Dichotomy.

This is supposed to be a new start for me, so I should be happy right now.

I pull down the hem of my black dress unsuccessfully; it’s Haley’s and she’s shorter than me.

But she still insisted I wear it tonight.

I catch Brendon watching on with an amused smirk at my discomfort.

“What?” I growl, as threateningly as I can muster as I shift uncomfortably in my new black heels Haley also insisted on.

“How do you feel?” he asks, his stupid full lips still quirked.

“Like a sellout,” I mumble honestly. He laughs, straightening his tie.

“Get used to it,” he states darkly.

I glance at him with curiosity before I walk over to the mirror to rearrange a few stray strands of my loose hair.

“It’s for you, you know,” he adds. “The after-party, I mean.”

“What?” I ask, startled, turning around to face him.

“We didn’t tell you because we knew you’d hate the idea. And seeing as you already hate me, Spence thought it was best I tell you,” he grins.

“I’ll have to have a…word with Spencer,” I grimace, shifting in my heels again. “And Haley…”

“What about Haley?” she asks, walking into the dressing room followed by Spencer. I glare at the two of them.

“I see Brendon’s told you the good news,” Spencer chuckles nervously.

Before I can retort, we’re informed that we’re on in five minutes, and we have no choice but to make our way towards the stage. I walk awkwardly in the heels until we’re side-stage.

“One minute!” someone calls, as my tech hands me my guitar and I thank him. Haley kisses Spencer’s cheek and he smiles in response. Brendon clears his throat and puts in his ear protectors. I do the same.

“Wait here until we announce you,” Spencer says, just before him and Brendon trot onto the stage to a round of shouts and applause. Brendon chatters to the audience and I roll my eyes and wait for my name.

“Tina…”

I start to walk then stop, swiftly removing my heels and handing them to a pouting Haley before stepping into the spotlight, nervous and barefoot.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The after-party’s in full swing, crowded to the point that I don’t know 80% of the people here. I receive numerous congratulations and a few offers to buy my drinks, but I decline them.

I don’t want the suggestive looks they’re giving me.

I want…something else.

The truth is, we all want what we can’t have.

And I want Brendon Urie.

-rewind to where I did not just think that. Please.

By the time I approach him at the crowded bar, his eyes are hazy, and he looks pretty drunk already.

Or maybe I just want him to be.

“This place used to be a venue,” he remarks, when he sees me. I study him. He looks back.

“Show me,” blurt out, not thinking for once. He doesn’t say anything, and he starts walking towards an unlabeled door I hadn’t noticed. I follow him, through the crowd and the door and down a hallway, where we open various doors to find dressing rooms turned storage closets.

He abruptly stops to stare at me when we run out of doors in the dim hallway, and I stare back, not breaking eye contact.

His head suddenly dips closer to mine, and I freeze.

Rewind to that day on the tour bus not too long ago.

I feel his nose pressed against my neck, his lips on my collarbone, and I can’t help but shiver.

I also feel his smirk being dragged up my throat by his lips, but I don’t push him away as he backs me gently against the wall.

I close my eyes, noting my shortened breathing and his incredibly soft lips finally meeting mine. One of my hands finds its way into his hair and the other grasping lightly at his tie while his clutch my waist and our tongues collide.

His hips are pressed firmly against mine as our hearts beat faster.

Goosebumps prickle all over my body as one of his hands wanders down my leg and slides up just under the hem of my dress-

…and what the fuck am I thinking?

“Stop.”

The word comes out of my mouth, but the truth is I don’t mean it. My voice is raspy and quiet against his hot breath, and I’m not sure if he’s heard me at first. But his wandering hand is taken from my leg and his lips are suddenly off mine.

“Why?”

“This…shouldn’t be happening,” I say, finally clearing my mind enough to remind myself that I’ve been in this situation before, and it’s obvious how that worked out for me.

“But you liked it,” he states.

“So?” I retort childishly, tugging habitually at the hem of my dress again. “I can’t do this again.” He frowns.

“Again?”

Fuck.

“Nothing,” I spit back, my heart now pounding faster with nerves. My face is still flushed as well.

“It doesn’t sound like nothing,” he insists, blocking my way. I glare.

I can see the polite façade is now as thin as a sheet of wax paper between us.

“Let it go,” I hiss, narrowing my eyes at him. He scowls back at me, but steps aside. “This didn’t even happen,” I add, making my way past him. “We’re just-”

“Smashed?” he finishes, but I don’t look back.

I find Tom at the bar. I’m going to need a few shots so I can forget.

I don’t tell him what happened.

I can’t.

He’d kill me.

The truth is, I’m not even that drunk.

We’re just nothing.