Archive of Our Own

He was in a meeting when it happened.

The day started out so well, too. He had a meeting with Pete Wentz, Decaydance records. The Brobecks really were going places and Pete was pushing hard to sign them. They’d gotten offers from a couple of labels but Dallon did like what Pete did with his. He liked how small it was, how much of a family they seemed to become. He liked that it was personal, small, that he’d have quite a bit of creative control.

Breezy pushed him to try for a label. She pushed for the band, she pushed Dallon to get his dreams. He reminded himself daily of how amazing of a wife she was.

It was half way through the meeting when his phone rang. Usually, he’d ignore it. Breezy could wait a few minutes while he finished up work, she was understanding.

“Excuse me for a minute, I apologize. My wife has the flu and I just have to make sure she’s okay,” he said. Pete was understanding and nodded, waving his hand toward the door to the hall.

Dallon answered and didn’t even have time to say hello.

“You need to get down to the hospital now,” Breezy said, her voice strained, obviously upset. Panic set in Dallon like ice water thrown at his bones. It sunk in deep and he felt it freeze his throat. His words were hoarse when they came out.

“Are the kids okay? Are you okay?” He asked, frowning, rubbing his hands down his face, pinching between his eyes, trying to force himself to breathe normally.

“The kids are fine. They’re at my mothers. You need to get here now,” she said and the forcefulness in her voice calmed Dallon for the moment. He nodded even though he knew she couldn’t see and mumbled a ‘see you soon’ before hanging up. He took a moment to collect himself as best he could before he returned to the meeting.

“I apologize again, Pete. I have a family emergency and I really need to be there for my wife,” he said and it was plain on his face that he wasn’t okay. Pete was understanding and nodded.

“Family comes first, reschedule? I’m open next week,” he offered and Dallon was thankful that Pete wasn’t putting a limit on him that forced him between his two loves.

“Yeah, call me?” He asked and Pete nodded. He offered Dallon a smile but it was lost on Dallon. He was stuck in his head as his feet went through the motions. He was trying to think of what it could be.

Dallon felt like a zombie as he entered the hospital, asking the staff where his wife was and being directed to a small room where Breezy laid on a bed. She looked pale and sick like she had for the last week.

“Flu got you good?” He asked, trying to lighten the mood while simultaneously asking what was wrong.

“The doctor will be back shortly,” she said, no hint of smile on her face, “Sit down.”

He knew it wasn’t good. The sinking, icy feeling got worse.

The doctor was an older man who tried to smile, who tried to force whatever pill he was about to shove down Dallon’s throat easier.

“It’s just the flu, right?” Dallon asked, looking between his wife and the doctor, trying to hold onto this last ray of hope as he looked down a darkened tunnel. He couldn’t see a light at the end of it.

“It presented that way. Unfortunately, pancreatic cancer often goes undetected until it gets to stage four. I’ve talked with your wife already but my suggestion is to prepare for the worst. Treatment is rough and the percentage of recovery is unfortunately small. We can, at best, give her a few more months but it won’t be pleasant for you or your family. Another option is to treat the symptoms and make her as comfortable as possible,” he said and the words didn’t quite register.

Cancer?

Stage four?

He felt like he’d throw up.

“Honey, I told him no to chemo. I don’t want to drag this out, I don’t want to put our kids through that. He estimates four months,” she said, her voice small and weak. Dallon didn’t want to accept it, didn’t want to acknowledge it.

He sat there, eyes on the floor because it was suddenly too painful to look at her.

The car ride home was painfully quiet. She had a paper bag on her lap, pill bottles rattling when he hit a bump in the road. She had pain killers of all kinds, anti nausea, everything in between. He hated that this was her life.

Life? It was hardly a life.

“Chemo will exte-” he started and he stopped when she sighed.

“No.”

Dallon called Pete the next morning.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, stopping because how was he supposed to tell someone else when he’d barely come to terms with it himself. He still denied it when he woke up, when he looked at Breezy. There was no way she was dying. No way he’d spend his life without her.

“What? Are you okay?” Pete asked and Dallon choked over a sob as he tried to keep himself from crying.

“I can’t take the deal,” he started, taking in a deep breath. “I can’t take any deal, actually. I can’t do music. My wife, uh, she just got diagnosed with cancer. They say she has no chance of surviving. I have to get a real job so I can pay for everything. I can’t take a chance on this band,” he said, the realization hitting him then. His two loves dying in one. His wife would be gone in a few months, taken him from him decades too early, music ripped from him in the tangle of it all. The sadness was crushing him.

He hated being weak, hated crying in front of others. Pete was only over the phone but he still felt ashamed to be so small, so sad.

Pete was at a loss for words. He knew that this was bigger than the band, knew that if his loved ones were that sick, terminally ill, that he’d drop his dreams to be with them. He understood. He wanted to help and he felt sad too because he couldn’t.

“Anything you need, call me. I know up until now I was just a label for you but I am a friend as well, anything you need, call me.”

They hung up after that when Dallon promised he’d call if he needed something. Dallon didn’t have many people he could rely on that weren’t busy. He liked Pete and he appreciated the offer.

He ended up needing the offer more than he cared to admit.

He was working two jobs to pay for her medication, the hospital trips when she got really bad. They were bordering on broke and Dallon was struggling to keep up. He’d call Pete before a hospital trip, ask him to babysit. His kids were old enough to understand that things weren’t good but Pete was great with them. He sat down with them and watched their shows with them, played games. Apparently he was a good cook too and made them heaps of dinosaur nuggets to keep them distracted while their mother slowly withered away in front of them.

Breezy woke Dallon up one night, her voice barely above a whisper. The pain had been getting worse even with medication that would knock most people on their ass. He didn’t want to think about it but deep down, he knew. He knew that she was dying, that the love of his life was going to leave him.

Dallon was relieved each morning when he looked over to her and saw her chest was still moving. Shallow, her eyebrows furrowed because even in what little sleep she got, pain was still ever present.

He called Pete one morning to come help his kids get ready for school when Breezy woke up, struggling to breathe. He told her he’d take her to the hospital.

“Promise me you’ll move on when it’s time. Find someone new. Don’t live in the shadow of what we used to be, promise me, Dallon,” she said, worry coating her voice. Dallon could hardly believe what she was saying. How could he move on from her when she had always been the love of his life. He shook his head, looking over to her for a moment.

He drove as quick as he could without alarming the cops, holding her hand the whole way. Her grip was weak, barely there. He was driving and he didn’t notice the way her chest stopped moving. When her hand started to slip he didn’t realize, he just thought it was because her hand was always too heavy to move or the pain of holding it up was too much for her.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he kept repeating, pulling into the hospital finally and yelling for a wheelchair. Nurses rushed over with one, opening the passenger door. He explained in a rushed voice that she had cancer, that she needed help. His hands were in his hair, tugging as he tried to get his mind to focus on staying calm for her, for himself, and for their kids. He was too distracted, the nurses taking a couple of tries to get his attention.

“Sir,” one of them said, eyes saddened, their posture that of comfort, “She passed away.”

The words didn’t quite register in the same way that ‘your wife is dying’ didn’t. How could she be dead? He was sure she’d been mumbling under her breath in the car. He was sure of it.

But then again, thinking back, maybe it was him he heard. Maybe he was too far in his own mind to hear who it was that was comforting who. He realized he had been comforting himself. That somewhere deep inside he knew that she was gone when her grip slipped from his hand, that the ragged breathing had stopped altogether. He remembered the slump in her form that he saw from the corner of his eyes but he couldn’t accept it then, could barely accept it now.

He watched as a gurney was brought out and she was placed into a black bag so nobody had to see her sickly frame. They offered him a pamphlet on funeral homes, offered condolences. ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ became a blur to his ears.

Dallon didn’t stay long. He bought a bottle of whiskey on his way home.

He’d never been a drinker. He liked being healthy, never liked how his mind got lost after too much to drink but now, that seemed pleasant.

He sat down on his couch, throwing the pamphlet on the coffee table in front of him and he took a drink straight from the bottle. Pete had already walked the kids to the bus stop and saw them off. It seemed like he was about to leave when Dallon had got home.

“She’s gone,” Dallon said to the air, knowing that Pete was listening, that Pete was wondering. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time before this happened even if they said they were praying for long life and recovery. He knew that prayers were useless. Obviously.

Pete sat down next to him, staring at the bottle like he knew where it would lead. Alcoholism and denial at its peak. He sat with Dallon while he drank, made sure his keys were stashed away, made sure Dallon had a shoulder to cry on as the realization sunk in deeper and deeper. He offered to help Dallon with the kids even though she was gone.

“While you’re working,” he said, implying that Dallon didn’t fall off the grid, reminding him he had a house to pay for and three mouths to feed. Dallon nodded, knew that today was a special exception.

Pete called in to his two jobs, explained that his wife had passed away and he was in no shape to be working at the moment. They both gave him a week of paid leave to mourn. Pete said he was grateful for their understanding before hanging up and sitting with Dallon.

It was a month later and Dallon had been fired from both jobs for not showing up. He spent each day drunk, hiding in his room. A part of him felt guilty for snapping at his children when they tried to show him a project that they’d done for class. He felt bad but he didn’t stop the drinking. It was a month later when Pete stepped in and gave Dallon his wake up call.

He found Dallon hunched over a toilet, throwing up whiskey and acid because he barely had enough money to feed his family. Pete had been feeding them out of his own pocket. Not that Dallon really ate anymore.

