Perfect Teeth

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
Going 2 the bank is scary every1 is dressed so nice and they use fountain pens I am not adult enough 4 this

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
Cashier at Topshop: “are you that girl that tries to be funny on the internet but fails?” you got it, dude :/

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
Stay tuned for today’s segment: I Am Really Shitty At Grocery Shopping or Adventures in Whole Foods (AiWF)

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
AiWF: employee just described themselves as “plebian” to other employee. Is this what college does to YOU??

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
AiWF: “I had to google if swallowing semen was vegan” OMG REAL TALK FROM THE DUDES BEHIND ME IN LINE

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
AiWF: everyone in this store has so much more street cred than I do

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
Make it a point to stop starting your comments in class with “I’m sorry” do not apologize for being ur brill self

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
too fun and flirty for this environment

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
Ok ok I am stuck in traffic & have caught up with @arzE tweets u can ask me shit if you want #askezra

Holly Oakley@hollydontgolightly
have you ever met@arzE I feel like the Twitter would explode if you had you two should date sorry @Harry_Styles #askezra

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
@hollydontgolightly WE SO SHOULD CUZ THEN WE COULD BE EZRA^2 AND MATH JOKES

@hollydontgolightly but also no I admire @arzE from afar I’m sweatin’ just mentioning him on Twitter

Diana Fletes @dianayoungin
@ezracallil what’s your favorite breakfast food? #askezra

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
@angieugh rice krispies w/ enough sugar to take down a small child also CRONUTS bc ~cool

Edy @seedyedy
how’s the PR stunt with Harry Styles going #askezra

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
@seedyedy wonderfully there is so much public to relation w/ y’know?

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
@seedyedy but ALSO thanks for ur faith in our friendship bro it means a lot

Becs @fetusharrymakesmevom
Grimmy seems like an asshole is he #askezra

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
@fetusharrymakesmevom ain’t nobody fucking with my clique (clique) ((clique))

@fetusharrymakesmevom srsly tho Grimmy is genuine, loyal, hilarious all in all great dude 10/10 always recommend

Nicki @nickandnorahs
Are you still friends with Liam? Still kind of shipping Lezra. #askezra

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
@nickandnorahs we’re still pals! He’s the best!!!!


I was not surprised that Harry had a key to Nick’s house.

“’S convenient.” He shrugged as he unlocked the door, holding it open for me as he ushered us inside and out of the nippy London wind.

Walking through the threshold of Nick’s house, I was suddenly face to face with people, really attractive people, bodies lounging on his sectional and leaning against the kitchen island. They were all much more intimidating in the daylight than they were at the karaoke bar, no hazy lighting and smoke to cover up their incredibly expensive hair cuts and artfully disheveled clothing. The sight of Alexa Chung with her head tilted back in laughter, clutching the arm of Poppy Deleveigne, was enough to stop me short in my trek, the toes of Harry’s boots accidentally stepping on my ankles as he bumped into me.

Things I know about British socialites: generally stylish, fashion bloggers are a little bit obsessed, they date in circles almost incestually, and they always seem to be at music festivals. I am not well versed in the lives of British socialite royalty, mainly because I’m hardly well versed in the goings on of my own life, and even the prolonged amounts of time I have spent with Grimmy and Harry were the two of us, not surrounded by throngs of “famous” friends.

“Ezra!” Nick cried in delight from the kitchen, but everyone else’s attention was caught up in the boy standing behind me.

Harry’s name was exclaimed from the mouths of several people as he shut the door behind him, one large hand on the small of my back urging me forward, before people pounced. He didn’t even have time to take his coat off before he was engulfed in a sea of hugs, people bounding out of the kitchen and spilling out of the hallway to embrace him, excitedly asking him about tour and life and nodding and smiling. Harry’s entire face was overtaken by his smile, a beaming, toothy grin that set his dimple deep and made his eyes twinkle.

I stood next to him wide eyed, momentarily stunned by the crowd of people – there were at least fifteen of them – some of them faces I had seen before on the internet (or magazine covers, considering I had just purchased an issue of Nylon with Alexa Chung on the cover) or at Pixie’s birthday party – and some of them completely unfamiliar. They were all staring at Harry like he was the sun, smiles wide and bright, and it only took a few moments between their recognition of Harry that they would glance over at me curiously. Even the people I’d previously been introduced to – Pixie and Alexa and Daisy – had no look of recognition on their faces, presumably because last time we’d met was months ago and on a night that featured large amounts of alcohol. The only person who really stood out, besides Grimmy, who was still lounging in the kitchen, was Evie, who walked over to me with a smug smile on her face.

“Arriving to Harry Styles’ Welcome Back Dinner with Harry Styles,” she said as way of greeting, pulling me in for a hug. “Goddamn girl, you are good.”

