Goodnight Socialite ☆ Brallon

Don't You Know Who I Think I Am?

He was something else. Godly, almost. Ethereal. Everyone could see it. It wasn't just because he was famous either, though that did contribute to the reason he was fucking worshipped. It was his voice. He had the best voice in Vegas, he was told back when he was younger, singing in restaurants for tips. Now that he was performing in sold out stadiums for thousands every night, some would argue his voice was the best in the world. That was what had the straightest guys on their knees for him- well, that and he had a pretty face and a body to match. He knew what he was doing, although he didn't even have to try. He had the talent and the looks that naturally drew people in. Still, he had the biggest ego and he had every right to be as cocky as he wanted. Years of being worshipped will do that to you. He knew that everywhere he went there would be someone who would recognize him and have a panic attack, simply because he was in their presence.

There was one morning though when he wasn't having it. It was when he walked into a coffee shop, one he used to sing at in high school in his home town. He was back home for a week, then it was back on the road. He thought he was hidden behind sunglasses, but once he heard the gasp, he knew his attempt at a disguise had failed. It was a teenage girl, as usual, inches shorter than him, bouncing up and down on her toes in front of him.

"Brendon- You're Brendon Urie, oh my God," She stammered with the biggest smile on her face.

Normally Brendon would smile back, being his normal charming self, but he just sighed, nodding.

She asked for a picture and took out her phone with shaky hands, and then came another nod from Brendon and a quick, "Sure". Of course he smiled for the picture, but only briefly. The girl was nearly crying when she left the place, waving and thanking him like he'd done her a favor. When really, all he did was exist.

Once she was gone, he turned to Spencer, his manager.

"Can't get a fucking break," He mumbled before heading up to the counter.

Spencer just shook his head. He wasn't much like Brendon. He was quiet, and polite, and did as he was told. That was how Brendon liked him too. Above being a manager though, Spencer was a good friend. He was a good listener and he gave good advice. He usually kept Brendon sane while on tour. Brendon didn't always recognize it, but Spencer  was important. He always had his back.

"Hey, can I get a coffee?" Brendon said, after jumping to the front of the line.

The guy behind the counter looked up with this weird look on his face, looking Brendon over a few times.

"You have to get in line, you know. This your first time in a store?" The guy replied finally with an eyebrow raised.

Brendon was speechless for a second, and Spencer was about to direct him to the back of the line, when he just stepped closer to the counter.

"Do you know who I am, kid?" Brendon asked, a little harshly.

"Actually, no, I don't, sorry." The guy said, continuing to help other customers.

"You're telling me you live in Vegas and you don't know me?" Brendon questioned. He was mostly just unbelieving that this guy had never heard of him.

"Dude, no." The guy rolled his eyes. "But I'm assuming by the way that girl just reacted to you that you're like, famous or something. I'm also assuming that by the way you treated her that you're an asshole, and that might fly with your fans, but not me. Personally, I couldn't care less who you are."

Brendon was of course speechless again, and about ready to throw a tantrum and leave. Instead he just rolled his eyes and followed Spencer to the back of the line. By the time he reached the front of the line, Brendon started to actually feel bad. He wasn't sure why, but this guy kind of put things in perspective a little.

"See, that's how a line works." The guy said.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Brendon said quickly. "I- Yeah, I was a dick, I know."

The guy hesitated and then nodded.

"Kind of, yeah, but it's cool." He replied, starting to make the coffee Brendon asked for earlier. "So who are you? I mean, if you're such a big deal."

Brendon tried to not be offended by that and leaned against the counter.

"Brendon Urie. I'm a singer."

The guy laughed, scribbling on the cup with a black marker.

"Dallon Weekes. I make coffee." He said, mimicking Brendon's tone and sliding the cup across the counter.

"Thanks, Dallon." Brendon shook his head with a small smile, handing Dallon a few dollars and heading for the door.

On the way out, he held up the cup, turning it around to find the slanted cursive writing.

"Brandon Urie- Singer" It read.

Brendon had a strong suspicion that he misspelled his name on purpose.