"Oh, shit, I can't open the door..."

Laughter echoed in the corridor of the hotel. A key was being moved frenetically in its hole, its sharp clicks disturbing the silence of the dark room. The door handle tilted, and finally, the wooden door was open, revealing two masculine silhouettes.

They both staggered inside, with their heels hitting the parquet floor in an irregular rhythm. The first silhouette felt about in the dark for the light switch. The lightbulb gave off a bright light, disclosing every detail of the room, but also what the two men looked like.

Stood next to the switch was a tall black-haired man in white bell-bottoms and white shirt, covered with a red velvet jacket left open, with puff sleeves. Silver bracelets clinked together at every flick of his wrists, and a silver choker surrounded his neck. Giggle fits took hold of his throat, as he covered his overbite with his right hand, who surprisingly was not ornamented with black nail polish like the other. His chocolate brown eyes were staring at the other man, who was in stitches.

The other man was a bit taller, and looked younger. Wild brown hair framed his thin and well-shaped face, stroking his high cheekbones. A dark blue blazer and a bright white shirt covered his narrow shoulders, covering the waist of his blue flare trousers.

Both were stinking of beer, wine and vodka.

The younger man ran a hand through his mane, and turned to the other man.

"See, Freddie? You managed to open the door!"

"Oh yes, my dear, I did!" Freddie, the black-haired one, replied, twirling a key around his finger. "Roger shouldn't have let the key of his room on the table!"

"Okay, what should we wreck first?"

Freddie looked all around, his fingertip patting his lower lip, as he paced up and down in the room. He suddenly pointed at a chest of drawers.

"Let's empty that everywhere, Henry! I bet Roger put his stuff in there, he loves making himself at home when we stay at hotels."

His friend, Henry, nodded and both scampered about, opening the drawers and grabbing Freddie's drummer's clothes, spreading them everywhere: on top of a wardrobe, in the bathtub, in the toilet... Some of his pants even ended up dangling from the lampshade.

Freddie noticed a Polaroid camera on one of the two bedside tables: he grabbed it, and proceeded to take pictures of the clothes lying around everywhere. Henry grabbed him by the arm and chuckled right into his ear.

"What if we turned his bed upside down?"

The two men limped together to the bed, and grabbed the covers. While Henry was struggling with the bed sheets, he unexpectedly felt something heavy hitting him in the head, tousling his hair even more. He instinctively raised his hand to his ear and turned to Freddie, who was smirking lopsidedly, a pillow between his hands. Henry's green eyes went to his face and to the pillow, before he crawled onto the bed, grabbing the second pillow.

"You know you shouldn't've done that, Mercury!"

Before Freddie could even part his lips to give him a reply, Henry's pillow hit him in the face. Gasping in shock, he got off the bed and ran after his rival, hitting him on the back or on the sides, earning a few hits as well. A few minutes after they started their pillow fight, Henry looked all around and sniggered.

"Oh shit... Freddie, look at the floor!"

"Fuck, there are feathers everywhere! We're going to get killed!"

"Where's the camera? Shoot that!"

"Hey, darling, I'm not Mick Rock!"

Henry hit him with a pillow, and Freddie laughed. He ran through the feathers, and grabbed the camera, taking pictures at every angle. He put it down and joined his hands, cupping them, and picking up feathers, blowing them at Henry's face. The latter chuckled and kicked those on the floor, watching them fall silently.

The black-haired man staggered up to the bathroom, grabbing the toilet paper and throwing it across the room. Henry laughed and picked it up, throwing it many times, so there would be toilet paper everywhere.

"You know what, dear?" Freddie cooed, resting his elbow on Henry's shoulder. "I think we are true artists."

"This is even more superb than Mona Lisa, my fella. I'm proud of us. Oh damn, I'd love to see Roger's reaction when he comes!"

"Yes, but first, we must put the key back on the table, or he'll suspect something."

"Let's go back to the party, then."

Freddie nodded and walked up to the door. But as he started to open it, he heard a loud thump behind him. He spun round, only to notice Henry sitting on his buttocks on the floor, in fits of laughter. His face had turned a bright red, as he gasped for air. Freddie soon found himself in the same state, when suddenly his smile faded.

"Shit," he whispered in a panicked tone, "there are footsteps in the corridor! They're coming!"

Henry quickly got up, and found himself pushed inside the wardrobe by his friend, who shut the door behind them.

"Freddie, you're stepping on my foot!"

"Sorry, sorry, I can't see a damn thing!"

"Do you think they're coming here?"

"Shush! I can hear a voice!"

Both turned silent and focused on the noises sounding outside the wardrobe. As Freddie had noticed, footsteps were echoing in the corridor, and it was obvious that it was a couple. They heard someone being pinned to a wall and starting a noisy make-out session. Henry started to giggle uncontrollably, but Freddie sharply crashed his foot with his heel to shut him up.

"Ooh, daaaaarling," a feminine voice cooed, "let's go to the bedroooom!"

"You naughty girl!" a hoarse voice replied. "Oh fuck, I want you so bad... Let's go inside!"

"Oh shit, that's Roger!" Freddie gasped.

He pushed the door a little, and peeped out. The footsteps got closer and closer, and Roger grumbled.

"Where's that damn key? I can't find it in my pocket! Did I leave it downstairs?"

"But look, Roggieboo, the door's open!"

"Open? What do you...? What the fuck is that?!"

Henry bit his lip hard, trying not to be heard as another giggle fit seized him. The door opened widely, and a loud gasp sounded in the whole room.

"WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED HERE?? WHO THE FUCK DID THAT?!"

Roger stepped inside and looked all around him, his jaw dropped and his hands buried in his hair as he counted all the damages made to the bedroom. The woman followed him; she had long blond hair, and was wearing a tight red dress. No matter why Roger's horny now, Freddie thought.

The woman wrapped her arms around Roger's waist and rested her chin on his shoulder, examining the state of the room.

"Oh, daaaarling," she giggled softly, "You're the victim of a bad, bad prank!"

"Angie, please, that's not the moment. My... My pants! What are they doing on the lampshade! Someone touched my camera! Oh, I bet that's Brian, he's taking a revenge on the prank I played on him last time."

"But sweetie, Brian was with us all the time!"

"Freddie. It can only be Freddie. I'm going to find that bastard!"

Roger stormed out of the room, and Angie ran after him, shouting his name in an annoying tone. Once the footsteps faded away, Freddie stepped out of the wardrobe, doubled up with laughter.

"He's going to kill me. Kill. Me."

"We'd better go back downstairs quickly, or simply run away."

"Nah, I want to go back with the others."

Henry nodded and stared at Freddie. He hesitated for a second, but then leant towards Freddie, giving him a peck on the lips. The latter gazed at him with bright red cheeks, and started to smile broadly. He stood on tiptoe and gave Henry one as well.

"Come on, now, silly," he chuckled, "let's leave the crime scene!"

He quickly grabbed his hand and ran up to the Polaroid camera, taking some more pictures. They took a look at all those they had taken since they put their plan into action. Freddie threw them in the air, and dragged Henry out of the room, switching off the light.