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1. After Party
The mood, clutching and unforgiving, is intoxicating.
There are 20 or so people cramped into this one small room - at least 50% of the group are beyond drunk. One or two are steadily approaching tipsy, another three simply riding the waves of not-quite-sober and being fine with that. The remaining five occupants are happily sober. (And wish to stay that way for the rest of the night, even if it is nearly over. The night, not the party.)
"Come, come." Ethan demands hastily, beckoning the entirety of the group, indicating for them to come closer to where he sits cross-legged on the floor.
Eventually, everyone joins him on the floor. The shape they form isn't quite a circle, which Tobi points out with a gentle chuckle. No one really seems to care, though.
"Now, ladies and gents," Ethan starts, his voice too loud in such a small room, too loud considering the people he's talking to are sat in front of and beside him. "I would like to thank each and every one of you for helping us to be the people we are today." He hiccups, which makes Harry giggle uncontrollably beside him. Ethan takes a moments pause to share a look and a laugh with Harry. "Without you, and others who aren't in this room, for whatever reason, we wouldn't be here. You shaped us into the respectable men we've all become. And, for that, we're grateful."
A cheer reverberates around the not-circle, disbanding at Ethan's impatient shushing motions.
"Anyway, enough of that! It's time for a game or two, lads! Before we get old." Ethan jokes at the end, making most if not all people laugh with him.
"A game of what?" Simon asks, smirking. He's only slightly tipsy, but he appears fine with that. "Truth or Dare? We're not twelve, Eth."
Tobi turns to him, completely serious. He gives the older man a once over before he speaks, "You might not be."
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
Ethan slaps his own knees, once, twice; does it three times total in order to bring the attention back towards himself. "Ladies, ladies, give it a rest."
"You're both pretty," Harry assures quietly from beside Ethan, his head resting on the older man's shoulder. He smiles kindly at his friends.
"So what are we going to play?" On the other side of Ethan, JJ looks confused. "If not Truth or Dare?"
"I have a special one in mind," Ethan holds up the box that previously sat in his lap. No one is able to read what said box says, unfortunately for them. "But, first, a few rounds of Kiss, Marry, Kill. Keep in mind, however, you actually have to kiss the person you pick kiss for."
When several groans ring out unmasked, Ethan frowns. "Actually, that's a bit morbid, isn't it? Okay, okay, instead: Fuck, Marry, Kiss. You still have to kiss the person you name, but obviously you don't have to fuck anyone." His eyebrows wiggle when he says the next part, "Unless you want to, of course."
With a giggle and a shake of her head, Freya states that Josh will begin.
Josh sounds too drunk for this. "Oh, fuck, erm - fuck Freya, marry Freya, kiss Freya?"
Freya looks at him, a singular eyebrow raised, her cheeks an almost unnoticeable shade of pink, "Is that a question or an answer?"
"Er, answer. It's an answer." The man groans, tilting forward where he sits and ducking his head. "Fuck, I'm way too drunk for conversations right now."
Luckily, Josh saves himself from falling over sideways by kissing Freya, though his lips land on her neck instead of her mouth.
Ethan nods in acceptance of Josh's go. "Right, Mr. Sappy, nice cheat answer." He points to Freya, now. "You're up, Nightingale."
"Ooh, I don't really know. Mhm, fuck Josh, definitely... maybe kiss Simon? Like, on the cheek. And marry Talia."
Both her and Talia laugh as Talia leans over for a high five, gesturing towards Simon with a tilt of her head before nodding.
As Freya leans over to kiss Simon on the cheek, her hand slots into Josh's larger one, their fingers intertwining familiarly.
"My go! My go!" Talia waits for Ethan's approving nod before continuing. "Fuck my girl Freya, marry Simon, and kiss Tobi."
Just as Freya had, when she reaches over, Talia goes for a light kiss on the cheek.
"Wow," Simon laughs, "there was absolutely no hesitation there."
"Oh, shut up. Have your go."
Simon, his eyebrows furrowed, glances around the room. His gaze is scrutinising, his lips pursed minutely.
"Fuck - not you JJ - erm, I don't know, Josh," Simon shrugs, though Josh cheers and fist bumps the air unsteadily. "Marry Talia," he pats Talia on the head, to which she frowns and bats his hand away, "kiss Harry."
Talia nods, as if respecting the answer.
