#the only reason im saying tomorrow instead of tonight is because with the stunt im pulling now (dumping clean litter outside on top of soap

[biteapple]

ALSO ..... BTW ... that door across from me is STILL peeped open. i may attempt to go in tomorrow if its still open

[datingintampafails]

Chapter 33: Robert*

Robert* reminds me of Peter*, in which, there’s confusion about names, the vibes are never quite right, and the date is pretty short. Though in this case, although we did talk for a longer time than Peter* and I did, the date itself was even shorter, a whopping 45 minutes.

Initially, Robert* likes me first on Hinge. His profile is not necessarily a slam dunk for me. He looks decent looking, though not my usual type, and has a chain bakery listed as to where he works. I like to think I am not a snob when it comes to careers, I’m pretty open-minded, but I do want to be with someone who has ambition and can have intelligent conversations with me since I am pretty well educated. Basically, someone around my level of thinking.

I decided to give the guy a chance and respond to his like by mentioning that I really like cookies at the place he works. He mentions that we could have a first date there and I responded by asking if he has dates with girls at his work often. He tells me he has only been working there a few weeks, so no. We legitimately talk about the different kinds of cookies for a while, then he moves on to ask me about what else I like. I mention my dog, then share that I space out and have trouble thinking on the spot and ask him about himself to see if it will also remind me of other things I like. He talks about seeing friends and playing video games, adds he “Doesn’t get out much.” Without missing a beat, he asks me what I’m looking for on dating apps. The dreaded question. I ask him to tell me first. My reasoning being, I feel like many men will cater their answers to what you want, instead of telling the truth. He writes me a long answer then gives me a TL;DR (too long; didn’t read) that is maybe ⅔ the length of the original message, so not that short, that says “going with the flow, down for a consistent [friends with benefits] or relationship, whatever happens, just not a one-night stand.” He announces it is then my turn to respond. I tell him I feel more or less the same, as his original longer message, but that I am not as much interested in the friends with benefits thing. Specifically, I say that with FWB, there needs to be an opportunity, or “nahhh.” I say that expectations only bring hardship and lightheartedly say I like to ask super important questions early in relationships, i.e. like my survey/application from way back when, and add “like cookie choices.” He asks me to clarify my opportunity or nahhh and says he is an open book and I can ask him anything. I explain my feelings more, saying that I don’t see the point of sticking around if someone is dead set on not wanting a relationship with me, as well as it is usually temporary and almost like a holding pattern. I ask my most important question, which is if someone wants children or not.

I get a slight argument back from him, regarding the FWB thing, saying that it can turn into more. I argue back, saying that it is still something that needs to be wanted, or at least both parties from the start can think “maybe someday.” He says this and that about the FWB, before answering my question. He says, more or less, he is open to it but it isn’t a necessity for him, however, he definitely doesn’t want kids right now. He asks me how I feel about it and I express I do not want them but would be open to adoption. He says that’s fine with him and quickly says, “Any other questions.” I am not meaning for this to be an interview. I say I do have a question, but that it is more of an open-ended/ statement that can be responded to. All I say for my “question” is the phrase “trump.” I also let him know I am going to sleep soon so we can continue our conversation in the morning. He does not like my question, that is that he says it is too vague and isn’t helpful for political discussions. I tell him that is my point, and that I am looking for him to express his feelings and that I can either oppose, agree, or somewhere in between. He says likely there would be all three. I go to sleep so I do not respond.

He greets me in the morning with a good morning. I greet him back, though I remind him I am still waiting on his opinions. It is a Saturday, so I also let him know I am about to present for a Zoom conference. He says he’s at a rowing camp and on a break from that, then asks me about my conference. He again requests that I be more specific than just “Saying one word.” I tell him about the conference, but regarding the political question, I send an eye-rolling emoji again saying that that is the point of the open forum, that I am looking for a blanket statement of his feelings regarding Trump.

He again asks about my presentation, and how it went, then goes on to give a pretty neutral debate, saying there’s good and bad, though it seems he veers more towards being a Trump fan, which is not my preference. Robert* offers to me that I can ask any questions about his stance. I am thinking, I do not need an invitation, I have a question and I will ask it.

