Twenty years old, that's how old Dallon was now. Twenty years old and nowhere to go. All he had was a motorcycle that was already falling apart and a backpack filled with stories that no one would ever read, but nowhere to go. Dallon tried to apply at the newspaper and the magazine companies, but no one liked his stories.

They weren't the kind of stories that made you think too hard or the ones that were for or against political topics. They were stories that made you feel things, either sad or happy or warm and fuzzy. When Dallon wrote, he poured all his emotions out into it and wanted to people to feel what he or the character was feeling.

He continued to ride on, away from the building towers of Baltimore. That newspaper was stupid anyway, they didn't allow creativity, and they were unpopular. Dallon didn't just want people to read his work. He wanted people to feel the words, to connect with them and not just understand them. Words were powerful. They sparked action; they swayed trees, words brought about change.

About a mile and a half up the road, an angsty sixteen-year-old walked along the way, kicking a rock as he traveled down the asphalt road. Dallon drove passed him, barely taking notice. The boy stuck his thumb out as he passed, catching Dallon by surprise. He slammed on the brakes, then turned sharply around and drove back to where the boy was.

Dallon pulled off his helmet, seeing the boy better without the visor that covered his eyes. It took a lot out of Dallon to suppress whatever homosexual thoughts came to mind as he looked at the gorgeous boy that stood in front of him. He knew what kind of trouble his feelings could get him in, he just needed to hide them, and everything would be fine.

"Do you know what kind of creep could pick you up? Walking around out in the open like this." Dallon laughed, resting his helmet on his hip.

"You mean like you." The boy smirked, running his hand through his perfectly styled hair.

"What's your name, kid?" Dallon asked, ignoring the shorters earlier comment.

"Tell me yours first, if I like it, I'll tell you mine, and you can drop me off in the next town." The kid adjusted his backpack and stood his ground.

"Dallon Weekes pleased to meet you." Dallon adjusted his helmet and stuck out his hand to shake.

"Dallon, Dal -on, Dallon Weekes. That's a nice name. I like your name. My name is Brendon Urie." He shook his hand. "So, do you have an extra helmet? Or am I going to get to feel the wind in my hair?"

"You're going to wear my helmet. If we crash, I can't have you dying. We just met." Dallon handed the helmet over.

Brendon took the helmet and put it on, causing Dallon to smirk at the ill-fitting manner. He waited for the younger to fasten on the helmet and get on the back of the bike. It was awkward for a half second before the boy settled in and wrapped his arms around the older man's waist.

"So, where do you wanna go?" Dallon asked, driving off slowly to let the shorter settle into the ride.

"Don't care, just don't drop me off on the side of the road like the last guy." Brendon joked as the older man sped off.

"Pittsburgh it is." Dallon laughed over his shoulder.

The ride was quiet, due to the nature of a motorcycle, but it made it easier for Dallon not to have to talk to the attractive stranger. He did wonder why Brendon was on his own; he couldn't be much older than 16. But these days there were more and more kids that were too young to be out on their own, it wasn't his business why. He had been doing the same thing when he was that age.

It took them two hours before they passed a town, still a while away from their final destination. From the old buildings around him, Dallon could tell that 50 years ago this might have been a prominent factory town. But whatever industry that used to reside here had since moved on and left a dying village behind.

Dallon drove into an old fueling station, one that may not have been that old, but had been weathered like the town that surrounded it. Kicking down his bike stand, the man waited for Brendon to take off the helmet and dismount.

"This where you're leaving me?" Brendon question, running his hand through his hair to smooth his helmet hair.

"Well, if you want me to, but I was just stopping to get a Coke." Dallon laughed, leading the way into the corner store.

Brendon was left in the doorway, watching as the taller walked casually over, the cooler to grab two glass bottles before throwing cash on the counter and instructing the man that looked just as weathered as the town to keep the change. The older man guided him back out of the store and sat down on the curb. He expertly used the cement edge to pop the tops off the bottles and slid the caps into the pocket of his leather jacket.

"So, I wasn't going to ask, but now I'm curious. What is a kid your age doing hitchhiking around?" Dallon questioned, handing the younger one of the glass bottles.

"Told my parents something they didn't want to hear and got myself kicked out, what about you? You seem like the kind of guy who would have something better to do than drive around and pick up hitchhikers." Brendon returned, joining the taller man on the curb.

"Got nowhere better to be, no family, no friends, just a bike and a notebook," Dallon replied honestly, sipping casually on the sweet drink.

"I find that hard to believe. You gotta have a girl somewhere or at least someone that cares about you." Brendon nudged Dallon's shoulder in a friendly manner.

"I broke up with my girl and left home at 16. I've been gone so long, and I'm so far away that it doesn't matter anymore. I like the road; it clears your head." Dallon stared off at the buildings around them, imagining the town bustling with life.

"So why'd you leave?" Brendon asked, only getting silence in return as Dallon focused on reviving the town in his imagination. "Come on. I told you my story. You might as well tell me yours."

"Actually you didn't tell me the full story, but I guess I'll tell you the rest of mine." Dallon sighed, placing the empty glass bottle next to him. "Home didn't feel like home anymore. My brother left for war, and my sister was getting married, my younger brother was the star of the football team. Nobody really missed me when I went. Besides, writing is so much easier when you have experiences to back it."

Brendon couldn't see what Dallon was focusing on around him, but to the older, the town was no longer sleepy and quiet. He could visualize the kids playing in the empty lot on the other side of the empty warehouse. In his mind, there was smoke coming up out of the towers of the factory in the center of the town and people bustled about the street. With his imagination, Dallon could bring things to life and see things that no one else did.

