What if you had the chance to change someone's past...would you change it for the better or let it be?
What if you woke up in the year 2003 and met an under appreciated boy on the road to success, yet he didn't know it...would you rewrite his hist...
Just as I was about to turn around, a hand covered my mouth and pulled me into its owner's chest. My arms went up to push the cupped hand off my mouth, but the individual used their other arm to keep my arms down.
Holy shit. I was starting to really wonder if this was a safe neighborhood. "I'm going to take you downstairs so we can talk. Too much to see here..." The individual whispered in a low register, gesturing to the large window and open front door letting in pale moonlight.
It was friggin' three in the morning, this dude clearly didn't know about the bystander effect...which was still bad because it did not reassure my sense of safety in the slightest.
I shook my head, refusing to go anywhere with this person. The individual's silhouette made an exaggerated gesture, probably an eye roll. "Oh chill yourself. I'm not going to deflower you like a jockstrap asshole. No, I'm just worried the neighbors will get smart if they see people entering an empty house at this hour. I mean, shit, it's New Year's. Everyone's awake around here...come on." He continued as he shoved his back into the front door with enough force to shut it quietly.
The stranger quickly took me over the hall on the right, though the kitchen, and down the stairs. On the way down, I was frozen with fear. I wasn't fighting, WHY? Maybe it all those cautionary tales I'd heard and read online that made me go numb. I mentally cursed at Ginger for showing me narrators like Mr. Nightmare and Corpse Husband, as those fucked up stories played on looped in my mind. Fuck those online horror stories and freaky ass aftermaths! Stop playing through my fucking head, I swear I going to die!!
The entire basement layout was an empty burgundy colored carpet floor with a lone backpack sitting in the center of the room. When we reached the basement floor, the stranger let me go and pulled the lone light switched. I got into an intimidating looking fighting stance, ready to kick and punch my way out, and got a good look at his face.
He had brown hair falling over his unnaturally large forehead, a black and red striped shirt, red glasses, woman's skinny jeans in black, and pair of bright purple Samba brand shoes. Oh my god, this wasn't..?
"Brendon Urie?" I said out loud with surprise.
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(A/N: isolated pics of Brendon in red glasses are really hard to find...sorry for lack of evidence in my desired description.)
He looked stunned for a moment, probably because a girl he'd never met before said his name, but he suddenly smiled. "Hi! I guess I'm well known in these parts." He said in a jazzed manner, but suddenly his head dropped and put his hand over his heart, embarrassed. "Sorry about scaring you. I didn't want anyone to know I've been freeloading here since my parents kicked me out of the house two weeks ago...if someone found out, it could, you know, not have such a happy ending."
I was gobsmacked. I guess Ryan wasn't the first to hang out here. However, the fact that Brendon was kicked out and hiding away here made me more sad than anything. "Well...do you have, oh I don't know, a job??" I asked bluntly. I just had a five minute panic attack, for fear of being fucked by a stranger, only to learn a future rockstar was being a couch potato in the basement of a house on sale.
