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It’s a holiday, so they celebrate their freedom by showering together. For America, and for the wellbeing of the planet.
Chris is feeling loose, then, happy and maybe a little bit cheeky, when he pulls one of his “British at heart” t-shirts from the drawer.
“Really,” Will drawls. “Provocative choice.”
He smooths it down, glances at himself in the mirror. “I feel like living dangerously.”
He only has himself to blame when Will tackles him to the bed, and he laughs at the ceiling while he tangles his hands in wet hair.
—-
That doesn’t mean he doesn’t put it back on later, when they’re running late to get out of the house and over to a friend’s. Will goes the other way - a blue tank and red shorts, thematic and clean, and pulls a face at him in the mirror when they both go in to check their hair at the same time.
“You’re going to hell for that, I hope you know.”
Chris smirks. “I can take it. I mean really. What has America ever done for me?”
Will pulls a face, gives him a pretty hard side-eye. “Are you serious right now?”
“Okay, fine. You know what I mean. Don’t tell me you didn’t have fun in London.” Will’s face softens into a sweet smile, and he presses the point. “You like Harry Potter. And also tea.”
“We put it over ice. It completely revolutionized the whole thing.” Will’s emphasis on the word is accompanied with an eyebrow waggle before he heads for the stairs, scooping his wallet and phone off the dresser. It’s unsupportably adorable.
“It’s where the history comes from,” he calls down after him, grabbing his phone and hurrying to catch up.
“It’s where gay people still can’t get married,” is what Will comes back with.
—-
“Adele,” Chris says, eyes on the road, while his hands slide over the wheel.
“Beyonce,” Will counters, lounging against the car door and looking at something on his phone.
“Buckingham Palace.”
“Disneyland.”
“You’re only naming stuff in California.”
“You’re only naming stuff in London. Besides, if I can beat England with just one state, you’re proving my point.”
“Maggie Smith.”
“Meryl Streep.”
Chris scowls.
—-
Later that night after the sun goes down it starts to get a little chilly, and Will pulls his tank top back on, smudges of body paint spread over his shoulders where he’d painted his chest with a flag earlier while he’d grinned at Chris the whole time. His eyes are bright reflections of the sparkler in his hand. There’s a red cup full of Long Island Iced Tea in the other, and he’s laughing at something when he looks over and catches Chris’s eye, loops the sparkler into a glittering heart.
Well. Maybe not entirely British.