#rprdr fanfiction

[artificialqueens]

One of These Days (Biadore) - Tanawrites

A/N - I just love a terribly overused trope, sorry ‘bout it. Big thanks to @chaoticnachokitten my fav brainstorming partner.

Summary - Adore knows there’s nothing poetic or easy about being in love with her best friend.

-

When Adore met Bianca the first week of her freshman year, the air around her changed. It didn’t feel as heavy anymore, like something had shifted. Anything that possibly could align, did so perfectly. Bianca moved like she carried mountains on her shoulders, head held high but when her eyes strayed and locked on Adore’s in the middle of the hallway, an almost audible sound clicked into place; like it was intended to be that way all along.

Adore didn’t put a lot of merit into fate or coincidence, her heart already having experienced the inevitable break after the promise of forever shattered her family home. Whatever led her to Bianca, made Adore believe in something, even if it was sheer dumb luck. It was inexplicable between them. They were so different; Adore was a muddle of barely contained chaos and insecurity and Bianca with all the passion of someone who would throw her heart into anything she loved but all the fear of someone who was hidden behind walls higher than the mountains she moved. Nothing could compare to how they understood each other, when words didn’t come easy or saying them out loud didn’t feel like enough.

She’d never had a best friend until Bianca. Someone to squish into her bed with, pressed from shoulder to ankle. Sometimes with their hands clasped between them and talking until Adore’s mother peaked her head in to tell them to go to sleep.

As they got older,  it was Bianca pulling up to take Adore to her prom after Adore made a throwaway comment about wanting to go, corsage and all. It was spinning around the dance floor and Bianca dipping Adore dramatically, even though she’d always hated other people staring. It was Bianca understanding everything Adore couldn’t say out loud. It was every inside joke, every time Bianca answered the phone at seven in the morning to see Adore’s outfit or eat cereal on FaceTime. It was Bianca teaching Adore that her beauty was not skin deep, that her suffering didn’t mean she wasn’t brave. It was Adore dragging Bianca into the unknown, into living in the moment, into being vulnerable and bare. It was both of them being there when one of them was shaking so badly it felt like the room was spinning.

It was being there through the good, bad and everything in between.

Adore realised she loved Bianca in the summer before her senior year. Bianca had graduated a few weeks ago and since then, the reality of Bianca leaving and the weight of the fact that they were about to be apart for the first time in years sunk in. There was a silent promise between them to fill every last moment together. They’d said everything there was to say; Bianca’s mix of relief and fear, Adore’s excitement and the anxieties she tried to keep to herself before Bianca saw straight through her nonchalance. It was the first time the single year between them really made any difference. Adore had a whole year left of high school without her best friend, who had a shiny college acceptance and a plane ticket already booked.

And this love. It had crept up on Adore. It came slow, settling into the silence between them. Bianca had reached across and tucked away some of Adore’s hair, the way she had probably hundreds of times before and for the first time ever, the touch set her alight. It burned, not uncomfortably so and sent a wave of warmth from the top of her head to her toes. She didn’t realise she had been staring until Bianca waved the same hand in front of her face, cackling out a joke that Adore didn’t catch.

Adore was seventeen and she was scared but there was no doubt that love was laying right next to her, close enough to touch. She realised it had been staring at her right in the eyes. But it was also her best friend.

The same night she realised she was in love with Bianca, Adore swore to herself that she’d never act on the feelings that she suddenly felt in every inch of herself. Losing Bianca wouldn’t just be a hard rejection to swallow but it would also mean losing her best friend, a heartbreak she couldn’t recover from and Adore could freely admit to herself that she was too selfish to even consider losing Bianca.

It had hurt at the beginning. Her head (and her heart) was a mess of missing Bianca’s presence, of ache and pining. It didn’t come easy, accepting that she had feelings that could never be reciprocated but it eventually lulled into something that was manageable. Some days it was easier that Bianca was gone, when the sound of her voice was the only reminder of the feelings that stirred low in her stomach.

By the time Adore had graduated herself and had her bags packed to move into the two-bedroom apartment Bianca had found for them, it didn’t hurt as much. In fact, it only came in waves that were few and far between.

Sometimes it was when Adore was Bianca’s plus one to one of her cousin’s weddings because getting an actual date wasn’t nearly as fun as taking her best friend. Sometimes it was when Bianca was still studying and they were in the library. Adore would glance at Bianca who was meticulous as she poured herself into her work, hunched over the desk and wearing glasses she refused to wear in front of anybody else. When they would catch each other’s gaze from across the room or their shared table and even amongst all the people there, Adore felt like Bianca was the only one to see her. When she felt like with a single look, Bianca was speaking directly to her in a language entirely of their own. When she caught her gaze following the curve of Bianca’s lips when she smiled.

Those moments were hard but Adore had become an expert at suppressing those feelings, so much so that some days she even questioned if they were ever there to begin with. Adore spent a lot of her early college years intoxicated enough to keep kissing the wrong people, making rash decisions and doing anything to distract her heart. To distract herself from missing someone who was right in front of her.

There was only one time that Adore thought maybe Bianca could maybe reciprocate her feelings. Once that Adore let hope inch its way into her heart.

One night, when their high school graduations were merely a faint memory of missing each other and Skype calls and they were stumbling back to their shared apartment, celebrating the last of Adore’s exams. There was a party later in the week but tonight had been just the two of them, the bar they’d frequented and too many celebratory drinks. Bianca’s head was on her shoulder and Adore was giggling as she attempted to direct them towards the elevator. It made her stumble when she felt Bianca’s hands against her hips grasping and pushing until Adore was flush against the far wall.

Then the room was spinning for entirely different reasons.

“I love you so much.”

Bianca’s voice was rougher than usual thanks to a generous bartender who’d kept a drink in front of them all night but it was music to Adore’s ears.

“I love you too.”

Adore’s reply was automatic, it was never a question of loving Bianca. Unconditionally, irrevocably so. Bianca knew her better than anybody, really knew her and accepted her, believed in her, who made her feel more like Adore than she’d ever felt before. That there was this connection between them that Bianca laughed about whenever Adore brought it up but always agreed, after her teasing.

“I love you.”

Three words were breathed against Adore’s skin, muffled from how Bianca was nuzzling her face against deeper in her neck and her own breath caught in her throat. The way Bianca’s lips were tantalizingly brushing against the columns of her neck wasn’t helping either.

“Come on, B. Let’s get you into bed.”

It was rare, if ever, that Adore was the voice of reason between them but Bianca was drunk and handsy. It was even less often that Adore was the less intoxicated one out of them. The dust of a kiss against her throat had Adore sobering up fast though and she attempted to haul both of them out of the elevator now they were on their floor.

“You’re not listening to me.”

Bianca was obviously displeased but her tone held none of her usual bite so Adore kept pushing until they were in their apartment. She’d managed to wrangle Bianca into her bedroom but as she went to set Bianca down on the bed, Adore felt a persistent hand wrap around her elbow and tug. It sent them both onto the bed in a mess of limbs and Adore winced at the awkward angle her arm was trapped under Bianca in.

“Shit, are you hurt?”

Adore’s voice came out panicked and she tried to right herself, pushing up with her free arm but Bianca’s grip was stubborn. She only stopped the frantic movements when Bianca’s familiar cackle silenced her worries.

She sighed, an exasperated sigh but one full of unyielding affection. She was never tired of Bianca.

“This…you…this is everything.”

Bianca didn’t even seem like she was talking to her anymore but Adore was following every word, her brain repeating a familiar mantra to her heart to combat the rising hope in her chest. She doesn’t love you that way. She’s your best friend. That’s enough, that’s more than enough. More than you deserve.

With Bianca’s forehead pressed to her own and hands that were desperately trying to pull her even closer, it would be all too easy to forget.

Her hand squeezed between them to brush Bianca’s hair out of her eyes, shaking her head.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re my best friend too, B.”

“No, listen.”

Now there was Bianca - the one who spoke with a tone that almost dared Adore to argue with her.

“C’mere. I want…I need you. Closer.”

The hand that was pulling on the back of her neck, Bianca trying to nudge her cheek further into Adore’s hand that was frozen, hovering near her face. It was all too much, too right and too wrong all at once.

