Down & Out

Always up or down, never down and out.

That line rang in Brendon's ears over and over. The pathetic part was, he knew exactly why.

He looked over to the tall man sitting in the corner, sipping a beer and playing the bass guitar. The man had blue-green eyes that always sparkled, even when he was angry or upset, which was becoming rather frequent. His dark hair flopped into those eyes that Brendon loved so much. His thin lips quirked into a grin when he played, and moved in unison with Brendon's when they sang during concerts. He had hollow cheeks and a firm jaw. A generally masculine face, which satisfied the brown-eyed singer. He had imperfections, which only made Brendon love him more. Had he been perfect like the last one, Brendon would not have given him a chance. He would've hid. He might've even hid behind Spencer, buried himself in his part-time drummer part-time best friend. But no, this bassist was not perfect. And that drew Brendon in.

This man was named Dallon Weekes. And he was far from perfect.

"Hello," smiled Brendon when they first met. The two shook hands as they took each other in. Brendon noted that Dallon's forehead was a fraction of an inch too tall, and his tall frame was verging on awkward. Perfect, thought Brendon. He had enough imperfections that Brendon could handle him, but few enough to still be attractive. Oh, and attractive he was. His eyes reminded him of Sarah's, his faux-fiancée. Brendon and Sarah had an agreement. They each wanted something from the other: from Brendon, Sarah wanted fame. From Sarah, Brendon wanted an alibi. People were beginning to catch on to his secret, and he couldn't have that. What better way to hide from the rumors than a female fiancée? If things went Sarah's way, fiancée would be as far as it got. She didn't want to get married; too messy, too much money. Brendon was just desperate. He boasted a calm composure, but turmoil stormed inside of him. Brendon Boyd Urie was gay, and the world was on to him.

So what did Dallon think of Brendon when they first met? Well, being bisexual, he immediately noticed Brendon's exotic attractiveness. Those eyes that stormed dark, yet had a distant glimmer of light. Looking into Brendon's eyes was like looking into space and seeing nothing; then suddenly, a star appears. A bright, gleaming, overwhelming star. Look at Brendon's eyes too long, and you feel life. Those perfect eyes lay above smooth, nearly-spotless cheeks. In fact, it took Dallon six months to notice the freckles. It wasn't until—

Well. Let's just say Brendon's eyes weren't the only brilliant thing about him.

Dallon's favorite feature was the pair of lips below his nose. A bit cliché, Dallon knew, but they were like two plump pillows perfectly stuffed with...something goddamn soft. Because those were some soft lips. Er...not that Dallon would know that.

Anyway, Dallon was married to a beautiful wife and the father of two children, all of whom he loved to death. He couldn't afford to admire new acquaintances, even if they were sexy lead-singers of alt bands.

But that was a year ago. Things change. They always do. And they had changed a lot.

Six months ago, Brendon was particularly drunk during a concert. By the end, he was also feeling rather corageous. Off came his shirt, off came his belt, off came his pants. Almost. They were down to his ankles. Brendon pressed himself up against Dallon as he sang. Dallon played along with the stage-gay act, but to him, it was more than that, and he didn't know if Brendon felt the same way. After his fifteen-second fling with Dallon, Brendon moved across the stage to Ian. Dallon felt a guilty pang of jealousy, but didn't act on it. He tried to suppress the feelings, as he had been beginning to have to do. They were small, just shots of jealousy he couldn't explain. But everyone knows that jealousy grows. It grows and grows until you have to acknowledge it. This night, this concert, this very song, was where Dallon acknowledged his jealousy and his feelings.

Brendon, on the other hand, was drunk. Very, very drunk. He had long since acknowledged his attraction to Dallon, but had given up on pursuing him. Every time he tried to get close, Dallon would shrink back. Not on stage, as Dallon was all for stage-gay, but on their own time. Brendon would throw in a smile, Dallon would grimace. Brendon would scoot an inch closer, Dallon would stand up, armed with an excuse to leave. Brendon would keep eye contact for a second too long, Dallon would avoid his gaze for the rest of the day. He clearly wasn't interested in Brendon. That's why Brendon was testing the waters with Ian lately. But as aforementioned, Brendon was drunk.

