I could see him from all the way across the room, reflection caught in the glass of my drink sparking with the slow paced strobe lights flashing around the room. He was alone, leaning against the bar with his own amber drink in hand, eyes trained to the ground.

Yet, I couldn't hear the voice I imagined sounding like smooth caramel, maybe velvet or something of the nature, as he struck up a conversation with the person beside him. But I still watched his smile and animated hand gestures as he spoke. He had an award winning smile, by my mother's standards, no matter the wolfish feel or the lust hidden in his movements.

We were throwing Tyler a promotion party- a simple one, taking place at a bar the day the news was broken. We celebrated with cheap chocolate cake from the supermarket and flimsy paper cone hats for a child's birthday, and we danced to the music for hours. Instead, I'd found myself sitting on one of the battered stools while I watched my coworkers pursue regretful actions with no intent to stop them whatsoever. Most of them deserved it, spare Pete, tapping his foot against his own seat incessantly.

"You're scaring people." He muttered, out of the blue and into my ear so he could be heard over the beat of the deafening music.

My hair wasn't that messy - I'd combed through it before I left my apartment. A three minute drive in a taxi to a bar couldn't have skewed it too badly, I took a shower, I brushed my teeth. "What're you talking about? Do I really look that bad?"

Pete shook his head, holding back a laugh with a bite of chocolate cake. "No, I mean you're watching that guy over there awfully close." He pointed to the one I had been eyeing, nearly completely diagonal from me instead of to my left. He was propped up sideways against a wall, hand behind his head while his elbow offered support, fingers moving on his glass while he most likely smooth talked the new girl staring up at him. "You look like you're stalking him, creep."

"Wh- how do you know I'm looking at him? Of all the people in-"

"Everyone is looking at him, if you open your eyes." He sighed, and sure enough, everybody in the room glanced at him at one point or another. I watched Tyler spin in a circle and pause to catch what I (assumed to be) another glimpse, a few girls take turns nonchalantly passing by only to freak out moment later.

But surely it was nothing special when we made eye contact from the distance and he winked. It was more likely to believe something had irritated his eye. "Who is he? What's his name?"

Pete leaned in close like he was about to spill a secret. "Devil."
(((That's stupid can you please change it.)))

I hadn't taken a sip of my drink lately, but if I had I definitely would've coughed it up over the floor and the front of my shirt. "What? Devil? That's not his real name, is it?"

He rolled his eyes. "Of course that's not his real name. I don't remember what it is, but that's not his name."

Good. I was a little worried. "So, they call him Devil? He can't be that bad, whatever he's done." I called Pete 'Satan' for a while because he stole my lunch from the fridge - but then again, that was a joke.

The guy I'd been eyeing for the last half hour or so - Devil, I guess - clicked cups with the girl before sauntering back to his spot prior. "Spend the night with him. So much as touch him, and you'll be conjoined at the hip for the next eight hours, or until he sets you loose with the reason why you only stay until the sun comes up."

It sounded like a challenge, a captivating one at the best, too. Anyone with the nickname 'Devil' deserved to be understood instead of left alone like he seemed to be. "I don't believe you."

"Kiss him once, and you will." Pete shoveled the last chunk of cake into his mouth and set the paper plate on the bar, patting my shoulder and waving across the room to Devil. "There you go. Go get him, and you'll believe every word I said."

So I pushed him away and slithered between drunk women and everyone in between that was drowning in a good time to regret in the morning. Tyler shot me a wink, gaze darting to me and the one I'd been told to pursue - though I wasn't sure who was being pursued. Within the next few steps, I found myself crashing into Devil's chest, his hand reaching out to grab my shirt before I toppled backwards.

Again, he flashed a prized smile. "For someone staring at me quite a bit, you sure lost sight of me real quick."

"I guess you were staring back, then?"

The grin faded to a one sided smirk, his grip on my shirt loosening once I'd regained my balance. "With a face like yours, I'm not sure I'd be able to look away," his fingers snaked around the collar to my shirt, tugging lightly so I'd follow his small steps backwards towards the exit, "I think I'd like to see more, if that's okay with you."