She couldn’t recognise the look in Bianca’s eyes, sometime she hadn’t seen before. That didn’t usually happen. They had years behind them of mapping out every expression, every look, every nervous tick. They knew what every single one meant, even the new ones like how Adore’s fingers were restless when she wanted a cigarette or the steel of Bianca’s shoulders before she said something deflective. But this, whatever was swimming in Bianca’s gaze wasn’t something Adore could read.

Adore swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. If she truly thought Bianca wanted her, Adore would lay down everything she had, herself included. She would strip away the layers around her heart to say that she was scared and that she didn’t know what love was but it seemed to look a lot like how Bianca’s mouth curved when she called Adore an asshole for running late or how even their deep breaths after laughing too hard seemed to be in sync or how there wasn’t another soul in the whole universe who has ever made Adore half the person she was when she was with Bianca. Or maybe it was before she only believed in love because of Bianca.

But she had to consider the slur of Bianca’s words, the haze in her eyes. How much they’d had to drink tonight and this was her best friend.

This wasn’t anything like she had pictured, all those years ago when she allowed her mind to toy with the idea of what if before she realised it was a delicious torture; the sweetest taste of what could be and the sting of what never would. Tonight was nothing like that at all.

It was barely a struggle, Adore knew what she needed to do.

“Bianca, let me go get you some water.”

In the next heartbeat, Adore was standing beside the bed. Her hands were shaking so she tucked them behind her back as she started backing towards the door. She interrupted Bianca’s complaints and grabbing hands with a shake of her head.

“We’ll talk in the morning, ok? I promise.”

Bianca seemed to be placated by that, knowing neither of them ever broke a promise. At least not to each other.

Adore slipped out of the room and took a few steadying breaths, slumped against the wood. By the time she was back with painkillers and a glass of water, Bianca was fast asleep.

They don’t talk in the morning.

-

When Bianca introduced Adore to her new girlfriend two weeks later, her whole world was swept out from under her feet.

Neither of them had ever had a real significant other. There had been flings but boyfriends, girlfriends and one-night-stands alike came and went. Neither of them were the type to settle down. Adore was far too busy chasing anyone who could make her feel something and moving on when it didn’t quite fill the space she needed it to.

Bianca was guarded, never vulnerable and always seemed like she had one foot out the door from the get-go with her relationships.

It shouldn’t hurt her feelings so much, not with the knowledge of Bianca’s track record tucked away as a silent comfort in the back of her mind. Not with the constant reminder that Bianca had been drinking that night, that she didn’t mean what she said to Adore and that best friends was the only label she needed from Bianca.

Things with Bianca felt raw and vulnerable again after the drunken night that Adore seemed to be the only one to remember. It had been a few weeks and Adore was still working through forgetting the neediness of Bianca’s hands, the pure want in her voice.

Those same hands were now curled around a different slim waist in their kitchen and whispering things into somebody else’s ear, with blonde hair carefully tucked behind. Adore would usually tease Bianca about it later but right now, hearing Bianca’s casually slip her new relationship status into conversation was turning her stomach. The timing couldn’t be worse.

Courtney was nice. All tan skin, big blue eyes and a humour not dissimilar to her own. If they’d met under other circumstances, Adore knew they would get along. To Bianca’s dismay, Adore often got along with the people who were supposed to be forgotten by morning or at least by the end of the month.

This time, she was avoiding Bianca’s sharp warning gaze as Adore brushed over the introduction and carried on getting her breakfast.

-

Over the next few days, she avoided talking about it every time Bianca attempted to confront her, which was often. She was either late for a shift at her part-time job or busy sending around her resume, now updated with her recent degree so she could stop working as a bartender. She even bailed on their weekly movie night, a tradition that stood through their year-long separation in high school, every college finals week, every summer and every holiday break.

She couldn’t look at Bianca without feeling hurt. She was angry; angry at Bianca, angry when Courtney was in their apartment and trying to talk to her. Mostly angry at herself. She’d spent years building up roadblocks and barriers to stop herself feeling this way and it had all come apart in one night.

Eventually after she’d tried to talk to Adore a handful of times, Bianca stormed off with her hands on her hips and muttering about how Adore better be civil since Courtney would be over again soon. The thought of another night listening to Courtney’s poorly stifled giggles through their shared bedroom wall didn’t just hurt, it had Adore’s stomach turning.

Adore was no stranger to running away from her problems. She had run away from her family’s looming issues, from her hometown that neither she or Bianca had returned to since graduating, from her own thoughts and feelings when they were too overwhelming to deal with, from people who tried to get too close to her; shying away from anything that she didn’t think she’d be able to recover from. But now, for the first time in their friendship, Adore ran from Bianca.

Her fingers typed out a text before she had the chance to properly consider it, an overnight bag tossed over her shoulder and a brief goodbye to Bianca, sans an explanation for why she suddenly had plans.

-

“I just don’t see why they have to be there in my apartment.”

“Now you sound stupid. Don’t you remember all the jokes about Willam’s ass on your kitchen bench?”

Adore did remember. It had been after a night of drinking, she and Bianca had split off with their friends. Adore tugged Willam into a club after whining about wanting to dance for the previous hour while everyone else went to a different bar. Bianca didn’t let either of them live it down after she came home to find them, making them both bleach the entire kitchen the next morning while Alaska laughed on the couch as they recounted the story. Bianca hadn’t laughed but it still seemed light-hearted.

It was different, it was Willam and they had all been friends for a few years at that point. It meant nothing for either of them. It wasn’t someone new and shiny with an interesting accent and a knack for making Bianca laugh.

Adore groaned into the pillow, the only response she had for Alaska’s drawl. She was basking in her own hypocrisy, stubbornly refusing to admit to herself let alone out loud what she knew from the moment she shrugged off Courtney’s attempt to talk to her.

She had made a choice years ago that nothing was more important than her friendship with Bianca, not her own feelings and especially not the new uncomfortable feelings of jealousy.

A sigh fell from her lips as Alaska’s hand tugged away the cushion, smoothing down Adore’s mussed hair. She was ready to protest, to moan that she didn’t particularly care just yet if she was in the wrong but Alaska cut her off with a knowing look.

“You could always just tell her, you know.”

“Tell her what?”

“That you love her.”

Alaska spoke so matter of fact, glanced so casually at her long manicure that Adore gaped at her for a moment, all self-pity forgotten.

When the silence between them drew out and Adore realised Alaska wasn’t going to elaborate on it anymore, something Adore usually appreciated about Alaska’s friendship, her jaw snapped shut and she grabbed for the pillow again.

“I can’t.”

-

“Don’t push me away, you’re my best friend.”

“I’m not- god, Bianca. Just leave it alone.”

Adore could count on one hand how many times she and Bianca had fought. Really fought, the kind that left her throat raw and dry. They had all ended the same way, an eventual mutual forgiveness even if they continued to disagree (which they often did) because despite both their stubborn streaks, their friendship ran deeper.

When she returned from Alaska and Willam’s apartment, her unused bag in her hand and an apology waiting on her lips, she was expecting to have to apologise to Courtney. She wasn’t prepared for a pacing Bianca in an otherwise empty apartment and an anger that was palpable.

“I know there’s something you’re not telling me!”

As Bianca’s voice rose, so did Adore’s own temper. Bianca knew her by heart. It was infuriating her that Bianca knew her by heart. That she knew every tell of Adore’s body language, that she knew exactly what to say to antagonise her just enough for Adore to retaliate.

“So fucking what? I don’t have to tell you everything.”

The brief flash of hurt across Bianca’s face didn’t last long enough for their fight to diffuse, for Adore to buckle and apologise or for Bianca to admit what she was actually feeling.

Instead it was merely fuel added to the flame and Bianca flung her arms out in exasperation.

“Is it something to do with Courtney?”

It was Adore’s turn to see red. Adore always felt in extremes. Like there was electricity running through her veins and anger was no exception to that, all thoughts of making up and apologising had evaporated. Anger came in currents for Adore, crashing around her in outbursts that she would later come to regret but in the moment, nothing could stop her path.

She was too immersed in the fight, in her own emotions to catch herself the way she usually would. Her private feelings were buried deep and neglected and had no place in their arguments but this time, there wasn’t any containing it.

Bianca’s comment had visibly struck a nerve. Before Bianca could register the jealousy swimming in her eyes or pounce on it as a sign of weakness, Adore bit back.

They both had dangerous mouths. Bianca often found herself in trouble from her sharp, unapologetic tongue. The only difference between them was everything Bianca said was calculated. Adore was pure impulse.

