#denali really wants orange juice and its an ongoing plot point

[artificialqueens]

Til Forever Falls Apart, 1/2 (Gottrosenali) - Pinkgrapefruit

Denali frowns, eyebrows crinkling with confusion. “Baby, that was yesterday,” he tells her, conviction clear in his voice.

“Nuh-uh,” she replies, shaking her head as she shovels a forkful of eggs into her mouth.

“I swear it was.”

Kahmora looks at him, a little concern in her eyes as she shakes her head again, softer this time. “Unless you’ve suddenly found a soulmate or something, you probably dreamt it,” she tells him, and he concedes, pushing his bacon around his plate, suddenly not hungry.

A/N: hi!!!! i really hope you enjoy this because i’m a little in love with it! I’m not going to explain the premise too much because I’m pretty sure you’ll pick it up! thanks to emerald for proofreading and frey for betaing and thank you so much to ella my love for helping my vague ideas all come together!!!

please let me know if you like it!!!

*

Out on our own

Dreaming in a world that we both know

Is out of our control

But if shit hits the fan we’re not alone

*

He feels like he’s living in a dream - coming off the main stage of RuPaul’s Drag Race, and he won? After the week he’s had, all the twists and turns of the Porkchop Loading Dock, the runways, and ‘Phenomenon’, it’s like a breath of fresh air to be able to relax. Even if it’s just for a little while.

He slips off his heels, padding through the lot without care that he might rip his tights because, god, it feels good to be able to move his toes. Taking them in one hand - heel hooked over his finger, he takes Rosé’s hand in his other - swinging it between them with a contented sigh.

“Good job, Baby,” he whispers, head tilting so the plastic hairs of his wig graze Denali’s face.

“God, I’m so glad you’re here,” he replies, blinking a couple of times because the early evening sun is threatening to make his eyeliner trail down his cheeks. “Bestie vibes.” It’s a high pitched coo that makes Rosé snort, leaning forward to rock on his toes. He tightens his grip on Denali’s hand to make sure he doesn’t fall over, and Denali feels a warmth in his chest.

“Fuck, that voice,” Rosé coughs out, smiling from ear to ear. “Such a muscley little man making such a white girl noise.”

Denali rolls his eyes, but can’t stop the smirk playing on his lips, dropping Rosé’s hand to flip of Kahmora, who’s turned back from chatting to Joey just to raise an eyebrow at the two of them.

He turns back to Rosé and then gestures towards the sound stage. “What do you think we’re walking into?”

“Fuck if I know,” he responds, rustling his plastic sleeves for added effect, sending them both back into peals of laughter that make the PAs scowl at them as they enter the soundstage.

“HARD ICE,” they all scream, forcing Denali to stifle his laughter with the back of his hand before remembering how dark his lipstick is. He turns to Rosé and pouts, letting Rosé fix up the outline of his lips with the pad of his thumb - squinting in the dim lighting.

“All good,” he whispers, and Denali swallows hard at the feeling of his fingers on his face. He shakes his head slightly and switches his focus, putting his white pumps on so he has something to do.

They wait for around half an hour, rotating in their little circle so they each get time under the aircon. When they’re eventually called to move towards the werkroom, he sighs and hauls himself up from the crouch he’s been sat in (tugging on Joey’s arm), feeling his knees pop as they decompress.

When they enter it, faking smiles to cover their apprehension as if they don’t know what’s about to happen, Denali’s eyes scan the room. She takes them all in, red hair, tiny cowboy hat, pigtails, white face - all the usual, staring down at them like they’re less than.

“Ohhh, that’s what’s up,” he hears himself say - chuckling at Rosé’s button to his comment. He feels his shoulders relax when Joey’s scream crosses the room, a collective sigh of relief blanketing the room as they all ease their intimidations. They crowd around the table as if half of them aren’t in wigs bigger than their heads, and Denali feels a stabilising palm on his lower back.

He breathes in through the nose and out through the mouth before turning back into the conversation. He’s exhausted, the adrenaline high from winning long worn off, and he’s grateful Rosé noticed.

They manage to move through the rest of the pleasantries quickly enough, and he’s out of drag, into the van and into his bed quicker than you can say ‘B squad’.

