All Hail The King || Brendon Urie x Reader

XII

When you made it back downstairs, the boys had migrated from the kitchen into the living room, the two of them holding a beer each. Brendon's eyes flick over you, his smile faltering, leaving his lips barely parted. Zack's grin, however, remains as he rests his weight on his back foot.
"We haven't been properly introduced," he says, extending his hand. "I'm Zack Hall. The official pain in his ass."
You can't help but chuckle at the rolling of Brendon's eyes. "Y/N Y/L/N."
Pulling away, Zack's eyes light up. "Can I just give you kudos for scaring the hell outta that guy the other day?
"Zack," Brendon warns lowly.
"C'mon, Bren. It's funny!"
You smile, cheeks heating up at the strangely appreciated compliment. From anyone else you might've taken it worth a grain of salt, but Zack looks so enthusiastic about it; a child cheering to rewatch his favorite movie much to his parent's displeasure.
"You're making her uncomfortable," Brendon chastises lowly, teeth grit.
You shrug, picking at the hem of the jumper. "Don't worry about it. Everyone's got their limits, and that was mine."
"Well, I applaud you for your valor, miss," Zack compliments, his voice taken on a rusty English accent. You can't help the childish giggle that escapes your lips, the first in a long time.
Brendon shifts his weight. "I'm gonna go see what we've got for dinner, alright?" You and Zack both nod. The latter receives a sharp look, but is unfazed, and actually holds back a laugh.
You grab your water off the coffee table as Zack asks, "So aside from kicking ass, what do you do for a living?"
"Well," you huff out a laugh, rolling your eyes slightly, "I work for a guy named Eddie Jameson back in Vegas. I'm technically a financial clerk, which is just a fancy way of calling myself an over-glorified assistant." You take a sip. Zack repeats the name, eyebrows furrowed. Lowering your glass, you gesture with your hand, "He was running this little business right off of the strip, but he got bought out by one of the bigger guys."
"I'm sorry," he interjects.
You shrug. "It's alright. I at least got to keep working with him after the sale; we just have to follow the MGM's rules now."
There's a clatter of metal from the kitchen paired with a quick shit from Brendon. Zack opens his mouth, amusement lighting up his eyes. "Don't you dare," Brendon shouts.
Zack rolls his eyes, raising his beer towards his lips. "You like it then? Working for Jameson, I mean?"
"He's a good guy," you answer honestly, "and I don't know anyone else who'd put up with my shit as long as he has."
You laugh as Zack nearly chokes on his drink. He claps a hand over his mouth as he laughs, eyes watering as he tries to clear his throat. He almost settles, but takes another glance at you and starts laughing again.
"What?" You laugh, smoothing over the jumper. "Was it really that funny?"
"S'just-" he coughs, flattening his hand on his chest- "you make it sound like you're a full time pain in the ass like me."
"Oh definitely," you laugh. "He about had a heart attack when I suggesting talking to management about knocking the import down to nine percent, but now we're the cheapest, therefore the busiest and we're making almost double what we were before."
His brows raise, clearly impressed. "If it works, it works, huh? Holy shit. Nine percent?"
"That's practically our motto at this point," you snicker.
"What is? If it works, it works?"
"No," you answer, "holy shit."
Zack's head tilts back, his laughter aimed at the ceiling. "Oh my god," he drawls, dragging a hand down his face. "Man, I think you and I are gonna be friends."
You smile, but as he takes about her drink of his beer, it falters. How long will that last? Because, sure, today has been the weirdest, nicest day, but there's no way it'll happen all the time.
Brendon comes around the corner, slipping his phone into his back pocket. "I ordered pizza." His eyes meet yours. "That cool?"
"Yeah, I'm good with that," you answer.
"Aww," Zach pouts, "no lasagna?"
Brendon rolls his eyes, crossing his arms defiantly. The color that stains his cheeks doesn't go unnoticed. "That was one time. One."
Zach, seeing your confusion, explains, "Genius here tried making lasagna once, but he forgot about it in the oven." Your brows shoot up, looking at Brendon — who shifts his weight, shaking his head as he glares out the window — then back to Zack. "Top it all off, when he tried pulling it out of the oven, he fucking dropped it. This thing was so burnt not even the dogs would eat it!"
