probably th is making sure that hoseok feels good, comfortable and proud of his own mixtape and not feeling pressed or anything like that, “you’re doing it well”, and probably is giving to hs a lot of massage before and after going to sleep.
Nick manages a puzzled face. “What do you normally dance to?”
“Youtube,” Louis says, very seriously. He trips over his own foot and Nick has to catch him. “Gnomes,” he says, looking down at his feet. “Feet gnomes.”
“Feet gnomes,” Nick echoes, oddly endeared.
“I miss my baby,” Louis says, still looking down at his feet. “Do you think he’s going to be king of the world? I’d like him to be king of the world.”
Nick wrinkles his nose up. “Can you be king of the world? Like, the whole world?”
“Right,” Louis says. “He’s better than that. King of the universe. King of the milky way.”
“Like the milky bar kid,” Nick says sagely. He nods.
Louis narrows his eyes. “Where are your hands? I want to waltz. I dance every night. I have a baby. I’m a dancing king and he’s my dancing baby king.”
“Yes,” Nick says, since Louis appears to be getting progressively drunker and the alcohol is all the way over there, where Harry is passed out on the sofa, drooling into a pillow with Pig asleep on the back of his legs. Louis looks very fierce though, and Nick likes it when Louis looks fierce, but he likes it better when Louis smiles at him. He smiles when Nick puts his arms back around Louis’s neck, and Louis can settle his hands on Nick’s hips.
There’s still no music.
“I can’t sing,” Nick says, a little apologetically. It doesn’t normally stop him, but he’s not sure what he’s supposed to be singing, or why, or what the fuck they’re doing at half eleven on a Friday night, or why Louis and Harry decided to turn up on his doorstep with a bag full of takeaway and a bottle of tequila.
Asking questions never ends up in a good place though.
“I can,” Louis says, and he leans in and rests his cheek against Nick’s shoulder, which isn’t what’s supposed to be happening. “Nice,” he says finally. “Leaning.”
“Yes,” Nick says, and tries not to get an inappropriate raging erection. Luckily his level of intoxication helps with that, and the most he can seemingly achieve is a mild perked up interest. Which is nice for future, sober Nick and his ability to hold his head high.
“Find me a song,” Louis says, still breathing a little drunkenly into Nick’s neck. “On the google.”
“On the google,” Nick repeats, since that’s the kind of thing a nanna says. Or his dad.
“Shhhhh,” Louis says. “The room’s dancing.”
Hmmm, Nick thinks, fishing in his pocket for his phone. He searches youtube one handed for “songs to waltz to” and ends up with a mixtape video that he presses play on without even stopping to see what it includes. “Found one.”
“Good,” Louis says. “Let’s go outside.”
Nick’s garden is small, it’s March, and it’s dark. “No,” Nick says. “Let’s not.”
“Spoilsport,” Louis says. “Let’s stand like they stand on Strictly, then.”
Nick presses play on his Youtube video, dropping his phone down onto the back of the sofa, then holds one hand out. So does Louis, and then they’re lacing their fingers together, and Louis is resting his hand on Nick’s back, squaring his shoulders.
See The Day by Girls Aloud is apparently a good song to waltz to. Dear God.
“Dance with me,” Louis says, and Nick has precisely no idea what he’s doing with his life, but his heart is pounding. “Nicholas.”
“Yes, love?” Nick says, a little distractedly.
“You’re very pretty. For an idiot.”
Oh dear, Nick thinks, and feels his heart shift in his chest a little, irrevocable and permanent. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.