After being announced as the top 2, Sasha wishes Anetra luck.
With only one lipsync now separating them and the crown, Sasha and Anetra make their way to the back of the stage already smiling in triumph. Coming from opposite sides of the stage, Sasha takes Anetra’s hand no sooner than she is close enough to reach it, a gentle tug on her arm leading her backstage.
Once they are out of the cameras’ sight, their eyes meet. They are now able to take in the joy written on each other’s faces: joy for the fact that no matter which one of them truly wins now, they would both get to revel in a moment of victory before esteemed guests, their new sisters, and a packed hall of adoring fans. Second only to that was the joy of knowing they would be able to experience each other’s crowning moment firsthand.
Overtaken by this joy, Sasha pulls Anetra into a sweeping embrace, lifting her off the ground with arms tightly wrapped around her. Anetra’s gleeful laughing mingles with Sasha’s cries of pure happiness into her shoulder.
In this moment, Sasha realizes that joy simply isn’t adequate to describe what she’s feeling. She sets Anetra back on the ground, and between sobs she whispers:
“I love you.”
“Sasha! Aww!” Anetra laughs some more and smiles. “I love you too!”
Sasha smiles back as she shakes her head.
Anetra raises a brow. “Sash—?”
She’s cut off by the chill that runs up her spine as Sasha’s hands gently trace the curve of her waist.
“Anetra, I love you.”
A frozen Anetra quickly defrosts by a quick, chaste touch of Sasha’s lips to hers. Before she can respond, she is pulled into another hug, undeniably warmer than the first.
“Good luck, okay?” Sasha whispers. She then removes herself, giving Anetra one last smile before she turns around and walks away.
Wait, Anetra wants to say. Come back. However, she realizes that her current priority should be to go get changed, pop her earbuds in and distract herself with the sound of “Knock On Wood.”
This is still a competition, after all—if only for a little longer.
She just has to wait a little longer.
Anetra tilts her head back, closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. Though Sasha is already long-gone, she finally responds nonetheless.
A/N: its been a while since i've been this downbad but here we are... i just want the best for willow. that's it that's the fic.
TW: descriptions of chronic illness
Tomorrow was the day. The biggest night any of the five girls have had thus far. They were going to find out, after all these weeks, who would be crowned America’s next drag super star in one of the craziest seasons yet. It may have dragged on and on for the fans, but for the girls it was a different story. And for Willow? It happened in the speed of light.
It was nice that after all the gigs, meet n greets, touring, photo shoots, and just general chaos that the cast were back together again. And in Vegas of all places.
After the mayhem that ensued at the reunion, it was clear Willow needed a place to rest and gather her thoughts. She’d be lying if the “fast life” over the past few months didn’t take its toll on both her brain and her body. She forgets that she needs to take a beat for herself and by the time she realizes it -it’s already too late. She’s burned out. Her body can’t quite keep up with her brain as much as she would want it to and that frustrates her to no end.
Kornbread was currently in Willows room with Maddy and Daya and she couldn’t keep track of the conversation to save her life. She was seated on the bed, criss cross apple sauce against the head board. Kornbread sat next to her, Daya sat on a chair at the foot of her bed, and Maddy on the other chair.
The trio could be talking about anything from the conspiracy of the moon landing to the Pythagorean theorem and it’ll all would’ve sounded the same to her. She wished she could present. But she simply can’t. Not with the way her hands were shaking lightly in her folded arms mixed with the heavy brain fog and fatigue that seemed to have a chokehold on every fiber of her being.
“Wait, Willow, girl are you even listening?” Kornbreads voice sliced the air and snapped her out of her thoughts, “we’re tryna talk about what our favorite runways are of each other!”
Willow finally met the other girls eyes, reading the expressions of all three of them: Confusion, concern, then of course pity.
“Mmmfine, sorry.” Willow barely mumbled out, eyes locking on Daya. Her face was the most neutral, at least from what she could tell. But there was a glint in her eye she couldn’t quite place? Either way it started to help ease the heavy pressure in her head just the smallest of bits.
“Baby, you don’t look fine…” Kornbread started, gently placing her hand on her knee.
“Yeah,” Maddy agreed, “do you need water or anything? Meds?”
Willow knew they meant well, of course they did. They were her sisters after all. But she did not have the energy to even begin to explain what was going on with her or how she was feeling.
“Hey guys, why don’t I meet you in Kornbreads room in a bit?” Daya immediately spoke up, seemingly taken charge of the situation.
Kornbread eyed Willow, silently asking if she was okay with this, to which she nodded. That’s all her girl needed to get the message.
“C’mon Maddy, let’s go find Mrs. Morphosis.” She gave a reassuring pat to Willows knee and got up. She heard a soft “feel better” from Maddy which was echoed by Kornbread and the two were out the door.
Willow internally, or not so internally, let out a sigh of relief at the already more still energy in the room. She loved her sisters, each and every last one of them, but she was in no shape to be perceived and expected to perform in any way.
“Thanks for that.” She thanked the taller girl, trying her best to give Daya a pleasant smile despite of how she felt.
“Don’t even worry about it, Will,” Daya immediately played off, not a single edge to her voice. She swiftly got off her chair and sat sitting at the foot of the bed.
“I know when my body starts to fight me the last thing I want is an audience.” She added, laying down on the bed on her stomach, feet in the air, and looking up at Willow.
Willow met her eyes once again and she
understood. She’s seen Daya get heavy on her feet, slurring her words, stumbling to her kit. She’s seen her poke her finger followed by drinking a coke. She has seen the shakiness in her hands subside before her eyes. It’s not the same, no. But she gets it.
“Yeah it just… gets a lot sometimes.” Willow trailed off, placing her hands in her lap.
“Yeah,” Daya echoed, placing her hand on top of the lightly shaking ones and rubbing her thumb across the smaller hands, “it does.”
“Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”
Willow thought for a moment, going through a mental checklist. “Um, could you close the curtains?”
Daya nodded, a quick “mmhmm!” escaped her lips, and she softly got up. She didn’t want to cause too much movement/momentum.
“Anything else?” She asked gently as she closed the blinds, turning back to look at Willow.
“Could you maybe help me take off my shoes? I know I shouldn’t have worn them on the bed I just… wanted to sit as soon as possible.”
Daya wordlessly walked over to Willow, untying the laces of her sneakers and placed them on the ground next to the desk.
“Thank you.” Willow smiled, this time more genuinely. Daya immediately reciprocated the smile.
“Of course!” She softly sad down on the bed next to Willow once more, their shoulders now touching.