Robert* inquires what I am doing the rest of the night. I say I’m staying in as I am going to Disney World the next day. I ask him what he is going to do the rest of the night, as that is the societally polite thing to do. I am asked AGAIN if I have any questions to ask him. He also says that he “wanted to do something with someone tonight. Chill night in maybe? Not necessarily sexual. Just relaxing, drinking some wine maybe.” My response is “haha sorry i don’t think i’ll be ‘someone’ today,” both calling him out on obviously being thirsty, as well and reiterating I am not planning on going out tonight. He admits defeat, saying that he didn’t think I would be either, but it was “worth a shot to ask.” However, he does say he does want to get together sometime.

Immediately before I can even respond to that, though, he asks me where in Disney I am going tomorrow. I tell him that Monday I could look at my schedule and put together a time and day we could meet up. I also express that I do not want to meet him at either of our places, mostly because of the stunt he had just pulled. I tell him my Disney World plans as well. He says that it is fine to talk about going out on Monday and says that “that would’ve been the plan” to not hang out at either of our places, despite what he had just said earlier about having a chill night in. I call him out on this, reminding him that he had just said something different, his response being, “yes, sorry if that made you uncomfortable. Im horny as all hell but my intentions are good and i can keep it in my pants. I promise.” How romantic. I send a laughing emoji and say that we’ve all been there before. He says he didn’t want to cross the “TMI threshold,” wherein I say that it is difficult to TMI me, but that doesn't mean I won’t be judgemental. His next comment is awkward, as he invites me to judge, but says that he’s “done [his] fair share of crazy/dumb/slutty shit. As [he is] sure [I] have too.” Weird to accuse someone you are trying to woo of being a crazy dumb slut, but okay. I bring up that I had an abusive relationship but that even in that, I wasn’t completely devoid of wrongdoing. He asks if I am comfortable talking about that and is sympathetic. I tell him more about that and he asks for some of the red flags my ex but off that I ignored. For the billionth time, Robert* offers that if I have any more important questions that I can go ahead and ask. I briefly acknowledge he asked again, by saying “lol if they come up organically I’ll ask” before continuing to talk about my abusive ex. One of the things I mentioned was that my ex was very critical about my body habitus, that is, that I was too skinny. Robert* takes it upon himself to say, “ as far as your body, it seems like you have a great fucking body…. As long as you’re not unhealthy idgaf im attracted to you sooooo” then sends two heart-eyed emojis and a shrugging guy emoji. The line he draws is that his “hands are rated E for everyone,” the context being, if someone hit him he would hit back. I explained my body issues some more and that I have stomach issues, and have always been a small person. He misunderstands and thinks I’m talking about having abs or having a fatty stomach. With the context I felt I had given, I sent a bunch of question marks before adding that my stomach issues were internal. He apologizes a lot for misunderstanding and says he is glad I’m in a better situation.

In his mind, it’s now a great time to bring up that we should text or snap. I tell him that Snapchat is “for hoes” if you only talk on Snapchat. Referencing to myself Darren* mostly. He sends me his number and then I text him. The next day, I am off having a day with my friend at an amusement park. He texts me often throughout the day and I respond when I have a chance. My best friend is asking me “who is this one?” and by the time she asks this, I’m honestly getting a little annoyed. She’s still asking about John* and where he is at. “I don’t know what’s going on with him. We’re mad at him right now. He is doing that shit again. I have to play the game, you know?” I describe Robert* as being kind of needy. At one point, Robert* is texting and asking desperately when I’m free and when we can go out. I tell him “I’m still out I’m not focused on that right now” The overeagerness is kind of a turn-off. And as mentioned earlier, we had already agreed to plan things out on Monday, and it was Sunday. He responds “Ok nvm. We don’t have to talk about that. Sorry.” Maybe I was harsh but had to put this guy in his place. I get a barrage of questions about Disney World. I mention I’m wearing my hat like a frat boy. He responds jokingly, “disgusting, how dare you.” I continue the charade by saying “yep I haze the shit out of people.” Next, however, his response is too cringey, “Mmmm haze me frat mandy” and adds “I can go more cringe.” I reply, “no thanks.” I ignore him for the rest of the day and then when I get home I finally tell him 1) I’m home and 2) what days I’m available. He gets irritated as the two nights I am available, are the only nights he is working. I have some friends coming into town the next weekend as well, so I tell him I’m not really available since I want to hang out with them. We go back and forth on what to do then with our conflicting schedules. Finally, we agree upon doing something after my work, but before his work on one of the days, giving us a tight segment of time but that should be enough for more or less a meet and greet. Because he is the one that will have somewhere to go, I tell him that he’s in charge of the planning and logistics because I wanted to make sure he had enough time to get to work.

