All Hail The King || Brendon Urie x Reader

XI

"-worry about it, man." Comes Brendon's voice. You nestle further into the pillows, pulling the blankets around you. "That sounds good, but I don't really know what she'll want. She's asleep right now." A pause. "No, she was up earlier and I made sure she ate something. Yes, water too." Brendon sighs, presumably running a hand down his face. "How long did Mikey say she might be like this?" Rubbing your eyes, you sit up, groaning. "That feels like forev- you're up."
You cover your mouth as you yawn. "What time is it?"
"Uh," he pulls the phone away from his ear, looking at the screen, "four twenty three."
"Was I really out that long?"
Brendon nods solemnly, returning to the call. "Oh," he jumps, "you want anything to eat?"
"I just-" you twist around, placing your arm on the back of the couch.
"You ate at ten, and then you fell asleep again a little after noon." You raise your brows, surprised by his parental tone. "So a burger? Tacos? You need something."
You shake your head and before he can scold you further, you admit timidly, "That stuff'll make me sick."
He purses his lips, dimples pressing into his cheeks. "We'll find something here, Zack. Yeah, we'll see you soon. Okay, bye."
Hanging up the phone, he shoves it in his back pocket.
"Zack's coming here?" You ask, tugging down the shorts that had ridden up.
"Yeah," he replies simply, "he's probably ten minutes out."
You bury your face in your hands, rubbing your eyes with the heel of your palms, mumbling, "You make it sound like he's been driving forever."
Brendon moves, his footsteps moving back into the kitchen before coming towards you. Something is set on the coffee table, and when you peek around your hands, you see another glass of water. Brendon sits in the chair to your left.
"Four hours," he says shrugging. "Give or take."
You drop your hands, trying to focus your vision. "Four hours? Where the hell is coming from?"
Brendon cringes, obviously wishing you weren't going to ask that. Propping his elbow on the arm of the chair, he rubs at his temple, squinting.
"LA," he mutters.
"LA?!" Your eyes practically bug out of your head. "Then where the hell are we?!"
"Just north of Vegas-"
"Vegas!" You're up and out of your seat the moment he says it, marching — which is more closely related to a dizzy stumble — towards the stairs. "You brought me all the way to Las Vegas?!"
You really didn't think you could argue with him anymore, and yet, here you are; angry and storming off.
"I didn't know what else to do!" He calls after you. He takes hold of your wrist, turning you around, but the motion makes your head spin and you reach out for something to steady yourself on. Brendon's other arm happens to be it.
"I'll get the car," says an unfamiliar voice, folding into the rumble of the crowd.
Everything feels heavy — your head, your stomach, even your feet which dangle limply over his arm. He shifts his weight, your head lolling into his chest, smelling Brendon's cologne.
You give your head a little pony shake, refocusing your mind. "I have to get home. I have work and dad'll be worried and-"
"Hey, hey, hey," he says quickly, words mushing together. His fingers touch your cheek. "You talked to your dad already, remember?" You squeeze your eyes shut. The lights were too bright. A wave of nausea hits you. "And your boss knows you won't be coming in for a few days."
"How-"
"He texted this afternoon, and when he didn't get a reply, he called. I didn't give him any details," Brendon says reassuringly, fingers moving away from your face, "but I told him there was a bit of an emergency that came up and you would be out of town."
You press your hand to your forehead, feeling the sudden heat beneath your palm. "I still need to draft up the-"
Brendon shakes his head. "He said not to worry about it. C'mon, let's sit back down."
Letting him lead you back to the couch, you sink into the cushions, controlling your breathing to settle your queasiness.
"The last thing I want is for her to hate me anymore than she already does!" Brendon snaps. Small hands hold your head closer, your body rocking on the seat. "But I would rather have her resent me for the rest of my life than leave her!"
"Hasn't bothered you before," Macie snarls.
Brendon scoffs, "You don't know shit."
"I know enough!"
"Y/N?"
You blink quickly, vision coming back to focus, and realize you've been staring blankly at the opposite wall, your jaw slack and fingers twitching. You look at Brendon.
Letting out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding, you swallow thickly, emotions gone haywire at the memory. Both relieved at Macie and Brendon's concern — each from their own perspectives but concern all the same — and sickened by, not so much the image of Brendon carrying you out of Vices (which was enough to make you throw up from the conjured scene similar to that of a movie; your body limp in his arms, his face taut with emotion that he wasn't quite willing to unleash), but more so the reality that it actually happened.
You'd been drugged and if not for Brendon, what that stranger could've — would've — done to you was unspeakable.
Gentle fingers brush your cheek and you jump, your watery eyes meeting Brendon's. You hold onto his wrist, nestling your face into his palm so his thumb rests beneath your eye, your lips unintentionally pressed to the heel of his hand.
He doesn't flinch or move away; just moves his thumb soothingly to and fro. You let your eyes flutter shut.
"What's happening to me?" It was supposed to be light when you said it, but your voice gave you away, coming out hoarse and frail. Brendon doesn't answer.
A few knocks on the door, and you suck in a deep breath, pulling away and drying your tears.
"Hey guys," comes a familiar voice. "I'm here."
"Why don't you get cleaned up?" Brendon says softly. You nod, standing as the door shuts and he calls out, "Be right there!"
Brendon heads towards the kitchen while you climb back up the stairs and into his bedroom. Not because you wanted to be in his space, but you had no idea where another bathroom was.
Rummaging through the drawers, the cabinet above the toilet, and behind the mirror, you quickly realized that there wasn't spare supplies stashed away like there was in LA. You run your tongue over your teeth, grimacing at how grainy they feel. You also assumed your breath smelled like liquor.
You decide to just put some toothpaste on your finger and do it that way, seeing how the thought of using Brendon's toothbrush was just weird. Between that and a quick swish of mouthwash, you felt a little better.
After rinsing off your face and running your fingers through your hair, you figured it'd have to work. You at least looked tired and that beat looking like a train wreck. The outfit, however, needed changing.
The closet wasn't huge by any means, but it was a lot bigger than anything you'd ever had. With black, built in shelves and drawers, a large gap holding the hanging clothes — which looked like more button up shirts, t-shirts, and some jackets at the end — the space was full yet organized. You let your fingers trail over the different fabrics as you walk.
A blue jumper catches your attention. Feeling how soft it was in your hand, you pull it down from its hanger, quickly slipping it over the black t-shirt you already wore. Also digging out a pair of sweatpants, you slip them on, surprised at how well they fit.
Giving yourself one last glance in the mirror and taking a deep breath, and went down to face the music.