A/N: I'm kind've enjoying binge-updating this book tbh

So, just about nothing interesting happened at work. I showed up, was finally able to give Foggy a hug this morning -- the past few weeks I haven't because I've been a bit distraught about Billy... But I hugged him today and he couldn't'a been happier.

And literally, like the first day I was working there we picked up a secretary lady... thing named Karen Page... she's chill. I adore her. Got framed for murder but she's all good now, I think -- like I said, I don't really do anything there, so how would I know what she does?

I don't quite know when Stella showed up. She's... different. Pretty chill, but by God she's different... She needed our law services for battery charges and then pulled a Karen and just joined us. Not quite sure when, why or how, though.

As an overall law office, we've had a couple'a court cases. Nothing worth noting, I'm sure you've been reading about it in the papers as it is. But anyway, it's only about two in the afternoon now. I wasn't needed at work anymore. I think.

Like I said; my hours are really lax. If there's nothing new for me to investigate I needn't bother walking through the office doors.

So now I was walking up the stairs to my apartment, cursing myself for not taking my staff with me. The stairs were wreaking havoc on my knee, and it sucks balls. There was one dog -- Cassian. I recognized the deep bark -- who was, well, barking when he heard my keychain jingling.

I never locked my door, but I still had the keys on a keychain on my belt loop. Even so, however, he still knew my footsteps. So... yeah, when I shouldered open the door, I had a Husky pup leaping at my legs, and let me tell ya, he ain't as small as he could be.

I stooped and picked him up, kicking the door shut behind me, "Hi, baby," I cooed at him, glancing around the room, "Hi, Frankie," I nodded at the couch.

Did it surprise me that Frank was still here? Yeah, it did, since he claimed he was 'out by daybreak'. Did it matter if he was still here? Not at all. I enjoy the human contact, and if he became a threat I could easily just kick his ass into next week.

At least, I think... he's a big guy, and is really spooky lookin'.

"Hey, kid," was his response. He had three cats on him right now, and didn't look away from the TV when he greeted me.

"Guys, c'mon, leave the dude alone," I chastised the cats that were blanketing him. Fred hopped off, but Chester and Turbo? Nope. Those two boys loved attention, and Frank lazily petting them was all they needed right now.

Turbo was a really soft, really floofy more-or-less Siamese mutt of a cat. Black face, bright blue eyes, bleached paws and a dirty-white body with a black tail. He looked like he had Egyptian-winged-out eyes and said eyes were regarding me with his famous look of I know I'm pretty. Deal with it.

Carmel, Reggie and Pie were still in their room, sacked out on the bed -- Carmel is short and stubby and is basically the colour of the inside of a Milky Way bar. Pie looks a bit like Winky, only... isn't... the same colour. Her calico is a lighter colour, and is more blended.

Reggie owns the joint. Bright freaking white, gold tail, green eyes and a mostly-gold head. He's the oldest, the wisest, and the sassiest.

But anyhoe. There was a dog on my bed, "Buck!" I snapped, "Out! Shoo!"

He didn't move off my bed, and with an intense sigh I began changing clothing. Better to just let the seventy-five pound dog do what he wants than attempt to move him. So, now, Slytherin sweatpants, oversized Notre Dame Fighting Irish hoodie and red, flannel, wool booties on, sans bra and jewelry, I went back out to grab myself something to eat.

Yes. I know it's only, what, like, two in the afternoon? I'm not going anywhere today anymore, so I may as well get comfy, "Frankie." he hummed, acknowledging that he was paying attention, "'chy'a doin'?"

"Watchin' TV."

I meant what are you still doing in my house, but, "Alright." I stuck a bag of popcorn in the microwave and pulled a Mt. Dew outta the fridge, popping it open, "Anything good on?"

"Remote's outta my reach."

"So what the shit are you watching?" I stepped around the counter so I could see around the corner, and jumped, "Oo! Fight Club! Don't turn the channel!"

I saw his free hand get tossed in the air, "No remote."

Oh yeah, that's right. He's covered in cat and can't reach the remote. Popcorn! The microwave beeped and I flung open the door and pulled the bag out, pouring it into what I just referred to as the Popcorn Bowl. It was red, and popcorn was literally the only thing I ever used it for.

So, popcorn in hand, I went and nudged at Frank's feet, "Scootch," he bent his legs, and I sat down when there was adequate enough seating for me, "Merci." I leaned over best I could and snatched up the remote, turning up the volume a little bit, "Ever see this movie before?"