We chat superficially in the meantime, mostly about video games and a little about past relationships. And of course… more inviting me to ask questions again. He puts me on the spot regarding the date and is trying to make me plan. I put the responsibility back on him. Finally, he suggests a place he had been wanting to try, that is more or less like a juice bar that also does protein shakes, kind of a health shop. Not really my kind of place, but I’m making him do all the planning so I won’t argue. We both independently go on a search for menus/information. He makes a comment regarding finding the menu but no prices. He randomly comments while we are chatting about the place “have i ever said that youre really fucking cute,” to which I just respond “not like in those exact words.” He adds “but yea you are. I humbly brag, “thanks! I know this about myself.” Typical male response is, presumably joking, “ok you’re too cocky” “youre ugly” “gotta bring you down a peg.” To this I just say, “it’s called confidence/not being insecure.” He switches things around saying “i know confidence is sexy.”

I don’t respond to this and get a good morning text the next day and he makes small talk about how we slept and such. It is the day that I have a date with Timmy*, but of course Robert* doesn’t know this. He at one point texts me saying that his morning got really shitty. I ask him what’s wrong and all he says is “I’ll tell you about it later.” I wonder why people do this, like why bring it up if you aren’t gonna talk about it now? It all seems like a sort of test. I do not play these games. All I say in response is “ok.” He adds “if I don’t text you about it remind me.” I don’t respond. He texts me again asking how my work is going an hour-ish later. I say it’s hectic and he asks if I’m on lunch. I send him a message about not getting full lunch breaks. I don’t hear from him for almost five hours, and given his text earlier about his bad day, I figured something could be wrong given how clingy via text he usually is. I finally text him and ask if he is ok. He says he took a nap and asked again about work, making a point that it was better than his day. Enough of the baiting, I finally say snarkily, “yeah you still have to tell me [what happened.” He is hyping it up now, saying “fair warning - its sad” I don’t respond because I figure he would still go on and tell me what happens and it didn’t warrant a response, but then he adds “if you still want to know” a few minutes later. I honestly don’t care too much, “if you want to tell me.” He finally does tell me what happened, and essentially he saw a dog be hit by a car and had tried to help it with someone else who saw the hit but the dog, unfortunately, didn’t make it. I commend him on trying to help and he says that he did the right thing and that’s why his day sucked. I don’t really know how to respond to that, plus at this point, I am getting ready for my date.

I lie to him when he asks me about my night, saying that I am chilling. More small talk to my disgust, and I verify our plans for the next day. He makes a comment about not being able to see the prices anywhere. This seems to be a worry of his for whatever reason, so I tell him that we can do something else and that I am flexible. He is of no help, as all he says about this is “idk what else we’d do.” My response is “ok” and I say I’m going to bed. In the morning it is finally the day of our date and I let him know that unfortunately I forgot to bring a change of clothes with me to work, so I’ll be wearing my work outfit tonight. He makes a comment about how he’s never seen a cute girl not look good in scrubs, and I let him know that today is the day that changes.

During the day, he states he is thinking of driving by to check the prices of the drinks and that he’s also got a back up. I tell him he should do whatever he wants. I look the places up and they are about 25 minutes away from my work. I head on that way once my work is done and I arrive first. I wait in my car until he texts me to ask which car is mine. I get out of my car and grab my things, now realizing I parked next to a puddle of water and got my shoes a little wet. I laugh it off and say oh well. I see who I presume to be him getting out of a car on the other side of the parking lot. He’s wearing a light pink hoodie, a little different but hey, real men wear pink, right?