“No it’s not about your pick of the week. Is there a reason she’s not here? Did she ask you to commit for longer than a month or something?”

Adore hadn’t just crossed the line, she had pole-vaulted over it. Their mutual commitment issues were off the table, at least as ammunition in an argument. They both knew each other well enough that it stemmed from something that happened long before they’d met each other, ingrained from some of their first examples of love and commitment and what could be left in its wake. It was reserved for quiet, serious conversations.

Adore ignored the stabs of guilt and continued, before Bianca could get a word in.

(Before Bianca could say something that would cut Adore a lot deeper.)

“Just, trust me. You don’t want to know so leave it.”

Adore was positive of that. If she let her feelings spill out into the space between them, if she held all her yearning and want up to the light. Their friendship couldn’t survive that kind of truth and even with all the love, the purest kind, it would slip away through the tatters of broken trust.

“Try me.”

Arms crossed over her chest, Bianca steeled herself for the retort. Adore might have been reckless during a fight but not unpredictable. Bianca was equally as stubborn, her hard and cold exterior a stark contrast. She had already weighed the possibilities as she continued to ignite the argument, the flames dancing around both of them now. For a moment she vaguely considered if she’d pushed it too far in trying to get Adore to simply open up to her.

It was too late to backtrack and a stubbornness stopped her anyway. Now Bianca merely felt like a witness now rather than an active party anymore as she watched the frustration rise in Adore’s eyes and knew for sure she’d pushed too much, too soon. Adore’s anger could result in a handful of things. Hot, angry tears that ran silently down her face, yelling that came from deep in her chest or she could get physical. Never with another person, never with Bianca but with things. Throwing her phone or punching the wall until her knuckles were bruised and bleeding.

“Remember, you fucking asked for it.”

In a single breath, Adore had crossed the distance between them and was standing right in front of Bianca. Before either of them could react, Adore kissed her. She kissed her like Bianca was river and she was dying of thirst. There was an argument in her head but she kissed her hard, because she’d been waiting and wanting to do it for so long.

It wasn’t like her teenage daydreams of holding Bianca’s face delicately, kissing tentatively and gently as they mapped out the uncharted territory.

This was hard and possessive and above all else, an answer. It wasn’t careful or soft, it was a hand clutching the back of Bianca’s neck and messy, all tongue and teeth. It was Adore begging Bianca to understand and for a moment before she drew away, it felt like Bianca’s hands were gripping her hips just as hard, fingers digging into her skin.

Adore felt her heart break, almost in preparation as she pulled back. She didn’t go far, forehead nearly pressed to Bianca’s. Anger had passed, the burn simmered down to something else. Fear, replacing the currents vibrating her body into something frozen, unmoving.

“I nearly told you, once. But when you woke up you didn’t bring it up and…”

Adore’s explanation faded off as Bianca’s hands slipped from her waist and almost as quickly as she had initiated the kiss, Bianca turned and left.

She didn’t say anything.

-

The click of the front door echoed and Adore didn’t turn until she stopped hearing the sound. She glanced around the apartment and everything looked exactly the same. Her shoes in a pile by the door next to Bianca’s neatly lined in pairs. A photo of them on the bookshelf from the previous Christmas where Adore pressed their cheeks together and a brightly coloured hat on each of their heads. There was the coffee table they had (painfully) built together and cluttered with knick knacks Adore had begged for them to get at a thrift store.

Everything looked exactly the same but nothing was the same. Not anymore.

Adore’s eyes were locked on the door, not straying from the chipped paint as she counted.

There wasn’t a particular number she was looking for, just for the handle to turn and for Bianca to come back.

Not once but twice today, they had walked out on each other. On their friendship.

This was the exact reason Adore had kept her feelings to herself all these years, to avoid this feeling right here. Like there was something pushing heavily against her chest and for the first time, there was nothing waiting to catch her, no steadying hands or comforting words.

The argument wasn’t at all how it was supposed to happen. On the walk back to their apartment, Adore had practised her speech. Her apology was authentic, the regret for how she had acted clear to her even before the fight. A promise to get along with Bianca’s girlfriend, a silent reassurance to herself that this feeling of hope shadowed by disappointment would eventually fade.

As seconds turned into minutes, Adore had enough sense to move to the couch before her knees buckled under her weight. She dropped her head to her hands, eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to get the room to stop spinning around her.

Surprisingly, no tears came. Regret had risen and felt trapped in her throat, stopping any noise from escaping. Before Adore succumbed to the pull of the raw emotions that made her want to scream, to wash away any memory of Bianca on her skin as if it would make it hurt less, she pushed herself to her feet again.

She couldn’t stop to think about what it would mean if Bianca didn’t come back or worse, what was inevitably going to happen if Bianca did come back.

Adore stopped counting as she wandered around the apartment in search of something to distract her shaking hands.

-

“What are you doing?”

Bianca’s voice rang over the sound of Adore clanging in the kitchen.

The illusion of normalcy shattered as soon as Bianca rounded the corner to find Adore on the floor, surrounded by the contents of one of their kitchen drawers.

She froze, a spatula in one hand and a whisk she swore neither of them had ever used before in the other. If Bianca was feeling even a fraction of the anxiety Adore was, she didn’t show it. A confused look plagued her expression as she looked between Adore and the clutter around her but Adore couldn’t read anything else on her face.

That made her even more nervous. She could face Bianca’s anger, the very worst of the wrath but stepping into the unknown? Adore didn’t know how to brace her heart for that.

“You always complain you can never find anything in this drawer.”

A few seconds of silence passed between them and briefly, a flash of amusement curled the corners of Bianca’s lips. It was gone as quickly as it appeared though and Adore considered it to be no more than a habit, years of their fights never being too serious that they couldn’t laugh at each other or themselves if the moment called for it.

“We need to talk.”

Adore nodded silently and abandoned the mess of utensils on the floor to follow Bianca to the couch.

-

By the time the both of them were on opposite sides of the couch, bodies turned in to face one another, Adore had lost what little nerve she had left.

There was a part of her that ached to blubber out an apology, to swear nothing had to change and that she was an idiot for kissing Bianca. There was a bigger part though, one that had started to build up a shield from the whole situation, knowing the hurt was going to come no matter what and that kept her quiet as she attempted to brace for the impact.

“What did you mean I didn’t bring it up the next day?”

Adore’s gaze lifted, like a glimpse of Bianca would confirm if she heard right. It was her first instinct to question it, to ask Bianca to repeat it and elaborate so that she would have more time to think about her own response. If Bianca’s hard expression was anything to go off, that wasn’t the right move. Adore waited until the words tasted right in her mouth before she spoke.

“When you woke up, we didn’t talk about what had happened. You didn’t…you just made a joke about the bartender and that was it.”

“To lighten the mood!”

The outburst was nothing like their earlier fight, an instant apology on Bianca’s lips that Adore brushed over. Her mind was racing as it processed the new information, a welcome distraction from the lingering uneasiness as they started the conversation.

“What are you saying? That…you wanted me to bring it up?”

“You were looking at me like somebody had died or something and I thought it would make you laugh and relax a little.”

Bianca deflected the question, continuing on with her initial explanation, a frown forming between her brows as she spoke.

“B, did you want us to talk about it?”

Adore didn’t know whether it was the familiar nickname on her lips or the sudden assertiveness in her tone that stopped Bianca but finally, dark eyes met her gaze again. With a sigh, Adore visibly watched the layers of Bianca’s armour peel back to reveal a candor vulnerability that only emerged when one of them really needed it to. This time, Adore didn’t know who it was for more, for her or Bianca herself.

“You promised we would.”

That night weeks ago now, Adore had laid awake for hours. She considered every route the conversation the next morning could go down. Some were promising, others gut-wrenching but she felt ready. At least until Bianca seemingly brushed off her hours of contemplation and concern with a single joke.

It had never occurred to her that Bianca may have been as equally as nervous for the conversation as she was.

She hadn’t been mad at her best friend for dismissing the topic, accepting it as a moment of loneliness or confusion, the lines of their close relationship briefly blurred between friends and lovers. Adore knew she was happy whichever side she ended up on, as long as Bianca would have her.

She was mad at herself now though, as she listened to Bianca lay out the truth between them.

“You promised and then when we didn’t talk, I thought that meant you didn’t feel the same way.”

There was an audible strain in Bianca’s voice, Adore picking up on it immediately. She wanted to reach for Bianca’s hand. Nothing felt too scary to say when they were palm to palm but she hesitated.