The smaller girl started to yawn, causing Daya to smile softly at herself. “Do you want me to leave?”
Willow shook her head, scooting down on the bed and under the covers. “No, I like having you here.”
“Okay then,” Dayas hand found its way to Willows hair. She softly started scratching her scalp. The girl was practically melting beneath her touch.
“Get some rest.” She uttered quietly.
Willow gave her a soft mumble before she completely passed out under Dayas touch.
Daya knew Kornbread would understand and was more than capable of keeping herself busy. And she knew she would understand. Because she wasn’t going anywhere.
Hi, did anyone else think the Kings and Queens lip sync on AS7 was kinda hot? Just me?
Well, here’s this anyway. Heh. V named this cos I can’t do titles.
——-
Jinkx’ breath hitched as Trinity dropped to her knees and started miming blowing her. The cameras did not catch Trin very briefly touching her tongue to Jinkx’ crotch. Jinkx stepped away from the other queen, trying to get back on track with the lip sync. She looked back only to lock eyes with Trinity, who was wiping her lips as she stared back. Jinkx shook her head. Later.
Later came as the queens were parading off stage, Jinkx swept Trinity into her arms bridal style and carried her off. She was tucked, but her dick had been doing its best to stand at attention ever since Trinity had teased her. God, this place kept her pent up. She kept her voice low so only Trinity could hear. “What was that about earlier?”
“I don’t know what you mean, what’s carryin’ me off about?” Trinity was either playing dumb or truly had the attention span of a goldfish.
Jinkx quirked a brow at her, leaning over, assuming the latter.
“What?” Trinity squeaked innocently.
Jinkx stopped walking and looked her in the eyes. “That stunt in the lip sync.” Her gaze flicked to Trinity’s mouth and then to her crotch, before going back to her eyes.
“Ahhhh.” Realization and understanding flashed on Trinity’s face. “That.” She paused for a beat. “Can I get down?”
Jinkx sighed, helping her down from her arms. “Yeah, that. The teasing when we’re all wound so tight is a lot to deal with.” She took the opportunity to look Trinity up and down; she looked incredible-- well, she always did, but tonight, something was different. Part of her mind was aware this situation was about to become a bad idea. The rest of it didn’t care.
“Girl, I’m sorry. I just needed something.” Trinity kept a hand on Jinkx’ shoulder as she gained her footing on the floor. Her hand loosened and she looked back up at Jinkx. “Being stuck in here sure does make a bitch needy, and I couldn’t really help it.”
Before Trin could pull her hand away, Jinkx covered it with her own. “Only be sorry if you don’t do anything about it.” Her voice was low, suggestive. She pulled Trinity’s hand downward. “Sounds like we could both use a bit more.” Jinkx stopped with both their hands near her crotch, only to let go, chuckling softly. She shook her head. What was she doing? “The others will be waiting, we should-“ the sentence cut off with a shuddering gasp as Trinity grabbed Jinkx’ tuck.
“Or, they can wait a little, can’t they?” Trinity’s eyes shone with some mixture of mischief and desire. “We had to stop for a minute…” gears were turning in her head, she needed an excuse, “…since that cartwheel made you dizzy.” She squeezed her hand and smirked at the noise Jinkx made.
Jinkx took a shaky breath. “You make some good points.” The cartwheel was easily 10 minutes ago now, but she was suddenly dizzy. Definitely the cartwheel. Jinkx looked back towards where the other queens had been ahead of them. They had all left the hall by now and were probably in the werk room. “Okay. They can wait just a minute.”
Trinity released Jinkx’ crotch and grabbed her hand, pulling her down a different hall. “C’mon, then!”
Jinkx stumbled forward as Trinity dragged her… somewhere. “Where are you going? Do you even have a plan?” And did the plan need to involve running?
Trinity grinned and shook her head. “Rarely!”
Not exactly reassuring, but Jinkx didn’t quite care at this point. Trinity’s goal seemed to be a prop storage closet, the junk drawer of drag. It would do. Jinkx was pulled into the small room and the door was shut behind her in quick succession. There was no light on in here, so Jinkx flailed for a switch.
Trinity was on her knees as soon as she had closed the door, grabbing to pull down Jinkx’ leggings as she felt for the light switch. Jinkx managed to find the switch and flick the lights on as Trinity found the waistband on her leggings and pulled them down, tucking panties along with them. Her dick, freed from constraint, finally was able to spring up.
Before Jinkx could even think, Trinity was licking her, her hands caressing her ass. She shuddered as the other queen’s perfect red lips took her head into their warm embrace. Jinkx’ hands fumbled for something to hold on to, finding their way into Trinity’s wig. A thought briefly crossed her mind -- that they couldn’t walk back into the werk room looking too disheveled, but the thought then left her mind as Trinity bobbed her head and completely swallowed her. A low moan escaped her lips, and Trinity hummed, the feeling of the vibration making Jinkx moan louder. She bucked her hips, and Trinity took it in stride.
Trinity gazed up at Jinkx, seeing her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth open as she moaned. Gorgeous. She moved her head, enjoying all of Jinkx’ little twitches and moans as she blew her. She kept moving her head, feeling Jinkx’ dick fucking her throat and trying to match her pace.
Jinkx’ hands dug deeper into Trinity’s wig, holding her like she was going to vanish otherwise. She was still moaning, didn’t have near the focus left to stop herself. She felt herself getting closer, faster than she was proud of, but it had been been weeks in this pink cage and it didn’t take much right now, especially with Trinity being so damn good. At least they’d get back to the werk room sooner.
Trinity licked at the underside of her cock, feeling her hips stutter. She moved a hand to fondle her balls, and that was the last thing she needed for her to come. Jinkx cried out above her, and Trinity felt heat running down her throat and swallowed. She couldn’t look too much a mess for the others, wouldn’t be proper.
Jinkx saw stars, felt Trinity swallowing her cum. She leaned back against the wall, panting as she came down.
Trinity removed herself and tucked Jinkx back into her panties, pulling her leggings back up. She cleared her throat, and chuckled slightly. “Think they’ve missed us, yet?” She stood up, locking eyes with Jinkx.
Jinkx’ eyes regained focus as she looked at Trinity. “Shut the fuck up,” she cackled, and pulled Trinity in for a kiss.
Cheeks Are Flushing (Now You’re Living) (Daya Betty x Lady Camden) - Gigisgoode
A/N: I’m back back back again! In this fic Daya experiences a hypoglycaemic attack caused by diabetes. I do not claim to be an expert on diabetes or its symptoms so please read with a pinch of salt and remember that I am not a scientist (insert katya gif). You can read on A03 under the same username if you prefer!
