[I legit have over 20 chapters written in advance why @ me also this is like 3562 word long Kms ]

In the middle of biology, Tyler slammed his backpack on the desk with full force. He'd arrived late, even more pissed than usual. But it took me a moment to realize he wasn't pissed, more deserted in extremely angry thought.

"I went to look for you at the baseball field yesterday to either cheer you on or laugh at you, maybe even both. You weren't there."

My mind scrambled for an explanation, one to get me out of telling him everything. "I, uh, got cold and went home early. Yeah. It was really really cold out there in... baseball pants. And a baseball shirt. Very cold. Blue fingertips." I stretched my arms and flexed my hands to prove a point I'd never needed to make. It wasn't even that cold yesterday. But then again I was really warm so I kinda wished it was freezing. Both vanilla and cherries seemed to have that cozy feeling.

"I've been in your closet," he glared "you don't own anything sports related other than your football jersey. I was in there like 3 days ago, remember?"

I vaguely remembered Tyler popping out of my closet when I'd gotten home the other day. He'd been searching through my things to find a CD I'd borrowed a few years back and had supposedly never returned. His accusations were flawed as soon as I drove him home to find the disk in his car, already blasting tunes at full volume.

"I remember kinda sorta. Semi remember."

"Your closet is a fucking disaster. On a side note, you need to clean up behind your shirts. I know you left the closet a while ago, but spiderwebs and dead rats are no excuse for not setting foot inside it for like 80 years." Tyler swiftly stole the seat next to me, and I hoped he didn't have the right angle to see the sun shining the regret in my eyes a brighter shade.

"Wait, wait, wait, back up - dead rats?" I knew I needed to clean in there but I didn't know things had died in there - I thought the exterminator had done a good job last week.

"That was a lie. I wanted to see if you could really hear me or if you were just tuning me out and nodding along to whatever I said. Which you are not, good to know." His fingers lightly tugged at the jacket collar pulled up around my neck, brushing along the metal circle pushed to the top of the zipper. "It's also 87 degrees in Fahren-haha outside. A short sleeve shirt would probably be more appropriate, don't you think?"

I swatted his hand away before he could catch a glimpse my collarbone, shooting a glare in his direction. "Don't you have better things to investigate, Sherlock? What happened to the mystery meat caper in the cafeteria?"

"Probably. I solved that one anyways - it's a pleasant combination between cows and horses and probably aliens. So refrain from eating it. But anyways, sometimes drifting off topic is fun. Engaging in side missions, the usual." Tyler said, hands digging through his backpack and pulling out a large folder packed with papers. "And on another topic, I was doing some research on why Brendon only started talking to you because of Pete, right? And I told you my dad worked down at the police station..." his voice trailed off and he slid the folder across the table to me.

The first sheet was an article dated back to sophomore year, when some people had broken into a jewelry store and stolen a couple hundreds worth of diamonds and whatever was the closest in reach. "This is the-"

"The famous Diamond Ditch in Belle's a couple years ago. Remember how they said they never caught the guy, but then they closed the case?" Tyler flipped to the next page, a confidential file he must've nabbed from the police station a couple miles away.

"Pete had confessed to doing it and forked over the security tapes that'd been stolen at the scene. He told them all about it, handed over the jewelry, and that's when he got sent to some strange little mental hospital, where they officially diagnosed him as a kleptomaniac. Then came the therapy, and the specialists, and all the other things I'd dozed off listening to the whole story. His anonymous partner in crime never got caught because everybody had just assumed that Pete was the perfect person in reach to pull off something complex like that."

"It can't have been that complex-"

"They had to hack through 38 firewalls to see which security cameras to take out, get past 16 different gates, 12 alarm systems, and 27 cameras. I think saying it was complex is generous."

Paging through the rest of the contents, I only saw shots from the security tapes. It didn't take a genius to know they'd been tampered with. I guess they weren't able to come to that realization though, all the better for Pete and his partner in crime, whoever it was that got away untouched.

