This is not a love story.

Actually, it is a love story. No it's not. It's a partial love story that doesn't end with a stereotypical love story ending where the protagonist gets the enticing and gorgeous other protagonist, because those are unrealistic takes on actual events that end with tears and broken hearts.

Although, love stories always start off with a bang louder than thunder, and bus rides are incredibly boring. Not that buses were boring, but it was absolutely pouring outside and you couldn't see anything through the window, which in turn was boring.

Some people were sitting with their friends or at least reading a book, but I'd packed nothing in my carry-on because I was sure that there'd be enough people on the same ride as me that left their things in the back too and we'd strike up a conversation about a common interest and I'd have at least one person I knew walking around campus.

I like to set my expectations high.

Outside was just rain. There wasn't any other word for it other than that because when you can't see 4 feet out the window, it's a problem. But I guess it rained a lot in the area, and was extremely hot the rest of the days, something I would have to get used to but probably wouldn't.

All around me were pairs of two or a bunch more kids discussing how great their summer was or what Seacoast would be like.

From what I'd seen on the website, Seacoast was a dead end school full of alcohol and pointless parties at 2am, but it did have some decent classes and a nice cluster of dorms. That was probably the best part about it. Although, it did bug me that the location of Seacoast wasn't even close to the sea, or any coast for that matter; The first lie of many they had to offer.

The bus felt like a hearse, and the stairs I had to drag my boxes of belongings up was like walking down the aisle to the coffin at the end. And in this situation, the room I had to share was probably going to be the coffin considering I'd probably die in there from boredom or exhaustion from overloading with essays and worksheets.

The first thing I'd noticed was the door would creak if it was opened to a certain degree. And the doormat was just a bunch of layered paper towels stuck and dried together from years worth of dirt, mud, and water.

Second, was the empty space to my left where the couch and coffee table was supposed to be. The cushions were replaced with 2 lawn chairs and a wooden love seat swing that probably wasn't supposed to be up here, but it was free so I couldn't complain.

The kitchen to my right wasn't a complete disaster by first impression. The fridge was a normal size and there was still a microwave placed between a few cabinets and a stovetop built underneath it. The only problem was the table with 3 1/2 legs held up evenly by 4 Harry Potter books and another book with the spine facing the opposite wall. 

Then a couple long steps ahead and to the left a little bit was a short hallway leading to 4 rooms, all directly in front of each other. I could only hope there were locks on the doors.

Either I was too quiet or my roommate was deaf, because nobody came out to greet me. I wasn't complaining of course, because then I get first dibs on whichever room turns out to be the biggest.

Footstep measurements proved that the left room was larger by 1 shoe, yet it was right next to the washing machine on the other side of the wall. Bigger room > next to the washing machine.

Plus the only window had curtains, which the room across from me didn't have. What the room across from me did have, however, was a closet with a mirror on the door.

Bigger room > mirror closet door > next to washing machine

The bathroom diagonal from me was in desperate need of cleaning, and I hoped my roommate had brought cleaning supplies because I'd thought the rooms would actually be clean.

I set the second box on the foot of the bed when the door slammed shut and a couple objects were dropped on the floor. I wasn't sure what to do. Did I freeze or investigate? Surely whoever had entered knew about the squeaky door.

"Home sweet home!" Someone howled and started dragging their stuff closer in my direction. I really hoped they didn't chose my room.

A guy with bleached blonde hair that was in desperate need of recoloring the inch of dark roots that were visible glanced into the room across from me and started to slide his stuff in before he caught sight of me and my belongings.

He looked like a puppy that had been kicked out on the streets but was still energetic and hyper because in his mind there was nothing to be sad about, like being left alone outside was a never ending opportunity for new things. Of course, the sleeves of tattoos kinda ruined the whole puppy look at first glance, but that was an assumption because his leather jacket sleeves covered his arms to his wrists.

"You must be Dallon! I'm Pete, nice to meet you." He shook my hand and went back to moving his boxes in while talking over his shoulder.

"I heard you're a junior that just transferred in, and same minus the whole transferring part since this has been my room for 3 whole years which is pretty crazy to think about but also really cool." Pete rambled and stopped pushing his cases to lean against the wall, watching as I pulled out a couple of shirts and shoved them into a drawer.

"You don't talk much, do you?"

"I'd like to consider myself as a person that talks an average amount."

"Well why haven't you said anything yet?" Pete folded his arms over his chest skeptically and shifted his weight to one leg.

