CASUAL AFFAIR; brendon urie

Chapter Three

I didn't really expect anything else from Dallon, really. But that didn't stop my jaw dropping open when we pulled up into the gravel driveway of our Gram-Gram's lakehouse.

We'd set off early, and had arrived early, and I was damn glad we had because Gram-Gram's driveway wasn't all that big, and there was no doubt it would be packed in no time at all.

The glass-panelled walls showed that Dallon had just about every single light of the house on, and from what I could see inside, he'd gone full party mood - giant keggers, stereos as tall as me in each corner of the room, streamers, CONGRATULATIONS! banners, at least one table laden with many different kinds of alcohol and even a hastily erected mini-stage in the living area. I looked extra hard at the stage, to see his beloved Gibson guitar propped against an amp box, along with a drum kit with the bands insignia, two other guitars, a keyboard and a microphone. Huh. So Dallon was gonna be treating us all tonight with his first public performance as a member of Panic! At The Disco.

"Gram-Gram will not be happy with Dally if he doesn't get this shit cleaned up tomorrow morning." I said in a sing-song voice a sister can use when she's pleased with the prospect of a sibling being busted.

"But you know Dallon. He's like the Houdini of house parties." Jessa said, gazing at it in awe.

I nodded, putting the car into park and turning the engine off. He was - didn't matter what state something got in, Dallon just made it all magically disappear. I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel, before slapping Jessa's leg to get her attention, and grinning when she gave me a startled-then-frumpy look. I hooked a thumb to outside. "Let's go."

I could feel the vibrations of The All-American Rejects's Beekeeper's Daughter on the flagstone walkway as we went up it, and they went all the way up my legs, giving me that butterfly feeling in my stomach. Jessa gripped my arm with both hands in a vice-like grip, and squealed, doing a jumpy little happy dance. "Tonight is gonna be so frickin' sweet!"

My knuckles were literally just about to make contact with the wood to rap on it, when the door flew open, and Jessa had to grab my arm to stop me from tumbling inward.

Dallon - of course - stood there, grinning that megawatt crazy-ass grin of his, hair still in that rumpled mess of chocolate brown tousles, but he had swapped his shirt and jeans for a black shirt pushed up to his elbows, white tie, grey tweed waistcoat and black skinny dress trousers. He leant in a sort of draped, lanky way against the doorframe, and clutched a beer bottle in his hand. "Ain't no party like a Dallon Weekes party, cos' a Dallon Weekes party don't stop!" he hollered, taking a swig. Two silver chains swung from the crook of his elbow, and one had a red heart on it, the words REINVENT in block capitals in the centre, and the other was a circle, the joined ends ornate with a flower design etched on the metal, and had the words Panic! At The Disco in the metalwork.

"Oh, bother, oh brother." I shook my head a little in disdain. "Looks set to be something of a night."

"Why, of course." He bowed a little. "You expecting any less would be insulting." He took my hand, and brought it to his lips, before pulling away and looking at my nails critically. "Cute." He gave a pleased sort of smile as he took them in - the clear but pearly polish, the white French tips, and, of course, the piece-de-résistance, the small, Poirot-inspired magnificent moustaches that adorned each one. "What am I saying? They're fucking rad."

I smiled, an actual pleased smile, and patted his cheek affectionately. "Why, thank you, big brother."

He paused a moment, before turning to Jessa, and giving her an equally crazy ass, albeit more charming grin. "Hey there, sister from another mister."