“What?” I’m good at what? The only things I’ve accomplished so far this evening were walking through a door. I gave her a confused look.

“I see you at least three times a week and you never bothered to mention that you and Harry were still talking,” she continued, settling me with smug glance, before cracking a smile. “I mean, I already knew because of Grimmy, but something from you would’ve been nice.”

“Harry and I are friends.” I justified. “Friends talk.”

“Mhm.” She made a noncommittal noise and kept up with the smirk, looking pleased as punch at something that I didn’t really understand.

I stared at her blankly for a moment, trying to think of something else to say when a hand pressed to my side and Harry grabbed my attention. “Everyone, this is Ezra,” he announced just as I turned to face him. “Ezra, this is everyone.”

He made a sweeping gesture across the group in front of me, some still standing and other’s still sitting, and then proceeded to point and give names. The gesture was appreciated, but there was a Pixie and a Pearl and a Penny and differentiating wasn’t going to happen today.

We tried to flit from person to person, Harry ever the enthusiastic host, before he got into a conversation about American gas stations with a boy wearing tighter jeans then him – jeggings, again, were my speculation, or maybe latex and paint – and I ditched him to go lean against the kitchen island with Nick.

“I see he broke you fairly easily,” he observed, before grabbing a glass and setting it in front of me, nodding towards the assortment of alcohol.

“He was spam texting me with an adolescent smiley face.” I explained, grabbing for the open bottle of wine on the counter. “I felt like I didn’t really have many options. What’s this about being his Welcome Home dinner, though?”

Nick nodded and grabbed the bottle of wine back from me, pouring himself a glass and then offering it to Aimee (I had met her!) next to him. “Tradition dinner when he’s back from tour. Getting wasted on wine and cheap Chinese.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

“Mhm.” Nick was giving me a look over his glass, eyebrows raised over the rim of his wine glass as he took a sip, and that was just pretty much solidifying that he knew. I hadn’t told him, but I’m assuming that Harry had.

I shifted and took a deep breath. “Go on, then,” I encouraged, closing my eyes to gather a moment of strength. “Out with it.”

“What?” He had the audacity to feign innocence.

“Whatever you’re trying to convey with your raised brow, just say it.”

“Meh.” Nick shrugged. “I feel like the look really conveys it all.”

Which was just such an asshole thing to do, because that look could be interpreted in at least twenty different ways. Was he proud? Amused? Disappointed? Unlike every other person in my life, Nick had never made his viewpoints re: Hezra particularly clear. Even people I only vaguely knew, hadn’t talked to since high school or middle school or would barely even consider an acquaintance, had felt that they were entitled to voicing their thoughts.

But apparently not the dude’s best friend, someone who was solidly in the Top Five Important People in Harry Style’s Life (I tended to think of the band as one entity), was going to be forthcoming in his thoughts. I didn’t think I was actively looking for approval, but it might have been lingering on my subconscious somewhere.

“I’m going to ignore you and get drunk,” I informed him, taking a long swig of my wine and then quickly refilling my glass.

“You?” Nick raised an eyebrow. “Drunk? Surely not.”

“Gotta keep ‘em guessing somehow.” Also, there was no way I was going to make it through an entire party of Harry’s closest friends after it was spontaneously thrust upon me, especially not when a few of them were looking at me with a mix of speculation and disdain.

“Cheers to that.” He clinked his glass against mine.

Somehow, no matter where I start out at a party, I always end up spending prolonged amounts of time in the kitchen. Maybe it’s the close proximity to alcohol, maybe it’s because I have a thing for leaning on counters and trying to look cool, but it’s always where I end up. Nick had gone to chat, there were half eaten Chinese food containers littering his entire living room area, someone had pulled up a playlist and set it to lull, and there was the distinct smell of pot smoke wafting in from upstairs. So we were in party mode. And I was standing in a circle of people I hardly knew, sipping on my drink and trying to figure out if it was a better plan to listen quietly from the sidelines or attempt to join in on the conversation.

These were Harry’s (and Nick’s) friends and I think I wanted them to like me. I was the kind of snuggly warm you get from too many glasses of cheap, bitter red wine, mixed with the occasional shot of Fireball that left my mouth feeling tingly.

Pixie Geldof was talking about fashion, I think, or maybe a party, and then Daisy was laughing along with a girl named Hadley and they were standing across from a Brad and a Caleb and an Alex. Aimee was standing next to me, but she was texting, and in my nice, warm alcohol haze, I was thinking about how everyone standing in front of me probably spent way too much money on clothing that made them look homeless. I was digging it.

There was a lull in conversation, maybe, or it was an intentional topic change, but then Hadley (tall, gorgeous, blonde, wearing a tartan dress could’ve been either two pounds from a boot sale or eighty pounds from Topshop) turned to me with a smile and said, “So Harry said something about you making videos?”

