A/N: Some Daya X Jasmine content for y’all! I really don’t know how to enemies to lovers but decided to give it a shot so lmk what you think :)
Summary: ‘Too cool for school’ Daya has a change of heart when she sees her resident annoying cheerleader crying on the bathroom floor.
~~~
Daya sat in the back of her social studies class and looked at her phone which was hidden in a textbook that she pretended to read. She was rolling her eyes and mocking Crystal at her best friend’s emphatic texts ogling over some supermodel-esque cheerleader with impeccable fashion taste when she suddenly felt something brush across her face.
Looking up from her phone, Daya saw the younger girl in front of her flick a long blonde pigtail over her shoulder before turning back to look at Daya. “You’re not supposed to have your phone out in class,” Jasmine said.
Frustrated, Daya put her phone back into her pocket and simply glared at the little teacher’s pet. Edgy girls like Daya had learned the hard way not to argue with kiss-ass cheerleaders in class if she wanted to have non-detention related plans for the day.
But something was different this time around, getting scolded for misbehaving by Jasmine was a daily occurrence but this time Daya could see a flash of anguish on the overly cheerful girl’s face before Jasmine whipped her head back to take notes in her girly notebook, hitting Daya’s face with her pigtails again in the process.
It was as though the second hand on her math teacher’s clock was ticking every minute. Daya couldn’t even talk to Crystal to get through her boredom since was still gushing about how Gigi Goode gave her a fruit snack in their art class. For a second, Daya almost wished she had Jasmine in her math class so she could distract herself with bitterness and watch blonde pigtails sway back and forth when Jasmine raised her hand to speak.
She left for the bathroom when she couldn’t take the boredom anymore but was displeased at how the change of scenery did little to improve her disposition. Halfway through attempting to occupy herself with makeup and hair touch ups, Daya heard an unusual sound coming from the room. Daya didn’t mean to be intrusive but she was curious so she listened again for the recognizable sound of a girl quietly whimpering in a bathroom stall.
“You ok in there?” Daya asked awkwardly when she realized nobody else was in the bathroom. “D-daya-” the girl’s voice cracked on the last syllable before she broke down into loud uncontrollable sobs. “Shit!” Daya exclaimed, she abandoned her makeup upon hearing her breathing take a turn for the worse. “Jasmine! Open up!” Daya didn’t even give two seconds for the crying girl to fulfill her demand before she kicked her platform boots into the door of the bathroom stall.
The intrusion startled Jasmine even worse and she crumpled forward onto the floor. “Hey, hey!” Daya practically yelled in her frantic state; she crouched down to grip Jasmine by the shoulders “Cmon, you gotta breathe, chill for a bit and we can figure this out.” Daya located Jasmine’s backpack and took her water bottle from its pouch to hand to her.
Tears were still free falling from Jasmine’s eyes as she drank but her hyperventilation had slowed just enough for Daya to be mostly assured that the younger girl wouldn’t pass out on the bathroom floor in front of her. When Daya’s own panic subsided, she was determined to figure things out: “What’s going on?” she asked in an uncharacteristically soft voice. Half-mumbled and half-hiccuped, “-m sorr-y” was the only response Jasmine gave her. “Hmm, yeah that's not really an answer…” Daya bit her lip “I can’t really help you if you don’t tell me what's wrong.”
Jasmine’s breathing became even more shaky and arduous, “of all th-the people who had to see me like this, why did it have to be you!” the blonde girl said as she fell apart once again. Daya didn’t know what to do, all that she knew was that she needed to somehow get Jasmine’s panic to fade. Apprehensive, she brought the sobbing girl to her chest and pet the back of her head. At first, Jasmine’s anxiety spiked but subsided after a minute or two of crying in Daya’s arms.
“What do you mean ‘why did it have to be me who saw you like this’?” Once she was sure Jasmine was in an ok state to answer questions, Daya couldn’t help being curious. “...you h-hate me…?” Daya felt a pang of guilt at the mumbled response, unclear if Jasmine even intended it to be a question or answer.
There was a beat of silence and before Daya could even come up with a response, Jasmine pushed away from her and elaborated “This is so embarrassing, you’re just so cool and I’m always annoying and nobody likes me I mean-” she paused to wipe her eyes, “I’m a cheerleader, I should be cool and popular but I’m just a-a nuisance.” Another beat of silence and then “I wish I could be cool like you and everyone would stop hating me, I wish I didn’t care so much but but I-”
“Jasmine Jasmine hey look” Daya cut her off by shaking her by the shoulders, “I don’t hate you and I don’t think anyone else does, I’m sorry I get frustrated easily but honestly I don’t know if I could get through class if it wasn’t for you.” Jasmine refused to meet Daya’s eyes so she got shook again. “I’m serious” Daya forced her to make eye contact to know she meant it, “you always keep me in check, I’d be failing if it wasn’t for you. You always bring so much positive energy to the most soul sucking classes and that’s a gift, I’m genuinely so sorry we made you think that it's a bad thing when it’s one of the best things about you.”
Tears continued to stream down Jasmine’s cheeks but this time she was smiling “thank you…so much.” “Of course” Daya said as she stood up and offered a hand to Jasmine which she gladly accepted. “Now how ‘bout we ditch class and get some ice cream” Daya smirked at how Jasmine’s eyes widened at the thought of breaking school rules. “Oh c'mon you deserve it,” Daya persuaded and Jasmine smiled “maybe just this one time…I do kinda deserve it” Jasmine reasoned with herself, “Ok let's do this thing!” Daya grinned as they walked out side by side.
I was supposed to post this last friday but I couldn’t come up with a decent summary till just today, so yeah! here’s my first multi chapter fic hope ya like it!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
I’m that kind of person so I made a whole ass playlist just for this, so if you wanna listen to a weird compilation of pop songs from the late 2000’s, really early 2010’s and songs that fit for some unknown reason, here you have that
I wanna (infinitely) thank @bimbomethyd for helping me beta this, now my english doesn’t sound broken anymore!
The woman handing out flyers by the corner of a mom-and-pop grocery store is loud, Denali’ll give her that. Persuasive or convincing? That’s another story entirely.
Denali isn’t totally sure what she seems to be advertising or selling, but one glance of the woman shoving a brightly coloured flyer into a pair of unwilling hands, tells Denali all she needs to know. She makes a bee-line around her, head down, no eye contact, no thank you ma’am, not today.
She breathes a sigh of relief when she steps past the woman, no promotional whatever in hand.
“Excuse me!” A finger taps her shoulder. Spoken too soon. “We’re staging a pride celebration on Monday–” Denali reluctantly pivots herself around, trying desperately hard not to roll her eyes.
She wants nothing more than to walk away from the chirping woman, slinging a half-assed ‘Sorry!’ over one shoulder as she goes, but she finds herself glued to the sidewalk.
The woman is a little brassy, sure, but for what she lacks in the conservative femininity Denali is used to, she more than makes up in beauty. She seems to command the Chicago sidewalk like it’s a stage, bright pink curls coiffed into a faux-mohawk of sorts, reminding Denali of a show-pony. Her green eyes sparkle as she talks, wildly animated and gesticulating with her hands.
“–We’re meeting outside Phenomenon up on the big intersection by 13th, you know the one?” Her voice lilts slightly, some watered-down accent half tacked onto the end of her sentences. “Well you can’t miss it!”
Denali blinks, shaking her head, “sorry, what?”
“ Phenomenon? It’s the café on 13th avenue? Y’know, like, on the big intersection?” The woman speaks with a suppressed laugh, looking slightly quizzically at Denali.
“And this is for…?”
“The celebration?” The woman arches an eyebrow.
“For…?”
The woman takes a deep breath and Denali has to will herself not to take a step back from her, convinced she might be about to get yelled at. Or slapped. Or maybe both if she’s extra lucky.
“In support of the LGBT community,” she says it slowly like Denali is a child, “like, to commemorate the anniversary of Stonewall? It was five years ago… So, like, it’s kind of a big deal this year.”
Denali feels her face flush pink. Sure, it’s not a secret that she had left her hometown in Alaska for something bigger, something more than that stupid one-light town where the light seemed to perpetually be red. Chicago had just seemed like the perfect place– a big city filled with people like her, and swarming with opportunities to be, as cliché as it seems, herself.
She remembers the Stonewall protests– she had listened to the shitty coverage of it on an old tinny radio locked away in her bedroom. When it had started playing in the kitchen after her mother had asked her to turn on a channel as they cooked, Denali had burned red, ducking her face out of view of her mother’s eagle eyes.
“Change the channel, Mija.” Her mother had said, “I don’t want you listening to this.”
Denali changed it immediately, only taking it from the kitchen and listening to it under her covers later that night when she was sure nobody was awake.
The woman laughs sharply, “you okay honey?”
Denali’s face glows warmer. “Fine!” She squeaks out, trying desperately to break eye-contact and duck away from the woman’s piercing stare.
“So you’ll come?”
“I–” Denali feels like she’s short-circuiting, brain overloaded by the knowledge that the woman is offering her an olive branch of sorts, inviting her to come and celebrate alongside a community she had yearned for for so many years. She might be bad at dot-to-dots, but Denali isn’t dumb.
