Chapter Text
Drake was panicking. The smell of coffee clung to him like a drowning man as he anxiously downed his third cup of the (unsweetened) caffeinated beverage in an hour. Not only had Kendrick absolutely flamed his ass with his recent drop, but he was also allegedly coming out with even more. Drake was, to put it simply, lagging behind. Even Yuno Miles had jumped on Metro’s beat to mock the two rappers. Granted, it was also Yuno Miles (Drake hadn’t yet decided if the man was an idiot or an absolute genius), and not much was actually said about him specifically, but still. He paced around his studio, frantically running his hands over his head as he thought.
He needed to do something. The public clearly wasn’t in his favor at the moment, and dropping another diss might only serve to provoke Kendrick into dropping yet another humiliating track. His left eye twitched and he sighed deeply, clutching his head in his hands. Dejected and running out of options, Drake reluctantly sat down in his swivel chair and decided to pull up his old friend, WikiHow. Furiously typing away against his cracked phone screen, he began inquiring about any and all things that could possibly get him back in the game. Propping his feet up on his underpaid intern’s desk, he began scanning the options.
What to do when you’re being publicly shamed. No helpful results.
How to write a diss track without ghost writers. Irrelevant results with bad advice.
How to get back at someone when they wrong you publicly. Possibly helpful? He bookmarked the article and decided to keep searching.
How to win over public favor. Drake paused, staring at the screen of his busted iPhone 12 Pro in surprise. Did he read that right? He continued to scan the article, eyes widening in disbelief. There was no way the number one piece of advice was anything more than a silly gag, right?
1. Make a public love confession.
Slowly, he blinked before taking his feet off the desk and leaning further back in his chair, cupping his chin in thought.
“Huh,” he said aloud, before craning his neck towards the open studio door. “YO QUENTIN!”
“What do you want?” someone gave a resigned sigh from another room nearby. A dark, hooded head peeked around the corner. “If you’re gonna ask me to ghost write for you again, I better be getting paid.”
“Nah, it’s not that,” Drake waved off the accusatory glare sent his way before beckoning Quentin over. The man gave a long-suffering stare to the ceiling before dragging himself over to his desk, squinting at Drake’s shattered phone screen.
“Man, you have got to get a new phone. How the fuck do you even read on this shit?”
“You know what they say. If ain’t broke, don’t fix it” Drake responded dismissively. Quentin leveled him with an unimpressed stare.
“Bro, it is quite literally beyond broke.” Drake crossed his arms defensively, huffing.
“I didn’t call you over here to judge what I choose to do with my personal devices. I want to ask you something,” he gestured at the screen. “Do you think this would actually work?”
Quentin simply stared at the screen, slowly deciphering the text through the fractures in the display. As he read, what little light was left in his eyes dimmed, and his expression grew increasingly blank. Finally, he shook his head in disbelief. “I mean, you do you man. It’d certainly get people talking.”
Drake visibly brightened at this, instantly filled with hope; this could be the thing to bring back his positive public perception! Quentin’s disapproving glare was not enough to quell his enthusiasm.
“You know what, fuck it. I have nothing left to lose. In WikiHow I trust,” he threw prayer hands up towards the ceiling of the studio before second guessing himself. He glanced back down at his phone before spinning around to face Quentin. Drake cocked his head slightly, giving him a serious look and asked, “Should I for real do this?” Quentin just stared flatly.
“Bro, I don’t even like you. I don’t know why the hell you’d trust my opinion on anything. Ask one of your ‘multitudes of women’ you claim to have if you really want to know.”
Quentin’s less than ideal response caused Drake’s happy demeanor to diminish rather quickly. It simply wasn’t optimistic enough. If he was actually going to commit to the bit, he needed to be confident in his choice. Drumming his fingers against the armrest of the chair, Drake came to a conclusion: in order to confirm his decision, he needed a second opinion. Only briefly glancing up to see Quentin disappear around the threshold of the door, he resigned himself to resorting to his old habits. Opening up his text history with his great friend, Millie Bobby Brown, he pondered upon how to explain the absurdity of the situation to her.
Me:
yo i miss u. need ur advice on smth. thought of a crazy way to get my name back out there. in a good way this time. can i get ur opinion?
He sent it, and sucked in a breath. The worry that Millie wouldn’t support his plan was a very real one, and he feared her disapproval would mean he’d be at a loss once more. After all, her opinion did mean a lot to him. His knee bounced rapidly under his desk as he anxiously awaited her reply. Finally, a familiar contact name and message appeared on his home screen.
Millie Brown😘♥️ sent a message…
Nearly instantaneously–almost as if he had no control over his muscle movement-Drake’s finger tapped the notification banner, breathing a sigh of relief as his eyes scanned the message.
Millie Brown😘♥️:
Yeah I haven’t seen you in a while. Let me know what I can help with. You have my support as long as it’s not illegal.
His heart skipped a beat; this might just work. His stomach filled with anxiety as he hesitantly typed out his plan. He sighed, thinking over everything once more, and sent the text.
Me:
ik this is wild. but stay w me here. what if i post a public confession announcing my love for kendrick. like fuck bro maybe itll make ppl sympathize w me or sum. hopefully itll distract from his disses an make me seem like the good guy. i mean how can people get mad at me after i put myself out there like that. shit, twitter also luvs the gays 4 whatever reason.
Millie opened the message instantly. This was why Drake was so fond of her; she always put effort into her responses and actually gave him the time of day. He took a moment to glance up at the clock hanging on the wall of his studio before remembering that it had broken a couple months before. He shrugged disappointedly before pocketing his phone and leaning back in the swivel chair, eyes slipping shut.
Basking in the ambience of his creative space, he felt momentarily peaceful. Drake allowed himself to slip into the moment before he felt his phone vibrating against the pocket of his hoodie, pulling him out of his reverie.
Millie Brown😘♥️ is typing…
Alert once more, Drake clutched his phone in anticipation. But Millie just kept typing…and then typing some more…
The length at which it was taking her to spell out this next message was beginning to stress Drake out. He absently stared at the three dots from her text bubble, before arising from his swivel chair and anxiously pacing around. His breathing was picking up, his heart beating faster, and he couldn’t tell if it was due to hope or dread.
After nearly his fifth lap around his studio, his phone lit up.
Millie Brown😘♥️:
Drake. That’s definitely a bloody bonkers plan. I think you should do it. My only advice is to make sure the message is heartfelt enough to convince both the audiences that you are truly in love. Lemme know if you need someone to proofread.
Drake released a relieved breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. There it was. His decision was official. He was going to release a public love confession to his current number one opp, Kendrick Lamar.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.