When his head hits the pillow, he lets his weary mind wander to tomorrow. He can’t wait to see what happens.

*

‘Cause you’ve got me and you know

That I’ve got you and I know

If the tide takes California

I’m so glad I got to hold ya

*

Denali’s jolted awake by the tinny tones of the hotel alarm clock, pushing his fists into his eyes and rubbing them a little too hard to try and get himself in the mood for people before ducking into the shower. He does his cursory shaving, his armpits, chest, and chin before starting to brush his teeth, only remembering afterwards that the hotel is doing squeeze your own orange juice this morning. He scowls in the mirror but shrugs, throwing on his clothes (and hoping no one notices they’re the same as yesterday). He’s just in time, and he slips out of the door as the PA calls his name.

He spends the walk down to breakfast trying to remember what he knows about the other queens. He’s heard about Tina from Rosé, and so far she seems to be just as much of a shit-stirrer. Kandy is a well-known name among RuGirl hopefuls, so he’s not shocked to see her, and Symone is linked to Gigi from last season so she’s not a surprise either. He’s surprised Elliott is still here, but it makes sense…

His train of thought is cut off as Kahmora taps his shoulder with a beaming smile, a glass of apple juice in hand. “You excited for Phenomenon today?” She asks, wiping a droplet of the juice off her chin before picking up a plate full of scrambled eggs and following Denali over to their table.

Denali frowns, eyebrows crinkling with confusion. “Baby, that was yesterday,” he tells her, conviction clear in his voice.

“Nuh-uh,” she replies, shaking her head as she shovels a forkful of eggs into her mouth.

“I swear it was.”

Kahmora looks at him, a little concern in her eyes as she shakes her head again, softer this time. “Unless you’ve suddenly found a soulmate or something, you probably dreamt it,” she tells him, and he concedes, pushing his bacon around his plate, suddenly not hungry.

“Okay,” he admits and he tries to forget about it. Admittedly, he does a very poor job - there’s no way in hell he dreamt it - all of the memories feel too tangible. And that doesn’t even account for the way his legs seem to know the choreography before they come up with it. And he’s not the only one because he notices how Rosé keeps getting this dazed look in his eyes and how he marks his entire solo without hesitation. That didn’t happen last time.

Then again, everything seems a little different from last time. He and Rosé don’t bicker over the choreography, instead, working together smoothly which seems to confuse them both.

He realised very quickly that he could ignore the situation or lean into it, so he delights in doing little things that seem to quirk Rosé’s eyebrows until the brunette pulls him aside after rehearsal. He places a firm hand on his hip and holds him in place, using the other to scratch at his scalp in frustration until Denali bats at it.

“Stop it,” he scolds before twisting his body to lean his head on the cold concrete wall. He sighs. “You feel it too, huh?” he asks, trying to be vague in case the hunch he’s got is wrong.

Rosé falls back against the wall next to him before sinking to a squat. “What?” he asks, a little sardonic. “Feel like I’ve already lived this day, but no one else seems to have noticed?”

He sounds exhausted, and Denali realises that he probably hasn’t even asked someone, he’s just going through the motions and hoping he’s not insane.

“You’re not going crazy,” he tries to console - thinking it’s probably what he would want to hear. At Rosé’s small exhale of relief, he reckons he was correct. “I feel it too.”

“Then we’re both crazy, great.”

Denali sits down next to him, letting his legs fall out in front of him and smiles to himself when Rosé’s head falls onto his shoulder.

“Kam told me it was either a dream or I’d met my soulmate,” he chuckles, meaning it as a joke, but trailing off when Rosé tenses next to him.

“What’s the chance we shared the same dream?” Rosé asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“I’d like to find out.”

*

And if the sky falls from heaven above

Oh, I know I had the best time falling into love

We’ve been living on a fault line

And for a while, you were all mine

*

Mik brushes sleep out of his eyes with an absent-minded motion, calling out to the PA banging on his door that he’ll just order room service for breakfast. He hears their call time is four o’clock, but brushes it off in his hazy state until he sits bolt upright. The covers fall onto his lap, pooling on his thighs like fluffy clouds, and he’s half-convinced he needs to fall back into them and just go to sleep. He pulls on a pair of basketball shorts and a beanie, and pads to the door, poking his head around it with a furrowed brow.

