the journalist ➮ beebo

snippet

〈 you've really got a way with words, little lady. 〉

© scribblings, 2017.

[ He wasn't looking for love, but neither was she. He was neck-deep in his career, embarking on his second Death of a Bachelor tour, living recklessly and surrounding himself with champagne, cocaine, gasoline, and most things in between. She was nearly finished with her college education, staying studious and focused on her future. So, what happens when fate brings the two of them together and their worlds collide? Will it create a pretty picture, or will the scenery be too loud? ]

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Damn, he was perfect. Everything about him was undoubtedly flawless. I gazed adoringly at the god-like creature standing before me, clad in leather pants and a golden suit jacket. So many things I wanted to ask him were swimming through my brain.

"I, uh," I muttered. "Uh..." 

Those were the only words that I could seemingly form. I searched his face for any signs of change in emotion, but he just kept grinning at me and waiting patiently for me to speak. I'm sure he was used to this kind of reaction when he met fans.

But I wasn't a fan. I wasn't a fan. I've never truly listened to his music before and I only knew what he looked like because of the countless times my best friend showed me pictures of him.

I had just opened my mouth in another attempt to say something―anything―when one of his tour managers peered through the door. "Hey, we're going to be warming up soon with the opening bands. You ready?"

It was then that I realized I had spent the past two or three minutes gaping at him like an idiot. "Shit, um, I'm sorry. I'm really wasting your time."

He shook his head. "No, no, not at all. Hell, I could do this all day. I know you're probably having trouble finding out what to say or do being put on the spot like this. Come see me after the show. We'll talk then. Just make sure you think of some things to say," he winked.

I let out a puff of air that I didn't know I was holding in. "Will do."

"See you later, Miss Journalist," he beamed as he walked out of the room.

I smiled shyly in return and said, "See you later, Mr. Urie," regardless of the fact that he was already out of earshot.