Work Text:
Wanting it to work only goes so far.
Making it work is a different story.
One they are both all too familiar with.
It should have been simple.
They tried.
It didn’t work.
End of story.
But it wasn’t that simple. Bless the two idiots, but nothing either of them did could ever be half-hearted or simple.
Brock had been dealing with it his own way. Taking men to bed he never would have glanced twice at before, just because he could. He was single.
Single.
The men would fill the hole in his chest for the night. But in the day…he would come back to their bunk. He doesn’t know when it became their bunk. It just kind of…happened.
Like their relationship. It just kinda…happened.
And when it supposedly “ended,” it just kinda…didn’t happen.
Jose dealt with it by drinking heavily. Every night. Constantly.
He pretended it was to numb the pain, but in reality, it was the only way he felt he could breathe. Bogged down by social niceties while sober, he couldn’t very well throw himself to Brock’s feet and beg. But when he was hazy and out of it, he could remember the way Brock’s hand fit into his own like a puzzle piece. The way his hair fell into his face in a way that was messy and unkempt and looked…perfect on him. He would remember their first kiss. Not on the show, but after. Their first real kiss. Not seen by cameras. Not blasted to thousands of people to put their two cents into. Just them. And the LA air that felt like a caress even though it was hotter than hell.
It was an excuse, he knew that. Everyone knew. It was an excuse to get emotional and cry into Silky’s shoulder.
He wasn’t like this. He insisted.
He was just drunk.
That’s all.
So, it was this weird thing where Jose was still very openly and very much in love with Brock. And Brock was very much pretending he was neither of those things. And they were still sleeping together because why the hell not. It was…decidedly a bad arrangement.
They would tour, and Brock would try and sleep with someone who didn’t look like Jose (but then again no one looked like Jose). Jose would get upset (and my god he looked sexier when his heart was breaking). Brock would come back (and he would hate himself for it). They would fuck about it (and pretend they weren’t dying inside when they fell asleep). Rinse and repeat.
Nina had to be there through it all, bless her. She would listen to Brock lament about his commitment issues. Then she would listen to Jose lament about Brock’s commitment issues. She knew, well, they all knew…it wasn’t commitment issues. It never had been.
But there is only so much lamenting a person can hear. So, it really shouldn’t have been a surprise when Nina snaps. Albeit, while very inebriated and very lonely.
Brock had been taking her back to the tour bus. She had been rambling on and on about their relationship.
She told him things he already knew. Things about himself that he knew.
Objectively. He knew.
But it didn’t make it hurt any less.
“No, you got scared because your whole life you’ve been independent. And when you finally found someone that you loved, and you did, whether you admit it or not, when you found that person you got scared. Because you found that you didn’t mind not being independent. You didn’t mind being half of a whole. You were ok not being completely your own person as long as you could be not completely your own person with him. You didn’t mind making room in your life for him. You didn’t mind staying up late until he got home so you two could fall asleep together. You didn’t mind the distance, because you knew he would always come back. You weren’t scared of distance or time or money or any of the shit normal people are scared of. You were scared you loved him too much, too soon.”
She was right.
Of course, she was right.
It didn’t make it hurt any less.