The Art Of Keeping Up Disappearances // Brallon

Arakan

▱ dallon ▱

i remember when i was twelve and mom and dad put me to work in dad's church. first generation chapel, the grand building was called. it had three stories altogether. the chapel took up the entire first floor, the second was the daycare and bible classes for the kids, plus some spare rooms for clubs within and without the church. the top floor was my father's office and a storage room.

that church surrounded my life, ever since the construction started when i was three. my first memory was my mom painting the quaint religious scenes we decorated the halls with. mom was a beautiful woman who spoke with beautiful words and created beautiful art.

"this church will bring us all together, dallon," mom chimed at me one day in her studio. i remember watching her lay down her brush and wiping paint on her smock, staring listlessly at the canvases. "it'll bring people together."

i still don't know why seeing brendon walk into church that sunday scared me. honestly, i'd seen many sinful people stroll in and out every day, but brendon urie was different, somehow.

i think it scared me because he was so sinful. in my young mind, you could take every person in the world and put them together, it still wouldn't match the deviance I saw in that boy. he was a promiscuous, drug-abusing, alcoholic to seventeen year olf me. and the worst part? he was bisexual.

maybe i was scared he would ruin the pristine reputation of my father's church. maybe i was just confused to see him there in the first place. but after i saw him walk from the entrance of the chapel, down the pews, and off into the bathroom, the anger and fear and confusion quickly swelled. and ten minutes later, i followed him in.

just outside of the door, a putrid smell drifted to my nose. it smelled like skunk, but also warm and fuzzy. i inhaled the scent deeply, the voice of my dad beginning the morning prayer drifting to my ears. i shoved the door open.

brendon stood up straight as i let the door shut behind me. he had been leaning over the sinks with a joint between his fingers.

"oh - uhm- you're the pastor's son, dallon, yeah?" brendon's words were slow, and his movements to stand sluggish. "shouldn't you be helping your dad give the uh... prayer or whatever?" i shrugged.

"shouldn't you be out sinning with your pack of gay miscreants?" i thought i was so smart. brendon looked quite taken aback by my words.

"so the string bean has sass!" he chuckled, setting the joint beside the sinks. his hand ran through his hair, coming close enough to press his chest against mine. he trapped my head between his hands.

"do you really think that my friends and i are all that bad?" brendon asked me quietly, his words pouring like liquid from his lips. i nodded firmly.

"you're all sinners," i whispered back. "everything you do- sleeping around, smoking weed, drinking- it's all against god. plus you're just straight up gross."

brendon's lips were suddenly at my ear, a tingle ran down my spine.

"do you even know the pleasure of your lips against someone else's? my lips are like velvet, y'know, sweetie? they'd feel so nice against yours." before i could protest, he kissed me soft. i almost leaned into it. i almost liked it. then i shoved him back with two big hands on his chest.

"figures, with you, weekes," brendon grabbed the remains of the joint from the sink counter, quickly flushing the stub down a toilet while i just stood there. brendon opened the bathroom door, airing out the sickly sweet scent of the weed. my chest heaved with surpressed anger.

"let me know if you want me to come in for confession," he winked at me. i stayed in the bathroom. i didn't leave until i was sure brendon had left the church.

A/n: Yoyoyo it's ya dude Ollie! Here's a new fic written by Mack and i that nobody asked for!

((Edited))