It took me a second for me to realize that she was speaking to me (I was a little mesmerized by the pattern in Pixie’s leggings, because it was geometric and made your head hurt a little if you stared at them or too long) before the connection was made and I smiled and nodded, the same Professional Smile and Nod I had pretty much patented years ago, when adults and teachers would bring up the videos in a slightly patronizing way.

“I have a YouTube channel, yeah.” Smile. Nod. Take a sip of whisky, let the cinnamon go down smooth and then burn in the back of my throat while the group absorbed that information.

“What kind of videos do you make?” Brad (also tall, also skinny, also wearing acid wash jeans and a Slasher t-shirt) leaned forward as he asked, taking a swig of his beer. (It was chocolate cherry flavored Samuel Adams and I was so judging him.) “Like music or what?”

I let out a snort. “No, not music.” I shook my head quickly. “I have no musical talent at all. I just, like, talk about stuff, I guess. Sometimes I make videos of what I do in a day or do challenges or do funny things.” I shrugged.

Explaining YouTube is hard, because the majority of daily users use it for the occasional funny video and to rip music off of, but the actual community aspect of it is much different. I understood the trepidation and curiosity, though, because why would someone willingly watch me ramble for ten minutes about movies or things I like? Why would someone devote thirteen minutes of their life to watching me hold a camera in front of my face and walk through the London Underground on the way to school? Was I that interesting? Probably not. But connections were there with viewers, so they watched even when I was boring as hell.

“So you get paid to video tape yourself?” Hadley clarified, letting out a little guffaw of skepticism, except she sounded way posh and even her guffaw sounded classy.

“Sounds like porn.” Caleb (coif, glasses, cardigan buttoned all the way up) laughed.

“I feel like porn is probably less time consuming.” I replied, and I had to stop my eye from twitching in slight irritation.

“Really?” Caleb asked. “Don’t you just turn a camera on and film?”

“At the bare minimum, yeah.” I tried not to roll my eyes and just took a longer sip of my drink, settling into my Polite and Explaining Things voice. “But there’s video prep. And then after filming, if that doesn’t need location or multiple shots, there’s editing, then exporting and compressing and uploading and then adding in links and then advertising.”

“Seriously? That much for like, a five minute video?” From Caleb.

“Seriously.” I nodded. “That much.”

“How many hours do you work a day?” Hadley still didn’t look impressed.

“Just on my YouTube channel? Probably at least three. But I film with other channels too. And then there’s school.”

“You’re super busy.” Pixie observed. “That’s how you met Harry, right? I think he said something about an interview.”

And there it was. Yes, let’s chat about Harry. I’d been getting the side eye from Hadley all night, so I presumed that it was going to come up sometime or another.

Aimee glanced up from her phone and raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah.” I let out a breath. “One of the channels I work for snagged an interview.”

“And it was just like, instant friendship, or what?”

“We kept running into other.” I clarified.

“Really?” Hadley drawled. “Cool.”

She didn’t sound like she thought it was cool.

“And you guys have been friends since then?”

“We have, yeah.” I concurred.

“And you talked when he was in Australia? Movies, was it?”

Jesus, how much did he tell these people? Was it common knowledge?

“We had film nights, yeah. The kid’s sorely lacking in his film education.”
“That’s cool.” She dragged the word out between her teeth.

Mhm.

“Is YouTube like your real job then? Do you make money or---?” This was also from Caleb, who, unlike Hadley, looked mildly interested and curious.

“Um. Yeah. I get paid.” I shifted.

“Well?” Hadley prompted.

“Well enough.” I shrug. “I’m not complaining.”

“So you’re pretty busy.”

“Yes.”

“And Harry’s pretty busy.”

“Yes.”

“So how does that work?” Before I got a chance to answer, Pixie chimed in. “You know Harry’s really busy, right? Like, his life is hectic.”

“I’m aware.” I nodded. Another sip of my drink. I was wondering if I was being paranoid or if there really was that much passive aggressive warning in her statement.

“Just making sure you know.” Pixie hummed out a sound and took a sip of her drink. “The kid’s got a lot on his plate. Throw a relationship into the mix and I don’t know how anyone can handle it.”

“We’re friends.” I tried to shrug and look innocent and nonchalant all at the same time, but I probably only looked mildly panicked.

Friends - it was the only thing I had to say in response.

“Mkay.” She didn’t sound convinced. No one sounded convinced, and now maybe there was tension or maybe I was imaging it. I suddenly didn’t want to be in the kitchen anymore.

I grabbed the bottle in front of me and poured a generous amount into my cup, barely even screwing the cap back on before I was bringing it back up to my lips. I spent a moment staring into the plastic, blowing air out between my lips.

The conversation lulled again and the warning was received loud and clear.