I approach him and say hello and give him a hug. We get our masks on and walk into the store. Immediately we are greeted by who I can only assume is the owner of the shop. He is bright and happy and gives us his spiel about the type of beverages they have there. Robert* is being very quiet and is very short with the worker, saying he doesn’t know what he wants and I should go first. I try to describe what I’m going for, and the worker says the exact thing on the menu I want is unavailable due to a delayed shipment, but suggests something else to me and I accept with recommendation. I am done ordering apparently too quickly, as my date is still undecided. The owner ends up just asking him if he likes snickers, the candy bar, and he gives a not-very-believable “Yeah” so the owner suggests to him a shake that is based on those flavor patterns. Robert* is asked if we’re paying together and I look to him, he lets out an apathetic, “sure” and it takes all of my energy not to scoff. The owner tells us that they’re giving discounts out if you advertise the location by sharing a photo on social media and I agree to do so, because why not.

Then it gets a little uncomfortable. The owner is trying to be extra personable and make it a personalized experience, so upon receiving Robert*’s card, he starts referring to him using his name that is on his card. The only thing is, the name I know him by is not the name on the card, nor any fort of that name, like a typical nickname. Under my face mask, I smile and almost laugh to myself like, you dumb bitch who are you even out with rihgt now. Additional peer pressure from the owner also leads to us giving him our emails and signing up for their loyalty program, which also knocks off some cents off our drink. When I give him mine, obviously everything is the same, but when he gives his email, his email does have the name that I knew him by in the address, so I figure okay maybe Robert* is a middle name or something. Because we were under one order, there was also some sort of combo discount included as well since he got a shake and, I, a tea.

As we walk away from the counter and take a seat on a couch maybe 10 feet away, Robert* abruptly asks “what do you think the damage is?” Immediately pulling out his phone and checking the receipt of our drinks. “Uh I don’t know…. Sixteen dollars,” I guess. I am honestly put off by his obsession on price. I understand money issues, but it is not appropriate for first date behavior. I am pretty close, as it is somewhere in the mid $15 range. He scoffs at the prices.

Now that we are sitting together, I am noticing really how disheveled and not put together he looks. He has overgrown stubble, too short to be a beard, but definitely not stubble from just the day. His skin all over his face and body is dry and flaky, especially on his ears. Again, I expect a little more from a man who has had days to prepare for this date. I have been sipping my drink for a while, and it is honestly delicious, one of the best beverages I’ve ever had. He asks if I would like to try his drink. “No thank you, I don’t think it would go well with my fruity drink,” I half lie. The major reason why is that I am weird about sharing drinks/food and that so far I am almost repulsed by him and don’t want to share anything with him.

Despite my lack of optimism already, I try my best to be upbeat and give him a chance. I am trying to start a conversation and ask him questions and get to know him more, but he is a brick wall. He’s just staring at me and not saying anything, occasionally taking sips from his shake. Many of his responses are very sarcastic and rude. He actually brings up the ears; he had a very bad sunburn and that’s why they looked like that. Doesn’t explain the rest of his look though, but at least he was aware of that. It is pretty warm in the shop. I already opted to leave my jacket in the car, but at one point he decided to take off his sweatshirt. Underneath was a red shirt with almost like a confetti cake type pattern, of little microscopic dots of different colors throughout. I compliment the shirt, and mention I have one of a similar type of fabric pattern. I am nodded at. I again continue to try and force conversation, but I am still getting nothing.

Randomly he says, “come here” and puts his arm around me, pulling me close. I am extremely confused, as I was getting very negative vibes from him all over. I make my confusion known by commenting about how that was out of nowhere. His only response is, “oh you know.” “No, I do not know. I have no idea what is going on right now.” He only just chuckles and is like “you’re a cute girl.” I furrow my brow in confusion and figure we should get some air and suggest we take a walk. I ran to my car and put the drink in my car as well as my bag, being light, only having my phone and car keys for the walk. We take off and just walk through a nearby neighborhood. We have maybe 10-15 more minutes until he has to get going so he can get to work in time.