It was the most blunt either of them had been yet and it was scary. Falling in love with Bianca was a double-edge sword, no heartbreak comparable to the one of losing your best friend.

After a moment of conflict, she reached across the distance between them for Bianca’s hand. Their fingers laced together and she sent a reassuring squeeze through the grip, relieved when she received a brush of Bianca’s thumb across her knuckles.

“I thought you were trying to be nice about…I don’t know, letting me down gently?”

Adore cringed after her admission but watched the relief relax Bianca’s features, letting the tension go from her own shoulders.

“So we’re both idiots.”

“Duh.”

It slipped out before she could stop it, both of them sharing a smile over the familiar sentiment. It was enough for Adore to take a deep breath and speak openly.

“I wanted to kiss you back that night but not like that. Not when I wasn’t sure if you were sure, if you wanted me like that or not.”

Sometimes Adore felt like she spoke in circles, never truly saying what she meant but Bianca was like her personal translator, rarely having to ask questions.

“I loved you long before I had the guts to let you know that night.”

“I-”

“No, Adore. Let me finish. I’m in love with you. That’s what I should have told you that night - or any night before then. I wanted to tell you, really but…I was scared. We both know what that stupid word does to people and I can’t lose you.”

“I…I love you too. For a long time but I didn’t tell you either. You’re my best friend and I never imagined that you would feel the same and…it’s obvious I’d pick missing out on that chance if it meant I still got to have you around.”

Once their admissions had settled in the air between them, neither of them knowing what else to say, Adore couldn’t help but laugh. A relieved, disbelieving sound filling the space.

It didn’t feel like fireworks in her chest once it was out in the open, just like it hadn’t been love at first sight. They were each other’s shoulder to cry on, a faithful comrade through every monster who was too scary to face alone. It was knowing each other’s best and worst habits, the ability to make each other laugh on their darkest nights. It was hearing Bianca’s voice as a lullaby, the raspy tones more comforting than any cradle song from her childhood. Love had never been part of the equation but it came nonetheless, slowly filling her chest with warmth.

Eventually, after Bianca had joined in the laughter, they fell into each other, meeting in a fumbling embrace in the middle of the couch. Adore let her head lull on the back of the couch, gaze turned up toward the ceiling before her eyes fell closed.

“We still need to talk about this…figure out what it all means.”

“In the morning?”

Adore felt Bianca’s head settle back as well, tilted so their foreheads were slightly touching and she leaned into the contact.

“You promise?”

“I promise, B.”

This time, they talk in the morning.

-

[artificialqueens]

Wondrous Creature (Branjie) - Athena2

Summary: Brooke and Vanessa are roommates crushing on each other, both with no idea that the other likes them back, or that the other isn’t human.

A/N: I am officially in the spooky mood and finished this to celebrate it! This is loosely based on the web comic “Fangs” by Sarah C. Andersen. This is pretty weird and chaotic, so apologies in advance. I would love any feedback or comments if you have any, though! Writ is the best beta and brainstorming partner and I love them. Title from Monster by Florence + the Machine.

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“Brooke!��� Vanessa sighs in relief when her roommate shuffles in, tossing her purse on the kitchen table, shoulders dropping after her overnight shift.

“What?” Brooke asks around a yawn.

“Have you seen my black boots?” Vanessa’s been sliding around the apartment in her pizza socks, toothbrush dangling from her mouth, because her boots are not in her closet where she’s fairly sure she left them. But if anyone will know where they are, it’s Brooke. She could find anything from boots to keys like a bloodhound.

Brooke’s eyebrows wrinkle as she thinks. “Did you check under your bed?”

“Oh!” Toothpaste flies out of her mouth and splats on the floor, and Brooke rolls her eyes fondly before wiping it.

“You’d lose your head if it wasn’t attached to you,” Brooke mutters.

“I know!” Vanessa runs to her room and peeks under her bed. There, past Riley’s elephant chew toy and her old knee brace and a bag of chips, are her black boots.

Vanessa happily puts them on, and Brooke snorts behind her.

“You could make a game out of finding stuff under your bed,” Brooke teases. “Two points for clothes, three points for food.”

“Five points if the food is still edible.”

“Vanessa, don’t you dare eat those chips–”

Vanessa removes her toothbrush and crunches as loud as she can, making eye contact with Brooke all the while. Even with the lingering minty taste, the chips are still good. But even if they weren’t, she still wouldn’t be harmed, for reasons Brooke doesn’t–and can’t–know.

“Okay, how about you brush your teeth for real, in the bathroom?” Brooke suggests, and Vanessa nods.

They stand side-by-side in front of the sink, because Brooke brushes her teeth after work every morning for some reason. Vanessa doesn’t mind. It’s nice having the bathroom to herself for most of the morning, not having to fight for shower times or counter space. This little routine is enough, and Vanessa likes the rhythm they sink into, the way Brooke sways along to Vanessa’s Get-Ready Spotify playlist, the way Brooke grins at her in the mirror. Today, the grin is wider than normal, and Vanessa’s grip slips, toothbrush swiping across her cheek and sending Brooke into a fit of laughter.

They spit in the sink, and Vanessa sees drops of bright red clinging to the porcelain.

“You’re bleeding,” Vanessa says.

“I am?” Brooke shrugs. “Must’ve brushed too hard.” She rinses the sink, tells Vanessa to have a good day, and collapses into bed, the frame squeaking under her weight. She’ll get a few hours of sleep, Vanessa knows, before waking up and writing. She does fashion and news pieces for some media site—she told Vanessa it’s like a low-budget Buzzfeed—and her stuff’s pretty good, from what Vanessa’s looked up on nights she was bored, desperate to have more of Brooke through words on her phone screen. Brooke likes her job, even if she has to work overnight grocery store shifts to keep herself afloat. Vanessa thinks of Brooke curled up in bed and wishes she could help her sleep more, get rid of those gray circles constantly under her eyes.

But Vanessa will be late soon, and she grabs her travel coffee mug and heads to work, thinking too much about Brooke’s smile and the blood in the sink.

Maybe she isn’t the only one in the apartment with secrets.

—

Brooke wakes around 2 with both cats sprawled across her legs. She sits up and pets them absent-mindedly; the cats had to stay in her room because Vanessa is super allergic, “sneezin’ and wheezin’ and itchin’ allergic, Mary,” in her words. It’s easier for everyone to just keep the cats sequestered to Brooke’s room; she gets to cuddle them more, and everyone gets to avoid Vanessa’s sneezes, which are loud enough to send small children running in fright.

She pulls out her laptop and checks her work emails, making notes for her new piece. Nina runs the media site—West’s Best, home to culture, fashion, humor, and more, according to the description Brooke wrote—and Brooke is one of her best writers. But in the name of Brooke’s secret, she lets Vanessa think she’s an underpaid intern, scraping for any piece she can get. She doesn’t like lying, but it’s a necessary evil; under the cover of her “overnight job,” she’s free to spend her nights with her friends, doing things Vanessa can’t ever know.

The blood this morning was a rare slip-up—a remnant from last night’s drink. Brooke has to be more careful. It’s been six months since Vanessa moved in, and Brooke knows she doesn’t suspect anything about her being a vampire.

Hiding it isn’t as hard as Brooke thought it would be. The overnight job lie takes care of most of it, and Brooke stores her blood supply at Nina’s, because she doesn’t think she could lie her way out of that if Vanessa found it. She keeps stories about her past generic, mentioning that she used to dance but not that the dancing took place in a speakeasy 100 years ago. Or how she rode horses sometimes as a kid, leaving out that they were an actual mode of transportation. She’s sure Vanessa doesn’t mind the lack of details; her own stories are over the top enough for both of them, making Brooke laugh until her stomach hurts.

So no, not hard. Just a tiny secret. Though one that’s growing hard to keep, admittedly, because of another secret.

She has a crush on Vanessa.

The crush is a recent development, though her friends insist Brooke’s had feelings for longer, brought on by Vanessa asking opinions on outfits and nights yelling at reality shows together and all the times Vanessa lets her towel hang a little too low after a shower. Brooke’s never been around someone so fun and lively, who finds joy in something as simple as fresh laundry, burying her face in warm, lavender-scented clothes.

But secret number two has to remain secret because of secret number one, obviously, and Brooke just ignores those feelings. Her heart’s been cold a century, after all; it’s not hard to do.