Very, very drunk.

To him, Dallon looked just like Ryan that night. Same awkward thinness, same dark hair, even the voices were eerily similar. Dallon had quite a few inches on Ryan of course, but it had been years since Brendon had seen him, and his memories were getting hazy. By the end of the set, Brendon was convinced that the man to his left was none other than Ryan Ross. Naturally, he also forgot about the breakup. He fell into his normal Ryan-groping routine (with a semi-naked twist) but it wasn't Ryan. It was Dallon. And the man to his right wasn't Jon. It was Ian. Had there been no chemistry between Brendon and Dallon, the events of that night would not have been acceptable. Drunk Brendon, semi-drunk Dallon, and a sloppy first kiss that turned into so much more. If there was no sense of romantic feeling between the two, the next day would have been awkward as hell. But it wasn't.

It was far, far past that.

The two avoided each other for a few days before they broke down and decided to talk it out. Spencer was eating at some restaurant with Zack, Ian was trying to sweet talk some fans six blocks away, and all of the random roadies were off doing roadie things. Brendon and Dallon were alone on the bus.

"Hey," said Dallon, throwing himself down on the couch beside Brendon.

"Oh. Didn't know you were here," mumbled Brendon. He continued to screw around on his laptop, not daring to look up.

Dallon cleared his throat. "So uh, we need to talk. We really fucking need to talk."

Brendon sighed, closed his laptop, and made eye contact with Dallon for the first time in days. "About?"

"You know. What happened after the concert, and maybe a little of what happened during the concert." He awaited Brendon's response, which was inevitably coming, but he seemed to be silent for an awkward amount of time.

Finally, Brendon said, "I was drunk."

"I noticed," Dallon said sarcastically. "I'm not your mother. I'm not concerned about your drinking. What I'm concerned about is what you stick up my-"

"I thought you were Ryan," interrupted Brendon. Dallon was silent. "I thought you were Ryan," he repeated. "I thought we were on the Nothing Rhymes With Circus tour. I thought Ian was Jon. I thought Spencer still had his lesbian haircut. I thought I was singing a song from our first record. I thought everything was back to the way it was when things between me and Ryan were perfect. Awkward, but perfect. And I really fucking thought you were Ryan." Dallon opened his mouth to speak, but Brendon continued. "But you know something? It's not because you looked like him, although you did a little bit. It's not because you sing. It's because I feel for you what I felt for Ryan six months ago, only it's better. It's cleaner. Dallon Weekes, I am about to screw everything up, but I admit it. I love you. I really shouldn't love you, but I do. When we started considering you for our new bass player, it wasn't just because you're a talented musician. I was heartbroken over Ryan leaving me. I was looking for a temporary replacement. Turns out you weren't all that temporary. Since a few weeks ago, I had given up on you. And then I thought you were Ryan, and...well, we fucked. But once that started, I realized it was you. I know you were sober. High off of the rush of performing maybe, but sober. You knew what you were doing more than I did. So I guess that means there's a decent chance you have feelings for me too. But the past few days, I realized that's impossible. You're married. You're in love. You won't get close to me. So I've just made a complete and utter ass of myself."

With that, Brendon stood up and stormed out of the trailer, leaving before Dallon could react to his little confession. He was dazed, furious, and embarrassed all at the same time. He had so much more to say, but he couldn't go back and say it now.

Dallon was left sitting on the ratty trailer couch, mouth agape. Brendon...loved him? Brendon Urie, musician and singer extraordinaire, loved Dallon Weekes; mediocre bass player with a passable voice? But...why?

He shot up and scrambled out of the trailer in pursuit of Brendon. He scanned the rest stop, but didn't see the brown-eyed singer. After further investigation, Dallon spotted him pacing the gas station across the street. The bass player raced across the street, dodging a cruising car, and stopped in front of Brendon. The two held eye contact for a long time, both struggling for words to say. Dallon wanted to tell him he was attracted to him. He wanted to tell him he was fucking amazing. He wanted to admit his feelings. But Brendon's very presence put Dallon at a loss for words. There was only one thing to do.