Daya knows she should’ve seen it coming, knew that the shakiness in her hands wasn’t just an after-effect of the lipsync, that the blurriness of her vision had nothing to do with the coloured contacts she was wearing. The dull thump of her head counteracted the racing of her heart, but all she wanted was to sleep. And Camden.
Camden, who always made sure Daya had her testing kit on her, stashing a chocolate bar in her jean pocket in case she dropped. Camden, who’d bundle anyone up in a blanket and stroke their hair the moment she saw one of her sisters feeling unwell or sad. Camden, who’d happily do all of that for Daya right now, if she was here.
But she wasn’t.
It was just her and Deja, and as much as Daya knew Deja would hold her hand and make her drink cola through a straw, sit with her until the trembling stopped and her heart rate returned to normal, she didn’t want her. The logical part of Daya’s brain that told her she may not have enough time to wait for Camden to come back, that the time before her trembling was noticeable to even the most unaware eye was short, was clouded over by her desire for the British queen and so Daya resided herself to sitting quietly, watching the screen with as much energy as she could muster up, waiting for Camden to walk back through the workroom door.
/
RuPaul was torturing her, Daya was sure of it. Willow and Jorgeous had both been declared safe, with the pink-haired girl still up for elimination. The shakiness of her hands had gotten worse, and Daya could now feel tears pricking the back of her eyes at both the possibility of Camden being sent home, and the thought of having to wait any longer for her. Her head was becoming too heavy to hold up, the tiredness of Daya’s body fighting itself beginning to overtake her need for Camden, now simply seeking any pair of arms and a soft bed.
Daya’s mind drifts and she’s quiet, the pounding of her heart stealing what little breath she had left, before she thinks she hears RuPaul calls Camden’s name, but she’s too out of it to be sure. There’s shrieks and clapping before she knows what happens next and if she was more coherent she’d be unashamedly staring at Camden’s toned stomach and long legs as she performed, but her eyes were staring straight through the screen long after the lipsync ended.
/
The buzz of the screen blanking caused Daya to zone back in and she tries to join in with the conversation going on around her, tries not to project her desire for Camden out loud, even though her lips are tingling and she’s not sure if she’s slurring her words, and how time is running out before her symptoms start getting worse and she’s passing out on the workroom floor.
The room erupts into cheers but all she can focus on is the haze of pink she can see out of her blurred eyes, and on instinct alone she’s clambering off of the sofa, almost selfishly just ready to be held despite Camden’s tears of relief, feet clumsily tripping over each other in her haste to reach the other queen.
She doesn’t know who reaches who first but the second Daya’s in Camden’s arms she sags, feet giving out from under her as Camden rushes to catch her around the waist, holding Daya’s weight against her own chest as she tries to lift the younger girl’s head.
‘Shit. Betty, Bets, come on, look at me,’ Camden pleads, heart racing in her throat as the adrenaline from the performance fades but her anxiety for the half-dead girl in their arms spiking. She shouts for Deja, who is immediately rummaging through Daya’s belongings, trying to find her testing kit, Camden immediately knowing that that was the problem.
Between them they manage to find it, and after watching Daya do it countless times, Deja is confident enough to perform the test whilst Camden holds her still. However, just as Deja goes to prick the girl’s finger, Daya’s eyes flutter open and Camden’s immediately onto her, holding her chin up to meet her concerned gaze.
Confused and dizzy, Daya struggles to meet the other queens eyes, brain not cohesive enough to realise who was holding her or what had happened. The other girls had all rushed over to congratulate and comfort Camden but after making sure Camden had the tall girl secure in her arms and that Daya wasn’t about to hit the floor were now mostly giving the pair some space, except for Deja who hovered nervously, test kit still in her hand. Her vision is swimming as she prises her eyes fully open but she’s able to make out the soft accent whispering to her, the warm hand on her waist.
‘Cam?’
‘I’m here, Betty, I’ve got you,’ the British queen comforts, hands running up and down Daya’s arm to try and calm her almost violent trembles. Camden scans her over, taking in the other physical symptoms she can see- face paling even through her makeup, heart beating furiously against her chest, eyes closing despite themselves. Camden almost feels angry at the girl gripping onto her top, knowing she must’ve felt the symptoms come on before they became this bad, but understands that Daya’s fear of vulnerability meant Camden was grateful she would at least be open with someone about it.
With Deja’s help Camden got Daya settled on the floor, back resting against Camden’s chest, Camden’s knees holding the younger queen up straight, a safety barrier should she faint again. The change in position made Daya shake uncontrollably, Jorgeous leaning down to cover her over in her blanket, Camden using her arms as a bracket around Daya’s chest, fearing the way she shook was so intense she would faceplant the floor.
‘Babe, hey, we need to test your sugars, yeah? Find out how low you are and get you sorted out, okay? Camden negotiated, trying to unfurl one of Daya’s fists from the death grip it had on her top, a pang of guilt going straight to her heart when the other queen whimpered, turning to bury her face in Camden’s shoulder.
Daya tried to protest, curl her hands back into her blanket and go to sleep, tried to make her stupid tingling lips and her tongue that felt way too big for her mouth work to make words, but barely able to let out a sound of discontentment, her attempt at speech slurred when she felt a prick on her left pointer finger and she started to sob.
‘Hey, hey- B you’re okay,’ Camden attempted to console, pulling Daya’s head back down to rest on her chest, not even minding the mascara tears that were sure to stain her outfit. Camden knew that the slur to Daya’s speech and her tearfulness coupled with the dizziness and shakes were sure fire signs her sugars were way, way too low and when the reading came through, Camden almost bit through her lip.
‘Fuck,’ she turns to Deja. ‘This is the lowest I’ve ever known her go, no wonder she passed out.’
She sent the other queens running off in different directions, all in search of anything sugary, whilst Deja stayed, working in tandem with Camden to rouse Daya.
‘Come on sugar, I’ve got you. You need to stay awake for me, yeah? Willow’s gone to find you a snack and you’re gonna feel so much better in a few minutes baby, just need you to stay with me until she gets back, okay?
Jorgeous and Willow both burst back through the doors just as Daya’s head begins to fall back and she loses the fight with consciousness again. They shower Camden in sugary snacks and drinks and she’s breaking into a can of something orange and fizzy whilst Deja rips open a candy bar for her and begins to break it into pieces.