Her phone buzzes with a text.

Vanessa: Can we make grilled cheese tonight?

Two emojis follow it: a loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese.

Vanessa: There’s no grilled cheese emoji but you get the idea

Brooke grins, and she thinks her dead heart skips a beat.

—

“This is one of the best grilled cheeses I’ve ever had! You could open a grilled cheese food truck,” Vanessa says around a mouthful of bread.

Brooke shakes her head. “Sometimes I swear you were raised by wolves.”

Vanessa crosses her arms and pouts indignantly, but there’s a glimmer in her eyes, like a laugh she won’t let escape.

“Just ‘cause you drink tea with your pinky curled—“

“I do not.”

“Do so.”

Brooke smiles, taking a bite of her own sandwich. Vampires could eat human food, and Brooke likes to. It just doesn’t fill her the way animal blood does. But she’ll make up for it tonight, while Vanessa thinks she’s at work.

“Oh, that vanity you ordered came today,” Brooke says.

“Yes!” Vanessa fist-pumps the air. “Wanna help me put it together?”

Brooke thinks of the time she helped Nina put together her bedroom set and wound up with a giant splinter in her thumb, a smashed finger from Nina’s lousy aim with the hammer, and a bag of extra screws that Brooke hopes to this day weren’t important (Nina’s bed hasn’t broken yet, so it’s probably fine). Brooke has no desire for furniture-building again, but for Vanessa and those big brown eyes…

“Sure,” Brooke says.

Which is how she finds herself nudging aside clothes and magazines on Vanessa’s bedroom floor, Vanessa’s dog licking her leg and 20 pages of instructions fluttering in front of her.

“Come on, Brooke, what do we do?” Vanessa swings a hammer aimlessly, waiting for something to hit.

Brooke frowns, trying to make sense of the instructions and all the pieces and nails–could this thing need that many nails?

“Um, I think this big piece goes first…” Brooke grabs a square of wood and passes it to Vanessa. “Then we put on the sides.”

“What about the legs?”

“Shit.”

After nearly two hours of reading, Googling, YouTube tutorials, swearing, and Vanessa pretending to be Thor with her hammer, the vanity stands strong and sturdy in the corner.

“We did it!” Vanessa cheers. “Teamwork makes the dream work, baby!”

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that.”

“Fair.” Vanessa cackles. “You’ll be okay at work, right? I didn’t tire you out too much?”

Brooke swallows hard. Is that gleam in Vanessa’s eyes from concern, or does she know exactly what she’s saying? Does she have the same feelings Brooke does?

“I’ll be fine,” Brooke says.

She doesn’t see Vanessa for the rest of the night, and slips out when Vanessa is breathing softly in her bed.

—

The best part of Brooke’s overnight shifts is that she’s not there to wonder where Vanessa goes at the full moon.

She, Silky, and A’keria pile in an Uber and go to the edge of the city, then walk to the woods. Vanessa loves the city, loves all the people and shops and places to eat, but there’s something about the woods. Everything is calmer out here, still and silent except for the occasional rustling of leaves or an owl’s hoot. There’s a sort of peace between the trees, freedom to just breathe and think and be.

The silence is a little too eerie tonight, her thoughts too loud. Or maybe it’s just because she can’t stop thinking of Brooke. There’s been nothing unusual about the past few weeks, but something feels different. They made cupcakes last week and spent hours on Saturday sucked into a 90 Day Fiance marathon, yelling and roasting the couples. Vanessa found herself enjoying it all more than usual, unable to take her eyes off Brooke. She knows what it means, but that’s not an option. Not with her secret.

“Vanessa, it’s almost time!” A’keria yells.

Vanessa snaps up and sees the moon is almost at its highest as it shines through the trees. She pulls off her clothes and sets them in the bag at the base of the largest tree.

“What’s with you?” A’keria asks in concern.

“Nothing.”

“It’s about Brooke, isn’t it?” Silky guesses, and she and A’keria trade looks.

“What’s with the looks?” Vanessa demands.

“It’s nothing,” A’keria says.

“We think Brooke’s a vampire,” Silky says, dodging the furious arm A’keria swings at her.

“You think she’s a vampire?” Vanessa laughs out loud. She can see where they’re coming from, admittedly. Brooke is tall and pale and quiet, with a dry sense of humor and a wardrobe that’s almost entirely black. She can be broody sometimes, especially when Jeopardy! isn’t going her way. She glides around the apartment so silently Vanessa wants to put a bell around her neck. And there’s a mysterious air around her, maybe from how secretive she is about herself–so much so that Vanessa truly doesn’t know much about her past.

But the idea of Brooke being a vampire is ridiculous. Her Netflix recently watched list is just Jane Austen adaptations and The Princess Diaries, and she keeps the freezer stocked with Ben and Jerry’s and pizza bagels, not bags of suspicious liquid or anything like that. Hell, when Vanessa got a paper cut a few weeks ago, Brooke practically flew out of the room to get her a Band-Aid, eyes avoiding the blood. And she uses a baby voice when she talks to her cats and falls asleep cuddling them, for crying out loud—the woman is hardly a horror movie figure.

“Look, she’s not a vampire, okay?” Vanessa keeps one eye on the moon as it shifts imperceptibly, her muscles tingling as they prepare for the transformation. “She goes out in the daytime and stuff.”

Silky rolls her eyes. “Vampires can do that! Sun hurts them, but it only kills them after a long time.”

“She’s fine in the sun,” Vanessa insists. “She doesn’t go out in it much because it gives her a headache and her skin’s really sensitive, so it burns easily.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s sunburn.”

“And an overnight job? Could it be any more obvious?”

Vanessa huffs. “Enough, okay! She’s human!”

Silky shakes her head. “You just don’t want to see it because you’re in love with her.”

“I am not!” Vanessa shouts, but she can’t even kid herself, let alone her friends, who are staring at her pointedly.

“Got a big old lesbian crush,” A’keria says with a grin. “So big you can’t even see your roommate’s a blood sucker.”

Vanessa sighs, knowing that vampire or not, her feelings for Brooke are filling the entire forest. “Look, I really like her, and she probably doesn’t feel the same way. It could ruin everything if I tell her. It just… it just can’t happen.” She shakes off how small her voice is getting.

“I think you should tell her, V,” A’keria says softly. “Vampire stuff aside and everything. How could she not like you back?”

Vanessa wants to believe it, but she shakes her head. “She’s my friend, and she’s human, and I’m–” The rest of her sentence is cut off by a groan as the pain starts. Vanessa’s gotten used to it now–the way her bones stretch and muscles clench, her whole body on fire–but it doesn’t make the pain any easier. She curls into a ball as her claws emerge, as fur sprouts, until finally a thick brown wolf stands tall beneath the moon. Vanessa nods toward the other two, and they traipse through the forest.

Vanessa keeps her mind when she transforms; she normally likes the way everything gets sharper, the way she can smell moss and flowers and animals, can see even the tiniest bugs flapping their wings. Tonight, though, she wishes she could turn it off, because all her thoughts of Brooke are heightened too. The sheer beauty of her soft, smooth skin. The way her hair shines like gold in the light and always smells like tea tree oil. Her rare laughs, the way her shoulders shake with the movement and her green eyes sparkle. How much Vanessa wishes she could see Brooke’s pale skin uninterrupted by clothes, melting into Vanessa’s sheets, before falling asleep in Brooke’s arms.

Vanessa sighs, running through the trees and leaving it all behind.

She really can’t be in love with her roommate, but it’s too late.

—

Brooke is extra careful the next few weeks. She rinses her mouth carefully before entering the door each morning. She eats half the garlic bread Vanessa makes one night. She even goes shopping with Vanessa, rare sunshine beating down on them. The only reason Brooke manages without pain is because of the special sunscreen her witch friend Yvie made, but Vanessa doesn’t need to know that. Brooke just wants to flaunt it, hey, look how human I am. Vanessa is blissfully unaware, and that’s what Brooke needs. No threat to her secret, no chance she’ll have to run and leave her friends behind.

“Brooke, can you help me make posters?” Vanessa gets home one night with her arms full of construction paper and Crayola markers. “They’re for the dog shelter.”

Vanessa volunteers at a dog shelter every Sunday, coming back with fur on her clothes and a bunch of videos of dogs playing fetch and running in circles. She loves going, yapping about all the dogs after, and even though Brooke is more of a cat person, she listens anyway.