“Don’t tell me I’ve read this wrong, sweetheart.” The woman cocks a hip, blue denim stretched taught across the skin. “My gay-dar is usually spot on!”
“No, uh,” Denali blushes, eyes focused intently on her scuffed sneakers. “You’ve, erm, not read it wrong.”
The woman puts a warm hand under Denali’s chin, forcing her gaze up, where she beams at her. White teeth, Denali notes. “Well I’ll see you there then doll, nine AM sharp– the info is on the flyer!” The woman smiles at her again, turning away with a little wave.
“What’s your name?” The words rush out of Denali’s mouth before she can stop them. The woman pivots around.
“Hm?”
“What’s your name?” Denali sputters out. Her heart is palpitating in her chest and her head is spinning.
“Rosé,” she shoots her another dazzling grin. She extends out a hand for Denali to shake.
“Denali,” she knows she’s gripping Rosé’s hand a little too tightly and her palms are definitely weirdly clammy despite the June heatwave, but Rosé still shakes her hand with vigour.
“I’ll see you on Monday, Denali.” Rosé replaces her hand with a brightly-coloured flyer. And then she’s gone, turning back around to continue to pass the leaflets to other passerbys, undeterred by the constant rejection she seems to face.
Denali stays put, watching for a second. A couple of people tell Rosé to go to Hell, alongside other strongly-worded and remarkably aggressive insults, but she still smiles sunnily, enthusiastic despite the harassment.
Denali reads the flyer properly as she starts walking, recognising a handful of photos from the Stonewall Riots and the subsequent pride celebrations that had happened on the last few anniversaries. It has an address on the front, written in big black letters and Denali makes a mental note to look it up in the big dictionary she keeps in her apartment later.
Her heart flutters a little in her chest when she thinks about Rosé, remembering the brush of her knuckles when they shook; the tiniest dimple in her cheek when she smiled; the crease in her forehead when she frowned that Denali had wanted to wipe away with the pad of her thumb.
Denali blinks. Woah. That’s… a lot. She blinks again, banishing the image of Rosé from her mind with one fell swoop.
☆☆☆☆☆
Denali counts herself lucky to live alone.
To call her arrangement ‘living alone’ seems like a stretch half the time when she has to share a kitchen and a slightly grotty row of communal showers with her building like she’s still at school. The tiny living room and bedroom she gets to herself makes up for it, though. Mostly.
Everyone who lives in the building seems to be a total asshole. There’s the group of college-aged guys who hit on her every morning without fail; the chain smoker who feels it’s okay to smoke without bothering to crack open a window; the couple down the hall who have loud rows and even louder sex every other day. A real melting pot of characters , as she had described to her mother on her shitty landline when she had first moved in, trying to remain optimistic.
Melting pot, my ass, she thinks to herself. Honey this is an on-fire garbage can, at best.
Although the everyone in the building seems fucking awful, a few people from the sister building next to theirs had been somewhat welcoming to Denali when she arrived.
The woman who’s window faces directly into Denali’s, Kahmora, always flashes her a smile when they pass outside, occasionally stopping to ask how she’s finding the city. She’s also remarkably beautiful– Denali is sure she knows it as well, based on the number of times she’s caught her staring at her own reflection in a mirror across the windows.
From the couple of times Denali’s met her, the landlady of her own building, Bianca, seems nice enough too. During their first meeting, Bianca had given Denali a big map of the city, circling restaurants and clubs to check out, which Denali had been more than grateful for.
Denali kicks off her sneakers as she walks into her room, nudging them together with a socked foot to put them together by her door. She tosses her keys into a flower-shaped bowl she keeps by the front door, given to her as a gift by her parents the first time they had come to see her.
She had hated every minute of that trip, if she’s being perfectly honest. Hated having to let her parents into the space that she had deliberately built up to be nobody but hers. Hated their poking and prodding of everything, squeezing and suffocating Denali, grinding her down to a repulsive paste that had left a bad taste in her mouth for weeks after.
Her room is her pride and joy. She’s accumulated enough plants to cover every surface that gets a trickle of sunlight. They cover her shelves and tables, leaves creeping around her bedroom; a trail of life wherever she goes. A couple stray vines seemed to have glued themselves onto a worryingly damp windowsill, roots growing happily into her walls, which Denali (equally happily) chooses to ignore.
She’s put up a curtain of clear plastic beads to divide her room into two, putting her bedroom on the other side. When it’s sunny enough, the beads catch the light, throwing it around the rooms and dispersing tiny rainbows.
Anything that Denali has completely to herself is some sort of sacred. She revels in being able to take up her own space, something she hadn’t had the luxury of having when she was growing up, sharing her already minuscule room with her sisters and then with all of her cousins during the holidays.
Her room is a sanctuary of sorts, a place where she can shield herself from the outside world. Built up with green plants and warm-toned carpets and cheap hanging lights that only half-work that were left in the room from the last person who lived there. She’d been tempted to get a cat when she had first moved in four months ago, but decided it was too much of a cliché for her to handle.
She collapses onto her bed, looking up at the discoloured ceiling above her. Denali had stuck little stars she’d painted with gold glitter up onto it a few weeks ago, trying to put them into proper constellations but giving up almost immediately when she had realised how complicated it was. They’re dotted around instead, shedding sparkles over Denali’s white linens like it’s their job. It irritates her immensely, but they’re practically super-glued to the ceiling, refusing to come off no matter how hard she wedges her fingers under them.
Denali thumbs the flyer again, fishing it out of her pocket where she had neatly folded it. She kneels up on her bed, turning to the wall above the headboard where she’s put up a small cork board. Despite living in Chicago for enough months to have filled it up with interesting things, it remains remarkably bare. A ticket from one of the local ice-rinks is tacked up onto it, alongside her plane ticket, which she had excitedly pinned when she first arrived.
She pulls out a red thumbtack, piercing the flyer so it’s stuck right in the centre of the board. The late afternoon light pools in a warm puddle across her bed, bathing the room in a glow foreign to Denali’s Alaskan summers.
Lying flat on top of her sheets, she feels full with the promise that the flyer brings.
Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor, 5 (Branjie) (and background everyone) - Ortega
a/n: HOORAY last of the strictly rewrites!!! thank u sm for ur patience if ur still waiting on chapter 6, i promise i’ll make it soon! lots of lo-ove, by-ee!!
fic summary: Strictly Come Dancing enters its 18th series and its producers, after being goaded by a rival dance show on its inclusivity, commission it to be an all-female cast. Unlike Akeria who’s just here to bone her potential dance partner, dancer Vanessa is ready to act like a professional.
And then TV presenter Brooke Lynn walks into the rehearsal room.
“Goddamnit shit cunt bitch fuck piss in my mouth,” Brooke exhales frustratedly all at once, and Vanessa holds back an involuntary chuckle. It would be funny if it didn’t hit so close to home. It’s only twelve o’clock and it’s day three of rehearsals but already Brooke’s entire body language is defeated, like a burst balloon, and Vanessa is worried.
It’s all her fault, really. The scores from Saturday night still burn her brain if she thinks about them too much, hot coals on a grate. Twenty one out of forty. If it were a grade in a test it’d barely be a pass, and Vanessa can practically see her eyes turn green in the studio mirrors if she thinks about the fact they were sixth on the leaderboard behind Jan and Jackie, Crystal and Gigi, Monique and Monet, Akeria and Asia and Jaida and Yvie. Vanessa does not do sixth. Vanessa does not do anything other than top three, and the fact that she ended last week in the middle of the leaderboard enrages her. Okay, she knows this isn’t her journey- it’s Brooke’s, but Vanessa has a reputation to uphold; it’s her first year and she cannot be seen as a dud pro. So on Sunday she’d channeled her fighting spirit into an appropriate dance, and this week they’re doing a Paso Doble. Well. They’re meant to be doing a Paso Doble, but it’s fast and it’s frenetic and Brooke isn’t managing to get her head around this one particular section. Vanessa feels like packing it in, to tell the producers they’re doing something else, but really what kind of person would she be if she pulled that stunt? So instead she’s been watching Brooke become increasingly irritated at herself since 8 this morning and tried to come up with a way she can teach it that’ll work.
“This is my fault,” Vanessa verbalises what she’s thinking and bites her lip. “I’ve made this too hard.”
Brooke suddenly freezes and glares at her. “Are you saying I’m shit?”
PANIC. “No, fuck no! That’s not it at all, I just-”
Vanessa suddenly relaxes as Brooke splutters a held-in laugh, thumping her on the arm. “Shut the fuck up, bitch! I was nervous.”
“Not as nervous as I am about this fucking dance,” Brooke sighs, running her hands down her face slowly. Vanessa looks at the clock and makes a decision.
“You hungry?”
Brooke shrugs. “I am quite, now you mention it.”
“Good. Get your jacket. We’re gonna get lunch.”
Brooke winces. “But I still haven’t got-”
“We have got all damn day to learn this motherfuckin’ dance, now will you put your jacket on and let’s go?” Vanessa says firmly, Brooke giving a little laugh, shaking her head in resignation before crossing the room to grab her things. Vanessa’s pleased, and there’s small fireworks going off in her heart. She’s just asked Brooke to lunch and she’s said yes, not that Vanessa gave her much of a choice admittedly. As Brooke holds the door of the studio open for her, Vanessa starts wondering about where they could go to eat. She’s distracted by the way they’re walking down the corridor side-by-side, the way that Brooke stays close to her despite the fact there’s plenty room for them to have their own space. Vanessa feels like putting an arm around her waist, then decides against it. That kind of contact is special, reserved for a Saturday night after their dance is over and they’re standing together in front of the judges.
