Left Brain ran a hand through his - Bo’s, it wasn’t his, nothing was his or Right Brain’s - hair, slammed his fists on the piano. He felt like such a failure . His only purpose was to help Bo work through his shit, write for him so that he could be happy again and nothing was flowing.
“You need to relax.”
Right Brain’s hands found their way to Left’s shoulders. Left shrugged him off angrily. “Get off me, Right Brain,” he muttered angrily. “I’m trying to write.”
Right Brain tutted, a smile on his face. “That’s not fun, Left,” he argued. When Left didn’t say anything, “c’mon.” He pressed a kiss to Left’s neck.
Left sighed. Getting angry wouldn’t help Bo’s depression, he knew that. The disembodied voice had told them that. “I’m trying to do my job, Right.”
Right groaned. “So am I,” he argued. He moved so that he was in Left’s line of vision. “I’m supposed to feel, remember?”
Left rolled his eyes. “So go jack off or something,” he muttered. “I’m trying to write. Bo has a deadline and he’s gonna be stressed if I don’t get this done.” He turned to glare at Right, leaned against the wall. “Are you gonna help?”
Right held his glance for a moment too long. “No.”
“And people wonder why Bo’s comedy is so cynical,” Left muttered. He turned back to the paper in front of him, but nothing was working. Right’s hands came to rest on his shoulders, his head to his shoulder. Right reached over and pointed at a scribbled note. If they hadn’t come from the same person’s mind, Left wasn’t sure he’d be able to read it. “Try an A here instead.”
Left turned awkwardly so he could glare over his shoulder. “You think one note’s my goddamn problem, Right?”
Right rolled his eyes. He took the pen from Left’s hands and scribed the change, then put the pen down on the piano. He took Left’s hand in his own and Left felt a jolt of electricity from Right’s fingertips. This was wrong, nothing was theirs, they were in Bo’s body, but the warmth crawling through his - Bo’s - blood was so real .
Right played the notes softly and they did sound a lot better. Left felt like an idiot for not realizing it before. He grabbed his paper from the piano with the intention to review all the notes to ensure they made sense.
Right’s voice came from over his shoulder. “Are we gonna talk about it?”
Left spoke under his breath, “talk about what?”
“Talk about what?” Right mocked. “Talk about what happened last time Bo separated us.”
Left whipped around. Of course he remembered, in front of an audience of all those people, they were meant to introduce themselves, but they had ended up arguing. They had come to the same conclusion they usually did - comedy would somehow fix Bo’s depression. But at the end, a bombshell - Right was in love with him.
Left gave a half-hearted chuckle. He stood, utilizing all six feet of his height as he crossed the room. “You’re irrational, Right. You can’t honestly love me. It’s in your nature to be an emotional idiot.”
“And it’s in your nature to be an asshole,” Right answered. He stayed leaning against the wall - likely where he felt the most comfortable. Between the two of them, he was much closer to Bo’s treasured childhood, and often longed for the days of being a scrawny kid again. “It doesn’t change the fact that I love you.”
Left scoffed. “Right-”
“I-” Left ran a hand through his hair - Bo’s hair. “We can’t.”
Now it was Right’s turn to scoff. “Eloquent, Left,” he answered. “I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”
Left bit his tongue. “These aren’t our bodies,” he answered. “This-” he took Right’s hand to make a point, but even he couldn’t deny the electric current that ran through him at the feeling. “This isn’t yours, Right.”
Right took a step closer to him. Left could see the dangerous glint in his eyes, the glint that usually meant either he or Bo had an idea. In this case, Left assumed Bo had nothing to do with it. “We could make him happy, Left.”
Left swallowed. With Right pressed against his chest, their hands tangled together between them, all he could choke out was “Right-”
“Isn’t he so depressed because we can’t get our sh-” he paused “- stuff together?” He leaned in closer. “He could be happy, Left. Isn’t that what you want?”
Left took a deep breath. “That’s all I want,” he answered softly.
Right brushed Left’s hair back. Left knew it was wrong, that they weren’t supposed to do this, that their bodies weren’t theirs, but he had never seen Bo look at someone with the same kind of passion Right was looking at him with and couldn’t help but think that maybe - just maybe - this had nothing to do with Bo.
Right tilted his head. “Do you want this, Left?” He asked. His voice was small and his breath smelled like the minty toothpaste Bo had brushed his teeth with before they split.
Left brought a shaky hand - he didn’t think he had ever shaken before - to Right’s face. He traced a gentle hand down Right’s cheek, and then he did something very impulsive.
He kissed him.