Conversation is still moderately forced, but a little better. At one point, we come up to a tree where the branches overhang drastically over the sidewalk. Whereas before I had been walking on the street side, Robert* has swung around and walked into the street, whereas I choose just to duck under the branches, which is easier with me being shorter, although I would not say he is very tall either. I made a comment about not caring and that he could have just “pushed me into the street/out of the way” and continued on, jokingly, about how you have to put a woman in their place. He says “okay noted I see what you like now,” trying to turn it into something sexual, it seems. I pause a moment, becoming much more serious when I say, “you know I’m kidding. I’ve told you about my abusive relationship so obviously I am not a fan of battering women.” In this moment, he pulls me into an embrace and tries to kiss me. I lean away and ask him, “why is talking about abusing women the time to try and kiss me?” He makes an excuse saying that he just really wanted to kiss me. I lie again, making another excuse about why I don’t want to kiss him, “I’m more old fashioned I guess, I’d like to get to know someone a little better and make sure that we are compatible and know each other well before I do anything.” Again, not entirely untrue. For the five hundredth or so time, Robert* says that I can ask him any questions.

I check my watch and declare, accurately, “We should probably head back towards our cars, you need to head out soon.” We walk back to the parking lot, having idle chitter chatter. When we get to my car, it’s perfect timing, as an alarm he had set to make sure he left on time goes off. I start to say our goodbyes and he tells me again that he wants to kiss me. I make a noise that makes my discomfort known, and he says, “well what about a kiss on the cheek?” I say verbatim, “I’ll allow it.” He makes a sarcastic comment, mocking me about “allowing it.” I retorted back saying, “well yeah.” He sticks to his word and only does a cheek kiss, and I’m cringing and can’t wait to wash my face when I get home. Being polite, I ask for him to let me know when he gets to work.

Using my Apple Carplay, I ask my car to text him when I notice he is driving behind me. Though, as all I’m getting is audio, I don’t know exactly what I am texting until I get home later.

(the first two texts of mine are my car texting and not manually)

Immediately, he asks me my feelings about him.

I then offered Venmo him money for my drink, as obviously money was a huge concern for him. He accepts and sends me his Venmo. I sent him the money and let him know so.

And that is that. He doesn’t text me after that.

[artificialqueens]

Notebooks & Post-it's - Chapter 14 - (Branjie) - Thankyoumissvanjie

A/N: Soooo… Here’s my take on Amsterdam. Enjoy.

Summary:

It all went from bad to worse in Amsterdam.

LINK TO AO3

It all went from bad to worse in Amsterdam.

Or maybe if Brock was being fair, it had begun the descent into bad in Belfast, worsened in Oslo, only to come to a horrible conclusion in Amsterdam.

After the drunken conversation in the hallway, they had both seemed to agree that they would leave each other alone unless they were on stage.

Save it for the fans.

Give them the show they had paid for.

It tore at his heart, but Brock kept on dealing with the jokes and touches. He found himself standing in the wings glancing at Vanjie performing her ass off, trying to reconcile himself to the fact that he would never get to be her proud boyfriend again.

The drinking seemed to get out of hand. He needed more alcohol to get through the shows. The tequila seemingly always in an endless supply wherever they came.

He wrote and wrote in the notebook.

I wish you would look at me. Even just to get mad. Just something. But you don’t. I am invisible to you unless we are on the stage. You only care for Brooke Lynn. Too bad it’s Brock that’s in love you with you.

And wrote.

It’s funny how the thing that scared me so much the last time is the one thing I crave. I want the commitment. I want you to be mine and only mine. I want you to stake your claim. I don’t want anybody else. Fuck that. I want you.

And wrote.

I love you. I don’t think that’s ever going to go away.

The blank pages were filled up with love declarations that were never uttered. The pages a silent testament to the turmoil wrecking havoc inside of Brock.

________________________________________________________________________

The energy during the Belfast gig had been weird. The excitement of it being the last show in the UK coupled with an amazing crowd and high energy seemed to do something to all of them. They were leaving for Oslo tomorrow, but tonight they would party and have fun. There was this end of school year feel.

They all took longer to de-drag. Brock being the last one out for some reason.

And that was when he saw it.

Stuck to his foundation.

A post-it.

He slowly peeled it off, his hand shaking, excited and scared at the same time.

He wanted it to be an invitation, while he also dreading it.

209. Please - V

Brock had never packed his stuff that quickly, as he did after reading that, almost running out of the dressing room, needing to see José now. Scared what was wrong, hopeful that maybe he wanted to give them a chance.

_______________________

José didn’t know why he had said no to Brock. He was drunk, in fact, they had both been out of it, not knowing what they were saying or doing.

He didn’t want to make one more drunken mistake. Not with Brock.

But ignoring him after having been so close with him for weeks was odd. It was as if they were doing a publicity stunt.