They walk out into the chilly October air, and Vanessa’s regretting only taking her hoodie out with her. The weather is quintessentially British- it had been raining that morning but now it has subsided, so the paving slabs glisten with puddles and the cars that go by roll smoothly through the rain-sheened roads and the grey clouds still hang heavy and ominous in the sky. Normally weather like this makes Vanessa yearn for her trips back to Puerto Rico, where the October temperatures are what the UK could only dream of in Summer, but standing outside in the cold and damp doesn’t seem so bad with Brooke looking at her expectantly.
“Where d’you wanna go?” she asks her. Brooke shrugs.
“Starbucks? Take it back and we can eat while we practise?”
Vanessa lets out a laugh and rolls her eyes, both irritated and impressed by Brooke’s dedication. She has a think and then remembers that place a few streets along from the studios where she, Akeria and Monique had grabbed brunch one time before a pro dance rehearsal. The thought of poached eggs with golden yolks on avocado toast makes her stomach rumble and she jerks her head in its direction. “C’mon.”
The walk and the fresh, icy air works a treat at clearing Vanessa’s head and by the time she and Brooke grab a wobbly wooden table by the steamed-up window in the cafe she’s feeling loads better about their Paso even though technically it’s still a mess. She picks up the menu despite knowing exactly what she wants and gives it a scan before Brooke plucks it unceremoniously out of her hands.
“Hey!”
“What?” Brooke smirks knowingly. Vanessa doesn’t complain further, instead indulging in the way Brooke’s eyes dart about as she scans the dishes on the menu, the way her brow furrows and the way she bites her bottom lip as she thinks. When Brooke looks at her again, Vanessa rushes to pretend she hadn’t had her eyes on her first.
“They have some really nice stuff here.”
Vanessa nudges the fork on the table a little to the left. “Me, Kiki an’ Monique went here a couple weeks back. They both had pancakes and they were really good apparently, so…”
She tails off, and Brooke nods. “You’re close with them, huh?”
“Well, we’re all kind of like sisters. All the dancers. In, like…the most literal way possible. We bicker and bitch and steal each others’ makeup and clothes but we love each other underneath it all. But yeah, those two are my girls,” Vanessa smiles involuntarily as she thinks about her friends. She thinks before adding, “They helped me through all the shit last year.”
Brooke smiles sympathetically and nods. “That’s cute that you’re all, like, a family.”
“It’s real nice. ‘Specially since all I really have here is my Mom, and I don’t get to see her all that often.”
Brooke leans her chin on her hands, listening intently. Vanessa realises she’s left her last sentence a little cryptic, so she elaborates. “We came over from San Juan when I was two. Fuck knows why my Mom wanted to leave, but we did. The rest of my family’s still over there- my Abuela, my Tia and Tio, all my lil’ cousins.”
“Do you get to visit much?” Brooke asks. Vanessa nods a yes.
“Way more nowadays than I ever got to when I was little. Obviously when we first came here we didn’t have a huge amount of money but my Mom always made sure to save enough to fly back every Summer for the school holidays an’ stuff.”
Vanessa pauses and looks out of the window. Her stomach feels tight with guilt. “But obviously it got harder when I started wanting to dance, cuz hell, if this country don’t like giving out free school meals then they sure as hell hate subsidisin’ your dance classes.”
Brooke laughs humourlessly in agreement. Vanessa picks at her cuticles as she keeps talking, stares at the table to avoid Brooke’s eyes. “So there were sometimes Summers when we couldn’t afford to go back over because of me. That was hard. My Mom was always really good about it and encouraged me and said it was fine but I still remember her on the phone to my family and how much she cried afterwards…damn. I felt like shit. Guess I still do.”
Brooke pulls a sympathetic face. “But I mean, you’ve been able to go back since then, right? So what do you have to be guilty for?”
“I don’t know,” Vanessa shrugs sharply, frowns a little. “I guess it was just selfish of me. Lookin’ back I should’ve thought about my Mom more.”
“Yeah, but it all worked out for the best. You’re now able to fly her out way more frequently because of the career you’re in, because of the sacrifices you both made back then. Right?”
Vanessa feels something bloom in her ribcage as she smiles at Brooke. Her eyes are kind and she’s talking like a therapist and listening to all of Vanessa’s pent-up guilt and regret even though she has absolutely no responsibility or obligation to do so. “Yeah. Sorry. I just kinda dumped all that on you.”
Brooke shakes her head. “Don’t be silly. This is nice.”
Nice. It is nice. It’s nice to sit in a busy, cosy cafe with Brooke while outside is cold and damp and talk about her life and be listened to. Vanessa feels content and peaceful for the first time perhaps since this competition started. Her mind hasn’t been this clear in a while.
“What about your family?” Vanessa asks. Brooke smiles involuntarily as she gazes at the ceiling. It’s cute.
“Aw, I miss them so much. My Mommy, my total queen and my rock. I love her,” she says happily. Vanessa can’t help but smile at her words. She knows what it’s like to cling to her Mom as growing up they only really had each other. Brooke folds her arms as she continues. “And then I’ve got my older brother and two older sisters who I love to death as well. But I don’t miss my sisters. Well, I don’t miss the way they borrow half my fucking outfits.”
Vanessa snorts a laugh as Brooke shakes her head long-sufferingly. “So you’re the baby of the family then?”
Brooke shrugs. “An overgrown baby at thirty years old, but yeah. All my siblings are either in relationships or married so you can imagine how fun that is whenever I go back to Canada, getting questioned by the fucking relationship Gestapo.”
The sentence makes Vanessa’s heart start climbing the stairs of hope, and she’s not even attempting to stop it. She fidgets with a corner of her paper napkin as she speaks again. “Oh, so you ain’t…you’re not seeing anyone at the moment, then?”
“Why, who’s asking?” Brooke cocks an eyebrow. Vanessa instantly feels her cheeks flood scarlet, and Brooke lets out a howl of a laugh. “Kidding, kidding! No, I’m not seeing anyone.”
“Right, right,” Vanessa nods as nonchalantly as she can. She thinks about testing deeper conversational waters, considers killing two birds of curiosity with one stone. They’re on the topic of relationships, and who knows when they’ll get onto it again, so she decides to dive in. “Just thought you might, y’know…have a boyfriend. Or somethin’.”
“No, no boyfriend,” Brooke says simply. She leans her head on the fist she’s made and raises her eyebrows a little, giving Vanessa a quick once-over. “Or girlfriend.”
It’s the answer she’s been hoping for, confirming her suspicions that Brooke’s into girls, but the flirting panics her and so Vanessa reaches for the discarded menu to fidget with as she lightly shrugs, moving the conversation along with all the tact and delicacy of a steamroller. “So you live on your own then?”
“Yeah. Just me.”
“Me too. You like it?”
Brooke pulls a face, looks down in thought for a second. “Sometimes. Part of me likes the feeling of being completely on my own, because I can do literally whatever the hell I want, take things at my own pace. There’s nobody to nag me or tell me what to do. I realise that makes me sound literally half my age, but it’s true. I can sing as loud as I want.”
“I didn’t say I sing well!” she snorts, and Vanessa lets out a giggle too. Brooke continues, her gaze focused on the world outside the window as she speaks. “It’s nice though, that feeling of freedom. On the other hand I just miss, like…coexisting with someone? I don’t know. Like when I came to uni over here and I had flatmates and there was that feeling of comfort to know that there was always someone in the next room to talk to, or make dinner with, or just watch TV with. Just someone to do normal shit with. You know?” Brooke narrows her eyes as she finishes her sentence, appealing to Vanessa.
“Yeah, I get it,” Vanessa replies, letting out a little sigh as she lets a few memories in and then slams that particular door firmly shut. “I miss that too, sometimes.”
The silence lingers between the two of them for a second before Brooke speaks again, her tone upbeat and cheerful. “But I mean, for the most part, my flat’s great. It’s part of this new-build, hi-tech apartment complex that only got done building last year. We’ve got a gym, there’s a shop at the bottom, there’s meeting rooms we can book…”
“Yeah, I think you told me about the gym once,” Vanessa nods in recognition, and Brooke’s smile widens as she has an idea.
“You should come round some time. You’d love it.”
Vanessa tries to stop the blush that threatens to hit her face. The invitation is personal and not rehearsal or show related, and that fact shouldn’t make her as happy as it does. She fixes Brooke with a smile and nods shyly. “Yeah. That’d be cool.”
Still visibly buoyed, Brooke reaches across the table and rests her hand on top of Vanessa’s, patting it gently. There’s a little spark of static when they touch, a metaphor come to life. When Brooke smiles at her, Vanessa feels comfortable.
“This was a good idea. Thanks for dragging me out.”
Vanessa shrugs, doesn’t move her hand. She smiles lazily at her dance partner. “It’s okay. We both needed a break.”
