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Anyone with a shred of taste would’ve taken one look at the blindingly bright pair of orange and teal plaid trousers and immediately recognized they weren’t something you wanted within a hundred kilometers of your home, much less in your own closet. Unfortunately, Harry seemed to be lacking in that department when he pulled them off the rack of the cute little vintage shop he'd discovered during his first year of university. Inspecting them, he frowned. There wasn’t any sort of measurements on them and he’d promised Niall he'd be back at the flat by five. It was already half past four. He eyed the curtain to the small fitting room, sighing to see it was occupied. As he made to put the (really quite offensive) trousers back, he heard a voice behind him.
“Having any trouble?” He turned to see the man who’d been sitting behind the counter when he’d first arrived. He hadn’t seemed at all interested in friendliness then, barely looking up from his phone at the sound of the bell above the door and Harry’s cheery hello, but now he had every bit of charm and attentiveness one would like in a salesman. Harry preened a little under the attention.
“Oh, no. It’s just there doesn’t seem to be any size on these and I’m running late enough as is…” he trailed off with a small pout. A huge grin spread across the man’s face, reminding Harry a little of the Cheshire Cat.
“Lucky for you, we’ve not been able to sell these for months.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, motioning for Harry to lean closer. “I’m actually under strict orders to get them out of here by any means necessary.”
Harry’s brow furrowed. “Not in months? But they’re lovely! How could anyone not want to take them home?” The salesman gave him an incredulous look before seemingly remembering he was trying to make a sale, not judge the customer’s poor taste.
“Who can say?” He answered diplomatically. “As for your concerns with the size, I am willing to offer a substantial discount to make up for the uncertainty. How does 80% off sound to you?”
Harry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. The price was already low in comparison to the rest of the shop, so this was truly a bargain. The smallest inkling of suspicion nagged at the back of his mind, the man’s eagerness to be rid of the trousers was not lost on him, but at that price? What did it matter if there was a small tear or stain he hadn’t spotted? Worst case scenario, he could always try to recycle the fabric for some other purpose. He smiled.
“It sounds absolutely perfect!” He followed the salesman to the counter to check out.
…
When he made it home, Harry found himself immediately pulled into Niall’s preparations for a game night with their friends, all thoughts of the plaid trousers still sitting in a bag next to his bed pushed to the back of his mind. It wasn’t until a couple days later that he remembered the purchase, having tripped over the bag in a rush to go watch the latest episode of the Great British Bake Off.
Pulling on the trousers, Harry enjoyed the cool feeling of the lining against his legs. It seemed like they would fit like a dream, almost perfectly molded to his body. However, as he closed the zipper, the pants seemed to shrink almost instantaneously. He yelped, falling to the ground.
Oh my god, I can’t feel my legs , he thought to himself in a panic. The entire bottom half of his body had gone numb and, looking down at himself, he could see why. The trousers were practically vacuum-sealed to him, his calves and thighs almost half the size they were normally and his stomach straining to be free over the top of the waistband. He couldn’t even bend his knees! He rushed to try and peel them off, but to no avail. They were good and stuck.
“Niall!” he began shouting, his voice several octaves higher than usual. He heard heavy footsteps running to his aid, followed by his bedroom door flying open so quickly the doorknob banged against the wall. Harry winced, that was going to leave a dent.
"What?! What's wrong?!" Niall asked in a panic, looking around wildly for some sort of murderer or feral animal just to find his roommate laying on the ground.
"They're stuck!" Harry wailed, gesturing frantically at the offending clothing.
Niall threw his hands up in exasperation, “I thought you were dying! You’re screaming bloody murder over some trousers?!”
Harry whined, “Niall, my feet are turning purple as we speak!”
Niall looked to see what he meant, eyes bugging out of his head at the sight. “Jesus Violet, you’re turning violet!”
“So help me!”
Niall finally sprung into action, hands hesitating around Harry’s crotch before another pained whine had him clawing his way between the skin and fabric. All in all, it took five whole minutes, four broken nails, and at least two possibly sprained fingers to finally, finally extract Harry’s legs from the plaid prison. As they sat on the ground, out of breath and sweaty from the exertion, Niall frowned. He grabbed for the trousers, holding them up in front of his face.
