#our party hasn’t haven’t played about three weeks everybody pray for us

[sevinite]

honda and her future ex girlfriend pray-tell’s first encounter 🫶🏽❤️ it is so important to me that i get to go crazy with lighting at least once a year

[ohhthereuare]

you have (5) new messages. (branjie)

A/N. I'm a mess. I did not expect to love Vanessa Vanjie Mateo so much and I certainly did not expect to devote my life to yet another ship. And yet here we are. Let's pray for the happiness of these two together and individually, and our own sanity. Using she/her pronouns about both of the queens. Enjoy!

Based on the night Miss Vanjie drunkenly posted some angsty and sad posts to her Instagram Story that she deleted seconds later. She also made some phone calls.

You can read it on AO3

***

Brooke’s alarm rang precisely at 7 am and she groaned while reaching out to turn it off. All these years of discipline and waking up at unholy hours before rehearsals and performances did nothing to ease the pain of early mornings. She always kept her phone on silent with no vibrations because God knew she needed those hours of beauty rest to be able to give her all day after day, especially now since her Drag Race career has started and turned everything upside down.

She squinted at her phone in the dark, the curtains blocking some of the rising Sun. She was still getting used to the tons of mentions and notifications across all social media that swarmed her every morning but something was off today. There was more than usual. Like, much more. She scrolled down the Instagram and Twitter alerts to the bottom and saw a couple of missed calls from a name that immediately made her heart beat faster and body wake up despite the previous drowsiness.

You have five new messages.

“Hiiiiiii! We out and about todaaaay and having so much fun! Silk’s here and them girls keep buying me shots. There’s some eye-candy as well but none as cute as your ass. Y’know, you could be here tonight, though I know you can’t, not really. So I thought—Bitch, you try that one more time and Imma--”

There was some rustling, someone who sounded suspiciously like Silky yelling in the background and the phone call ended abruptly. Brooke sat up in her bed, leaning against the headboard and running her hand through her curly mess of morning hair. It wasn’t uncommon for Vanessa to go out and get hammered after the gigs with her fellow sisters. From the heavy bass playing, but not being able to overpower Vanjie’s loud voice, they must have been at a club and Brooke knew the routine so well she had no trouble picturing it now. Sweaty and tired bodies, feet hurting from wearing hooker heels, slumping over the bar to down shots and get back to the dancefloor. Lights catching the ever-present remaining glitter on her cheekbones, chest, and shoulders. All the eyes are on her but she doesn't notice, doesn't care and keeps dancing with her own eyes closed, yelling the lyrics so loud Brooke never knew how she's never lost her voice so far.

You have four new messages.

“You must’ve seen it, yeah, I mean, everybody did. I guess the internet is forever, bitch. Just—don’t—I mean, uh, it’s the alcohol, y’know how it turns me into this emotional messy hoe and I’m too much in my head and fuck—Just—Ignore it, okay? That was—Yeah, shit, it’s gone now. It was nothing. Bye.”

Brooke guessed she must have been referring to the thousands of mentions and tagged pictures that she still hasn’t seen. She just hoped it was nothing too inappropriate although with Miss Vanjie you never knew.

You have three new messages.

“I bet you haven’t even listened—Yeah, it doesn’t matter, you don’t really have to. The thing is, it was, y’know, a part of the game. The game! Yeah! The one we keep playing and making everyone believe it’s for real and shit and it was just another thing. So I deleted that and they think it’s even more real because why would’ve I even do that, right? So it’s all good. We’re good.”

You have two new messages.

Brooke waited for a few seconds and the voice on the other end kept silent. Everything was weirdly silent compared to the music and yelling and stumbling words that filled the previous messages. Just some random rustling and murmurs. Brooke was about to move to the last message when someone spoke up.

“You gonna be fine?”

This time it was Silky. She sounded weirdly gentle and quiet. A long murmur came in response. Vanessa must have accidentally called her from what sounded like the inside of her pocket. Brooke kept listening.

