CASUAL AFFAIR; brendon urie

Chapter Twenty-Nine

For the next month it was ... nice. The whole friend's part of the friends with benefits was actually working out pretty damn well. In fact, it was two days after the night in the car that Brendon had sent me a text.

Hi, Florrie-who-likes-chocolate-ice-cream-sometimes-with-Oreos-in-it. I got to thinking and ... I have the new Resident Evil video game and ... It's a totally friends thing to ask you if you want to come around and blow zombie's heads off with me, right? Then maybe some Wii Tennis? - B

Then a minute later

Later on tonight? Say ... 8.00pm? - Still B

Of course, apart from smiling at them goofily, reading them in that lull the shop had around three in the afternoon, where I was leaning up against the counter, Jessa was muttering to herself about how weird Japanese comics and their backwards ways were as she rearranged a new stock pile of Naruto paperbacks on the shelf, Tommy away having his break with a pizza bagel in the staff room.

Hi right back, Brendon-who-for-some-reason-likes-vanilla-ice-cream-of-all-flavours-and-sometimes-crushes-smarties-on-top. That does seem like a totally friends thing to ask me. And 8.00pm sounds great. As long as you promise not to cry like a little girl when my zombie head-exploding toll is higher than yours. - Always F unless stated otherwise

I'd been distracted after that because Tommy had wandered back through, and when he'd seen what was clutched in Jessa's hands, he darted over, and snatched one, face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Oh, man, Naruto!"

Jessa scowled at that, picking up another and smacking him over the back of his head with it, before sliding it into place on the shelf. "Don't jizz your pants there, Tommy boy."

Tommy flicked through the comic, grinning. "I fuckin' love Naruto. Best comic book series ever."

"Have it." I called over to him, just as Jessa snorted with derision. "Really?" he asked me happily, clutching it to his chest protectively. He was about a second away from hopping up and down, I could tell, and I nodded with a laugh. He then whirled on Jessa, poking her shoulder. "Don't you dare be judging me, Nicholls. You haven't even read it. You don't understand how awesome it is."

Jessa rolled her eyes and snorted again, reaching over to pick up another and 'accidentally' elbowing his hip. And she had really sharp and pointy elbows. "I'll read that, when you get laid."

I'd turned up at Brendon's at eight that night, pressing a jumbo cup of Dairy Queen's Smarties Blizzard ice-cream into his hand as soon as the door opened, and popping the red plastic spoon into his surprised mouth, my own Oreos Blizzard tucked in the crook of my arm. "Let's go blow some zombie's heads off."

We drove a town over, twice, to go see a movie at the cinema. We'd bought popcorn - sweet for me, salted for him - skittles and sodas. Brendon's hand had found mine halfway through one of the films, and clasped it, and we stayed like for a whole ten minutes.

A couple of times we'd stayed in, curled up on mine or his's couch, watching DVDs, or talking. Or both. Talking over a DVD we'd lost interest in because of conversation. He'd educated me on his love of satirical films. War films. Slapstick comedy. He'd made me watch Saving Private Ryan once, promising that if I wasn't moved by it, he would literally eat a piece of paper with 'forfeit' written on it. Of course, there was no paper eaten, and I'd cried at it, sniffling. Brendon put his hand on my shoulder and drew me into a warm hug, allowing me to use the shoulder of his shirt was my own tissue to wipe my eyes on. And I shared with him my love of pretty much any movie containing Winona Ryder, a Tim Burton one, or otherwise. I showed him The Heathers, and Beetlejuice, my two favourites of hers. But most importantly, I showed him my most favourite, adored movie ever, (500) Days Of Summer.