The two of them moved forward with the reenactment, each action, each word, feeling more like a scripted performance than real life. Mansh couldn't shake the feeling that they were both pretending—pretending to understand, pretending to know what would happen next, pretending that they weren't spiraling deeper into something they couldn't control. But still, they moved through it, as if doing so would somehow make it all make sense in the end.
Ankhush climbed onto the bed, sitting down carefully, his posture rigid with unease. He gave Mansh a sidelong glance, as if awaiting further instructions. Mansh, already halfway through the mental checklist of actions they needed to follow, didn't hesitate. His mind was already focused on the next part of the plan.
"Do the thing," Mansh said, his tone direct and almost mechanical, as though he was simply following the script himself. He didn't look at Ankhush as he spoke, eyes scanning the space around him, the walls seeming to close in slightly. It was as if he was trying to block out the tension that had been building between them ever since they began this reenactment.
Ankhush, however, groaned audibly, his frustration clear. "I'm not doing that," he said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the headboard. His voice was tinged with both annoyance and disbelief. "It's cringy and embarrassing." The words were almost muffled, like a complaint made out of sheer discomfort, but Mansh could tell that Ankhush was still trying to take the task seriously.
Mansh turned his gaze toward him slowly, eyes narrowing just slightly in bemusement. He hadn't expected Ankhush to back out, but it wasn't surprising either. There was something about the whole reenactment that felt unnatural to them both, a forced performance that neither of them were truly comfortable with.
He shrugged, a small, almost indifferent gesture. "Your choice," he said, letting the words hang in the air like an unspoken challenge. "Let's move on to the next part, then."
There was no point in arguing. They both knew they had to keep going, even if the plan felt ridiculous or, in Ankhush's case, cringe-worthy. Mansh's shoulders tensed for a moment, but then he turned away, his gaze falling back to the floor as if trying to focus on the task at hand. He didn't want to dwell on the discomfort; he couldn't afford to. The novel—the fate that seemed to be entwined with their every move—was still pulling at them, and they had to see it through.
Ankhush let out a soft groan, but he didn't protest again. He shifted on the bed, adjusting himself slightly as if mentally preparing for the next phase of the reenactment. Mansh, in turn, tried to push his own discomfort aside. It was strange how much effort it took to simply move through the motions. Each part of the plan felt like a step further into a world neither of them fully understood.
Despite the hesitation and awkwardness, they pressed on. There was no turning back.
Ankhush shifted uncomfortably on the bed, his body tense as he hesitated for a moment before finally giving in. With a deep sigh, he threw himself back onto the mattress, the weight of the task feeling even heavier now. He let his body sink into the soft sheets, a small groan escaping his lips as he did. He stared up at the ceiling, as if the plain white surface might offer him some kind of escape from the awkwardness of the situation.
"F**k ma daddy," Ankhush muttered under his breath, the words coming out in a half-joking, half-defeated tone, as though the whole reenactment was a game he didn't quite want to play. His voice had a hint of sarcasm mixed with frustration, but also a quiet, reluctant acceptance that this was part of what they needed to do.
Mansh, already holding his phone in his hand, raised an eyebrow but didn't miss a beat. "I recorded it," he said, his voice flat but matter-of-fact, like this was all just another task on their never-ending to-do list. He didn't even look at Ankhush, instead focusing on his phone screen as if this moment wasn't any more unusual than the countless other awkward moments they had shared before.
Ankhush shot him a look of disbelief, his eyes widening slightly. "What?!" His voice cracked with genuine surprise and a hint of panic. "Delete that now."
Mansh looked up from his phone, locking eyes with Ankhush for the first time in what felt like forever. His expression was almost too calm, the kind of calm that only came when you were trying not to acknowledge the strange weight of the situation. "Chill," he replied, his voice a little more amused than he expected. "I'm not going to let anyone see that."
Ankhush let out an exaggerated sigh, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, despite the frustration still bubbling beneath the surface. "You better not," he muttered, throwing his arm over his eyes in mock exasperation. "That's a joke I don't want anyone to hear, especially not anyone who knows me."
Mansh couldn't help but chuckle at that, the tension in the room easing just a little. They were both stuck in this bizarre situation together, and despite the weirdness, it was moments like these—strange and ridiculous—that made it feel a little more like they were in this together. Even if it was uncomfortable. Even if it was ridiculous.
He slid his phone back into his pocket and gave Ankhush a look of mock seriousness. "Alright, alright," he said. "We're moving on. No more embarrassing quotes. Let's just get through this, alright?"
Ankhush groaned, but the smile on his face was more genuine now, even though the whole thing still felt ridiculous. "Fine. But you're deleting that, right?"
Mansh gave him a playful salute. "Promise."
***
A/N: i have... nothing to say.
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