“There’s no way these were that stuck on you.”
Harry gave him a bewildered look. “You just got me out of them, mate. What the fuck do you mean they weren’t that stuck?”
“ Look at them,” Niall said. “These have to be at least two sizes too big for you.”
“Maybe we just stretched them out?” Harry suggested, not really in the mood to humor him. He was rubbing his legs furiously to try and regain feeling. His attention snapped over to the blonde at the sound of his joggers coming off. “You cannot be serious.”
“It’ll be fine,” Niall said with far too much cheer. “I just want to see if they’ll fit me.” Harry glared at the trousers, the gaudy orange and teal that had captured his heart now obvious to him as the pure evil it always was. But if Niall wanted to fuck around, it was up to him to find out. He returned his gaze to his own legs, which were slowly regaining color. He cooed over them a bit, relieved that they were not forever lost. Niall gave out his same yelp from earlier, though he managed to fall back onto the bed. Lucky him. Harry sighed.
“I don’t even want to help you out here, you really did this to yourself,” he said without even looking. He knew what had happened. “Why does nobody ever listen to me until it’s too late?”
“Harry,” Niall dragged out with a whimper. “Please?”
Harry sat unimpressed for a minute before deciding that it was probably best to rescue the dumbass before he needed to be amputated.
…
“We could burn them,” Niall said thoughtfully as they stared at the trousers laid out on the bed. They seemed so innocent, so unassuming. It made Harry feel a little guilty discussing how to best destroy them.
“What if we just donate them to a charity shop?” he suggested.
“And let someone else suffer the curse?” Niall snorted in disbelief. “No, we need to take care of this the correct way.”
Harry pouted. “Just seems a waste of perfectly good fabric…”
“Harry, mate, the things are hideous. Who in their right mind would buy these even if they weren’t evil?”
Ouch . “I thought they were charming.”
Niall shook his head. “There’s something not right about you,” he muttered to himself. Just then, they heard the door to the flat open. Their eyes widened as they looked at each other.
“Louis!”
“Lou!”
They sprinted out of the room to retrieve him, hoping for his guidance on the trouser trouble. As they came into view, he had to do a double take at the two younger men running out of Harry’s room in just their pants.
“Having a little fun in there?” he asked, gesturing at their state of undress. Harry had the decency to flush at the realization, but Niall just barreled forward.
“Louis. Evil trousers. Come see,” he demanded, grabbing hold of his arm to drag him along. Louis let himself be led, a baffled look on his face, while Harry trailed behind. When they made it into the room, Niall glared at the bed. He nodded towards the source of their strife. Louis scoffed.
“Yeah, I can see the malice,” he said sarcastically. “They’re just radiating ill will.”
“You don’t understand,” Harry protested. “They tried to kill us.”
Niall nodded enthusiastically, “They’re tighter than shit, can’t even move or anything.”
Louis rolled his eyes, looking at the trousers skeptically. “Right, right.”
“He’ll never believe us unless he tries them on himself,” Niall said to Harry in a low tone.
“We can’t let him do that, my fingers can’t take prying them off someone again!”
“I’m right here, you know,” Louis interrupted. “You’re being ridiculous, they look enormous. I’d need a belt to keep them up!” He snatched them off the bed, leaving the room. The other men followed.
“Where are you going?” Harry asked.
“To the little boys’ room,” he called back over his shoulder. “Don’t fancy being your third, I’m not that kind of woman.”
…
The anticipation was killing Harry and Niall. They had their ears pressed against the bathroom door, waiting to hear the telltale fall when the trousers latched onto their prey. Neither dared to say anything. After a couple minutes of silence, the door opened, the two of them falling forward with it. They looked up and there stood Louis. Stood. Not on the ground. Harry triple checked to make sure he was indeed wearing the tartan terrors, mouth hung open in shock. Louis just rolled his eyes again, stepping over them as Niall began cursing in disbelief.
“They’re just a normal pair of skinnies, what are you two even on about?” he said, walking away. Harry and Niall exchanged a glance at the sight of his ass in the trousers. This explained so much.