Harry, on the under hand, flushes a bright red, a considerably darker shade than Freya went a few minutes ago. He ducks his head shyly when Simon makes no move to kiss him.
Harry stutters over his words as he tries to answer the game prompt. "W-who would I fuck? ... E-ethan? Or, erm, actually - w-wait, no, I'll go with Ethan, I guess." Harry doesn't seem over Simon choosing him, flustered too much to function properly. He won't look up at anyone. "I can't marry Vik 'cause Ellie's tryna do that - I'll marry Tobi and k-kiss Vik."
After Harry crawls across the fake circle, he pauses, kneeling, in front of Ellie and Vik. His head is tilted to one side. He waits until Ellie makes eye contact with him and smiles before leaning forward to kiss Vik on the forehead.
He gets a timid, "Thanks Harry," as he crawls back to his spot next to Ethan.
Before he can reach his spot, Talia stops him from doing so. "Simon hasn't kissed you, yet." To Ethan, she says, "Simon's disobeying the rules of the game."
Ethan sighs, disappointment present in his eyes, visible on his face, and audible in his tone of voice. "Simon, mate, c'mon. It's not that hard."
Having stopped crawling somewhere in front of Talia, Harry kneels once more and shuffles sideways until he's in front of Simon.
"Everyone else has done it so far." Tobi points out from next to Simon, his eyes widened slightly and his eyebrows raised.
Harry waits patiently, his hands resting on his knees, as Simon has an internal crisis.
Eventually, Simon leans forward, to the sound of pleased yells, cat calls - from Ethan, specifically - and a smattering of wolf whistles. Talia herself brightens.
Only, Simon's judgement is off. Instead of Harry's cheek, which he was presumably going for, his lips catch the corner of Harry's.
"A smooch! Fucking hell, Simon. Your girlfriend is sat right next to you."
When Simon sits back, the apples of his cheeks are stained a pale, very faint fuchsia colour.
"It's alright, Ethan. I'm actually embarrassed for him. That kiss was poor."
-
+ 1. Sidemen Drunk Hopscotch (MoreSidemen)
Everyone giggles - most of which are some level of drunken - as Vik trembles, balancing on one knee on the singular square. Beneath his foot, the chalked-out number seven holds steady, providing neither encouragement nor discouragement.
A breath, a moment to balance himself with his arms held out, and then, Vik hops forward onto both feet. A sigh of relief rings out, though the moment is brief as Vik prepares to jump forward onto the final square, number ten.
Several minutes later, it's Harry go, finally.
Harry, having gone last, is at little bit of a disadvantage, having been drinking through everyone else's go up to this point.
The bottle cap only just lands on the required square, skimming the chalked line of the box by a very small margin. The group oohs, quickly shushed by Harry, his arms flapping in indication for them to be quiet.
Harry's journey to number ten is rocky, despite the concrete beneath him being anything but; flat and decidedly smooth. It's a sad sight, but despite this, Harry powers through, to the sound of his friends' eager support.
At the very end of the hopscotch design, Harry takes a moment. To calm himself, to steady himself, to prepare himself for the journey back.
"Come on, Harry, you can do it," Simon says with a smile, stood in front of Harry but a few feet away. "I believe in you."
And, it turns out, Harry can do it; whether that be because he always had it in him, or because Simon's confidence in him is his driving force. It could be either one, or both, perhaps.
As soon as Harry's feet touch clear ground, landing a step away from the dreaded chalk, the boys rush at him.
Despite having been one of the furthest away, Simon reaches Harry first, running straight across the design sketched out in blue. His chest collides with Harry's back, his arms coming to wrap loosely around his neck from behind. At the same time, his lips press to the back of Harry's head, hard.
Simon either doesn't realise what he just did, or doesn't care.
(Except, a second later, when Ethan reaches them, Simon steps away hastily, his body language suddenly repulsed. He seems nervous, his shoulders hunching inwards as he wipes his hands on his shorts, like they are sweaty. He chuckles nervously as he meets Tobi's eyes.)
+ 2. Break Up
"If I were to leave you," Talia starts, out of nowhere, her voice strong and impenetrable - Simon doesn't have a clue where she's going with this, "Would you get with Harry instead?"
It feels like a trap. It should be a trap. It is, surely?
"...No." Simon says; defends? He doesn't know what expression to pull, what tone to use. "Of course not."
"You idiot. You were supposed to say yes!"
