[Brendon]
Ah,
Mr. Weekes
He was that one teen that was so fancy, that almost anyone in these apartments loved him. For
No.
Fucking.
Reason.
He was seriously that "rich", though it was obvious that most of the gold and white or black and purple were fake.
"What do ya need, Weekes?"
"Urie, you do realise that Pete is trying to find you, still drunk?"
"Goddamnit, Pete. Hold my beer, would ya?"
He groaned a little. I walked down those long ass stairs. There he was. Passed out on the street, with that disgusting silivia hanging out. I picked him up, sheez he's heavy. I held him behind my back and up the stairs again.
Back in my room, I tiredly layed him on my bed that had small blood stains. I could hear behind me Dallon locking the door.
Detective, much?
"Now.." he did a small pause. "Can you tell me something?" I hummed a 'mhm' to him. "Would you ever consider yourself... devious?" "How so?" I asked him, giving a stare for a split second. "Let's put it figuratively... like a... demon?"
This bitch knows, doesn't he?
"No, I'd just describe myself as a badass dick." I said smoothly. I then got up to do my 'face routine' I guess, not exact. I splashed my face a little and patted it off with a wash cloth.
I turned around, Dallon right at my face. Jesus Christ, he's tall. I shoved him away and walked to sit back on the ground. He was ready, when he mentioned something. "Hey, um, there's a drink there I did for you. You need to relax. I can tell you've been having small migraines." He gave me a smirk and left.
Sneaky boy, huh.
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[Hey everyone! Sorry that there's not a lot of Instagram related chapters, but I'm using them as fillers. There will be some so don't worry, even though you're probably not really hah]