Watermelon Sugar Die

Weight

"Treadmill nothing," Louis protested. "Got smoker's lungs, and I'm likely to hack them up if you get me on that thing." He snapped his lighter at the tip of his Camel Light. "At least with lifting I can have me a smoke while I'm doing it." He exhaled a tobacco cloud grandly.

Harry positioned himself on the bench of the bench press machine. "Hey, Lou, when you going to quit those things?" He heaved the bar off the rack.

"When you going to stop sticking your dick in everybody's grandmother?" Louis repositioned the cigarette in his mouth as he ripped off his gray t-shirt. "Fucking never. That's right."

Harry clanked the bar back onto the rack with a final breath. "You want to have a go at this?" He gestured to the bench press. 

"Not with all those plates on it. I'm a fookin little person if you hadn't noticed. You'll have to take some of those off, mate."

Harry waved him over to the bench. "No, man, you got this. I'll spot you."

Louis stubbed out his cigarette in the window sill. He looked at the bench doubtfully. "I think those plates weigh more than I do."

Harry put a broad hand on each side of Louis's narrow, naked waist, and steered him to the bench with only minor grumbling. Charisma. Harry knew he was swimming it. Even Louis would bend to his charisma if applied firmly enough. But as Louis lay on the bench in the supine position, soft belly up, Harry reminded himself not to turn his gifts for manipulation onto his truest friend. Even if he wanted to. Even if he really, really wanted to. There were so few people in his life he wasn't puppeting, tricking, deceiving, or undermining with a devilish grin. This friendship had to stay as legitimate it could. Harry needed a genuine friend, but he did wonder, What could he make Louis do?

"You're too low on the bench. Slide up," Harry instructed, but before Louis could adjust his position, Harry put his hand inside the waistband of Louis's jeans and slid him up.

Louis put a protective hand over the place where Harry's hand had just been. He looked up at Harry, confusion on his face. "Couldn't resist," Harry giggled.

"Fookin' Harry," Louis softened, and then smiled. "Are you going to spot me or hang your dick in my face?"

"I've got you, man," Harry said, putting his hands on the bar beside Louis's, and he had meant it. But when Louis, unpigmented and small, began trembling as he heaved the massive weights from their perch, Harry imagined those weights collapsing into Louis's chest and popping his little, tarred lungs like birthday balloons. His hands left the bar and floated upwards like doves. Louis screamed as weights crashed in on him. The rice crispy crunch of ribs. Harry had expected them to play like a melody, but Louis rolled the weights off him. They vibrated when they hit the floor. 

He was grabbing his chest, gasping. "I can't breathe. I can't breathe."

The dark clouds parted, and Harry realized the gravity of his actions. "It was an accident!" he screamed, but as he tried to touch him, Louis pulled away and eyed him with disdain, even as he rasped and cowered in agony. 

"Hospital," Louis winced and choked on the word.

"Okay, okay, Hospital! I'm getting you to hospital, buddy. You want an ambulance? I'll call an ambulance! I'm calling them, Louis! Hang on, man. It's going to be okay!" Harry started to pull his phone from his pocket. Louis practically growled in disgust, his eyes flashing at Harry. Hatred. It was hard to come back from hatred, even with all the charms and tricks that he worked up over the years. If Louis left his side now, he was never coming back. If he went to hospital, there was no more Louis and Harry.

Harry put his phone back in his pocket.