Willow helps to hold Daya’s chin up, Jorgeous holding onto Daya’s hand that Camden had to let go of to put a straw into the cold drink. Gently the straw is guided into her mouth and she’s urged to drink, praise immediately bestowed upon her when she manages to keep a little bit down. Camden knows she’s in no fit state to try to eat anything yet, so she keeps up her encouragement and slowly helps Daya to drink around half the can until her hands are no longer uncontrollably shaking and slight awareness comes back into her eyes.
‘There you are!’ Cam smiles, relief flooding through her as Daya is able to grab onto her bicep with only a slight shudder. ‘How are you feeling, baby?’
It still takes Daya a moment to find her words, but eventually she lets out a quiet ‘dizzy’ and Camden’s picking up the can and holding the straw to her lips again, not satisfied until she could feel it was empty.
Daya comes back to herself in time after finishing the drink, firstly realising her corset had been taken off, before seeing the small mountain of candy bars on the floor. It dawns upon her slowly and then all at once, feeling slightly ashamed she had let herself cause this much of a scene because she was too scared to tell the other girls how she was feeling.
‘Is, is- is my sugar low?’ she mumbles, trying to grasp Camden’s hand.
‘Way too low, Betty. You know you can’t let it get that low, it’s a good job I caught you in time or you’d have broken an ankle fainting in those platforms,’ Camden lightly scolded, no emotion other than concern behind her words.
‘M sorry,’ Daya whispers, voice laced with guilt at the thought of having worried Camden, eyes gleaming with tears.
‘Baby, no, Betty don’t cry, it’s okay,’ Camden coos, delicately drying under Daya’s eyes with the pads of her thumbs. ‘You just scared me, that’s all. You need to eat something, are you feeling okay enough to try?’
After a slightly hesitant go-ahead nod, Deja passes Camden the bar she’d broken up into bitesize pieces for Daya and Camden wordlessly holds a small sliver up to Daya’s lips, holds her against her chest as she chews it slowly, whispering gentle praise into her ear as she sees her get steadier and more stable with each bite she takes.
Somewhere around piece 5 she weakly pushes Camden’s hand away and mumbles something about feeling nauseous when Camden’s concerned face comes into view, but her shakes are almost gone and the deathly pallor of her skin has faded, simply leaving her exhausted as the emotional and physical strain of the day catches up to her. She’s crawling closer to Camden’s chest before she’s hauled up on still slightly unsteady legs and walked over to the sofa, Camden carefully taking on her weight. She’s laid down once the nausea has settled and her new favourite blanket draped over her as Willow comes into her eyeline with a makeup wipe and starts removing her false lashes and eyeliner before she can fall asleep. Camden’s right next to her, a supportive hand resting on Daya’s back as she prepares to watch over her while she slept but then there’s grabby, acrylic-clad hands clawing at her and after Deja promises Camden she’ll test Daya’s sugars again, Camden can’t resist pulling Daya’s blanket up and crawling down next to her, letting Daya wriggle around her until her head was on Camden’s chest and her long legs stuck out over the arm of the sofa, immediately falling asleep as Camden stroked through her hair, a sigh leaving both of them as they were finally able to relax.
A/N: Did I use this to procrastinate from working and finishing I’m Not Into Sometimes? Absolutely. But never fear, I will finish that fic (at some point.) Posted about writing this a few weeks ago and I actually got around to it, what a shock! Idea taken from Rosé posting that Denali’s IG story made her cry.
Thank you to Hollie for always being the most amazing beta. Don’t know what I’d do without you. This is for dawningofdrag and pinkgrapefruit for making me feel like this was worth putting out into the world.
Summary: Denali always makes Rosé cry.
–
Rosé isn’t sure how they become friends. She doesn’t believe in destiny or cosmic jokes. She doesn’t think that there’s a higher being out there that writes a script to the whole universe in the stars.
Being friends with her feels more like a reflex. A meeting of the eyes across the room to stimulate, react with a friendship that feels so real she can almost hold it in the palm of her hand.
Look at me the way you do and that’s it, I’m yours.
“Can we talk?”
There are 11 other drag queens and a small but very present television crew in the room, but there is nothing else in her line of sight but Denali. All she can see is the way she dabs at her eyes and the way that they’re flitting from light bulb to light bulb in an effort to look anywhere that isn’t Rosé.
“I don’t know what it is about you,” She throws out her arms with a little laugh, like she’s about to explain that this all just some ridiculously mean joke that’s unfolding before them. “But I couldn’t even look at you. There’s just something about you.”
“You don’t have to look at me. You wanna know why?”
“Why?”
“Cause you’re going to have a lot of time to look at me.”
Every word that tumbles out of her mouth is a reaction to a tear that Denali blots away with a balled-up tissue paper in her fist. She encourages, even jokes, until she sees her crack a smile that reminds her of the way the sun breaks through hotel room curtains.
She doesn’t realize she’s holding her hand before her thumb is already stroking skin.
“I need you to do it not just for you, but I need you to do it for me; because I really need you here with me.”
Rosé is many things. She is a queen with unending wit and talent. She is that person who won’t stop toeing the line between hot mess and professional, purely for fun. She is the girl that everyone in the werkroom is eyeing with cautious curiosity.
“I know I can make it to the top.”
One thing she has never been is a crier.
“I know you can too.”
Well, at least she didn’t think she was.
Glass beads form in the corners of her eyes, so unlike the bright plastic ones that Lagoona had bought bags of weeks ago. No, these are Denali’s beads. Crystals of chandeliers draping from ceilings, as clear as the fact that she’s barely holding together.
She’s about to say something, even lets the air pass through her teeth so the words can come out; but then she feels her bottom lip quiver and she buries the reflex with things she prays she can admit to later.
“You know what to do.”
–
Denali shuts her eyes. Well, the non-prosthetic ones at least. Against the stark black of her dress, the orange hue of the setting sun washes her skin a beautiful shade of orange. Her radiance only serves to remind Rosé that she hates the way she looks right now.
“You okay?”
“Just tired.”
They lean against the wall, holding hands as they bathe in the last vestiges of daylight. She hums the disco number that’s been on repeat for the past two days if only to make Denali laugh, all low and breathy. It’s these small quiet moments that make the stamp of ‘you’re safe’ more sweet than bitter.
“You were amazing out there, angel.”
“So were you.” Denali turns her head to look at her and she can’t help herself from laughing when all eight black eyes stare back at her. “Still wasn’t enough for the judges, though.”
