Chapter Text
Worried Brock was the most prevalent of all the Brocks.
He was the one that dominated Brock’s mind during the competition. Well, Worried Brock and Professional Brock shared that really. Worried Brock took precedent though. Every challenge that was cause to fret brought about Worried Brock. He would pace, and he would pick at his nails, and he would tear skin from his lips.
Jose could always tell when he was dealing with Worried Brock because his lips felt different when they kissed.
But even after the show had finished airing, Worried Brock still found a way into their lives. Worried Brock would check that he locked the door at least three times before bed, two if it was a good night. Worried Brock left the lights in the bathroom on. Worried Brock kept his shoes by the bedroom door. Worried Brock kept his things in bags when he visited.
Worried Brock used to keep his heart in his bedside drawer in Nashville. When his heart made the 4-and-a-half-hour journey to place itself in Jose’s chest, Worried Brock’s hands clenched at his sides, barely holding back from snatching it up again.
Any challenge seemingly simple brought out Professional Brock, the one that would kiss Jose on the cheek rather than the lips. The one that congratulated him with a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. The one that would wave hello and goodbye and make earsplitting small talk after their breakup. He was nice, but it was forced. It was a forced happy that Jose loathed seeing.
Because Professional Brock was the one everyone else got to see. He was poised and calm and…professional. It was superficial at best, and a mime of who Brock really was at least.
…
Scared Brock was perhaps Jose’s least favorite Brock.
He was the one Jose saw the most of in the weeks leading up to their breakup. His Brock took a backseat as Scared Brock began to take hold. Second guessing every hand hold. Waiting with bated breath after every question. It was like walking on eggshells, if they had already been stepped on and were also on fire.
The glimpses of His Brock became fewer and farther between. Jose was exhausted by the end of it. Trying and failing time and time again to soothe Scared Brock, and coax His Brock, or really any other Brock into appearing.
It was no use.
The damage had been done.
…
Happy Brock lived his best life in the summer.
With the sunshine and the warm air. Happy Brock would (poorly) hum love songs under his breath as he and Jose walked hand and hand down one of the many piers in LA. He would buy Jose ice cream just so he could kiss away the sticky mess Jose inevitably made all over his face. Happy Brock wouldn’t care if when he danced it wasn’t perfect.
Happy Brock was just that, happy.
His forehead never creased, his eyes never sunk back in his head, and his eyes stayed crinkled at the edges.
His eyes shone with the waning light, and Jose swears he had never seen anything more beautiful than Happy Brock’s soft smile at the sunset.
…
Sad Brock took a while to get to know.
He was shut off and kept hidden behind the closed eyelids and padlocked doors that made up Brock’s mind. He wasn’t easy to get to know. He was even harder to love.
But Jose made do.
He took his time.
Getting to know bits and pieces of Sad Brock. Learning his likes and dislikes. What to say if and when he made an appearance. How to tell the difference between Sad Brock and Brock being sad. It was a faint distinction, but one that existed in the space it took to wrap his arms around Brock’s shoulders. Small, but not insignificant.
Sad Brock appeared more frequently when he drank, or maybe Brock just cared less about locking the door behind himself. Sad Brock would drink too much tequila and call Jose pretty and perfect and all the other names that Jose used to preen under. But they wouldn’t be said the same way. They would be said like Brock lost the word halfway through saying it. Like he had lost…something.
He had.
They both had.
…
Jose loved Brock, all the Brocks. But, his favorite by far was His Brock.
His Brock was thoughtful. Getting him a personalized necklace for his birthday with one of Brock’s nicknames on it, so that Jose could always have a Brock with him, next to his heart, where he belonged.
His Brock bought flowers just because. Always a different kind. He would come home with a bouquet and a card that had the meaning of the different flowers. He would read it to Jose while the younger man placed kisses all over his face. His Brock would pretend to get mad saying “Don’t you want to hear why Lilies are the flower for purity?” Jose would shake his head and make an off-color joke about purity that would make Brock giggle. The kind that made his nose scrunch up, and his laugh lines visible. Jose would kiss them sweetly, until Brock gave up trying to educate his boyfriend.
His Brock took them to meet his parents only two months into dating.
Jose expected to see Worried or Scared Brock as he shook Mama Hytes’ hand, but on that trip, the only Brock visible was His Brock.
His Brock was proud to show him off at every opportunity. Family friends, schoolmates, even the occasional stranger in passing. His Brock dominated the trip. Maybe it was because they were in Brock’s home country that he felt the way he did. His Brock would kiss him in the street with no warning, hold his hand at every opportunity, place a hand on his lower back to lead him, and love him unapologetically in the open. Jose had never seen Brock like this; this free spirit. Usually bogged down by Worried or Professional Brock, there was hardly PDA between the two, but something about the Canadian air must have triggered something in Brock, because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself the entire time.
It was an overwhelming, but not unwelcome influx of affection.
His Brock took care of him.
Jose felt emotions strongly. This was not news to anyone. It was one of the things His Brock liked best about him. His ability to be so honest with his own feelings, no matter what feelings they were. The first fight in ‘Untucked’ had shown Brock the uglier side of that coin. Jose had worried that would be the final nail in the coffin so to speak, but it only made Brock strive to learn better how to handle Jose when he got too hyped up.
He learned. It took time, but he learned. He learned that Jose could get just as quiet as he could get loud. He learned that too many mimosas made Jose sleepy rather than rowdy, but too many tequilas made him dancy and impossible to sleep next too.
He learned all of this, and he stayed even after.
His Brock still took care of him after they broke up.
His Brock appeared at Jose’s door with supplies, and an open heart when Jose had called him in a fevered state. Jose had been burning, maybe less from the fever than originally thought, but Brock had brought a firetruck. Doused the flame in the time it took them to curl up together as if nothing had changed.
…
Brock loved him.
They never said it, any of them, but Jose knew. He knew from the first few kisses in the werkroom. He knew from the first panic attack he had to coax Brock through, he knew from the moment he introduced Brock to his mom.
He knew.
He always knew.
So, when it came time for His Brock to no longer be His, it was hard.
And it sucked.
It sucked so fucking much.
It sucked even worse because all the other Brocks were there. All the other Brocks he had learned to love were on tour with him. Smiling in his dressing room, or crying into Nina’s shoulder pads, or pacing up and down the narrow hallway, or locking the door behind himself.
All the Brocks Jose loved were there, except the one that loved him back.