#aatta

Chapter 1 - Two ghosts

He couldn’t bring himself to stop staring.

Jose was an amazing performer and he knew that, having seen him perform countless times, but this show was different. Just like his mother always said to him when they went shopping, he could look but couldn’t touch.

Jose wasn’t his anymore. And Brock was okay with that, he really was.

It was just difficult to remember he was okay with not having him anymore when they were like this. In the same space, breathing the same air.

Somehow, Steve had convinced him to come to Vanjie’s last show at Werq the World in Chicago. Not that this had taken Steve a lot of effort. Brock wasn’t blind. He had seen the posts about Jose’s performance, the videos of him dancing.

The videos of his and Kameron’s interactions. But that part he was pretending not to see. He knew well how wild the fans can get, and there probably wasn’t anything but friendship.

And that was why he was there that night, in the 5th row right in the middle. He needed to be noticed, needed him to see he was there. That he still cared.

They were still friends, of course. But Brock wasn't truly a part of Jose's life anymore. He wasn’t the first person he texted in the morning, or the first one to know what he was doing. Fuck, he didn’t even knew about the Fenty Beauty show until he saw him in the after party he went to with Cara.

They didn’t talk there. Jose was busy flirting with other guys, not doing much, other than nodding his head and smiling politely when he saw Brock. It wasn't until the next day that he saw the photobombing, and... yeah, Brock was mad.

But he wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t.

So why did this still hurt like a motherfucker? Why did not knowing Jose was there still bother him so much?

Brock was brought back to reality when he heard Asia say, “I think you should introduce the next queen Kam. Cause, well... you two are pretty close, aren’t you?”

Brock saw the little smile Kameron was giving and he knew who the next queen was. He was used to this tone Asia was using with Kameron, because he used to be close to the same queen. Damn, he used to love her.

Used to?

“Shut up Asia,” Kameron said between giggles. “The next queen is leaving the tour today too, just like me. She’s the most hard working person I know, the loudest, biggest smart mouth and the person with the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen, make some noise for Vanessa Vanjie Mateo!”

Brock was there, but his mind made everything seem like a movie, like he was living in slow motion. He saw the big simile Kameron gave to the audience, the way Asia cackled, heard the crowd scream Vanessa’s name. But he couldn’t focus on anything but what Kameron said. Couldn’t think about anything else other than what it could possibly mean.

And then Vanessa was on the stage.The crowd went insane, as always. They loved him, always had and probably always would. Damn, sometimes Brock forget how good Jose looked in drag, how pretty his new mug was, how good his outfits were.

Sometimes Brock forgot that Jose wasn’t his anymore.

Then Vanessa was hugging Kameron, just like she used to do to Brock himself. Kameron was laying his head on top of Vanessa’s, and Brock couldn’t help but feel nostalgic. He knows that feeling. Knows how tight Vanessa’s arms used to be around his waist, or how they used to hold hands before going on stage.

Knows how Vanessa would always watch him perform and how he would always do the same. How after the show Vanessa would always say how good he was, how he’s the best performer she had ever seen and Brock would always think how wrong she was. Because not even once in his life had Brock seen someone perform with the same passion Jose had. Had never seen someone else with so much love for his job. Brock had never met someone like him before. Had never loved someone like him before.

Had never lost someone like him before.

“Brock?” He heard Steve before being able to look him properly. “Everything okay?”

“Great. I’m great,” he said. “Are we’re going backstage to talk to the girls?”

“Actually no, they’re going to an afterparty. Jason asked if we wanted to come.”

“Oh sure, of course. I, um... Jose is coming?”

He saw the way Steve reacted to his question. Saw the way he looked at him, saw the understanding and the pity. Steve knew Brock better than himself and Brock was aware of that. There’s no point in lying to him, to pretend he didn’t see right through him. To pretend he didn’t know how Jose makes him feel after one year.

“So we’re calling him by his name now? Wow,” Steve joked. “Yeah, he’s coming.”

And that was all Brock needed to know.

******

This was probably one of the worst nights out that Brock had ever had.

It wasn't like something bad had happened. If he was being totally honest, nothing had happened at all. And that was the problem.

They were in the same city, in the same place at the same time and that used to be enough.

But all of a sudden it wasn't.

Usually in situations like this, Jose would be all over him, his body pressed against Brock's, lips attached to his ears saying how much he had missed him.

But not that night. No.

Brock didn't go backstage after the show, he couldn't. Not without Steve's judgemental look, or without possibly seeing something he wasn't prepared for.

So he went to the club. He waited.

He almost started to think Jose wasn't going to come, almost thought Steve lied to him.

And then the door flew open and Brock saw him. And it wasn't fair.

Wasn't fair how fucking good he looked, how his fucking shorts made him look even skinnier, or how confidently he carried himself through the room, almost like he owned it, like he owned every single person there.

It wasn't fair how much Brock missed him.

Brock waited for him to come closer, to make some move to at least recognize Brock's existence. But nothing came. Brock wasn't the first person he looked for in the club anymore.