It felt dirty.

It felt wrong.

José was in love with Brock. Had been for over a year, and having to play that up in front of the fans hurt.

Seeing Brock turn paler and thinner. Not eating, but drinking more than usual, hurt.

It all hurt.

He missed him.

He wanted to take care of him.

But José had been an idiot and closed the door that Brock seemed to have opened just an inch.

Yet, closed doors had never really seemed to be a hindrance for him.

Which was why he had left that post-it. Hoping that Brock would show up, knowing that he probably wouldn’t.

But hoping oh so much.

The rest of the queens had gone straight from the venue to the club, but José had simply shaken his head at them, knowing that he looked tired enough to not get any shit from them.

If Nina has sent him a worried look, he decided to not react.

He couldn’t.

Getting into an Uber, and arriving at the hotel all seemed to pass by in a blur. It wasn’t until he closed the door to his room behind him that he realised how tired he was. Both his body and mind. The toll of drag and being an idiot with his emotions was draining. He dropped his bags on the floor, taking two steps over to the bed and simply face planting onto it.

Maybe he should just sleep, then he wouldn’t be awake to feel the disappointment of Brock never showing up.

“You a messy hoe, Miss Vanjie!” José’s words were muffled by the duvet as he stubbornly refused to turn around. Too tired, and too emotionally stressed to do anything.

The tentative knocking at the door, however, did the trick. Making him almost jump up from the bed and run to the door.

“Be cool, be cool. Make ‘im sweat, mama,” he whispered to himself as he tried to count to ten slowly, “two, three, ten… fuck it,” opening the door he came face to face - more like face to shoulder - with Brock.

“Well, you be looking like hell fried over, Boo,” José was being kind. Brock looked like shit. The bags under his eyes were a deep purple. His skin pale and shallow. His hair was a mess, and that stupid red hoodie seemed looser than usual.

He was wasting away in front of him.

“You don’t look too good either, Papi,” The endearment made the ever-present butterflies of affection flutter in José’s stomach. Over a year after they first started this thing and he was still so very in love him.

For a moment they both just stared at each other. Their eyes trying to morse code the words their mouths were too afraid to utter.

But then José looked away, the earnestness in Brock’s eyes making him scared, as he didn’t know what it meant. His pulse seemed to quicken at the possibility of Brock seeing him as more than a good fuck, but he knew that was too much to ask for.

Walking back to the bed he sat down on it, expecting Brock to simply follow, smiling when he heard the soft click of the door closing, followed by it being locked. He felt tired in his bones. The tour, this stupid-ass thing with Brock and just… everything.

Maybe it was the fact that they only had three shows left, that made the tiredness set in. Perhaps it was because he knew only had three more shows left with him. Before Brock left for other venues and tours.

Three shows left to finally tell him how he felt.

“So…” Brock was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking expectantly at him.

“You wanna fuck?” José knew that he probably looked pathetic in his shorts and tank-top, hair all ruffled, face washed and make-up free. He could feel the exhaustion in his body, and all he wanted to do was sleep, but Brock was here.

José wanted him to stay, no. He needed him to. Needed his touch, his comfort and warmth. José knew that he was difficult to deal with on a day-to-day basis, knew in the depth of his soul that the reason they hadn’t worked out had nothing to do with Brock’s need for freedom, but rather everything to do with José’s brand of craziness being too draining.

Brock might have loved him, but that didn’t mean he necessarily liked him all that much.

Yet, no matter what, they had always had that sexual connection. The way that touching each other was a craving, a drug that none of them seemed to be able to quit.

If sex was involved, Brock would stay.

It was the one thing, that José always knew to be true.

Brock’s startled laugh broke through the sleepy fog of his mind, instantly making him scowl.

“What you laughin’ ‘bout, bitch?” Typical Brock, to just laugh at him when he was prepositioning him. It made him feel like an idiot. As if the idea of sleeping with him was a joke.

As if being with him was a fucking joke.

“Papi, you look like you’re gonna fall asleep any minute now. I’m not into the somnophilia scene. So no, I don’t want to fuck,” Brock had walked over to him and slowly pulled him up from the bed. José subconsciously following him. Not even realising what was happening.

His limbs were heavy and his protests about sleeping instead of fucking were lodged deep in his throat.