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Pete flashing a quick thumbs up, Tyler getting lost in the thump of the music with a few of his friends. I saw the girls twirling past earlier glare at me, the ones that had also been casting glances then sending daggers my way instead.

My keys clinked together in my back pocket when I'd given in and followed him out of the bar, trying to keep pace. "We can go to my place - it's only two blocks away."

He thought about it for a moment, curiosity stirring together with the doubt and drive swirling already. "Hm, I'm not sure I could wait that long."

"Do you want me or not?"
(((Change that too please dear god)))

—

I woke up in my own bed, half the plain white sheets clinging on to my body for dear life while the rest drooped to the wooden flooring. My hand grazed the spot beside me to see if the guy I'd met last night was still there, on a whim. I was pretty sure he'd left, if he was even real.

The mattress cover was warm, like lava had barely begun to cool down. He was real, I was sure of that, even if his absence suggested otherwise.

Other than the skewed sheets, my apartment was intact. The kitchen utensils dangling over the stove were okay, my ugly couch was still in front of the tiny television, even the welcome mat was there.

I caught sight of myself in the glass vase on my nightstand, where I kept the random shit I found on my floor that I had no idea I owned. The metallic ruler from the third grade reflected back dark marks, almost black, all across my collarbone, a few dipping as far down to my sternum. They hurt too, when my fingers barely skimmed the colors.

The bathroom lighting made them look worse - they looked like gnarly hickeys in the case, but in a mirror bolted over the sink, they looked to be bubbling, and in place of a lighter red violet, all of them were the color of fire, like burn marks. Charred marks in the shape of fingerprints, and bright hot patches where I imagined lips to be.

-

Usually walking into the office building late with horribly blended (and flaking) concealer would've attracted a lot of attention. Not even the collar to my shirt could hide the odd shade the texture couldn't disguise.

But Tyler was struggling through a massive hangover, and that drew the attention to him instead of me, which I was definitely not complaining about. A few other people were sporting tinted sunglasses as well, stealing the spotlight I didn't want. He already had it anyways, as the newly appointed lifestyle editor. I just hoped he'd go easy on me now that he was my editor.

Pete was on top of things, though. He'd quit laughing at Tyler long enough to bound over me with a smug smirk playing on his lips, speed walking to keep pace while I tried my best to lose him and avoid the one question I knew he'd ask.

But his arm blocked the entrance to my tiny cubicle, and I was trapped. "So... do you wanna tell me what's up with your neck? Or is that a secret like everything else?"
(((Change last sentence??? Wtf??)))

I tried to shove past him with no avail. "It's nothing. Bruises from last night."

"You sure they're only bruises?"

"I'm sure they're just-" I stopped the second he pulled at a strip of burnt skin. It didn't hurt, but the utter shock he reached out and nearly peeled off my skin made me hit him with my frog umbrella. "Wh-what in the world did you do that for?!"

He shrugged and flicked the dead flesh he'd managed to grab to the carpet, again reaching out to my collarbones and gently patted down out the remaining pieces hiding bright hue that could flag down an airplane. "I told you they called him Devil. Do you believe me now?"

I wasn't sure what was going on, and if it meant Pete was going to be correct about something, I didn't care and I didn't want him to be. It didn't matter if we were brawling over the credit for an article or if it was something stupid like who got the last M&M, I hated being wrong. "No. I probably lit a candle and sleep walked over to it... or something."

I sat down at my desk silently cursing at myself. That was possibly the stupidest explanation I could've come up with. Maybe things got kinky and I blocked the incident from my mind. Maybe- "I told you they call him 'Devil', Brendon. Connect. The. Dots. In your. Tiny. Hamster wheel operated. Brain."
(((Stupid??? Childish????????)))

"You have the hamster wheel operated brain, Pete. Matches, candles, whatever happened last night, it's done and over. I'm fine."

And the hungover blessing wandered over, sunglasses, earmuffs, and all, to unknowingly interrupt the fight. "Look, I'm editor now, chief editor, I think-"

"Yes, Tyler, for the lifestyle section."

"Yeah, yeah, stop yelling - but besides the point, I need that article about closure after someone's death," he pointed at me throughout the ramble on Pete's article before directing his blurred attention to me, "and Brendon, honey, honey, honey, I know you hate your topic with a burning passion, but we need it. Stat."

