CASUAL AFFAIR; brendon urie

Chapter Four

Jessa already had a new beer in hand and was talking animatedly with Ian and Spencer, arms flailing and gesturing wildly as she no doubt exaggerated a true event, and they all laughed, and off Dallon went again, when the doorbell chimed, scooping up more necklaces as he passed a table with a bowl full of them. I could hear him throw the door open, give the same little Dallon Weekes party rhyme, and the laughter of at least four more voices.

And that's how I found myself leaving the living area, and going out onto the balcony that jutted out over the lake.

Opening the door, I didn't realise how warm it had been in the party until the night air hit me. I could feel my cheeks turn a ruddy pink, and my arms goose pimpled. I ran my hands up and down my arms in an effort to rid myself of them as I walked up the stairs and along to walkway, the lake water glittering black down below me.

I threw my arms on the railing, one atop the other, and pushed up on my toes so that my midsection was pressed against the railing hard, cutting into my stomach. I sucked in a deep breath of air, filling my lungs up with it, and letting the slight California breeze lift my hair up, teasing it by letting it drop and picking it up again.

And I was so comfortable in my aloneness then, that when I heard the voice behind me I all but actually shit myself.

"God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." He apologised, holding his palm out as you would do to try and calm a spooked animal, a beer bottle held precariously by the neck with the fingers on his other hand.

My first - and most irrelevant - thought was that his beer bottle could slip out his fingers any second, crashing to the ground and smashing into tiny pieces. My second, and probably more understandable, one was that I knew this man in front of me. Well ... no, I didn't know him.

Only by pictures in magazines, the internet, ones my brother had taken of goofing about and being general idiots, and by word of my brother's mouth.

Seeing him, for real, in the flesh, was like discovering the bottom of the rainbow. Or a unicorn. Something along those lines, anyway.

I must have been gawping like a goldfish, because his brow furrowed a little, and he waved a hand in front of my face, clicking his fingers, and repeating his apology, albeit more slowly, like there was either a chance I hadn't heard him, or was simple. His expression seemed to change a little, soften, and he added an "Are you ok?" on the end.

"I ... I ..." my jaw worked uselessly, failing to give me any words, words that would pluck me out my predicament. "I'm ok, I guess." I finally managed, before shaking myself a little and mentally kicking myself up the ass. "I'm sorry." I shook my head. "I meant to say that I'm fine, but I-"

"Recognised me?"

I tried to give a nonchalant shrug, and nodded.

He let out a laugh, and his full pink lips curved into a smile. "So I have one of those faces, huh?" he rubbed his free hand over the light layer of stubble on his jaw.

He seemed to think something to himself - probably I need to shave soon - but then again, how would I know that? He could be thinking about his dog, or more beer or something equally unrelated and irrelevant. He seemed to suddenly remember that I was there, and his politeness returned as he extended a hand to me. "I guess you know that I'm Brendon."

Of course I fucking know that you're Brendon Urie. "Florence." I took his hand, feeling the warmth and callouses years of playing guitar gave you, and shook it firmly. "But feel free to abbreviate it any which way you want. Everybody else does."

"Florrie?"

"Everything else but that."

"Flo?"