“I’ll help,” Brooke says. It’s only fair after Vanessa made yesterday’s dinner when Brooke was busy with work.

Markers roll across the table as Vanessa lays her supplies out, and they get to work.

“What’s that, a hippo?” Brooke asks at Vanessa’s drawing.

“It’s obviously a dog, Brooke!”

“A dog with a hippo’s nose.”

Vanessa sticks her tongue out at Brooke and Brooke bursts into laughter. The night continues as they pass markers back and forth and Vanessa pops enough popcorn for a movie theatre, ending when Vanessa begins her nighttime shower and skincare routine, the one that leaves her skin soft and glowing, smelling of citrus and coconut. Brooke’s head is full of those scents when Vanessa calls her from the bathroom.

“What do you need?” Brooke asks.

“We’re out of towels.” There’s a smug tone to Vanessa’s voice. “There should be a clean one in the laundry basket, if you wanna bring it to me.” Brooke can practically see Vanessa batting her eyelashes through the door.

Brooke opens the door a crack, extending the towel. She can’t look at Vanessa, she can’t–

“Thanks, Brooke!” Half of Vanessa’s broadly-grinning face peeks out, running into the soft lines of her collarbone and gentle curve of her shoulder. Brooke’s dead heart almost jolts back to life. She wants to blast the door off its hinges, grab Vanessa, and throw her on the bed–

But the alarm on Brooke’s phone goes off, reminding her to get ready for work.

—

Brooke slides up to the corner table, her vampire gang awaiting: Nina sipping her drink, Priyanka checking women out, Kameron deep in thought. Red neon signs flicker on the dark walls, glasses of blood and beer sliding across the bar counter. Whoever thought of a vampire bar is a genius, in Brooke’s opinion, and being here with her friends is one of the best parts of her day.

“Sorry I’m late. Got caught talking to Vanessa.”

“How is she?” Kameron asks.

“Fine! She’s fine.” Brooke laughs nervously, reins her voice in before it rises another octave. No need to share what almost happened. They’ve all heard more than enough about Vanessa–Vanessa made cookies, try one; Vanessa scored 42 points when we went bowling; Vanessa made the worst pun ever, you have to hear it–and Brooke knows it’s not helping her in the ‘just a crush’ department.

“You know, Brooke,” Nina says slowly, like she’s been sitting on this a while, “sometimes I think Vanessa isn’t fully … human.”

Brooke scoffs. Vanessa, who cries over movies and gives old people her seat on the subway and can’t sleep without fuzzy blankets or a squishy pillow, is one of the most human people Brooke has ever met. Then she looks around the table and sees Kameron and Priyanka matching Nina’s cautious, thoughtful expression.

“What, you think she’s a witch or something?” Brooke barks out a laugh. “There’s gotta be a cleaning spell she would’ve used in her room by now.”

“Not a witch,” Nina continues, being the spokesperson of the group. “We think she might be a werewolf. Kam saw her in the woods last full moon.”

“So what?” Brooke asks, playing nonchalant even though it is odd that Vanessa would go in the forest at night. “She can go in the woods, it’s not my business.”

“I’ve gotten wolf vibes from her before,” Priyanka says.

Brooke shakes her head fiercely. “She’s human. She just really likes dogs–”

Nina purses her lips.

“–and her table manners leave something to be desired,” Brooke continues, “but she’s human. Besides, I’d know if she wasn’t.”

Kameron frowns.

“What?” Brooke demands.

“You can be kind of oblivious sometimes.” Nina takes over. “I mean, Kameron had a crush on you for months before…” she cuts herself off as Brooke and Kameron look anywhere but at each other, not needing the reminder of their old fling. If vampires could blush, they’d both be flaming.

“But that’s fine now,” Kameron says quickly. “I have Asia, and you have–”

“–A crush on Vanessa,” Priyanka interrupts.

Brooke sighs. She knows her face can’t feel hot, but somehow it does anyway. She knows she has a crush; knows she rushes home after nights with her friends just to see Vanessa before she leaves for work, knows she laughs over the stupidest things just because Vanessa does them. But it hurts to hear it out loud when she can’t do much about it. Vampires and humans didn’t mix. If they had any kind of relationship, Brooke wouldn’t be able to hide the secret forever, and Vanessa would probably run when she found out. Who wouldn’t?

But Brooke doesn’t know how much longer she can keep her feelings inside, pretend she feels nothing when Vanessa sings to herself in the shower, or plays with her dog, or tells Brooke to listen to new songs she discovers, both of them huddling around Vanessa’s phone and smiling.

“I really think you should tell her you like her, Brooke,” Nina says, and Kameron nods.

Brooke shakes her head. “Nothing can happen.”

Priyanka winks. “I think it can. I see romance in your future.”

“We all know you just pretend to be psychic because you’re in love with Alice from Twilight,” Brooke mutters, and she lets the erupting laughter distract her from Vanessa.

—

Silky and A’keria’s paranoia rubs off on Vanessa for a while. She keeps Brooke out in the sun for hours, bumps Brooke in front of mirrors, “accidentally” makes too much garlic bread. She stops just short of running at Brooke with a cross. Brooke’s human, just human, even if Silky and A’keria aren’t convinced.

Vanessa decides to make breakfast to gloss over any odd behavior Brooke might have noticed. Brooke usually eats a protein bar before she goes to bed each morning, and Vanessa wants her to have a real breakfast.

The idea of telling Brooke her feelings runs through Vanessa’s mind as she flips pancakes. Her being a werewolf is just a small secret, really. A lot easier to hide than her feelings. Lately it’s been all she can do to stop staring at Brooke’s soft skin, to not grab her and finally see how her lips feel.

Keys jingle in the hall and she knows it’s Brooke and her keys with the cat keychain. It’s just a stupid little detail, but Vanessa’s heart swells with love for Brooke, and it makes her mind up for her.

Vanessa sets the pancakes and scrambled eggs on the table just as the door creaks open.

“Vanessa?” Brooke blinks in confusion. “What’s this?”

“I made breakfast.”

“You didn’t have to do all this,” Brooke says, but she’s already drowning her pancakes in syrup.

Vanessa sits across from her. “I wanted to. I wanted to make sure you ate a real breakfast.”

Brooke raises an eyebrow.

“Protein bars aren’t breakfast and you know it!” Vanessa’s yell morphs into a laugh that Brooke matches.

“Okay, okay.” Brooke grins. “These pancakes are amazing, by the way.”

“I know.” Vanessa laughs.

Brooke sips her coffee, and maybe Vanessa bumps the table, maybe she doesn’t. Maybe Brooke’s sure, steady hands just fumble a bit. Either way, there’s a spot of coffee soaking Brooke’s shirt, and when Brooke grabs a washcloth, Vanessa stands up, legs wobbling.

“Maybe you should take that off,” Vanessa says, watching Brooke drop the cloth in the sink.

Brooke raises an eyebrow, her eyes gleaming devilishly. “What did you say?”

“I said,” Vanessa breathes, “maybe you should take that off.”

Brooke bites her lip, and Vanessa’s heart speeds up, wondering if she’s made the wrong move. But then Brooke grins. “You first.”

Vanessa’s whole body is on fire as she lifts up her shirt, her face bright red when Brooke’s eyes linger.

“Bed. Now,” Brooke commands, and Vanessa runs.

—

Vanessa doesn’t realize until later. How could she have realized when Brooke’s hands were roaming her body, when her cool lips touched Vanessa’s, when her ears were full of nothing but her own gasps and moans?

No, she doesn’t realize until later, when Brooke is at work and Vanessa’s head is finally clear again, able to think of something besides the blonde hair that Vanessa’s hands tore through and left messy, the soft lips she finally got to kiss, the arm that wrapped around her waist until she fell asleep.

Through all the gasps and touches and excitement, Vanessa’s heart was a bird in her chest, fluttering frantically in response to each and every touch. But when she thinks about it, there was no pulse thrumming through the still rivers of Brooke’s veins as her wrists brushed Vanessa’s body. When she thinks about it, all she heard from Brooke’s rib cage was silence.

Brooke has no heartbeat. And they need to talk.

—

Nina’s mouth hangs open when Brooke walks in the bar that night, no doubt knowing what just happened. “Brooke, you–”

Brooke sits down and rests her head on the sticky bar table. “I had sex with Vanessa,” she groans into the wood, knowing they’ll hear her.

