The year is 1926 and Brendon Urie is struggling to live up to the demands of his wife. To escape the stress, he sings at a jazz club downtown with his band, Panic! At the Disco and they gain popularity extremely fast.
Brendon then finds it challeng...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
✥ ✥ ✥
Would you kiss me Or just leave me?
✥✥✥
Brendon sat at his piano for the rest of the weekend, quietly contemplating the decisions and events of the past few days. His fingers were stagnant on the cold, ivory keys and his brain was unable to lace words into beautiful lines of poetry like usual. He so desperately wanted to write about this situation but he struggled to describe what he was feeling. He didn't even know what he was feeling.
He wished he could talk about it to someone—anyone, but there was no one who would listen. In a perfect world, he would come straight home and tell his wife everything that had happened. She would listen and maybe even sympathize. She'd assure him that things would be okay and that she loved him no matter what.
But this world is extremely far from perfect.
June would most likely find something to argue about in his little rant and she wouldn't tell him she loved him. Sometimes he wondered if she ever meant those three words.
She didn't ask any questions when he came home with a bloody nose and fresh bruises. It was better that way for the night but Brendon expected her to ask at least one question. No one asked any questions all weekend.
He got dressed for work like normal on Monday morning and kissed a sleeping June before walking out the door. Brendon was nervous to see Spencer after the brawl on the balcony. His friend was quiet but opinionated and he wasn't excited to hear what he had to say since he played mediator during the argument. Spencer arrived shortly after Brendon and didn't even look at him.
"Morning, Spence," Brendon greeted, as casual as he could.
Spencer nodded and rummaged through his briefcase. "Brendon," he greeted back.
An annoyed sigh escaped Brendon's lips. "So are we gonna ignore the bruise on my face or...?"
"Listen, I don't think this is the time or place to-"
"Can we please just talk about this?" Brendon pleaded. "You were the only one who didn't insult me or Tilly the other night and I don't want us to not be friends. We work together, it would be awkward."
Spencer clipped his briefcase and shrugged. "So what do you want me to say? Sorry Ryan and Dallon called you and your friend a whore?"
"No. Just tell me what you think of all this. You didn't say anything at the party and it made me nervous. Do you hate me?"
Spencer shook his head. "No. Like you said, we work together. I can't hate you," he said. "And if you wanna know what I think about this whole thing, I don't think anything of it. I did but I don't anymore."
"What does that mean?"
"I was mad at you but I know how you feel about Matilda Clarke and I'm happy you're going after her, even if it'll blow up in your face in the end," Spencer joked. "And as for the music, I get it. Moretti's paying you God knows how much money and it'd be stupid to turn it down. As long as you buy me a drink every night, I won't sock you in the face."
