untitled |h.s|

two

Ariella

I wake up the next morning to a loud banging noise, it doesn't take long to realize it's coming from the bedroom door. Subconsciously, I find myself rolling further away from the door, letting out an annoyed groan as I bury my face into my arm.

"H, get the fuck up," a frustrated voice yells from the other side of the door, "my sister is supposed to be here soon and she doesn't need to see your hookup's shit first thing through the door."

There's a brief moment of silence following what I'm assuming is Styles' roommate's voice, to which I let out a breath of relief. It doesn't last long though before the incessant pounding on the door starts again.

"God, mate, chill," the man I fell asleep with finally responds. I feel the bed shift and I finally open my eyes to look over at him. As he sits up in the bed, shirtless, given I've stolen his top from him, I can't help but admire him for a minute. I catch myself staring at his muscles, my eyes following the tattoos along his torso that I hadn't noticed the night before.

Then, it hits me out of nowhere.

I know that voice.

My eyes widen in realization as Styles makes eye contact with me, seemingly putting the pieces together for himself. We stare at each other in silence, a look of shock plastered on both of our faces.

"Did you say you're here visiting your brother?" He asks, speaking to me for the first time this morning.

"Fuck," I mutter, rubbing a hand on my face in frustration.

"Ella? Really?" he looks offended at the fake name like he didn't give me a false identity of his own last night.

"Yeah, Styles, really." I bite back, shifting to sit up as well as I attempt to figure out how the hell I'm gonna get out of this apartment without being caught. "At least mine is still technically my name, Harry."

"Styles is my last name," he defends, throwing his own head back in frustration, "what the hell are we gonna do?"

He's asking the question that's run through my head probably a thousand times at this point, but I have absolutely no idea what the solution is. I know his name, that's about it. I've never actually seen or met him before, I've only heard my brother talk about his roommate. I'm willing to take a solid guess that it's the same for Harry, given he figured out the name I gave him was fake pretty quickly.

I don't regret anything we did last night, I mean, fuck, I'd do it again if I had the chance. What I do regret is not even thinking of this possibility. But I mean, what are the odds that out of every guy in New York City, the one I go home with happens to live with my brother?

"I have no fucking idea," I finally respond to his question, pulling myself out of his bed to look for my clothes. I find my dress on the floor, instantly wishing I could've worn literally anything else. I pick it up but put off putting it back on as I look around for my phone. When I don't see it, it's like the universe decided to answer me- in possibly the worst way ever.

I hear the sound of my ringtone, coming from outside of the room. I left my phone in my bag, which I dropped at the door last night in the midst of our feverish makeout session. At the sound of the ringing, my eyes immediately snap back to Harry. We lock eyes as we continue to realize how fucked we are in the situation. It sounds like the ringing is getting closer, but I try to convince myself I'm going crazy until I hear heavy footsteps approach the door.

I stand frozen in place, wearing nothing but Harry's T-shirt and underwear, clutching my discarded dress from the night before in my hand, but making no moves to change. Almost in slow motion, I watch the doorknob twist as Harry's roommate opens the door without knocking.

He finally opens the door, standing silently with a look of anger plastered on his face. He's holding his phone in one hand, and mine, which has finally stopped ringing, in the other. Harry remains frozen, still sitting on his bed. It's a silent face-off between the three of us, tension filling the air as no one dares to break the silence.

Finally, I muster up the courage to speak, deciding to get it over with as there's no escaping at this point.

"Hi, Niall."