AGALMATOPHILIA

_-:32:-_

"Hey kid,"

Slowly, wearily, a sluggish teen with only a backpack and a pocket of cash, cracks the two slits inside his face open one at a time, staring down the isle way of the now void bus.

Right at the back seat, snuggled up against his bag, Brendon had fallen asleep, but he didn't care where he ended up.

"Last stop, you getting off or coming home with me?" Grey hair, a salt and pepper sprinkled beard and wrinkled skin had conformed itself to the drivers seat of the old country bus, and now it questions the worn out Brendon.

He stretches, yawns and gathers his belongings, stumbling up to the front and tossing a few loose notes and coins into the till.

"Where are we?" The husky morning voice though not even remotely morning outside politely asks, rubbing one eye with the back of a dirty hand.

"Well, just outside the city, but I've dropped you here, maybe you'll get a good rest,"

Brendon turns to glance outside, greeted with blue and pink neon signs brightly shining out the inviting "hotel bliss" which Brendon was sure it was just a seedy place for hookups and drug deals.

It was the thought that counted, he guessed.

"I mean, thank you, but I really need to head to the city," Brendon protests, the old man leans forward with a sigh.

"This is the last bus, I don't drive there 'til 'morrow mornin',"

With a nod, the young runaway begins to step off the bus, waiting for the doors to snap shut behind him.

He waits, back turned, with a cast of soft blues over his sunken expression.

"You even got cash to stay?"

His shoulders slump forward more, peeking back to the driver.

"Here kid, take your toll, you're the last one anyway, no one will know," a warm, unfamiliar smile gives an uneasy feeling to Brendon's gut.

Men in these parts were never as friendly as they seemed.

But he steps back up anyway, and takes the change.

He also takes the entire till as he exits, but he's too quick to even notice, so by the time the doors had closed and the bus had departed, Brendon stood with a tiny safe of cash.

A lumpy, musty mattress greets him once he opens the door to a one night only room, screwing his face up at the scent permeating from the dingy quarters.

It wasn't the best night sleep, but it was the safest Brendon had ever felt.

Once morning had murdered all the dark and terror from a barely rested night, Brendon awakes and sets for the big city where he was so, so sure he could make a new, better life.

He didn't really have a prospect for what he would do once he was there, but the plan entailed any sort of job he could land, and perhaps a roof over his head.

A place where the past could go to die.

So as he boards yet another bus, he falls asleep again.

It's only when the jerky brakes of the vehicle jolt him awake that he's aware he's already arrived, bustling off the elongated vehicle with dozens of other weary passengers, Brendon steps foot into the big city.

Before he had even begun to notice, the moon had moved back into position and power over the sky, ready for the wars that night would bring.

Praying that the work Brendon had put in today of cleaning himself up, and finding a potential job would pay off, the homeless, irritated boy spies a place where his spare cash and worries could both be equally drained away.

A nightclub, one Brendon had never known of, Greenie's.

Once through the doors, a cascade of faux fog and sweaty bodies came crashing down against the virgin partier.

Pushing through the sea of gyrating, grinding and twisting bodies, the kid barely makes it up to the bar with any of his clothes still on his body.

He yells an order, tosses it back and demands another.

This continues until the thumping music had become one sound to him, and he finally felt limber enough to dance.

Pushing back through the writhing mass of drunken horny fools, Brendon finds himself in the middle of the dance floor, rolling his hips and body along to the sound of a heavily auto tuned bass boosted banger, arms twirling around his body with soft caresses to himself.

He starts slow with his dance before he becomes entirely lost within it.

It was the first time the Urie boy had ever felt so carefree, so wonderful in his own skin, so confident as plenty of potential suitors were blown off his shoulder with a simple "get lost" or a "watch it motherfucker".

He preferred to utilise the last.

He was the king of his own night and Brendon wanted everyone to know, he was truly in control of himself.

Once worn out, he half limps half drags himself back to the bar to order more of the liquid courage he so desired.

"Salutations,"

Expecting another annoyingly overly flamboyant man or an excruciatingly overbearing drunken woman by his side, Brendon snaps his head in the direction of the voice, ready to lay into them.

Who stood beside him genuinely made his heart stop, it was a feeling Brendon hadn't known for a long time.

"Mind if I drink with you?"

"Usually you ask the person if you can buy them a drink," Brendon rolls his eyes, taking a long sip from his glass.

"But you're already occupied with one?" The man, a beautiful fiery red colour upon his head, smirks a little at Brendon, who stares back with a slight squint.

Twisting his mouth in thought as he searches for an answer in the swirling whirlpool of his liquor, Brendon's inner child begins to excitedly squeal over this strange man.

Surely he would give him at least one chance.

So tossing back the rest of his drink, slamming the glass down and drunkenly leaning atop the counter, he gestures to the empty glass with the flick of his head.

"Well? You gonna top me up now?"

The red haired man grins.

"Sure thing, dollface,"