Trans-Male Imagines

Brendon Urie

I've been on a Brendon Urie check recently? It's also a bad day for anxiety/dysphoria, so woo. More of a personal help drabble, so I'm sorry that it has my name in it? They'll be back to normal next time. Enjoy!

Y/N- your name

Y/B/N- your birth name

Trigger Warnings- descriptive anxiety attack, mentions of nausea/illness

It was fine, I was fine, what happened? What the hell is wrong with you- get a grip! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. Your head pounds relentlessly, and your vision goes spotted with black and purple as you stumble. I'm stuck, oh my God, I'm stuck. Shut up!

"Breathe, breathe, breathe!!!" you choke out the word on repeat like a lifeline, hoping it will help, even as tears run down your face and your lungs constrict. The world is a box, and the lid is shutting ever faster. Your fingers tingle and your hands reach up into your hair, tugging your head down by your knees. You bite your lip, the metal tang of blood filling your mouth. A drop falls onto your jeans. I hate you, I hate you, I hate me!

"Julian?"

No, no, no, no... please not him, he'll hate me.

"Julian, are you okay?" Brendon's voice, previously calm, has a nervous edge to it. "Are you home?" You feel as though you've been punched in the gut. Why should he care, shut up, shut up! You let out a strangled cry, and your throat aches in protest. Your skull throbs and you slip from the couch to the floor, body curling in on itself. You take a millisecond of relief from the sharp click of Brendon's house key on the kitchen counter.

"Help..."

It comes out barely strong enough for you to hear it, a tight, pained whisper. You shrink even smaller as Brendon rushes into the living-room. He takes notice of your huddled frame immediately, hurrying to crouch down beside you.

"Bren- I can't breathe, I can't-" you cut yourself off with a rapid set of hyperventilated breaths, choking down air like it's the last time you'll get oxygen.

"Hey, Jules, it's okay. I know it feels like you can't breathe right now, but that's okay, alright?" Brendon's voice is a cool contrast to the abuse in your head, and you latch onto it like a lifeline. "Can I touch you?"

You nod a shaky 'yes'. Brendon's hands lace together with yours and pull them gently away from your head, your skull aching. You fold into his arms like fabric, your whole body shaking like a leaf blown into a hailstorm.

"It's okay, Jules. I'm here, okay? It's going to be okay." Brendon runs a hand down your arm, pulling you tighter to him. "You're not alone. We're not going to think about how to stop this, okay? It's just a feeling, it's just anxiety, alright? It's just a feeling in your head, because sometimes your brain is dumb, and that's really unfair, but it's just your head, and it's alright. Just focus on me." His voice is gentle and kind.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I don't know what happened," you stutter out, though your chest feels less tight. Brendon presses a light kiss to your forehead, tracing smooth circles onto your back.

"Hey, no need to apologize. We don't need to answer questions until you feel better," Brendon says. "Just get through one thing at a time, and we can figure out the 'why' later." The shaking that had spread throughout your limbs slows to a stop, and you slump against Brendon's chest. He hums lightly, and your headache melts away to a voice that sounds like liquid gold. You reach up to dry your face of tears as Brendon stands you up to lead you back to the couch.

"There you go, Jules. See, it's okay. You're just fine, and you're so strong, and I'm so proud of you for getting through that." Brendon folds a blanket over you, his hands carding through your short hair.

"I'm so sorry, Brendon, it didn't even happen for a reason, it just came out of nowhere," you proclaim sadly. "I'm a terrible fiancé." Brendon chuckles softly, and you look up at him questioningly.

"Darlin', nothing that just happened makes you any worse of a fiancé. I still love you, and I'm always going to love you, and I would never want to marry anyone else," Brendon says. "Sometimes things like that don't have reasons, and it's why they hurt so bad." You yawn, pushing your hair up and out of your eyes. "Go to sleep, Julian. I'll still be here. Things will get better."