Pretty. (Frerard, Petekey, Ryden, Peterick)

36: The Frerard Pizza (This Is Quite Possibly The Most Hectic Chapter Ever)

He'd told him not to come, but still, Dallon Weekes knew that Brendon Urie was sat in the waiting room like he knew that Brendon Urie was the owner of the world's biggest forehead.

Dallon could ignore just how massive Brendon Urie's forehead was for the simple hope that everything else was to scale downstairs, and still, Dallon shouldn't even be obsessing quite like this, and simply only after holding hands with the guy, but Dallon wasn't the guy who spent hours in a waiting room just to see some random guy who almost killed himself.

She's condescending, and he can read off the glasses pushed down to the tip of her nose, the way her eyebrows raised as she flicked through Dallon's medical records, and most importantly: her profession - therapist.

Dallon hated her already and they'd barely exchanged more than a simple hello, but still, Dallon was confident in his accusations, because if she had the confidence to look down upon him like that, then he had the confidence to react appropriately, or at least as he deemed appropriate, of course.

"Dallon." She finally decided to address him, after two minutes and forty seconds that he'd sat in silence for, and really, Dallon had counted - of course he had. "I'm Mrs Clit." It was the kind of name that warranted Dallon's confusion about whether this was a practical joke or not, but no one tended to pretend practical jokes on suicidal kids, because after all, just a confession of how you felt inside would change from a human being to a head case within seconds.

But it was then that Dallon actually decided to pay attention to 'Mrs Clit's name plaque: Wendy Elizabeth Teresa Clit - this fucking woman's name was motherfucking W.E.T. Clit: this was not for real, but from the stern gaze that Mrs C. was giving him, he couldn't help but hide his smirk and let her continue with whatever she was attempting to fill his head with right now.

"I'd like to play a game, Dallon." Dallon gave her a shrug, having been unaware that his therapist was jigsaw, but whatever, this would get interesting then at the very least then. "I'd like you to remember yourself waking up this morning and tell me what the first thing you thought of was."

And really, Dallon was just eternally thankful that he'd somehow found it impossible to get morning wood in a hospital bed.

"Breathing." His answer was vague and somewhat unhelpful, but with people like W.E.T. Clit, you just couldn't let them know that you were too keen, but the stern look in her eyes had Dallon continuing, and soon giving far more detail than he could ever possibly imagine. "Breathing in and out and making sure I was alive, and then my surroundings: count the walls, count the people- the time, and watch the clock for at least a minute, and lie there for at least a minute to ensure I remembered who I was, and then, then, I sat up and everything felt into rhythm, the day 'began' and I thought about Brendon and what he means to me, and how I haven't messed everything up you, and I thought about what would have happened if I'd died and how he'd feel right now, because everyone seems to think Brendon's heartless, but he's really not- he's not 'misunderstood': he's not the protagonist from a teenage vampire novel, he's just different around other people, I guess... anyway... I don't think he would have been okay without me, but he would, because he's Brendon, well not properly, he just would have been his usual, but I don't think his usual is at all okay..."

Dallon found himself looking directly at W.E.T. Clit and realising that he'd said entirely too much.

"You have a lot to get off your chest then?" She gave a patronising chuckle and a slight raise of her eyebrows. "Care to enlighten me as to exactly who Brendon is then?"

"My b- friend." And that was absolutely the most sinful case of no homo that Dallon had ever committed. "He has a massive forehead and it's almost distracting at times, but then again, he's kind of got a big head so that must be where he keeps it."