“Get your shit together,” Pete said, leaning against the door frame.

Pete’s husband, Patrick, could be heard out in the living room, playing a game of Uno with Dallon’s kids. Patrick had started coming around recently. Distracting children while Pete cleaned up Dallon, helped him as much as he could. They had agreed to give Dallon a month to grieve but Dallon wasn’t grieving anymore. He was drinking himself to death.

“If you don’t get your shit together, I will take you to court and have your kids removed from your custody,” Pete said and Dallon in his drunken stupor knew it was true. He’d lose his wife and then his kids. He was losing himself, too.

“What am I supposed to do?” He asked, a string of vomit and saliva connecting his chin to the toilet still. Pete would be disgusted if he hadn’t already seen this image for the last couple of weeks.

“Get a job. Quit drinking,” he said and Dallon’s face scrunched up because how could it be that easy? How could he just stop the only thing he’d known since his wife had left him.

“How?” He asked, unsure that it was possible.

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Pete said, leaving the bathroom and taking the bottle of whiskey that was mostly empty with him.

It was a process. Pete came over every night still. Dallon was trying and he had to give him credit. The drinking was dwindling slowly. He stopped drinking until he got sick. Pete removed every bottle he found, taking the new ones with him when he found them. It pissed Dallon off but he knew it was for the best.

Patrick understood how hard it was on Dallon, understood that there was nothing to worry about when Pete spent the night at another man's house. He’d seen the state Dallon was in, knew that Dallon needed Pete more than ever right now.

A month after Dallon’s confrontation, he got a job.  

It wasn’t very good. He’d spend most months barely scraping by but it was progress. Pete didn’t mind helping out. He’d promised Dallon he would. Somewhere in with the cancer, he found that Dallon was a friend. Even in the most fucked up of situations, he cared about Dallon. He knew that Dallon was a good person. Before the whole mess of life throwing a curveball, Dallon was charming, sweet, friendly. He was helping him get back to himself.

Pete bought groceries, said it barely put a dent in his income, said he didn’t mind.

“Amelie and Knox are good kids, I don’t mind,” he said one night and Dallon nodded.

He was working a shitty job as a carpet cleaner. It wasn’t where he had envisioned his life going but it paid the bills. It kept a roof over his children's heads and that's all that he cared about.

He worked there for two years, Pete still coming by with groceries and cooking dinner, occasionally joined by Patrick. Dallon remembered after one year of getting his life back in order when Patrick came up to him awkwardly, a bouquet of flowers in hand.

“Pete told me not to, he said it was dumb,” Patrick mumbled, holded the flowers out to Dallon. It was the one year anniversary since Breezy had passed away and it was already a hard day for Dallon. “I know that things suck still but you’re doing good with your life, I’m proud of you for stepping up for your children's sake,” he said, voice quiet and eyes looking over Dallon’s shoulder. Dallon knew Pete was standing back there and when he turned to look, Pete had his arms crossed and a slightly displeased look on his face.

“Thank you, Patrick, I really appreciate this,” he said, taking the flowers and putting it in a vase Breezy had bought shortly after they got married. It stung a little, seeing the flowers in something that she had used every time Dallon surprised her with flowers. It felt a little too much like moving on which he thought he’d never be ready for. But he smiled, knew that Breezy was probably happy wherever she was that Dallon had picked the pieces up. Slowly, with a lot of help, but he did.

The longer he was at the job, the more they gave him to do. They started handing him their best clients, sending him out to different parts of California where he spent a couple nights finishing a job before going back home to his kids. It still wasn’t the life he would have chosen but it was working out decently enough.

He got a job a couple hours south of where he lived on a boat.

“He’s a bigshot celebrity, we need him, please don’t piss him off like the last guy did,” Dallon’s boss pleaded. He gave Dallon the case because Dallon had for a long time now, been one of their hardest workers. He needed to be. Dallon had no other references for a job since he’d thrown all of his eggs into music. His fan base had been small and taking a break to help Breezy lost what little he already had. Dallon didn’t want to rely on Pete alone so he gave up on it for now. He was happy where he was at, he was comfortable. It worked.

“Uncle Pete is gonna babysit,” Dallon said to Amelie as he packed his things. She squealed, running out of his room.

“Pizza night!” She yelled, throwing herself at Pete as she hugged him.

Dallon was thankful for Pete and thankful for himself taking the help when it was offered. His kids loved Pete (and Patrick when he swung by) and Pete loved them just as much. Him and Dallon had become good friends. He had seen Dallon at his all time worst.

Dallon showed up the next day to the marina he had been given directions to. He was told to ask for directions to the boat by name.

“Can you please show me to, uh, The S.S. Friendship?” He asked, looking up from his note to an unimpressed attendant for the dock.

“Business for being here?” He asked, looking down. Dallon looked around and all the boats were tall yachts that costed more than he would ever see in his lifetime. He looked down at himself, his work shirt that plainly said ‘Al’s premier carpet cleaning’ and then the actual carpet cleaner that was next to him.

“To clean carpets?” He said, the redundancy of having to say it out loud a bit annoying to Dallon.

“Down, to the right, you’ll know which one it is,” he said and Dallon wished that this man cared a little more about his job but he didn’t comment on it. It wasn’t his place.

Dallon followed the vague instructions, heading down the dock until it ended and turned right. He had no idea what to expect. How would he know which one it was? He imagined there would be a big sign that talked about friendship or some overly extravagant boat that was so obviously ‘rich boy’ floating along the side of the dock.

Dallon was pretty sure he found it.

The boat was in fact impressive but it didn’t scream money. What did scream money was the amount of half naked girls and the booze that he could see just from the outside. S.S. Friendship was scrawled along the side of the boat in fancy cursive and even the thought of stepping foot on this boat had Dallon’s skin crawling. Even in his single days, he was never into whatever this was. He was probably tame compared to men and well, he didn’t ever have this much money that he could blow on whatever it was that those girls were there for.

He put on his customer service smile, friendly and fake, as he walked up the ramp to the boat. He was stopped by a man who was obviously security, going through the same routine as he had to get onto the marina.

“Clean the inside. Stay out of the way. Do not interfere,” he was instructed and Dallon nodded. It still wasn’t his place to inform security that he was there for a job and he’d do it in the way he was taught whether the mostly naked girls cared or not.

Dallon had researched the owner of the boat before coming. He always did with famous people that he cleaned for. He liked to know what he was getting into before hand, figure out what the general population thought of them before he went. It gave him an idea of how to carry himself, what to say, what not to say. But this guy, he was a real piece of work.

Dallon hadn’t met too many people in his lifetime that he hated. He prided himself on being open minded, tried to view things from others points of view. He tried to make friends with everyone he came into contact because you’d never know when they proved to be useful.

This was a guy that Dallon could say that he hated before even meeting him.

Brendon Urie.

He was rich, obviously, and he knew it.

He was the lead singer for Panic! At The Disco, a band which, from Dallon’s research, originally had four members. That was up until Brendon decided to kick the remaining three out and carry on as the sole member. He was rude to fans more often than not, showing up to meet and greets drunk off his ass. Dallon had even read a post about a nice girl who had spent all of her birthday money to meet Brendon only to be called fat and ugly to her face.

He also didn’t like dogs which amazed Dallon. There was a video of Brendon with a fan holding her dog.

“I want you to meet my puppy!” She said, the small rat terrier wagging her tail viciously in the girls arms. Brendon’s nose scrunched in disgust and he shook his head.

“Get that thing away from me.”

Dallon didn’t know how anyone in their right mind could hate dogs.

Brendon was known for having wild parties on his personal yacht that only the rich and the pretty and women only could attend. He had been accused of having multiple orgies, which Brendon later confirmed were true in an interview, followed by ‘if you’re hot and want to join then feel free, no uglies though.’

He was sexist and Dallon could see that in person now.

Brendon was sat on a chair out in the sun, wearing only a leopard print speedo that barely covered his dick. He was obviously hard underneath it, openly staring at women that were all vying for his attention for whatever reason.

A girl was stumbling by when he slapped her ass.

“Take the bikini off, sweetcheeks, I want some fun,” he said and she obliged, stripping naked and then taking a seat on his lap. Dallon almost threw up when he saw Brendon’s tongue go down her throat.

But this was his job and he kept his mouth shut and vomit in his stomach. He went inside where he was told the carpets were and set up his machine so he could get to work. There wasn’t a lot to do and it only took him a couple hours to do. He’d do the upper floor the next day and then head home.

He was hot and sweaty. The California heat plus manual labor was always hard.

“Hey you,” someone said behind Dallon and he turned to find Brendon, leaning in through a window. He had lipstick marks on his cheeks and neck, different shades presumably from different girls.

“Bring us out some of those crab cakes, would ya?” He asked and Dallon furrowed his brow.

“You do realize you’ve already paid for caterers and I am not them. I am here to clean the jizz from your carpet, not feed you,” Dallon said, the uncomfortable aura of the boat making him speak unlike he usually would.

They were both shocked. Dallon because he was usually very mild tempered or at least able to keep his words in check. Brendon because nobody had spoken to him that way before.

Brendon was used to people practically kneeling at his feet. What luck they must have to be in the presence of someone so famous, so influential in the world. But Dallon didn’t care about fame or glory or money. He cared about his friends and family. He cared about making sure they were happy and none of that included someone the likes of Brendon.

“Get off my boat. Don’t come back,” he said and Dallon nodded, biting his cheek because this is what he was specifically told not to do by his boss.