“I missed the call time, remind me Mel?” he asks his PA who’s sat in an armchair with an amused expression.

“It’s four,” she tells him, “but please try to stick to the sequester.”

He chuckles, waving a hand in apology before shutting his door and falling onto his bed with a shaky breath.

Something’s not quite right.

He stands up again, anxiety seeping into his limbs and he walks over to the wardrobe - opening it to find a wig head with a long turquoise wig.

“Fuck.”

Next to it is his makeup, set out on the shelf under the mirror in a meticulous fashion - one he can’t remember doing before he went to bed.

He pulls out his small journal and tries to play detective, feeling like a little kid again, scrounging for clues.

There’s his wig - the one he’s pretty sure he wore yesterday and left in the werkroom. There’s his call time - a good nine hours later than he thought it was going to be - and then there’s the weird feeling of deja vu.

It’s crackling through him - blazing up like a wildfire, and he can’t seem to shake the feeling that something is going on.

Yesterday feels so vivid and real. He remembers how Symone smelt when she hugged him, and the timbre of Denali’s voice even though he’d never met him before.

Deciding he’ll figure it out once he’s had some food, he flicks the TV on and pulls the room service menu out of the drawer next to his bed. He’s ordering when he hears the news.

June seventh.

Again.

*

I’ve spent a lifetime giving you my heart

I swear that I’ll be yours forever

'Til forever falls apart

'Til forever falls apart

*

Rosé rolls out of bed and hits the floor with a sigh. It’s the third time this has happened and while he’s pretty sure the universe could have chosen a better way to wake him up - it’s a pretty good indicator of what day he’s living. He winces as he scrunches up his nose, but knows there’s no lasting damage, so he stands back up with a frown and flicks on the TV for some background noise. Hotels are always a little too silent for him, and he can’t trust his inner monologue not to uncover something he doesn’t want to think about right now.

“June seventh,” he mutters under his breath, “perfect.”

He goes through the motions of getting ready without really thinking about it, pulling on his heather grey sweatshirt and joggers before sliding out of the door. He and Joey share a PA, and so he asks a perfunctory question about Joey’s dance school before tuning out the other man on their way down to breakfast.

He grabs his apple juice quickly and pulls Denali down to sit at a table.

“Ugh, apple juice again?” Denali moans with a pout, placing down a plate of watermelon slices and toast in front of him.

Rosé frowns, looking down at his eggs. “Didn’t you have bacon yesterday?” he asks, and Denali catches on quick enough with a knowing smile.

“Yeah, but I think it’s going to get dull pretty quick if I don’t switch some things up here and there.” He tilts his head in thought before placing an entire wedge of watermelon in his mouth - the rind covering his teeth, so he ends up with a green smile.

Rosé chuckles, wiping a droplet of apple juice from his chin that threatens to dampen his toast.

“I can’t argue there,” he responds, switching his usual ketchup for sriracha on impulse. He takes a bite of eggs and mimes fanning himself, sticking his tongue out to the sound of Denali’s giggles.

“God, you’re so white,” he teases, and Rosé flicks his middle finger up, unable to hide his own smile.

When they finish, they wait quietly for the van to take them to the set, and Denali stretches his arms above his head, twisting from side to side in a way that makes his shirt rise just above the band of his joggers. The trail of hair peeking out in the gap makes Rosé want to run his finger down it, and he has to turn away to keep himself from doing just that.

“Guess this isn’t a dream then,” Denali says, and he hopes his blush is gone when he turns back around to respond.

“I guess not,” he replies lamely and then watches as the brunette chews on his tongue for a second before he seems to remember what he was looking for.

“I spoke to Kam,” he says, and Rosé goes to speak until Denali places a firm hand over his mouth. He makes a face when Rosé licks a stripe up his palm but doesn’t remove it. “I spoke to Kam,” he repeats, rolling his eyes, “and apparently the soulmate thing happens when two soulmates meet for the first time and get stuck in some sort of time loop until they make a connection.” He removes his hand, wiping Rosé’s saliva across his own stubble, making the Scot wince.

