✓ ❘ 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃, 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐄𝐑 ─ 𝐁. 𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇʟᴠᴇ: ᴀɴᴛɪᴄɪᴘᴀᴛɪᴏɴ's ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʟɪɴᴇ

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ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇʟᴠᴇ: ᴀɴᴛɪᴄɪᴘᴀᴛɪᴏɴ's ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʟɪɴᴇ

❝ ɪ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴋɴᴇᴡ ᴍʏ ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ. ❞

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   YOUR FINGERS DANCED LIGHTLY ALONG THE COVER OF THE BLACK, LEATHER-BOUND JOURNAL RESTING IN YOUR LAP, grazing over the edge of the cover once or twice, wanting to open it but being too afraid to actually do it.

"My God," Brendon groaned loudly. "You've been staring at it for five hours. Just open the damn thing."

You lifted your head up, glancing over at him and narrowing your eyes as you folded your arms. "Just for that, I'm not opening it for another five hours."

If you were living in a cartoon world, you were sure that you would've been able to see steam blowing out of Brendon's ears, and his face turning a deep shade of magenta. His knuckles were white from grasping the back of the desk chair with such force, and his chest rose and fell heavily as he tried his best to keep his cool; you just barely managed to suppress a smirk at the sight.

"Open it," he commanded, voice calm and cool – a direct contrast to his body language.

"No."

"Open it now. Or else."

"Or else what?" you scoffed, rising from the chair and walking over to him. "You gonna make me?"

You took another few steps towards him, raising an eyebrow in expectance of his response. You saw a flash of fire in his eyes and you swallowed hard, mouth suddenly gone dry. The next moment, his hands were gripping you tight and you let out a gasp when your back was pushed up against the cold wall. Brendon placed both of his hands on either side of your head and pressed himself against you; you were so close, your noses were brushing against each other. Thank God you were in one of the only rooms that weren't glass, or else somebody might've seen the two of you... Seen the two of you what? What exactly were you doing? You weren't sure. You weren't sure of anything other than the fact that you and your bodyguard were kissing distance away from one another. One simple movement from either of you and that was it.

But... you didn't want to kiss him, did you?

Just a few minutes ago, you would've answered that question simply and in a heartbeat: No. Never. But now, being this close to him, your judgement was clouded and you felt yourself slowly become more and more open to the idea.

"Open. It," he growled lowly, barely even an inch away from your lips.

Aaannnddd the feeling was gone. You didn't want to kiss him. He was a narcissistic, cocky bastard with a huge temper and very big anger issues and you hated him. Him and his obnoxiously kissable lips.