All Hail The King || Brendon Urie x Reader

IV

This goddamn house. You've been in this goddamn house for less than 24 hours, and your head was already spinning.

Elizabeth's words had you on edge. Every echo of a closing door made you jump and yet the silence of an empty room made your skin crawl. So instead, you paced the hallways, thankful that you'd only bumped into Cody once. While he was kind and apologized profusely, you weren't quite ready to be social.

What the hell could've happened to him?

The memories of your shared youth flickers across your mind, and your eyes sting, throat aching with the urge to cry. Gritting your teeth, you smother the feeling.

The ache that settles in your jaw pulls you from your daze. That and the soft call of your name.

Turning, you blink away your thoughts, facing Cody who stands in the doorway to the parlour. The same one from last night. For fucks sake.

"Miss Y/N?"

You shake your head, eyes focusing properly on the boy in front of you. "What's up, Cody."

He seems to stutter at your informalities, brows pinching together before regaining his train of thought.

"Ms. Linn," he says, "I had her deliver fresh clothes to your room."

"Oh, I-" You'd been keeping a running total on your stay here, and it was already a lot. An outfit would not help that. "It's fine, really. I can just-"

"Head home in a very uncomfortable dress or a little too casual attire?"

It's the first joke you've heard him tell, but your lips purse at the fact he's joking about you.

"The dress would've been fine," you say flatly, close to pouting. "Not like the cabbie would've cared."

Cody cracks a smile, shrugging nonetheless. "What's done is done."

You frown, watching him turn and leave, a little more pep in his step. "Thank you," you call after him. He raises a hand in acknowledgment, turning down a dark hall.

You have half a mind to turn and follow him, finding his presence oddly comforting. But alas, you curl a little tighter into the couch, tucked in the corner where the back meets the arm rest. A soft breeze smelling of rain and earth brushes through the open window. You settle in the feeling.

You were still on edge from the abruptness of Brendon and his mysterious mood swings. Whatever happened to him must've really played with his head. He was so different than what you remember him as. That and Tom.

You saw it coming the way you can see the curl of a fist, but that doesn't mean it hurts any less when the blow befalls you. Dear God, it hurts. Worse yet, your brain was trying to give him excuses; a traitor in your own skull. You even wondered if he was worried about you.

Sighing, you unwrap yourself, letting your toes bury themselves into the soft rug as you stand. Your imagination conjures the numbers on its price tag.

Making your way through the halls once more, you avoid the warm hum of Elizabeth's voice floating from the kitchen. She seemed nice enough at first, but what she had said about Brendon made you wary of her.

Have you ever played monkey in the middle with your trust? Somehow caught between two people — one you've just met and the other you've known for years — and with every little shift of their weight, you flinch. It's like jumping back from a tiger, but trying not to slip and drown in shark infested waters. It's a mess and you're not sure who's who. The only thing you were sure of was that you were hurt, pissed off, and so desperately wanted to talk to Brendon.

Naturally this manages to piss you off more. Your fingernails dig into your palms. Why was it your heart wanted to run right into his arms and find comfort in the warmth you once knew? Because your heart was an addict; hooked on the pain it had been fed for so long, calling the blood rush friend instead of foe or maybe even both.

Pushing the door to your borrowed room open, you force your fists to unwind. There on the bed lie the clothes Cody mentioned, folded into a small pile. You change before your thoughts get ahead of you.

As you smooth out the soft, gray t-shirt, a sudden thump on the wall makes you jump. Holding your breath, you listen for any other sounds from the study next to you, and it comes in the form of Brendon's muffled voice. Your feet move.

Don't do it, you warn yourself. Don't you dare go in that damn room.

And yet, your knuckles brush over the cold oak of the door. When no response was given, you carefully rested your ear against the wood, listening for Brendon.

"-give a damn what he thinks!" His voice booms before falling to a tired murmur, one that was barely audible. "Get it sorted, Wentz."

There's a scuffle on the other side, footsteps closing in. You back away, but don't make it to your room in time to avoid him all together. Your fingernails re-bury themselves in your palms.

"Y/N?" He hardened, frustrated expression falters, his eyes soft and curious. His lips move. Your heart clenches in your chest, an ache blossoming there. Brendon snaps in front of your face.

You blink quickly, waking yourself from your daze. "What?"

"I asked if you needed anything," he answers, his hand dropping to his pocket. It's only now that you realize he's in black jeans and a white button up. His brows twist together, a crease pressing between them. "You okay?"

"Yeah." You take in a deep breath, listening to your heart instead of your head and looking him in the eye. It doesn't last long as he cocks his head and your gaze drops. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Pursing his lips, he watches a stray hair brush your cheek. His fingers twitch, thumb twisting his ring.

"You?" The hurt that flashes his eyes is so heavily tainted by the surprise. "The phone call? You sounded a bit irritated."

Way to filter, Y/L/N. He was pissed.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he leans against the wall, the toe of his shoe picking at the floor. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Not much," you answer honestly. He relaxes even more than he already was. Glancing into the study, you realize the thump on the wall must've been the stapler he'd thrown, now sitting on the floor covered with drywall dust. You gesture at the evidence. "Must've been one hell of a dispute. You just assaulted a perfectly good wall."

For the first in a long time, the shadow of a smile crosses his features. He tips his head back. Mouth opening, he starts to say something, but his Adam's apple bobs as the words catch in his throat.

"Mr. Urie," a new, unfamiliar voice interrupts. Brendon's posture changes completely; chin tipped upwards and shoulders back, any relaxation dissipates. "There's someone at the door for you."

"Give me a break," Brendon mumbles, irritation dripping from every word. He takes a deep breath and pushes the air out between clenched teeth. "I'll be down in a minute."

"Actually," the man says, "it's for the both of you."

Brendon's brows stitch tightly together. The stranger gives a slight shrug, scratching at his temple.

Don't tell me, you think to yourself. Holding a finger up, you return to your borrowed room. As you pick up your previously abandoned phone, you ask over your shoulder, "What'd they look like?"

You begin reading the numerous texts as the stranger answers. "He was blond, probably a little shorter than Brendon?"

"Great." You lock your phone, storming out of the room. "That's just fucking great."

Both men seem to stutter at your vulgarity — Brendon more than the other — as you set off towards the door.

The man chuckles at your hostile expression. "Got some bad blood with the guy, huh?"

"Oh," you snarl, "you have no idea."