When Brendon was a young child, he found a dead body.

No warning, none at all. His mother, bless her soul, had taken him to the park on an early Saturday Morning in an attempt to calm his hyper, frantic body down. Dew had clung to the grass, soaking through the thick denim of his jeans, freezing cold and annoying, and crickets had chirped merrily.

Brendon hasn't been a fan of crickets since.

His mother had clutched a thermos of coffee in between her manicured hands, and she had sat on a bench, watching Brendon toddle around the park as she knuckled sleep out of her eyes, dark brown and identical to Brendon's.

He had climbed into the covered slide, giggling as he scooted down, the friction preventing him from truly sliding, when he bumped into someone. Frowning, Brendon stared, squinting in the faint light. Why was there a lady sleeping in the slide?

Hesitantly, he poked her. "Ma'am?" He had asked. Predictably, she didn't move, although tiny Brendon didn't know why that was. He just knew that she smelled a little funny, and that he had to wait his turn for the slide. His Momma had always lectured him on that, because Brendon could be 'a little pushy' sometimes, and he didn't want to get in trouble. So, sighing, he turned around, climbing up with difficulty. Thankfully, his trusty red rubber boots had good traction on them, and after a moment or so of struggling, he pulled himself out of the slide.

"Momma! There's a lady sleeping in the slide!" He called, and Mrs. Urie had rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "Brenbear, I don't feel like playing pretend right now! Can you please just play nicely for a bit, give Momma some time to wake up...?"

Five year old Brendon hadn't been particularly patient, and he had stomped his tiny foot, climbing off of the play structure and up to his careworn mother. "I'm not playin'! There's a lady, she's just sleepin' and she won't wake up, and that isn't fair!"

Sighing, Mrs. Urie had stood, leaving the thermos of coffee on the bench and walking over to the slide, peering inside.

And then she screamed.

Brendon had watched in a haze of confusion as an ambulance came, as well as several police officers. In the frenzy of questions and people, Brendon had witnessed when the police removed the woman from the slide. She was perfectly still, with almost translucent skin, and when they moved the body, she smelled.

It had apparently been an overdose, although his mother had put it in nicer terms. 

Young Brendon had vowed to stay away from dead things, and from drugs. Nothing good came from it. Nothing at all.

Older Brendon, though? Well, that's a different story.

***

Brendon doesn't remember much about that night. Just him. Tall and elegant, with eyes like the old, aged bottles of whiskey that his father had kept in the cabinets of their home, despite not being allowed to indulge in alcohol, because of the religion.

Forbidden.

Much like him.

That night was a blur, but he knows what the man is. Was. He pinned Brendon to a wall, whispered commands and... well, he drank from Brendon, and Brendon took it, he took it and he loved it.

He loved the rush of the bite, that ohsopainfulpleasure, and he loved the aftermath; the headrush and the sinking to the ground.

When Brendon woke, he had thought that he was crazy. Crazy, or perhaps just dreaming.

But dreams didn't leave bite marks.

The marks turned into a scar, one Brendon absently rubs sometimes now.

A scar from a dead man. A vampire.

Brendon vowed to never toy with dead things, and yet here he was, fascinated by the whole ordeal, and craving... more. Was he suicidal? No. Insane? No. Stupid? Maybe.

And so, he begins to frequent the bar that he was at that night, when he isn't hanging out with his roommate Spencer or working, perhaps on purpose, but perhaps it's more instinctual than that. He doesn't just visit (stalk) the area he met the man in, he does research, too. At first, he simply types 'vampire' into the search engine, but quickly realizes that all that will bring up is cheesy clipart and dictionary definitions. So, he gets a bit more specific in his searches, and what he finds is... interesting. Testimonies from people about encounters that are eerily similar to Brendon's experience. Drawings and digital re-enactments that send chills up his spine, although none of the recreations are as hauntingly beautiful as he was. 

WikiHow advises him to carry garlic around when interacting with a vampire, and although it isn't a particularly factual website, Brendon still finds a shriveled old clove in the kitchen cabinet, and tucks it into his backpack. Just in case. From what he remembers, the man wasn't particularly aggressive, but, well, he took control of Brendon so easily. Brendon hates that he liked it, that he both craves and hates that loss of control. 

Some sites say that vampires are seductive and sensual. Some say that they're violent and dangerous. Brendon doesn't know what to believe, but he does know that Spencer thinks he has issues after checking the search history on their shared computer. The internet hasn't been very helpful anyway, so, after a particularly long and stressful shift at work, he just heads to the library instead. The old, ancient librarian has known him since he was a tiny boy, watching him grow from an adorable child to a gangly, acne-covered teenager, into what he is now. An adult.