"I..." Simon still doesn't quite understand where she's going with all this. Is she going to break up with him? "What? ...Why?"
(If Simon is assuming correctly, then why does he feel so unbothered? He swears his heartbeat is actually slower instead of faster, as if his body is unconsciously content with the idea.
It's as if his heart is asking him to reflect: Would a break up really be so bad?)
"Simon," Talia's voice is a considerable amount more serious now, less emotionally monotonous, "come on. You can't actually think I haven't noticed."
Simon thinks, "Noticed what?" and says as such out loud.
"Your feelings for Harry." Talia let's the duh, hang unsaid in the air for a second, but then she just can't help herself, "Duh. What else?"
Simon has never claimed to be an honest man. A little fib here or there can't do too much harm, right? "What feelings?" And then, as if he isn't already digging himself a grave, he adds, "Harry's like a brother to me."
The grave just got a few feet deeper.
"Don't lie to me, Simon. Now is not the time for that."
Simon suspects, but he isn't sure. The inside of his bottom lip resides firmly between his two rows of teeth as he mulls the question over inside his head. Finally, he asks, "What is now the time for, then?"
Even to his own ears, Simon's voice has an intonation to it, but he can't identify what said intonation represents.
"Simon." And just the pronunciation of his name says it all. Her tone is screaming at him, just as much as her eyes are. Her facial features may not be able to talk, but they too are saying a thousand words to Simon in that moment.
Simon inhales, exhales, slowly, not unsteadily. He nods once, twice, thinks about nodding again and so he does. But then, why stop at three when he could just keep going?
"We've had a good run." Simon's snort of, "We didn't do any running," makes Talia laugh too, clearing the stuffy air of some empty tension. When her laugh fades out, Talia continues easily, or at least appears to, "I think it's time we halt this, though. I'd say we both should move on, but I understand the problem is that you never moved on." Talia nods, once, along with her words, "From Harry."
When Simon's mouth opens and closes, shocked, yet offended at the same time, Talia shushes him. "I'm not saying you're the only problem, Simon, before you think that. I just don't think you being in love with Harry helped us progress any further. We're- we're stuck, Simon. Surely you see that."
Okay, maybe Simon did see that. But that wasn't to say-
"We'll still be friends!" Talia assures quickly, her eyes briefly overrun with panic. "I'd love to still be your friend after this. I just don't think I should be your girlfriend. I genuinely believe our relationship will get better if I just become your friend that is a girl. And I'm always looking for more guy friends, to be fair."
Simon nods, again, this time accompanied with a swallow. "Okay. Yeah." Then, "You are right. This could be good for us."
"For us. For you, for Harry; for you and Harry, together."
Simon's leg jolts, but the action isn't a conscious one. More of an unstoppable, unavoidable, twitch. "You really think I should push for something with Harry?"
Talia shakes her head, only to explain too quick for Simon to receive a chance to be confused. "Not something. I want you to push for the thing you clearly already have."
"I- I can do that, yeah."
Talia's eyes widen at his promise, "Don't let me down, Simon. I can't handle being disappointed in you right now. I don't have time for that."
-
"- So it's over between us, yeah."
Harry, his head tilted to one side, nods sagely as his friend's story comes to its end. "I'm sorry to hear that, my friend. You two were," a pause, then as if Harry is trying to convince himself of his own words, "I liked you two together!"
"Yeah, well, I don't think we did, deep down."
Frowning, Harry stands up from his spot on his sofa, "We could go out, if that would help? Get your mind off things. "
In contrast to the moment Simon realised Talia was going to break up with him, this time his heart rate does speed up. Only to inevitably come crashing back down when he realises Harry doesn't mean in the sense he hopes.
When he nods, Harry hands Simon his coat before grabbing one of his own from the cupboard near the front door.
And so the two spend the rest of the night out, in a club until the sun is swallowed up by the night sky.
-
Drunk - or maybe just doing excellent impressions of Bambi - the two friends stumble their way back into Harry's flat as soon as he gets the door to finally unlock, after minutes of trying. (Correction, when Simon finally unlocks the door. He'd had enough of watching Harry struggle for minutes on end.)
Inside the empty flat, the two instantly have an objective, whatever that may be.
Harry, without a word to Simon, heads towards his own room. Simon doesn't take so much as a second of thought before he's following Harry down the hall.