“Don’t piss off the rich,” they’d told him on many encounters. Brendon came to Dallon’s company a lot for things to be cleaned, he paid well and often so the bosses all liked him.

“See if I come to your shitty company again. You can’t even do anything right,” Brendon said, the disgust in his voice so plain. Dallon walked away from his machine to grab the water bottle he’d brought and when he turned around it was gone. He found it outside as Brendon was hauling it over the railing of his yacht before pushing it over and into the water. Dallon froze on the spot.

“What the fuck?” He yelled, running to the edge and looking down. The water was so deep he couldn’t even see the carpet cleaner anymore.

Dallon’s cheeks were flushed with rage, the sudden urge to just hit Brendon came over him faster than he ever thought possible. Of all the things he didn’t do, hitting Brendon was what he regretted most.

“I’ll personally be filing a complaint with your company over the blatant disrespect,” Brendon said, snapping his fingers and waiting until a naked girl with hickies all down her body ran out with his phone in hand. Dallon couldn’t believe this guy was real.

Dallon left with his tail between his legs. He knew he’d be fired. Not only did he piss off one of their best clients, he lost equipment.

Sure enough, Dallon got a call as soon as he got into his car. It was quick, his boss not saying much beyond his disappointment in his hardest worker and that he was definitely fired. He was told to mail his shirt back. His boss didn’t want to see his face.

Dallon spent the night in the hotel that thankfully hadn’t been canceled yet. He needed just on night to cry out his frustration before going back to his family. He woke up the next morning still jobless and at a loss to do.

The next thing he did was call Pete.

“I need a drink, man,” he said, knowing Pete would be apprehensive about it.

“It’s not like with Breezy, don’t worry. Can we just meet at a bar?” He asked and Pete obliged.

Patrick stayed at Dallon’s house while Pete went out. Pete had told him that if Dallon was going to drink again, he’d be there to make sure it wasn’t overboard. Make sure it stopped at just that night.

They sat down at a bar, Dallon’s head slamming into the table as he sighed.

“What happened?” Pete asked, ordering them both a beer.

“Some fucking douche singer,” Dallon said and Pete snorted.

“Aren’t they all? What happened?”

Dallon sighed, the reality of the situation hitting him. He hated relying on Pete for money and help but it seemed Dallon couldn’t keep his shit together. First Breezy and now this. Yet again, he had no references. He’d gotten lucky with that job. It had paid decently enough and Dallon worked hard but trying to find a new one with absolutely nothing on a resume would be back breakingly hard.

“Some guy named Brendon ‘I’m a prick’ Urie. Had to go clean his dumb fucking boat and he fucking pissed me off and I fucking said what was on my mind and he fucking lost my job,” Dallon said, taking the beer that was handed to him and downing it, “I just want to forget the nightmare of today.”

Pete sat quietly, almost busting up laughing.

“Dude, he’s signed to my label,” Pete said, laughing when Dallon looked at him.

“Why would you sign him? He’s such a dick,” Dallon said and Pete shrugged.

“Found him when he was a teenager. He has talent. The fame just got to him. Would have cut him loose but the amount of money he rakes in for us, I can’t. Plus, he brings in other business,” Pete explained and Dallon almost felt bad for insulting him. Pete could tell.

“Yes, Dallon, he’s a dick.”

“I want revenge,” Dallon said and Pete nodded.

“Yeah, I wish I could teach the fucking kid a lesson sometimes.”

It was a few hours later and many shots later when the idea struck them. Well, it wasn’t really like it came to them out of the blue.

There was a television above the bar that was alternating between a news channel and a sports channel. Typically, Dallon didn’t care about either but something caught his eye.

It was a news segment about a man overboard, the photo of a ragged looking man who was barely able to keep his eyes open. He looked like they’d barely pulled him out of the water and dried him. They had no identification on him, no name or anything. Dallon unfortunately recognized him.

He smacked Pete’s arm, pointing up at the television and Pete looked.

“Brendon?” He mumbled, waving the bartender over.

The guy looked at Pete and Dallon.

“Another round?” He asked and Pete shook his head.

“Could you turn that up?” He asked, pointing at the monitor above where they sat. The guy didn’t look pleased about it but he did anyway.

“A man early this morning was found on a beach in San Diego after he’d apparently fallen overboard. He’s currently suffering from amnesia and cannot tell the hospital any information. If anyone has any knowledge about the identity of this man, please call the hospital line below,” the news anchor said and Dallon looked over to Pete, half expecting the man to do it.

“It would be funny to prank him,” Pete said, laughing at the idea.

“What?” Dallon asked, looking up to the television again that had already moved on from Brendon.

“Call and say he’s your husband, he won’t know any better,” Pete said and Dallon pulled his phone out, dialing the number that was scrolling across the bottom of the screen indefinitely. He didn’t press call yet.

“Why?” Dallon asked and Pete shrugged.

“You live like shit compared to him. Make him realize how lucky he is. Brendon would hate the domestic life. It’s not like he knows any better right now if he’s got amnesia. Take him home and tell him he’s married with two kids, make him hate his life,” Pete said and that was enough for drunk Dallon to press send. He stepped outside of the bar until an operator answered.

“Hello, how can I help you?” A nice sounding woman asked.

“Yes, hi, I just saw the news. That was my husband! I was so worried. He went sailing and never came home,” Dallon said, the lie spilling out of his mouth a little too easily.

“What is his name, Sir?” She asked.

“Brendon U- Brendon Weekes,” he said, smiling and trying to keep his laugh in his throat.

“A good number to call you at, Mr. Weekes?” She asked and Dallon recited his phone number to the woman.

Pete came out as Dallon was hanging up, the two of them busting up laughing before Pete called a cab to take them back to Dallon’s house.

Dallon woke up to ringing with a hangover. He groaned as he searched for his phone, answering with a huff.

“Hello?” He asked, his voice radiating how displeased he was at the early call.

“Hello, sir. I was giving you a call to inform you that your husband will be released anytime after noon today. He is in good condition and is happy to see you,” the woman said, finishing it off with the name of the hospital and a pleasant goodbye.

Dallon was confused. He’d drank a little too much the night before and his memory was hazy. He remembered a phone call and seeing Brendon on television and the longer he sat there, the worse he felt.

Dallon stumbled out to the living room where he found Pete snoring. He shook him awake, panic slowly setting in as he realized what he’d done.

“Fuck,” Pete mumbled, the alcohol having gotten to him too. He looked up at Dallon, noticing the panic on his face and sitting up.

“What the fuck did you have me do last night?” Dallon asked and Pete’s eyes went a little wide. He sat up straight, rubbing at his eyes before looking up at Dallon. He couldn’t really remember the night before and was worried he’d done something real bad.

“What?” He asked and Dallon groaned.

“I guess Brendon lost all his memory? And I called saying I was his husband? They’re waiting for me to go down there and pick him up. I’m his fucking husband,” Dallon said, the memories slowly coming back, “You told me to prank him, teach him a lesson,” Dallon added.

Pete remembered that. He remembered being annoyed that Brendon could so easily call and ruin someone's livelihood, not seem to care if Dallon had a family at home. He remembered when Brendon first came to his label. He was always a wild child, a ladies man, but he had manners then. That was before money and talk shows, before sold out venues and people practically throwing money at him for an ounce of his attention.

“They said he’s excited. I have to go,” Dallon said, frowning slightly. Pete shrugged, rolling his eyes as he stood up.

“No you don’t,” he said and Dallon shook his head.

“He doesn’t remember anything. He thinks he’s married to me, if I don’t show up, he’ll just be upset. Even if it’s not real,” Dallon said and he knew that no matter what Pete suggested, he’d have to show up at the hospital. He’d feel guilty about it for the rest of his life if he didn’t.

“Here’s the plan,” he said, sighing as he sat down next to Pete. He explained his idea in full to Pete. They would still teach him a lesson. The doctors were sure that one day Brendon would regain his memories, it was just a matter of when. But if Dallon’s plan worked, when they did come back, he’d have suffered through an actual manual labor job, a dog, and children which apparently Brendon has vowed never to take part in.

“Pick my kids up from school and explain,” he said, grabbing his car keys. It would be a bit of a drive to get to San Diego but he could do it easily. It would mean he’d get back later, giving Pete more than enough time to catch his kids up on what was happening. They were smart and mischievous, they’d understand and they’d go along with it without much question.

When he got to the hospital, he sat in his car for a few minutes, hands on the wheel and staring out at the entrance. He didn’t know what to do, what he was even doing with his life. He felt out of place, he felt wrong. He looked over to the passenger seat and remembered the last time Breezy was there. But now, what was he even doing? Pretending to be married to someone for some drunken revenge? Dallon was the one who was in the wrong, he insulted the client. He deserved to get yelled at for such a careless mistake. He thought being fired was a bit far but either way, he deserved something.

But now there was a man without any memory of his life thinking he had a husband and as messed up as it was, as much as Dallon had no respect for Brendon, he didn’t want this clueless man to feel like his “husband” no longer wanted him.

So he took a deep breath and got out, still staring up at the hospital, feeling like it was towering over. He was uneasy as he stepped inside, the smell of antiseptic overwhelming and not a pleasant thought. He spent too much time with that smell when he was taking Breezy back and forth from the emergency room.

There was a nice lady at the reception desk, looking up at him expectantly.

“What can I do for you?” She asked, eyes looking down for an obvious injury and returning when she didn’t find any.

“My husband, he’s here,” Dallon said and she smiled.