“Oh no, baby,” Rosé tuts. “I don’t need the judges to tell me shit. I’ll let my delusion tell me how great I am.”
They look out at the lot, watch crew members bustle about as they keep their distance. It’s simple really, how one person is point A and the other is point B. So easy to model with mathematical functions that distance is proportional to safety.
Even easier to prove that distance is proportional to the loneliness that threatens to swallow her whole when she’s trapped in her hotel room.
The thought of having to return to it in a few hours feels like a punch to the gut, the type that’s so strong that tears form in her eyes. To have thoughts, hopes, fears that she can only voice to a void sends her spiralling down.
She presses the back of her head into the concrete wall so she doesn’t cry. She still has to return to the runway after all. She blinks away her tears like the exhaustion and loneliness will disappear with them.
“Rosie?”
“Yeah?”
“Ever want something so bad it hurts?”
She knows Denali is talking about the competition. She knows that she’s talking about hearing, “condrag-ulations,” instead of, “you’re safe,” the next time they step out onto the stage. She knows that she’s talking about the things that they’ve both come here to achieve.
But then she notices that she’s been drawing on the back of Denali’s hand with the pad of her thumb this whole time. She feels the weight of loneliness lift ever so slightly off her shoulders and she knows without giving it any serious thought that she has all she wants right here. At least for now.
“Yes.”
“What was it?”
“Another cocktail.”
“I hate you so much.”
“I love you too.”
She colors those words shades of orange and black, permanent marker and invisible ink just for her.
–
“You’re going to win.”
It’s hard to be sure of things when the world is falling to shit. Being sure of things is reserved for statements like, “the earth isn’t flat,” or, “my dress is definitely a warm yellow and not orange.”
But Denali sounds so sure of it. She sounds like she’s turning theories into laws, like anything else is a deviation from the reality she’s living.
Rosé is holding a cocktail in one hand and Denali’s in the other, and the only thing she can really be sure of is that she isn’t willing to let go of either right now.
“I swear to God, if you’re jinxing this for me–”
“I’m not!”
Thank you.
It’s the first thing she writes on the skin of her hand in a code only they will ever understand. There are ancient languages lost to time, but she knows that when they leave this competition, those words etched into flesh will be a relic only she can read.
“I’m going to sue you for $5000 if I don’t hear RuPaul say, ‘condrag-ulations, Rosé’ by the end of tonight.”
“Shut up.” She giggles. “I promise that you’re going to win this. There is literally no way you won’t.”
Rosé doesn’t have to think too hard to know that Denali is right. In fact, her reflex is to believe her; but if she pauses, lets the lull of laughter set in for too long, then she hears that little voice in the back of her brain, telling her over and over again that it wasn’t good enough.
You’re right.
Of course, she can’t admit it out loud, but she knows whispers of fingertips will be enough for her to understand.
“In case I do win, I’m going to have to ask you to promise me shit like that every week.”
“Mmm, no way.” She pops the plastic straw of her drink out of her mouth, leaving a ring of black staining bright pink. “I have to leave some of those promises for myself. You know, share the love.”
The room is buzzing with nervous energy from the idea of either Kandy, Tina or Symone having to lip sync, but on the couch alone with her, it feels like a bubble. All she can hear is laughter and promises bouncing off fragile walls.
“I’m proud of you, Rosie.”
Her drink is halfway to her mouth when she says it. It takes a moment for her brain to process, but her body reacts right away. The tears in her eyes don’t come from the pain of having just laughed too hard or from the exhaustion that keeps threatening to knock her out.
No, they come from the way Denali looks at her, like her color blindness takes off the green on her face so she can see all the dreams she hides underneath.
I love you.
“Thank you, angel.” She gives her hand a final squeeze before letting go.
–
It doesn’t register that the hand he’s holding isn’t Denali’s.
Most of the queens have fallen asleep, the emotions from the long day leaving them all drained of energy. There are snores and whispers filling up the empty seats of the van, but he doesn’t notice. All he knows is that something is wrong, something he can’t quite place.
The way he writes it’s okay is more than just a habit that he’s acquired over the past few weeks. It’s become a reflex, no different to breathing. The words he writes need no introduction or conclusion. It’s something he knew how to do before he learned he was doing it.
When he turns his head, he’s almost surprised to find that it’s actually Olivia, hiding half his face in the sleeve of a baggy sweatshirt so no one can hear him sniffling. One look at him and everything comes rushing back.
Denali is gone and no one can understand the words now.
He isn’t angry at him, couldn’t be even if he tried. He sees the bloodshot eyes when they pass under a streetlamp and he knows the way it feels. He knows how it feels because all he can think about is how Denali used to sit there, buzzing with the idea of making his dream come true.
“Sorry, Liv.”
Rosé isn’t sorry that he can’t let go of his hand or that he’s caught him crying. If he’s honest, he isn’t really sure what he’s sorry for. It just seems like the right words to say to tell him he’s not suffering alone.
Is this what it feels like to lose half of something that’s still whole? Things won’t fall apart now that he’s gone. He’ll still push to get to that finish line until his lungs give out and breathing turns into a sting in his chest.
But how he wishes he could get there holding his hand.
“Me too.”
Olivia lets out a shaky breath before leaning against him. Rosé is thankful that he can’t see his face. All the easier to hide the tears that threaten to pour out of him.
–
The hotel door shuts behind him, the sound reverberating all throughout his mind, soul and body until all that’s left in his brain is a single thought:
I did it.
His reflex is to belt, “The winner is Rosé!” to his hotel room. Then he looks around, sees the grand emptiness of it all, and lets the pain in his chest shock his body, a billion volts to the parts of him that even he can’t see.
The void pokes, prods, stimulates, and his body’s first response is to turn and look for Denali. He knows that the doors are locked, that telling him he’s in the top four is nothing short of impossible when he’s probably already hundreds of miles away.
What would it be like if he’d been there?
What would it be like to see him wipe off the makeup, revealing nothing but the look of purest joy and pride underneath? What would it be like to hold his hand until the end so he can learn how the words we did it feel on his skin?
What would it be like if the vision of him that still lives in his mind actually paid its three weeks long overdue rent?
What happens when he comes home? What happens when he has to tell him that he’s achieved something that they both deserved to have?
Questions, questions, and more questions. They occupy his brain and it spins the way he does across the stage. There’s a hurricane in the room, tearing everything apart, and he can’t find his way into its eye.
For the first and last time during the entire competition, he lets himself cry. It is free, messy, ugly with its heaving sobs that wrack through his whole body. It’s the type of crying that would be a meme tomorrow if it had gotten caught on the set of Drag Race.
