We got home a couple hours later, and Pete immediately insisted on signing Brendon's cast with an electric green sharpie.

He wasn't supposed to sign the cast.

He's started collecting spare change to bring to the doctor to pay for the cast.

Brendon was still pretty tired from the anesthetics which I thought would've worn off by the time we got home, but he had passed out within the first 2 minutes of arriving back at his dorm.

Patrick and Pete were both sitting extremely close to each other on Brendon's couch, holding Ryan's phone out and watching the video we'd taken. The recorded screeches were quiet compared to the combined laughter of Pete and Patrick, who had to pause and rewind the video multiple times to relive the experience.

"Aw man, that's like the stuff you see on those tv shows that air for 20 years with the same host."  Pete howled. Ryan told them everything he'd been told so they could properly care for Brendon as his wrist healed and all the painkillers wore off with large animated movements, waving his hands in the air even though he didn't need to. I'd started tuning out the conversation as soon as he finished talking about how the cast shouldn't get water on it, mainly because I'd already heard it 7 times, but also because Brendon was starting to wake back up even though he'd only dozed off for about 20 minutes.

He made grabby hands in my direction -- well, a grabby hand --, signaling for me to come pick him up and take him to his bed so he wouldn't have to use precious energy to get up off the couch that had been wasted screeching at the top of his lungs. Of course I carried him off the furniture and set him down underneath the festive jack o lantern blankets laid out across his bed, because that's just the kind of person I am. And he grabbed my arm just before I had started to walk away, and tugged me back lazily.

"Please don't leave me" he whispered, adjusting his arm between the only two pillows on the bed. I heard Ryan in the other room continuing with the complicated instructions as to how to care for a broken bone and deciding since there was nothing better to do, I stayed with him.

It was freezing under the covers, and Brendon wasn't able to wrap his arms around me like he had been able to before. Instead he stared at the long line of stitches covering the back of his hand and smiled contently while lifting his left leg over my torso to trap me next to him

"See, now for Halloween I'll be Sally and you can be Jack." He mumbled, already dozing off again.

"What ever youd like to do." I told him, even though he was already asleep.

His back was inches away from my chest, the ends of his hair flipping back and brushing against my face each time he sniffed, which was more often than I'd expected. His foot was pressed against my shin, and within minutes I was already sweating even though I had just felt like I'd been dumped in the Arctic.

But I didn't leave.

..:..::..:::..::..:..

4 hours later, Brendon wandered out of his bedroom, clutching a blanket he had wrapped around himself like a cape. Unfortunately, he'd woken up right in the middle of one of Pete and Patrick's nightly ramble arguments, where they'd take a viewpoint on the stupidest topic imaginable and literally discuss it until they got bored or fell asleep in each other's arms.

"I'm just saying, if chairs were alive they'd have to smell your farts which would in turn probably kill them. Because mine are disgusting."

"Pete, you eat like 50 spicy bean and cheese burritos daily, what do you expect?"

"To smell like the princess I am."

"You smell like the milk section in the grocery store all went to shit at the same time." Brendon interjected, and Patrick agreed, laughing at Petes regretful expression.

Brendon grabbed the digital clock sitting on the table, and the blanket slipped down to the floor without the other hand to successfully keep it wrapped around him.

"I want to go to the coffee shop." He said finally after staring at the blinking numbers for a good 15 seconds.

I wasn't sure if he'd read the time right or even looked out his window, because it was pitch black outside, and the clock read 11:04pm. Definitely not the time for caffeine. Well it was always time for caffeine, just not for him.

"You won't be able to sleep tonight then." Patrick told him, and Brendon narrowed his eyes at him, face scrunching up and lips twisting to a frown like he's just been denied access to eternal happiness.

"With you two being this fucking in love, I'll never be able to sleep a wink again. Like seriously, just date already." Brendon glared and Patrick's eyes widened in humiliation. He shoved Pete off of him, who was sharing the same look in his eyes as Patrick, and glared up at his friend. If looks could kill, I'd be a witness for murder.

And then I finally realized that Pete and Patrick werent a couple; I'd just assumed they were dating judging by how close they always sat next to each other or by the way they literally slept in the same bed no matter if there was another one in the room.

