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This Is Your Fault (Where Circumference Is Irrelevant, and Length Matters)

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"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," Nick says, when he wakes up and spots himself in the mirror on the way to the bathroom and sees Louis Tomlinson looking back at him instead of his normal, sleep-addled self. He stomps back into the bedroom and pokes Harry awake. "Is this your fault? Did you do this? Why are you even here, anyway? I'm pretty sure you weren't here when I went to sleep last night."

"Louis?" Harry asks, still half asleep.

"No," Nick says. "Not Louis. Nick. Since when could you do fucking magic that's more than just pulling a rabbit out of a hat, anyway?"

Harry buries his face in the pillow. "I've been practicing," he says, in a muffled voice. "Nick, it's the middle of the night."

"Yes," Nick says, quite patiently for someone who's woken up in someone else's body. "And I've got to go to work." He chucks Harry's phone at him. "Call your shitweasel of a friend and see if he's got my body, will you? And feel free to tell him I'm in the shower, looking at his dick." He sticks his head back round the bedroom door. "This is you, right? You and your secret magic magician shit?"

"Wizard," Harry says. "I'm a secret wizard. Not a magician."

"You're a fuckhead," Nick says, stripping off in the bathroom. "I'm taking my spare key back."

"At least you still sound like you normally do," Harry calls after him. "No one will notice on the radio."

"Thank god for that," Nick says, dryly. "I don't foresee any problems at all with getting into the building or explaining it to anyone I work with." He turns the shower on. "And did he put you up to this? Louis Dickhead Tomlinson?"

"Might have done," Harry says. "Don't remember."

"Tell him his dick's smaller than mine," Nick yells, over the sound of the shower.

Harry pushes open the bathroom door. "Tell him yourself, he's coming over. He says he's measured your dick and his is wider."

"Oh god," Nick says, pulling back the shower curtain. It's not like it's his body anyway, it doesn't need more than a lick and a promise before he leaves for work. "How long's he been up if he's got the fucking measuring tape out? Someone get me a measuring tape."

"My head hurts," Harry complains, sitting down on the toilet seat.

"Serve you right for getting drunk with Louis Tomlinson and doing secret magic," Nick says sanctimoniously. It's always nice when he has to get up in the morning and there's someone around who's having a harder time with mornings than he is. "What's your mum always say?"

"Use a condom, don't come and run, and don't turn up to someone's house for dinner without bringing a bottle."

Nick blinks. "I was thinking more along the lines of don't do magic if you're drunk. Or if you're you at all, actually."

"Oh, well. She says that too."

"Does she really say don't come and run?"

"She uses better words," Harry says. He puts his face in his hands. "It's not my fault my spells go wrong, okay? I try."

Nick towels himself down with a large purple towel. Louis has short legs and small hands. He spends perhaps a little bit too much time drying Louis' dick. "What were you trying to do, Hazza? Is this like the time you set my gas hob on fire and broke my teapot?"

"I missed a teeny-tiny bit out of that spell, it wasn't my fault."

"Hmm," Nick's heard it all before. Make friends with a teenage pop sensation with a secret family history of being Cheshire wizards and witches, and instead of his life being made better by the sudden and interesting influence of magic, he's having his teapot broken and waking up in the body of his actual evil nemesis. He decides to head for the kitchen, to get some nice caffeine to make the morning seem a little bit less bewildering. Hopefully. "Hey," he calls, once he's got the coffee machine on, "what spell were you trying to do, anyway?"

"A love spell," Harry says, and then there's an immediate, terrified silence. "Um."

"Um," Nick says, in response. "What?"

"Ignore that," Harry says immediately, stumbling blearily into the kitchen and looking a bit wide-eyed. "Pretend I never said anything."

"A love spell from who to who?" Nick asks, just as his doorbell blarts out an infuriatingly cheery ding-dong.

"I'll get the door," Harry says, darting out of the kitchen. There's the sound of something falling over in the hall. Harry's clumsy enough when he's not hungover and magicked-out.

"Don't break anything," Nick calls after him. He leans back against the counter, and waits for Louis to wander annoyingly into his kitchen. He's not quite expecting himself to walk in instead of Louis, even though he should have been. "Well," he says, at the sight of himself in too-short tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt that says The Fray in big letters. It's all stretched across his shoulders. He is a good looking chap even in clothes that don't belong to him. "Someone's a handsome devil first thing in the morning."

"Shut up," Louis says, dropping down into a chair by the window, Harry sleepily following him in. "I've been up all night and your hangovers are shit. Your dick's all thin and you've got weird knees."

"Remind me what possible kind of love spell you were going for, Hazza, because your friend's still a shitweasel."

Louis looks a little bit terrified at that. Nick replaces the rapidly filling coffee jug with a mug, and watches the coffee filter through directly into his cup. Delightful, beautiful caffeine. His one true love.

"You didn't tell him," Louis says, kicking Harry in the ankle. Harry looks a bit like he's gone to sleep standing up, leaning against the wall by the door. He's got his eyes closed and everything.

"He told me everything," Nick lies. "Coffee? Harold?"

"Did he tell you I didn't properly fancy you?" Louis says, very quickly. "It's not proper fancying, it's just like, oh, you're a bit of all right, that's all. There's no feelings, or anything."

Nick carefully puts his spoon down on the counter. "He didn't tell me that," he says.

"Oh," Louis says. "Well, forget I said anything, then."

"Right," Nick says. "Well."

Louis looks down at the table. "I only fancy you a little bit."

"Right," Nick says again. He helps Harry down into a chair, and he promptly falls asleep with his cheek against his folded hands on the table top. Magic always exhausts him. "Enough to try and do a love spell."

"That was the vodka's fault," Louis says.

"Right," Nick says, for the third time. "Well, seeing as I'm going to have to call in sick today, because my BBC pass doesn't have a picture of my arch-nemesis on, do you fancy having a bit of a shag to pass the time? Until he wakes back up and remembers how to give us back our bodies?"

"Huh," Louis says. He looks curiously bright-eyed. Nick's always wondered what it would be like to have sex with himself, anyway. "Go on, then." He watches as Nick pours them both a bit more coffee, and shoves the mug across the table at him. "You sure that love spell didn't work at all? I'm only asking for curiousity's sake, obviously."

"Obviously," Nick says. "For the record, I fancied you before last night. But, like, only a little bit. No feelings, or owt."

"Right," Louis says, still in Nick's body. "What's it going to be like, basically snogging yourself, anyway?"

"Dunno," Nick says, passing Louis an uncooked strawberry pop tart for sustenance as he texts Matt to say he's got the flu. "How do you fancy finding out?"

Louis makes a face. "Suppose we could," he says, and Nick rolls his eyes and shoves him in the direction of the bedroom.

"You're hotter when you're me, anyway," Nick says, thirty seconds later, and Louis jabs his fingers into Nick's side and pushes him down onto the bed.

"Nah," Louis says, and leans down to kiss him.