Just Me, You, And This Box of Matches

Chapter 11: Here Comes the Bride

Louis' fire alarm goes off at 8:05 the next morning.

It's their personal one- not the one connected to the outside that can summon the Harry Styles Fan Club Division of the city fire department, but the shitty battery-powered one shaped like a frog that Zayn had gotten installed after the first time Louis tried to thaw a frozen TV dinner and accidentally set the microwave on fire - and Louis falls out of bed in an attempt to snag the worn phonebook sitting on the dresser for just this very purpose.

He waves the book under the alarm in the hallway to clear the air, steadfastly ignoring the fact that he has to stand on his tip toes to reach. It takes a good three minutes of idle wafting back and forth before he realizes that the alarm itself ceased beeping two minutes ago.

Stopping the momentum of the book seems like it would take too much effort, so he moves it about for another thirty seconds before lowering his arm to his side and letting his gummy eyes slide closed again.

"Well," says a low voice, and Louis' eyes snap open even as he ricochets away from the wall, arms flailing out wildly. "Took you long enough."

Louis hits himself in the face with the phonebook and smacks into the wall, clocking his elbow against the light switch. The light flicks on with a low buzz to reveal Harry leaning against the wall of the hallway, dressed in a suit and sequined bowler, holding a riding crop in one hand and a plastic grocery bag in the other.

"Good morning, Louis," says Harry. He appears to be wearing eyeliner. And mascara. And possibly lipstick. "You're not dressed, but then again, I prepared for that."

Louis rubs his eyes with a fist and blinks up at him. There's blush caked onto his cheeks, and Louis is beyond done with this already. "Couldn't you have just have woken me up some normal way? Like, say...knocking on the fucking door?"

Harry looks unperturbed. He tosses the grocery sack at Louis, who fumbles but manages to catch it, letting the phonebook thump to the carpet by his feet. "I did knock. You didn't wake up. I was forced to resort to other means. Now, get dressed. I'll tell you the rules while you put your suit on."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Could you keep it down? If you wake someone up before nine I'll have to do dishes for a month."

Harry looks behind him, studying the wood as intently as if he's never seen a door before. "I saw Zayn asleep on the couch when I broke in. Who are we staying quiet for?"

"When you- never mind. Pisces is sleeping in Zayn's bedroom for the time being."

Harry frowns. "Your new roommate is a Zodiac sign?"

"Aren't we all?" says Louis, because it's early in the morning and he's allowed to be cryptic.

"Don't be cryptic."

Or maybe he's not. "She's Niall's girlfriend. It's a long story."

"Niall is dating a Zodiac sign?"

Louis, because he really isn't awake enough to explain anything right now, let alone the fact that he forgets Pisces' real name every single time he asks for it, pulls open the bag and peers inside. There does indeed appear to be a charcoal gray suit inside, as well as... "Are these braces, Harry?"

"How very British of you," says Harry, in his husky Cheshire accent. "Here in the States, we call them suspenders."

Louis rolls his eyes and pulls them out of the bag. They're sparkly and blue, and they match Harry's bowler exactly. "It is much too early in the morning for such crimes against fashion."