“I told you bitches!” Priyanka yells.

“Shut it, Miss Cleo,” Brooke says, raising her head and taking in everyone’s expressions–all of satisfaction and acceptance, not a shocked face in sight.

“What are you gonna do now?” Kameron asks. “Does she know? Did she notice you don’t have a heartbeat?”

“Hers was going fast enough for us both,” Brooke says. “Besides, she wasn’t close enough to my chest to hear anything… I don’t think so, at least.”

“What are you gonna do?” Nina asks.

Brooke groans again. “I don’t know. I’m hoping it’ll be a one-time thing and we’ll go back to normal.”

“And if you don’t?”

Brooke sighs. If Vanessa wants a real relationship after this, it wouldn’t be fair to her to do that. Brooke would have to run, and she looks around at her friends and knows she never wants to leave them, just like she never wants to leave Vanessa. She forces those thoughts away. “I don’t know. What am I supposed to do? Get a cake that says ‘Hey, I’m a vampire?’”

Kameron shrugs. “That’s how I told Asia,” she says, so deadpan Brooke can’t even tell if it’s a lie.

“You can’t do a cake, you gotta do some classier shit,” Priyanka says. “Cream puffs are classy, right? Do cream puffs.”

Kameron suggests eclairs, and Priyanka insists that cream puffs are better. Brooke buries her face in her hands. If she wasn’t a vampire, her friends would’ve given her a stress-induced heart attack by now.

“Okay, cream puffs and eclairs are basically the same thing!” Nina hisses until Priyanka and Kameron quiet down. Nina then turns to Brooke, a hand on her arm. “Look, things are still new, you don’t have to tell her anything yet. Just… do the romantic shit. You’ve been single for decades, just be in love for right now.”

Just be in love for right now. Brooke considers it. She hasn’t had anything remotely like love since her and Kameron had their brief thing in the 90’s, before deciding they were better as friends. Before that, well… Brooke doesn’t think she ever has. There were crushes, sure, like the waitress at that diner who knew Brooke’s coffee order, the grocery store cashier that always flirted with her. But they were human, and Brooke knew nothing could ever happen, that she could never have anything with them. But something about Vanessa, human or not, makes her want to try.

“You’re right,” Brooke says to Nina. “I think me and Vanessa need to talk.”

—

The sun is shining when Brooke gets back to the apartment, and Vanessa is standing in the kitchen with her hands on her hips.

“Everything okay?” Brooke asks. Vanessa obviously has something to say, and Brooke’s stomach lurches with the fear that it’s something bad. What if Vanessa wants to move out after what happened?

“I think I should be asking you that, considering you have no heartbeat,” Vanessa mutters, clenching her fists.

Brooke gulps, rubbing through her actions the past week, wondering if she did something to reveal it, because how does Vanessa know? It doesn’t make sense, and she decides to turn the tables.

“How do you know I have no heartbeat?” Brooke demands. “You would’ve had to be right against my chest to notice, and you weren’t. Unless…” Nina’s theory runs through her mind, and it’s like a fog clears right in front of Brooke. “You’re a werewolf!” Brooke yells, pointing at Vanessa. “That’s why you have advanced hearing. That’s why my cats have to stay in my room!”

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Vanessa tries, crossing her arms.

Brooke crosses hers too. “Then I don’t know what you’re talking about either.”

They’re in a standoff, and Brooke isn’t going to give first. She’ll stay for decades, if she has to. She narrows her eyes at Vanessa, who’s having trouble holding her expression as the seconds tick.

“Fine!” Vanessa yells. “I’m a wolf.” Her face softens suddenly, and she looks at Brooke with love in her eyes. “But I promise I’ll never hurt you, ever. I keep my mind when I change, and I go far away, just in case. I’d never put you in danger.”

Brooke’s head spins with it all. So Vanessa really is a werewolf—but from the steps she takes to protect herself and others, she’s clearly as kind and caring as she always has been, helping old ladies cross the street. And what does it matter, really, that Vanessa isn’t fully human, when Brooke isn’t human herself? And if Vanessa isn’t human, Brooke being a vampire won’t matter to her, and Brooke warms at the thought. She moves closer to Vanessa, pulls her into a hug. “I’ll never hurt you either,” she promises. “I only drink animal blood. I just didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to scare you.”

It seems so stupid now, considering the secret Vanessa’s had this whole time, and Brooke can’t believe she didn’t notice. Maybe she really is as oblivious as Nina said. But maybe, from the love in Vanessa’s eyes, it doesn’t matter.

“It’s hard to scare a wolf.”

“I’m stupid, aren’t I?” Brooke sighs.

Vanessa shakes her head. “I’m just as stupid, don’t worry. Silky and A’keria told me you were a vampire but I didn’t want to see it. All I saw was you, and I knew I couldn’t have you because I’m—“

“A wolf,” Brooke finishes. “I didn’t see it either. I really should’ve, though, considering the mess you make when you eat.”

“Hey!”

“And how every dog in a 3-mile radius runs to you.”

“Says Miss Brooke Lynn ‘I only wear black’ Hytes!” Vanessa yells, and Brooke snorts.

“I wear gray sometimes!” Brooke protests, and Vanessa rolls her eyes.

Brooke squeezes her gently, breathing in her apple shampoo, letting it calm her. Vanessa looks up at Brooke and grins hopefully. “So can we do this, then? You and me?”

You and me, Brooke thinks, slightly daunted by how large those words seem. With Vanessa being a wolf, the risk of a human knowing her secret and being in danger is gone. Werewolves even age abnormally slow, so her and Vanessa will have lots of time together. And they already live together, already cook together every night and share their lives each day. How different can it be to make it a full relationship, let their feelings show instead of dancing around them?

“We can do this,” Brooke says.

Vanessa reaches up and kisses her, and Brooke has never felt so human.

[artificialqueens]

weak (trixie/katya/violet) 1/? - kitty

 AN: This is my first time writing rpdr fic! I pretty much live for Trixie, Violet and Katya and I just wanted to explore their relationship. Currently I’m planning a chapter from each of their perspectives, as well as a potential epilogue? questions/comments always appreciated <3 Also, for Trixie I used ‘he’, for Katya ‘she’ and for Violet ‘they’

summary: Because Trixie knows that Katya makes him better. He wonders how Katya makes Violet better. He wonders if he could, if he would.

Here’s the thing. It’s like…Katya’s always there. Katya’s always been there, when they’re filming or just hanging out or when Trixie’s upset and it’s good and it’s nice and Trixie’s so fucking grateful to have a friend like that, that just gets him and his drag and his humour. But behind all that compatibility is the knowledge that they could never work romantically, just the two of them. There’s too much – too much platonic reliance, too much energy and love that’s different to romantic love for them to be able sustain it. And Trixie loves Katya, she’s his best friend and he loves Brian, too and he loves them together and how people respond to them, has loved her since the first week of drag race. Trixie doesn’t think he can love anyone like he loves Katya. But it’s not enough, really, on its own. Because there’s the Trixie and Katya dynamic, and the Brian and Brian dynamic, but there’s also the Katya and Violet dynamic. It’s kind of been there under the surface forever. He remembers after BOTS, after the fucking Philly show when his mentions were full of fans tweeting him about it. After that he’d called her. She’d called him Tracy, and informed him that Violet Chachki was the best ass she’d ever eaten. The whole interaction had left him an odd sort of combination of hollow and turned on. And, like, he knew. He knew that they’d had sex. It was painfully obvious by that point and Katya like, liked Violet. The whole situation had left him confused and jealous, but not sure who he was jealous of.

 The thing about Violet was that she was a cunt. But Jason – well, Jason was also a cunt, but Trixie liked them. Quite a lot, actually. He liked the way that Violet would sometimes text him a screenshot of unhhh, or whatever, usually an unflattering picture of him and give it a bitchy caption. ‘Heard of a beauty blender, Tracy?’ Trixie would read it, roll his eyes, and ignore it, or send them back an equally bitchy reply. Violet never replied to these. Trixie didn’t mind, really. But even more confusing was the occasional text he got that wasn’t quite Violet-brand bitchy. Sometimes Violet would send him a mirror selfie before a show. He knew it was more for their own gratification than his, and he didn’t reply. Sometimes, they would send him a picture of whatever city they were touring in. He didn’t reply to these, either, because he didn’t know quite how.

