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“That’s a pretty imaginative curse.” Will crooks an eyebrow as he pulls the lapels of his jacket in, staring up at the big ‘CLOSED FOR BUSINESS’ sign that decorated the door of the ice cream parlour they had walked three blocks in the cold to get to. “I was worried this would happen.” He pouts as he looks through the store window, trying to catch an employee in the midst of packing up, wanting an explanation as to why the place, one of his favourites, had reached the end of it’s lifespan. “There never was that many customers whenever I dropped by.” He pouts. 

Willam suddenly feels shy under the inspection, and the laughter soon has his cheeks burning red as he contemplates if he’s done something embarrassing, or he’d fallen asleep drunk and one of the twins had shaved a rude word into the back of his head. Would they do that? He isn’t entirely sure they wouldn't. The apologetic stare is slight consolation- he knows Gigi and her kind heart wouldn’t have embarrassed him on purpose nor think anything particularly nasty about him. “Sounds good enough for me.” He says with a cough as the last of his blush drains away. “To be honest, I just like the feeling of people doing my hair. And it’s at an awkward length- I’m not so good with styling it beyond shoving it up in a hat.”

“Alright bro, if I’d known you were the preacher’s son I wouldn’t have said anything.” He says, rubbing a knuckle against his eye as he gestures up to the television with his elbow. “’Sides, I’m not performing today. I don’t really come on these shows, they’re not my scene and I’m not theirs.. I’m here with Buns,” He looks at the screens himself as the footage of said silver-haired rapper plays back to the waiting room. “So there’s no need to be so uppity. You don’t have to bother yourself running to fetch me anything. I can take care of myself. And your little boyband is due on soon, and you wouldn’t want to make them wait.”

Will pulled his sweater tighter around his body, trying to protect himself against the nippy air. He’s competitive as they come, and he’s not entirely sure how long he can hold his breath for, having never really needed to test his limits in that area, but bravada is 90% of the journey to victory (a statistic he has just made up entirely) and so the bet was on. “The cafe is open around this time, right? loser buys breakfast, winners’ pick.” A hot drink would not go amiss around about now, and hot food would be heaven. “So, rules first. No breathing out your nose, no sabotage, no hitting, kicking or otherwise physically contacting the other in order to get them to breath out.” He stops for a second, thinking. “And no passing out.”

“He’s a fussy eater, it’s better to cater to him or he’ll just not eat.” He says. looking at his phone, reading texts from said starry eyed rapper complaining about Romeo’s refusal to let him eat what he wants to eat. “I worry about his eating habits, but he has a lot of different food fears. Like he can’t eat garlic bread, because he feels like it makes his insides smell bad. To be honest, I’m not 100% convinced he is a stable person.” Will snorts.

“no, we usually quote the sound of music and dance to ymca.”