As the waiter comes to take their order Brooke’s hand flies out from its position on top of hers, but Vanessa doesn’t mind. There’s a connection that’s been forged that isn’t physical, and she knows it’s still there even if Brooke’s hand isn’t.
Rehearsal ends up going smoother the rest of that day. Okay- it’s not perfect, but Brooke starts picking it up and Vanessa’s mind is less cloudy. Thursday brings more rain and full runs of the dance that don’t go smoothly but Vanessa is relieved because at least they’ve fucking learned it. By Friday they’re exhausted and worn out and Vanessa hates this dance, hates this fucking dance, but it’s one step closer to being over for good. She’s disappointed when it occurs to her that they’re not going to get particularly favourable scores- their run is still riddled with mistakes, but at least Brooke’s worked hard on what she was critiqued for last week. Her core is stronger due to the planks Vanessa’s been making them both do at the start of every rehearsal and her elbow hasn’t drooped once- not that there’s much chance for it to during a Paso, but at least the judges will be able to see that she’s taking their comments on board. Vanessa’s proud of her. She tells Brooke so before they go home on Friday night, when it’s quiet outside and different shades of dark. She thinks Brooke might be blushing as she thanks her and says goodbye, but she can’t be sure.
Saturday happens in a frighteningly fast blur- there’s excitement but it’s nervous instead of anticipative, as everybody knows that tonight one couple will be eliminated. Vanessa’s not really worried about that though- the bottom of the leaderboard last week was comprised of Courtney and Blair, Plastique and Scarlet, Willam and Phi Phi and Aja and Farrah, so in comparison she supposes sixth isn’t too bad. Her aim for tonight’s dance had been to climb up the leaderboard a bit, but knowing how their Paso’s been going Vanessa will call it a success if they both stay where they are.
It turns out they drop down to seventh behind Shea and Peppermint, after their American Smooth has the judges on their feet. Brooke and Vanessa’s Paso goes…well, it goes. It’s not the best they’ve done it but it’s done, thank God, and they never have to do it again.
Unless of course they’re in the dance off. But Vanessa doesn’t permit herself to think about that. Instead, she thinks about the warmth of Brooke’s hand in hers as they walk through the corridor together after their judge’s critiques and their interview. Neither of them address the fact their hands are entwined, and that’s okay. Vanessa likes it like that.
“You okay?” she asks Brooke, halfway down the hallway, as their character shoes squeak quietly against the laminate flooring and they cast fleeting shadows against the manila walls.
Brooke sighs a little, gives a half-hearted shrug. “Yeah.”
“No you’re not. C’mere,” Vanessa frowns, using the hand she’s holding to pull Brooke into a hug. It’s gentle and tight all at once, the way Brooke’s strong arms are holding her close contrasting with the way her hands are light against her back. Brooke smells of a Saturday night: tan in a bottle and hairspray and Jimmy Choo Flash perfume. It’s not like her usual scent of freshly-washed hair and her fabric softener (Lenor Gold Orchid- Vanessa had smelt them all rather self-indulgently on her last trip to Tesco to work out which was Brooke’s).
“I don’t want to let you down,” Brooke whispers above her, and Vanessa can tell she’s got tears in her eyes without even having to look into them. She takes a deep breath and shakes her head against her chest.
“You could go out there, forget the entire dance and do the fucking Macarena for all I care. You always make me proud.”
Vanessa feels Brooke press a kiss to the top of her head and it sets off a blush she can feel spreading down her face onto her neck and across her chest. Brooke had kissed her again after their dance had finished, quick and emphatic against her temple, and it had set off butterflies in her stomach that threatened to fly up into the rigging of the lights. Vanessa wants to get caught up in the moment, wants even to hold her gaze and see how she’d react if she asked to kiss her properly, but instead she pulls herself out of the hug. She keeps their hands connected though and as she meets Brooke’s eyes and finds that she’s smiling at her, Vanessa concludes it was the right decision to make.
“Fuck the scores,” she says, remembering each paddle (4, 5, 5, 5) with a sting as if she’s been smacked with them. “The Paso wasn’t for us and it’s over now. On to the next one.”
“Unless we’re in the dance off.”
“Brooke Lynn, Bianca gave Blair a two. I think we’ll be fine.”
Vanessa isn’t wrong, and it turns out their position looks better compared to some of the other dances they see once they’ve been through makeup to get neatened up again. Poor Scarlet tries her best to get through her Jive with Plastique but her feet just aren’t doing the things Vanessa knows Scarlet wants them to, and the judges give them a combined score of fifteen. Scarlet looks deflated as she leaves the dancefloor and the moment their interview is over Vanessa watches as Yvie pulls her into a hug (Vanessa knows that type of hug because she’s just given Brooke the exact same one). Aja and Farrah’s Samba wasn’t great either and they earn themselves a mark of seventeen. Despite this, though, by the time the show finishes and they have to assemble to film the results (which are pre-recorded and then broadcast on a Sunday), they’re both a bag of nerves. She and Brooke are placed on the stairs with a spotlight burning down onto them, ants under a magnifying glass. The mood between the couples is decidedly tense, and as Vanessa looks down at the girls on the dancefloor she sees Monet squeeze Monique’s waist as Monique sighs and rests her head against the other girl’s shoulder. Vanessa wants to scoff at the fact they both seem nervous. The waltz they did almost brought the house down and they even got a nine from Laganja, so unless the only votes they got were ones they gave themselves, they’re very likely to be safe.
Michelle does her intro and, as the lights go down, Vanessa feels as if her heart is going to break her ribcage it’s beating so heavily.
“I can now reveal that the first couple safe and through to next week is…”
Long pause. The beat of a drum and Brooke’s pulse that Vanessa can feel through the hand she’s holding. Vanessa is so nervous that she casts her eyes up to the heavens. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…
“Jan and Jackie!”
Jan screams and Jackie falls gratefully into her arms as she yells a “thank you!” at the camera that’s barely heard over the applause.
“The second couple safe is…”
Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Vanessa gives a minute bow of her head like her Mom taught her to do at mass when she was little. Is it sacreligious to pray if you’re lapsed? Some priests probably think so. Vanessa hopes it’s working in their favour anyway.
“Heidi and Vixen!”
Vanessa can’t see their reaction as they’re positioned above them at the very top of the stairs, and she doesn’t want to turn around in case…it’s bad luck? She doesn’t know. At this point she’s not risking anything, not even looking up to see Brooke’s face.
“The next couple safe and through to next week is…”
Holy Mary, Mother of God…you take away the sins of the world? Nah, that’s the wrong one. Fuck.
“Gigi and Crystal!”
Vanessa wants to roll her eyes, much as she’s happy for her friend. Of course they’re safe. They were second on the leaderboard last week and first tonight after a scarily in-sync Charleston. It comes as no surprise to her.
“The first couple in tonight’s dance-off will be…”
Vanessa feels truly nauseous. It wouldn’t be impossible for it to be them, stranger things have happened on the show. What the fuck is that next line? Holy Mary, Mother of God…
“Blair and Courtney.”
Vanessa’s heart feels as if it’s been shocked by jumpleads. She feels Brooke give an involuntary squeeze of her hand, and Vanessa strokes her thumb against hers in return. They just need to not be the other couple in the dance off. It’s doable.
“The next couple safe and through to next week is…”
…pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death-
“Brooke and Vanessa!”
Vanessa doesn’t screech or scream. Instead she finally turns to Brooke, who’s meeting her smile with a matching one plastered across her own face. She falls into her outstretched arms in relief, and mumbles a “thank you” to the camera while Brooke holds her tight. They’ve made it. They live to fight another week.
Amen.
Of course, one couple isn’t so lucky and, after a tense dance-off between Scarlet and Plastique and Blair and Courtney, it turns out Blair is the first celebrity to leave the competition. The girls get upset- the celebrities have all become a part of their big, crazy family now, and it’s sad that Vanessa will no longer hear Blair laugh at something Vixen has said, or compliment her on her makeup, or ask to get selfies with everyone in the dressing room. It’s Vixen, though, who is affected the most by Blair’s departure. Vanessa knows they’re good friends but she wonders if perhaps they’ll ever become something more as she watches Vixen cling to Yvie and sob and sob. The moment they’re all allowed, the pros and celebrities flood the dancefloor as Blair and Courtney dance their last dance. Vixen makes a beeline for Blair and Courtney graciously steps out of her way so the pair of them can hug and cry in tandem.
“Shit, this is rough,” Vanessa mutters to nobody in particular. Monique, who’s materialised beside her, shrugs.
“Yep, well. I don’t plan on havin’ to go through it, so it’s not a problem for me.”
Vanessa snorts at her friend’s cockiness, then pulls a sympathetic face as Blair approaches the pair of them, all streaming mascara and sniffles.
“C’mere, baby. You did so well, be proud of yourself,” Vanessa offers to her, and Blair smiles gently before her face crumples again.
“Just…look after my girl, okay?” she asks them hopefully. Monique smiles, rubs her forearm gently.
“Oh, sweetie, Courtney will be fine, she’s a big girl.”
“Courtney?” Blair asks, confused. Then she appears to realise something and she smiles back at Monique, a little embarrassed. “Oh no, um…I meant Toni. Can you both look out for her? Make sure she’s okay after I’m gone? I mean I know her and Heidi are going to go far, but…y’know.”
