Tutorial | Brendon Urie

Chapter Eleven

A/N: My sincerest apologies, this has taken too long. I had had it prepared, but I got so caught up in this past week that I simply kept forgetting to publish. It won't happen again I promise. They'll be published as fast as I can write them.

Also, thank you all so much for 800 reads! That's literally so insane and I'm so proud. I love you all, thank you

The silence of the car ride home was the most awful, piercing and horrible sound I have ever heard. You could hear the heater churning out it's perfumed breaths and the ticking of the turning signal. It's a silence that penetrates more than just the air, but yourself.

We've stopped at a traffic light. After a quick suck of breath, Brendon asks, "Do you want to listen to some music?" The ultimate grasp to rectify this uncomfortable situation.

"Sure." I reach to flip on the radio. My hand is almost reaching the largest knob on the unit when it meets an unexpected attendee. Brendon's hand was also going for the same knob, and here we are, touching hands. I can't help but start laughing. I'm laughing and laughing.

"Wh-what?" Brendon just looks at me confused, understandably.

"This is so typical. We are literal cliché. Wow. Hands touching in the car. If we were in a romance fiction, this is the first sign that the author is running out of ideas." Brendon starts to giggle a little bit too. The tension of the silence has culminated into this pressurised emotional tank and it's finally being opened.

His giggle becomes a laugh and now we are both laughing here, hands still touching.

A sudden and long horn sounds behind us and we both look up to realise the light has already turned green. Brendon shifts the car into drive and grabs my hand before I can put it back in my pocket. He rests our hands on my leg, his icy fingertips isolating cold spots on my thigh through my jeans. I look down at his hand over mine and, for a moment, completely forget all context to our relationship. I take my other hand from inside my jacket pocket and place it over the canyons of his hand, sandwiching the warmth. My thumb traces the ridges of his bones, appreciating the strength and history of its muscles. The places these hands have gone, the instruments they know and love, the poems they have written. All concentrated in the fibres of this here hand. I got lost in thought again while imagining the endless possibilities of Brendon's life so far.

The car rides over a familiar bump, causing me to return my attention to the outside world. We're pulling into my driveway and our routine car ride has come to another bittersweet end.

"Thank you again, Brendon."

"Of course. Any time." This is usually used as a cordial response, but there's meaning behind it this time.

"Oh, and thank you for the book. I'm excited to read it." He just smiles at me. No response, just a smile.

I begin to lift the strap of my bag and I open the car door. As I'm getting out, I hear Brendon's seatbelt unbuckle and his door open as well. We've both gotten out of the car and he's adjusting his pants.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to walk you to your door."

"It's like fifty metres, Brendon."

"This is a romance novel, is it not?"

I laugh and nod, allowing him to walk me to my front door. I reach for my keys and flip to the largest silver one on the ring, inserting it into the door and unlocking the heavy gold deadbolt.

"So, I guess this is the part where I invite you in." I'm standing on the ledge of the doorway, with Brendon and his black tie and his white shirt and his thick black glasses and his floppy hair standing in front of me, under the porch light, looking better than any person I have ever seen in my life.