Kind of. Brendon still considers himself a child, in some ways, even though he pays bills and drinks and does taxes. He waves to her, and she ends up calling him over, where they have a long conversation about new music books and CDs the library has purchased, and the ones that have become more damaged that Brendon read as a kid. They talk about Chopin vs. Beethoven for a while, and about Queen, a subject Brendon thoroughly enjoys, and before he knows it, the library is closing, and the woman apologetically asks him to leave. Sighing, Brendon shoves his hands into his pockets. It's his fault, really: he shouldn't have come so close to closing. 

He doesn't even notice when he walks down the same street, doesn't notice when he passes the alleyway. It's a bit out of the way, actually, but his feet are doing all the work. The rest of Brendon is just along for the ride, it seems. Sometimes he gets like this: his mind wanders when he's stressed or overtired, and he just seems to sink inside himself and fade away, for a while. It's a contrast to his normal, sunny personality, but he can't be happy all the time.

It's normal.

What isn't normal is the chills that go up and down his spine as his eyes land on the figure in front of him. He doesn't even see the face of the man, but he knows. The scar on his neck pulses, hot and throbbing, and Brendon knows.

He walks up, lips parting as he grabs the mans wrist, walking in front of him, and yeah, he'd recognize those eyes anywhere. Beaming, he clears his throat. "You," He starts awkwardly, his voice high pitched and full of awe, "I've been looking for you!"

The man stares, swallowing, his whiskey colored eyes darting around, perhaps looking for eavesdroppers. There are none. Brendon's smile falters. He remembers this guy being a lot more... seductive. Now he just looks like a normal dude. Is it a trap? Hesitantly, Brendon reaches into his backpack, grabbing the garlic and brandishing it out in front of him, "I'm armed."

The man blinks, doubling over and sneezing. Brendon jumps, a startled giggle spilling from his lips.

"You little asshole!" He snaps, sneezing again. "What are you--" He starts, before sneezing yet again. His eyes are watery and red. Brendon blinks, flushing and stepping forward, waving it around awkwardly.

"The internet said it would make you weak..." Brendon says, and it sounds dumb now that he says it out loud. The man sighs loudly, sniffing. "No. It just gives me... I guess it's similar to an allergic reaction, moron. I sneeze. But I'm not controllable and I can still kick your ass or kill you." He says, voice hostile and icy, and yeah, Brendon sees how vampires are classified as dangerous now, and a shiver runs down his spine once again, although this one isn't pleasant. 

The man must see the fear in Brendon's eyes, because he unclenches his jaw. "I'm sorry." He mumbles. "I--that's not who I am. I won't hurt you. But how did you find me? Why were you looking? And for the love of God, toss that fucking garlic." 

Brendon blinks, shaking his head. "N-No." He says, jutting his chin out, and the man looks annoyed, sneezing softly. He sounds like a kitten, and Brendon smiles to himself. "Please?" He asks, clearing his throat. "I will force you, if you don't. I'm sure you can recall my capabilities." He says simply, and Brendon swallows, nodding and dropping the clove to the ground. He smiles. "Okay. Come on, then. Let's get away from that nasty thing." He says, tugging on Brendon's sleeve and yanking him into an alleyway like he weighs nothing.

Brendon kind of loves it. 

"This is the same one you... you know." Brendon says, looking around, and the man blinks slowly, once again reminding Brendon of a cat, coy and calculating. If he's a cat, Brendon is an eager puppy, chasing him around. "Didn't notice," Is all he says, and Brendon nods slowly. "To answer your previous questions," He starts, awkwardly scuffing his sneaker against the pavement, "This encounter was purely an accident. And I've been looking for you because... well, I know what you are."

The man doesn't look surprised. "So, what are you going to do? Go to the press? I could shut you up, you know." He says, and Brendon blinks. "S-Shut me up?"

"Yeah. I could kill you, or command you to not speak of it. Of me."

"You could. But you won't." Brendon says confidently, and the man blinks. "How are you so sure?"

"I just have a feeling. You don't seem like a murderer. You said you wouldn't hurt me, and plus, I would have let you do anything to me that night, and... you stopped." He says, and the man laughs. "You're confident. And also correct. So, if you don't want to expose me, what do you want? Trying to blackmail a vampire?" He asks, tone mocking, arching an eyebrow, and Brendon blinks. He doesn't know what he wants. Why did he come here in the first place? Why did he search?

"I don't want anything," Brendon starts, and the man looks relieved, opening his mouth to speak, but Brendon holds up a finger. He feels strangely in charge in this situation, and as he reflects on his actions, he does know why he came. "Let me finish. I don't want anything... except for you."