He deadpanned, "No."

Well, so much for that, I guess.

We watched Fight Club in silence, even watching the fucking commercials with intense curiosity. Was it just me, or was this really, really awkward? Like, don't get me wrong, I don't mind having another human here, but I don't small talk, and apparently neither does Frank. I don't know about you, but if you've ever tried hanging out with a new person and not talk with each other, it feels a little tense.

What the shit do you even try to talk about with a guy who the only thing you know about him is his name? His first name, nonetheless. He likes coffee and likes avoiding talking. Frank is a man of few words. Nothin' wrong with that.

Literally just as Fight Club came back on my cell started vibrating and I swear to fucking God if it's Matt interrupting my personal time again-- oh, wait. Nope. 'tis only Brendon. I took the phone and set the popcorn on Frank's legs, "Gotta take this. Pardón moi."

I went and leaned against the counter, bringing the phone up to my ear, "Speak, Urie."

"No, no, you're the one who needs to speak," I could just hear him shaking his finger at me, "You're terrible at describing in text. Who the hell is Frank?"

"'tis a great question my famous friend," yes, it's that Brendon. We went to high school together and kind of... dated... a lot-- anyway, "I don't know who he is. He's really nice and really bruised up and looks like he could kill me with one hand--"

"But he can't, because you could kick his ass into next week," Brendon interrupted happily.

I hushed my voice a little more and decided to start moving around, headed back into my bedroom, "See, that's the thing. I don't think I can beat him up. He's twice my size in muscle mass, and he gets beat up a lot. His pain tolerance is wicked and I wonder what the shit he gets into."

"You could just ask him about it."

"Yeah not happening," I shoved Chewy off to the centre of my bed and flopped down.

"Don't know where he is, or what?"

"No, he's taken up temporary residence on my couch, that's not a problem," I shrugged, grunting when Banshee -- my smol grey baby -- hopped directly onto my stomach and laid down, temporarily knocking the wind outta me, "He kinda spooks me, and..." I made a face.

"Oooo, Bek's got a cr-"

"Shut the fuck up," I snapped.

"Oh, come on, when did you start getting spooked by guys?" Brendon just sounded really exasperated, now. He had a right to, too. I had zero problem with seducing men -- and, well, women. One night stands were my specialty. We both knew that.

"I get spooked by guys when they're guys I actually care about," I hissed. There were only three guys that I've ever actually cared about. Technically, I mean. There were Brendon and Billy, but Matt, briefly, in college... and now Frank. I hate it, "You know that better than I do."

Quite interestingly enough, he knows me better than I do. He knows that I've had a rough-ass life, he knows my quirks better than I know my quirks. Brendon's irritatingly good at reading people like that.

Apparently when you date someone for as long as we dated -- God, I can't even remember for how long... -- apparently you learn some shit.

"Raspberry Jam!"

I snapped back to reality, "Shit! What?!"

"You zoned out again," Brendon said matter-of-factly, "As I was saying before, I do know you better than you do. Like how right now, you're laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, and the only thing preventing you from getting up and pacing a path into your floor is the fact that there's a cat laying on your stomach."

"Goddamn, how're you do good at reading people?!" I nearly shouted, scaring the cats off the bed, "Teach me your ways. I can read books and you read people like they're books--"

"Just spread 'em open-"

"Shut the hell up," I laughed, sitting up, "I mean, you noticed my issue with this--" I motioned to my body.

"There's nothing wrong with your body," Brendon's tone hardened, "I don't know why you're so insecure with it."

"I have that scar on the outside'a my right calf from that dunken chain-link-fence-scaling that time," my laughs went soft as I avoided the facts.

One night stands? I don't care what part'a me you see, since I'll never see you again. If I actually care about you? Imma hide everything from you. Emotions. Secrets. My body. My life. You name it, I'm hiding it. Being insecure about it.

"Look," Brendon deadpanned again, "Buck up, grow a pair, and quit being insecure. You have nothing to be insecure about, you beautiful bastard."

"Well, neither do you--"

He barked out a loud, squealing, high-pitched set of laughs that were so loud I had to pull the phone away from my ear a little, "Have you seen my big-ass forehead?"

"Kinda hard to miss it, my dude," I snorted, "Even so, you've embraced it."

How the shit did we get talking about insecurities, anyway? And what the fuck was he originally calling me for? "I have. And you need to embrace whatever you think is wrong with you, too. I wouldn't know what that is, since I see nothing wrong with you."