"Time for bed." With that, the two fall into the bed together, coats pulled off and dropped on the floor at the end of the bed. Nearly straight after getting into the bed, the two are asleep, descending into dreamland mere minutes apart from one another.
-
Simon wakes to movement beside him on the bed, Harry's sleepy whine audible to him as he tries to blink his eyes open and maneuver himself until he's lying on his back.
It doesn't take long before Harry is turned to face Simon, shuffling closer still. Soon, his body is plastered against Simon's side, his head nuzzling into the crook of Simon's neck.
Bleary-eyed and fog-headed, it takes Simon perhaps a moment too long to realise that the feeling on his neck is Harry's lips pressing softly. The younger man's head scooches back an inch after that.
One breath, two breaths, three breaths; Simon quits thinking as he turns his head to lean down and press his own lips against Harry's forehead. He hopes with every fibre of his being that the aggressive torment of his heart inside his chest doesn't eventually wake Harry.
+ 3. Confessions
"One more can't hurt. Come on, Harry." Ethan doesn't have to push more before Harry's reaching for another shot, grimacing as the grim liquid slides down his throat. These ones burn, and not in a good way.
"That's enough," Simon interrupts as he approaches the table the other two are stood at. "No more for you two."
Harry's face, at the sight of Simon, gets noticeably brighter, the residue grimace from the shot sliding away as if he never even drank the shot.
"Simon," Harry yells, cheers, his face a steadily darkening red from both the alcohol and the heat in the club, the mingling bodies cramped together in a space that isn't the biggest. There's too much movement going on, everywhere, even at the tables meant for nothing more than sitting. "Guess what. I'm drunk!"
Simon smiles, his own cheeks flushed, but nowhere near as pink as Harry's. He is also notably not as far gone as Harry is right now. "I can see that. You ready to go home?"
"With you, yeah." When Harry giggles after that, it seems more likely to be about his next words than his previous ones. "Not with Ethan though, he smells."
Harry heads for the door before Ethan's indignant shouts can reach his ears.
Simon stays for a second, to ask Ethan if he's going to be alright here, before also making for the door when Ethan tells him, "Yeah. 'M gonna go find Vik now, anyway."
Simon catches up with Harry easily enough, his big steps a lunge for most people shorter than him. He slips between bodies well enough, reaching for Harry's hand as soon as he's close enough to.
Harry jumps upon first contact, but he calms as soon as he glances behind him and notices the hand now holding his own belongs to Simon.
"Hey, Minter. You gonna take me home now?"
As he answers, Simon can't stop his head from ducking, staring timidly at his feet as he walks. "Yeah. Come on."
With that, Simon pulls the drunker boy towards the awaiting Uber.
In the Uber, on the drive to Harry's flat, the two sit with the middle seat between them, but that doesn't stop Harry from leaning over to rest his head on Simon's shoulder. The sounds of the car are so close to lulling him to sleep. Only, the car comes to a halt just before Harry reaches that point.
Inside the flat, the two silently agree that the sofa is the place to be. It leads to a short stillness after they both sit down, adjusted comfortably. They allow the sudden reticence to exist for a moment, but not for too long.
Belatedly, Harry is the first to speak. "Simon?" He starts with, his socked feet resting on the sofa with his knees to his chest and his arms wrapped around them, "This, like, th-thing, y'know wh-where we, um, sometimes k-kiss? Wh-when we're dr-drunk, right? Does th-that, does that, um, mean something to you t-too? Or is it j-just me?"
Simon doesn't answer straight away, which doesn't assure Harry any. Simon's low sigh doesn't help. "It-" But why would Simon be so hesitant right now, when he already has confirmation that Harry is interested in him back? "Yeah, Haz. It - it means everything, to me, Harry."
Simon, having been looking at Harry since the other first said his name in a questioning tone, notices that Harry now turns to look at him after that.
"Really?"
No words, just a nod from Simon.
Slowly, almost as if he is scared, Harry turns, his legs moving until he's kneeling on the sofa facing Simon.
Simon too, turns, his one foot staying on the floor while his left leg lifts up onto the sofa, his knee bent with his left foot resting beneath his right knee.
A blink, and then they're both leaning in, at the same time. Unlike the other times, whatever those were, whatever they could be considered, this time is slightly different.
The lean in may have been just as leisurely as some of the other times, but unlike the other times, their lips press together unhindered.