"So Elizabeth makes sure you don't starve," you jest. Brendon shrugs, nodding sheepishly.
"Or live off cereal," he mumbles.
"Speaking of which, have you let them out?"
"Oh shit," Brendon answers, shoulders dropping, "I forgot."
Brendon steps away, but Zack waves him off, "Don't worry. I'll get 'em." He leans towards Brendon's ear, clapping his shoulder and giving him a little shake. "I've stolen enough time from you and your girl, huh?"
You blush. Brendon blushes. You're pretty sure Zack meant for you to hear it, and Brendon wishes otherwise as your embarrassment gets a hearty laugh from the bearded man.
Before you let it get the best of you, you ask, "Who's 'them'?"
Brendon opens his mouth, but a clatter of little nails clicking on the hardwood floor carries through the house as two small dogs barrel towards you. You gasp, crouching down to pet the pups.
Brendon smiles. "Meet Miss Penny Lane-" he points at the black and white Boston terrier who's butt wiggles excitedly- "and Bogart."
The latter places his front paws on your knee, licking your face as you scratch eagerly at his ears. "Oh my god," you say, the smile on your face untamable. "You're so pretty! Yes you are!"
Bogart drops down, running in circles around you as Penny Lane sniffs your legs and ankles. The fawn colored dog begins to bark, and Brendon sighs.
"Puppies," he scolds lightly. Leaning down, he scoops up Bogart, holding the excited pup in his arms (well, as best he can given Bogart's tail waving frantically as he licks over Brendon's face). "Yes, I know; a new person! Friend, friend, friend, friend, friend!"
He smooshes his lips into a pout. Your smile softens at his gentleness. Catching yourself, you clear your throat, watching Penny scurry towards the opening door. You glance towards the hallway.
"So did Zack just disappear or...?"
"Honestly?" He looks around the living room, brows furrowed in thought. "I have no idea." You stand, brushing off your legs despite the lack of dirt.
He slides open the back door, letting the two outside, closing it behind them. You both watch the dogs as they chase each other around the yard, tongues hanging out and little feet carrying them faster and faster.
"Hey, Y/N?" He slips his hands in his pockets, leaning back on his left foot. "I'm, uh, I'm sorry I brought you all the way out here."
Your brows, while they furrow for a moment, shoot up. You weren't expecting this. "Oh?"
"I just-" Brendon's eyes flick to you. He shifts under your gaze, looking at his shoes. "I have some stuff I needed to do here, but I didn't want to just–" his shoulders tense up before dropping "–leave you." Pulling his right hand, from his pocket, dragging it down his face, eyes squeezed shut as he continues, "And I know that sounds crazy to say given, well, everything, but I kept telling Dallon that I've already made that mistake and I couldn't do it again. I mean I hated that you hated me–"
"Brendon," you call softly.
"–but I knew I messed up. I messed up so bad, Y/N, and I don't blame you for hating me. I hated me too — I still do — but Dallon said you'd–"
"Brendon!" He jumps when your hand brushes his arm, stopping his word-vomit.
Relaxing, he scratches at his brow. "I'm sorry, I–" he laughs weakly, awkwardly "–I didn't mean to get carried away."
"I know," you reassure, "you've always been a rambler."
The corners of his lips curl into a soft smile. He breathes out a laugh, "Not always."
"Yes, always," you tease, crossing your arms. Brendon, putting his hand back in his pockets, narrows his eyes playfully. You shift your weight, adding, "Remember when my Dad caught us sneaking through the library window at four in the morning? We were what? Seven?" Brendon shakes his head, cheeks turning rosy at the memory. "You spent almost thirty minutes trying to convince him you'd forgotten your hoodie inside-"
"Even though you were wearing it?"
"Yeah! And then, despite all that, he promised not to tell either of our moms."
"You think he ever did?" Brendon asks, glancing at you then back outside. "Tell anyone, I mean."
You think back to those following weeks, remembering how anxious you were that you'd be called to the dining room table, and chided for sneaking out of the house and into the night — with the Urie boy no less.
You don't think she hated him; just treated him with the same cold, polished front as anyone else. Tactical, to the point. She had no patience for games, and Brendon figured that out quickly when he first came over with his family. Your mother had the poor boy shaking in his boots before he'd even made it through the threshold.
"No," you finally conclude, "I don't think he did."