Louis awakes to a ringing in his ear, like a telephone, or… something else that rings. Who knows, it’s early. (Probably.) Distantly, his eyes closed, he thinks it must be a voice - but no matter. It's definitely not time to wake up. Nope. Sleep is good.
He tries desperately to tune the noise out, rolling over to his side and half-consciously pulling the red duvet over his sleep-wrinkled face. He nearly settles back into sleep, but then that stupid voice gets louder.
A thick, smooth voice tainted with a touch of a Northern accent is yelling at him. Right. In. His. Ear.
“Wake up! Loueh, wake up.”
Christ, doesn't he know it's early? Louis voices his thoughts with a groan and opens his eyes to find amused amber eyes staring right back at him, hair flopped across his forehead at all angles. So he's just woken up as well, then. Right.
“Really, Lou, come on," Zayn answers with a soft smile. "We’ve got work today and my mum will kill me – and you – if we’re late. Get up!”
Another groan as his blanket is unwillingly pulled from his body. Warm, warm blanket. Louis reluctantly sits up, shivering slightly and attempting to shoot an annoyed glare at his friend but failing to stay angry when he is met with a dimpled grin. He tries anyway.
“Zayn, you could not possibly be a more irritating person in the morning.”
The only response he receives is a cheery laugh, head thrown back and all, before Zayn prances downstairs toward the kitchen. Ass.
To Louis' relief, he is left with some peace and quiet to get ready while Zayn does who knows what. It doesn't matter what he's doing as long as his sunshine personality is far, far away from reaching Louis - he is not a morning person.
He snatches up a few pieces of clothing, only briefly looking them over to make sure they match, and tromps toward the shared toilet in the hallway where he catches a whiff of breakfast – crispy, overcooked bacon and Belgian waffles drowned in maple syrup; his favorite.
He sniffs the air exaggeratedly before shouting: “Zayn Malik, I love you with every fiber of my being.”
He catches a snicker (“I heard that!”) as he shuts the toilet door. Slowly, he puts on the skinny jeans and burgundy jumper he picked out, his movements sluggish with tiredness. He flicks his hair, making it look artfully disheveled, and looks in the mirror.
His fringe stays close to his head for the most part, sticking out in spots here and there, but mostly looking styled. Enough to go out in public, anyway. He stares at the bags under his eyes for just a moment before rubbing his face tiredly.
"Good enough," he mutters before brushing his teeth quickly and trotting down the stairs (with noticeably much more enthusiasm than he had five minutes ago) into the kitchen, plopping down in the seat across from where Zayn has just finished fixing up two plates. He slides a plate to Louis before sitting in the seat next to him. “Happy now that there’s breakfast, are we?”
In a dramatically sorrowful voice Louis responds, “The only thing that would make this morning better is a cuppa.” (Cue: sigh.) Wordlessly Zayn points across the table to the adjacent counter. (Cue: gasp.)
“Zayn Malik –“
“I know, I know. You love me more than anything. Yada, yada.”
“Unappreciative, you are,” Louis scoffs as he shuffles toward the steaming cup of tea, taking a sip and finding that it already has a bit of milk and no sugar – just the way he likes it.
He finds triumph in the slight twitch in Zayn’s mouth, accompanied by a fond eye roll. “So dramatic.”
Louis sticks his tongue out at his best friend and ruffles his long hair (“Loueh!”) before scarfing down the rest of his breakfast.