All Hail The King || Brendon Urie x Reader

III

The early morning light pushes through the curtains, and no matter how far you nestle into the bedding, there's no falling back asleep.
Pulling your hand towards your face, you rub tiredly at your eyes, stretching out in the ridiculously large bed. You were still exhausted — mentally and emotionally more than anything else. Once you'd stripped off the dress and washed away the makeup, the barrier keeping your tears at bay also gave way to the flood. You must've cried for hours last night.
Sitting up, your hands fall to the duvet, watching the fabric rise and fall with a small puff of air. Your swing your legs over the edge of the bed, feeling the plush carpet beneath your toes. The cool air touches your skin as you stand, quietly padding to the attached bathroom. You immediately are drawn to your reflection, frowning at the sight.
Your eyes, while they aren't quite as red, are puffy and aching. There's a smudge of your lipstick left from the party and your lash line was dark with the eyeliner you'd missed. The gentle rolling curls of your hair had been ruined in the night, now a tangled mess of hairspray and flyaways. All in all, you looked like shit.
After raiding the cabinets and drawers, you managed to find a few small tubes of face wash, moisturizer, toothpaste, and even an unopened toothbrush. You felt weird using them. It felt like you were stealing, but this was clearly a guest bedroom, so there was no need for your anxieties. But that didn't stop you from feeling bad as you opened a package of hair ties, bringing your fingers through the tangles as you work it into a braid. Looking in the mirror one last time, you decided this was the best you could do for now. Returning to the bedroom, walk towards the door, pursing your lips at your borrowed clothing.
"Ms. Linn can bring you something else if you'd like?" The boy had offered, eyes trained on the outfit you held in your hands. You'd shook your head, insisting what he brought would be fine, but now, looking down at the slightly baggy shirt, you wished you would've taken him up on his offer. The sage green fabric stops mid thigh, just above the edge of your shorts. You sigh, tossing your hands up before opening the door.
The smell of breakfast wafts through the corridor, your stomach rumbling loudly. A slight chill runs over your arms. You weave through the halls, your eyes flicking across the few paintings hanging up. Some are landscapes, others are portraits, but they're all stunning to look at.
Somehow managing to find yourself in the kitchen, you watch an older woman bustle about, working over two different pans, one in hand while she holds a spatula in the other. She must sense your presence because she looks over her shoulder to you.
"Good morning," she says, voice surprisingly chipper. "You must be Miss Y/N. Come sit!"
She turns back around, humming a distantly familiar tune while she flips whatever's in the pan. Following her instruction, you sit tentatively at the island, the hard granite cold against your arms. You watch the wild curls of her black hair bounce as she hisses between her teeth, yanking her hand away from the spitting grease.
"Damnit," she curses beneath her breath. "That sh-"
You snort, covering up your smile as you look out the windows. A well manicured yard reaches out towards the hedging fifty yards from the house, the grass littered with sticks and soaked leaves from the storm.
"I'm glad you think it's funny." She turns, placing a plate of food in front of you. "'Bout lost my hand for this."
Meeting her playful glare, you shift a little in your seat. "Sorry."
She waves you off, wiping her hands on her already dirty apron, lips curling into a smile. Your stomach growls embarrassingly loud as your eyes drop to the golden crossiants before you. It's warm when you pick it up. Taking a bite, you melt into your chair, reaching for a strawberry.
"This is amazing," you say, voice muffled.
She bows, waving at an invisible crowd. "Thank you! Thank you! I'll be here all week!"
"Then I am definitely coming to visit." You can't help the laugh that escapes you. She joins you. She holds up a box of tea, silently asking, and you nod.
"Food always was the way to your heart," a deeper voice says from the doorway.
Brendon steps around the island, meeting the woman half way, and taking the cup of coffee she held out to him. He murmurs a quiet Thank you before taking a sip.
"Are you calling me fat, Mr. Urie?"
That same sip of coffee must take a wrong turn, suddenly going down the wrong pipe because he coughs, placing the mug on the counter while his free hand flattens on his chest. Bringing another strawberry to your mouth, you watch as he tries to control his breathing. The woman's jaw hangs loose, only a clip of a laugh finding its way out.
"No," Brendon finally gets out hoarsely. He waves a hand through the air as if he were trying to rid the room of the idea. "I didn't mean- it's just you- we-"
He cuts himself off with a shake of his head, looking up at you with a less playful glare, his jaw tight.
"How'd you sleep?"
Your smugness dissipates, and you don't miss the twitch of his fingers as your gaze drops to the food if only for a moment. But you recover, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
"Great." The word is flat on your tongue. "Softest bed of my life."
His chin tips upwards, muttering a quiet, "Good." But you look up to his eyes, and tinged with sadness, they screamed, Liar.
Before the tension can suffocate you, the same boy from last night clears his throat. I should really get his name.
There's another moment of silence — a moment of you and Brendon staring at one another, trying to figure out what the other was thinking.
"Mr. Urie?" The boy's voice is timid and uncertain.
Brendon's eyes finally move away from you, but they don't reach him. Instead they fall somewhere in between, burning a hole into the tile floor.
"What is it, Cody?"
"A call, sir," he says, standing a little taller. A stray blond curl falls over his forehead. "It's Wilson."
Brendon's shoulders drop, fingers coming to pinch the bridge of his nose. Your attention shifts to the woman as she sets a mug of tea in front of you. Her lips purse into a half smile.  Muttering under his breath, Brendon straightens, running a hand through his hair. He leaves without so much as a wave.
With him, he takes your appetite, the once delicious looking food now making your stomach churn.
He's insufferable, you think bitterly. One minute, he's all proper, the next he acts like he cares, then he's an asshole. Which one is it?
"He's not usually like that." The woman's tone is more insightful than it is apologetic.
"Like what?" Propping your left arm on the island, you rest your head in your palm, right hand tracing the stone. "An egotistical dickhead?"
For a moment, her movements stop, face pinched together in thought. Rich honey eyes crinkling at the edges, she extends a hand, the smile wide on her face.
"It's nice to meet you Miss Y/N." Tentatively, you shake her hand. "Elizabeth Waters, at your service."
She pulls away, tightening her ponytail. Grabbing a washcloth from the sink, she already beginning to clear the counter of the mess, opening a drawer with the toe of her shoe. Scraps drop down into the trash with a soft thump. You glance around the otherwise empty kitchen.
"Isn't he gonna eat?"
"Who? Cody?" She doesn't see the shake of your head. "He's up with the rest of the staff for-"
"No," you finally interrupt. "Brendon." Elizabeth's brows nearly touch her hairline as she looks at you over her shoulder. "What?"
She whistles lowly. Shaking her head, she turns and leans against the counter. "Brendon, huh? Five minutes ago it was Mr. Urie."
You roll your eyes, entire head moving with it. "It's pronounced asshole, but yeah. What about it?"
"You-" she points a finger at you, quickly tucking it away, crossing her arms over her chest "-are crazy."
"It's a gift really."
"Or a death wish."
That has you straightening in your seat, acutely aware of her eyes which dart towards the door. Your hands fall to your lap. You felt like a child being scolded by their mother; caught doing the exact thing you weren't supposed to.
"It's obvious you two have some history-"
Your heart clenches. "How-"
With a single flick of her wrist, your question is cut short, the intensity of her gaze making you want to fall through the floor.
"-but that's done and over. He's not the same boy anymore. He's all grown up now, and-" her lips purse tightly, as if what she was about to say was top secret – a bear no one dared poke at. Her voice drops to a whisper. "Y/N, you may not like the man he's become."