The initial kiss doesn't last long, a few seconds - five, at max - though it's the best they've ever experienced together. They don't stop there: they share a few more kisses, only stopping when a salty wetness mingles with the kiss. They both pull back, trying to figure out who it is that's crying, only for them to realise that they both are.
Harry rests his forehead against Simon's gently, a short laugh bubbling its way out of his mouth, breaking an attempt at an Eskimo kiss. "Why are we crying?"
Because they're drunk and happy, most likely.
"I have no idea. I can't say I care, though. I'll care even less if I get another kiss from you."
Harry, with another laugh, obliges happily.
+ 4. Anytime
"Are you drunk?"
Harry pauses, one foot still raised mid-step, his eyes wide. "... No."
Simon, from his spot on Harry's sofa, shakes his head. His eyebrows lower back to their normal place, his lips tilting up in a smile. "Something tells me that you're lying to me right now."
"I'm not, promise! I've had too much alcohol tonight, but I'm by no means drunk, Simon."
Simon nods, pretending to believe the shorter man. He holds his arms out wide, gesturing for his boyfriend to come and join him on the sofa. In his arms, preferably.
Harry goes without complaint, slotting himself against Simon, lying between the other's long legs with Simon's arms wrapped around him. His head is pillowed on the older man's chest, laying sideways as he is.
"I think," Harry says, his words only just escaping sounding muffled, "that you are actually the drunk one."
Simon hums, considering, "You might be right. Maybe I should lay off the alcohol for a while. I'll do that, if you do."
Harry nods, shuffling until he's lying on his stomach instead of his side. His hands rest on Simon's waist as he pushes himself upwards slightly. "Of course. Whatever helps you get over this issue. Whatever makes you happy, Simon."
"Well, you make me happy, don't you?" Simon asks, though he doesn't really expect an answer. His right hand rests on Harry's face, cupping his cheek with his thumb swiping back and forth in a soothing motion.
Harry's the one who leans forward for the kiss, but both of them respond with equal enthusiasm.
When they break apart, they're both panting. The air is buzzing with loving content.
"Simon." Simon hums once more, wordlessly telling Harry to continue, "It doesn't have to be anytime soon if you don't want, but would you ever consider marrying me?"
Simon, barely taken aback, grins widely. He kisses Harry's forehead softly before answering, "I don't even need to consider it, Harry. I'd marry you in a heartbeat, in any lifetime, whenever you want. Just tell me when."
+ 5. Wedding Day
"... You both may now kiss your husband."
The two lean in, teasing the gathered crowd like they're actually going to kiss, only for Harry's lips to head straight for Simon's ear, stopping merely a breath away.
"Simon," he breathes, his chest already rising and falling rapidly. "We're sober. We've never done this sober. Why have we never done this sober?"
Having assumed no one else could hear him whispering, Harry is shocked very nearly out of his skin when Talia leans in from behind Simon to tell them, "That's because you're both dumbasses. And you don't kiss often enough." Talia gives them a stare, like a mother chastising her children, "Which I really hope is about to change. I put too much effort into this wedding for the two of you to never again kiss sober."
With a giggle, it's Simon who takes the first step, guiding Harry back and away from his ear until he can look into the other's pretty eyes for a moment.
"There's a first for everything, right?" He asks rhetorically before leaning in, grinning widely at how cheesy that sounded to him.
The two share their first sober kiss to the sound of applause, a mixture of polite clapping and overjoyed hand thunder. (What some of their friends are doing should not be allowed to class as clapping.)
When the two men finally pull away, they are both understandably short for breath. Their foreheads rest against the other's as they take a moment to calm themselves. Calm their thumping hearts since they're beating too loud. Harry can barely hear the applause anymore, his pulse too loud in his own ears.
"Talia's right. We're both dumbasses."
Harry quietly pants, "We need to do this again," to which Simon enthusiastically agrees.
-
"Simon?"
Simon blinks, looking up from his meal and at his newly-acquired husband beside him. "Yeah, Haz?"
"I just realised something." At Simon's raised eyebrow, signaling for him to continue, the tips of Harry's ears flush pink. His cheeks darken minutely. "That wasn't our first sober kiss. Why did we think it was?"
Simon doesn't have an answer, he only laughs at their stupidity. "Let's just say we were caught up in the moment." He glances to Talia a table over, "Just don't let Talia know that. She already thinks too lowly of us."
"And she's right to! We're idiots, apparently."