He isn’t sure why he cries, not when his dreams are literally coming true. He’s always known that things will never be as he sees it in his head, but he never imagined that the pleasure would come with a pain he can’t even understand.
It takes a moment for the hurricane to pass. It leaves him drained of emotions he didn’t know he had, but he’s alive and it’s all he really cares about. He lifts up the covers of his bed and crawls in, hoping that he’ll forget the complex cocktail of emotions that he’s just unearthed when he wakes up the next day.
Before he falls asleep, he rehearses his script in his head.
Hey, D. You were right, I did it.
–
It’s in the last few seconds before falling asleep and in the pauses while finishing his makeup that he spends thinking of what he’ll say to him when he gets home. When he finally gets a chance, none of what he plans ever gets said.
The first thing he does when he gets home from Drag Race is to collapse onto his bed. He fills his senses with the smell of his sheets. It’s a familiar embrace that pulls him into the deepest, most comfortable sleep he’s had in months.
When he wakes up, the room is so dark that he can’t tell he’s even opened his eyes. He drinks in the idea that he can leave it behind, that there is light beyond these walls and he can touch it with his bare hands again.
Instead, he grabs his phone off the nightstand. He forgets what he’s meant to do in the first place, but his fingers are already searching for the message that Denali sent as soon as he got home to Chicago. He doesn’t realize what he’s doing until the words are jumping out of the screen at him, breaking him until he smiles.
Denali: hi rosie! Idk when you’ll be back but since you’ll probably make it to the finale, that might be a while. Ilysm and i’m already so proud of you. Call me when you get back, miss you!
Denali: PS it’s all your fault that i keep singing pretty witty fashion clown, i hate you
The picture of Denali sitting on his couch, typing out something so incredibly sweet then following it up with his own brand of ridiculous, is so vivid in his mind that he can’t stop himself from laughing. Otherwise, he might start screaming about how the feeling of the bones caging his poor heart are breaking.
“Hello?”
“Rosie!”
Nightmares start where dreams end, and this one had started the moment she’d walked off the stage, leaving her hopes at Rosé’s feet, clad in chunky Tina Burner heels. He wakes up when he hears him say his name, even if it isn’t the real thing.
“Oh my god, you just got back. Does this mean I was right?”
“Why do you sound like you were doubting me, baby?”
If he’s honest, he’d been scared of this moment. It was an unspoken contract: we’ll be there together. It felt like breaking his end of the promise, even if it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
“I knew it!” He paints the dark of the room with the joy in his voice and Rosé watches all the colors she’s ever worn on runways tint the bare walls. “I swear Rosie, I knew from the day I met you that you’d make it there.”
I thought the same about you.
He bites back the words, swallows them like a bitter pill.
“Aww, you’re so sweet, D.”
“God, I miss you so much.”
The pill gets stuck in his throat, making his eyes water. He knows he’s been missed and he knows he’s missed him too, but to hear the words burst into a flash of light that fills up the darkened corners of his room makes him remember that everything they have is more than just an intersection of a dream and a nightmare.
What they had in quiet conversations on van rides and tipsy chats in the werkroom was real, and he had come home to it, even if it’s just a phone call that will never be enough.
“I miss you too.”
–
It doesn’t hit him how lonely he’s felt for months until he isn’t alone anymore.
After his third glass of wine, he settles on the edge of Symone’s bed. He watches his sisters talk about nothing and everything all at once. He tries to cut in every once in a while with a song or a joke or his usual mixture of both, but he’s perfectly content just to see all of them together again.
Days, weeks, months have passed and not all of them are spent alone, but loneliness still mars every interaction he has. In the middle of a world that’s going forward and nowhere all at once, he can’t help but feel like he’s in the middle of the ocean with water filling his lungs.
Then he hears them all laugh and he rises to the surface with a breath of fresh air and the sun shining down on his face.
“Rosita!”
Denali whines and immediately plops down beside him, laying his head in his lap. Rosé knows that he’s drunk or at least close to it, but he’s almost certain that he’d do this to him completely sober too.
It’s been four hours since they’ve reunited after months apart, but how they are hasn’t changed. The safety that he’d thought had just been there to shield him from the impending doom in a bright pink box is still there.
He won’t admit it to anyone, least of all to himself, but as he runs his fingers through his hair, he knows that he’s missed this the most.
“I’m going to fall asleep if you keep doing that.”
“Are you a fucking cat?”
“I’m a pussy, sweetie.”
He looks around the room again and it sinks in how lucky he is to have this. In a universe that he believes is constantly on the brink of implosion, he’s found people like them to hold on to. They didn’t know it at the time, but all the sacrifices they’ve made have led them to this.
Most of all, he’s found the living embodiment of growth and joy, and he has strands of his hair slipping between his fingers. He blames the fact that he almost cries on how Denali won’t stop making feminine moaning noises, causing everyone in the room to break into laughter.
Soon, he will have to go home to empty spaces. He will return to the loneliness, but the dullness of its knife will have faded. When it comes to him in the night, making the world stop again, he will greet it with this memory of contentment.
–
There are millions of things that she’s willing to do to make it stop. He could turn the universe upside down, inside out for him. He could yell at the top of her lungs for highways and mountains to move for him. He could fly a damn plane to Chicago for him.
Nothing is too much to stop being a helpless soul, watching him cry over Facetime calls.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s stupid.”
“Your feelings will never be stupid, angel.”
Denali tries to laugh, but it doesn’t come out quite right. It is too full of tears and fears, too loaded with emotions that Rosé begs to understand. It is the saddest sound she’s ever heard and shards of glass appear where her heart used to be.
“Everyone loves me now.” He says as he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Yeah, because your lipsync was that fucking good, diva.”
“And what happens when I disappoint them?”
Rosé takes a deep breath, lets it settle where shattered glass lies. After a long night alone, he’d once seen a video where they turn the pieces into the most beautiful new figures. He wonders if he’ll know he’s turning his heart into something new for him.
“Listen to me, Denali. You are not and will never be a disappointment to anyone.”
“What happens when I’m eliminated? What happens when people figure out that I’m not as good as they thought I was?”
They’ve only talked about it once before, while drunk in his room after a long day of promo. If the others noticed that Denali was talking to him in whispers and holding his hand too tight, they didn’t mention it.
Does he know that he cuts her fingers when he tries to pick up the pieces for him? Does he know that he believes that nothing in the world could ever be so wrong? Does he know that he loves him too much to ever think of him the way he thinks of himself?