“Didn’t want a face covered in my own saliva, but werk, I guess,” he starts, and Denali shrugs as if to say ‘shouldn’t have licked me’, gesturing for him to go on. He lowers his voice but the worry increases. “You did not just walk up to Kam, though, and tell her what’s happening?” He sounds almost frantic, eyes wide, and Denali has to place a cool hand on his shoulder to try and calm him down.

“Chill,” he says as if the whole situation is completely normal. “It was totally natural. I just mentioned I was reading a book.”

“You, reading?” Rosé jokes, seeming to have regained some of his cool. He brushes his hoodie as if trying to remove some stray crumbs and stands up a little straighter.

“Oh, shove off it,” Denali retorts. “You’re allowed to be scared,” he adds, voice softening slightly, “but we do need to actually talk about it.”

He steps a little closer, tilting his head curiously.

“We are talking about it?”

“Sure, love.”

They’re called to the van and the conversation is left alone.

Rosé’s not sure if that’s for the best.

*

So this is it, that’s how it ends

I guess there’s nothing more romantic than dying with your friends

And I’m not sorry for myself

I wouldn’t wanna spend a minute loving anybody else

*

He’s about ready to jump off the balcony, he decides, as he falls flat on his face for the fourth time. He rolls onto his back with a huff and looks up at the wood-chipped ceiling. He wonders if there’s a god up there - if his Nan had been right and the lord really was going to punish him for being gay. Maybe this is it.

He inhaled slowly and lets it out through gritted teeth before rolling back onto his front. Placing his hands on either side of him, he pushes up into a plank before dropping into some push-ups just to prove to himself he can.

And maybe because he’s going to see Denali in twenty minutes or so.

Maybe that’s why he pulls on a teal shirt that clings a little tighter than usual. Or maybe not.

He might as well look nice if God is deciding to smite him - that’s his reasoning, and he says as much to Denali who splutters on his apple juice, spraying it across the table in a way that makes the rest of the cast look at them funny. They’re quite a sight.

“Nice to know you think I’m a punishment,” Denali jokes, mirth in his tone, but just a tiny bit of hurt glittering in his eyes. It’s something Rosé wishes he didn’t see because it sends a slice of guilt through him wider than the San Andreas faultline.

“Baby,” he says, reaching across the table so he can take Denali’s hand, and not even wincing when his arm falls into a puddle of sticky apple juice, “Fuck, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

Denali’s eyes flick down at the table before meeting Rosé’s, too hesitant for his liking. “We need to have that talk,” he says. “I need you to acknowledge what this means.”

Rosé nods, resigned. “Okay,” he agrees, “after the lipsync.”

They fall into their positions backstage, sunk against the wall, a little ways from the others with the air-con providing just enough noise for their conversation to be muffled from others.

Rosé takes Denali’s hand again, rubbing his thumb slowly against the back of it.

“You’re my soulmate,” he says slowly, feeling the words form in his mouth. “Soulmate,” he repeats again - its shape feeling a little too round and a little too rough on his tongue.

“Soulmates,” Denali agrees, and somehow it sounds perfect coming from him.

They sit in silence, listening to the rumble of the air con and the bustle of the crew.

“Surely this is a connection though?” Denali points out after a few moments, and Rosé has to shake his head to allow his thoughts to catch up. He’d gotten stuck on soulmates, and his brain had just stopped. “Like, surely this is something.”

Rosé shrugs, squeezing their intertwined fingers and letting his head fall onto Denali’s shoulder - reminiscent of the first conversation they had like this. “Maybe you need to kiss me,” he suggests, half joking, but Denali places two fingers under his chin.

A sly smile crosses his face, and he presses their lips together before Rosé can blink.

It’s over in seconds, and yet it lasted long enough for Rosé to remember that Denali’s lipstick tastes of vanilla.

He’s not sure he’ll ever forget it.

Denali looks at him in the backstage lights, using the fingers under his chin to manoeuvre his face, and then the pad of his thumb to gently blend any purple into the nude of his lipstick.

“Six out of ten,” he quips, unable to do anything much, except relish in the electricity that seems to be flowing through him from where their lips touched.

“Shut up,” Denali replies with a small smile, standing up and reaching out a hand to tug Rosé up next to him. “I’ll kiss you properly when I know these bitches will remember it,” he points to Kahmora, who’s watching them both with a raised eyebrow - the rest of them seem oblivious.

Rosé smirks.

“Deal.”