✓ ❘ 𝐄𝐌𝐎 𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 ─ 𝐌𝐂𝐑. 𝐏!𝐀𝐓𝐃. 𝐅𝐎𝐁. 𝐓Ø𝐏.

*Halloween* You Make Me Feel Alive. (Brendon Urie x Reader)

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Request: a user on Tumblr: 'And 16 with Brendon. Beebo decided that it would be fun and very emo to go to a Graveyard on Halloween :D'

Note: I altered the request a bit; I hope you don't mind. x

Prompt 16: Graveyard

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He'd only ever been in love once; it was when he was 18, and looking back on it now, he wasn't entirely certain that it had truly been love. A typical teenage romance, he had met the girl at a party his friend Spencer had thrown and from the minute the two of them laid eyes on each other, there was an undeniable attraction. As their relationship progressed, however, it became more and more clear that that attraction was nothing more than lust, and the girl had no intention of ever wanting anything more than physicality from their relationship. But it was the first time he had ever felt love, and he was so high on the feeling that he was oblivious to the visible manner in which she was using him and thus continued to cater to her every whim, never once questioning her or asking for anything in return.

It was only once she broke his heart and tossed him aside like he was nothing more than a used and now completely worthless plaything, that he realised that the past seventeen months of his life had been lost on a manipulative bitch that had no regard for his feelings whatsoever. After that, he spent the remaining ten years of his life avoiding any kind of romantic involvement with anyone, which was understandable. His first love had downright destroyed him, and after that, he never thought that he would ever feel real, true love. And in a way, he was right – he never did feel true love during his final years on Earth.

It was only after he had died that he had that astonishing experience.

It was exactly six months ago, to the day, that he had first seen your face. If he was still living, he was certain that his heart would've stopped because of your beauty.

But your beauty wasn't the only thing he noticed about you. He noticed the pale greyish-purple rings around your eyes. The infinitesimally small crinkles at the corners of your eyes that had all but disappeared – no doubt from a lack of smiling. The exhausted manner in which you gaited over from your car to the freshly planted gravestone in front of the huge oak tree. The way in which all of your muscles seemed to relax ever so slightly upon you taking your usual spot in the shade across from the stone. The way in which you would spend hours and hours just sitting there and staring at the remains of your late husband. (He gathered that it was your husband because you wore a wedding ring, along with a look on your face that he could only imagine is the type that people get once they lose the love of their lives.)

He'd spent the last six months studying you in excruciating detail, and by now he had every single thing about you memorised. When you'd leave, he'd shuffle through those memories in his head, making up perfect scenarios in which he could actually approach you each time he did so.

He wanted so badly to walk over and talk to you. Comfort you. It was completely insane, but seeing you hurting so badly pained him more than anything he had ever endured. He knew that it was impossible, the two of you ever being with one another. He was a ghost, after all. He wasn't human like you, and even if he were, he knew that there was only the tiniest fraction of a possibility that you'd be willing to give him a chance, what with having just lost your husband. This didn't deter his feelings for you, though, and they were now more real and intense than anything he had ever felt during the course of his human existence. It was cruel, to be honest, that he had only been allowed to feel the one thing he'd wanted to feel his entire life, after it had ended and he had no way of doing anything about it.

True, he could always make himself appear to be real, right down to actually feeling like a human, and yes, he had thought about it countless times – when the craving to touch you became almost unbearable – but he had ultimately went against it; it would do nothing but create torturous obstacles down the line.

~

It was a particularly dull and dreary day today, and your mood matched the weather perfectly. You brought the car to a halt and sighed as you folded your arms on top of the steering wheel, staring out into the misty atmosphere of the graveyard. A thin ray of sunlight streamed down through the windshield, and the diamond in your engagement ring glinted as it caught the light, in turn catching your eye and casting a wave of nausea through you. You swallowed a lump that had formed in your throat and roughly yanked the ring off of your finger, tossing it deep into the abyss of your messenger bag.

You sat in silence for a minute, glaring at your bag as your heart thumped against your ribcage. Shutting your eyes tightly, you tried your hardest to fight back the tears threatening to spill over onto your cheeks. With your eyes still closed, you fumbled around against the car door, looking for the handle before swiftly opening it and rushing outside. You hadn't realised you'd been holding your breath until the fresh outside air hit your skin and you gasped.

Panting softly, you made sure the alarm on your car was armed and then continued on to your usual spot under the oak tree. Dropping down onto the withered grass, you tugged your hair to one side of your head and proceeded to absentmindedly fiddle with it while you kept your eyes trained on your husband's name engraved on the gravestone. It wasn't long before you were breaking down.

He watched you as violent sob after violent sob racked your body, and he involuntarily moved towards you. His eyebrows furrowed as he had his usual internal debate over whether or not to reach out for you. What little self-control he had encouraged him not to, and he started to backtrack, but his impulse didn't happen fast enough, and before he could disappear, you lifted your eyes to meet his.

Looking at you looking at him, he felt more real than he ever did – even when he was alive – and even though he knew he didn't have a heart, he felt it swell.

"W-who are you?" you questioned, wiping your tears and sniffling.

He instinctively did what he'd been wanting to for so long and made himself feel real. Real for you.

"My name is Brendon," he spoke, keeping his voice calm and steady, trying to calm you down a little bit. "Are you okay?"

You sighed and wiped the sleeve of your jacket over your face. "I don't know, Brendon. Do I look okay?"

"Not really, no," he responded, eyes widening in realisation when you shot him an incredulous look. It had been so long since he'd actually had a conversation with someone, and he'd forgotten about the common use of sarcasm as a human tendency. He cast his gaze down and whispered. "I'm sorry." You frowned at him. "About your husband," he elaborated, and you nodded slowly.

"Yeah, me too."

"I, uh, I know that this might seem a little bit unusual, but is there anything I can do?"

"I don't even know you, Brendon," you cocked your head to the side as you looked at him, "Why would you want to help me?"

"Because you're hurting," he said, cautiously walking over to you, "And I know what it feels like to lose someone who you loved."

"Hmm," you hummed, returning your gaze to the grave, "do you, now?"

"I do." With extreme hesitancy, he took a seat next to you. "And I know that while I was dealing with it, more than anything, I wished that I had someone to talk to. Someone who would understand. Someone who could..." he trailed off, unsure of whether or not to continue; a nudge from you urged him on, "make it better."

You turned to the male, for the first time taking him in. He was pretty.

"And how exactly are you gonna make it better?"

"In every way that I can."

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Thank you for reading x