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Brooke found it everywhere.
In her suitcases and shoes. In her wigs and her drag. In her kitchen and bedroom. In places she knew for a fact Vanessa had never been.
It was a reminder, a heartbreaking one. Brooke would do the dishes and find traces of Vanessa’s body glitter on a plate. Brooke would shower and see a little trail of it in the cracks on the tile. Brooke would try to sleep and find traces of Vanessa on her pillow.
It was inescapable.
An inescapable loneliness.
An inescapable reminder of her choices. That lead them where they are today.
Where they are today, Brooke can’t tell you. Some city in Ohio, or was it Texas? She can’t remember. She only remembers following a trail of sparkles from her dressing room and standing in front of Vanessa.
She doesn’t know why Vanessa insists on body glitter. On why she insists on so much body glitter. Vanessa shined enough as it was.
A star.
She was a star. Everyone knew it.
Brooke had always reached for the stars, but when she finally caught one, she realized that the shine was just glitter.
Body glitter.
That should wash off in the shower.
It doesn’t.
Brooke scrubs at her skin, trying to erase Vanessa’s touch. Trying to erase the past twenty minutes. Trying to erase the encounter from her brain. Trying desperately not to cry.
The glitter only sticks.
And fuck if that isn’t a metaphor for where they are. Vanessa sticking to Brooke’s skin. Seeping into her pores. Making her…shiny on the inside. Making her light up every time they trade secret smiles. Making her face feel warm and her heart thunder against her ribs.
Brooke doesn’t know how to do this.
How to be…shiny.
That was always Vanessa’s thing.
The way Brooke performs has always been purposeful.
She knows where her feet are at all times. Knows where her hands are. Knows what to do. Knows what she does to people. It is always electric and heady and perfect.
The way Vanessa performs has always been chaotic.
Jumping and flipping her hair around. No two performances ever the same. No songs ever hit the same way. No crowd ever receiving her the same way. Never perfect, but perfect enough. It is always high energy, even the slow songs. It always makes her heart soar.
Brooke doesn’t know how she does it.
Not perform. She gets that. They are all attention whores at heart.
No, Brooke doesn’t know how Vanessa always finds her light. Doesn’t know how brightly Vanessa shines.
If she even knows how bright she is. How much of a light she is. How she has wormed her way back into Brooke’s life. Into her heart.
They don’t talk about it. They talk about everything else. Brooke will run her hands through Vanessa’s hair as the younger queen tells her about conspiracy theories she thinks have some credit. Brooke will trace outlines of words on her chest as Vanessa talks about politics. Brooke will kiss away her worries when Vanessa talks about not being good enough.
They will lay in hotel beds and tour bunks and dressing room couches. They will lay there and talk. About everything in the world except the thrumming in their veins. The shininess they both feel. The love that lingers.
It won’t last. They both know.
And when Vanessa eventually leaves, it’s with a trail of glitter in her wake.