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"Liam," Niall drawls, breathless. His cheeks are covered with a dark pink flush, sweat sticking the tips of his almost-completely-brown hair to his forehead. He says the name in a rasp, he notices. He'll lose his voice soon, if he keeps screaming the way he was.
Liam squints at him for a moment, licking his lips, and just as out of breath, if not more. He looks over to where their skin touches. "I regret this already," he mutters, a flush creeping up his neck and to the tips of his ears.
It's quiet, for a moment. Niall studies the way Liam's breath seems to even out, and the shaking beneath his skin seems to stop. I wonder if he does this with anyone else.
"Bro," Louis pipes up.
"Bro," Niall agrees, grinning.
"I cannot believe," Louis starts.
"I just," Niall continues.
"Beat you."
Louis is wide-eyed. "In arm wrestling."
Everybody is stunned.
"A legend," Harry adds on, coming out of his initial shock.
"A legend," Louis agrees.
Liam takes his hand back and pinches the bridge of his nose with an extreme amount of pity for himself. "I am never going to live this down," he groans.
"Never," Niall and Louis confirm.
"Niall, mate, how did your right arm ever get so strong?" Louis asks, smirk evident and growing, eyebrows wiggling suggestively.
Niall throws him a dramatic wink. "Brushing my teeth," he affirms. "Every day, three times a day."
Louis lets out a laugh, and even Liam allows himself a small chuckle, but Harry marvels.
"Ni," he says, approval and pride obvious in his voice. "That's really good for your teeth, and overall oral hygiene."
Niall laughs, and Louis offers a supportive pat on Harry's big, fluffy curls.
"My young, young Harold," he sighs. "Never change."