Mercurial (Brendon Urie)

1

In America, it can be expected that while in a bar you will not only have to yell to be heard over large crowds of people, but you will also likely end up sloppily kissing someone against a back wall. Maybe you'll even end up taking someone home, who knows. The possibilities are endless.

Italy, however, is about the opposite of America. There are hardly any people in this bar, if I was to raise my voice in any way I would likely be thrown out, and sloppily kissing someone against the wall is easily the last thing I can see myself doing in the next hour. Rather than having the time of my life out on a dance floor with my best friends, I'm sitting alone at a small wooden table drinking a glass of wine. Even worse than that, it's my 23rd birthday.

I look up from my phone for a moment to take in my surroundings. The sun has just set and the sky is a beautiful shade of purple, with only a few whispy clouds off in the distance. I'm sitting next to a large, open window, so I have a great view of all of the people passing on the street. About 50% of the people are very clearly toursits, with visors strapped to their heads and cameras around their necks, and the other 50% look like locals. If I was standing in the crowd, I would be set apart from all of them. My shoulder length jet black hair and less-than-modest clothing choices cause me to stick out like a sore thumb in this country, as well as earn a few judgemental looks from strangers.

I'm still looking out the window when I hear someone's footsteps approaching. I turn my head just as the person takes a seat in the chair in front of me. He has chocolate brown eyes and plump lips which are curved into a smirk. His brown hair is pushed back and held in place, seemingly without any product at all. The smug look on his face causes him to appear like a pompous douchebag, but something about him seems awfully familiar.

"Can I help you?" I snap at him, after realizing that he has no intent of getting up and leaving my table. He bites his lip and looks at me as if I'm a piece of food. "I'm sure you could do a lot of things for me, honey." I've got to hand it to him, he's hot, but I don't associate with assholes. Or at least I try not to. "I didn't ask for your company, so if you could do us both a favor and--"

Suddenly it hits me where I recognize him from.

"Aren't you in that band? Panic! At The Disco?"

He leans back in his chair and some how manages to make himself look even more egotistical. "So you've heard of me?"

I scoff and roll my eyes. "I've heard that you're one of the sleaziest guys in the music industry, if that's what you wanted to hear." This doesn't bother him one bit. He leans across the table and crosses his arms on top of it, then gets as close to me as I'll let him. "I think you misheard them. I'm one of the sexiest guys in the music industry."

He isn't wrong, but his entire being reeks of 'I'm trying to find someone to validate my existence,' and I am not going to be the person to give him that satisfaction. "If you're trying to be seductive, it isn't working too well." I look at my phone and scroll through my Twitter feed, praying that he'll get up and leave. Eventually, he does, and I think I'm finally going to be left alone. Unfortunately, I'm incorrect.

Five minutes later, he walks back into the bar, his head lifted and his steps slow. He obviously thinks that he's the shit. He swaggers over to my table and sits back down. "What's your name, beautiful?" he asks me. I cross my arms over my stomach and look at him, unimpressed by his feeble attempts at making himself look good. "Aspyn," I say blandly. "And you are?" He smirks again. "You clearly know who I am, you already said you recognize me."

I shake my head. "I said I recognized you, but I don't know your name. After what I've heard of you, I'm not too interested in learning it either."

His smirk immediately drops off of his face, almost making me laugh. "It's Brendon. Urie." he says poutily.

I don't respond to him because I'm already back on my phone. But from my peripheral vision, I see him continue to stare at me. He sits staring for so long that I eventually forget that he's even there. I'm only snapped back into reality when he abruptly begins speaking again. "Look princess, I only came over here in the first place for one thing: sex. I'm not interested in your life story and you clearly aren't interested in mine, but I think you're smoking hot and you mustp think the same of me, so what do you say?"

I wait a second and consider his proposal. On one hand, he seems to be a total piece of shit and will probably show off sleeping with me as if I'm a trophy. On the other hand, I haven't had the best time here and honestly what's the worst that could happen?

"Sure," I say with a shrug. His eyebrows raise in surprise. "Seriously?" he asks, utterly shocked by my response. I nod, stand up, and begin walking towards the door. I look back at the table to see that he's still seated. "What are you waiting for?" I ask impatiently. He responds to this as if his chair had turned into a branding iron and is by my side in less than a second.

"Your place or mine?" he asks. I think about my shitty motel right near a landfill, and then I think about his six figure income and what type of hotel he must be able to afford with that.

"Yours."

He nods and pulls out his phone to call a cab. While he yells at some man who clearly can't understand him, I lean against the outside wall of the bar we were just in. It's almost completely dark out now, and the sidewalk traffic has died down a little bit. I look back over to Brendon who is slowly and very loudly telling the person on the phone our current location. A few minutes later, he walks over to me. He looks frustrated at first, but quickly regains his resting douchebag face. I roll my eyes and turn my head the opposite direction. The cab arrives only minutes later. Brendon and I don't talk on our way to the hotel, we just silently sit on opposite sides of the cab.

The drive to the hotel is about 30 minutes, and when we arrive I see that my suspicions were correct. The hotel looks like it costs hundreds of dollars for a one night stay.

As we step out of the cab, Brendon grabs my wrist and leads me inside. The second we get into his room, he pushes me against a wall and pulls my shirt over my head. "God, you look even better like this," he growls.

I scoff. "Don't try to be sexy, asswipe, you know what this is." After that, he doesn't do much more talking.

The next morning, I wake up to bright light coming through the window. Where the fuck are his curtains? I groan. I turn over, forgetting that Brendon in right next to me, so my nose gets dabbed with sweat from his bare back. I wipe it away as quickly as I can and roll away from him. I get out of bed and put on my clothes, shivering from the cold air. I walk towards the door as quietly as possible, but Brendon still wakes up. "Leaving so soon?" he asks. I don't respond, but instead reach for the doorknob. "Will I see you again?" he calls out just before I shut the door. "Hopefully not," I say after a short pause.

Brendon Urie disgusts me in nearly every way. I hate his personality, I hate his cockiness, I hate the way he talks, but I'll admit: there are worse people to be tangled in satin bedsheets with.