♡Sweetheart♡ ||Brendon Urie x Reader||

Chapter 8

I could hear the clicking of a keyboard, the grinding of his foot sliding the contraption near him back and forth on the floor with his foot, and the pure agony in his voice as he let himself cry and panic into his hand. When I had stopped convulsing and began to fall back into a doomed slumber, he arose from the ground, grabbed the gun-shaped machine he was messing with, and threw himself onto a chair in front of a computer.

The last thing I heard as I faded into an unwanted sleep was the word "edit" repeated over and over between his deep breaths.

My body jolted back into function at the last sight of the memory and my head hurt worse than any pain I've experienced. Even worse than a migraine, it caused sweating in my hands, burning in my throat, a stinging in my eyes, and nausea in my stomach. This was all caused from regaining a space in my head and the confusion that came with the fact that I had no sense of where any of that fit around my current memories.

I made sure I had a trash can in front of me before I spewed the contents of my stomach, and with the vile vomit out came the migraine.

"Sweet," I wandered around to brush my teeth and perform any task possible to make myself seem fresh again. "I should do that anytime Urie gives me a headache with his bullshit."

Looking for a distraction from my confusing experience, I, luckily, had gotten a message from Lexi:

Hey, [y/n]. Meagan and I are going to a cafe and we wanted to know if you wanted to come.

The corners of my lips twitched upward at the notion of someone I had just met making friendly advances. It wouldn't be so hard to bond with new people, after all. I clicked on the link she sent with the text, sending me to the website of the cafe, which, from reading, was more a popular coffee shop than a cafe. I almost sent her a message right away stating my willingness to meet them.

But I most likely needed permission. It wasn't like I could waltz out of the door without someone knowing. In this situation, though, I couldn't just run up to anyone and say where I was headed. I didn't even feel at ease with the notion of informing my own father. I sighed, aware that I was widely overthinking the matter.

But my dread grew as I knew what that would mean: I had to approach Urie.

Sure, him and I had our good times, but that didn't defeat the fact that he was suspicious, secretive, and way too seductive for his own good.

There was not a particular reason why I couldn't go, and Urie did say I was free to leave whenever, but I didn't want to worry anyone and I definitely wanted confirmation. Although the urge to message this girl back was growing by the second, what was I supposed to say? I would totally love to go, but I have to ask Brendon Urie, millionaire, lady-killer, man everyone wants to be, person I am currently living with, human who makes everyone envy my situation, man most women only get to speak a few words with in their entire life, first! xoxoxo I hope he says yes!

I stiffly threw myself out of bed at the sickening thought, not bothering with clothes. I was certainly not in the mood to dress myself for a man who had seen me in pajamas before, nor was I in the mood to present any hints of elegance as I tumbled toward his room and, instead of alerting him of my presence with a knock, I banged my head against his door.

Good enough, I thought to myself, my voice in my head sounding as tired as my external voice. I was emotionally exhausted and I wasn't about to expel all of my energy on Urie, a man who had seen me at my worst. I had no reason to put up a facade for him: I lived with him, after all. He was going to see many emotions from me anyway, and I wasn't sure either of us minded. I had long forgotten to take my head off of his door, my eyes threatening to close as my body deemed any surface perfect for sleeping.