And that didn't hurt him. Didn't hurt him at all. And that was what he kept telling himself, repeating over and over that it didn't hurt, despite his stomach sinking, or the way his heart ached. Because it didn't hurt. It shouldn't.

He watched from the corner as Jose talked with everyone. Everyone but him. Saw him playing around and acting a fool with the dancers, shouting and laughing with Kameron and the other queens. Being happy.

If you asked Brock, he probably would have said that it took almost a decade for Jose to come any closer to him. But it could possibly have been just a minute. He couldn’t be precise in that moment. He was biased.

But Jose finally came closer to where Brock and Plastique were talking. He looked so beautiful that Brock couldn't take his eyes off of him.

"I didn't know you were coming," was the first thing he said. Jose didn't look pissed, he looked curious almost confused.

They looked at each other for a couple of seconds, that if Brock was being honest felt like hours, before he closed the gap and pulled Jose into a hug.

And God, he missed him so fucking much.

"I'm taking a break so I thought about coming to see yo- to see the show," was all Brock managed to say, still holding him.

"I hope you enjoyed it," Jose said, ending the hug. Brock had never felt more empty. "I have to go now, Kamy is waiting for me on the dance floor. We gonna make them eat it!"

And he left.

All throughout the night Brock couldn't bring himself to stop staring, to stop feeling the dizziness in his stomach. Couldn't bring himself to stop feeling jealous.

Sometimes he forgot Jose wasn't his anymore.

Jose seemed fine. Happy. He was acting really cool, dancing, grinding on Kameron. Drinking, taking pictures, smiling and whispering who knows what in Kameron's ears. Brock knew those signs.

Brock knew how Jose acted when he started to feel some type of way - he couldn’t say “fall in love,” he just couldn’t - with somebody. He saw it happen with him, rewatched it almost one year later. He knew the signs.

And that was why it hurt even more. Because he knew, and this time, those signs had nothing to do with him.

He wasn’t the person Jose direct his flirting tones toward, nor his big dazzling smile. He wasn’t the person responsible for that face he always made when he wants a kiss or a hug. He wasn’t Jose's anymore.

And Brock wasn't used to it.

Sure he was "dating" now - if you could call regularly sleeping with the same person dating. He was a nice guy, love animals, was calm and predictable. Brock wasn't going to wake up and find out he got a fucking tattoo on his chest because he was drunk and really loved cats. He was a safe option.

But Brock missed the craziness. Missed the way he never knew what was going to leave Jose's mouth, never knew what he was going to do next.

But most importantly, he missed Jose.

The Jose only Brock got to know. The soft version that always said I love you before ending a call because "you're old imagine if one day you wake up and forget who am I like that fucking movie, I'm just preparing myself."

The one who knew Brock's favorite type of food, knew his fears, his dreams. Knew how Brock's anxiety got the best of him sometimes.

He missed the little things too. Like how well their hands fit together. How tiny Jose was and how he hated when somebody mentioned that, but would blush every time Brock called him “my tiny toes.”

Brock missed Jose more than he was proud to admit. And that was why he was following Jose's every move, was watching everything he did.

And that was why he was going to the bathroom now. Because he needed to talk to him. Needed to explain.

When he opened the door, he saw Jose standing there, back to the mirror. Almost as if he was waiting for him.

And Brock thought that he probably was.

"What the fuck are you doing, Brock?" Was the first thing Jose said, and Brock thought that getting shot would probably hurt less.

"What do you mean? I just went to the bathroom." Brock forced a smile.

"You fucking know what I mean. Coming here, watching the fucking show like it's nothing. Like we didn't talk to each other since that shit show that was the Branjie show." Jose almost shouts, and Brock was almost happy, because that was the closest he came from feeling like he still cared, like the Jose he used to know was still there.

"And like it wasn't enough, so you come to the after party, looking at me all the time like I personally kicked Apollo and Henry," Jose said. "What are you doing here? For real this time."

"I don't know, okay? I just really wanted to see you. I miss you, J. I fucking miss you. And seeing you flirting with Kameron fucking pissed me off." It was Brock's turn to shout. "How can you do this? Acting like that in front of everybody? In front of me! That fucking hurts me."

Jose looked at Brock like he had grown a second head or something, like what he just said didn't make any sense to him.

Like Brock was a stranger.

"I'm not your boyfriend, ya know? I'm not a tall Canadian zoo guy or the fuck he does for a living," Jose finally spoke, "I'm the one you kicked after my birthday. The one you said on national television wasn't enough, that I made you feel tied down, the one that scared you and that made you realize you had 'commitment issues'. So you for sure shouldn't care about who I kiss, or who I flirt with. You never did, why start now?"

And then he walked away.

Bock wanted to say something. Anything. Tell him that he was wrong, that he was enough, more than enough. He was everything Brock thought he would never have and everything he thought he didn't deserve.

He wanted to say something. Shout, cry, beg for forgiveness. But for the first time he didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to make him stay, because all throughout Brock’s life, Brock was the one that walked away, the one that ended things. He had never had to do this before, had never felt so lonely and hopeless.

He had never lost someone like Jose before.