What's up kids, your mother is here and she is back with a kick-ass amazing first chapter and hopefully a better writing style because I re-read the first couple of chapters of Brendon. Last night and shessssh I am glad to say that I have at least gotten better with how I write.
Anyway! I would like o start with a massive thank you and congratulations if you've made it this far? And I would like to say that I have so much in store, some ideas that were suggested to me early on in Brendon. will be coming to light *hint hint, nudge nudge* and I hope you all enjoy!
Please shower this first chapter with loads of comments!
"A little help would be great, Brendon."
"You're doing a brilliant job, Dallon, I wouldn't want to mess up your...thing."Brendon is waving at hand over his shoulder, eyes glued to the rectangle screen of Dallons phone, which should honestly be renamed to Brendon's phone because Brendon is never on it and probably knows how to use it better than what Dallon does. Brendon knows how to good simple things, like take selfies and how to use up Dallons call credit, but everything else is a mystery to Brendon.
The living room is a tip, and Dallon swears that his wardrobe only talks up 10% of the clothes that have been neatly folded on the floor, on the coffee table, on the sofas and ready to be thrown into the open suitcases that lay on the carpeted flooring. Dallons stage clothes are provided for him at wardrobe, what clothes he does pack is for comfort, for sleeping, for if he actually gets free time to roam while he's out on tour.
Tour. The word along makes the hairs on the back of Dallons neck stand up and his chest tighten in that familiar, unfamiliar feeling of fear that's been nestled inside of him since the last tour. Dallon shouldn't really be surprised, the album drop was a success and Dallon has been overwhelmed with the amount of support, from fans new and old, Music artists and even old band mates that have come forward to praise Dallon.
He can still remember the day he got the phone call, the string of praising messages and run of tweets that there was an announcement of his tour, sweeping Brendon off of his feet and kissed him senseless up against the kitchen counter.
"Dallon, what does this say?"Brendon is kneeling over the back of the sofa, Dallons mobile phone raised high in the air to try and shove it into Dallons passing face.
"I'm a bit busy here, Brendon."
"You're just throwing clothes into suitcases, that doesn't look like being busy."The hybrid leans lazily over the back of the sofa, arm still hung up in the air but body slouched over as his kitten tail sways behind him, hitting off either side of the sofa.
"Our taxi arrives in two hours and you didn't pack! Of course I'm fucking busy!"He stresses, throwing a hoodie into the suitcase and suddenly uncaring of the neatness of it all because he just wants to get the packing finished so that he can run off last minute checks around the house, and things like their passports and insurance.
"I did pack! Look!"Without any shame and full power in his voice, Brendon is lifting up his favoured, perfectly decorated backpack that's been filled with Sinatra The Giraffe, Freddie The Blue Bird, some other important little stuff and clean underwear. He's pretty proud of his backpack, he had packed it that morning with all of the important stuff that he needed for their travel on the road.
"Um, clothes?"Dallon questions, eyebrow raised as he stares between his boyfriend and their backpack.
"Um, yours?"In return, the boyfriend in question smiles sweetly at Dallon, eyes crinkling and cheeks risen and goddamnit it's the most adorable type of smile that Dallon forces himself not to look.
YOU ARE READING
"Brendon I swear to god, if you break that guitar you are getting a shoe up your ass!" The chaotic, doomed from the start but twisted with fluff, adventures of Dallon Weekes and Brendon Urie. Dallon has finally gotten his music career back on the ro...