Vanessa wants to cock an eyebrow at Monique in recognition, but she doesn’t. Instead she gives Blair a reassuring look, takes her hand and squeezes it gently. “Sure we will.”
Appeased, Blair thanks them and gives them both a hug before moving on to say goodbye to some of the other girls. As she walks away, Vanessa hears Monique give a big sigh beside her. She tilts her head at her friend inquisitively. “You ‘kay?”
“Yeah, uh…” Monique sighs, rubs her eyes a little. “Could we do lunch at some point this week? Me, you, Kiki. I just need my girls’ advice.”
“About what?” Vanessa asks her. Then, as she follows Monique’s gaze over to where Monet is standing talking to Shea and Aja, the penny drops. “Oh. OH. Okay. Yeah, we’ll do lunch, bitch.”
Monique smiles gratefully at her, then gives her a hug and a goodnight as she’s starting choreography early tomorrow. The coming week’s theme is movies, which is always fun, and Vanessa already has a number in mind. It’s ridiculous, and so quintessentially Strictly. She can’t wait to show it to Brooke.
As Vanessa thinks of Brooke, she finds her eyes scanning the group of girls to see where she is. She’s smiling as she’s talking to Plastique and Scarlet, her smile bright and dazzling and her eyes kind. The lights are hitting her highlight and making it look as if she’s glowing, and her hair catches the light too in its smooth and glossy bun.
Vanessa feels her heart yearn, and she considers the possibility that perhaps it won’t just be Monique talking about the feelings she has for her partner when they both go to lunch with Akeria.
Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor, 4 (Branjie) (and background everyone) - Ortega
a/n: something something strictly rewrite something something pls love me something something love u bye. in all seriousness thank u for reading and bearing with me in amongst this clusterfuck…next chapter is the last of the rewrites and so a new one coming ur way within the next week!
fic summary: Strictly Come Dancing enters its 18th series and its producers, after being goaded by a rival dance show on its inclusivity, commission it to be an all-female cast. Unlike Akeria who’s just here to bone her potential dance partner, dancer Vanessa is ready to act like a professional.
And then TV presenter Brooke Lynn walks into the rehearsal room.
***
3rd October 2020
Vanessa takes a deep, nervous breath and looks to the ceiling. The disco ball hangs high from it and creates tiny little square reflections, chunks of glitter against the light rigging. The lights themselves are purple and blue, matching those that snake along the balcony and up the stairs and arch over the huge projection of the show’s title card at the other end of the room. There’s another projection, a yellow one that dances across the shiny lacquered ballroom floor as if it’s practising too. The judges’ table is silver and glittering and intimidating to Vanessa’s right, despite the fact that none of the judges are even sitting at it yet. The band and singers are all set up underneath the huge arch of the stairs that Vanessa has practised walking down with Brooke and the other girls and knows she’ll be walking down again in just a few hours’ time.
“Right, Brooke and Vanessa, please. You’re up!”
A little “woo!” goes up from the couples assembled in the dark shadows of the empty studio. Peppermint and Shea are leaning with their backs against a pillar, their eyes supportive but analytical. Crystal and Gigi are sitting in some of the chairs at the far back row, clapping loudly with each new routine they manage to see and whispering to each other secretively between dances. Yvie and Scarlet are both in the front row off to one side, as Jaida and Plastique are off getting some last tweaks done to their costumes. They don’t seem to mind that their partners are away and are talking excitedly to each other, Yvie every so often making Scarlet laugh so hard that she reaches out and grabs her arm or knee or hand. And Monet and Monique are on the chairs behind Vanessa and Brooke, currently screeching their heads off and pushing them forward onto the dancefloor.
It’s Saturday, the day of their first show. It’s half past four and the sky had just been starting to take on that threateningly Autumnal look halfway between grey and navy when Vanessa had arrived at Elstree studios with Akeria, her friend having to listen to her excited babbling at the thought of getting to actually participate in the competition for the first time. Vanessa hadn’t stopped talking since- not when she’d greeted all the dancers and celebrities with similar excitement, not when she’d given all the hair and makeup artists a hug and thanked them preemptively, and not when she’d been non-stop texting Brooke. To be fair, her partner had started it, so excited was she since rehearsal that morning that she’d texted her practically every available moment since. When Vanessa had finally seen her at the studios they had squealed and joined hands and jumped excitedly on the spot in anticipation of seeing their costumes, trying them on, getting to dress-rehearse and experience their first live show together. So Vanessa has been chatting excitedly the entire day.
The only point where she has fallen quiet is when she had seen Brooke in her dress for the first time.
It’s light blue with satin straps that criss-cross at the back, a bodice that is studded with dimantés, and a long skirt with ostrich feathers along the hem. It’s not the most gorgeous dress in the world but Vanessa knows it’s going to look incredible during the routine, and besides, Brooke could wear a bin bag and still look effortlessly beautiful. Brooke had looked bashfully to the floor as she emerged from her dressing room in the dress, her face ever-so-slightly red.
“It’s hideous,” she’d whispered to Vanessa, out of earshot of the costume girls who Brooke hadn’t wanted to offend. Vanessa, without knowing what had possessed her, had put her hand on Brooke’s upper arm and given it a squeeze.
“Shut up. You look stunning,” she’d smiled reassuringly at her, and the flash of gratitude in Brooke’s eyes had been all Vanessa had needed in return.
She’s in her dress now and Vanessa’s in hers too, the exact same but a royal blue instead of the sky-blue shade of Brooke’s. Vanessa’s stomach is fizzing at the thought of them both dancing in full costume, makeup and hair with an audience watching them as well.
The dress rehearsal doesn’t always run in the running order of the show and today is one of those days. Brooke and Vanessa have had to wait for some of the other couples to run their routine through whereas this evening they’re up first. They’re the ones kicking off the whole show, and Vanessa would be lying if she said she isn’t nervous. They have practised as much as they can, they can do the routine well. Now all they have to do is show the other couples what they’re up against. It’s hard, though, for Vanessa to put everything she’s seen out of her mind and focus on her own dance with Brooke. Jaida and Yvie have just finished their Jive, huge smiles on both their faces as they hit every single beat throughout, the moves coming to Yvie effortlessly as if it’s a partnership of two professionals. Before that, Jan and Jackie rehearsed their Cha Cha Cha which contained so much tension and chemistry that Vanessa became convinced that their lips were going to meet at some point in the routine.
“How you feelin’?” Vanessa whispers to Brooke as they move onto the ballroom floor. The band swap around and tune up and the singers glug water behind them. Brooke looks the most nervous Vanessa has ever seen her.
“I’m fine,” Brooke lies. Her eyes dart around in a panic, wide and white. It unsettles Vanessa so she takes Brooke’s hand, rubs her thumb over her knuckles comfortingly.
“Hey. You don’t need to be nervous,” she reassures her, despite the fact she’s swallowing down her own nerves as she speaks. “You’ve got me. It’s going to be okay.”
Brooke takes a deep breath, her lips forming a tiny “o” as she breathes out. She manages to shoot a smile Vanessa’s way, and Vanessa is slightly more at ease.
“Ready to go?” she hears a producer shout.
“Yeah!” she shouts over, as Brooke Lynn drops her hand to give the producer a thumbs up. They sit in the two chairs that form part of the beginning of their routine, there is a click of drumsticks, and a silence falls across the studio. Two notes from a trumpet, the shuffle of papers on a music stand. Vanessa’s throat is so dry. Launch show feels like a walk in the park compared to this.
There’s a one…two…one-two-three-four click from the drumsticks, the music begins, and the pair of them are off. Straight away, Vanessa can tell something isn’t right. Brooke is too in her head and it shows. When they move into hold she can feel Brooke’s hand shaking, feel her pulse through the hand on her back so fast and heavy that Vanessa wants to make eye contact with her, but she can’t- it’s dress rehearsal, and she needs to be a professional. She can feel Brooke’s feet opposite her, though, and she just knows they’re not doing what they’re meant to be doing. Brooke is trying to keep up and failing, and it’s so hard for Vanessa to push through and keep dancing when she knows it’s going so wrong. They reach their bit on the steps and Brooke stumbles, the steps all coming at the wrong time and in the wrong direction. The smile is still plastered to Vanessa’s face even though she wants to stop right there, cut the band off and just talk to Brooke, calm her down and reassure her. There’s a point in the middle where she finally gets to meet Brooke’s eyes and she tries her hardest to make them comforting and gentle in the few seconds they’re facing each other. It hurts Vanessa to see Brooke’s own full of resignation and disappointment. She manages to pick things up a little near the end of the dance but there are still a few mis-steps and blunders, and by the time it’s over and the others are clapping and cheering Vanessa can already see the hurt in Brooke’s fake smile and the slump of her shoulders. She takes her by the hand, squeezes it urgently.
“It’s just the dress run, okay?” she murmurs to her, panicking as she sees what could be tears welling up in Brooke’s eyes. “You can do this, baby. You know this.”
Brooke nods harshly, blinks once, twice, three times, and the tears- if they were ever there to begin with- vanish. Vanessa wonders whether or not to hug her and then allows her heart to take over. She pulls her in, reaching up to loop her arms around her neck and burying her face against her chest. As Brooke squeezes her waist, she decides that it was a good decision.
