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Note: If you haven't read the original version, I highly suggest that you do so before reading this one. x
P.S. This one got a little bit comical towards the end, but I couldn't help myself! There was too much angst :/
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"Yeah! Yeah, that's right. Leave! Fucking leave just like the rest of them!"
Your brow creased into a worried frown as you heard your husband's rage-fuelled voice echo down the corridor, and you picked up your pace immediately, practically running.
You reached the dressing room just in time to see Dallon and his wife rushing out; she was practically carrying him away, and the sight created a pit in your stomach.
Swallowing hard, you turned into the room to be met with the sight of a fuming Brendon, viciously tugging at his hair as Zack tried to calm him down; the latter caught sight of you and stepped back, allowing opportunity for you to step in and do your wifely duty by comforting the overly emotional singer.
"Bren." You started forward, reaching out to him, but he ignored you and continued pacing and mumbling under his breath.
"Bren," you tried again, this time taking his hand from his hair and intertwining your fingers with his; his rigid posture relaxed instantaneously at the feel of your skin against his, and he finally turned to look at you.
For the first time in all of the years you'd known him, you found yourself wishing that he hadn't, because the look of pure anguish in his usually warm eyes was so intense that your knees almost caved in and buckled.
His did, and he fell into your embrace with a sob so loud that you were certain that it echoed throughout the entire expanse of the universe.
~
"Baby," you sighed and let your shoulders drop as you languidly strolled over to Brendon, "I get that you're hurting but is this really necessary?"
Brendon barely glanced at you, grunting as he raised the baseball bat above his head before bringing it down in a fluidly cruel movement, striking the unsalvageable TV he had picked up from the junkyard a few hours prior.
"I've gotta get this anger out, (Y/N)," he muttered; his breathing was so harsh, you could hear it all the way on the opposite end of the vast garage.
"There are other ways, you know."
"Like?" He indulged your attempt at getting him to stop, even though he had no intention of doing so.
Stepping forward, you shrugged your shoulders. "Sex?" you offered, arching your brows, "It's a win-win situation."
You were gifted a smirk to go along with his response. "Babe, with the mood I'm in, you wouldn't be able to walk for weeks."
"I'm willing to make a sacrifice for the greater good." You ducked down to dodge a piece of debris flying your way, as your husband had resumed his assault on the TV.
Brendon didn't dignify your statement with a response, causing you to groan quietly. Almost a day had passed since the row between the musicians, and your husband was now past the crying stage and had shifted back to the anger one; as one could imagine, it made life at home exceedingly difficult for you. Brendon wasn't usually one that had temperament issues but his argument with Dallon seemingly brought out another side of him – one that you had never seen before and one that you didn't like in the slightest.
Hence, you had been trying endlessly to will him past the anger that was blinding him and attempted to get him to reconcile with the estranged bassist. So far, it hadn't been going well.
You were about to open your mouth in an effort to try again but Brendon beat you to it.
He rested the baseball bat over one shoulder and tried to slow his heavy exhales. "I just- I don't get it. How could he leave me like that?"
"He wanted to make it on his own, Bren," you explained with another shrug, "Wanted to live out his dream. You can't blame him for that."
"I'm not," he defended earnestly as he frowned and shook his head, "I'm glad he's getting to live his dream. What I don't understand was why he didn't talk to me about it. We were together practically twenty-four/seven. I spent more time with him than I did with you, damn it."
You nodded to show that you understood his viewpoint on the situation, but you still fortified Dallon. "Yeah, but think about how hard it must've been for him. I mean... like he said, he was only ever regarded as a 'touring member'. No one knew who he was outside of the Panic! fandom, and even in it he was barely appreciated. I saw this one tweet he sent out a while ago where he said something about not even being invited to award shows? You might not even notice it, but it's the little things like that that got to him the most; he was probably feeling underappreciated. You can kinda understand his approach, I guess."
"So what, you're saying all of that is my fault?" Brendon snapped, "I asked him to be a full-time member – he declined. And as for the award show thing... it's not like I control that shit! If he was feeling left out, he should've spoken to me about it. I'm not a fucking mind reader."
You sighed. "Yes but-"
He glared at you, feeling as if you were betraying him by not choosing his side, before cutting you off. "You're seriously siding with him on this?" he practically gawked at you, "What, are you gonna leave me now, too?"
Brendon's resolve faltered towards the end of his outburst, and you could hear the slight cracks in his voice; it broke your heart.
"No, of course not. Hey," you shook your head and hurried over to him and cupped his face in your hands, looking into his tear-filled eyes before kissing him tenderly. When you broke away, you pulled him into a tight hug before pulling back to look up at him. "I'm not leaving you, okay? Never. I don't want you to ever worry about that. No matter what, you'll always have me."
He sniffled in reply.
"And I'm not choosing Dallon's side," you rectified, "In fact, I'm not choosing sides, period. I'm just saying that you have to see things from both sides, B. And I'm sure that the Weekes household is having the exact same conversation right now. This situation affects and hurts both of you in ways that neither of you realise, so you need to take a step back and look from the other's perspective. The world needs Brallon, so you two need to make this shit right."
Brendon gave you a short laugh before taking you in his arms and gazing at you adoringly. He stood silent and thought for a minute, before nodding slightly. "You're right," he sighed in defeat before rubbing his thumb over your cheek, "God, what would I do without you?"
"Die, probably."
He chuckled again and pecked your lips. You smiled up at him.
"So you'll do it? You'll make right with Dallon?"
He was silent for a moment before nodding. "Yeah. Yeah."
"Wonderful," you kissed him again.
Admittedly, you were shocked at how quickly he'd agreed; he was usually an exceptionally stubborn person. But you were too happy to question it.
"When?" you cocked your head and asked.
"Soon."
~
"When?"
"I told you – soon."
"It's been a fucking year, Brendon."
"Eleven months. Hey!" He managed to dodge your shoe that was flying at his head a split-second before it made contact.
"I'm serious!" you insisted, pointing a finger towards the door, "If I don't see a human giraffe walking through my front door by tomorrow, I swear to God I'm withholding sex again!"
"Ha," Brendon wheezed, "You wouldn't last, bitch."
Clenching your jaw and grinding your teeth together, you tossed him the filthiest glare you could come up with. "I'm not in a gaming mood, fucker. Get out there and go get our boy back!"
Holding up his hands in surrender, Brendon widened his eyes and leaned back in his spot on the sofa. "Alright, alright. Geez. I'll go, okay?"
His eyes caught sight of his phone on the coffee table and he hummed contemplatively before reaching for it.
"But first," he opened Instagram, "a peace offering."
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Thank you for reading x
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Note: And that's a wrap on Emo Quartet Imagines: Volume I. One year, seven months later. Volume II will arrive in the new year. x
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