In a rush of courage, Dallon pushed Brendon against the wall and connected their lips. Brendon returned the kiss in a sort of a surprised satisfaction. For a few seconds, they fell into a pattern, but Brendon shoved Dallon away.

"Not here," he growled. "Let's go somewhere."

Dallon nodded, swallowing. Brendon grabbed his hand and dragged him inside the gas station to the empty mens' restroom. He locked the door and resumed his tongue dance with Dallon. This time, Dallon was pressed up against the wall and Brendon led. As their tongues brushed, Dallon emitted a whimper, which made Brendon smirk. He fumbled with the buttons on Dallon's shirt, practically ripping it off and throwing it on the ground. Dallon followed suit with Brendon's shirt. One by one, their articles of clothing were discarded until they were completely naked. From there, they repeated what had happened a few nights earlier.

For the rest of the tour, they snuck off at every possible opportunity to indulge. For a while, everything was perfect. But two months later, the tour ended, and Brendon, Dallon, Ian and Spencer went home to Los Angeles. Brendon wanted to pick up where they had left off, but Dallon had other plans.

"What are you doing?" he asked, shoving Brendon off of him. They were at Dallon's house, attempting to write a song, but Brendon was distracted.

"What do you think?" he grinned in amusement. "Come on, don't you wanna get down and dirty with me?"

Dallon laughed. "My wife will be home any minute. We can't."

"Why not?" Brendon pouted. "We can be quick."

Dallon sighed. "Brendon, let's just save the sex for touring, alright?"

Brendon frowned. He couldn't imagine why they couldn't carry on. What they had was secret, exciting, and pleasing. It was good. Brendon enjoyed it. Dallon enjoyed it. And, well, they had already professed their love for each other. What more did Dallon need?

As there was nothing else to say, Brendon asked, "Why?"

"God, Bren," Dallon huffed. "How oblivious can you be?"

Brendon furrowed his eyebrows. "What's that supposed to mean?"

A thought sprang into Dallon's mind. He didn't want to say it. He didn't even mean it, but he didn't know what else to do. Anything else, and he'd give into Brendon.

"I don't love you," he stated plainly, hiding the pain behind his calm façade. "Tour sex is just tour sex. It's casual. Okay?"

Brendon's jaw dropped, but he closed it a second later, replacing his look of shock with one of anger. "You said you loved me. You know what that makes you? A fucking liar."

The vicious insults piled on top of each other one by one until they were entangled in a grotesque argument, which could only be interrupted by Breezy Weekes pulling in the driveway. Brendon and Dallon exchanged one last fierce glare before Brendon grabbed his pen and notebook and stormed out. He swore he'd never sleep with Dallon again. He swore he'd bury his feelings. He swore he'd get over Dallon James Weekes.

Dallon was almost twice as determined. It hurt him to lie to Brendon, but he had a wife and children. And though he loved Brendon, he loved them, too. Breezy was like a match made in heaven. He couldn't waste any more time on the sexy lead singer of Panic! at the Disco.

But they would relapse. Every few weeks, the tension would build, starting with a fight and ending with the two men panting naked on a bed. They wished it would end, but it was a terrible cycle. The first time they slept together, they didn't know they were falling into a hole they couldn't climb out of. By the time they realized it, it was far too late. They couldn't even see the exit, much less reach it.

Every time they had sex, Dallon became angrier and angrier. He was angry at Brendon. He was angry at Ryan. He was angry at himself. He'd lash out at everyone, even at Breezy every once in a while. And when things couldn't seem to get worse, they would. It was a bottomless pit of anger, and no one would fucking leave him alone, no matter how vicious he became.

And Brendon?

Well.

Brendon was obsessed with Dallon. Pretty close, anyway. He watched him. Stared at him, even. He constantly thought about him, felt the need to be around him. It was love. Brendon knew that. But it was a twisted form of love, one verging on obsession. It was unhealthy. It was ruthless. But it was love.

