I Might Be Holding Your Hand, but I'm Holding It Loose.

“I’m vegetarian,” whined Brendon, rolling about on the carpet in the living room, smiling to himself as his jeans picked up the dust from underneath him.
“Yeah, a shitty one at that,” chuckled Alex as he fried the bacon. “Besides, it’s the smell of bacon that’s meant to sway you. You’re an easily persuaded guy.”
“I resent that!” he growled, crossing his arms and sitting up to peer into the kitchen.
“And I resent that.” he chuckled. “Remember last night? ‘Oh, I don’t want to suck you off, I don’t... oh! Fuck, Christ, if you do that I’ll suck you off over and over if you do that.’” he paused, turning off the hob. “All it took was me to mutter a few dirty nothings in your ear and those fish lips of yours soon got to work, hmm?”
His growl turned into a deep scowl. “You tasted alright, I guess. I haven’t had a cock in my mouth for a while.” he shrugged. “Actually, other than food, I haven’t had anything in my mouth.”
“Not even girl?” he smiled and brought a plate down to Brendon’s level, with a bacon sandwich and a glass of orange juice. He kissed Alex’s cheek as a thanks.
“No. My fiancée is a devout Christian,” he said seriously, breaking into little chuckles as he swallowed down his first bite. “Allegedly. We’ve had sex once and I don’t remember it, really. She’s had sex with other men to try and get pregnant.”
“What, you got weak sperm or something, Urie?” he scoffed.
“Shut up, you dick.” he smirked. “No, I’ve got sperm with guns, that’s how strong they are. You wouldn’t want to mess with them.”
He nodded as if it was the most sane thing anybody had ever said.
“And you know this how?”
“I got a girl pregnant.” he shrugged.
“Oh shit! You did? Who? Did she keep it?” he squealed, eyes widening as you do when you’re anticipating juicy gossip.
“Emma. Yeah, we were gonna keep it and everything but she had a miscarriage. Like, apparently her stress levels were too high or something. I don’t know. I still can’t get my mind around the fact I’m a baby killer. It’s not a comforting thought, especially as it’s my own son. Our son. Fuck, sorry,” he mumbled, wiping his cheeks as tears rolled down the smooth skin.
“Don’t apologize, babe. Keep going.” he offered a smile, bending down to rub his back.
“We weren’t earning much between us, barely enough to keep us afloat, but somehow we managed to keep a little aside, in an account for the baby. As soon as I found out about the miscarriage I withdrew the money, and burned it all. I didn’t even cry, I just moped, and clung to Emma, unable to touch her in any way other than comfort hugs.” he sighed, nibbling at his sandwich so he couldn’t talk anymore. Talking wasn’t so fun right now, and he was thankful he was such a fucking awful vegetarian.
“Everything takes time to heal.” said Alex, ignoring the cliché aspect to it, because in this instance, it was true.
“I haven’t got time, Alex,” he whimpered, blinking back the tears still falling. “I’m twenty-three. That’s four years since I was a potential father. Fuck, I’m wrinkled and old and tired and I’ve done nothing.” he sighs, falling back into the carpet, pissed off with the fluff that now smothered his black jeans.
“Urie, you’ve got the rest of your life ahead of you,”
“Oh, well aren’t you a walking cliché this morning.” he spits bitterly. “You know what day it is in two days?”
“Thursday?” he offers, knowing it to be wrong anyway.
“No. It doesn’t even classify as a day, it’s just a painful twenty four hour segment of a slightly less painful year. Death day. Crying and sobbing and, and, fuck!” he shouts. “Fuck you!”
“Bren, calm down, it’s not the end of the world.”
“Shut up!” he screams, clutching his hair. “It’s the time my baby died! It’s the time I died! It’s the time I punch walls and inhibitions go out the God damned window. It’s the time I sob manically until I fall into an exhausted slumber. I don’t know,”
“You keep on saying that,” he noted quietly. “You keep on saying you don’t know.”

“If I knew what to say then I wouldn’t have to say that so often,” he laughs quietly, rubbing his tired eyes, wincing as the pain in his ass began giving him a hard-time. “It’s essentially my own personal doomsday. Or war veteran’s day. I don’t know. I’ll pin a poppy to my shirt and throw a wreath at a war memorial and go tell it how I sympathize with their relatives, but my pain is worse, because I never got to find out what a beautiful person my son would be. I just have all these images in my mind of kids, a different one with each dream. Pushing him on a swing and smiling so wide when he giggles as I tackle him to the grass softly. Ruffling his long, blond hair. Ruffling his short, brown hair. Pressing a little kiss to his nose and smiling at the sight of his blue or green or brown or silver eyes.”

“I wish I could help you, babe.” is all he can say. Nothing else that could be said would be of any importance to Brendon.
“You’ve started the whole thing off,” he smiles timidly, fogging up his glasses with his breath in order to clean them; to see clearly again. He holds Alex’s hand in his and reaches forward to press a few gentle kisses on his lips, ghosting them over the taller man’s jaw, whispering a little serenade into his skin. “I’m the one who has to finish the whole thing off. I love you, man.”

And Alex wishes he could say the same back.