Tyler turned to the back of the folder, Brendon's police crime file, surprisingly enough. It was blank, spare the spots for his name and information. His photo was in the corner, cheeky smile across his face. "Now, my theory is that they did the heist together. Pete covered since he'd had the perfect reasons and the consequences were simple due to the extensive mental conditions he had been diagnosed with, aka kleptomania. And I've concluded his partner was Brendon. It makes sense, doesn't it? People would become apprehensive around the other if ones cover were at risk of being blown. They lived down the street from each other for a couple months, Brendon's a sneaky motherfucker-"

"Okay, Tyler, I get the point." I guess it did make sense. That would be why he responded to Pete's name so fast, and why he acted funny towards him whenever they were in close proximity. I mean, I'd act like that too if I was near the same person I'd stolen thousands of dollars worth of precious metals with. And now that I thought about it, Brendon did get called from class a lot that year...

I was right. Sour cherries and stale vanilla. "And the overall point to this entire investigation of yours was to do what...?"

His smile faltered, taking the papers back and dropping them into his bag. Tyler bit the inside of his cheek and sat back down, watching the countertop as if it'd provide an answer, a good one too. "I actually don't know. I've been in a detective-y mood lately. Which is why I'm gonna find out why in the world you're wearing a long sleeve jacket when it's literally flesh burning heat out there." He nodded slyly, worry washing over me. "Yeah. I'll figure it out. Seems like a nice side project."

If there was one thing Tyler was better at than not keeping secrets, it was figuring the weirdest things out. He could always solve something if he really put his mind to it. "I'm just, uh, cold. Why do you need to investigate?"

He hummed to himself, turning over his thoughts. His gaze was glued to the folder sitting in his backpack. "I'll mark that under suspicious behavior. Something's up, and I wanna know what."

...

To: B
Tyler's on to us

From: B
?

To: B
Wore a jacket with an upturned collar to hide everything and Sherlock Holmes got suspicious.

From: B
<3

To: B
Go die

From: B
Whenever you're not with me I'm always dyin'

To: B
Then leave Ryan.

The read receipt popped up but another message never came through. What a little bitch. The least he can do for me is be honest to the person he's been with for over 2 years, 3 in a few weeks. I knew what we were doing was wrong, that neither of us should've even considered giving in, but it seemed like he either didn't know or didn't care. Maybe it was a mixture of both.

What was worse that I didn't know what to tell Ryan. How do you even bring up a topic like that? How do you make it sound better than it is? 'Hey I helped your partner of almost 3 years cheat on you also practice got moved from 2 and a half hours to 4 excluding breaks see you then'. No. That doesn't sit well with people. Social interaction improvement is on my to-do list, at the very top.

To: Ryan
[type your message here]

I hesitated then, I really did. Maybe he'd hate me. Scratch that, he'd definitely hate me. He'd abhor me. What if he got ahold of a baseball bat and tried to kill me on Monday? He played for a baseball team a while ago. Honestly that sounded like a good way out of the situation.

I seriously and stupidly debated between taking a picture of the bruises down my collarbone and just sending that or just telling him. Either way was bad, terribly awful, even. Also that was a shitty way to break the news.

To: Tyler
[type your message here]

I stopped myself before I typed a single letter out. He was a horrible secret keeper, the bruises on Patrick's knuckles violently punching their way into my subconscious from the time word leaked about Patrick and his secret like for Katy Perry. I could not tell Tyler.

I couldn't tell anyone. Pete would hold it over my head and who knows what a kleptomaniac would do with that type of information.

Patrick would probably keep it safe but I never really talked to him that much. He always looked like he was about to stab someone with the spikes on his jacket or run them over with his renovated motorcycle. Maybe he would plow me over with it if I asked nicely. He probably would. Patrick's a nice guy once you look past the fights he kicks up for no reason. I never understood why Pete liked him so much.

From: B
When can I see you again?

My heart sank. Damn, I was already having a mental breakdown after only seeing him twice. Not a third time. Then I'd probably turn myself into the police from guilt. I wonder if they'd put me behind bars or just laugh. Both, maybe, if I paid them to do it.

To: B
Never. I don't want to be your kiss and never tell.

