"Which shirt looks better on me?" Christian questioned, holding up two similar looking button up dress shirts against his bare chest while looking in the mirror critically. "Does white make me look pale?"

Ste flopped back onto the unmade bed and groaned, "Dunno."

"Are you even looking?" Christian asked, his eyes narrowing at Ste's image in the mirror.

Aggravation shown plainly on Ste's face as he turned his eyes to look at Christian's mirror self; he weighed the options a moment before saying crisply, "Those shirts are exactly the same." He rolled over and closed his eyes, sighing heavily.

"They're not," Christian argued, turning around and holding one shirt up which had long sleeves that puffed out at the ends and a frilly pirate-style about it. "This one is white." He held up the other which was plain and ordinary with a larger collar for style, "THIS one," he stated seriously, "is off-white. A cream, if you will."

Ste groaned into his hands, shook his head and turned towards his band mate. "It's the same story, day after day, night after night. Just pick a bloody shirt and put it on."

Christian's eyebrow rose slightly as if he were daring Ste to say anything else, "Stephen. Honestly. I can't just PICK a shirt all willy-nilly and just put it on! Things need to be taken into account, irons need to be heated, BUTTONS need to be perfect." He turned back to the mirror and muttered to himself, "There is a perfect shirt for each occasion and I intend to find it each and every time."

"MARK!" Ste hollered so suddenly and so loudly that Christian jumped and dropped both shirts on the ground.

"STE!" Christian screeched, "Now I can't wear EITHER!" He picked them both up and tutted while sticking them in a dry cleaning bag and throwing that onto the ground by the door.

Muffled grumbling could be heard as footsteps approached from the room adjacent to theirs; Mark Berry wearing only a pair of tight jeans and white socks, stumbled over the dry cleaning bag and dropped onto the floor on his hands in knees in front of the bed. Ste, who was the only fully dressed member of the group in jeans and a taught black t-shirt, stifled a laugh.

Mark's eyes went up to glare at Ste while the rest of him untangled itself and stood up, "What the bloody hell did you yell at me for? I was napping."

"I am regretfully sorry, Marky," Christian sniffed, "Stephen saw fit to not only ruin your beauty sleep, but also ruin all my possible outfits for tonight. When he knows very well that it is a momentous occasion that cannot be taken lightly. Especially my attire. That is the most important bit." His lips curled up at the ends and finally his lips pulled into a smile as he laughed, "I'm sorry, I can't keep a straight face while saying that. Beauty sleep. HA HA!"

Ignoring the obvious jab, Mark turned towards Ste, his eyes narrowed dangerously, "What did you want me for?"

"I wanted you to tell Christian to pick a shirt," Ste explained, gesturing towards the bag at Mark's feet, "But I apparently startled him, you know how jumpy he is all the time_always thinking girls are going to jump through windows screaming his name while he's on the sixteenth floor of a hotel; then there was that one time where that waitress seated us in front of a large picture window at that restaurant and Christian was so frightened someone would jump through it to rip his shirt off, that he ripped it off himself and threw it out the front door. Oh, and remember when we went on TRL and he kept looking out the huge windows to make sure nobody had fastened themselves a rope to climb up to him? And he's always was worried walking down the street at home that a random girl would jump from the bushes, club him over the head and then drag him to a cave to have her way with him."

By the time Ste had finished with his dialogue, Mark was doubled over on the floor laughing so hard that tears were springing from his eyes. While he caught his breath, Christian stood over him with a `that is not funny' expression on his face.

Christian turned towards Ste while Mark got to his feet, "I'll have you know that all of those were completely just reasons_for whatever it is I did. And I think you went off on quite a tangent there, and I'd appreciate it if you got back on track."

Mark chuckled, "Yeah, Ste, what was the point of that whole thing?"

"Shirt. Christian," Ste replied gruffly, rolling off the bed and walking towards the other room. "I'll leave you to it, then." He nodded stoutly and pranced from the room with his chin held high.

"So, Marky," Christian began, his voice airy and breathy like a diva, "We must go through my entire wardrobe to find the perfect outfit for tonight."

Mark stared at him curiously, his forehead crinkled in thought, "Christian."

Christian smiled at him, "Yes, Mark."

Mark swallowed, wondering how to word what he wanted to say; he wanted to get the point across and give his band mate and friend good advice regarding the evening's clothes. He put an encouraging hand on Christian's shoulder and took a deep breath, ready to speak his mind.

"We're just going to McDonalds."

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