I faked a smile. "I'll try to finish it by tomorrow."

I was not going to finish it by tomorrow. I frankly didn't care if a model wore grey lipstick or not - all the other women writing for the lifestyle section had other articles to write that were far more intriguing than mine. Ashley got Michael Phelps racing a shark for a television show, Carrie was assigned some new hybrid food, and I got lipstick colors on a talentless model. I had more important things to do than write about grey lipstick, like try to find whoever 'Devil' was and ask why my skin was close to peeling and almost burnt to a crisp.

Tyler nodded once and lowered his shades to the tip of his nose. His eye bags were so heavy it looked like he'd gotten punched. "So anyways, straying from the topic of whatever the fuck you guys are writing, who was that guy Brendon went home with last night?"

Pete smirked and rubbed his hands together - the look he doled out whenever he had a good story to tell and everyone would gather around close and shut up to listen to the dirt he'd found. "They call him Devil, and everyone that gets with him never goes back, a - wait, I'll whisper it to you."

"Brendon's not allowed to know what's up with the guy he slept with?" Tyler frowned, and I nodded in agreement. I wanted to know, I had no idea what was so special about the guy.

He made a sour face and lightly tugged on Tyler's shirt sleeve to pull him closer. "I want to see if he can figure it out for himself. Go all reporter style, dig up what he can-"

"So you won't tell me?"

Pete smirked again and I wanted so desperately to sock him right then and there. "Guess you gotta go back to the bar, huh?"

—

I went back to the bar, alone, which was a stupid idea all in itself. Pete flat out refused to go, Tyler had some training to attend, and everyone else I talked to was just busy. I couldn't even get Josh to join me - he was in the process of adopting another kitten and claimed he was going to meet it again later in the day, and all of the other people I asked hadn't finished their articles.

So I sat on a squeaky stool, by myself, scanning the room for the alleged Devil.

He didn't even seem like the type to earn a nickname like that. He appeared average (maybe a little hotter than average), and I would've bet if I'd met him anywhere else he'd have been the kind of person to take to your parents after the second date. Unless he had some sort of metaphorical veil.

"Usually the people I burn don't come near me ever again, let alone start searching for me."

I spun around to face Devil - stormy blue eyes inches away. I hadn't even noticed him approach, which was a decently unsettling feeling in my stomach. "I'm a reporter; it's in my blood."
(((Also Stupid)))

He took the seat next to me and smiled. "Is that so? You're a reporter coming back to write an article about me?"

"No, I'm back because I wanted to ask you a couple questions unrelated to any section I may write in the near future," I tugged down my shirt collar and licked my thumb, wiping off the concealer to reveal the red, "what the fuck are these?"
(((Change the last line)))

"Burn marks. From fire. Heat. Y'know, when you get to close to anything hot that happens."

I wasn't stupid. "I'm aware. I'd like to know how I got them here, though. I was hoping you'd know and would tell me so I can get back home and go to sleep."

He thought about it for a second, tapping the heels to his shoes against the floor, watching the few people on the opposite side of the room. "I don't want to scare you."

"I'm a reporter. I don't scare easily." I said, which was far from the truth. I couldn't sleep unless the hallway light was on.

"Let me guess," he sighed and propped his elbow up on the bar to hold his chin, "because you're a reporter, you don't get frightened easily since doing so could risk a good story, which could cost you your job given the situation where your boss is a strict stick in the mud and you're running down to the wire because being a lifestyle section writer is terrible boring."

I nodded. "Minus the stick in the mud boss, yeah."

"Last time I checked, you're a lifestyle reporter, angel. Nothing you write about is assigned by a fun boss."

Holding back a snarky retort, I bit my tongue and forced a smile to match his own. "Anyways, would you mind if I asked you a couple questions, Devil?"

"Tell you what, I'll answer one of your questions, and you answer one of mine. Deal?" Devil held out his free hand, grin spreading while I thought it over. Potentially, the end result could get me killed. But, I could also find my answers and get Pete off my back and find out what he didn't want me to know.

So I took his hand and shook it once. "Deal."

