Desmond
It's been a week since the whole Alejandro-JJ-Lukas mess at the rooftop lounge, and honestly, I'm still reeling from it. I've seen a lot of drama unfold in our group, but that night? That was something else. Now, here I am, sitting in my apartment, scrolling through my phone, waiting for some sign of life from JJ. But, of course, all we've gotten are his vague texts: "I'm fine." Really, JJ? That's it?
I know JJ better than most people do. He's the type to bottle things up, pretend everything's okay, and then do something impulsive—like hop on a flight to Europe to escape reality. And honestly? That's probably exactly what he's done. I wouldn't be surprised if I open Instagram tomorrow and see him gallivanting around Paris or sipping wine by the canals in Amsterdam, trying to forget about the whole Alejandro fiasco.
It's classic JJ. When things get tough, he runs. It's his coping mechanism. But this time, something feels different. It's like he's not just running from Alejandro or the embarrassment of Lukas stepping in; he's running from himself. And it's frustrating because, as much as I love that boy like a brother, it's exhausting trying to pull him back when he's determined to disappear.
I take a deep breath and look around my apartment, my thoughts spiraling. We've all been tiptoeing around JJ this past week, waiting for him to reach out or at least post something that gives us a clue about where his head's at. But nothing. Radio silence. And honestly, it's starting to worry me. Not that JJ can't handle himself—he's been through worse—but this feels more personal. Like something deeper is eating at him.
I toss my phone aside, leaning back on the couch. "I'm fine." Sure, JJ. Sure.
I glance at the time and realize I should probably get going. Lukas and I are meeting at that retro thrift store down in Hillcrest, and knowing Lukas, he's probably already there, awkwardly lingering by a rack of clothes that he'd never wear in a million years.
I grab my bag, tossing in the essentials—wallet, phone, and a little notebook I use for sketching out new drag looks. It's a short drive, but it gives me a minute to clear my head. Hillcrest always has this way of calming me, even when things feel chaotic. The quirky shops, the people walking around, the whole vibe just feels like a reminder that there's always space to breathe, to just be.
By the time I park and step onto the street, I see the familiar neon sign of the thrift store glowing against the late afternoon sun. It's a hole-in-the-wall kind of place, the kind where you have to dig through piles to find the gems. But that's what makes it fun. I push open the door, hearing the little bell ring, and spot Lukas immediately—standing right where I imagined he'd be, nervously shifting his weight by the racks.
Showtime.
The moment I step into the thrift store, it's like I've entered a time capsule. The whole place smells like nostalgia—vintage leather, aged wood, and a hint of musty fabric that only a place like this could carry off. The racks are crammed with wild prints, sequins, and forgotten fashion trends. It's perfect. If there's anywhere I'm going to find something fabulous for Kate Chocolate Mousse, it's right here in the heart of Hillcrest.
Lukas is already inside, standing awkwardly by a rack of old blazers, looking like he's trying to blend in but failing spectacularly. His face lights up when he sees me, though, and I can't help but grin. Lukas never quite knows what to do with himself in places like this, but it's adorable in a way—like a cat that's been dropped in water and is trying to act like it's totally fine.
"Ah, there's my favorite lawyer," I say, winking as I saunter over. "Did you get lost in the jackets, or were you trying to find your next courtroom look?"

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The Queens of San Diego (18+)
General FictionIn the lively and diverse city of San Diego, California, a close-knit group of friends faces the highs and lows of love, ambition, and identity. Set against the vibrant backdrop of the city's LGBTQIA+ scene, The Queens of San Diego is a story about...