You And Me - A Collection of Les Twins One Shots

Close Call

Two pools of anger stare out at Laurent from beneath a black ski mask.

They look like the kind of eyes that have seen too much and they flicker around nervously between the panicked gas station clerk and Laurent who's holding both of his hands in the air.

He's in Sarcelles for the weekend and just made a quick run for some bread and milk on his way home from a couple of friends. Larry's in the car outside and Laurent's first thought staring down the end of a loaded semi-automatic is ‚Please, god, let him be safe.'

Their neighborhood is known as Cop Killer, home to drug dealers and graffiti sprayed houses and bass-heavy rhythms. But this isn't how he imagined dying. Not with a carton of milk clutched under one arm and a loaf of bread under the other, wearing a crumpled shirt and low-hanging sweatpants.

How often have their friends told them to carry a knife or gun? How often has he waved them off, telling them not to be paranoid. Right now, Laurent has nothing on him other than his will to live.

„Allez, donne-moi ton argent!" 'Go and give me your money!'

He swallows hard, puts the bread and milk down slowly, extremely aware of not making any too fast movements. His mind is racing and all he knows anymore is Larry. What if Larry wonders what takes so long? What if Larry comes looking for him and the guy gets startled into shooting him? What if Larry comes into the gas station only to see Laurent get shot? What if Laurent doesn't survive this, what will Larry do?

He makes to grab his wallet from the inside of his jacket but then the guy's finger flexes nervously on the trigger.

"Qu'est-ce que tu fous là-haut?!" 'The fuck you think you're doing?'

Laurent freezes mid-movement and looks at the guy pleadingly. He tries to find a glimmer of compassion in those pools of fiery rage, tries to see beyond the guy's despair and appeal to his humanity. "Je viens juste pour mon portefeuille." 'I'm just getting my wallet.'

"Les mains en l'air!" 'Hands in the air!' the guy shrieks, his voice cracking and Laurent starts to think maybe the he's less of a criminal than he's trying to be. Hell, he's probably just a goddamn kid who never held a real gun in his hands before today. Laurent has seen teens do worse than rob a gas station for a couple of bills to get them through the week. Maybe he has family to take care of, a sick mother or kid to look out for. Maybe he didn't actually mean to hurt anyone but now that he's gone this far and incriminated himself, it's too late to back out.

"Vas-y doucement, tu vas bien. C'est bien." 'Take it easy, it's alright. Everything's fine.' Laurent makes a show of keeping his fingers wide-spread and his palms open. He's got both of his hands lifted in a clear gesture of surrender. His heart is in his throat and he can practically feel Larry's annoyance seep through the walls of the store. Not long now before his brother will come looking for him. Laurent can't risk it. He needs to calm this kid down. "Je suis Laurent."

"Je m'en fous! Et bien donne moi ton putain de dollar et on s'y met." 'I don't give a fuck who you are! Give me your fucking money and get done with it.'

Laurent nods in understanding. "Je te donnerai tout ce que j'ai. Pas besoin des blesses." 'I'll give you everything I have. No need for anyone to get hurt.'

He wants to tell the guy that it's okay, that he won't call the cops, he'll give him money, credit cards, anything of value in his possession. As long as everyone gets to walk away unscathed.

But then it happens.

The doorbell rings and in comes Larry. He's got a little storm cloud on his face, probably wondering what the hell's taking Laurent so long since he was only supposed to get bread and milk from the store.

Laurent's heart drops through the floor the second he sees his twin step through the doorway.

"Arrête!" the robber shouts causing Larry to whip around in surprise. His eyes widen and he stops dead in his tracks, his annoyance turning into shock.

"Arrête-toi là!" 'You stop right there!'

Larry's expression falls at the sight of the gun pointed at Laurent. He sucks in a breath, taking in the abandoned carton of milk on the counter, taking in Laurent's expression and the way he holds his hands up above his head.

Larry pales. His entire existence narrows down to that masked stranger and his gun and the way his finger twitches nervously against the trigger of a loaded gun.

"Lau," he pleads, barely loud enough to get heard by anyone.

And suddenly Laurent's afraid. A second ago this was just between him and the kid. Laurent could have died, of course, but at least Larry wouldn't have been there to watch it happen. Now it's the three of them, with the startled robber looking from Larry to Laurent and back to Larry as though his eyes were playing tricks on him. As though he had only just realized the similarities between them. As though he can't quite decide who to point his damn gun at and that's not a thought Laurent knows how to entertain.

"C'est quoi ce bordel?" the guy mutters. 'The fuck...?'

It's then that they hear the sirens drawing closer from outside. The gas station clerk must have called the cops without them noticing. And the spell is broken. The guy curses in mix of African and Caribbean. He stuffs the gun into the back of his jeans before making a dash for the door.

Laurent closes his eyes in a rush of shock and exhilarating relief and when he opens them again it's to the feeling of Larry's arms around him. Larry's practically choking him, he's hugging him so tight. "Lau," Larry sobs against his neck. "Lau."

"Larry."

It's like they've forgotten how to say anything else.

Laurent holds him tighter, whispering that it's okay, that they're okay, that they're both alive and healthy and safe, but Larry won't stop shaking against him. He doesn't stop shaking, even after the police has asked them their questions and not even later, when they're home explaining to their family what had happened.

Their mom hugs them both equally tight. But her eyes rest on Larry more than on Laurent. Larry who hasn't really said anything at all since it happened, Larry who's eyes are huge and red-rimmed and empty, Larry who hasn't let go of Laurent's hand once since they'd set foot inside their mom's house. Larry who still won't stop shaking.

It's later when they're in bed, trying to distract themselves from what happened by watching TV with the volume turned low, that Larry nuzzles Laurent's shoulder. He sniffs. His eyes flow over and it's just between them. Nobody there to be strong for or to keep up the pretense for.

"Je t'ai presque perdu."

Laurent grimaces, feeling his brother's pain, sharing it.

"J'avais tellement peur, J-" Larry breaks himself off and Laurent grips him tighter, not needing to hear the rest. He was afraid, too. So fucking afraid when Larry had stepped through that doorway. He had never been so scared in his life. It had never been so apparent how fragile life was, how things could change so drastically from one second to the next.

"Je suis deja là," Laurent whispers and it's a promise and a reassurance all at once.

'I'm still here.'

They close their eyes at the same time.