"Are you trying to tell me you guys aren't a thing?" I laughed and their glares turned over to me. I stopped laughing. After all this time, all the nights they spent together, every hug lasting longer than they should; I must say, I was pretty disappointed yet intrigued at the same time.

Brendon started tapping his foot impatiently on the carpet, although I wasn't sure why because he hadn't asked for a response to a word he said. The tension in the air was suffocating me slowly. I wonder if you could die from being caught in the crossfire of a wordless battle. What a way to go out.

"Well, I'm going to the coffee shop. Y'all can sort this out." I smiled as pleasantly as I could and picked up Brendon, swinging him over my shoulder and carrying him out of the room before he could put up a fight.

I set him down as soon as we left the building and almost immediately I stepped into a puddle, which made me realized I'd forgotten my $1 target flip flops, and I'd have to drive in my fuzzy socks because Brendon had already had his few semi-supervised drinks of the day. So him driving in the shoes he'd bothered to wear was out of the question. 'Never let me drive, Dal pal' he'd tell me 'because one drink is too much, and I've always had more than one.'

Brendon wiggled his arm to my side so he was hanging onto my elbow with his murky blue colored cast which he claimed was not the color he'd expected and demanded a refund. He didn't get the refund.

"May I escort you to your car this fine evening?"

"You may, my good sir, but do hurry; I've an important place to be." He huffed, trying to sound as professional as possible while still joking around, and followed me over to Patrick's car. He didn't know I'd grabbed his keys from the table, mainly so 1) I would have a vehicle to drive and 2) so he wouldn't leave the dorms on a hasty decision that would be regretted as soon as he left.

Brendon swung open the passenger door, claiming shotgun once again, and happily buckled his seat belt across his lap and over his chest.

"Take me to the coffee shop; I'm tired and I refuse to sleep without a fight."

..:..::..:::..::..:..

Brendon sat down across from me, holding his coffee cup in the hand that was still usable. Each time he took a sip he'd shiver like he was being jolted back to life all over again before nearly drifting off back to sleep and repeating the process.

I could understand why though; the lanterns hanging from the poorly covered rafters were dimly lit and gave off the light associated with those fancy looking fairy lights, and the scent given off by the countless sweets being prepared for the next morning almost persuaded me to buy every single last one. The oversized sweatshirt he was wearing would probably have acted as a blanket over him if he hadn't rolled the sleeves up past his elbows.

He looked so calm and happy for this single moment, and I was left to wonder how anyone could ever make the decision to leave him for another.

"Thanks for takin' me." He mumbled and blinked slowly, either really tired or just trying to take in the moment and hang on to it for as long as possible. And I couldn't blame him. It was really nice here.

The rusting bell strung up above the front door clinked against the frame, and Brendon lazily turned around instinctively, suddenly whipping his head back around to face me and slamming his drink on the table. His hand gripped the edge of the table, shaking the entire surface like an earthquake had targeted us specifically. He stated trembling like a leaf in the winter, eyes growing wider by the second.

"It's #23," he whispered frantically, sounding like he was about to burst into flames if he didn't leave immediately "we have to-"

"Is that Brendon Urie!" A guy with crazy dirty blonde hair slammed his hand down excitedly on the table with no warning whatsoever, making both of us jump in surprise. "Long time no see!"

"No shit, Sherlock." Brendon muttered under his breath, not removing his gaze from the table.

23 crouched down a little bit so he could get a good at Brendon, his hair poking at the tip of my nose. I wanted him out of my sight. He seemed like of guy that can't pass a class to save his life, but was somehow the star player of the football team which automatically made him a chick magnet (for the opposite sex in this case). I knew he was trouble just by looking at the stupid arrogant grin on his lips and the pungent scent of too much spray on deodorant, probably called 'I'm an asshole'. I guess when Brendon had first met 23, he'd been blinded by the sheer attractiveness of his well proportioned face  and damn it I wanted this jerk gone. But more than anything I wanted him to leave Brendon alone before he fell apart like a house of cards right in front of me.

"Still got the same heartbroken eyes, huh? You've barely changed." He smirked and stood back up to his full height, towering over both of us. He glared down at me, and tapped harshly on my shoulder a couple times. If murder was legal, he'd be dead already.

