who was apparently way too drunk to even walk by himself because otherwise Brendon wouldn't have had to carry him around like the fucking Sleeping Beauty.

Brendon wondered how Gerard had managed to fall asleep when the music- wait! Fuck! Gerard was asleep!

"Fuck, fuck fuck!" Brendon brought two fingers to Gerard's neck to check the pulse and thanks fucking God, there was one. "Gee, wake up." He tried shaking the man in his arms, getting a soft mumble out of him, which, he reckoned, was better than nothing, though he still had no idea what he was talking about.

"Gee, just stay with me, okay? Don't fall asleep, stay awake, yeah?" And Brendon was a literal wizard because not only was he able to not drop Gerard the whole time, but he also managed to grab a water bottle from some random guy on his way to the front door. The guy wasn't exactly enthusiastic about it according to the "what the fuck" he'd called out after Brendon, but he didn't bother following them.

"Mmm 'wake, wanna go home." Brendon nearly had a heart attack and died when the limp body moved and spoke up and he definitely must have looked more than ridiculous when he jumped and shrieked but he tried to play it off like it totally wasn't him at all, and focused on opening the door and walking outside.

He heard a soft thump and then groaning, realizing Gerard's head had collided with the door frame. Normally, he would have been terrified as to if the person is alright, but this was Gerard and he was an asshole and Brendon was far more than angry at him than he'd care to discuss. And so he laughed because Gerard deserved it, and Brendon didn't even feel bad about it.

"Shut up." Gerard muttered drunkily, rubbing his forehead which wasn't even nearly as huge as Brendon's but with the forming bruise it would look just as funny.

"Why? It's your own fucking fault you're drunk as fuck. Do you even realize how scared I was? I thought you were dead for good three seconds, you dick. What the hell were you thinking?" It wasn't even the silence as much as it was the sudden abudance of encumbrance that made him sceptic. "Gee?" And just then our little Brendon came to the awareness something was wrong. "God damn it."

He stopped and sat Gerard on the ground so his back was leaning against a wall. He shook his shoulder and since that didn't work he slapped his friend across the cheek so hard it would wake even Sleeping Beauty the fuck up.

"Motherfuck-"

"Good, you're up." Brendon said, unscrewing the lid of the stolen bottle. "Drink up." He commanded, putting it to Gerard's mouth. He parted his lips a little and drank some of the water.

As Brendon was kneeling in front of him, he finally took the moment to check the state Gerard was in. His red hair was greasy and sweaty, sticking to his forehead. He still had on the makeup from the show that was earlier that night, though the eyeliner was smudged under his eyes and he looked like he just woke up after a night full of sex and drugs. Which actually might have been a possibility if Brendon hadn't gotten him out of the club.