The way Brock was gently guiding him. His hands soft and warm as they pushed against his lower back, made him weak in the knees.

It made him feel cared for.

It made him feel loved.

“Fuck you! I be like the pizza man, boo. Always delivering” There was no conviction behind his words, as Brock got him to lie down on the bed, José’s eyes following his every move as he covered him with the duvet.

Brock was softly kneeling on the floor next to the bed, his fingers carding through his hair, almost making him purr with content.

“I’m sure. All you will be delivering tonight is some well-earned sleep, babe,” Brock’s face contorted into something slightly sad, but overwhelmingly warm. It made José think of the nights they had right before they broke up. The way that Brock had been extra attentive, while also being slightly withdrawn.

“You ain’t knowing nothing, I might be pulling an all-nighter, hoe!” José knew he was being a child. Knew that he was tired and just needed to sleep.

But he missed being held.

He just fucking missed Brock.

“Uh-uh. It’s time to sleep now, though,” Brock’s voice was soft and warm like a lullaby, the tenor of it reminded him of Sunday mornings in bed and late-night facetime calls. He leaned down and kissed his forehead, lingering for a minute.

And then he got up from the floor, knees cracking, huffing tiredly and made his way to the door.

“Stay,” José’s whisper didn’t stop Brock from walking away, which was why he added a small, “please.”

He knew that he sounded pathetic, but he didn’t care. The idea of spending the night alone with his thoughts and exhaustion was too much to bear.

He just wanted Brock.

As Brock reached the door, José felt the weight on his chest grow heavier, his eyes swimming with unshed tears. A single thought went through his mind.

He’s leaving. For good.

Then the room went dark. The small click of the light switch the purest sound José had ever heard.

The weight on his chest magically disappeared, while he felt like he was going to cry from the sheer relief of not spending the night alone.

He could vaguely hear Brock undress, the sound of a zipper and clothes hitting the floor, each sound managing to slowly repair every phantom crack in his heart.

The bed dipped under Brock’s weight, and suddenly José found himself wrapped in those strong and muscular arms. The secure harbour of them settling him instantly.

This was home.

He gave a satisfied grunt and shuffled closer, burying his nose in Brock’s neck, savouring the scent of his cologne mixed with sweat. It was so quintessential him.

“Sleep tight, Big Guy,” the words were whispered against his forehead.  

“You too, Toes,”

And with that he fell into a peaceful slumber that he hadn’t even known he had needed.

_____________________

Brock hadn’t slept a wink. His body stiff from having held José the whole night, his head fussy with sleep deprivation, while his mind went in circles.

What did this mean?

It felt different. Everything about José last night had been softer, quieter and more emotional.

Brock had in the middle of the night dared to whisper a soft “I love you”, knowing that it was drowned out by José’s small snores.

He had to tell him.

Holding José in his arms had been amazing.

Had been painful.

Had been insanely confusing.

For a night it had felt like they were back together as if nothing had happened. Yet, the moment José woke up, Brock knew that the jig was up. He had tensed in his arms and seemed in a rush to get him out of the room.

Brock knew when he was unwanted, quickly making his excuses and left.

José’s standoffishness followed them to Oslo, everyone except Brock cranky over the fact that there had been a massive delay in the airport, meaning that they wouldn’t have any time to enjoy the city before having to get into drag.

Brock hadn’t complained as it had given him a chance to finally sleep. His body was aching. The alcohol, the emotional turmoil and just being on tour all taking a huge toll on him.

Maybe that was why he hadn’t taken any notice of how withdrawn José was before the show began. Brock was so in his head trying to find the energy to be Brooke Lynn for the night, that he didn’t notice anything or anyone else.

He did, however, become painfully aware of, once on the stage, how Vanjie didn’t interact with her. How she kept to herself, joking instead with Monique or Meatball. There was no hug for the fans, no mentioning of Brooke in Miss Vanjie’s long spiels of bullshit after her numbers.

Fuck.

Instead, Brooke twirled on stage with Nina, trying to swallow the disappointment of it not being Vanjie.

At the Meet & Greet after the show, she smiled at everyone, but her heart was breaking every time she glanced over at Vanjie, noticing how she never even acknowledged Brock’s presence.

Shit.

