The majestic Brendon Urie has been incredibly elated since my arrival back into his life that he says would've been pathetic otherwise, and I really doubt that, but it's evident that he's been pretty shaken up by what monstrosities I inflicted upon myself when I was high on artificiality and teen angst and leaning over the edge of suicide to glimpse how beautiful the flowing waterfall looked to my mortal eyes who knew nothing then besides the prickling, stabbing sensation of wanting to die, of wanting to end it all, of wanting the dirt of my grave to infest my nails to prove that this is permanent and has already invaded who I am now.

My mental health is better and improving still, but Brendon doesn't seem to realize this, still acting as though I am a child who needs to be protected at all costs, despite the fact that I've assured him countless times that I'm absolutely fine, but he's somehow interpreted it like I'm upset with him, though I'm not, and he's now taking me out for coffee with one of his friends that I already know but my amnesic mind doesn't, and I can only predict a high level of awkwardness to come my way, because I should be friends with this guy, but I haven't the slightest clue about his character, and I frankly don't know where to begin.

So I'm just reclining stiffly in one of the metal chairs on the outside patio of La Mystique, which I can only guess was selected as our frequent hangout spot because it has a French name and I'm, well, French, and I can already assume that this Ryan Ross guy is deeply into irony and exploitation for the jubilant purpose of humor. My only reprieve from this anxiety was when the waiter visited us to collect our orders, at which point I expressed my thirst for a chamomile tea and hid my thirst to flee this tense location, but after that, Ryan's pragmatic game of staring at me continued like it had never been interrupted.

There's a certain intrigue to this stare, however, like he's not actually lost in his thoughts, rather endeavoring to decode what it is that I've done to resurrect myself, and I'll have to confess that I don't understand it either, that I don't even understand who I was before I attempted suicide, and I find that to be a neat comparison. You can never remember who you were as a child, because you've since been consumed by darkness manifested out of your own derangement, and if it is so, then Ryan will be unsuccessful at gathering what he thinks he deserves for all of this strife I've forced him into.

Brendon, on the contrary, is utterly indifferent, just pitying himself in the confines of his chair as he watches for something to dance in his mug stained by a latte like a typical white girl, but nothing does, so he's merely wading in fruitlessness as always, because the only thing he ever desired is back in his grasp, and he doesn't really know where to go from here, so he's just perusing the textures of his coffee like they amount to the glory of the drapes in a medieval castle.

Ryan compresses the bridge of his nose, stressed beyond belief. "Dallon, why the hell would you do this?"

Quite surprised, Brendon glances up from his staring contest against his coffee to instead observe my nervousness unfolding like the gestation of a dam's demise, partially sympathetic and partially wondering the same thing.

Of course Ryan would investigate something like this. Of course I can supply no veritable answer, because I really have no fucking idea what happened on the twenty-second of September when I overdosed on fragile pills yet expected myself to die. Of course he's still waiting for me to soothe his guilty conscience, so I prepare to baffle him with my improvised bullshit.

"Why did I do it, you ask? Because I was young and stupid, and yes, I'm only seventeen years old currently and was seventeen years old when I attempted suicide, but I was younger and stupider then than I am now. No one really escapes from being young and stupid, only gradually decreases their supply of the characteristics until only arrogance masks their presence."

"Do you find yourself to be arrogant?" Brendon murmurs, head back in his coffee out of fear for the repercussions of his audacious words, and it's not like I'd hurt him, but he should be aware of the boundaries and aware of what I do and do not know about myself.

"I think I'm pretty damn selfish, if anything."

Encapsulating a sigh in his lungs, Brendon negates, "Dallon, you're not selfish."

"Then why did I allow myself to leave you, mon petit ami? God knows how much I loved your perpetual presence in my life, 'cause that was a great fucking help to me, but through it all I never valued my presence in your life, so I concluded that it was reasonable to take those pills and abandon my best friend. That's selfish, Brendon Urie. That's not being a typical human organism, and with some deluded luck, you're not even infuriated by me when I can comprehend that you have a sensible right to be."

Ryan is silent now, undertaking Brendon's previous job as if someone has to do it, and he ponders everything that I've just said so that he can sort through what I really did, because as far as his frequently dim mind extends, my explanation was just a load of bullshit meant to excuse me from my atrocious crimes, and I'm not claiming to be innocent, just unaware of my surroundings and of my past, and there is at least more innocence in that than there is in a normal person with all of their memories sanely intact.

"Yeah, it was a blight that you departed without a warning, and it was a blight that I was torn apart by it, but you weren't selfish for doing that. Sometimes I think you were just looking out for your own safety, and though I'm in pieces, I must respect that."

"Do not allow me to complete you, because you are not broken. Nothing I could ever do will spin you a fragmented soul, and I want you to recognize that...but when you came to my side and said that losing me was like losing a part of yourself, I'm not sure if that sort of recognition is on the horizon for you, Brendon Urie. You need to detach yourself from the severance of your soul and be cognizant that you have never been less than an entirety, and then you can look out for your safety like you said I looked after mine."

"He's doing better, you know," Ryan finally chimes in, though his attention still basks in the creamy wonderland of his coffee. "You helped him, then you destroyed him, and now you're healing him. I can see how it's not healthy to be disorganized by someone you should trust unconditionally, but you two pulled through in the end, and as a friend to both of you, I'd like to wish you future prosperity with whatever it is that's circulating your limbic systems right now, whether it be confliction or idolatry or a mix of the two."

Based on the little I've seen from Ryan's character, amassing most of it by the deviousness hunting his chocolate irises for residence, I can surmise that vocalizing opinions as serious as this one is not his forte, and that's conceivably judicious, because not everyone is born to be a public speaker or even wants to be a public speaker, but I tacitly applaud Ryan for his conducive efforts.

"Thank you, Ryan," Brendon acknowledges, guarding the lowest tone he can exhume from his straining vocal cords.

"No problem. You've been through enough hell for me not to say anything about your labors, and strenuous labors they are."

"Well, to be fair, we're all destined for the grave anyway," I remind them, blanketing a conversation moving towards joy in my nihilistic gloom. "Statistics dictate that about one hundred fifty-nine thousand six hundred thirty-five people will die on the same day as I do. Many will host funerals shortly afterwards. All will be mourned. The end of my life will be the same as the end of theirs, the end of almost one hundred sixty thousand people, nothing special to supplement my passing. So when you think about it...my death is utterly insignificant."

"Dallon, you can't say that." It's as though Brendon is remarkably offended by what opinions I've shared with him, but I must make it obvious that I have no intentions of dying or of killing myself once more. I just accept that one day I will die and it will be an ordinary occurrence, but it's clear that Brendon doesn't understand any of this, so I suppose he's endowed his astonishment.

"You just got back from a suicide attempt and you're already preparing yourself for round two?" Ryan's brows are suspended on a high ledge of his forehead, mouth modeling in an o shape. "That's terrifyingly dangerous of you, Dallon."

"What's terrifyingly dangerous is the fact that you two speak my name so often as if I'm not really here, but I am, and I will remain to be. I'm not concerned with those statistics, because as much as we are doomed to six feet under the rock solid dirt, life is a privilege if you can play it right, and I'm determined to do just that."

Expeditiously recovering from the shock of my apparent death wish, Brendon centers his gaze on me. "Then I hope you prevail."

~~~~~

A/N: this is like the only chapter with ryan like why didn't I include more of him he is m yFavE

aesthetic: the entire Kill Your Darlings movie (I'm going to write a fanfiction about it because I'm fucking trash)

~DakillyourdarlingsineedalifeIveliterallywatcheditseventimessinceafewdaysagopleaseiamsuffering