“What’s his name?” Dallon froze for a second, almost forgetting that he couldn’t say Brendon Urie and give his sick joke away.

“Brendon Weekes? He came in with amnesia, I don’t know if he’s actually in the system,” Dallon explained, his stomach turning the whole time.

“Oh! We’re glad you were able to make it,” she said, standing and stepping from behind the desk, “Follow me, Mr. Weekes.”

Dallon followed her down a few hallways, past rooms with sick people and machines that beeped constantly. He was led to a room with the door open and she waved her arm inside. Dallon stopped for a moment, taking another breath and wondering if he could actually do this. He had to at least try. He’d started this mess.

Dallow walked into a room and recognized Brendon immediately. He felt annoyed seeing his face again, remembering their one and only encounter and he wanted to punch Brendon for costing him his job. But Brendon wasn’t being a dick. He looked softer in the hospital gown, he looked friendly. He was smiling at a nurse as she was checking her vitals and she looked up when Dallon walked inside.

“You must be Dallon,” she said and Dallon nodded. Her voice was soft as she spoke to Brendon, “Now remember, it’s okay to not have any memory of him. He’ll be there to help you until you get your memory back.”

The nurse helped Brendon to his feet before stepping back. Brendon looked at him, head tilting to the side. His eyes went up and down and Dallon couldn’t make out what his expression was.

“This is my husband?” Brendon asked, looking over to the nurse, his expression questioning.

Dallon’s stomach dropped to the floor. He was caught. Next word out of Brendon’s mouth and he was seriously considering bolting for the exit. He’d get in his car and never turn back.

The nurse nodded, her smile encouraging. Brendon looked back, giving Dallon another once over before a smile emerging on his face.

“Damn,” he said, drawing the vowel out longer, “I did good.”

Dallon wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“You’re really my husband?” Brendon asked, looking up to Dallon’s face. Dallon couldn’t form words so he just nodded.

“What kind of moves did I have to use to get you? I must be smooth. Look at my husband, he’s hot as fuck,” Brendon said, the grin on his face was almost blinding. Dallon wanted to throw up.

He felt guilty that he was tricking Brendon but it was too late. Brendon thought he was married to Dallon and from what he’d said so far, he seemed proud. He seemed like he was excited to go home to Dallon.

“He’ll be ready to be checked out in just a few minutes, Mr. Weekes,” the nurse said, stepping out of the room to give them a few minutes alone.

“Hey,” Dallon said, his voice weak.

“I can’t remember anything but I must be real damn happy being your husband,” Brendon said, walking forward and wrapping his arms around Dallon’s neck. Dallon willed himself to loosen up and wrap his arms around Brendon. It was foreign to him to feel another body against his. He was so used to the soft frame of his wife, the smell of her. He’d never been with anyone besides her and now he had Brendon, tone and harder, pressing into his body like he belonged there. It felt weird but the comfort was there. Dallon felt guilty for liking the hug. He felt even more guilty for lingering longer after Brendon loosened his arms.

But Dallon took Brendon out to his car anyway.

“Do we have a house?” Brendon asked, trying to piece together the life he thought he’d always had. Dallon nodded.

“Two kids,” Dallon added, needing to fill him in on that part.

“Really? I always knew I’d be a good dad. I mean, I can’t remember but I can feel it,” he said and Dallon snorted. He knew that the real Brendon would never say something like that.

“A job?” He asked and Dallon swallowed. He really hadn’t thought that far ahead just yet. Pete had drunkenly offered him a job working at his record label that Dallon was inclined to take. He’d ask him about it but Dallon nodded.

“You work construction,” he said, knowing he had a few friends that he’d met through the years that would help him out if he needed. He could ask a favor to employ Brendon and knowing them, they’d go along with it. Brendon considered that, looking out the window as they drove down the freeway back to where Dallon lived, where they lived.

They pulled up to the house, the kids running out to Dallon which was unusual. He assumed that Pete had filled them in on everything.

But they didn’t run up to Dallon. They wrapped themselves around Brendon.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, we were so worried!” They said, hugging him and knocking him off balance for a moment. Brendon was stunned, looking up to Dallon, a panic in his eyes. Dallon could tell he felt bad for not remembering them. Dallon felt guilty that Brendon felt guilty. He wrapped his arms around the kids though, a small smile on his face as he tried to pretend like he knew.

“Hey there,” he said, looking at their faces, trying his hardest to recall. Dallon knew he wouldn’t recall anything except maybe publicly stating he never wanted ‘heathens’ in his house.

“Kids,” Dallon said, waving them over when they looked. He gave Brendon what he thought was a reassuring smile but Dallon wasn’t convinced it came out right. “Try to remember that,” he paused, swallowing, “Dad lost his memory. We need to be patient with him.” They both giggled before running inside.

Pete walked out, almost grinning at Dallon and then Brendon.

“It’s good to have you back, Brendon, we were all worried about you,” he said and Dallon felt that there was some truth behind his words. From what Dallon gathered, Brendon didn’t start out the way Dallon had met him. He could almost imagine Brendon when he was younger, before the fame and before he turned into a douche. Dallon wished he could have seen it. He wished that he could have had a better image of the man. Maybe then he wouldn’t be trapped in the guilt and lies. He could imagine that Pete missed the kid he first met.

“Sorry, your name?” Brendon asked, eyebrows scrunching and he looked so innocent.

“Oh, my bad,” Pete said, looking back to Dallon, “My name is Pete.”

They talked for a little and Brendon kept apologizing and asking for context. Dallon found that the partial truth was easier to keep straight in his head. He told Brendon real things but implied that Brendon was there. He told Brendon about last week when Amelie had brought home her report card with all 5’s on it, the highest she could get in elementary school. He told Brendon how proud they were. It was a lie but it almost didn’t feel like it.

Brendon smiled when he heard about his daughters success.

“I don’t remember but I feel like any kid of mine, ours, would be bright.”

It was awkward that night, crawling into bed next to each other. Dallon wanted to cry when Brendon was in Breezy’s spot. He liked to pretend that two years later he could still smell her on the pillow. He knew it was long gone but he always pretended.

Even Brendon was awkward. But for a completely different reason. He thought that he should remember Dallon, his life, that bed, but he didn’t. He felt bad that he didn’t, Dallon could tell.

“So I took your last name?” He asked and Dallon sighed, rolling onto his side to face Brendon. Brendon matched the action, pulling the comforter up to cover all but his head. Dallon nodded. “My full name?”

“Brendon Weekes,” Dallon said and he wanted to cringe with how easily it fell off his tongue. He didn’t though.

“And our kids?” He asked, looking down. Dallon had briefly thought of how to explain it. He had pretty much decided to stick with the truth but that still hurt.

“It’s, uh, can we do that question a different night?” He asked and Brendon looked a little disappointed.

“Was it cheating?”

“No.”

“Okay, a different night,” Brendon said and the sadness washed off of his face.

It was weird to see Brendon in this setting. Dallon almost expected him to still be the same self centered and full of himself guy. Maybe there was still time for that. Maybe Brendon was only being sweet and kind because he felt uncertain without his memories. Dallon didn’t know what to mark it up to but he could see that this was not the Brendon he met on the yacht.

Pete was over the next morning like he usually was. He made Dallon and himself coffee and the two sat at the table. Brendon was sleeping like the dead still.

“So, either way, you need a job,” Pete said, the obligation and need to take care of Dallon still there. They both knew that eventually this would end and Dallon would need money and a way to provide on his own.

“Yeah,” Dallon said, running a hand through his hair, “I know. My resume is literally blank though. That last gig was the only thing I’d ever had. And I mean, my music career is as good as dead. I haven’t talked to them in like two years and I still think that it would be too much of a risk,” Dallon explained and Pete nodded.

“What about working at my label? You could help me manage. I’ve been looking for someone and well, you know about the industry and what’s good and what’s not. I know that you’re a hard worker, regardless of your resume,” Pete said, sipping at his coffee. Dallon was almost stunned at the offer. It wasn’t specifically what he wanted. He wanted to be playing sold out shows with thousands of fans screaming his words back to him but that wasn’t going to happen. But the chance to keep with music, to still work in music even if it wasn’t exact. He wanted to say yes.

“You don’t think that it’s too close to him?” Dallon asked, not wanting to say it blatantly for fear that Brendon might wake up and hear. Pete shrugged.

“Who knows. I was thinking more long term, for even after this is all over,” he said and Dallon smiled. It was small but there regardless.

“I’d love that.”

Dallon next called his friends. They already owed him a few favors and they were the type of guys who would do something for him, no questions asked and that was exactly what Dallon needed in that moment.

“Hey, I need to get someone a job like, ASAP,” he said and his friend huffed.

“When can he start?”

“Tomorrow.”

There was a long silence on the phone and then some muffled talking before his friend came back.

“We can put him to work. How much can he handle?” He asked and Dallon almost laughed. He looked at Pete who nodded, encouraging him to stick to the plan.

“As much as you want to give him.”

Dallon woke Brendon up the next day, smiling gently down at him. The words felt wrong in his mouth but he was playing a part, right?

“Babe, you ready for work?” He asked and Brendon sat up, rubbing his eyes. He sat where Breezy had each morning, his hair shorter and far messier than hers ever was. Dallon could pick out the differences and likeness between the two and he felt bad. He felt like he was cheating on Breezy.

“Oh,” he said, frowning as he stood up, looking around the room, “What should I wear?” He asked and Dallon handed him a pair of his oldest jeans and a shirt he never wore.

