///Brendon Urie Imagines///

Writer's block

A/n; hey guys I know it's been like over a week since I've updated and I am sorry, I had a pretty shitty week and then had absolutely no creativity to write anything, and that's where this one kinda spawned from. Also, guys this book is nearly at 400 reads wtf i'm so hype. also plz send requests i am d y i n g

*SMUT WARNING ;)*

My hand glides over the smooth sheets, suddenly feeling very aware of the fact that his warm body isn't right behind me like always. I turn my body over, now facing towards his side of the bed. It's empty, he's not in bed anymore. I look at the alarm clock, it's just after eight. He's never up this early, neither of us are. Faint piano notes fill my ears and I sit up and stretch. I yawn once more before getting up off of the mattress. I flinch when my feet hit the ground, the wooden flooring is too cold. I reach out for my slippers and nearly fall off the edge of the bed, but I finally reach them. I throw on my robe over my tank top and shorts, not feeling like getting dressed for the day. I just want to go back to sleep, but I need his help with that.

The tune gets louder as I reach the den. I'm forced to smile when I see him, scribbling notes onto a piece of paper and then repeating a few keys. He pushes his glasses up and wipes his face, he looks so drained and tired. He doesn't notice me standing at the edge of the hallway just yet. He continues his actions on the piano, now with a few words as well. Brendon in his songwriting trance was something I'd come accustomed to in the past few years, and seeing him so focused in on his music was something I could watch for hours. But right now, I just wanted to hold him as I slept.

"Bren? Come back to bed, baby." My voice makes him jump, pulling him directly out of the zone. I felt bad for a second, but he just shakes his head and writes down a few more things on the paper.

"Can't, I gotta write this. I had a great idea and I had to keep it going. Did I wake you?" He puts the pencil to his lips to hold it and scoots a little farther down on the piano bench. Despite the inviting gesture, his hands go back to the keys and continue playing. I sit down and lean my head on his shoulder, and I'm surprised when he doesn't fight me off.

"You can finish this later, B. Please, it's so early. It's not even nine yet." A voice in the back of my head scolds me, I say it's early when most people have started their entire days by now.

"Really? What time is-" He presses the button on his phone to check the time. 8:13. "Already? Wow," He wipes his eyes again.

"When did you get up?" My tone has changed now, it went from needy and tired to a more demanding one. If he wanted to spend the day writing, that was okay, but he shouldn't ruin his sleeping habits over it. He mumbles an answer and I look up at him with stern eyes. "Hm?"

"I think it was just before four. I'm not sure though. It was early." I sigh and shut my eyes tightly. I reach for his hand, pulling it off of the piano and up to my lips. I kiss his knuckles lightly, but his other hand continues to work at the various keys.

"C'mon, Brendon. I'm tired, you've been up so long, just come back to bed." I open my eyes, my demeanor changing again. My voice is pleading, and I can tell that he hears how desperate I sound. His eyes fall on me, but he sadly shakes his head. I stick out my bottom lip, and he chuckles and kisses my forehead.

"Why don't you go on ahead, and I'll be in soon. I'm almost done with this verse. I swear. Just like, twenty minutes. I'll be there before you know it." I lean up and place a quick kiss on his lips and stand up. He watches me head back towards the bedroom tiredly, and as soon as I'm out of sight he continues writing. I lay onto the bed, waiting for him to enter the room and cuddle up to me. The clock ticks on, and five minutes turns into fifteen minutes, which turns into thirty minutes, and I'm still left in bed alone. I feel myself dozing off, against what my mind is telling me to do. I want to stay up and wait for him, but I know that he won't come for a while. He loses track of time when writing, he probably thinks that less than ten minutes has passed. I drift into sleep mode, clutching the big duvet tightly, as if it could compare to the man just down the hall.