{panic! at the disco}
{haven't you ever heard of closing the door? - Brendon Urie X reader}
You walked up and knocked on the door, a plate full of brownies in your hand. You had new neighbors, and you were starting to reassess what you had worn. Maybe it was too causual. Maybe it made you look like a wannabe hipster.
You weren't really sure what vibe the P!ATD, your favorite 'band' ever, Shirt would give. Maybe that paired with your black ripped jeans, and band brackets made you look emo. You weren't sure. You were about to turn around, when the door opened.
At first, you could only hear the voice. And it sounded way too familiar.
"Yeeeeeeeeees?" A voice rung out. It souded oddly like... Brendon Urie? You put down your wildfire thoughts and smiled.
"Hi- I'm your neighbor right next door. I just brought some cookies- you know the shit they do in movies?" You say.
And out, steps out God almighty, Brendon Urie. He smiles sheepishly and your shirt, and you think you look like a crazed fangirl at that point.
"Holy Fuck. Fucking Brendon Urie is my mother fucking son of a duck neighbor" you mutter under your breath. He must have heard you, because the he starts to chuckle.
"You a fan?" He asks, biting his lip. Ugh, why was that so damn hot. You slowly nodded, and then motioned to the endless band brackets and your shirt. He smiled, and invited you in.
Your heart skipped a beat. You were about to enter THE, and I quote, GOD OF MUSIC's room. It was scattered with boxes, and you kept the platter of cookies down. The apartment was almost the same as yours.
Suddenly, you tripped on a not so conveniently placed spoon. You feel yourself falling, and shit your eyes tightly for the impact that never comes. Instead, you feel strong hands around your waist. Your head spinning from the nausea of falling, you made a grunting like sound to signal that you could get up now.
Brendon brought you up to a standing position, and slowly slithered his hands from your waist. Agonizingly slow. You felt pricks of heat wherever his hands and arms where, and then a sudden longing and miss for his touch.
You turned around, to see him blushing. You smiled and left the cookie platter on the kitchen counter while walking away. You needed to take your mind off the fact the freakin Brendon Urie was your new neighbor.
You took out the shiny electric guitar out of its case. The (y/f/c) guitar stood in place. You plugged it in, than fumbled around for the tuner. Luckily- it only took you a minute to this it- shorter than ever. You grabbed a book, and scribble a bunch of random chords and started to play them out. Eventually, you came to a good beat, and started to softly sing the lyrics.
You're out of breath, and write down everything you just sung. You start to scramble out some awords, changing it over and over and again- until you reach a song. You close the notebook- sighing in victory. You had forgotten about your crazy fangirl episode, and plopped backwards into your bed. You head over to the couch and switch on the radio and start to sing your favorite song- Don't Threaten me with a good time.
You're so into the song, you don't hear the door creak open or the low chuckle as you dance crazily around. You hit every note perfectly, and shake your butt like there's no tommorow. You're eyes are shut, and you bumped into someone.
Suddenly, you're eyes flutter open, and readjust to the light. The chorus rings in the background and there stands your holy shit he's hot of a neighbor.
"Uh- Well- You see- I'm a" you start. He chuckles.
"Haven't you ever heard of closing the damn door?" He jokes "You're a good singer you know." You look at him like he's crazy.
"I heard you singing," he knocks on the walls "really thin. Like paper thin." He smiles evilly.
"Thanks?"
"No problem. Hey, Can I check out the chords to that song? Who's it by? What's the name of the song? Are they good?" He asks, suddenly bombarding you with questions.
"You see- uh- I wrote that song, and it's called- " you think for a moment "Yours and Mine." He smiles to your surprise.
"Nice." Is all he could say. You motion him to come follow you into your room- which was recently cleaned out. Your electric guitar lay on your bed and you hand him the old notebook, and flip to the right page.
"That's a beautiful guitar there." You blush.
"But not as beautiful as you" he mutters.
"Wh-what?" You say, confused.
"What? N-Nah-Nothing" he stutters. You laugh. You had a feeling this would be the start of something great.