 So yeah, Trixie’s kind of confused, and when Violet shows up in LA in full drag with suitcase full of wigs and pasties, he has no other option to let them into his living room.

 “I’m concerned that you know my address.”

 Violet rolls their eyes and steps inside his living room. Trixie’s weirdly glad he cleaned. This relief is abruptly replaced with annoyance as Violet collapses on his couch, leaving their luggage outside.

 "Don’t worry, Tracy. I texted Katya. She gave me your address, and then instructions not to damage your guitars, bed, or soul"

 Trixie huffs as he heaves Violet’s suitcase into the room. Instead of thanking him like any civilised human being, Violet looks up from where they’re painting their nails with a bottle of pink polish Trixie has left on the coffee table and ponders him.

“So, what’s for dinner?”

“Oh, fuck you”.

 ****

They go to Olive Garden. Violet isn’t impressed (“Bitch! You could’ve at least taken me to Red Lobster.”)

 They look ridiculous, frankly. Violet’s still in full drag, scrolling through twitter as they chew on a breadstick, while Trixie’s embodying his classic mid western dad style, complete with trucker cap.

 “So, not to point out the obvious, but why are you here? And why the fuck did you decide my apartment was the place to come?”

 Violet looks up from their phone and gives Trixie a searching look, then shrugs one shoulder.

 “You know I live to mildly irritate you”. They swallow the last of their breadstick. “And you know how touring is. Needed to crash somewhere for a bit.”

 “And you thought my apartment was the place to do it?”

 Because beside from the confusing texts, it’s not like him and Violet really talk. When they’re together it’s cool and it’s fun and it’s Violet, pissing him off and making him think as always, but he’s not Katya. He doesn’t know them like Katya knows them.

 “Well, it was you or Katya.”

 “And why not Katya?”

 They hold each other’s gaze for a moment, and if Trixie didn’t know them better, he’d say Violet coloured, just a tiny bit. Then Violet shrugs a shoulder.

 “Bitch, you know what her fucking apartment’s like. I could fucking, like, drown there and no one would realise.”

 Trixie huffs a laugh at this. It’s not the whole truth, he knows, but he’s seeing Katya tomorrow and he’ll figure it out. Then, Violet takes it as their liberty to order them both a glass of wine when their meals arrive, and he takes a breath and goes with it.

***

 ‘Bitch!’ Violet squawks, looping a skinny arm around his next and attempting half heartedly to clamber onto his back. They’re at a shit bar he’s never been to. There’s something about Violet that makes him want to do stupid shit. Like currently, where they’ve drunk half a bottle of tequila each and Violet is demanding a piggy back.

 “Fuck you, cunt, there’s going to be pictures of this all over fucking reddit or whatever.”

 He hoists Violet fully onto his back, and they’re so small and it’s weird, actually, and Violet has their arms looped round the front of his chest and Trixie wonders, quietly, if Violet can tell he’s been working out, if they’ve been following the Trixie Mattel fitness journey. Violet lazily grabs his hat and slings it onto their head.

 “You’re messing with my aesthetic, Chachki.”

 “Fuck off Brian. You look more like an ageing dad than Katya out of drag”.

 “Okay, A) I’m like fucking the same age as you and B) people love they way I dress. There’s an instagram dedicated to it.”

 “Whatever, loser,” Violet slurs, and Brian feels them slip slightly off his back. They’re both so fucking gone he realises suddenly, more drunk than he’s been in, well, years. Fitness journeys don’t really leave a lot of room for drunken encounters with ex-frenemies-kind-of-friends-that-send-confusing-texts-and-show-up-at-your-apartment-uninvited. Trixie shakes his head as Violet shoves a phone in his face. It’s possibly the worst selfie ever, almost enough to sober him up. He shakes Violet off, who drops to the ground with a surprising level of grace.

 “Don’t get your tuck in a twist, it’s just to Katya.”

 They stand there for a moment, and Trixie wonders if this is the time to ask them about the texts and the showing up thing and whether they’re going to have sex after three years of wondering when Violet’s phone beeps.

 It’s a text from Katya.

You pair of dumb whores. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.

Another text pings through immediately

Actually, that’s the worst advice ever. Do everything I wouldn’t do. And if a man from Colorado named Steve invites you into the backseat of his van, say yes.

“So fucking weird,” Violet mumbles, and Trixie nods.

 Because the thing is, Violet and Trixie both know what it’s like to love Katya. And, Trixie thinks, they both know that the other person knows. There are lines of light connecting the two of them to her. Trixie thinks he can maybe seen another line, slightly less bright, developing between him and Violet. He doesn’t know how to feel about it.

 Because Katya makes Trixie better. He’s said it before and he’ll say it again. They make each other funnier, they make each other even more likeable. But Katya also makes him kinder, makes him think about things that he would’ve never considered.

 He wonders how Katya makes Violet better. He wonders if he could, if he would.

 “Come on public school. It’s bedtime”.

 Violet nods, and they hail a taxi and sit next to each other in the back seat. Violet’s shoulder bumps his, occasionally, as they text or tweet or whatever it is that they do. They stumble into the apartment together. Trixie throws Violet one of his merch shirts to sleep in, and a makeup wipe. It feels weirdly intimate to see Violet become Jason, even though he’s seen it so many times. He goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth and give himself a pep talk in the mirror. You will not make a move on Violet Chachki. You will go to bed like a normal person, and if you have to jerk off furiously in the morning, so be it. When he returns, Violet’s in his fucking bed, the bitch, de-dragged and swallowed in his shirt.

 “You’re on my side.”

 Violet, Jason, whatever, rolls their eyes but budges over.

 “If I wake up to your dick against my ass, I will have you arrested,” Trixie informs them.

 Despite the dark, he feels Violet’s eyeroll.

 “Calm down, Tracy. You wish.”

 Trixie snorts.

All in all, this could be worse.

 **** 

When Trixie wakes up, it takes him a moment to figure out why there’s a body pressed against his back. Violet Chachki, secret spooner, he smirks to himself. Then, he heaves himself into the shower shaking off the mirage of a hangover. Afterwards, he pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, and starts cooking them both breakfast. It’s terrible, really, that this is for Violet of all people. He’s huffing slightly at his own ridiculousness when his door bangs open.

 “TRIXIE! Okay, Trixie, so I had this idea for an episode, what if we like, found a heap of conspiracy theories online and then – wait, why are you cooking?”

 Katya’s standing in front of him in a pair of jeans and a horrendous yellow t-shirt. It works, weirdly, and Trixie’s kind of mad. Before he can answer, Violet emerges from the bedroom, still clad in an oversized Trixie merch t-shirt. They stare at each other for a second before Violet slinks over, pecks Katya on the cheek and grabs a piece of toast from the plate in front of Trixie.

 “Where’s the butter, Firkus?”

 “Fridge, asshole. Where the fuck else would I keep butter?”

 “Actually, darling,’ Katya drawls in a thick Russian accent. “In Russia, it is so cold that we keep the butter on counter. Good as fridge.”

 “I despise you both,” Trixie shakes her head. “Who wants eggs?”

 And just like that it’s fine, it’s almost normal and it’s weird, it’s so weird. He always has a good time with Katya, but Violet? Violet’s currently explaining to Katya how to uncork a champagne bottle without using any hands and Katya’s cackling and it’s nice, seeing them together. Trixie still feels a flair of antagonism, of mild irritation that he’s not sure will ever fully dissipate. But there’s something nice about seeing the two of them together. He’s just not quite sure where he fits into the grand, odd, Violet and Katya friendship that’s maybe friends with benefits that’s maybe more. It’s a headache standing right in front of him, eating eggs out of a frying pan, one hip pressed against his kitchen counter, smile playing on their lips. It’s a heartache grinning at him now, calling him up at four in the morning to tell him about a film she’s just seen, or rambling to him about politics when he’s sleepy and half listening, eyes bright and hands moving.

 Maybe, just maybe, there can be a Trixie and a Katya and a Violet dynamic without it being horrible. So he watches, quiet for once, and doesn’t make a comment when the three of them eat breakfast together on his couch, Violet’s feet propped delicately on Katya’s knees.

 “So how long are you staying?” Katya asks through a mouthful of egg.

 Violet shrugs.

 “Until Tracy kicks me out.”

 Katya snorts and nudges Trixie with her shoulder and Trixie just rolls his eyes.

 “We’ll see”.

 They will.