“Okay, Imma leave you here, bitch. You sure you gonna be fine?”

“Yeah, yeah…”

There was a sound of someone turning a key and doors opening. Heavy steps thudding in the silence. Suddenly a loud yelp, a few curses muttered under breath and things cluttering against the floor. More rustling. A heavy sigh.

“Ah shit.”

You have one new message.

“Uhm, hi B.”

Brooke pressed the cellphone so hard against her ear she might as well try to put it directly into her brain. People were wrong when they said Vanessa Vanjie Mateo had only one volume. Sure, when everyone was watching, whether she was in or out of drag, her voice was so loud and obnoxious she could wake the dead to make them join her party. Brooke never minded. She loved hearing her like that. All that pure nonsense she was spitting on the daily that she made up as she went. But there was another side to her that the Canadian queen only discovered as she got to know her better, as they got closer. Only then, when it was just the two of them in their quiet corner during Untucked, limbs tangled in the backseat of the van or snuggled on the sofa after a long day of entertaining interviews and gigs, Vanessa was someone else entirely. She was soft and gentle, her voice low and raspy like a cat purring, reserved only for her closest’s one to hear.

“It’s been… A mess. Yeah. I’ve been a mess. Sorry about that. I don’t know why I did that. I mean, I do. I just forgot I guess. That’s it’s not just us now. It’s everybody watching. Like it’s their fucking business. Like they know what’s going on. But they don’t know shit.”

Brooke heard a soft rustling of sheets and she imagined Vanessa settling her small frame into a nest made of out blankets and comforters. She knew the telephone must have been placed at the other side of the bed, on the pillow, the way they would talk on FaceTime to indulge themselves in the illusion that the other person was lying beside them and not so far away. The other queen’s voice was barely above a raspy whisper, the words slurring together a little bit from the alcohol and exhaustion. She took a shaky breath and Brooke closed her eyes as her heart actually hurt in her chest.

“It’s hard, y’know? I mean, of course, you know, that's why we agreed on this shit show but… I miss you. And watching all that every week, how we were, I mean fuckwe should’ve never given that up. And this thing between us, I can’t—I just miss you. Yeah. It’s hard. Being together is hard like that but being apart and knowing we’re not—It’s the worst. I wanna be with you, B. I don’t care if I’m stuck here and you’re in fucking Canada and shit. I—”

Her voice gradually started getting quieter and quieter and Brooke thought she had fallen asleep with the phone on.

“Our song. I kept listening to our song. It’s what got me. Damn these fucking love songs. Ne-yo was right, bitch. Am sick of this shit. I just miss you so much, it’s all I can think ‘bout.”

Brooke could hear her breathing slowing down. She imagined those long eyelashes fluttering shut and lips parting before sleep took hold of her. She had often watched Vanessa in those moments as she laid on the Canadian queen’s chest, head tucked in the nook of Brooke’s neck, small limbs wrapped so tightly around her as if she had been scared otherwise Brooke would have gotten up and left. In a way that’s what happened.

“Love you, B.”

The words were breathed out, they almost got lost in the rustling of sheets, cars driving by outside and the deafening sound of Brooke’s heart hammering in her chest. And yet she heard them. And there was nothing she wanted more but to say them back. Right now. In person.

She had a show to do tonight, then a plane to catch later that, no matter what she desperately wanted, didn’t fly to LA. Vanessa would probably be nursing her hangover at home all day before putting on her wig, stunning makeup to cover the events from the night before and taking the stage like everything was fine. They were forced to get on with their separate lives.

Brooke grabbed her phone and jumped out of bed, already opening the cheapest airlines website and going through her schedule in her head. The words stayed engraved into her memory, burning her throat and filling her chest with how badly she wanted to say them back. Soon she would. There was only one thing she needed to do first. She clicked on the contact info and chose FaceTime. She didn’t have to wait long.

“Hi, Papi.”