"Are you ready?" Louis asked in a hushed, reverent tone.
"I am."
"Give me your hand. We're doing this together." Harry placed his hand on top of Louis'. After a moment of silence, Louis gripped the ends of Harry's fingers and tilted them up. "Are you the one who stole my black Sharpie?"
They stared at his fingernails, which were coloured black and faded at the tips. "Guilty."
Louis released his fingers. "S'okay. Let's do this." They exhaled in unison as if they were at yoga. Harry rubbed his thumb on Louis' wrist. "Now?"
"Now."
Harry's pressed on Louis' knuckles, and Louis put enough pressure on his trackpad to send an email. His computer made the telltale whoosh sound, and both stared wide-eyed at the screen.
"We did it," Harry whispered.
"We did."
"We did it early."
"We did," Louis said, grinning with wild eyes. He stared at the laptop for one more moment before he turned to Harry, gripped his cheeks, and shouted, "Fucking hell, we did it!"
Harry jumped up from the sofa and pointed at various spots around the room as he declared, "Fuck you, deadline! Fuck you, cold! Fuck you, red wine! Fuck you, hangover!" Louis fell onto his side as he cackled, hugging his middle. "By the power of romance and citrus"—Harry picked up oranges from a bowl on his coffee table—"we finished this beast of a script that, for whatever reason, will be in The Showcase."
"Are you seriously juggling or am I hallucinating?"
Harry wiggled side to side as he tossed three oranges from hand to hand. "Maybe both. You can write a new story about a haunted laptop where a juggling ghost of a writer comes out every time someone submits a manuscript." He gently lobbed each orange at Louis, which only spurred Louis into higher, wheezed giggles. Harry pointed at the ceiling and listened to his playlist for a moment. "Uh oh." He started to shimmy his shoulders. "Looks like we have time for one more ."
"I'm too tired," Louis whined through his laughter. "You go ahead."
Harry slowly swirled his hands as he stretched his arms up, his torso swaying with his legs bent inwards. "C'mon, join me! Little Lies is such a perfect dance song."
Louis smiled as fondness warmed the centre of his chest. He watched Harry dance around the living room, followed his journey to the kitchen, then watched him dance back to the living room with a handful of orange slices. Harry held out a slice.
"You want?"
"No, thanks." Louis rubbed the centre of his chest as he watched. Exhaustion crept into his bones at a rapid pace, as if his body realised they completed their assignment and it was now time to shut down. His eyes lulled, the music going woofy in his ears. He blinked himself awake. "S'funny."
Harry hummed with a mouthful of orange. "What is?"
"You dance like Baby Groot tripping on mushrooms, but you're still so fucking sexy."
Harry's brows shot up and his motions slowed, though he did not miss a beat or a chew of his orange. He pressed his wrist to his lips as he swallowed. "Excuse me? Did you just say I'm sexy?"
"Fuck, not—" Louis flicked his hand and jerked his eyes to the table, panic sharpening his motions. "No, no, not like, sexy. Not that way. I'm..." He lifted an empty beer bottle. "Drunk."
"Off a beer you drank last night?"
"Tired. I'm tired, I mean. Not thinking straight."
"Are you sure?" Harry shrugged off his green plaid button up, making the most over-the-top expressions of pure heat his face could manage. He lassoed the shirt over his head as he danced closer to Louis. "You're suuuure?"
