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

Oh, Those Summer Nights. (Part 4) (Brendon Urie x Reader)

"Josh, you know that I consider you one of my best friends," Brendon said as he took a step forward so that he was only inches away from the drummer, "but if you come between me and my girl, I won't hesitate to kick your ass."

Josh let out a light scoff. "I don't need to come between you and (Y/N)," he said calmly, raising his brows before hardening his face, "You already did that yourself."

Brendon's eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched simultaneously; you could see his right hand twitch slightly, as if he was debating whether or not to throw a punch at the man in front of him.

Josh's body language surprised you. Everyone who knows him knows that he's not a fighter; he's usually the mediator, the guy who prevents fights from happening, not one that's involved in them. Yet, when faced with a pissed off Brendon, he didn't back away or even try and calm his fuming counterpart down; he stood his ground, muscles tensing and face hardening as he stared at the singer as if to say Go ahead. Hit me. It scared you, honestly – this was a side of Josh you'd never seen before. Which is why you knew that you needed to put an end to this – once and for all – before someone did something they would regret.

"That's enough," you huffed, struggling to squeeze yourself into the tiny space separating the two band members, "Stop it. Both of you."

With a great amount of effort – and a mean frown on your face – you managed to shove both of them apart.

"This needs to end," you said softly, avoiding their gazes and looking down at the ground instead, "I don't want you to fight. I know that you both want me to be happy, and I think I know who it is that makes me happiest," you took a deep breath and turned to face him, "You."

~One Week Earlier~

It had been three days since the get-together at Dallon's house, meaning it had been three days since you had last seen or heard from Brendon – a wonderful fact.

He hadn't tried to call or text you since the argument, which was probably in his best interest. You were still insurmountably infuriated with him and unless he wanted his eardrums blown or his face tattooed with your handprint, it was wise of him to not make any kind of contact with you.

You were on the road with twentyonepilots, and they were playing a show in Las Vegas tonight. Understandably, you were a bit jumpy about being in the same city as Brendon, but you were almost certain that he wouldn't dare try and seek you out.

But 'almost' wasn't enough.

You had underestimated Brendon and his desperation to win you back, resulting in you almost having a heart attack when he strolled onto the tour bus you were lounging in.

You sat up in your seat so fast that you gave yourself a mild case of whiplash. "What the hell are you doing here?" you demanded.

"Isn't it obvious?" he replied, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets as he took tentative steps towards you, "I came to see you."

"I don't want to see you."

"I know you don't," he sighed, looking up as he scoffed at himself, "But I needed to tell you that I'm sorry."

"A text would've been fine," you said flatly, maintaining a poker face as you looked at him.

"I wanted to see you. I have things I want to say to you that can't be said over text. May I?" he questioned politely, gesturing to a spot on the seat next to you.

His warm, chocolate eyes bored right into you, coaxing you to agree and damn it, the longer you looked at him, the more you felt your resolve slowly but surely slip away.