Pete brought over clothes while Brendon was at work. They were the modest clothes that he kept around for Brendon in emergencies and things that were too big for him. They redid Dallon’s place subtly to make it seem as if Brendon lived there, that he wasn’t a stranger playing house.

“Doesn’t this seem a bit much?” Dallon asked as he hid some of the jewelry that he’d neglected to get rid of since Breezy had passed. He rolled it in a pair of his underwear and stashed it at the back of his drawer so Brendon wouldn’t find it.

“Like you said, we basically dug our own hole. I think it would crush him if we told him that he’s actually single. He seems happy, too. Maybe it’s wrong but this is the Brendon that I met,” Pete said, sighing as he sat down. Dallon followed after him, feeling like he needed a drink to get through this nightmare of a mistake. “Plus, he would hate manual labor. He’s never done a hard days work in his entire life. He made his career at seventeen, he needs to put in the effort that the rest of us had,” Pete said, a smirk on his face. Dallon chuckled at that.

The Brendon he had met had obviously had his entire life handed to him. The Brendon who threw his equipment into the water didn’t understand that some people didn’t have the luxury of women throwing themselves at him, didn’t understand that for some people, money came in small quantities and didn’t stretch far. Dallon hated that this is what he chose to do as payback but maybe afterwards when things ended, Brendon would understand what it was like to come home with blisters and a sore back. Maybe he’d have more respect for the people who made his career what it is now.

“He’s on a break from touring anyway and sometimes went days or weeks without posting to social media. His fans won't realize he’s gone,” Pete explained and Dallon felt a little sad about that but nodded.

The two of them talked until they heard the front door open, Brendon walking in like it was his house. Dallon didn’t know how to feel about that.

“Hi honey, how was work?” He asked, faking the happiness he should have felt for Brendon that wasn’t quite there. He expected negativity.

He didn’t get negativity.

“It was really good. I can see why I chose to work there,” he said, coming into the dining room to find Dallon and Pete at the table. Brendon was smiling. He had dirt on his hands, streaks of it on his face. He’d obviously worked a manual labor job. His shirt stuck to him from sweat and Pete almost laughed.

“Yeah?” Dallon asked, looking to Pete for help.

“The guys were talking about what a hard worker I was. Called me string bean when I got there, is that normal?” He asked and Dallon nodded, biting the inside of my cheek. “They all said that I was stronger than I looked.” He raised his arms and flexed for Dallon and Pete, the goofiest grin on his face.

Pete was really shocked at the fact that Dallon did well.

“They said that my hands were like a little girls though,” he said, looking down, fresh blisters forming on his hands but the smile was still there.

That night, Brendon was sitting on the edge of the bed frowning. Dallon panicked for a moment that Brendon knew, that he was caught in his growing web of lies.

“Who is Pete?” He asked and Dallon let out a hopefully unnoticeable sigh of relief.

“He’s a friend,” Dallon said, busying himself with getting ready for bed.

“A friend?” Brendon asked, staying silent when Dallon didn’t respond to him.

A few minutes passed and Dallon was slightly worried. Toothbrush in mouth, he walked back into the bedroom to find Brendon in the same position, his shoulders slumped forward though.

“Hm?” Dallon hummed, standing there and staring at Brendon. He finally turned to look at Dallon and it was obvious he was upset. Dallon hadn’t ever seen him like this.

“Is it weird for me to be upset by that?” He asked and Dallon frowned then too. He held up a finger before leaving the room, spitting and rinsing his mouth before going back to Brendon. He sat down on the bed, closer than he ever had been since he’d picked Brendon up the day before. He was playing the part of the husband. He also felt a sense of desperation to cheer Brendon up. He didn’t know where it came from but the sadness radiating off of him made Dallon want to be close, want to help.

“Why would that upset you?” He asked, hesitating for a moment, his hand hovering in the air. He finally decided to rest his hand on Brendon’s thigh. Dallon almost hated himself for how natural it felt to him.

“Is he more than a friend to you?” Brendon asked, looking down at the hand on his thigh. It seemed like Brendon was trying to decide if he should move away or let it play out. He didn’t move.

“He is only a friend,” Dallon answered, his voice getting softer, “And no, it’s not weird. You don’t remember and I know how it looks,” he tried to explain, his words still not comforting Brendon.

“Sorry,” Brendon mumbled, shoulders slumping further.

“Okay,” Dallon started, moving so he could face Brendon. He ran a hand through his hair while Brendon matched his position, “Fuck, okay. I was hoping you’d get your memory back and I wouldn’t have to say all of this but I don’t want you to be sad,” he started and mixed in with the lie was some truth. He didn’t know how it started or where it came from but he cared about Brendon enough to not want him to be sad.

“You asked in the car about children. They aren’t adopted, they are my biological children. Before you, I was married to a woman. She was my first love. She passed away a few years ago to pancreatic cancer and I really wasn’t okay. I started drinking really heavily and I wasn’t a good father to my kids. I was in a really bad place and Pete was there to slap me around a little and get me back on my feet. He’s been a huge help and money is still tight. He helps with groceries and things so that I’m not struggling so bad. He actually introduced me to you,” Dallon said, looking down at the last part.

“I didn’t know,” Brendon said, his voice losing some of the sadness that he carried moments before.

“I wouldn’t cheat on you,” Dallon said and again, it wasn’t a lie. How could he cheat on someone he wasn’t in a relationship with. But Brendon smiled and Brendon leaned in to kiss Dallon’s cheek. Brendon cuddled up to Dallon’s side when they laid down and Dallon wrapped his arm around Brendon, Dallon pulled him closer. The two of them fell asleep tangled together.

It was a week into Brendon being there. Things almost felt normal. When he came home to find Brendon on the couch, he didn’t feel uncomfortable. He even smiled and it wasn’t forced.

“I wanna go out,” Brendon said as Dallon set his things down. Dallon had kept him inside as much as possible because of the fact that he was easily recognizable. One person asking for an autograph and his lie would come crashing down. He wouldn’t be able to talk it out reasonably without something coming out and Brendon realizing what was happening.

“A date?” He asked, biting his cheek. He was going through a list of places that would be safe for the most part.

“I don’t know. Just something besides here and work,” Brendon asked and Dallon sighed. He had to pretend like things were normal.

“What about we take the kids to the park? They’ve missed you,” he said, the words making his chest feel funny. Brendon lit up like a Christmas tree, jumping to his feet.

“I’ll go get them.”

Dallon watched as Brendon got them ready. He grabbed their jackets for them, helped them even though they were fully capable of doing it themselves.

“Ice cream?” He asked, taking Amelie’s hand when she asked to hold his. Dallon saw him with his kids, jumping into the roll of being the father he thought he was. It left Dallon comparing to the Brendon he met to the Brendon he had now. Brendon seemed to love his kids almost immediately, wanting to take them places, offering them ice cream like it was a tradition or something.

They got to the park and Dallon was still stuck in his head. He felt bad that he wasn’t paying attention but Brendon made up for the fact of that. The kids were on the swing with Brendon, pushing them as they squealed.

“Higher, Daddy,” Knox yelled, kicking his legs and almost hitting Brendon as he swung back.

Dallon watched, that feeling in his chest growing. He didn’t know what to do with it. Brendon was shockingly good with his kids. Brendon seemed to actually like them. He may not know them, remember them, but he wanted to be there, wanted to play with them. Dallon cared so much about his kids that seeing Brendon with them, happily engaging them left him confused.

The grin on Brendon’s face was blinding.

The grin on his kids faces was blinding as Brendon bought them ice cream.

When they got home, Pete was in the kitchen with Patrick next to him, both of them cooking.

“I wanted to come and welcome Brendon home,” Patrick said, the grin on his face was too cocky for such a small and sweet looking guy. Pete had filled him in and he wanted to see how it was going. Dallon shot him a look for a moment, heading into the kitchen and standing near Pete. He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. That was all it took to get Pete to talk.

“God damn it, Dallon,” he said, making Dallon look up and frown.

“What?”

“You went and fell in love with him,” Pete said, setting down the spoon he was using to stir their soup.

“I did not,” he tried, that feeling in his chest choking his words and making them weak.

“God damn it.”

It became December all too quickly and Brendon still didn’t remember. They’d made their own pseudo life together and Dallon got swept up in it.

“I want to do something,” Brendon said one morning. They woke up tangled together and for a moment, even Dallon forgot that it was all a rouse. He had Brendon pressed to him, the warmth and comfort of waking up to someone, dare he say it? Someone that he cared about.

“Ice skating?” He asked. It was one of the ideas that Pete had come up with that he knew real Brendon would hate.

“It’s cold, he can’t even skate,” Pete had said and Dallon, while he wanted the real Brendon to be annoyed, wanted to have fun with the current, sweet Brendon.

So they went. Knox and Amelie in the backseat, singing along to Let It Go as they drove to the ice rink. Dallon didn’t take them often so they were beyond excited.

They rented ice skates and sat down to lace them up.

“Have I ever skated before?” Brendon asked, ankles shaking slightly as he stood on the two blades. Dallon shook his head.

“Not with me,” he said and like usual, it was the most true he could have been. Dallon didn’t know for sure and he didn’t pretend to know either.

Dallon expected Brendon to faceplant when he hit the ice. Maybe it would make him feel better.

That wasn’t what happened. Dallon was almost pissed when Brendon stepped onto the ice and didn’t fall. No, instead, he skated like he’d done it before. Brendon turned around with ease, a grin plastered on his face.