"Alright, I'll go first," he adjusted his position, hands in his lap, "what's your name - your real name?"

Odd he had to ask what my real name was. Surely an alias thought up on the spot would've been horrible. "Brendon Urie. Yours?"

"Dallon Weekes."

"Huh," I waved to the bartender behind him and pointed to the drink to my right, whatever it was, "far from Devil."

"Yes it is. Any more questions or was that all you wanted to know, angel?" His grin softened to a one-sided smirk, his hand once again curling up to cup his cheek.

I took another glance around to see if anyone was watching, if anybody was eavesdropping. "Why do they call you 'Devil'?"

He leaned in close, fingers trailing up my arm to my collar and pulling lightly. He smelled like cigarettes and car exhaust, the scent of too much cologne seeping in the mix - familiar. "Wanna find out?"

-

I woke up in my own bed again. The sheets seemed untouched, left pristine without wrinkles or bumps, but the space beside me felt like it was on fire, like someone had just been there.

Naturally, I went to check on my neck and any other places I might've acquired similar marks. The last time I'd been around Devil - Dallon - I'd gotten my skin burned to a crisp to the point where it flaked off. I didn't find any new injuries, thank god, but I did find a short note stuck to the mirror. The paper looked singed, as did the scraggly piece of tape.

I tore it off and stuffed it in my pocket, sped down to my car parked along the side of the road, and drove as quickly as I could to the hardware store. Tyler worked there part time since his job didn't pay too well previously, but since he'd acquired a higher position I assumed he'd be quitting his secondary job soon enough.

Sure enough, he was sitting out front with his blue apron and a sign advertising a sale on houseplants in the back.

He smiled when he caught sight of me, waving without lifting his arm from its position on the board. "Hey, Brendon, wanna buy a potted pl-"
(((CHANGE wtf am I writing)))

"What did Pete tell you yesterday? About the guy I went home with the other night." I said, straight to the point. I was either going to get an answer right from Tyler or I was going to dig in the library. The first option would make it far easier, however.

Tyler shrugged, a frown replacing the grin. He seemed just as confused as I was. "You know Pete - he talks fast and mumbles when he does. All I really heard were the words 'fire', 'burn', and 'touch', I swear on my life."

Slowly, ever so slowly, things began to connect. Something regarding fire, which made sense when his nickname was brought into the mix, and in turn that was all I really needed to know.

I drew to the conclusion to not kink shame.

—

A week later I found myself sitting at the laundromat, watching my dirty clothes spin and spin in the machine I'd paid too much to operate. The washers down in the basement to my building were disgusting - I'd heard rats lived down there and only the bravest dared to venture down for slightly cheaper cycles. No matter how gutsy I'd prepared myself to be to become a reporter, nobody could convince me to step foot down there.

I'd barely finished my article last night. Tyler gave me a break and said I'd turned it in to him about an hour earlier, and claimed he was still trying to figure out where to send everything, which resulted in it being sent a few minutes after I'd given it to him even if everybody thought I'd completed it an hour before. Long and complicated story simplified, Tyler was a godsend.

Pete however, continued with the harassment. He found out I hadn't uncovered what was really up with Dallon, and had began to frequently ask about my new theories about the burn marks turning to scars on my collarbones. I still had no idea. I'd started to forget the incidents ever happened, and the concealer I owned did a perfect job of aiding with that.

"So, do you come here often?" The voice like smooth caramel purred into my ear.

Of course, I spun around and came face to face with the same person I'd been trying to crack. "Only if you do, Devil."

"Oh, please, angel. Call me Dallon."

"Alright, Dallon," he smiled at the blatant upset in my tone, "do you follow me everywhere now? I don't believe I've gone a day without seeing you."

He shrugged. "Well, we are in a public laundromat. I have laundry. You have laundry. Could I be anymore obvious?"

"You sound like a cheesy romance novel."

"That was my plan. Did you find a note yesterday? On your mirror or somewhere in that area?"

"No," I lied, "why do you ask?"

He sighed and turned away, watching cars pass by the window. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."

—————

Wasn't even going anywhere lmao that was it. This is from 2 years ago, haven't touched it since now.