He could hear people talking outside the room, the sharp "Sir!" from the guard. William could almost hear the man saluting, then the door was flung open and shut just as fast.
"Tell me you're not having a bloody nervous breakdown," Harry said.
William looked over his shoulder at Harry, standing there in his Royal Army dress. The slight smirk on his lips vanished, replaced by a look of concern. "God, Wills, you look like you haven't slept in ages."
"I feel like it, too."
"Are you ready?" Harry asked in a quieter tone, sitting beside him on the sofa. They had several hours before the procession began.
"No," he replied, knowing what Harry meant. "And for God's sake, take those damned gloves off."
Harry looked down at the white gloves and flexed his hands. "I'll be out of uniform," he said after a moment's pause.
William reached over and pulled them roughly off of Harry's hands finger by finger. "You'll sweat to death in that today," he said.
"Sod off," Harry muttered, but he tucked the gloves in a pocket. "Are you just going to sit here and stare at nothing until it's time to go?"
"Why don't you try to catch a bit of a nap," Harry suggested, wrapping a now-bare hand around William's upper arm and pulling him up off the sofa.