“Come on, babe, it’s not hard,” he said and the word hit Dallon in the chest like a ton of bricks.

Brendon held out his hand, encouraging Dallon to step out onto the ice. Dallon inched forward, taking his first step onto the ice and he glided with Brendon pulling him slowly.

“I’ve never done this before,” Dallon admitted, squeezing tight to Brendon’s hand.

The second that Brendon let go, Dallon lost his balance and landed on his ass. He pouted when he heard Brendon laughing, feeling like a little bit of a failure. How was it fair that his husband- faux husband- could be so much better than him?

“Well, that’s just the cherry on top,” Dallon muttered, taking a moment to get himself back on his feet without slipping. Brendon smiled and guided him over to the wall.

“Here, it’ll be practice,” he suggested, trying to cover up the fact that he was still laughing.

Dallon stuck to the edges of the rink after his fall. He kept a hand on the wall and slowly glided across the ice, much less graceful than Brendon and his kids. The other three were skating laps, the kids falling occasionally. Brendon always skated right over to them and checked them for cuts and bumps before helping them up. Dallon couldn’t help but think that he was a good dad. As much as he didn’t want to think of that ever, he did.

Brendon was good with his kids, was kind and sweet and patient. He was acting like a real father.

It took thirty minutes before Dallon felt confident enough to leave the wall. He was still slower than the majority of people there but he was skating on his own.

“Dallon,” he heard from behind him along with a chorus of “Daddy!”

Brendon let the kids skate on and he stuck next to Dallon, smiling the whole time.

“Thanks for taking me. This has been great,” he said and the words seemed so genuine. Dallon forgot for a moment about all of his lies and he just savored the time.

“I’m having a great time,” he answered and it was the honest truth.

Brendon skated around him, turning around so he skated backwards, facing Dallon so he could smile at him and see the resulting smile that Dallon gave back. He was starting to skate faster, a feat Dallon never thought was possible.

“Hey, how do you skate backwards like that?” He asked and Brendon looked down at his feet, trying to figure out how to explain it.

“Here,” he said, talking Dallon through it. He got Dallon turned around, guiding him so Dallon didn’t have to turn to look and could focus on staying upright. Brendon held Dallon’s hands, saying that it was to steady him but Dallon didn’t feel any more steady. He figured it was just Brendon wanting to touch him.

It was going great. Too great.

There was a small bump in the ice that neither of them could have been able to see but it was just enough to throw off Dallon’s balance and send him down to his ass. The problem was was that Brendon had been behind him and got tripped up when Dallon fell.

Brendon landed on top of him and Dallon’s mind went blank when it happened.

This was the closest they’d ever been. Brendon flattening Dallon onto the cold ice but it didn’t feel so cold. How could it feel cold when his cheeks were bright red, staring up at Brendon whose face was inches from his own. How could it be cold when Brendon leaned down and pressed his lips to Dallon’s.

It was a hesitant kiss, like Brendon was trying to remember something that wasn’t there. Dallon didn’t want to pressure him, keeping it soft, barely there and letting Brendon explore it on his own.

He stopped after a second, remembering they were in public and helping Dallon to his feet.

Dallon wished that he could hate the kiss. He wished that this burning feeling coursing through his veins was nothing. He didn’t know what to do.

Brendon didn’t mention the kiss until they were in their room that night.

“You haven’t kissed me since the hospital,” he stated and Dallon sighed. He’d thought up a million excuses already for this exact question.

“You forgot everything, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said and the lies flowed too easily. It was partially true in a way.

Brendon kissed him before they went to sleep.

It felt like they really were married. Dallon slept better than he had in years.

It was Christmas morning and Dallon was slowly forgetting about the lies. He came home to Brendon and it felt like they’d been married for years. He didn’t have to think about what to say or how to act. They kissed before bed and before work. They kissed when Dallon felt down and it was easy. It was comforting.

It had always been a tradition for him to make pancakes before his kids woke up. He’d done it since the first year he spent with Breezy and he’d continued it even after she passed. He woke up that morning, a random thought going through his head that he wanted to share that tradition with Brendon.

He snuck out of bed, creeping downstairs like usual. He’d stocked up on the ingredients in the days before and he got to work.

Dallon was almost done mixing the batter when he heard the stairs creak. He peaked around the corner, raising an eyebrow. His kids usually came down together, stomping down the stairs like elephants on a rampage but this wasn’t them. There was a bright red sleeve on the railing and Dallon was more confused. He knew what Brendon went to sleep in and this was not that.

It was Brendon though, coming around the corner wearing a bright red Santa suit. He had the beard and everything. If Dallon didn’t know better, he might have missed the grin underneath the beard. But Dallon knew Brendon too well. He could see the smile in his eyes with the way they crinkled at the corners, the way his nose scrunched up slightly when he was trying not to laugh.

“What the actual fuck is that?” Dallon asked and Brendon’s smile fell, glaring at him from behind the hat and beard.

“Dallon, it’s a Santa costume,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. Dallon raised an eyebrow at Brendon.

“Why?” He asked, going back to his pancakes.

“What do you mean why? It’s a tradition with this family,” he said and Dallon had to stop himself from laughing.

“What? You don’t remember anything, how do you know it’s a tradition?” Dallon asked and Brendon rolled his eyes, walking over to the counter and sitting in a space that wasn’t occupied by Dallon’s cooking.

“I don’t know, I just have a feeling,” Brendon said and Dallon rolled his eyes again.

Dallon was trying desperately to ignore the look Brendon was giving him, like he knew something that he was almost bursting at the seems to tell Dallon. It didn’t take long before Brendon gave in.

“There’s an elf costume in the closet. Put it on,” he said and Dallon glared at Brendon.

“First of all, if anyone is going to be an elf, it’s you. I am by far taller than you,” Dallon said, crossing his arms as he stood in front of Brendon, “And second, I’m pretty sure I bought those forever ago when Breezy was still alive. The Santa suit is mine, you can be the elf,” Dallon said.

He was shocked by the fact that talking about Breezy didn’t feel like his heart was shattering the way it used to. He had Brendon now.

He had Brendon? He barely had Brendon. All he had Brendon in was a tangle of lies (that he was in a way happy he did. He liked kissing Brendon).

“Try it on. Please?” Brendon asked, smiling sweetly. He leaned forward and kissed Dallon’s nose and it was sweet. It made him feel like he was a teenager again, dodging their first kiss because they were both nervous. Dallon sighed and nodded.

Who knows, maybe he bought it too big for Breezy and it fit somewhat okay on Dallon.

When he looked in the mirror, he knew. There was no way it fit.

The pants, if they could even be called that, left little to the imagination. He was worried about his kids seeing him like this. Worse yet, the pants looked like capris on him. The shirt was bordering on a belly shirt and the sleeves went barely past his elbows. It was tight and he felt like he couldn’t move. The shoes didn’t fit at all.

Dallon waddled downstairs, arms crossed and he was sure the top was going to rip before Brendon got a look at him.

Luckily (not so luckily?) Brendon got a full look and look he did. His eyes stopped briefly at Dallon’s crotch, cheeks turning red before he continued looking at the outfit.

“Brendon, please switch with me,” Dallon said, walking into the kitchen. Brendon had taken over stirring the batter, smirking.

Brendon pulled the whisk out as he was talking.

“Dallon, baby, you’re fine. I swear, it looks good on you,” he said before putting it back into the batter. He didn’t miss the huff from behind him, thinking that Dallon was merely annoyed by the outfit.

“Brendon, turn around,” he said and Brendon did, looking at Dallon who had pancake batter on his face and shirt. Brendon couldn’t help but laugh. Dallon sighed. “Well, this is just the cherry on top,” he said bitterly and Brendon rolled his eyes.

“You say that a lot,” Brendon observed, stepping back from the batter.

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

It wasn’t Dallon’s smartest decision but payback was payback. He grabbed the whisk and flung batter at Brendon. The batter in his fake beard made Dallon smile because now, they matched.

It turned into a war quickly and the batter was gone by the time Knox and Amelie walked downstairs to find their two dads covered with batter and the counters a mess.

“Daddy?” Amelie asked and both Brendon and Dallon turned to look at her. Their two kids were pouting, looking at the pancake batter that was no longer in the bowl which meant to them: no pancakes.

Brendon and Dallon turned to look at each other, the ridiculous mess that they made because of the outfit Dallon wore. They busted up laughing, grabbing at their sides because they laughed so hard it hurt.

Dallon stopped for a moment, looking at Brendon, at how happy he was to be married to Dallon. For another moment, Dallon forgot that it was all a lie. He forgot that the ring he wore wasn’t for a real marriage. He woke up every morning laying in bed next to Brendon, he smiled each morning because Brendon made him happy.

“I’m going to go to and change,” Dallon said and Brendon nodded.

“I’ll clean and then be right up,” Brendon said.

Dallon hurried to his bedroom, taking his costume off before getting into the shower. His hair needed to be washed and cleaned of pancake mix.

“Forgive me, Breezy?” He asked quietly as he stood under the hot water.

“I think I’m in love with him,” he said and the words didn’t sting. He remembered her telling him to move on when he drove her to the hospital. The last time he was with her when she was still alive. Her last words to him were to move on. He ignored it at the time because back then, how could anyone compare to her? How could he live without her? He remembered letting it consume him and he pushed the thought of someone new out of his mind. But here he was, tangled in his lies. He thought that maybe, just maybe, he could keep this lie up for the rest of his life.

While it may be a lie, he’d be happy. He liked Brendon being around.