Brendon wanted out. He couldn't deal with the affection that bound him to Dallon. Pain attacked him from every angle as far as Dallon was concerned, which, as a result of Brendon's intense infatuation, was frequent. How did he cope? Well, he didn't. Not really. He'd lift weights every time he could, which wasn't that often what with his busy band schedule. He was just trying to exhaust himself to drive his thoughts away from Dallon. He strained his muscles and strained his mind until he snapped one morning and just started running with no direction, trying to escape. He found his iPod in his pocket and began to listen, cranking the volume way up to drown his thoughts. He kept running. He ran until he reached the ocean.

Children screamed and laughed on the beach, building sandcastles and chasing each other around. Lucky bastards, thought Brendon. They had no problems. Maybe for just a day, Brendon could be like them. He could try to forget Dallon. Maybe it would be easier so far from the world. Maybe he could tear his mind away for a while.

He found a public restroom and hid his shirt, iPod, and shoes on a ledge above the last stall. He studied himself in the mirror before racing out of the bathroom and running straight into the ocean. He swam along the shore in his jeans, receiving plenty of curious looks from the families that dotted the beach. None of them fazed Brendon. The exercise almost helped his thoughts to clear up and away from Dallon. He swam as long as he could, almost missing a Private Property sign, which signaled it was time to leave. By then, the sky was darkening. He jogged down the beach for an hour, found the hiding spot for his clothes, and cranked up the music once more.

Brendon jogged all the way home, by which time stars dotted the black sky, and a crescent moon hung above him. He sat on the porch steps for awhile, just listening to the deafening music.

As he walked inside and threw himself on the couch, a familiar song began to play, sung by a familiar voice. Brendon's old friend, William Beckett, from Will's old band, The Academy Is.... He couldn't place the name of the song, but it sure as hell made him nostalgic.

Always up or down, never down and out.

Which brings us to the present.

Yes, Brendon was staring at Dallon once again. Dallon was pretending not to notice. It was taking a lot of effort not to stand up and scream at him. Who the fuck did Brendon think he was? What sort of right did he have to just stare at Dallon with those damn big, brown eyes? And he couldn't even give his full attention, what with that fucking loud music blasting through his earbuds? God.

Luckily, he had become good at fastening his emotions tightly inside of him when they weren't too extreme. He kept his face completely calm.

At least...for a while.

"Hey," said Spencer, walking in. Upon seeing Brendon, he laughed. "You look like hell."

"Back at'cha," Brendon retaliated, never taking his eyes off of Dallon. Shrugging, Spencer left the room. After just a few seconds, Dallon's eye twitched.

"How was your run?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"Fine," said Brendon, voice level, practically void of emotion. "Any luck on writing songs?"

"No," spat Dallon. He furrowed his eyebrows and attempted to keep playing. After a good ten seconds of struggle, he set the bass guitar down and turned his attention to Brendon. "Would you stop fucking staring at me?"

Brendon smirked. In that moment, he liked that he could manipulate Dallon's emotions. "No," he stated simply, shrugging out of the usual embarrassment that would accompany being caught staring. Well, it's not like he was trying to be inconspicuous. Might as well own up to it.

Especially since they both subconsciously knew what was coming next.

Dallon stood, then leaned down to Brendon's eye level.

"And what if I ask nicely, princess?"

Brendon stared harder. "You can't make me do anything."

In the heat of the moment, Dallon crushed his lips to Brendon's. Emotions for Dallon always blurred into one thing, no matter how vicious: want. Satisfied, Brendon kissed him back harder. It was as if they were trying to prove dominancy. Dallon shoved his partner down on the couch and climbed on top of him as they resumed their battle. They rid themselves of emotions in heated, angry sex.

Once finished, Dallon tore himself away from Brendon and hastily dressed himself. Brendon lay panting on the couch.

"Fuck you," he said suddenly. Dallon paused.

"Excuse me?"

Brendon sat up and looked at Dallon. "Fuck you. You hate me, and then you do this to me. It makes me—never mind. Just fuck you."