Of course the hug can’t last forever but their hands are joined as they leave the dancefloor and return to their seats. Nobody from costume comes over to make adjustments so they can watch some more couples, not that Vanessa particularly wants to. Monique and Monet are still in their chairs. Vanessa is reluctant to face her friend but a tap on her shoulder prompts her to turn around anyway.
“Hey,” Monique hisses, and as Vanessa turns around Brooke does too. Monique’s smile is caring and comforting as she addresses them both. “Don’t worry. First dress run is always off-puttin’, it’s a new environment and the lights are down and the band’s so different to a track. You’ll be great tonight.”
Vanessa is thankful for her words as they seem to put Brooke at ease a little more. She thanks Monique and, wanting to move the spotlight off the pair of them, asks Monet how she’s feeling.
“Ready! Excited! We’re gonna wipe the floor with all you bitches,” she teases playfully. Monique laughs supportively beside her and Vanessa wants to roll her eyes at how much of a ridiculously obvious lovesick puppy her friend is.
“Well, it won’t be hard after what just happened there,” Brooke jokes, her tone not dissimilar to Eeyore’s. Vanessa raises her eyebrows at her and points a finger in her face, channels a bit of her Abuela’s tough love.
“Hey! I’m not letting you talk like that, you’re amazing. We’re gonna be flawless tonight. Just you wait.”
She punctuates her telling-off with a tap to Brooke’s nose, which finally makes her crack a proper smile. A producer shouts over for Monique and Monet, and Vanessa and Brooke clap for them and wish them luck as they take to the stage in matching little glittery playsuits, assembling themselves in their starting positions. Vanessa takes the opportunity to talk to Brooke properly now they’re alone.
“What happened?” she asks. Brooke lets out a heavy sigh.
“Just like Monique said. It’s all so different to the studios and everything just…I don’t know…threw me off, I guess,” she mutters, picking at a bit of feather. Vanessa takes her fidgeting hand and holds it gently between both of hers. The gesture seems to surprise Brooke, and all of a sudden their eyes meet, green opposite brown.
“Brooke Lynn, listen to me. I want you to know this. You can do this fucking dance.”
“I know I can!” Brooke whines, exasperated. Her expression is pained and pouting. “That’s what fucks me off about the whole thing. We’ve done it literally perfectly before. I feel like the only time I was worse than when I just did that dance was the day we started learning it.”
“Well, that’s good! I’m glad you know that,” Vanessa says firmly, enthused by Brooke’s determination. “So. What’s our game plan for tonight?”
“Do it perfectly again,” Brooke says instantly, and Vanessa squeezes her hand between the both of hers. She can’t stop the grin that creeps onto her face at Brooke’s decisive tone.
“Let’s do that, then.”
Brooke’s returning her smile and hasn’t taken back her hand and the world seems right again.
Monet and Monique’s Cha Cha Cha is the best they’ve seen so far- granted it’s the only one they’ve seen so far, but it’s good. Monique’s choreography is funny and clever and as they dance the pair tell the story of a backing singer (Monet) upstaging the star (Monique). Despite the fun they’re having the pair of them manage to only make a couple of mistakes, and Vanessa is cheering for them at the end. Courtney and Blair are next, and God, Phi Phi had been right when she’d said they had a lot of work to do. Blair plods her way through their Tango and visibly shows the mistakes she makes on her face, but Vixen still claps and cheers once they’re done as if she’s just witnessed a piece of modern art. Their performance seems to cheer Brooke up significantly, and Vanessa can practically read her mind- at least we won’t be as bad as that. As if Brooke’s able to read hers, she leans down and gives Vanessa a smug grin which makes her heart skip a beat.
They don’t stay to watch the rest of the couples. Instead they practise as much as they can in Brooke’s dressing room, which embarrassingly makes Vanessa nervous to even be in. Brooke’s all business, though, and they mark as much as they can of the dance in the space that they have.
They do it perfectly all three times.
Hair and makeup’s waiting for them, though, so they eventually relent and join the other couples who are all assembled in the huge room either getting combs and brushes swept through their hair, sponges dabbing at their face, or sitting and chatting. The pair of them are out of breath after their impromptu rehearsal, and when they enter the room a whoop goes up from Willam, who’s sat beside Courtney. Come to think of it, they both seem to be joined at the hip despite not being partnered and it’s as if the two of them are salt and pepper shakers, never one without the other.
“Oh! Strictly curse! Strictly curse! Dressing-room fucking!” she cries out, eliciting a laugh from half the room to Vanessa’s embarrassment. Before either of them can defend themselves, Phi Phi cuts in from her position in the hairdresser’s chair.
“They were probably rehearsing. Which is what we should be doing after that fuck-up of a dress run.”
Vanessa’s intrigued by the mention of how their dance went, but instead she ignores the comment and nods her head gratefully. Brooke replies, and Vanessa doesn’t miss the blush that’s crept onto her face. “Yeah, post-rehearsal sweats, not post-sex sweats. Sorry, Willam.”
Willam’s undeterred, and she shrugs lightly as she chomps on a cereal bar. “Give it time. I’ve never been wrong yet. I gotta sixth sense for this kinda shit, y’know.”
“Ooh, how come?” Courtney asks, crossing her legs and batting her lashes Willam’s way. Willam immediately swivels away from Vanessa and Brooke to give Courtney all of her attention, and Vanessa rolls her eyes long-sufferingly at her partner.
“Strictly curse, Jesus. As if,” Vanessa laughs, but it comes out more bitter than she’d wanted it to. There are still memories she associates with that phrase, she can’t help them, and even though time has passed she’s still got scars that are slowly healing.
Brooke gives a snort beside her, but Vanessa sees the way she doesn’t smile with her eyes, the way she looks almost wounded. Is Brooke…disappointed? Vanessa scrambles to follow up her comment.
“I mean, you know, some good comes out of it all the time. Obviously like Shea with Sasha…I just think…”
“It’s not something you’d ever fall victim to,” Brooke nods slowly, understandingly. Vanessa shakes her head.
“No, no, that’s not it at all! Like if I developed a connection to someone on the show like that, then of course!” she explains quickly. All at once she sees a small twinkle appear in Brooke’s eye, and it sends a spark of electricity up her spine. She feels she has to justify her earlier remark and she swallows before deliberately forcing her tone to be light. “It’s just, you know…obviously after what happened last year.”
Brooke makes a face as if someone’s just dropped a very heavy object on her foot. “Right. Right. Of course. Fuck, sorry, of course you have every right to hate people talking about it so much.”
Vanessa gives a soft laugh. It still hurts and the humiliation might never dissipate but she tilts her head and smiles at Brooke. “Don’t worry. It’s fine.”
They drop the topic, chat about the show instead and Vanessa explains to her how it’ll all work. The pros will do their group number first (Vanessa will change into her costume for that later, a strappy silver leotard with a fringed skirt that hangs low on her waist), which the dancers have been rehearsing all week. Then the judges come out and sit at their table and do a bit of chit-chat with Michelle. Then each of the couples come down the famous stairs and are introduced, and after that the show kicks off. With them. They are opening the whole show, Vanessa’s brain reminds her, and her stomach does a somersault. While they chat a couple of the other girls join in. Scarlet sits herself down in a free chair opposite them and chips in in between bites of mango, and Yvie pipes up every so often from her position in the makeup chair.
“Are the judges really terrifying?” Scarlet asks nervously, biting down hard on a piece of fruit. Vanessa shrugs, pulls a face.
“I mean, I wouldn’t know really. Never competed before, remember?”
Vixen pipes up from her place in the hairstylist’s chair. “Bianca can be a bitch but she’s alright when she ain’t behind the judge’s table. I think half of it is just her playing into the panto villain stereotype. Kennedy is just happy to be there, she always gives fair scores. Laganja is on a different planet, she’s hilarious. Always marks high. Shangie is lovely but you know she undermarks half the time and plays favourites the other half.”
“Well, I’ll just need to make myself one of her favourites,” Scarlet flips her perfectly curled hair and shrugs.
“You’re already one of my favourites,” Yvie says nonchalantly. Scarlet fixes her photoshoot-ready smile onto her.
“The only correct decision,” she points at her approvingly. Yvie laughs a too-loud laugh that makes Vanessa roll her eyes at just how lovesick and useless everyone in this cast seems to be. Then again, she supposes she can’t really talk. Scarlet’s talking to Yvie now as if they’re the only two people in the room. “How’re you feeling, baby?”
“Just excited! Ready to go and get some tens,” she laughs, although Vanessa knows she’s not really joking.
Vixen raises her eyebrows, amused by the girl’s cocky remark. “Reign it in, girl. They never give out tens on the first night. You wanna score above twenty-five, that’s a successful first week,”
“Well, at least nobody’s going home this week,” Scarlet shrugs easily. She’s right- there’s no vote in the first week, and all the scores are instead carried over to next week’s show. But Vanessa doesn’t see that as a chance to relax. Scores are combined with the public votes so she knows a high score in the first week puts them in a good position for the next. She knows she’s thinking ahead too much but she can’t really help it. This is a long game, like Akeria said on launch night, and Vanessa is playing it to win.