He loved Brendon.

Christmas was nice. It was a quiet event in his house. Mainly because he didn’t have a ton of money. He spent as much as he could on buying things for his kids that he knew they would like. He didn’t know what to get Brendon really. He bought him a nice shirt that Brendon had said he liked when he was browsing online.

“I hope it fits,” was all Dallon could say.

“I love you,” is what he wanted to say.

Brendon was cleaning up after dinner while Dallon sat on the couch. Knox was on his lap and Amelie was curled up into his side.

“Daddy?” Knox asked quietly. Dallon hummed softly so that Knox knew he was listening.

“Is Brendon going to leave us soon?” He asked and he sounded genuinely sad. Dallon knew that at the beginning, Knox and Amelie had been bribed with money to keep up with the lie but this didn’t seem like that. Knox didn’t ask about money, he didn’t seem sad about money.

“I know that he isn’t Mommy but I like having him around. Daddy, you’re happier with Dad around,” Amelie chimed in with and Dallon was almost floored that his kids could pick up on it. He knew they were right.

“It’s bedtime guys,” Dallon said, patting his kids heads. They complained but went up to their beds like he told them to. Dallon tucked each of them in, kissing their foreheads.

“I’ll have Dad come in and give you guys a kiss,” he said, earning a smile from both of them.

Dallon waited in his room for Brendon. He sat on the edge of his bed, looking out the window while he waited. He wished that he could have a white Christmas but California didn’t give him that.

The door clicked as it closed and there was an awkward tension in the air as Brendon sat down beside Dallon. Brendon didn’t touch him like he usually did.

Brendon liked physical contact. He liked holding Dallon’s hand or resting his hand on Dallon’s thigh. He did neither of those.

“How come we haven’t had sex?” He asked and he sounded upset.

“You lost your memory,” Dallon said, looking over to Brendon.

“Am I not good enough because of that?” Brendon asked, eyes turning down. Dallon’s heart felt like it might break when he saw and heard the sadness.

“Nothing like that, Brendon. I didn’t want to pressure you. I wanted to wait until you were comfortable with it, memory or no memory,” he explained and Brendon nodded.

“What if I am ready?” He asked and Dallon swallowed the anxiety stuck in his throat.

“Are you?”

There was a long silence.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” Brendon said and Dallon had no idea where it would go from there. He was worried.

Brendon stopped, turning so he faced Dallon and Dallon matched his position.

“I’m in love with you,” Brendon said, meeting Dallon’s eyes and waiting. He didn’t have to wait long.

“I’m in love with you, too,” Dallon said and to him, it was the first truth he’d said the entire time. He was in love with Brendon. There was no doubt about it in his mind. He knew that wherever Breezy was, she’d be happy for him.

They had sex that night. They took it slow, kissing until they couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. It was more than Dallon could have asked for. He kept whispering how much he loved Brendon when they finished, as he held Brendon close to him.

It was a month later when Brendon asked to go out shopping with Dallon.

“I barely have any clothes,” he complained and Dallon agreed.

The news about Brendon Urie was dying quickly. Dallon thought that it would be safe.

It was almost okay, too.

They had bags in hand and were walking back to their car when a girl stopped them.

“Oh my God, are you Brendon Urie? When are you going to release a new album? Have you even worked on it?” She asked and Dallon almost started to panic. He looked over to see Brendon’s face scrunch up, confusion evident on his expression.

“No, I’m not,” he said and the fan didn’t look convinced. Dallon all but dragged Brendon off.

The drive home was dead silent. Dallon was worried that if he moved to turn the radio on, Brendon would ask about what that was. He didn’t ask anything until they were in Dallon’s driveway.

“Was Urie my name before I married you?” He asked and Dallon was trying to find a way around this conversation. He could see the lies falling apart right in front of his very eyes. He didn’t know what to do and he just wanted to call Pete and ask but he couldn’t. Not with Brendon right there.

“Yes,” he said, figuring that was the only way he could do this. He worried now that Brendon’s memories would start coming back. With so much information about the real Brendon coming out, it seemed like memories would return.

Brendon didn’t say anything as he went inside, leaving the bags of clothes that he’d bought in Dallon’s car.

Dallon walked inside and found Brendon at the laptop that Dallon had in the living room. He knew what Brendon was doing. Dallon went to his room with his tail between his legs. He pulled out his phone and called Pete. It was the only thing he could do.

“He knows,” Dallon said when Pete picked up. He didn’t even leave time for Pete to say hello.

“What?”

“A fucking fan saw him. He is probably looking himself up online,” Dallon said, panic running through him. He knew that if ‘Brendon Urie’ was searched there would be countless articles about what happened. Pete had talked to the press and given them a false statement, said that Brendon was staying with a friend while he recovered. It was partially true.

Dallon heard the front door slam and he hung up the phone.

Knox and Amelie got home from school and found their dad on the couch passed out. There was an empty bottle of whiskey on the floor and they knew better than to wake him up. They’d seen this before.

Amelie called Pete crying.

“Uncle Pete,” she whimpered, both of them sitting in their bedroom closet, hiding like it would protect them from the reality of what happened.

“Brendon isn’t here and Daddy is on the couch again,” she said. Pete could hear the sobbing of Knox in the background.

“I’ll come over. Do you guys want some ice cream? I’ll let you eat it in your room,” Pete offered. Amelie mumbled a yes before hanging up.

Pete had seen this picture before, too. He splashed Dallon with cold water, standing over him with his arms crossed. Dallon was dizzy and sick to his stomach, barely able to see a coherent picture of Pete as he looked up at him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Pete asked and Dallon slumped back into the couch.

“Leave me alone,” Dallon said, barely able to get the words out.

“We aren’t doing this again. You are not doing this to your kids again,” Pete said, his voice stern. Dallon’s face fell as he heard them. “I swear to fucking God, if I get another call from one of your kids crying again, I am taking them and they will live with Patrick and I until you get your shit together,” Pete warned and Dallon nodded.

“But-”

“No, Dallon. Go to your room and sleep this off. We can talk in the morning,” he said and Dallon agreed. There wasn’t much else he could do.

But morning was too late.  

Dallon learned the hard way not to piss off a famous person. It made it to the news. The words at the bottom of Dallon’s screen read “Exclusive with Panic! At The Disco’s Brendon Urie!” Over and over and over Dallon got to read it. He was curious what Brendon would say, what he would do. So Dallon watched.

God, he wished he could look away.

He saw Brendon on the screen and his heart ached. He missed someone who was never even his to begin with.

“It sounds like you have a wild story,” the interviewer said and Brendon chuckled. It didn’t even seem like the sweet guy who was here only yesterday.

“I do, I do,” he said and everything that left his mouth tore Dallon to shreds.

“He even works for my label! The nerve,” Brendon said, shaking his head.

Brendon said that it was payback, retaliation, that Dallon was delusional. He never once took a dig at Pete, probably for fear of losing the only label that would take him on with his bad boy attitude that he’d developed.

“I think the reason that I’m angry is because I fell in love with a lie. He created this perfect world where I was married and had these two amazing kids. Why would anyone lie about that? I hate him for making me believe it,” Brendon said and the interviewer said that they were out of time.

“Any last words?” They asked and Brendon smirked.

“Yes. I have a new album that was mostly finished before all of this happened. It will be dropping next month with a new song dedicated to my husband,” and Brendon even did the air quotations around husband.

“Can we get the name of it?” They asked and Brendon looked over at her.

“On air?” He asked and she seemed confused but nodded. He paused, thinking for a moment before nodding.

“It’ll be titled ‘Bleep a Silver Lining’ but the bleep won’t be there,” he said, both of them laughing.

“Thank you for keeping it appropriate. Anyway, that’s all the time we have for Brendon. Be sure to check out his latest album!”

Dallon turned his television off and then his phone.

He’d been name dropped on live television and angry fans were already finding his limited social media. He’d gotten notifications that he knew didn’t have any nice words and he didn’t want to deal with it.

Without alcohol, he didn’t know what to do with himself. Pete made his threat very clear and Dallon couldn’t risk losing Breezy, Brendon, and his kids.

He didn’t even know how much time had passed before Pete came into his house, finding Dallon staring at the wall, unmoving.

“How much have you had to drink?” Pete asked, sighing and looking for the bottle that he expected.

“Nothing unfortunately,” Dallon answered.

“Good,” Pete said as he sat down next to Dallon.

There was a long silence, both of them wanting to ask ‘what’s next?’ and Pete already had an answer.

“I had to fire you. After what Brendon said, we would lose so much business if I didn’t” he explained and Dallon didn’t give him time to finish.

“What the fuck, Pete? How am I going to work after that? Nobody is going to employ me after everything that Brendon said? He left no details out. He said my entire fucking name,” Dallon said, the panic finding him faster than he could have imagined. He was on the edge of crying.

“Dallon, be quiet and let me finish. I’m not going to throw you to the wolves. I publically fired you but everyone who works with me has known the full story from the beginning. So as of today, you are not employed. But, as the owner of my own fucking label, I will allow you to volunteer and I may slip some compensation under the table,” he said and Dallon sighed.

“Should I find a cheaper place to live?” He asked and Pete laughed.

“No, Dallon. You will be making the same amount. I just need the media to think you’ve been fired. That’s all,” he said and Dallon nodded.

It wasn’t ideal, really, but it would have to do.

“He dedicated a song to me?” Dallon asked and it was Pete’s turn to sigh.

“Don’t listen to it.”