The other’s talked about going drinking, but Brock knew he couldn’t handle it. So he left them all going back to the hotel, trying not to think too hard about the absence of a post-it, nor the worried looks Nina kept sending him.

Sitting on his bed, in his darkened room, he tried not to think too much about how much he was fucking everything up.

He still remembered how José had felt in his arms. If he thought hard enough he could almost imagine it right there in his empty hotel room.

If a tear a two fell down his face it didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if anyone was there to see his fast track towards rock bottom anyway.

____________

Was that the last time? Am I too late? Have my waiting and hesitation ruined it all? I know I set myself up to fail, I mean fucking the ex you are still in love with doesn’t seem like a stellar plan in any fucking type of universe. Maybe you infected me with your love of romantic movies. Maybe I thought that this could be some shitty Nicholas Sparks book were we do end up together in the last chapter. Guess that makes me the fool.

______________

And then Amsterdam happened.

They had been up early, catching an early plane to ensure that they would have a full day in the city since it was pride.

Brock had barely slept in Oslo. His mind going over every possible wrong turn he had taken with José that had brought him to this particular point. A point where José wouldn’t even look at him.

Nina was a blessing. Giving him hugs, trying to make him smile, ensuring that he ate.

It was Nina that got them invited to some big party, bringing Meatball along for the ride. It was Nina that made sure they met Bianca.

Nina was the best of friends the whole day. Not giving him a single side-eye at all the alcohol he was drinking. Just being that steady presence that he needed, while Bianca spent the day reading him to filth.

“Well you look like a real reigning,” hiding behind big sunglasses, mouth pursed and voice drier than a good martini, Bianca was her usual bitchy self.

“Uhuh, and how’s that?” If it had been anyone else, Brock would’ve felt called out and maybe a bit anxious, but having known her for years, he took it for what it was.

Bianca being worried.

“Like you’re close to dying. Jesus, you look like shit,” Despite her rough deadpan voice, Brock could still hear the small thread of concern, which made him smile softly.

“I still look better than you,” Which was true.

But only barely.

“Debatable,” the way the Bianca looked over her sunglasses for a second, as the hard front she always put up softened made Brock feel warm.

The way his friends all tried to care for him and make him feel better was so heartwarming.

They all succeeded in making him feel better. Slowly pulling him out of his José-induced funk, though it was difficult to know if it was Nina, Pride or tequila.

Probably a mix.

All Brock knew was that he was dancing, without a single care in the world. The baking sun managing to thaw up his otherwise cold and broken heart. The alcohol in his blood made him brave and he knew what he had to do.

He had to tell him.

Now.

He was drunk enough to not care about the outcome, but not drunk enough to make it a bad idea.

He had to tell him.

It only took a few texts and some stalking of stories on Instagram to figure out where José was. Dragging Meatball and Nina with him hadn’t been difficult, all of them ready to party with all their sisters.

He had seen José’s stories, seen how good he looked with that ridiculous thigh-strap fanny-pack.

He loved him, and he wanted him… And fuck it, he was going to say it to him.

His eagerness at seeing José meant that everything else seemed to fade away. The details of how they went from one club to another hazy and blurred.

He couldn’t remember what they had talked about on the way, nor if they had met up with some of the queens before entering the club.

His mind was so focused on what he wanted - no needed - to say, that he didn’t even register the loud music or the fact that it was making the walls and floor vibrate.

Didn’t notice all the people that stumbled into him, as he tried to navigate his way to the bar, hoping that it would give him a better view of the place, so he had a higher chance of locating José.

He was so absorbed in this task that his mind didn’t fully register what he was seeing right before him, as he finally reached the bar.

It was as if everything had slowed down, his heart skipping multiple beats as his eyes and brain seemed to finally connect thoughts and visuals into a scene taken straight from Brock’s worst nightmare.

The bass and the dancing masses kept on moving and grinding, not caring that Brock’s heart had just shattered into a million pieces, a sob stuck somewhere in his throat.

There in the corner of the bar stood José. His back to Brock as he was kissing someone. Though kissing was perhaps too mild a description, as it looked like they were two seconds away from jumping each other right then and there.

He was too late.

With that one thought going on repeat, Brock backed away, leaving his broken heart on the floor as he fled the club.

He. Was. Too. Late.