"You're a writer? Anything I would have read?" The younger asked as he finished off his soda.

"Not unless you read the trash that they throw out behind the Baltimore Sun." Dallon laughed, grabbing the boy's bottle and throwing it the bin that sat outside the glass doors. "Now come on pretty boy, let's go to Pittsburg."

"Pretty boy?" Brendon inquired.

"Well, you seem like the kind of guy that had all the girls back home. You know, a pretty boy." Dallon passed Brendon the helmet and swung his long legs over the bike.

Brendon shoved the helmet on his head and pulled the visor down to hide the blush that spread across his cheeks. Dallon liked the feeling when the younger boy wrapped his arms around his waist, but he knew better than to think about it too much. Even with Dallon's backpack in the way, he could feel the boy pressed against him. He'd get killed in his sleep or something if people found out about his sexual orientation.

Dallon was kicking himself over the 'pretty boy' comment, but he believed he had played it off to let the nickname stick. Deep down inside Dallon knew he liked the kid and, if it were possible, wanted to keep him around. Brendon probably wouldn't stick around for too long though, probably had better things to do than travel around with a twenty-year-old that had nothing to do with his life.

After an hour and half of driving, they could finally see the city lights. The sun was setting behind them, painting a navy blue sky in front of them and illuminating the city towers. About 7 miles out from the city, Dallon's motorcycle stopped rumbling and slowly clicked to a dead silence as the man pulled to the side of the road.

"Shit, we're out of gas." Dallon kicked the front tire of his bike.

"And you said you wouldn't leave me on the side of the road." Brendon laughed as he pulled the helmet off and slid off the side of the broken down bike.

"I'm not leaving you here, Prettyboy. It's too late to walk to the gas station now, but I got some stuff to sleep here for the night." Dallon sighed, pulling his backpack off.

Inside the backpack was an old canvas sheet that the older man hung between his bike and a tree to make a temporary shelter. The whole time the younger of the two watched as his companion set up their makeshift campsite with both interest and horror.

"It's going to be warm tonight. We probably won't need much other than the tent." Dallon then went into his backpack and pulled out two bars that read, Space Food on them, "They don't taste amazing, but they'll hold us over to breakfast."

Brendon didn't say a word as he took the bar and ate it quickly so that he wouldn't have to taste a thing. He then joined Dallon under their makeshift shelter. The taller man had pulled out a leather notebook and a pen and was writing something intently, his messy hair falling in his eyes and his tongue peeked out of the side of his mouth. When he realized he was being watched, he shut the notebook and shoved it back in his backpack.

"You don't have to stop. I have just never met someone who loved to write." Brendon commented as he settled down against the tree that held one side of their 'tent.'

"No it's fine, it's getting too dark to write anyway. Sorry, we have to sleep on the side of the road tonight. If we had made it to town, we could've gotten a motel room or something." Dallon sighed, running a hand through his hair to smooth out the windswept locks.

"No this is fine, it's better than I have had for the past week." Brendon laughed, lounging against the tree.

"How long ago did you leave home?" Dallon questioned, taking off his jacket and using it as a pillow.

"It's only been about a week and a half, but god it feels like an eternity." Brendon looked Dallon up and down before sighing again, "I'd tell you why I got kicked out if I didn't think you would judge me for it."

"I don't think I'm in any position to be judging." Dallon chuckled, thinking of the terrible secrets he hid. "I'm no flower child, but I'm pretty chill. I just go with the road."

Brendon stayed silent, contemplating whether or not to say anything. The older watched his face as is screwed up in thought. Lines deepened on his forehead as he considered whether or not to confess the reason he was no longer living at home. Finally, he nodded and smirked a little before making eye contact with Dallon.

"You promise you won't abandon me or anything worse after I tell you this." Brendon's eyes widened as he looked at his older companion. Dallon just nodded as he looked at his new friend with concerned eyes.

"I got kicked out of the house because I'm gay." Dallon didn't respond to Brendon's confession.

They stared at each other for a while, Brendon's secret has now out in the open. He had bottled up for so long that now that it was off his chest a sense of relief and fear filled the hole where it had been. The length of time in which it took Dallon to respond caused the anxiety to grow.

"D-dallon? Forget I said anything, I like g-girls, forget I said anything." Brendon dropped his eyes from Dallon's gaze as the man scooted towards him. "Wh-what are you doing?"

Dallon didn't respond to the boy, just allowed his eyes to drop to Brendon's lips and back up to his eyes. He held back for a single moment before leaning forward and connecting their lips.

The kiss took the younger boy by surprise, but he kissed back, allowing Dallon to pull him closer. Every little whim that Dallon had thought about since he met the younger boy was coming true as he wrapped his arms around him. Brendon threaded his fingers through the older's hair and moaned as Dallon nibbled his bottom lip.

They continued to make out in the makeshift tent until the both of them were fighting for breath. Dallon smiled at Brendon's swollen lips and pulled him in for another kiss. When he pulled away, his companion turned his head and pressed chaste kisses to the older man's jaw bone.

"I should probably mention I'm gay too." Dallon laughed as the boy began to mess with the hem of his shirt.

"I figured that much." Brendon joked as he pulled the older man's shirt off.

And from that night on the two had been inseparable. Dallon's stories became more and more popular, and they traveled around using the money. They eventually bought an apartment in Philadelphia with two girls who were in a relationship of their own. Using the two of them made it easier to cover up their involvement, especially as Dallon sold more and more stories.

It was easy to forget everything else that was going on in the world when it was just them, traveling around. Like the war in Vietnam that still raged on. American men were dying over a war that wasn't theirs to fight, but the two men had almost completely forgotten about the foreign troubles. Until the day Dallon got his draft letter.