"Does your wife know you're sweet talkin' other ladies?" I quirked an eyebrow.

"She's okay with me sweet talking you, she adores you," he mocked, "But, anyway, back to the actual point of me calling -- God, you're good at distracting people -- I have a concert coming up in a little while that requires me to be in New York."

Alright, that's all well and good, but I live in Manhattan, "Okay...?"

Brendon sighed heavily, "New York is close to where you live."

Oh yeah.

New York is, like, three feet away.

"Well, you know the door is always unlocked," I waved a hand through the air, "Tea is at four. There's plenty of it. You are welcome any time. Don't bother knocking."

"Don't quote Bilbo Baggins at me!" he sounded indignant, but entertained nonetheless, "The endless knowledge of literature and torture up in that head of yours astounds me, Rebekah Hall."

"And general fighting," I added as an afterthought, "I can teach you some self defense if you'd just show up, protect that scrawny ass against raging fangirls."

"I know how to protect myself just fine, thank you," Brendon, yet again, turned down my offer, "Now, I gotta run, but remember what I told you?"

"Not one fuckin' bit."

Brendon grumbled, "You're hopeless."

"I know this already."

"Go talk to Frank," he sassed, "I need to go. See ya later, Bek."

"'aight, TTYL, my dude," I hung up the phone, glanced at the time, darkened the screen and tossed it on the bed next to me, laying back down.

The ceiling needed major repainting. It was supposed to be freaking white and oh look it was grey. Ew. Maybe I could do that right now instead of going back out into the living room. Yes, I know that Fight Club was on, and Frank is probably eating all my popcorn, but it's only quarter after three and it gets dark at... what? Five? Yeah, so roughly two hours before I can go out Phantom-ing.

Is my leg better? Hell no.

Will I get my ass kicked? Hell yeah.

Is it worth it to get out of the awkward situation I have with a dude on my couch? You bet your ass it's better to get beat up than to sit in awkwardness. However, my paint is in the closet by the front door, which I have to walk through the living room to get to.

Damn.

I pried myself off the bed, blowing my hair from my face to gather in my surroundings. God, my room was a disaster. Clothing, books and weapons scattered around everywhere on the floor. I don't even think the majority of those clothes are mine. Who's they were, I wasn't sure, but I haven't had a, uh... person... over... in quite sometime, so most of the lost clothing was probably from quite some time ago.

And, the majority of it was dirty since I was hardly ever bothered enough to do my laundry unless it was absolutely necessary. As gross as it is, I haven't got the attention span to remember to do it.

My eyebrows furrowed and my scanning gaze slowed down, picking over every little thing in sight. Where were... did he...?

Sonuvafuckin' bitch. I grit my teeth and stood up, stalking back down the hallway and into the living room so I could stand in front'a Frank with my arms crossed, "You said you weren't in my room."

"I never said that."

"Yes you did!" I flailed my arms a little bit, "Like... four months ago--" yes, I know it was only about two months ago. Shut up, "--you said that you didn't go in my room. If you didn't go in my room, where'd my syringes go?" now that I look around, there's no needles anywhere. None in the kitchen, in the bookshelves. Nowhere.

What the shit did he do? Clean my fucking apartment?

"Oh," he was still monotone, "That was this mornin' I went in there."

I inhaled long and slowly, "Why."

His eyebrows went up, "Remember? I saved your life. Didn't want y'dyin' from somethin' as stupid as-"

"Don't say it," I hissed, "Y'don't need to say it."

It wasn't one of my most proudest of... hobbies. Didn't like people bringing it up, or talking about it, really. Not that it did anything, anyway. I think my guy's been sellin' me janked up stuff, and--hey, wait a minute-- "Where'd my mirrors and-"

"Gone."

I snarled, "Are you fucking kidding me."

"Nope."

Grr... "I'm going to the store."

"For what?"

"Bubblegum."  

A/N: Drugs. Anyone think it's weird that she hasn't been having any withdrawal symptoms? 

I think it's weird. 

I can explain that if y'all want me to. 

And, like... y'know... Bek's first loVe was Brendon Urie. Cuz they went to high school together. I can explain more in depth if you want, because Bek's backstory is hella fucked up n junk like that

But, like... they went to high school together and CanOoDLeD a lot [like...a lot a lot...] and then went back to being chill ass friends cuz he's all famous n married n junk.

So yeah...