10 Days [Brallon]

Not-Patrick And Dallon's Couch

I'd decided to take Sunday off too, mainly because it was the only day Patrick told me that he was free to deliver my furniture, since he never went to church or anything remotely related to that simply because it didn't interest him. Tyler passed on assisting, claiming he was sick. Sick with the love bug, probably. From what I heard last, he'd fallen head over heels into the never ending, deep dark abyss of puppy love.

Disgusting.

It was like an hour after Patrick was supposed to arrive, and I was still sitting in the middle of the barren living room floor, trying to sort out my socks into coordinating pairs. I was surprised at how many I couldn't tell apart. They all just looked the same. And once they got holes in them, it became a game of pure educated guesses. Fun.

The doorbell rang a couple times, the same rhythm as Patrick occasionally used just to annoy me, and I got up assuming it was him.

"You're over an hour late, I expect my couch to be in prime condition-" I said and opened the door to not-Patrick.

Brendon was standing behind my doormat (not on, but with the toes to his boots brushing the edge), which was in a desperate need of cleaning, with a motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm and a leather jacket covering a perfectly clean simple white t-shirt.

A zillion thoughts ran through my head, most of them staying along the lines of 'you opened the door to your hot neighbor while talking about your undelivered sofa, which is definitely not in prime condition no matter how desperately you want it to be intact'.

"I heard you were moving in and came by to see if the rumors were true." He smiled when it clicked in his mind that it was me standing in front of him. "Did you know the previous owners of this house moved to Alaska? I think they got tired of listening to Ryan. He'd do some crazy renovation shit to his backyard over the weekends. I cant blame the neighbors though. I would want to get as far away from him as possible too."

I nodded and pressed my lips together so I could catch myself before I said anything stupid. I don't know what to say though. Where's Patrick? Where's my couch? How do I even respond to what he just told me? I think I'll follow in the previous owners footsteps and head on over to Alaska right now. That sounds nice. I'd never have to face society again. Goodbye, stupid flower shop, hello much deserved and awaited isolation.

"If it gets any colder I might have to follow them up to Alaska to stay warm." I said in a feeble attempt to crack a joke and Brendon laughed. I still wouldn't pass up the opportunity to leave to Alaska right here right now. My cheeks nearly burst into flames; I probably could've roasted a marshmallow over them.

Just then, Patrick's car screeched around the corner, my couch strapped down to the back of the truck with duct tape patching it over all the cushions. Brendon and I watched as he parked sloppily and sprinted up the driveway, shoving in through the front door to collapse on the floor.

It didn't really worry me, because whenever he sprinted down the hallway to catch his favorite show he'd get winded. I'm not making fun of him though. I'm somehow out of breath trying to run from the couch to the tv to change the channel, a story all too true too often.

"The straps kept snapping in half," he huffed "Tyler sabotaged them. He wanted to keep the couch all for himself."

I should've known.

Just when I'd thought the worst part was over, Patrick sat up and pointed towards Brendon with a sly smile on his face.

"Aren't you Pete's friend?"

Nope. Nopity nope nope nope. Please not today, Satan. Enough damage has been done already.

Everyone I know seems to be connected to Brendon Urie in some way only recently because I've never heard of him before like a week ago and here he was, the best friend of the guy Tyler liked and the other best friend of Patrick's partner.

The universe is a cruel joke.

"Oh, you're Pete's date," he smiled and didn't object when he got enveloped in a bear hug that only lasted a few seconds, contradictory to every 15 second hug Patrick gave.

I think I zoned out for a few minutes, because next thing I knew Brendon was helping Patrick lift my couch into my living room.

And then I remembered the billion pairs of socks unsorted across the floor, and the open can of peanut butter I'd left next to it.

If I really wanted to, I probably could've said it was for my dog. But I don't own a dog. And Patrick knows that, and then he'd laugh maniacally and expose the fact that that I've been eating peanut butter while sorting socks with holes so big I could've stuck a small child through them if the situation ever came about.

Maybe if I just ignore the problem, it'll go away. That usually seems to work.

The clock tacked to the wall next to me chimed obnoxiously a couple times. It's not even noon. It's not even noon and I've already embarrassed myself to no end. At this point, I can never face society again.

"How many socks do you own!" Brendon howled at the sight, and Patrick laughed loudly along with him.

"I, uh," how do I respond to that "my shoes can't keep out leaks very well." Yes good that works. No it doesn't. I have holes in my socks, not water spots. Damn.

"I should take you to get a new pair tomorrow night, I'll pay." He yelled back with a wink and started wandering over to the front door. "I'll pick you up after you get off work?"

Did he just set us up a date? To buy shoes?

I cant tell if this is a good thing or a bad thing honestly. The pros seem to outweigh the cons yet I knew I'd somehow screw this up beyond repair.

I wasn't even paying attention anymore, but within the span of being asked on an unofficial date to buy new shoes and Patrick trying to clean soda off the couch, Brendon had left. I tuned back in [for tragedy] to reality.

"You weren't even listening to me," Patrick frowned through a sly smile "you've got it bad."

"I do not-"

"If only you could see the look in your eyes," he sighed dreamily and held a hand to his chest "lovestruck!"

If he wasn't one of my only friends, I would've drop kicked him like a football across the country and all the way over the Pacific Ocean.

"You always tell me to give Pete red chrysanthemums, and awww they're the same color as your cheeks - stop blushing he's gone!"

Red chrysanthemums mean love.

I hate flowers.