Journey | Yogscast Lewis x Reader

15 - BIG Stuff Happens at the Gadget Show

The party isn't nearly as stressful as the pub quiz last week - this time, as opposed to being stuck on a table right in the middle of all the chaos, you're free to roam wherever you want with whoever you choose. 

You find Lewis and chat with him for a while - he's got hold of some gin, and now he's already a little jollier than usual. He offers you some, but you tell him that you're not drinking tonight, as per usual.

You spot Turps vlogging with his camera in the corner, and make your way over to him.

"Turps," you shout over the music - and even then he has to crane to hear you. "Why are you filming now? It's too dark to see."

"Oh, it'll be fine."

You spot someone waving at you from a distance - a fan, maybe? You should probably go see who it is.

"I'll see you later, Turps. Drink responsibly."

"I won't!"

"I know."

As you draw closer, you realise the person is Smith, and you suddenly feel nervous for some reason.

"Hiya," you say. 

"Okay?" he asks, having to shout to be heard over the music. "Lewis told me you're not drinking tonight."

"He's right."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he shouts back. "You're allowed to let yourself go, you know."

"Nah, I'm good, mate," you reply. "How many have you had, anyway?"

"Oh, only one or two. Or three. And a half."

Usually three and a half would give you a hangover in the morning, but looking at the size of Smith, you know it'll take a lot more for him.

"Hey, you're looking at me again," he protests, smirking slightly.

"Am I not allowed to look at you?"

"Well, if you're going to stare at my nips, you might as well be discreet about it."

"I wasn't fucking staring at your forklift nips," you say. "I was just thinking."

Smith laughs. "Just thinking. Sure, mate."

You blush, glad no one will be able to see in the darkness of the hall. 

You remember when Smith had stared at you on the coach, and tell him so. 

He shrugs. "I guess we're even, then. What do you think of the music?"

You hesitate for a moment, listening. "It's okay, I guess. You?"

"Fucking love it." And just then, the chorus begins, and Smith begins to sing along, not as loud as the drunks next to you - only loud enough so you're the only one who can hear.

There's an explainable warmth about his voice, even when he's not singing - and when he is, it sends shivers down your spine, makes your face heat up.

Is he showing off to me? you wonder.

"What a show off," you scoff, looking up at him when he's finished, when actually, you're confused now - confused about your feelings.

"Oh, you love it, though," he grins, and your heart flutters. "I'll see you around, Trott's calling me over."

"What a prick," you smile.

"What a prick indeed," he laughs - a gentle, distinctive sound, full of genuine humour. "You have fun."

"Drink responsibly," you say, remembering what you said to Turps earlier.

"Oh, no guarantee of that," he grins, moving away.