All Hail The King || Brendon Urie x Reader

X

Having the weight of Brendon's disappearance lifted from your shoulders was a godsend, no doubt, but it still felt strange to finally stand upright.
You remember watching a video in a museum once; it was about the earlier days of coal mining when men would go down for days — weeks — at a time, their lungs shriveling from the poor air, their eyes so accustomed to the darkness that a sunrise was blinding. The mineshafts were so small and narrow the men always hunched over, and when they did come top side, the hunchback stayed. Not because they wanted it that way, but because it physically hurt to stand up straight.
Now, your shoulder brushing Brendon's as he scrambles the eggs, while you put four slices of bread in the toaster, you couldn't help but doubt the reality of it all. After everything, quietly and peacefully making breakfast side-by-side like an old married couple felt surreal. You glance at the time on the stove and the realization that you hadn't talked to your dad since you stormed out slaps you across the face.
"Hey, do you have a phone I can use quick?"
"No," Brendon says sarcastically. "Any messages must be sent out by telegram."
"Very funny." You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. "Where's mine then?"
"The bedroom." He points with the spatula. "On top of the dresser."
You nod, already trotting out of the kitchen and back the way you came, climbing the stairs two at a time. Grabbing your phone, you quickly unlock it, and dial your dad's number. You chew on your nails as it rings.
He picks up with a simple, "Hello?"
"Hey Dad," you say, suddenly relaxed.
"I didn't think we were on speaking terms quite yet," he jokes lightheartedly. "I was starting to wonder if I was gonna need to break out the apology bouquet. A box of chocolates maybe?"
Macie bursts through the door, a thousand questions already flying from her mouth. You hold a hand up, trying and failing at shushing her. "Yeah, I'm sorry for that. It's just-"
"I know, kiddo. Boys are assholes-"
Macie takes hold of your face, maneuvering your head for any blemishes. "Did he try anything? I swear if you have even one scratch-"
You pull the receiver away from your mouth. "I will explain in a minute, okay?"
"-and I know how much he meant to you, and sometimes-"
"What are you wearing? Oh my god, he didn't." Pure rage fills her eyes. "That mother fucker."
You grab her arm, stopping her from leaving. "May, it's not-"
"Should I call you back?"
"No!" You jump, pressing the phone closer to your ear. You give Macie a sharp look. "We're okay."
Your best friend slowly unwinds. Dad asks, "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure," you reassure. "Just a lot has happened, and I guess I'd rather talk to you in person about it, ya'know?"
He hums, and it's not hard to imagine the easy shrug. "I get it. See you soon then?"
"Of course, Dad. I love you."
"Love you too, kid."
You toss the phone onto the bed and before it's hit the plush comforter, Macie's arms are thrown around your neck.
"I'm so sorry, Y/N," she cries. "I had no idea that guy would try to-" her voice cracks- "I know you hate Brendon but I didn't know what else to do! I was scared and- and you were-"
You draw circles into her shoulder blade, your voice soft, "It's not your fault, May." She shakes her head, pulling away as she wipes the tears away. "I'm alright. I promise."
"And Brendon?" Despite the crying, her eyes sharpen. "Do I need to kick his ass still?"
You laugh, looking down at the borrowed shirt. "Nah," you answer simply.
"Really?" Her confusion is beginning to outweigh her guilt. "You mean to tell me all is well with the Brendon Urie?"
"We're-" shrugging, you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear- "we're better."
The promise of breakfast lures you towards the door, Macie trailing behind you. You were emotionally exhausted and it wasn't even noon.
"So you're... what? Turning over a new leaf?" She glances at her reflection in one of the framed pictures.
"I mean, I guess so? Some stuff has come to light and I figured I might as well hear him out."
"Oh, so you're not letting him distract you from everything he's done?"
Sarcasm drips from every word, and that was to be expected from her. At least she's being rational, you think. You stop walking.
"I haven't forgotten, May. Honestly, I don't know if I ever could. But I've missed him."
Her green eyes soften, catching the sunlight and spinning it so her words are gentle, "That doesn't excuse what he's done."
"I know. But I want to believe this time he'll stay."
You try walking away, but you stutter when she asks from behind you. "And what if he doesn't?"
You don't have an answer for her. You couldn't even fake one. So you, forcing your heavy legs forward, kept walking. When you managed to make it back to the kitchen, you found Dallon sitting at the table, stopping his conversation with Brendon to look at you.
"I'm not interrupting, am I?" You ask, taking a tentative step backwards.
"Of course not," Brendon answers.
Both men stand, Dallon brushing off the front of his gray shirt while Brendon ushers you forward, the latter gesturing between you both.
"Y/N, this is my best friend and associate Dallon Weekes. Dallon, this is-" he glances at you briefly- "my oldest friend Y/N Y/L/N."
You smile sheepishly, taking Dallon's extended hand and shaking it. "Nice to officially meet you."
"And on much better terms this time," he laughs, waving his gauze wrapped palm.
You retract from his touch. "I'm sorry about that. I shouldn't have-"
"Ah," he cuts in, holding up his pointer finger. "You woke up in an unknown place and your first instinct was to make a weapon." He shrugs, smiling warmly. "Out of a shoe, no less. Consider me impressed."
You hate the blood that rushes to your cheeks. Thankfully no one mentions it.
"Did you still want your breakfast?" Brendon asks, already moving towards the stove.
"Uh, yeah, I guess."
"Go on," he says, jutting his chin towards the table. "Sit."
A soft ding from Dallon's pocket calls for his attention as he pulls out his phone, glancing quickly over the screen. "There's been an update on the Wilson Deal." Brendon hums. Another ding. "Apparently they're not budging from eleven."
Shaking his head, Brendon turns, plate in hand. "Get Wentz on it. Tell him to get in touch with the scouts."
Dallon nods, putting the phone to his ear. "I'm gonna-" he points towards the door and Brendon nods. The tall brunette waves at you- "Nice to meet you. N-no, not you dumbass."
You're assuming the second part was meant for whoever he was on the phone with. Brendon's hand touches your back, setting your food in front of you.
"Wentz, huh? Is he another friend?"
Brendon laughs, his eyes widening as he rolls them. "Some days."
"Will I get to meet him too?"
You pick up the toast, watching Brendon chew the inside of his lip. His eyes flick over you, giving no clues as to what he's thinking. "We'll see."