❝ this is your bodyguard for the next little while, agent brendon urie. ❞
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𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄.
𝐒𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐂𝐔, 𝐏𝐑𝐄-𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑.
𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄...
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YOU HAD THOUGHT THAT BRENDON'S COLD, HARD STARE WAS THE MOST INTIMIDATINGLY UNNERVING ONE YOU HAD EVER BEEN ON THE RECEIVING END OF, BUT IT WAS NOTHING COMPARED TO THAT OF THE DIRECTOR.
Sitting on an uncomfortably stiff leather chair in his cube glass office, you felt as if you were back in middle school, called into the principal's office for doing something wrong. Which, when you made a comparison, wasn't too far off from the actual scenario you were currently immersed in.
As soon as you had arrived back at HQ an hour ago, after having taken a shower and settled a bit, you had been summoned to The Director's office, where you had been instructed to take a seat alongside Brendon. Timidly, you slunk into the hard chair, shifting awkwardly under The Director's piercing gaze. You snuck a glance at Brendon and even though the both of you knew you were about to receive a talking-to that would make you want to crawl into the deepest, darkest corner of the earth and never come out, your bodyguard looked as calm and collected as ever – jaw taut and radiating coolness and confidence just like he had the first time you saw him.
Tearing your gaze away from the block of ice sitting next to you, you chanced a look in The Director's direction. He was sitting behind his desk, resting his elbows on it as he steepled his fingers and cast an iron glare on your blanching face. You felt as if he was boring a hole through you and staring into your soul, and you gulped down what minuscule amount of saliva that was left in your mouth.
The scene stayed like this for the better part of twenty minutes; The Director's gaze never wavered, and neither you nor Brendon dared to move or say anything, even though you were dying to alleviate the daunting silence and tense atmosphere that had fallen over the glass room.
The Director had a way of using his steely gaze to play with your head in such a way that after only a few minutes under his penetrative stare, you were silently praying that he would yell or toss things around in anger, rather than just torturing you with silence. But he was perfectly aware of what he was doing, and he continued with his form of silent torture for as long as he deemed necessary. Which, apparently, was seventeen minutes and thirty-seven seconds.
When he did finally break the silence, he spoke slowly and deliberately and kept his tone neutral, so that what he was saying would resound clearly in your and Brendon's heads.
