Goodnight Socialite ☆ Brallon

Sweater Weather

It was colder than he expected it to be, to say the least. He didn't bother to check the weather on his phone before leaving, so the cold air hit him like a fucking truck when he pushed open the glass doors leading out of the apartment building. He folded his arms over his chest to keep the harsh wind from making its way under the thin white t shirt, silently cursing himself for apparently thinking it was about twenty degrees warmer when he was getting dressed earlier that morning. He was wondering when it became late November, because it happened pretty suddenly.

But he survived the walk to his car, slowly numbing fingers shaking as he scrambled to unlock it. The inside wasn't much warmer, since the vehicle had been parked in the parking garage for months, untouched. Yet he still somehow found comfort, maybe relief, in the freezing leather of the black Escalade. He sat for almost ten minutes holding his hands up to the hot air coming through the vent before even starting the car. It wasn't even a five minute drive, but in Brendon's mind that just meant he had time to turn on radio and theatrically sing along to maybe a song and a half before he got there. Spencer always said that one day that was going to be his cause of death. Brendon couldn't really think of a better way to die than to do it while screaming Bohemian Rhapsody at the top of his lungs. 

He practically ran to the door when he got there, letting it slam behind him with the ring of a bell- the tiny silver one on the top of the door- instantly melting in the warmth of the coffee shop.

"Hey! Came back to see me? What was it, Bryan? Breadbin?" The guy behind the counter joked as Brendon approached.

"I came for coffee, actually," He said, which wasn't a total lie, leaning against the counter. He chose to ignore the last part.

"Right," Dallon trailed off, hiding a smirk when he turned to reach for a cup.

"It's for here, actually." Brendon spoke up, seeing as Dallon was going for the tower of disposable to-go cups, probably assuming Brendon was in a hurry to go do some celebrity shit.

"Oh?"

Dallon glanced back and skipped over that stack, fingertips dancing over to the next one, not quite as tall, quickly grabbing one of the white, ceramic mugs.

"So you are here to hang out with me." He teased.

"You got me," Brendon shrugged, cracking a smile.

"But really- shouldn't you be like, at a concert, or an award show or something?" Dallon asked.

"You know, being famous doesn't mean you're constantly in front of a camera. For example, here I am, at some café talking to a guy who couldn't care less about me."

Dallon clicked his tongue.

"Couldn't care less about you? I wouldn't say that," He said as he set the mug down on the counter, exchanging it for the five dollar bill in Brendon's hand. "I googled you last night."

Brendon's eyes went wide at that, but soon the smile was back.

"Did you?" He asked, genuinely curious, as the boy behind the counter dropped change into his hand.

He was still a little cold from the harsh weather outside, so in those short few moments that Dallon's hand lingered above his, he kind hoped he'd feel the warmth of that hand against his palm, instead of the cold metal. He even stood there for a second after Dallon turned his back, mourning the loss of that potential contact, before moving around the bend of the counter where it turned into a sort of bar, sitting at one of the uncomfortable wooden stools.