Months ago, he’d questioned how he could ever be so sure of anything. Oh, how the tables have turned.
“Yes, you will.” He doesn’t know how he manages to keep his voice steady for him. “One bad day won’t change how much people love you. You’re a fabulous performer and an even more fabulous friend. Don’t ever doubt it for one minute, bitch.”
“But–”
“No buts here, baby. The only acceptable one is the fat ass you’re sitting on.”
It’s only when Denali laughs that he realizes he’s been crying too. How could he not when nothing in the world could be as clear? To love him is a reflex and to stop is in the realm of impossibility.
“I’m sorry I ruined your makeup, Rosie.”
“Don’t worry about it.” It’s easy to brush off, especially when it comes to him. “Maybe the people that booked Cameos are into the smudged mascara look.”
People never told him he could love someone’s laugh so much before.
–
Denali makes him realize what it means to daydream. One minute, he’s out of his own body, watching them dance in a whirlwind of giggling grace together. He spins across the dance studio and when he opens his eyes, they’re suddenly drunk off of bad cocktails in his living room, trying to do the choreography to Phenomenon.
“Wait, no!” He almost falls over when he throws his arms over his head. “We really have to put our whole body into the wiggle. Like this.” It takes a single demonstration for Denali to crash onto the couch, burying his face into a cushion to hide his scream from Rosé’s neighbors.
“I’m just trying to be accurate here.” He says when he plops down beside him. “Utica said wiggle to the top, so I’m wiggling to the fucking top, baby.”
“You can’t make a top out of a bottom, Rosie.”
“Well, I made it to the top four, didn’t I?”
They’re both laughing so hard it hurts. It’s the type of laughing that makes their eyes tear up and their vision blur. It’s the type of laughing that makes them struggle for breath until they can’t tell if it’s them or the room that’s spinning.
The cocktail of alcohol and absurdity settles at the bottom of his stomach and he lets the laughter die. He reaches out for his hand, writes down words from memory to flesh.
Thank you.
You’re right.
I love you.
He wonders how many new words he’ll learn during his stay in New York.
Denali writes something back and it’s all Rosé could have ever hoped for. It’s not that he didn’t know it before, but having the words burned on the back of his hand is still the sweetest sensation he’s ever felt.
It happens so quickly that he doesn’t know where it starts and ends. All he knows for sure is that Denali kissed him, a peck on his lips that feels like the quick burst of a bubble.
When he wakes from this dream tomorrow, he’s not sure he’ll even remember what it felt like. All he’ll think of is the way Denali presses into his side, like none of it ever happened.
“Maybe you really are a cat.”
“Just go to sleep.”
Rosé doesn’t find trouble shutting his eyes. He doesn’t need to see him to know he won’t leave.
–
Maybe it’s the power of TV magic or maybe it’s the wall of makeup that Tina had plastered onto his face that makes it look like he isn’t holding back a gallon of tears. Instead, he looks as happy as he always does, bouncing across the runway like seeing Denali leave didn’t break his heart right in two.
The thought of having to act happy feels ridiculous now that they’re both sobbing silently over the phone. Neither of them have said anything since Ru told him to sashay away and as Untucked starts to play, they remember that they have to breathe again.
“Are you okay?”
Denali is almost uncomfortably quiet. The streaks of foundation missing from his face tell Rosé all he really needs to know but he asks anyway, if only to make sure that he doesn’t get trapped in his own head. Beautiful minds make the ugliest nightmares, after all.
“Why do you always dance like that during lipsyncs?”
He stares at him in open-mouthed shock. After the emotional ringer that they’ve both just been pulled through, all he can focus on is the fact that only his knees move when he’s dancing in the background?
“Are you fucking kidding me, Denali?”
“This episode is way too tragic.” He’s brushing it off so easily that the concern Rosé feels grows with each passing second. “My elimination, your makeup, your weird dad dancing. We have to address those things one at a time.”
“And can that first thing be your elimination?”
Denali quits rambling when he says it. They listen to the synced buzz of their TVs, watch as Rosé writes it’ll be okay on her hand. He wonders if the words are still there, wonders if he can still feel them when he needs them the most.
“I don’t know if I’m ready for it yet.”
To love him is to accept it.
Tonight won’t be the night for them to talk about it. It probably won’t even be tomorrow; but when he’s ready, Rosé will keep his end of the promise. There will be other times to love him in the ways he knows how.
“Why won’t people just leave my dad dancing alone?”
“Oh, Rosie,” he giggles and Rosé thinks it might be the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. “I think it’s adorable.”
Back To The Middle (And Around Again) (Rosnali) - Gigisgoode (fka Katy)
A/N: Hiya babs, here’s some Rosé and Denali fluffy goodness for you all. Set around the events from untucked ep 4. I have a few more works on here under this pen name from a long time ago, and I’m putting a couple on AO3 generally before I update here, so check me out at gigisgoode if you prefer to read there!! Hope you enjoy 💗
Denali’s eyes have been darting around the werk room for what to Rosé
feels like hours now, looking for a kind place to land; desperately seeking a home where she can fall apart in safety. She’s barely present, her hand trembles around her cocktail and she doesn’t even notice when Rosé sets it down on the table, knowing that ostrich feathers weren’t cheap and it was one thing to have to lipsync, but another to have to do it covered in vodka cranberry. The conversation around her goes in one ear and out the other as her brain is all feathers and rose and dance moves and rose and lyrics to a song she’s been performing for years, but she just can’t remember what comes after the first chorus, she just can’t, she can’t.
Rosé’s in full mother mode and it’s freaking her out, feels like she’s watching her crying kid go into nursery and knowing she’s got to leave him there. There’s nothing she wants more than to go and calm Denali, to go and soothe the storm in her head that Rose can tell even from a distance is hurtling around in her mind. But she can’t.
Because what if Denali breaks. What if her knees buckle in her metaphorical skates and she falls. She can’t wipe the tears away; hold her against her chest until her heart returns to its regular rhythm with all the other girls looking. She will not be this season’s Crygi. She needs Denali to be strong, but from the way Rosé can see her blankly staring at her tissue as a streak of eyeliner runs down her cheek, she doesn’t think she’s going to get so lucky.
The conversation ends. Kahmora has all of the Porkchop girls in a group hug, and whilst Rosé doesn’t want to lose her sister first either, no one else was going to see her hand gently grasp Denali’s in the midst of all that tulle.
