Paper Hearts [Brallon-ish]

159 days

I couldn't sleep. Mainly because Brendon couldn't get to sleep either. And when he didn't sleep, nobody else did either.

Earlier, he'd barged into the semi-apartment carrying an armory of pots and pans, a strainer balanced on his head, and a little plastic tester spoon from an ice cream shop taped to Pesto's back, who was once again perched carefully on Brendon's shoulder. He yelled "I ain't get no sleep 'cause of y'all, y'all ain't gonna get no sleep 'cause of me!" And slammed the backs of the appliances together for a solid 15 minutes before Patrick burst in and threw his kitchen supplies out the 3rd story window.

"I need to go to the store." Brendon concluded, talking over the volleyball game on TV which I didn't even know aired at 1 am.

"Well duh, you can't cook anything now."

"I can use my strainer to ineffectively boil pasta."

"The water would just run out of the sides."

"That's why I said ineffectively, God, don't you listen?"

Pesto purred loudly, surprising since he was such a small cat. His size was a good thing though, because if he needed to go out and let out a days worth of unused energy, Brendon would just spread out a blanket across the floor and he'd tire himself out. They'd been inseparable after the cat had been introduced to the single owned semi-apartment, and Brendon made a specific point to Patrick every time we had dinner at his place that Pesto was well worth the risk. And Patrick would glare and reject his words but accept them as soon at that cat fell asleep on his hat again.

The volleyball game finished with a victory for the girls dressed in blue, and I switched it to the science channel, mainly because I found golf reruns really boring and pointless. However, Pete found them funny but he was passed out on the countertops, arms dangling a couple feet above the puddle of drool he'd accidentally created on the floor, so he wasn't exactly in the best position to tell me how to operate the tv remote.

The guy that I assumed was a professional, or at least hoped he was, kept spitting out facts about space that were probably untested and unproven but mentioned anyways for the sheer fact that they sounded interesting.

"Stars are made out of dust clouds scattered throughout the space. The turbulence within these dust clouds gives rise to knots which later on develop mass, allowing gas and dust to collapse. While this cloud collapses-"

Brendon glared and sighed angrily, reaching for the remote and chucking it at the TV so it bounced off the power button. I wasn't sure if he was trying to make a point or if he forgot about the on off switch on the remote, but he startled Pesto.

"People always say you're made of the literal universe; like specifically the one thats associated with planets and comets and all that crazy shit, so then, narrowed down by a confusing thought process, they believe you must be special." Brendon said airily and dazedly, staring at the screen like a program was still playing. "I call it lies because everyone is made of the universe, and the universe is against the human race for believing they're all individually special for being the same."

I stared at him quizzically across the couch, his feet kicked up on the stained plastic coffee table and arms hanging off the back of the furniture. He was really something.

"And yknow what the universe did to us, Dallon? As a punishment for believing we're something?"

I shook my head no and he caught it out of the corner of his eyes, crossing his arms and draping a quilt he'd grabbed from the floor over his body.

"They taught us how to fall in love," He said "simple as that."

"And why is that a bad thing?"

"Love is something to be treasured and kept forever because everyone has it but is too afraid to give it in fear of becoming insignificant and just having their own piece of themselves be thrown away and forgotten," he sniffed and pulled the edges of the blanket over his nose "yet there's nothing scarier than love because love can blindfold you and trick you until you regain your sight and realize everything you'd thought was perfect had been an inevitable disaster in slow motion that would destroy everything in its way."

I wasn't sure if he'd answered the question correctly, but damn, it was well said even if he didn't. 

"You just have some really deep thoughts, don't you?"

Brendon giggled tiredly and curled up in the corner of the couch more, sighing contently like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "When I've had too much to drink, I do. And when I haven't had any to drink, I still do."

Pete snored so loud that the sound propelled him forward and he fell right into the puddle of drool face first. He'd also woken up Patrick, who laughed, took a couple pictures, then picked him up and carried him to the other bedroom in Brendon's semi apartment he used for guests. Although we were the only guests he had, so it was more like our spare room if we needed it.

Brendon stumbled to his feet, the quilt wrapped around his entire body, announced he was going to bed and that I was free to join him as a designated cuddle buddy, and left the room. Pesto had jumped down from the couch arm rest and climbed up into his padded little cardboard box he'd been given to sleep in, like he was following Brendon's example and was getting ready to go to sleep.

"Goodnight, Pesto. You sleep well, okay?" He mumbled and shut the door behind him. I heard him flop on to his bed and rustle under the covers, snoring louder than Pete in a matter of minutes. It was an impressive feat, considering Pete was very well known next door for waking up the neighbors. They all hated him, and I often woke up to some type of spray paint dripping down the gold plated "321" as revenge for only getting 4 hours of sleep. I guess they had no sympathy for the guy that had to live with him.

So I turned the tv back on, tuning out the space channel to wonder what Brendon Urie had done to the universe to make it hate him so much.