"Because I didn't want to be rude and interrupt you."

He shrugged and mumbled something under his breath, patting his front pocket on his jeans and sighing. For a moment he glanced behind him like he'd been expecting something to be standing behind him, but he whipped his eyes back around to grin mischievously at me. Not even 5 minutes into knowing him and and I was probably about to get murdered. I knew I should've accepted the invitation to that fancy private school.

"Got some cash?" He asked out of the blue, and nodded satisfactorily when I pulled out a 5 dollar bill from my pocket.

"Now, Dal pal, I'm assuming you don't know anyone here but me, so I'm gonna introduce you to everything that's considered normal at this sad excuse for a school."

My heart was still pounding in my chest. If I went with him, I'd probably meet someone seeing as he'd attended Seacoast for 3 years. If I stayed and unpacked I could possibly save myself the embarrassment of wandering the grounds and getting drenched because I was too stupid to remember to bring a raincoat.

Before I could respond, he had grabbed my hand and was practically dragging me out the door.

"You've still got that 5, right? Good, we're gonna need it."

"Where are we going, do I need a jacket because-"

"You don't need a jacket," he rolled his eyes and started speed walking down the hall and I had no choice but to take bigger steps "in fact, if he's ahead of the game, it'll probably be hotter than Death Valley. But Death Valley is ironic because I don't think very many people have died there so it's really just Super-Hot-You'll-Feel-Like-Death Valley."

"You must be fun at parties." I told Pete and he laughed loudly, like a hyena gone mad.

Every door looked the same, and just stepping out of my room I felt inexplicably lost. The fake gold plated number next to the rusty hinges read "321" which was pretty simple to remember. Well I hoped it was, because I'd probably be so flooded with information I would forget my own name. 'What's your name', someone would ask, and I'd probably tell them that Magnesium is the 8th most abundant element in the earth's crust, though not found naturally in its elemental state.

For each step I took, Pete took 3 small ones. Like a mouse scurrying across the floor to avoid a cat, which coincidentally we weren't allowed to own either animal in the dorm rooms. For some reason it was specifically stated multiple times in the handbook along with the unfortunate story of a senior 3 years ago who was caught with a bird in their dorm room and got kicked out and lost their privilege of a graduation diploma. I was already tired of this strict school and the bowling alley style carpet and weird wire light fixtures bolted to the wall, unparalleled to the ones on the other side.

The only door that was even remotely different in the never ending hallway of sameness was set apart by a stained piece of paper ripped in half, taped on the door with the sticky part of a post it note. The neat black sharpie print bled to every corner, an "X" crossing out "Brendon" and the word "Beebo" replacing it in different handwriting, so the sign read "Beebo's portion of one large house". The paper looked old too, like it hadn't been touched in a couple years.

Pete brought his fist on the door once before twisting the handle and ramming his shoulder forwards so the frame shook and it swung open.

The layout was the same, but the room was nearly the complete opposite. A decent sized couch sat in the far corner next to a window taking up the entire wall space. The view was spectacular, giving a nice view of the small lake that would be visible when the rain let up. There was neon green duct tape lining the corners of a coffee table and a black recliner repaired with the same green tape along the arms of the chair. Everything felt homely.

The kitchen was significantly nicer and more tidy than ours, and I had thought the one in my room had been pretty clean.

And then my eyes landed on him.

I felt my eyes trace along every gentle bend and angle of his face and body and all I could think was "wow" because there were no other words to describe him. He could've been a pencil drawing, every line and curve framed for everyone to see but for no one to touch in fear of ruining what had been so flawless once and could never be again.

"You guys are never gonna guess what happened this summer," he howled in a sing song tone that could put the birds to shame, grinning as he pulled out a box of cereal from a cabinet. "I was getting some fries at that one place down the street because yknow I was starving like usual, and I was standing at the register and the cashier was kinda pretty I guess. He looked like #39 but slightly better. So anyways I didn't notice it at the time but he was staring at me while I was ordering and then he reaches out and just drags his finger down my face,"

He must've taken note of my eyes watching his every move, because he set down the box of cereal in his hands and sauntered over towards me and nearly stood on the tips of my boots so that we were barely centimeters away.

"Like this," he whispered seductively and smirked, tracing the pads of his fingers down my cheek and lingering on the curve of the jawline to the chin. The dark hues of his eyes wandered away up towards mine and at the last second he broke out in a malicious grin and pushed off my chest, spinning around a few times with arms outstretched, back to his cereal.

