Oh, the Irony (Bianca Del Rio/Roy Haylock x OC)

Chapter 3- Oh, I remember you

Adore was passed out on the couch, a small bit of drool escaping the corner of her mouth and pooling onto her arm. Bianca, now Roy, took it upon himself to assort all of Adore's belongings into her bags, deciding that most of her outfits didn't need folding- they were the sort of thing you could crumple and chuck in. Girl was so busted. "Adore, you idiot." He mumbled to himself upon seeing an eyelash escaping her eyelid and drool smeared across her face. It was disgusting how much one person could... leak. Eventually, all of Adore's things were packed away, asides from some jeans, a shirt and some sneakers for her to wear out of drag. The morning had been upon them for a while now and Bianca was starting to feel incredibly exhausted. Looking after a drunken mermaid was hard work, apparently. "G'night, chola." He said, throwing a dirty sock at his face and leaving the room.
His bed was warm and for some reason made up properly for once and not the horrific state it was usually in. His two dogs, Boo and Bean were long asleep by now and were curled up in the corner of the room. Sighing heavily, mostly with relief, he stripped down to his underwear and pretty much collapsed inside the bed.
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"Rooyyyy!! Roooyyyy!" Roy's eye opened for a second before shutting immediately, denying he had to get up. "Oh my God, Roy! Get up you fucking old man!" Danny's voice was loud and he felt one of his dogs bouncing on his leg. He didn't feel this totaled for years- he must have had barely any sleep- if any, really. "What time is it?" his voice was croakier than usual. "Like... 8?" Half an hour.
He had slept half an hour.
Oh, god.
"I'll miss my flight!"
"Go without me."
"That's mean."
"You drooled on my sofa!"
Silence. "Just get up, oh my God." He found it strange that Danny didn't have a hangover. Obnoxious, even. He regretted being a good friend and cleaning up his mess- he could have had an extra few hours of sleep otherwise. This is why being a hateful fag served him well for so many years. His legs slowly swung outside of the warm sanctuary of his sheets and eventually, the rest of his body followed. He brushed his teeth while blearily looking in the mirror, trying to make out if he gained as many wrinkles as he felt he had thanks to the previous night's escapades. His dark hair looked slightly greasy and his eyes were heavy and bloodshot. "I look like a fucking corpse." He said simply. "Well," began Danny from the other side of the door. "You are like 100 years old."
"And yet I'm still better looking than you."
"Touche."
Roy gave a sarcastic smile (although no one could see it.) and spat out his mouthwash in the sink. As soon as he opened the door, his younger friend shoulder barged him on the way in, a red look on his face. "I need a piss! Get out the way!"
Roy's eyes rolled. A deodorant bath it was this morning, then.
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The airport was full and bustling, as it always was. It was hard to keep track of where one another was, in spite of Danny's bright orange shirt. "It was so great staying with you, Roy!" He said, bringing his friend into a tight hug. "I think we should totally do it again soon. Maybe you could go to Azusa."
"I don't want to get brutally murdered, thanks." He paused. "But it was great, you're right. Text me or something when you're off you're flight. I wanna make sure you don't die."
Danny pulled out of the hug and pouted. "Love you too, Bitch. See ya!" He pulled his suitcase away with him and winked before stumbling over his shoelace. Roy smirked. The ride home was okay, nothing remarkable happened. When he arrived home, however, he found Boo sitting on his couch, surrounded by Cornflakes with a sheepish look on his face. "How did you even do that?"

He made a snorting noise and dropped off the couch. "Should think so." He said, mockingly.
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Bianca grinned, her white teeth gleaming in the bright lights. "Thank you, New York! It's been a pleasure being here and telling you bitches jokes!" This earned another loud round of applause from the audience. Bianca couldn't help but beam back. She lived for this. She lived for the audience's feedback. As horribly cheesy as it was, every time she got back on stage, she fell in love with performing all over again. She could never quite believe this was what she did for a living or how lucky she actually was. Although she would never tell anyone these feelings as that just wasn't her style. To her, thoughts such as these lost something when you told other people. As she walked off, she made eye contact with someone she thought she knew. A woman with dark hair and pale skin although she quickly brushed off the idea. The closest match she could think of was Michelle Visage.