From: B
I'll be right over then

Panic began to set in. I didn't want him to visit, I didn't want to be anywhere near him. The guilt was still burrowing in the back of my mind, I still felt the bile churning in my stomach like a ship on the ocean in the midst of a storm.

With flying fingers, I changed his contact name for my own sake and barricaded the door with myself and a plastic kid's chair from the goodwill pile collected in the garage, listening to the seconds tick by on the clock just down the hall. Cars passed by and rain dribbled steadily from the roof outside into puddles gathering in the dips of the cement. I could practically hear my heart beating a mile a minute in the not so silent silence.

So I sat.

And I waited.

...

[Start the song if you wanna. It's called Take It Back by Nate Ruess]

From: Don't Respond
Open up?

From: Don't Respond
Pleassssssseeeeeeee

To: Don't Respond 
No

From: Don't Respond
C'mon don't be like thatttt

To: Don't Respond
Go

From: Don't Respond
Puhleaseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

To: Don't Respond
omg

From: Don't Respond
Open the door

To: Don't Respond
omg

From: Don't Respond
Haha very funny. I'm not messing around

To: Don't Respond
omg

From: Don't Respond
Okay this isn't funny open up

To: Don't Respond
omg

From: Don't Respond
I'm not fucking around anymore open the door so I can have a rational conversation with you. We can sort this out right here right now if you stop being so stubborn.

To: Don't Respond
omg

From: Don't Respond
Is this a fucking joke to you

To: Don't Respond
omg

From: Don't Respond
Stop that

To: Don't Respond
omg

From: Don't Respond
I'm going to call your mom in a minute

To: Don't Respond
omg no

Brendon knocked on my door again for the 17th time. I'd been counting. There weren't very many other things to do while sitting with your back pressed against the door and staying dead silent. It wasn't that I was afraid of him, I wasn't afraid of what we might do, but I was terrified of what would happen if I let him in to 'just talk' - even I knew that wouldn't end well.

"Cmon Dallon I just wanna talk to you." He whined "I wanna be with you."

"Go fuck yourself. Go be with Ryan." I said back, hoping he would get the message. I was just... really scared. "I told you, I don't want to be your kiss and never tell."

He tried the door again. It wouldn't open like the last 17 times, and I heard him slide down the other side to the raggedy welcome mat. I wondered if our backs were touching in the same place. "I don't want you to be either. But I can't just tell Ryan I'm leaving him, things don't work that way. People still believe all these stupid rumors about you and if we went public or anything-"

"When we were friends, people would consistently talk shit regarding us all the time and neither of us cared," I called out just to drown the haunting sound of the clock "why does it matter now?"

He let out a frustrated growl and beat the back of his head on the door. "Because we're older now. Reputations matter, it's important to have one especially when you dedicate so much time to not looking like a loser in front of all those shitty narcissistic kids that are willing to rip people to shreds in an instant. They find a speck of dirt on anyone and suddenly there're rumors spreading left and right about people like you-"

"Rumors? What rumors?" I'd never heard of any rumors about me. I thought I was ignored, invisible to everyone. I guess not.

Brendon was quiet for a moment, most likely debating on whether he should tell me or not. I wanted to know but I didn't. "I really shouldn't tell you." He whispered, voice quivering.

"You have to tell me. Please?"

He hesitated, silence suffusing words. "They said you're schizophrenic. I don't even know where anybody got that idea from, but they passed it around."

I knew I daydreamed and I'd occasionally mumble to myself. My mom said it was a side effect of loneliness. I wasn't schizophrenic. I was perfectly normal, just a little alone. Which was perfectly fine. Everybody gets a little lonely sometimes. "And... you did nothing?"

He cursed under his breath from behind the door. I took that as a 'I did nothing' and my heart dropped. Why didn't he tell me, why didn't he stop them from saying that?

"That place is a fucking hierarchy," he sniffled "There're the group of conceited asshats at the top, which I somehow got swept up into, and then there's everybody else. If I put a stop to those rumors they'd kick me out. I couldn't be kicked out, I had nothing else going for me other than the things popularity desperately depended on."

