she's my winona; brendon urie au

twenty-two

When I got home from Claire's, there was absolutely no time to do anything but get ready for my date. I threw the mail on the coffee table, and headed straight to my room. I have to, first of all, plan what the hell we were going to do. And that's leaving out all the getting-ready-shit that needs to take place after that. And then once I've planned what we are going to do, I have to prepare it. Thank god for Ryan Ross. Leave it to me, the word's biggest procrastinator.

Brendon was in his room, probably getting ready. I didn't here a lot of noise when I walked passed his door. Okay, that's an understatement. I walked passed his door, and then I turned around and went back to his door to listen in since I didn't hear anything. When I heard nothing but the occasional minimal shuffling, I was a little confused, even though he blatantly told me that he was going to get ready. But, what's the worst that can happen? Guys don't take a lot to get ready, anyways.

I was browsing through my clothes while figuring out what our plans wear. Some of which clothes were hung up or in drawers, and others were still in boxes or bags.

Like I said, the world's biggest procrastinator.

I decided on something light considering the fact that it was at a dock, and the end of summer is closing in on us. While I was picking out the final pieces of my outfit, I constructed the perfect second date. Me and Brendon would get smoothies and a snack of some sort (and I would bring champagne), and we would have those as we walked down to the dock. Once we got there, when it was late, I'd break out my picnic (and champagne), and we would have those and talk.

I ended up choosing a white skirt with light gray grid patterning it to wear, and then a white tube shirt, covered with a small, thin, white, short-sleeved shirt. I figured that would be perfect.

-

"When are we leaving?" Brendon asks, walking into the kitchen.

I was there, fixing up the picnic with food I previously bought. He spoke as he was walking into the kitchen, but once I was in view, his voice wavered slightly and he paused.

"You look beautiful," He says softly, cutting himself off.

"Thank you," I reply casually, "And we are leaving in a couple minutes."

As soon as we left, I was excited. I felt like there was something inside me that I couldn't contain. Like I was holding a deadly weapon, or something very secretive and dangerous. But the twist is, I am overly obsessed with what I am holding, and I can't wait to take it out. That isn't much of a twist, these days, actually. I take that part back.

But then I think of Marley, and how he is doing. Does Ryan know what he's doing? Oh, god. I'm being a mom now. Well, I am. Well, shut up.

-

The smoothies were great, as I knew they would be. I got a strawberry one, which is coincidentally the same kind Brendon likes. So we had our smoothies and various snacks as we slowly waltzed to the dock. To get there, you have to walk along the beach and then up a short set of stairs, and then a little sidewalk. Or, I guess you could park in front of it. But what fun would that be?

We had just gotten to the dock, and I was very ready for dinner. We both sat down on the edge, and since the clock was ticking towards 10:00pm, there weren't many people. The moon was big and bright (I made sure to choose a full-moon day) and the streetlights were gorgeous. It was the perfect scene. I had a feeling that something was going to crash in and ruin it. Swoop down and unfold a dark, scary monster. I get that feeling a lot.

But I think it was real this time. Once you've been talking to someone for a while (it's not a side-effect of the champagne, I'm thinking it must be that), you sort of start saying things you don't know. Like you'll come up with new feelings or the true meanings, and you practically alter everything you thought to be true yesterday.

"Brendon, I. I need to tell I you something." I successfully say without slurring my words.

"Yeah?" He says, smiling and looking at the stars.

"I think we're moving too fast."

Time stops. Brendon looks down. He isn't smiling anymore.

"What? What's wrong? It wasn't what I did the other day, was it? Because, if it is, then we don't have to. You know that we don't have to do anything you don't want to."

I'm supposed to tell him he's wrong. But he isn't.

"Yeah, well. It's not just that. Like we had our first sexual encounter before our first kiss. And I moved in with you, and it's just, I don't know. Overwhelming?"

Brendon sighs, "I'm really sorry about what happened. It was dumb of me, and I love you for something more than that. Are you uncomfortable living with me? We've known each other for, like, almost six months. It's just, I don't know. . ."

Love. Love. He kept talking after that, about society norms and what he thinks is normal, or should be. But, love. He said love. He loves me? I don't think he means to say that. There's friend-like and friend-love, and then there's date-like and date-love. And he can't friend love me because we are technically dating. Wait, are we? (Now I know it's the champagne. Just wait for this one.) Because we should.

Because we should.

To shut him up, I say something like this: Do you want to be my boyfriend?

Brendon stops, smiles, gives me a confused look, and then asks me to repeat myself.

"Do you want to be my boyfriend?"

He does.

a/n: you should read the next chapter.

-emma