♡Sweetheart♡ ||Brendon Urie x Reader||

Chapter 12

Updating early! I'll still update on Sunday too <3

My special treat

I hadn't quite intended to land myself in the situation I was in, but I knew for a fact I wasn't going to get out of it so easily.

My initial plan was to knock on Brendon's door to check if he was awake then leave, hopefully more aware of his state of consciousness.

What happened was quite different.

The morning a few days after the school fiasco, jumping out of bed had left silent whispers of toxic thoughts and newly gained memories. Every creaking of the springs stressing under my weight seemed to taunt me with remembrance of my mental breakdowns, and with every one came a daunting throb in my head.

My body's immediate response was to sloppily sit up, plant my feet on the ground, then pad over to Brendon's room, my knuckle lightly tapping on his door. Outwardly, I had scowled slightly to myself, cursing my body for the betrayal of sending me to him, of all people.

On the inside, I was comforted by my instincts.

But amidst my thoughts, I noticed I hadn't heard an answer. Not any movement, a vocal response, or a knock back. It was probable he was still fast asleep, considering the time. It was hardly even 6 yet, and I hadn't thought anything through enough to weigh the probability of him possibly being awake at this hour.

No one knew with Brendon, though. He could be up late without anyone knowing or be sleeping without a trace. And so I found it inside myself to open the door to his room, just for a peek in to see if he was snoozing or if he was simply present in a different part of the house.

I was welcomed not to the peaceful sight of an unconscious rich man, but several boxes stacked on top of each other, littering the entire room, but his bed remained in the middle. There was a small path to the right most side of the bed and to the restroom—which was connected to the right wall of his room—but the only way to get to the left side of his room would be to climb over his bed.

And he definitely wasn't within the mess. Sighing and preparing to to turn back around, calling my efforts useless, I heard the sound of a door unlocking, a knob twisting, and his bathroom door opened.

There he stood in black slacks and shoes, his chest bare and a burgundy towel around his shoulders, hair wet but laying perfectly. It had taken me far too much time to realize he had tattoos down his arms, considering how long I had lived here, and I found it strangely amusing: most had viewed him as a "proper young man" which people, in their minds, most likely did not qualify for that title if they brandished tattoos.

My body heated up at the revealing sight of his shirtless body, but he didn't seem to mind. When Brendon acknowledged my presence, he didn't do as much as bat an eye and lifted the towel up to dry his hair.

"Wow," he gave me a sly laugh, "I wasn't expecting anything this cliché to happen between us, [y/n]. Are you into that sorta thing?" I wanted to close my eyes or look away, but they held themselves open, trailing across his defined torso. "Because if so," he continued, tracing the rim of his pants with his fingers, "I would have come out with this towel around my waist and these," he played with the button and zipper, "off."

My breath hitched in my throat and I let out a small squeak as he moved closer to me, my face to the ground and my eyes diverted away.

"H-How didn't I hear the shower," he titled my chin up to look at him. "Ah! Uh, Brendon I didn't mean to. . ."

"Soundproof bathroom walls." Brendon's hand ran across my jaw and down my neck, his eyes following it, and I leaned into his touch before he gave me a quizzical glance and backed away. "What's up with you? Normally you'd push me away or yell at me."