"So, who's this? Actually, I'm not sure why I'm asking because I don't really care; he's probably just a friend, since you can't seem to keep anyone around long enough." He cackled, and I realized why Brendon had wanted to leave as quickly as he suggested we should. Brendon clamped his eyes shut and his lip quivered uncontrollably, tears pooling in his glossy eyes brought back by a flood of memories that didn't seem to happy. Either he was about to shut down or punch #23 in the stomach. But I could somehow tell that he wasn't going to do anything, and someone had to, otherwise he'd get hell unleashed on him sooner or later.

So I grabbed Brendon's free hand and gripped his fingers tightly, returning the glare up at 23.

"Actually, I believe I serve as a replacement for you."

Im not, but I wish I am.

He held a hand to his chest, scoffing and faking the hurt look on his face. A smirk spread across his face as he glanced back down at Brendon with a threatening glint in his mud brown eyes.

"See you two lovebirds around; I've got better things to do other than to even be around you two." He spat and walked off without so much as a wave to the barista, tracking dirt all over the tile and slamming the door so hard I thought for sure the glass panes would shatter.

As soon as 23 was gone, Brendon's chair scraped against the tile floor and he stormed out of the shop, leaving his drink behind and his empty presence across from me. He'd left with no explanation, and I couldn't figure out why in the world he insisted on leaving so quickly. He was just another one of 56, assumedly insignificant. But I guess he was more of a big deal than that. If only I remembered what Pete had told me about him, but I really didn't expect myself to remember that considering the other day I forgot how to stop the fan in my room from swinging so fast before it flung itself off the ceiling and created a hole the size of Europe in the wall. Surely I couldn't have covered that up with a poster.

I had no choice but to follow after him, and I sincerely hoped the barista wouldn't mind us leaving without a tip. By the time I'd gotten outside, he was sprinting around the corner into an alley with hands covered into sweater paws.

So I followed him, my fuzzy socks making no sound against the cold pavement as I rounded the corner to find Brendon grabbing hold of a box and chucking it across the alleyway. It hit the brick wall and crumpled to the floor only to be kicked again and sent a couple feet in the air. It fell back down to be ripped to shreds and tossed in the garbage bin, a witness to the brutal box murder. It felt like I was in a movie scene.

Brendon growled under his breath and started making his way back out of the alley, a dangerous malice and hatred burning bright behind his eyes I'd never seen before.

He'd sparked.

The flames built up inside him had sparked. You couldn't see it though, and neither could he, because they traveled through his bones like they were dry patches of absolute nothingness, burning him up on the inside until they reached somewhere that would turn him into a full on blazing storm, brighter than the sun and more dangerous than a forest fire.

And he sparked, but didn't know it.

Sparked because he'd just been confronted by the guy that had caused the inevitable chain of disasters that would bring him to this point in his life no matter what.

Sparked because he had been left behind so many times with so many heart shattering reasons why he wasn't good enough, even though he was.

Sparked because he'd been given so many lies, he had started to believe them.

"I want to go home."

"I'm not taking you home." I yelled back at him and he instantly cried out in frustration, his voice echoing off the walls and drifting through the air.

"Well why the fuck not?" He snapped, spinning back around and kicking a hole into another stray box.

I didn't respond, mostly because I had nothing to say, nor any idea what to do in this situation. I wondered if Pete and Patrick would get down here and try to talk some sense into him if I called them, but 1) my phone was at home 2) Brendon would probably get more pissed than he already was 3) they'd have no way to get to us since I took Patrick's car and Brendon's keys were hidden in his room somewhere. In hindsight it would've been smart to have taken Brendon's rarely used vehicle, but exiting that room with Patrick's key was to make a statement, not to actually think before acting.

He tiredly wandered back over towards me, slowing to a stop under the dehydrated piss colored lantern dangling drearily from the building to his left. The light accentuated the dark lack of sleep circles around his eyes I hadn't noticed until that moment, the tears streaming down his cheeks glittering an awkward shade that kept drifting undecidedly between a sickly orange and a pale yellow. The various scars spotting his arms shone a washed out white that I could only compare to a burning star on the verge of reaching the end.

And I understood what #23 had meant by heartbroken eyes.

[2810 words, 9/4/16, Wow is this chapter long.]