Dallon clenched his fists. "No, Brendon, fuck you. I'm not doing anything wrong. It's you. God, if I had never met you, I never would've gotten into this mess. I never...I never would have...."

"You never would have what?"

"Nothing. I'm leaving. Don't bother trying to contact me, I'm not speaking to you."

Always up or down, never down and out.

Brendon felt a rush of terror. Was this it? Were they down and out? He was frozen, unable to react. Yeah, ups and downs, that's the perfect way to describe their broken relationship. There were a hell of a lot more downs than ups, but there were always both. The ups, God, they were perfect, at least while they lasted. All emotion faded into ecstacy and pleasure. Everything was worth it, at least until they got the downs. The downs were awful. They turned the two men against each other, against everyone, even themselves. There was nowhere to turn, nowhere to hide, no matter how hard they tried. Then they bounced back to the ups and forgot everything, until this time.

This time was different.

It should've been an up, but it wasn't. It was angry. It was malicious. It was sick. It physically felt like pleasure, but mentally, Brendon and Dallon were falling apart. Their insides boiled as they felt thousands of stabs of everything they had gotten themselves into. They beat each other as they tried to love each other, just trying to find an outlet for the pain.

God, what had they gotten themselves into?

It wasn't supposed to be like this. They should've been lovers, both emotionally and physically. They did love each other, but the emotions were kept secret, shielded from the light until they withered in malnourishment. They should've been gone by now, but they remained, fatally ill. It was love that begged for sustenance. It had to either be cut or fed, unless they wanted their disease to plague them forever.

Brendon wanted to stand up and fight for Dallon. He had enough of their dauntingly indecisive relationship. He either had to have Dallon forever or lose Dallon forever. But he couldn't move, thanks to the excessive amount of exertion he inflicted on himself that day.

"Fuck," he muttered. Dallon's car pulled out of the driveway, driving away from Brendon's life. "Fuck," he said again, choking down a sob. He couldn't cry. He shouldn't cry; he was a fucking grown man.

In determination, he rolled off the couch, half-dressed himself, and crawled into his bedroom, where Spencer was lying on the bed, texting.

"Hey," said the drummer. "What's up?"

"Don't take it personally," started Brendon. "But get the fuck out. I'll call you later. Maybe."

Spencer raised an eyebrow. "Um, okay. See you later, or...?"

"Yeah. Bye."

Brendon flopped down on the bed and grabbed a notebook and pen. After a minute of closing his eyes in thought, he snapped them open and fiercly began to copy down everything he had felt since he met Dallon. It was a shitty song, but it was completely honest. He was finished within an hour.

He stood up and slowly paced around the room, unsure of what to do next. He was too anxious to sleep, too physically exhausted to shower, and too upset to talk to anyone. The pain in his feet was beginning to become unbearable, so he lied down on the bed once more. Despite his racing mind, he fell asleep soon after.

Dallon, meanwhile, was at home, strumming out his rage. His fingers were aching from the nonstop guitar-playing, but he couldn't stop until he calmed down. Unfortunately, the longer he played, the angrier he became. Brendon did this to me, he thought. This is all his fault. His playing became faster and faster until he was improvising a song he never thought he'd have the skill to play. A grin found its way onto his face and he grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil to copy his idea down. The tune of the song made his heart race and his stomach do somersaults. It was safely the best musical idea he had ever had.

He played it over and over until his nerves had settled, and he was feeling relatively happy for the first time in weeks. In satisfaction, he finally joined his wife in the bedroom and planted a kiss on her lips.

"Night, honey," he smiled.

"Night," she returned, noticing his sudden change of attitude. They both fell asleep content.

For awhile, Dallon and Brendon kept their unspoken vow to avoid each other at all costs. They thought it would get better if they stayed away. Yet somehow, it seemed to get progressively worse. Dallon would have his happy moments, sure, but his angry outbursts were more frequent than his happiness and more severe than they were before. As for Brendon, he was beginning to exercise at every possible opportunity.