They pull away. LaLa goes to listen to her iPod, Kandy’s entertaining the others. She’s desperate. She’ll contemplate whether she’s Brooke Lynn or Vanessa later because Denali needs her. There’s a wistful, far away look in Denali’s eyes and she will not deny her any longer.
‘Nali, baby’, she whispers, a hand falling to her hip as Denali turns to face her. Rosé could’ve lost it there and then from feeling the tremors running through Denali’s body as she pulls her closer, one hand around her waist and the other resting on her back of her head, her thumb softly stroking as she gently shushes her.
Her eyes are closed and just as Rosé is about to speak again, she stumbles.
‘I don’t know what it is about you, but I can’t even look at you right now.’
Her words hit Rosé like a fucking baseball bat. She can’t even begin to process them though because Denali’s fumbling again, her hands shakily trying to grasp Rosé’s jacket to ground herself, muttering to herself that she just can’t.
‘You don’t even have to look at me, you know? You don’t have to look at me right now, and you wanna know why?’
Rose’s stability, her calmness, her kindness, gives Denali the confidence she needs to look up at Rosé for the first time that evening from underneath her fringe.
‘You wanna know why?’ Rosé laughs, her right hand coming up to cup Denali’s cheek.
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re gonna have a lot of time to look at me, alright, baby?’
Denali couldn’t help but smile, and Rosé knew she had managed to stop the avalanche. Now, she thought, just to rebuild the mountain.
‘You really beat me the last time we did this, okay? I mean, you realllly beat me and that’s fierce. I want you to do exactly what you did then, go into it with the same energy and the same passion and give it everything you’ve got.’
Denali sniffles and tries to blink her tears back.
‘I have a set plan of everything I want to do. All the moves and tricks I was saving until the end of this competition are coming out today.’
‘I know you do baby, that’s good’ Rosé reassures, reaching out to take hold of both of Denali’s hands. She lowers her tone to even softer than a whisper before she steps forward and says
‘I need you to do this not just for you, okay, I need you to do this for me too because I really need you here with me.’
A soft gasp escapes Denali’s throat and she looks up at Rosé with glistening eyes, whether that was from the tears or something else.
‘I know we can both make it to the top, together. So tonight you have to fight, for both of us to make it there. I know you can do it. You know you can do it. Go out and there and kill it.
The sentiment is final, a kiss goodbye, and they pull away after a lingering hug.
Mutual Feelings, Chapter One (Tayce/Awhora) - Hopingforpointlessdreams
First time posting, so please be gentle.
***
Three days had passed since the blonde boy had looked at himself in the mirror. Three days since he had put a hint of make up on his face. And three days since he had looked at his phone to message anyone.
George knew he was being stubborn and overthinking things, as per usual, but he couldn’t stop thinking that perhaps he had hurt his friend and he didn’t deserve to be forgiven.
It had been five days since George was eliminated from the famous show, and he was so hurt that he ended up blaming everyone for his departure, everyone but himself. And now he regretted it but it was too late, everyone hated him and his roommate couldn’t even look at him. George contemplated going home. Going home and just forgetting all about it. All about his friends and all about that fateful kiss that ruined his friendship. George had had enough and he was going home, he had his bags packed and he had made up his mind.
——————————————————————————————-
“Tayce....!”
A’whora’s face dropped. “This is it,” she thought. “I’m going home.”
“Shantay, you stay.” There were applauses and cheering and all she wanted to do was cry.
She kept a strong posture and a smile on her sad face.
“A’whora, shine bright my love, your time has only just begun.”
A’whora nodded and smile. “Thank you for this opportunity, it meant the world.”
The blonde girl slowly walked out of the stage, unable to look at her friend on her way out. She was happy that her friend was able to carry on in the competition, but she wanted to win and couldn’t help but be sad.
The car ride was somber and silent. Her phone had rang multiple times. She knew who it was but she couldn’t speak to anyone right now, it was too difficult.
———————————————————————————————————-
A’whora was sat on the sofa, aimlessly scrolling through the channels when the door opened, startling her, she sat up straight and her eyes almost flew out of her face.
“What the hell are you doing here?!” She shouted.
“I care about you a lot more than I care about a competition, and I couldn’t stay there knowing that you hated me.”
A’whora had tears in her eyes. She couldn’t believe what happened. Tayce had left the competition because she hadn’t replied to her messages.
Tayce ignored the fact that she sent her home and has now quit the show for her.
She was astounded. This competition meant everything to A’whora, and Tayce had simply thrown it away.
The blonde drag queen got off the sofa and made her way to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. She slumped on the bed and burst into tears.
Tayce slowly opened the door to her room, whispering a low “are you okay?”
When the only response that came from the blonde was sobbing, Tayce walked in and laid down next to her roommate.
“What’s the matter girl? What have I done? I thought you would have liked the fact that I came home?” She asked, unaware of the feelings A’Whora had about her quitting the show.
The blonde slowly stopped sobbing and turned around, looking into those green piercing eyes.
“I was eliminated, Tayce, by you! I’m not saying it was your fault, because it wasn’t. But being eliminated meant you got an extra chance, and you ruined it by quitting! I’m fuming at you, you basically threw away a chance I would have killed for, it’s not good!”
Tayce knew she had fucked up. She knew she had royally fucked up.
“I just thought you hated me for beating your ass in that lip sync, I thought you had your bags packed ready to leave and I couldn’t let you leave without telling you I’m sorry. You were ignoring my texts and declining my calls, I didn’t know what to do Whora, I’m sorry. I love you too much to let a show come between us and I’m really sorry I made you feel like it was all for nothing I didn’t mean it I swear.” Tayce pleaded.
The blonde looked at Tayce, she seemed genuinely sad and hurt. Her lip dropped and her eyes were sunken. “Those green eyes...” she thought.
She was so lost in those green eyes that she didn’t even feel Tayce moving towards her, until green eyes disappeared behind eye lids. And all of a sudden it wasn’t Tayce’s eyes she was thinking about. It was her lips.
Her full, and warm lips, closing in on her own. Tayce was kissing her. And without warning, A’whora felt herself falling into the kiss. Her shoulders dropped and her eyes closed and in a second she was kissing Tayce back.
A’whora’s hand lifted and landed on Tayce’s cheek, she felt a tear on her face and opened her eyes.
Tayce looked shocked. She pulled back abruptly and looked at the blonde. And without another say, she was off the bed and out of the bedroom. A’whora wanted to call out her name, but when she opened her mouth, no words came out. And next thing she knew, the front door opened and the dark skinned girl was gone.