“How’re you feeling, Scarlet?” Yvie asks back. Scarlet pouts. Vanessa thinks it’s more than a little for Yvie’s benefit.
“I’m just nervous! I hope I do okay.”
“You’ll be amazing,” Yvie tells her, and Scarlet’s smile is back on her face. Yvie smirks as she finishes her sentence off with, “Like me.”
The girls all laugh. Brooke takes out her phone and scrolls it a bit, nudging Vanessa after a while.
“Cute backstage video?” she offers, and Vanessa nods happily, glad to see Brooke a little less subdued. Vanessa leans into her as Brooke tilts the camera at them both.
“Hey family, we’re just about to get our hair and makeup done, hoping they can do something to fix this,” Brooke jokes, gesturing around her entire face. Vanessa shoves her.
“Shut up, girl, you’re gorgeous.”
The compliment is out before Vanessa can stop herself, but she doesn’t miss the way Brooke’s smile gets slightly wider. She ignores the compliment with her words but her face acknowledges it. “We’ve just done our dress run, it went horribly-”
“Oh my God, the lies you are telling today!!” Vanessa’s jaw drops. She knows it hadn’t gone well, but she just doesn’t want Brooke being so down on herself.
“Tell me we weren’t bad.”
“We weren’t bad!!”
“Well we weren’t good, either,” Brooke laughs, and Vanessa has to hand that one to her. “So you guys better vote for us next week, because we’ll need it.”
“For Willam and Phi Phi!” Willam ducks her head into shot, and Vanessa pushes her away as she bursts out laughing.
“Brooke and Vanessa!” someone from hair calls, and Brooke pulls a face at the camera.
“Ah! Right, that’s us! See you all later, love you,” Brooke squeals into her phone and stops recording. In lieu of a story she decides to post the video on her grid, with the caption:
bhytes: 1 hour to go! Mood: terrified! Lucky I have @vanessavanjie dancing with me!
Vanessa is heartened by the tag, promises herself she’ll reply with something later. As the hair stylist sprays Brooke’s hair to within an inch of its life, Vanessa watches in the mirror as Brooke scrolls her phone, then pauses, a stifled smile creeping across her lips and a hand reaching up to touch her face self-consciously. Vanessa narrows her eyes with interest and, refreshing the page, finds that five new comments have popped up on the video Brooke’s posted. Three of them are a series of emojis, one is well-wishes from Brooke’s One Show co-star Nina, and one in particular catches her eye.
branjie5ever05: you GUYS i can’t take it you’re so good together!!! like an old married couple!! can’t wait to see you dance! branjie 5ever!!
Vanessa allows herself to wonder if that was the comment that had made Brooke’s face light up before her mind tells her how utterly ridiculous she’s being.
Hair and makeup is a blur and once they’re done, Brooke takes Vanessa’s breath away for a second time. The pair of them never really get to see each other with a full face of makeup on- they would just sweat it off in rehearsals- so this is unfamiliar territory to Vanessa. Brooke’s beauty hits her all over again just as it had on launch night, and Vanessa feels herself dissolving into a bashful mess whose tongue has been cut out.
“Wow,” Brooke says quietly, her tone of approval sending another little spark through Vanessa’s body. The atmosphere is already so electric and Brooke doesn’t need to add to that but she won’t complain. Brooke gives her a small smile that’s almost shy as she manoeuvres herself out of the makeup chair. “You look so good.”
Vanessa smiles, mutters a soft thanks to her. Brooke keeps going.
“I mean, better than good, obviously. Really pretty,” she stutters out, and Vanessa has to try not to laugh at how endearing she’s being.
“Well, same to you, boo. If anything goes wrong, which it won’t, all you need to do is smile at the judges and then maybe they’ll ignore it.”
Brooke rolls her eyes, gives a small laugh. “Ugh, please. I’m not Scarlet, I’m not going to simp for the judges.”
Vanessa lets out a howl of a laugh which causes some of the other girls to turn their heads. She yells an explanation. “Brooke Lynn just used the term ‘simp’!!”
“What? Did I not use it right?” she blinks, unamused. Vanessa butts her head into her arm and hugs her, trying to explain how funny she finds a thirty year old TV presenter using a term she’s only ever seen on Twitter.
If Brooke’s Insta post is a countdown to the show starting, then their time is eventually up. Vanessa feels like Brooke hugs her extra tight before she goes out to do the pro dance, clingy in the best kind of way. They won’t be separated for long but Vanessa still feels her heart hammering in her chest as the dancers begin to assemble on the ballroom floor, walking through the audience who are silent in anticipation (or perhaps under strict instructions from the producers). There’s a countdown and Vanessa tries to forget that, unlike the launch show, this is live, her dancing instantly beamed into the living rooms of everyone watching. The lights begin to come up, and the commentator’s voice booms through the studio.
“Live on Saturday night, this is Strictly Come Dancing!”
The audience cheers, and the band play the first notes of Boogie 2Nite. Vanessa can hardly breathe as she watches Akeria and Phi Phi open the dance, not a single error between them as they kick and spin each other around the floor. When Vanessa and the other pros join in at the swell of the chorus there is another excited cheer that ripples through the studio and makes Vanessa’s smile hurt her face. She gets to her solo and feels as if she’s igniting as the lights beam down hot onto her and she spins, kicks one leg high into the air, melts and then finishes with a stag jump that she knows wasn’t perfect but she’s too full of adrenaline to care. She partners with Monique and the two of them have matching grins on their faces as they dance, Monique spinning Vanessa round, round, round until she’s almost dizzy. As the dance comes to a close, Vanessa hits her pose right on the last beat, holds it, and then after waiting for the audience to finish applauding she runs backstage along with the other girls, hurrying into costume to change into her quickstep dress. The wardrobe team help her change and before she knows it, she returns into the line that the partners are all forming at the top of the stairs, waiting for their names to be called out. As soon as Brooke sees her, her face lights up in a smile and she wraps her in a tight hug. She smells of hairspray and fake tan and peppermint chewing gum, and Vanessa never wants to step out of her arms.
“You were so amazing. Well, everyone was. But you were the best,” Brooke murmurs into her ear before she lets her go, and Vanessa’s whole body tingles at the praise. There’s hardly time to reply, however, before a runner is telling them that they’re to come down the stairs in just twenty seconds, and stand in the spot they’d been given earlier that day during the dress run. Vanessa’s palms are sweaty and she’s self-conscious of them as Brooke takes her hand.
“Introducing your Strictly Come Dancing stars!”
The commentator’s voice is loud through the speakers and Brooke’s thumb strokes Vanessa’s skin between her thumb and index finger as they look at each other affirmingly before stepping out onto the stairs. The lights are blinding in Vanessa’s face but she’s still smiling and waving at the top of the stairs as the audience cheers for her and Brooke.
“TV presenter Brooke Lynn Hytes, and her partner Vanessa Mateo!”
Vanessa sneaks a look at Brooke and she’s already looking at her. The coincidence makes them both giggle before they walk carefully down the stairs, Vanessa telling herself not to trip on her way down. They make their way to their space and watch and clap for the other couples while the anticipation fizzes in Vanessa’s chest. They’re first. They’re first. They’re first. If she’s this nervous, she doesn’t know how Brooke must be feeling. Eventually all the couples are assembled, and Michelle is introducing them.
“And kicking off the whole show…it’s Brooke and Vanessa!”
As the audience gives a whoop and their VT plays Vanessa takes Brooke’s arm and looks at her, making sure she’s okay. To her relief Brooke returns her gaze steadfastly and there’s a little sparkle in her eye. She doesn’t seem as anxious as she was before. The couples leave the ballroom floor, Monique, Akeria and Crystal making sure to tap Vanessa on the shoulder on their way past and whisper a quick “good luck” to her and Brooke. They sit on the chairs that the set people are running about assembling, and Vanessa hisses across to Brooke.
“You good?”
Broke nods to her. “We’ve got this.”
Vanessa’s nerves instantly leave her body. Brooke’s truly back in the room and her head is in the game. There’s a countdown of five from a runner and the commentator’s voice booms overhead again.
“Dancing the quickstep…Brooke Lynn Hytes and Vanessa Mateo!”
The drum kicks in and their performance has begun. Already it’s nothing like the dress rehearsal. Brooke’s smile is genuine and easy during their silly interview-style bit, and when Brooke takes her hand as she rises from the chair Vanessa can feel her pulse again but it’s not heavy and frightened like before. It’s full of adrenaline and excitement and as Vanessa rests her hand on her upper arm and Brooke rests hers between her shoulder blades, something just seems to click. They’re off across the dancefloor and Vanessa knows Brooke’s steps and hops are in time with hers, the intricate footwork coming so naturally to her. As they go to cross the floor again, Brooke’s smile seems to falter as she stumbles. Vanessa doesn’t let this deter her and as they meet each other’s eyes she gives Brooke a wink.
“Beans on toast!” she reminds her mid-dance, and Brooke’s confidence is back as they do the next set of steps perfectly. Their feet are going so fast that Vanessa can’t even pick up on whether or not Brooke’s made any more mistakes yet, but the majority of their first dance has been good.
