idk《brallon》

1&lonely

Dallon had a weird habit of applying lyrics he'd heard or written to situations. Something happens, his mind instantly associates a song lyric. Sometimes when he's just thinking, in the shower or alone before a show, he'll think of lyrics that apply to his life. Or to something that's currently happening in his life.

Ironically and actually rather comedically, his brain was playing 'it's not so pleasant and it's not so conventional' as he locked the door, turning to look at his ex-friend, who was already sitting down on the bed and pulling his shirt off over his head.

It sure as hell ain't normal.

He ran his fingers through his hair, a habit he'd had all of his life. His hair often started, in the mornings, looking neat. But the minute something funny, stressful, sad, or anything really happened, his hand would make it's way up, and he'd drag his fingers through his hair, pulling on the ends and messing it up. Breezy often fussed at him for it, as well as his mother when he was younger.

"You always did like to have your hair pulled." Brendon said.

Dallon stopped mid-movement, his hand resting on the top of his head in a pose that probably looked ridiculous. He snapped out of his thoughts, and if he looked strange standing with a hand in his hair, Brendon must not have noticed. Because he was staring up at Dallon like Dallon was God himself, in all his glory.

Maybe there was a conversation in order. They needed to talk, they really did. But the logical part of Dallon's brain fell dormant as Brendon stood up, unbuttoning those tight leather jeans that he wore eighty percent of the time, that may as well be painted on. With the most expensive, high-quality paint, that is. Dallon knew more than anyone that Brendon was a man of expensive tastes, and god damn it, there was another song lyric. Did Dallon admire Brendon's expensive taste? He shrugged.

"You're thinking too much, baby." Brendon said, making and keeping eye contact with the taller man as he pulled his pants down, standing again and kicking them off. The husband and father side of Dallon wanted to go behind Brendon and fold the pants, putting them away in a drawer or maybe just throwing them into a hamper. Brendon was like a child, after all. But he was right in this instance. Dallon was thinking too much.

The bassist walked closer to Brendon, who kept his eyes locked on the set of blue ones that he'd fallen in love with all those years ago. Brendon almost smiled, looking up at Dallon, who seemed to get taller and taller as time passed. Or maybe Brendon was getting shorter, who knows? Dallon had also lost some weight, Brendon noticed. Not that he had needed to, he had always looked good. He was insecure though, Brendon knew, and he felt a stab of guilt for the jokes he'd made in the last couple years of Dallon's time in his band. Jokes that weren't true, but he could tell Dallon took them to heart. At the time though, with his other friends laughing in his ear, Brendon took the laughter as encouragement to continue. He always did like being the center of attention, Dallon had pointed out to him before their last tour together, when Brendon made the decision that he'd be wearing whatever colorful outfit he saw fit, while his touring members would wear plain black.

This whole situation reminded Dallon of his old song, The Nerve. Actually, Brendon reminded Dallon of a lot of songs. He'd thought of a lot of lyrics that applied to the singer throughout the years he spent working with him, and then for him. And even now that they had (almost) nothing to do with each other, Dallon still thought of lyrics that reminded him of Brendon. None of his songs were about Brendon, however. No, he wouldn't give that man the satisfaction. There had been plenty of times he'd written lyrics in his head, lyrics that applied specifically to Brendon. No one would understand, except for Brendon himself. Everyone else would hear the song and sing along, with no idea that the things they were singing were insults aimed at Brendon Urie. Brendon would know though, and it would be the perfect way to say 'fuck you'. But Dallon refused to include such lyrics in his songs. The songs he published, anyway.