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He’s nostalgic. Even though it doesn't feel like it can possibly have been long ago enough for that but he can’t help it. He’s drowning in the feeling and it's swallowing him whole. No part of him wants to be alone right now but maybe that's the way this has to happen. Sure, people wanted him left right and centre. He had bookings around the clock and could have sat happily in any bar in LA today - but he couldn’t. Not for this episode. Not with her.
Plastique blows up his phone every couple of minutes just to make sure he’s still alive and it’s all he can do to not cry when he sees the pity in her texts, She knows how he feels right now and it’s killing him slowly to see that he’s not delusional. If Plastique sees it then it must be real. He fires back, in short, disguised texts and then scrolls through his Instagram when the ads come on. Henry is in his lap and he stroked him absentmindedly as the soft purs do little to sway his thoughts away from her. He opens hers'. He closes it just as fast.
Then he hears it. It's his tone of voice that sets him off because he knows that she was the only one who knew what it meant. Then he looks up and her smiles are soft and touches, absorb the warmth from his body and he can remember every second and he doesn't want to forget.
PLASTIQUE: I’m here if you want to talk about it x
BROCK: no thanks.
The tears spill hot and salty down his cheeks, glistening like the drag jewels she wore. Akeria says something about a beautiful romance and its surreal because he knows it was. It was more than either of them could possibly know in that lingering hug and the timid smiles that were so out of character for her but looked so good on her face. He shuts off the TV, vowing to watch it at a later date when his feelings aren't as rampant and he can breathe without still smelling her cologne. He’s still waiting on a day that that might happen.
********************
He’s in a club. It’s the only place he would be able to process the episode and to be honest he’s hoping that it will deter his feelings from existing. He just wants a night of calm before it hits him again. He needs a moment just to feel like José before he goes back to feeling like Vanessa.
But he blinks and he’s stuffed into a chair that doesn’t quite fit his hip pads drinking a drink not strong enough for what he's trying to hide in a bar that cannot encompass all that he feels. He feels like she's tearing him apart. They've not even been paired in the episode that he's watching but he still knows just how he will feel when they get grouped. He knows exactly what they did that night and he knows what will come next after the ad break. Every second he spends on the chair he wonders how he’ll respond then the chatty Irish host asks him about her. He's not sure he could.
The lights raise as an ad for cream cheese comes on and he quickly excuses himself for a smoke break. Promises of being back for the next part are thrown around - he’s not sure if he can promise that. Worst comes to it, he knows Akeria and Silky can handle themselves.
The cold air batters him as he thinks back to all the smoke breaks they’d take to be alone. It was easy to hide the fumbling beginnings of a relationship as the only two smokers but it doesn’t help the stability of his hand as he brought it closer to his lips. Every inhale tasted like her and he has to promise himself he’ll quit. He can't keep tasting her on his tongue when he knows he’ll never feel her lips on his again.
He's stubbing out the cigarette as the crowds begin to scream and he has enough sense to run back inside and slip (read force) himself back into his chair. The girls give him knowing looks. He ignores it.
‘Hey Papi’
It takes every fibre of his being not to scream out. Not to rip his dress clean off and run out of the bar never looking back. He keeps his eyes fixed on his own soft smile - reserved just for her, his thoughts trained on the way she held him. He hopes no one notices the tear that threatens to fall onto his lashes. Like a house of cards, this memory was the base and it’s falling down. Thanking the lords for bar lighting he downs the rest of whatever drink Silky handed him -the taste too sweet for his liking and not strong enough. He can still taste smoke - it's filling his lungs and he needs to breathe. He needs to breathe.
The lights go up and the host must have caught whatever frantic glances Akeria and Silky are throwing because she talks about everything but Vanessa. He might as well not be there and quite frankly he isn't quite sure he is. Everything passing over his head as he centres himself on her. He's done with ignoring it.
********************
It’s only twenty past eleven when her text comes through. He’s on a whole new bottle of wine watching a documentary on the New York City Ballet and reminiscing about his old life. It's nice, fanciful, isn't her.
PAPI <3: I can't do this.
PAPI <3: Runyon, 11 am tomorrow?
His barely dry eyes water again at the sight of the nickname he never changed. Her nickname. He'd always just buried it under the other girls, hoped never to have to scroll that far down. It might be the wine, the episode or just the bittersweet longing for a guy he’d never recovered from - but he’d never typed so fast in his life.
BROCK: I’ll be there x
********************
Its California in March and the chill seeps into every bone in his body. She's Canadian, he knows she’ll find this warm, but for him, the cold is a torturous purgatory. He sees her first and she's hard to miss. 6”3 of male ballerina sticks out like a sore thumb most places and Runyon Canyon on a Friday morning is no exception. She looks tired and hungover and he can see the cat hairs on her white jacket from miles off but even at a distance, he can smell the cologne that always smelt like home. He can feel the warmth of her touch from a single glance and even without looking into her eyes he knows how she feels. He feels the same way too.
He could never claim that it was in slow motion because in truth it went too fast. One minute she wasn't here and the next, a force appeared to have overtaken his body and his arms were tight around her. She wound her arms around his waist and buried her face in his hair.
‘I’m sorry’
‘I know’
I love you’
‘I know’
‘can we go home?’
‘yes’