The Elite Club Of People Who've Seen Gerard Way Naked.

10: The Kind Of 'Advanced Hugging' Where Dicks Are Involved

It made little sense at all, and had Lindsey Ballato just laid there on her bed for perhaps even hours afterwards, as she pondered what Jamia could possibly mean.

Because it wasn't like she'd really given Lindsey much of an explanation, was it? 

It was all words, loud and with a conceited, hidden meaning, and then, simply nothing, and silence besides the slam of a door, because Lindsey had fucked up for sure, Jamia had managed to convey that at the very least, but she just couldn't figure out how.

And after something like an hour of just in bed in a state of contemplation that made her wonder just why she'd wasted so much time on Jamia, not that time spent thinking of her was necessarily wasted, but, fuck... nothing made sense, and if Lindsey was sure of one thing in that moment it was the aforementioned.

And after that hour had elapsed, not that she'd been timing it or anything, she just grew tired of being tired, and got over being 'over it', because there were better things to do than mope around and obsess over something that was now little more than entirely out of her control; Jamia was Jamia, Jamia was her best friend, and they'd always been best friends, and perhaps they always would be, and Lindsey had an odd kind of faith in that.

Perhaps it was even that faith that had left her to leave the house with so little on her mind, because this was just an 'off' day, and it'd be fine tomorrow, or perhaps the next day, and they'd be fine, because they always were.

But deep down, Lindsey couldn't help but feel like, this time, somehow, something was just a little bit different.

She soon shook the notion, though, texting the something like the first six guys she came across in her contacts list, and agreeing to go over to the house of the first one who'd replied: fucking Brendon Urie, but it wasn't like Lindsey was in the right mind to at least have the dignity to be picky at this point, and well, it seemed like she did indeed owe Brendon Urie's balls an apology after all.

Of course, as to how such a debt would be settled would all be decided in Brendon's house, Brendon's bedroom, perhaps, and it wasn't Mikey, and it didn't matter, because even now, Lindsey's stupid infatuation with Mikey didn't matter; she just needed someone, and someone who would text back within twenty seconds, and someone that she could get to care after a blowjob or something, because if Lindsey had learned anything in life, it was that kindness most certainly did not come free.

She was certain she'd regret this tomorrow, or perhaps even as soon as it was over, or perhaps even whilst it was happening, but that meant nothing in her head right now, which was little more than a disarrayed mess of complex thoughts and stupid feelings, and of course, the world's worst emotions.

And she was perhaps even so fucked up to look at Brendon Urie like he was akin to Jesus or some other deity, or perhaps it was just the light from his hallway behind him as he opened the front door and smiled at her.

"Hey, what's wrong?" He asked, looking Lindsey up and down with widened eyes and raised eyebrows, and perhaps just too much distance between the two of them, because if Brendon was honest, he'd never really recovered from that incident last summer.

"Nothing's wrong, Brendon, I just, I just... want to see you." Lindsey brushed it off, pulling on the world's worst excuse for a smile as she stepped inside and closed the front door behind her.

"Something's seriously wrong if Lindsey Ballato optionally wants to speak to me." Brendon snorted a little, watching as Lindsey glared at him a little, and the boy with the massive forehead felt a sudden increase in concern for his balls, and dear god, those boots Lindsey was wearing today - no thanks.