we didn't start the fire

"Uh, yes, it's cold? You're basically naked?", Niall explains and realises, that Harry doesn't look ashamed in the slightest. Not like, for his body or anything. Not that there's anything to be ashamed of, anyway. Harry's fit. A fit lad.

"Hm, now that you say it", Harry decides slowly, "it actually is pretty cold." He wraps his arms around his overly long torso. It looks funny. Niall chuckles and pulls down the zipper of his coat.

"Here, take this", he offers Harry his blue overcoat, which his mother often says is too classy for him, but Niall likes it anyway, even though he's a rather casually dressed person most of the time. Harry thanks him and slips his arms through the sleeves. His arms are far too long.

"Thank you, Niall.", Harry says with a little smile, even though he looks rather uncomfortable the way his wrists are exposed and the way the fabric stretches between his shoulders because they're too big, bigger than Niall's anyway. Niall lifts an eyebrow.

"I guess this would've worked better the other way around.", he points out. Harry laughs.

"Yeah, cause you're tiny!", he giggles and shows Niall with his thumb and index finger just how tiny he apparently is. "This tiny.", not even a centimeter space between his fingers.

"Thanks, mate.", Niall rolls his eyes good-naturedly. It must've been twenty minutes of fire alarm by now. What if it was a fake drill, anyway? No, no it wasn't, Niall remembers, a (huge idiot) person set their kitchen on fire, probably. Still no facts. He looks up to Harry, who apparently stared at him the whole fifteen seconds it took Niall to check the surroundings for any change.

"Do you know anything about the fire?", he asks then.

"Uh... uhm, well, eh", Harry stutters and, while it's still dark, Niall can see him blush. Suspicions rise inside of him. "No, I'm, uhm, I don't... know."

"Harry.", Niall says and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

"I, honestly—"

"Harry, did you—?"

"I have no idea what you're—"

"Harry, did you set the building on fire?"

"Well, yeah, but, to my defense... I was hungry.", he looks far too innocent saying he was the one to set a house ablaze.

"You're awful and wasting my sleep.", Niall groans and shakes his head, "Does the fire brigade know about this?"

"Of course they do! I called them in the first place.", Harry's pouting now and if that doesn't look forbiddingly cute on a man that tall.

"You gonna have to pay for it?", Niall wonders.

"I mean, yeah, I don't know yet, probably, I'm covered by insurance.", Harry defends himself vigorously, hands flailing and all.

"Has this happened before?"

Harry squints at Niall. "If I told you that... I'd have to kill you."

A loud squeaking noise interrupts their conversation. A megaphone.

The man talking into the megaphone says: "It's a minor incident, not much harm done, just the kitchen of flat 3A got a little... burned."

A bunch of people turn around to glare at Harry. Ah, so they know him, (not surprising Niall at all). "Unbelievable", he hears Mrs. Abbott huff.

And yeah, it is unbelievable.

"Can we enter our flats without getting fume poisoning?", a guy in his mid-thirties wants to know and the man with the megaphone makes the megaphone do the noise again before he answers.

"It'd be better if the inhabitant of 3A", another round of glares at Harry, who tries to hide behind Niall, "would not enter his flat again, and maybe the inhabitants of 3B, neither, but otherwise I see no danger. We made sure the smoke got out as much as possible."

Sighs of relief can be heard. Niall is just glad he'll be able to get at least a couple of hours more sleep.

"Hey, uhm", Harry Styles taps Niall's shoulder, "so, I can't go back to my flat, so, yeah, I was wondering if... you know."

"Yes, come on. You can sleep on the couch.", Niall's not a monster and Harry is a decent person (most of the time), and at long as he doesn't try to cook, they sure are going to be just fine. (Niall hopes so, at least). Harry grabs Niall's hand, squeezes it and doesn't let go until they're halfway back in the building.

That's when someone clears they throat rather aggressively. "Mr. Styles!", it's Mrs. Abbott. Oh right, flat 3B.

"Thanks to you, young man, I cannot enter my own home! Where do you think I can stay tonight?", she questions snappishly, with a finger lifted into the air. Harry is at loss for words. Niall sighs. He remembers that no one can actually stand Mrs. Abbott; she's always talking rubbish and spreading rumours.

"You can stay with me, if you want. Harry, here, though, is going to stay at mine's, too.", he explains and nods at Harry.

"Do you even have that much place?", Mrs. Abbott wonders and frowns.

"Well, I offered Harry the couch, but I think my bed's big enough for another person—"

"I'm taking the couch!", Mrs. Abbott exclaims and teeters towards the entrance of the building.

"Right, so—", Niall starts.

"I'm little spoon!", Harry shouts then and everything's decided. Niall, himself, decides that this must've been the weirdest night of his life, so far, but he doesn't care so much about his loss of sleep anymore, when Harry puts one of his noodle arms around his waist and matches his steps with Niall's.