They reach their little section on the steps, and Brooke gives the slightest little falter as she makes eye contact with Bianca. The judge never gives anything away so her steely gaze might have rattled her, but as soon as they’re off the steps and back in each others’ arms Vanessa gives Brooke’s hand a squeeze.
“Almost there, last section!” Vanessa tells her encouragingly. They’re back to kicking, stepping and hopping their way across the ballroom floor to their seats where they finish, and as Brooke hits her final pose and Vanessa hits hers the audience gives a loud cheer. As soon as they’ve held it for a few seconds, Vanessa squeals, jumps up and meets Brooke’s waiting arms. She knows they’ve got to go over to Michelle to be interviewed but she holds the hug for a few more moments than necessary, raising her voice over the roar of the crowd as she speaks against Brooke’s rapidly rising and falling chest.
“You did it! So incredible!!” she gasps, all out of breath. To her shock, Brooke rests a hand on one side of Vanessa’s face and plants a kiss against the other.
Vanessa doesn’t know if the past five minutes could get any better.
They make their way over to Michelle. Brooke’s got one arm slung around Vanessa’s shoulders and Vanessa’s not moved her arm from her hips since their hug. Michelle is waiting for them with a bright smile on her face, seemingly as happy with their performance as they are.
“Congratulations you two, what an opening to the show!” she smiled encouragingly, and Vanessa gives Brooke’s waist a squeeze. “Brooke, how did it feel performing tonight?”
Brooke’s out of breath as she talks. “So amazing. So, so amazing. Dress run went so badly and just having the real thing go so well…wow. Just the best feeling.”
“I told y’all she was good!” Vanessa pipes up proudly beside her, and Brooke gives a laugh and pulls Vanessa in closer to her side.
“Judges! What did you think? Shangela?”
Vanessa’s heart stands still as she comes to the first judge, smiling gently at her desk.
“Well first of all, what a way to open the show! So much fun, and Vanessa, so great to have you as part of a pairing this year, that choreo was something else.”
Vanessa can feel Brooke’s eyes on her and she flushes pink from the praise, stutters out a thank you.
“Brooke, great job tonight, you lost your footing a little bit on the steps there, but overall a gorgeous start. Just work on strengthening your core, holding your frame a little bit better, and once you do that? Lovely, gal!”
Vanessa turns her head to see how Brooke’s reacting, She’s smiling and nodding and taking it all on board. Laganja speaks next, growing animated as she gives her feedback.
“I think we have one to watch here, mama!” she cries, and the audience gives a cheer. Vanessa looks up encouragingly at Brooke, gives her waist another squeeze because she can. “So much amazing potential! You just have a natural eleganza, all light and frothy like a latté! A couple of mistakes, girl, work on not showing that on your face. Cuz when you show it, we all see it, you know? But all that aside, well done.”
Bianca’s up next, and Vanessa clenches her core in preparation. The woman could watch Torvill and Dean dance Bolero on ice and still find something to say. “Uh, I thought the footwork needed tightening up, there were bits that were just a little bit too haphazard for me, your elbow was drooping just a little bit which is not great, you did lose your footing on the stairs here…”
Vanessa can feel Brooke drooping a little beside her, a bit like her elbow had allegedly been doing. The audience boos Bianca like the pantomime villain that Vixen had mentioned, but the woman’s face cracks into a small smile as she finishes her remarks. “But what I do love about you is your energy, you have a lot of great potential as Ganja’s pointed out, and I’m looking forward to seeing what you can do when you get just a little bit more technical.”
The audience seems appeased and claps her comments, and Brooke has perked up at Vanessa’s side like a flower that’s been given a drink. Michelle turns to Kennedy, the final judge to give her comments.
“Brooke! I think you started out a little bit nervous, and what was nice was that as the dance went on you kinda came out into your own a bit. You have a lovely feminine and elegant way of moving which is really nice to see in an all-female partnership, and you seem really comfortable in hold with Vanessa, which is lovely.”
Vanessa tries to fight the blush that washes her face at Kennedy’s comment and doesn’t succeed.
“Just work on your presentation a little bit and your confidence and…yeah. I’m living for you, miss, you’re gonna be dangerous.”
Vanessa is heartened by the way Brooke’s face lights up at the praise. Michelle thanks the judges and waves them off upstairs to be interviewed by Divina, her co-host, and the pair of them pick up the hems of their dresses and entwine their hands as they dash upstairs to the auditorium (or, as it’s commonly known between the dancers, the Divinatorium). Most of the other pairs are there having watched them dance while they wait for their turn, and they all clap the pair of them as they nudge their way through.
“You did it!” Divina smiles, giving Brooke a hug as she meets them both. “Congratulations! Now, nice comments from the judges- I know Bianca got a bit pernickety there, but how do you feel about them?”
“Really happy, yeah! I just can’t believe what Vanessa’s managed to do with me in the space of two weeks, she’s been amazing. It’s all been down to her.”
Vanessa can’t help the rays of sunshine that feel like they’re emanating from her face as she looks at Brooke. Divina turns to her.
“Vanessa, you’ve been benched for a couple of years now, how does it feel to have a partner finally?”
“You know what, it was worth the wait. She’s been an absolute star,” Vanessa beams, wrapping her other arm around Brooke’s waist and pulling her close just like Brooke had done once their dance had finished.
“Worth the wait! Too cute, you two. Well, the judges’ scores are in.”
Vanessa’s stomach gives a dip. She feels Brooke’s grip tighten on her shoulder as the voice of the commentator rings across the studio. This is the moment they’ve both been waiting for. They’re about to get their first ever scores.
“Will the judges please reveal their scores. Bianca Del Rio.”
Bianca holds up her paddle. Vanessa blinks and tries not to pull a face. Because what’s on the paddle is a number, a number that doesn’t correlate with the dance they both just did.
“Five.”
Hardly wanting to look away, she keeps her eyes fixed to the screen.
“Kennedy Davenport.”
“Five!” Kennedy is holding up an identical paddle. Vanessa can’t help it- she scrunches her face up, turns to Brooke.
“Five?” she shakes her head. Brooke shrugs and smiles but Vanessa knows the scores are hurtful to her. They’re being undermarked- okay, she knows the dance wasn’t perfect and they made just a couple of mistakes, but it was at least a six, perhaps even a seven.
“Shangela Wadely.”
“Five.”
Vanessa shakes her head, trying to keep a smile on her face but wanting to storm down the stairs and give those judges a piece of her mind.
“Laganja Estranja.”
“Six!” the girl cries happily as she holds up her paddle, and the audience lets out a cheer. Vanessa relaxes a little, and she can feel somebody pat her on the back encouragingly.
“Happy with those?” Divina asks a little gingerly, and Vanessa jumps in before Brooke can say anything.
“You know what? It’s week one, and it’s a start!” she shrugs firmly. She’s not going to let this dent her confidence or Brooke’s. This isn’t the first time she’s been undermarked or disappointed in her career and it sure as hell won’t be the thing that knocks her or Brooke down.
“The only way is up,” Brooke agrees beside her, nodding fiercely.
“Well, we all thought you did amazing,” Divina reassures them both, and Vanessa flashes her a grateful smile. Divina explains to the TV audience that they can’t vote until next week, and that the judges’ scores will be carried over to the next show. She closes their interview and the audience claps them and just like that, after all the buildup, their first dance is over and they head backstage.
The moment it’s just the pair of them, Vanessa instantly pulls Brooke into a hug because God knows if Brooke doesn’t need one then she definitely does. They’re in the cream-painted corridors where the dressing rooms are, and the light is harsh and bright around them when all Vanessa wants is just a moment of darkness. She wants to be under her duvet, pulling it up high over her head and letting the shadows envelop her. As her arms circle around Brooke’s waist she lets out a sigh. Brooke returns the hug and Vanessa takes a deep, calming breath as she feels the older woman’s strong arms wrap around her shoulders and pull her in close to her chest. Vanessa’s back is against the cold paint of the wall and it’s contrasting so much with the warmth Brooke’s body is giving off. They stand like that in silence for a moment, each of them grounding the other, and Vanessa can feel Brooke’s heart through her chest. It’s intimate and gentle, and not a single word has been spoken between them but Vanessa can sense a shift in the atmosphere. She feels something change between them, a difference that somehow pulls them closer together and connects them in a way that they hadn’t been before.
“That was undermarked. You were amazing,” she whispers in annoyance against Brooke’s chest. Brooke’s arms tighten around her in response.
“We were amazing,” she whispers back. Vanessa’s not sure why they’re whispering, but she likes it, makes the moment seem more theirs somehow.
The thought appears in her head and it’s out before she can stop it. “I’m so lucky to have you.”
Brooke shakes her head above her and repeats her words back to her instantly. “No, I’m lucky. So, so lucky.”
Giving another sigh, Vanessa lets her arms slide down to her side and, taking her cue, Brooke slowly releases her, but not before resting her hands on her shoulders and giving her a smile that seems to say so much without saying anything at all. Vanessa wonders how long that hug could have gone on for if she’d let it.
“Put it out of your mind. We move,” she says decisively, and Brooke gives a single nod.
“Tomorrow’s a new day, and next week’s a new week.”
They link arms and go to be interviewed for the socials and, after the moment she’s just shared with Brooke, Vanessa knows that her smile won’t have to be faked.