He had plenty of things going for him. He didn't need acceptance or approval from anybody because he was Brendon Urie for fucks sake - the teachers adored him. The school district entitled him as their pride and joy. All he required was a pen and paper, some good shoes and a stretch to run, a tune and a microphone, a helmet and a football. He had all of those directly in arms reach, and damn I was surprised nobody found out about him earlier. I could understand the desire for validation, but as I'd complained before, he never needed it because one day he'd go places. I told him all the time but he never seemed to listen and would always refute my points, saying that he was stuck in a dead end. Brendon was afraid of failure and loud perturbed voices, but wherever he was going in the near distant future, that didn't exist.

And after all this time, he'd kept everything to himself, he stopped sticking up for me even though I'd always defended him. Brendon got everything and I got labeled as schizophrenic. Great. Being pissed off was an understatement. And he thought his life was so terrible.

I hadn't even noticed the tears pooling in my eyes until the door swung back and Brendon caught them with a tissue. A spare key was coddled in his hand - the one I'd given him in the 6th grade for emergencies. That was the one we'd decorated with a whole can of neon blue glitter because he always seemed to misplace things in his disastrous bedroom and both of us concluded glitter was a difficult thing to not see. I could've sworn he'd tossed it out a long time ago.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, holding out a package of tissues (the ones with lotion of course, that was the only type he ever bought) "it's just-"

"It's just what? It's just that your life is legitimately perfect and everything never fails to go your way? It's just that you've barely acknowledged me up until now when you decided to try to get in my pants or do whatever the fuck has been running through your head? No. I'm still pissed at you, at everything you haven't done."

I wanted to scream until I couldn't anymore, trash the house and throw everything to the floor, I never wanted to open my eyes again, I didn't want to remember a thing I'd locked inside my head. I'd never known what it felt like to be alone until I didn't want to be by myself. Brendon had drowned in good luck, and I'd thrived in the worst luck. Things always went his way, things always came back to shove me off the edge of a cliff It was never a fair fight in the first place. Every time I was destined to lose, and dammit I was getting my ass kicked and handed to me on a silver platter.

"Why did you leave? You promised you never would. I believed you, and you ditched me. Now I'm apparently schizophrenic and everybody actually hates me, and there's no-"

"I promised I'd never leave, I know. Believe me, I know. I never forgot." Brendon interrupted quietly and shifted his weight to one side to sit against the door beside me, resting his head against my shoulder and staring at the opposite wall "I just... I was scared. I know you are too. We both are. And I promise - I swear, I won't ditch you again. I won't leave you."

"Promises are stupid."

...

To: Tyler
Tylerrrrrrrrrrr

To: Tyler
Please tell me you're awake

From: Tyler
You idiot I'm always awake what's wrong is everything okay do you need the first aid kit or emotional support ?????

To: Tyler
Emotional support

From: Tyler
Holy cheese

To: Tyler
Everything's turning around for the better and something has to go wrong and I don't know what it is but I'm terrified it's going to worse than anything I could ever imagine

From: Tyler
It's just paranoia and anxiety again it's fine we had this talk the other night, yeah? Just try to focus on the good things before they're gone in theory. They might not even leave. Karma always comes back around, right? You always said how terrible your luck is, maybe it's your turn for some good.

To: Tyler
Karma is a bitch something is going to go wrong I just know it

From: Tyler
Live in the moment. Bask in the glory from the last 4 won games, remember our chances at winning nationals on Saturday. Don't forget the trip we're taking on an airplane that flies all the way out to New York so we can play. Go over every last event that has gone right, recent or not. List... 6 off. I'm listening.

To: Tyler
1) Brendon started talking to me again
2) your improv thing is going well
3) you and Josh are good together
4) the marshmallows I bought unknowingly have chocolate in them
5) I've been released of homework this whole week
6) Brendon Urie is falling asleep right next to me

From: Tyler
I like 3, 4, and 6 the best. Goodnight? Or do you want to keep going to another number?

From: Tyler
Hello?

From: Tyler
Your read receipts aren't showing

From: Tyler
I guess you're asleep then that's good

From: Tyler
Everything is going to be okay. I swear on it.

[so did y'all notice how quickly Dallon threw away his revenge plans once he had what he might have/keep see that's what I wanted]