A Hotter Touch, A Better F... Than Any Girl You'll Ever Meet

Chapter 1

The trip to the bar was highly uneventful. With a regular hoodie on, especially when I had the hood up nobody seemed to really recognise me. I'd had to give the doorman a fifty-dollar bribe to get out of showing my ID. Yes, of course that's possible. In case you didn't know, I live in Las Vegas and I think hell's less corrupt than home. I'd downed four vodka shots in a span of less than ten minutes and they'd given the wanted effect of being pleasently buzzed. I realise four shots aren't a lot, but I don't have a lot of body mass to help me stay on my feet and I'm also not really used to drinking. I guess I was too shy to be much of a partier.

Before leaving the bar I bought a Fanta in hopes that it would wipe away the nasty smell and taste of alcohol. I needed to seem as sober and sane tonight as in any way possible.

I was entering Brendon's street when I downed the last of my soda. I was shaking slightly, but nowhere close to as much as I had before I entered the bar. The nerves built up further as I stood in front of the singer's apartment complex, nearly making me sick to my stomach. I didn't really know why he lived on his own anyway. He'd moved out of his parents' in February and had always been vague about it, but I was beginning to guess the reason now. Brendon's parents are Mormons. If he'd come out of the closet to them... well, let's just say that wouldn't be pretty.

Standing in front of the door now, I pushed the button that would connect me to a loud-speaker in his living room.

"What?" he asked, a hard edge to his voice through the static. Then a slight sniffing. He was crying!

"Bren, it's me. Let me up," I muttered worriedly.

"Get lost, Ross," he commanded and cut the connection.

I guess his reaction was very natural. After spilling the beans to Spencer I had to be the last person he'd want to see. I mean, everybody knows that while the drummer can keep secrets well enough generally I can get anything out of him. We've been best friends forever after all and it works both ways, this loyalty. Spencer and I couldn't keep secrets from each other even if we wanted to.

With a small sigh I worked out a plan in my head and pushed the button to the apartment across from his.

"Hello," came the voice of an elderly lady.

"How do you do, ma'am?" I asked in that sickeningly polite voice old people like so much.

She chuckled a bit. "I'm alright, son. Now, how may I help you?"

"Bredon Urie, the kid across from you," I started. "He's my friend and he promised he'd meet me, but then he called a moment ago to tell me he was late and that you'd help me inside the building..." I looked quickly at the slip of paper next to the button. The paper had been put under some plastic to protect it from the elements and the names were clear. "... Mrs. Johnson."

"You're not a fan, are you?" she asked warily.

"No, no," I said with a laugh. "Well, I like his voice and all, but I'm actually his bandmate. I'm Ryan Ross."

"Oh," she replied cheerfully. "Well then, come on in, Mr. Ross."

"Thank you, ma'am," I answered as I heard the buzz that signalled that the door had been unlocked. I opened it and went inside, headed for the elevator. Hey, I already said I was lazy, didn't I? Now that Mrs. Johnson's nice, humorous, old-lady voice was gone the nerves attacked me again, frightening the shit out of me.

I exited the elevator on the fourth floor and went to his door. Holding out my hand, I knocked it hard. "Pizza delivery!" I yelled, altering my voice a bit.

The door was slammed open. "I haven't ordered any fucking pi..." he shouted, but trailed off as I pushed past him into the apartment to prevent him from shutting the door on my face. "Ryan?" he asked quietly as his hands fell to his side. Tears were still running down his cheeks.