"And I'm really confused so I just stand there and let him caress my face for a second while waiting for my fries because what else am I gonna do?

"And then the kicker is, he wrote his phone number on the back of my receipt. Like he doesn't know who I am. He must've been new, because even the manager knows who I am and he's like married or something. He refuses to make eye contact with me, and I can't remember if it was his kid that was #47 or the neighbor 3 homes away from my old house. It was like touchy feely cashier wanted to be #57."

Pete laughed and the storyteller went back to shoving cereal into his mouth by the handful until his cheeks were stuffed full and he slightly resembled a hamster.

"Dallon, meet Brendon. He got his face caressed over the summer. Brendon, this is Dallon. He's new, and I need a pack of smokes because I'm done with Seacoast already."

"Nearly 5 minutes in; a new record." Brendon snickered and held up a flat palm, covering his mouth with his other hand while he finished chewing the food in his cheeks. Pete held out his hand and I reluctantly passed him the money. I didn't even smoke and yet here I was, paying for cigarettes for someone I just met. I could practically feel past-me that had taken the oath in 4th grade frowning at present-me in disapproval. Pete effortlessly folded it into a paper airplane and tossed it through the air so it neatly landed on the edge of the counter. As soon as it touched the surface, a pack of cigarettes flew across the room and into Pete's hands.

I didn't want to leave Brendon's room even though I'd just met him. I felt like I'd known him for so long. I wanted to have known him. Yet I felt myself shutting the door behind me and following Pete back to the same door as everyone else except for the guy I knew I'd fall for one way or another.

"We're gonna meet up at the jacuzzi tomorrow. It's a tradition every year to meet at that spot whenever we can, and since you have no friends I'm officially making myself your friend and accepting you into our shitty clique." Pete wagged his pointer finger at me over his shoulder and pulled a pocket lighter out of a drawer in the kitchen, sparking the end of the cigarette between his fingers and filling the air around him with smoke.

"You guys have a jacuzzi?"

"Nope."

"Aren't you going to get in trouble for that?" I asked and gestured towards the cigarette between his lips.

Pete shrugged and coughed more smoke into the air. "There's always a reputation to ruin and a record to keep up with."

I wish the wall had a window. I wish the nonexistent couch was desperately repaired with duct tape. I wish-

"He's not going to fall in love with you." Pete mumbled and twisted the cigarette between two fingers. I looked him quizzically for an explanation and he rhythmically tapped the countertop a couple times and stood up straighter.

"Brendon Urie has fallen head first for a grand total of 56 people as of whenever #56 left him. He's the one to be dumped every single time, all for different reasons, and it is unexplainably impossible for him to ever fall in love again. He kinda broke into pieces after number 23, I can say from being there."

I stared at him unbelievably. There wasn't a way people could stop loving. It just didn't work like that. I bet there was scientific evidence saying you couldn't stop falling in love.

"You don't believe me? If you ask him he'll bring it up. List any number 1-56 and he can tell you their name, how long they were together, and why he was ditched once again."

"I don't believe you," I told him, just to argue. "There's no way."

Pete shrugged and squished the butt of his cigarette against the counter. "I'm going to sleep. Ask him tomorrow." He waved his hand dismissively and wandered out of the room, quietly shutting his bedroom door behind him.

There was only 2 days left before school officially started, and thankfully I had just missed the summer assignments; in other words, I didn't have to do them. Even though I was taking weird courses like Zoology, which I knew absolutely nothing about but it sounded like a simple class, and for some reason marine biology which I desperately hoped would tie into Zoology in a couple places. One thing for sure, this school had more unique classes than my previous one, and I guess that's a good thing. Maybe. I hope it is of the sake of my sanity.

I knew I should probably get to reading through the textbooks I'd gotten, but I couldn't stop thinking about the boy down the hall. I felt like a creep because I'd literally just met him, but there was something about Brendon that kept him stuck in my mind like glue. He seemed so charming and endlessly fascinating and I wanted to know more. I had to know more, because

1-

Well there isn't a reason. It's like asking why we blink or procrastinate or do simple everyday things. You couldn't explain it and you never will because nobody can ever figure it out no matter how hard they try it'll never ever happen.

I would call it the 8th wonder of the world, but that was Brendon Urie.

[3000 words, 8/26/16, and the start of an incredibly long bumpy ride of heartbreak I'm not sure how I'm writing]