I'm almost 100% sure that I would sell my soul to be James and Oliver's golf club.
Just like how I would give up the internet to be their chair prop.
Or or or, even better… give up EVERYTHING to be their clothes.
I can just imagine…Their hands gripping me tightly. And them straddling me like the way James is doing to that chair. AND HOW THEIR CLOTHES EMBRACE THEIR BODY. IT WOULD BE LIKE GIVING THEM AN AWKWARDLY LONG HUG EXCEPT IT WOULDN’T BE AWKWARD SINCE I WOULD BE CLOTHING THEM.
I’d want to be Oliver and James Phelps’ personal manicurist. That way, they wouldn’t think I’m weird if I held and caressed and treated their hands with some tender love and care because they’d think I’m just doing what I’m assigned to do and doing a damn good job at it.
I can only think of the pro’s that I could get by having this job:
I’d get to see Oliver and James on a regular basis.
I’d get to hold their hands.
I’d get paid for holding their hands.
I’d get to have a casual conversation with Oliver and James.
I’d get to massage their hands.
I’d get paid for massaging their hands.
I’d get to bask in the ambiance of their gorgeousness.
I’d get to go to their flat and spend quality hand time with both of them.
Hell, I’d do the job for free if it meant I got to hold their hands.