"You've bulked up," Spencer noted, a trace of a grin on his face. "I ought to catch up one of these days."

Brendon offered a smile, but behind that was self-pity. It was almost unhealthy how much time he spent fatiguing his muscles with strenuous workouts. The beach he ran to the last night he saw Dallon was becoming a popular location for him. Almost every day, he'd sprint there, swim along the beach, and run back. He had probably sweat several times his body weight just in a few weeks.

Eventually, enough was enough. Dallon was about ready to beat random pedestrians, and Brendon was practically running himself to death. At almost the same time, they both realized: they had to see each other or they'd wind up in a very bad place.

Brendon was the first to call, as he was as desperate as Dallon was stubborn. It rang a few times before he picked up.

"Hello?" said a gruff, short-tempered voice from the other line.

"Hey," said Brendon nervously. "Sorry, I just..." He trailed off, not finding the words to say. 'He just' a lot of things. He just missed Dallon. He just had to hear his voice. He just had to be around him. He just couldn't stay away.

He just loved him.

"Yeah," coughed Dallon. "I, uh, yeah."

There was a silence then; Brendon was suppressing the urge to hang up and run out the door, and Dallon was suppressing the urge to murder Brendon through the phone for no real reason.

"So...how have you been?" Brendon asked.

Dallon coughed for the second time. "Fine, I guess," he lied. "You?"

"Same. Been working out a lot."

"When haven't you?"

"Before I met you," Brendon said honestly. Dallon bit back a random, cruel insult and instead offered,

"Oh."

"Yeah. I don't know, it's just that...alright, I'll be totally honest. You stress me out, Dallon. That's how I cope."

After a moment of silence, Dallon said, "I stress you out?"

Brendon nodded, forgetting that he was on the phone and Dallon couldn't see him. "Dallon...."

"...Yeah, Bren?"

"I miss you. God, I miss you. We are so horrible together, and yet...I...I love you. I'm sorry, but I love you. You could come over here right now and try to beat me to death, and I'd still be happy. I could run from you. I've been doing a lot of running lately. I'd run, you'd chase me, and then...I don't know. We'd magically resolve all of our issues?" He threw in a bitter, pained laugh. "I'm sorry. You can hang up now. You don't ever have to see me again. I'm an ass."

And Dallon did hang up. But his intention was not to ignore Brendon forever. Quite the opposite, actually. Without informing his wife he was leaving, he raced out the door and got into his car. He drove the seven minutes to Brendon's house and didn't even bother turning off the ignition before he jumped out of the car and raced inside without invitation.

"Dallon?" said Brendon in surprise. Dallon didn't respond, only smashed his lips to Brendon. The two engaged in a romantic, reunial kiss before Dallon pulled away.

"It's you, Brendon. God, it's you. I love you. I...I ran from you before. I pulled myself away. It was because of Breezy. And yeah, I guess I love her too, but she's not you. No one is you...I'll never love someone as much as I love you. I can't be apart from you any longer."

Brendon offered no response because he didn't have one. He stood there, mouth agape, while Dallon studied his reaction.

Struck with an idea, Brendon grabbed Dallon's hand and pulled him to his bedroom. He picked up the sheet of paper with his shitty new song on it and read it out loud. Once he was finished, he smiled sheepishly.

"I know, it's awful as fuck, and it doesn't even have a tune. But...I wrote it about you. I thought you'd want to hear it."

Dallon simply grinned and picked up the guitar in the corner of the room. He began to play the tune he came up with the same night Brendon wrote those words. Just like magic, they fit perfectly together. Brendon's bittersweet lyrics and Dallon's semi-angry tune. It was perfect harmony. And it perfectly captured their relationship; not their fixed one, but their sort-of-friends-with-benefits one. It was closure for the era of pain in their lives.

Things for Brendon and Dallon got better from there. They resolved their issues, they were happy again. Dallon had to give up Breezy, as it was only fair, but it was worth it. One thing was clear: Brendon Urie was his soulmate, and they were perfect together.

Always up or down, never down and out.

Or were they?