The album dropped the next month and Dallon didn’t take Pete’s advice. Curiosity got the best of him and he opened YouTube and found the song. He read one comment before deciding that he didn’t need to read anymore hate about himself.

(Fuck A) Silver Lining, with the title alone, already made Dallon feel like he might cry. A silver lining was supposed to be the good in all the bad. Brendon had even been his silver lining but it seemed that the feeling wasn’t mutual.

The lyrics weren’t much better. Even if Brendon hadn’t said it on live television that this song wasn’t about his time with Dallon, Dallon would have known. Brendon had pointed out how often Dallon said “cherries on top” and, well, the amount of times it was said in the song made it really clear.

Dallon didn’t know when he started crying or when he felt the urge to reach for a drink. He called Pete instead. He sniffled as Pete picked up.

“You listened to it, didn’t you?” He asked, already knowing.

“Come over? I don’t feel good,” he said and Pete showed up ten minutes later.

“Thank you for being such a good friend,” Dallon said, curled up on the couch next to Pete. There was a bad television show on that Dallon wasn’t paying attention to but it was better than the alternative. He knew he’d listen to that damned song on repeat in the same way he went through old photos of Breezy after she was gone. He’d get stuck in his memories and wind up with alcohol to wash them down and give him some peace from his brain.

But even after that night, Dallon was dumb. He couldn’t help himself.

He kept up with Brendon. Watched the success of his old (new?) life from afar. He saw that Brendon was back on his yacht in no time. There was a photo of him with a topless girl on his lap that circulated quickly, showing up on Dallon’s feed what seemed like every other post. He wanted to scream and call dibs but he couldn’t. Brendon wasn’t his, never was, and that fact hurt.

When Brendon came back to Dallon’s city on tour, Pete took his wallet for the night. He didn’t want Dallon drinking the night away like he’d done in the past but Pete couldn’t babysit him that night.

Maybe it was irresponsible but Dallon locked himself in his room. Knox and Amelie were just watching television when he left the room.

*

Knox and Amelie sat on the couch, staring blankly at cartoons. Knox was the one who started the plan.

“Dad is in our city again,” he whined, wiggling around on the couch. They’d kept their mouths shut about missing Brendon. They knew that their father wasn’t doing so good about it and they didn’t want to upset him but they were young. There was only so much they could do.

“Shh,” Amelie said, waving her hand in her brothers face because what could she do?

“Can we go see him? Maybe we can get Dad and Daddy back together,” he tried, earning himself another shh, “I don’t want Dad to be alone still.”

“Knox, what do you want to do then?” She asked, turning to face him. He sat there for a long time, his finger tapping his chin.

“Go see him?”

It was a plan only a child could come up with that involved lots of tears and begging. They were young enough to still be cute and their dad wasn’t paying enough attention to realize they’d snuck out.

They cried their way into a cab ride and cried their way into the venue, claiming their dad was still inside and they had to find him. Security didn’t know what to do so they ushered them inside.

They stood in the middle of the floor, looking around and trying to find Brendon. It was all but clear by then and still no sign of him. A man approached them, eyebrows raised.

“Why aren’t you with your parents?” He asked and Knox started to cry again, clinging to Amelie like he’d done to get his way a few minutes ago.

“We can’t find them,” Amelie whimpered, looking up at him, “Do you have a phone we can borrow?”

“Follow me,” he said, taking Amelie’s hand and guiding her backstage. They walked through a few halls before they heard a familiar voice.

“Zack, where’d you put my shit?” Brendon yelled from the room he was inside of.

“Dude, watch it, I’ve got two lost kids who are gonna borrow my cell,” Zack yelled back.

“What the..” Brendon started, walking out of the room. He looked to Zack first and then down to the kids with him, recognizing them immediately. His expression softened when he saw them, a small smile on the corner of his lips before he forced it into a frown.

“What are you two doing here? Where’s Dallon?” He asked sternly, the name seeming to ring a bell with Zack, too.

“These are the little shits?” He asked and Brendon glared up at Zack.

“Your turn to watch it, they didn’t do anything wrong,” he said, defending the two kids in front of him, “Come in here. We’re gonna call Dallon and then you two are going home and straight to bed.”

“You aren’t our dad,” Amelie said, trying to defy Brendon. She felt bad when she saw the look on his face and how visibly defeated he looked. She bit her lip to keep from saying anything else.

“Here’s the phone,” he said, letting her dial.

*

“Hello?” Dallon answered his phone, not expecting a phone call this late at night.

“Daddy, can you come pick us up?” Amelie asked. Dallon was confused, not sure why he’d pick her up when they hadn’t gone anywhere. He jumped out of bed, checking the whole house for them and not finding them at all.

“Amelie, where the hell are you?” He yelled, grabbing at his hair as he searched for his keys.

“We went to Dad’s show,” she said and it broke Dallon’s heart too to think about Brendon.

“I hope you know there are going to be punishments for you when you two get home,” he said as he hung up and walked out to his car.

Dallon found Zack waiting at the front entrance. He knew it had to be someone close to Dallon when the man glared at him.

It was a silent walk through the halls and Dallon could sense how much Zack hated his guts. He thought it was fair.

They stopped in front of a room and he could hear his kids and Brendon laughing and it hurt. He didn’t want to take them away from Brendon, take Brendon away from them. It seemed like Brendon really liked them and well, they seemed to like Brendon too. He stepped into room and everyone turned to look at him, smiles falling from their faces. Dallon felt like the bad guy.

“Hey, go out with Zack, he’ll let you play with my guitars,” Brendon said, shooing them off. Zack didn’t look pleased about babysitting duty but he did as he was told.

Dallon sat down on the couch that was in the room, keeping his distance from Brendon.

“Why?” Was all he asked and Dallon let out a sigh.

“I don’t expect you to ever understand. Hell, I don’t even understand. You got me fired from my last job and I was already struggling with money since Breezy died,” he started and Brendon held up his hands.

“Wait, that whole bit about your wife was true?” He asked and Dallon nodded.

“Everything was true except marrying you, can I finish?” He asked and Brendon nodded. “I was mad at you cause not gonna lie, you were a douche. I went out drinking with Pete cause I’ve known him since before Breezy. He was about to sign me when Breezy was diagnosed so I said no. We saw that you had fallen overboard and we were drunk off our asses. He said it as a joke and then they were asking on the news for anyone who knew anything. I know being drunk doesn’t excuse what happened but if I had been sober, I’d never have called. But I did and I felt like if I didn’t show up it would upset you. Thinking your husband didn’t want you because you lost your memory.”

Brendon sat down, staring at the floor. His face was blank, unsure of what to make of everything.

“You told me you loved me,” Brendon said, not looking up to Dallon still.

“You told me that too,” Dallon countered, not sure where Brendon expected him to go with that statement.

“Yeah, I did- do- I still fucking love you and it pisses me off,” Brendon said, sitting on his hands in an effort to keep still.

“I wasn’t lying about that either. I do love you,” he said, looking away from Brendon because he felt ashamed.

“I wish I could say that that wasn’t me,” Brendon mumbled, sighing and leaning back into the couch. Dallon didn’t know how to respond. There was an awkward tension in the air that had both of them uncomfortable. Neither knew what to do or what to say. What could they say?

“I should put them to bed,” Dallon said, standing up. He didn’t want to be there and impose on Brendon anymore. He’d already fucked the guys life up.

“You know,” Brendon started as Dallon reached the door, “I wasn’t happy on that yacht. Sure, I had all these girls but I wasn’t happy. Did you know that I wanted a family? I wanted kids,” he said and Dallon’s shoulders slumped. He turned around to look at Brendon.

“But not mine?” He asked and he wasn’t sure if he was asking Brendon to come back home with him or not.

“That’s the thing. I love them. I was so angry at you so I left and I miss them, I miss you,” he started, the anger still underneath his skin but there was a softer part of him that was telling the truth.

“When ya gonna say my name?” Brendon asked and Dallon recognized it from the song immediately. He thought that it was some sort of sick joke to remind Dallon that he’d been the one causing all of this mess.

“Brendon Urie,” he whispered, shame creeping up his neck.

“When ya gonna say my name?” He asked again and Dallon was confused. Was he not loud enough? Was this some sort of shame tactic?

“Brendon Urie,” he said a bit louder.

“When ya gonna say my name?” Brendon asked again and it was starting to bother him. An idea came to his head.

“Brendon Weekes?” He tried and Brendon nodded.

“Maybe we could try and figuring something out?” Brendon tried and Dallon gave him a small smile.

“I think that I would like that. I know Amelie and Knox would love it,” he said and they walked out together, finding an annoyed Zack with their two kids.

“Time for bed,” Brendon said and they both pouted.

“Daddy, are you coming home with us?” They asked and Dallon watched as Zack rolled his eyes. Brendon smiled at them before nodding.

“Yeah. Your dad and I have a lot of things to discuss and I might not live with you for a little while but I’ll come over.”

The kids ran towards the entrance of the stadium, yelling as they did out of excitement.

“Zack, I don’t want to hear whatever the fuck you were about to say so keep it to yourself,” Brendon said, ignoring the glare that Zack gave them.

They started to walk away.

“Brendon, you’re making a giant fucking mistake,” Zack yelled after them and Brendon shrugged.

Brendon got into Dallon’s car, turning to look at Amelie and Knox.

“Buckle up,” he said before sitting in his seat correctly.

Things weren’t perfect and Dallon and Brendon had a lot of talking to do before things would even get close to perfect but it was a start. That was enough for Dallon.