I could appreciate their protectiveness. Harry deserved that type of unconditional friendship, but a part of me was prickling in jealousy and possessiveness. I was having the hazy thought that Harry was my person, that I somehow had some type of claim on him now that’d we had sex.

“C’mon,” Aimee grabbed her cup and nudged her head towards the living room. “Let’s go sit and make fun of Nick’s drunk ass.”



“Oh, I love that movie!” My eyes widened in excitement and I leaned forward. “Did you know that it’s based off of a short story written by the director’s brother? It’s fantastic.”

One of Nick’s radio friends had referenced Memento in the conversation they were having about drunken, hazy memories and I was instantly excited.

A few people looked taken aback by my outburst, but I couldn’t be bothered. Films! We were talking about films! This was an area of interest I could join in with! Even in my slightly (okay like really) intoxicated state, I was always down to talk about movies. They’d been reminiscing Ibiza and other trips minutes ago, a topic I really had no way of intervening on, but movies I could do.

“She gets really excited about movies,” Harry explained, resting comfortably beside me. “Like really excited.”

“Love me some movies.” I smiled widely.

“Taught me everything I know.” Harry added with a nod, another slow smile creeping on his face as he turned his droopy eyes onto me. It was later, all of the Chinese food was gone, we were definitively drunk. The crowd had thinned.

“Least you’ve seen Fight Club. I dunno if I can be friends with people who haven’t seen Fight Club.”

We were descending into a weird road of communication, everyone’s words heavy and slurred because of the alcohol, but there were frequent bursts of laughter and too many side conversations to keep up with.

Alexa was recounting the story of something funny but slightly embarrassing happening at Glastonbury, Nick and Pixie adding in commentary along the way, and I was nodding and smiling and laughing.

I’d never been to Glastonbury, so I didn’t have much to contribute, but hearing them laugh and talk was fun. They were phishing tour stories out of Harry, waiting patiently and then laughing as he took actual minutes off my life retelling the pranking at the end of Australia.

We were slumping deeper into the couch as the group dwindled down. Both of my legs were pulled over Harry’s lap, my back resting against the arm of the sofa. I was kind of drifting in and out, all of the alcohol finally hitting me as I sat in a content haze.

I was glad that Harry had the friends that he did. They seemed nice. Slightly pretentious and maybe that was just because I didn’t understand the entire scene, but they seemed like the type of folks to support him in whatever he did, One Direction or otherwise. He needed that.

I was thinking that I wanted to be one of those people, too, one of the ones to support him in whatever he did. I wanted to be around during One Direction and after. I just wanted to be around him.

Because he was warm and charming and stupidly funny. His mouth always tasted like peppermint gum and once he smiled so wide and bright I thought maybe if you could bottle that kind of energy, you could light villages with it. Because his flannel shirts were soft against my skin and I really liked running my hands through his stupid Beethoven hair.

And we weren’t dating and all I could think about as I sat on the couch, legs in his lap and his fingers tracing small circles on my calves through the fabric of my jeans, was that I wanted to date him so bad.

Which wasn’t even fair at all.

Suddenly Harry’s hands were pressing harder into my calves, tickling upwards to my thighs and I shot forward with a laugh, mouth falling open as I giggled.

“Stop, stop!” I bat his hands away and sat up slightly, noticing that the group of people previously sat across from us on the sectional had moved to the kitchen. We were alone in the living room, Nick’s electronic fireplace lighting us in an orange glow that might’ve been romantic is we weren’t surrounded by Chinese food containers and empty beer bottles.

“You have the goofiest smile.” Harry exhaled as he stopped tickling me, leaning over to press a kiss to my jaw.

I stopped laughing and narrowed my eyes at him, lips instantly closing to sheath around my front teeth. “Thanks, asshole.”

His eyes widened. “No, it’s perfect!” He backtracked, leaning up on his knees to become level with me.

Both of his hands moved to cradle my jaw. I tried to back away, eyes flickering to the small group of people standing in the kitchen, but Harry paid them no mind.

“It’s perfect,” he drawled, leaving a light kiss to my bottom lip. I stopped wiggling. “Perfect lips.” Kiss. “Perfect smile.” Nibble. “Perfect tongue.” A deeper kiss, caress of tongues, that had me shifting my legs off of his lap and tucking them underneath me, reaching up for him. “Perfect teeth.”

“The first thing I noticed about you was how happy you look when you smile.” I confessed, slightly breathless from his insistent mouth as we pulled away. I was conscious of our audience, Nick and Pixie and Daisy and Alexa still in the kitchen. They didn’t look particularly interested in us, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t.

“Me too.” Harry grinned. “You just…god you were all breathless and rushed and then you smiled and it made me stop and appreciate you.”

“You can’t say shit like that.” I said, closing my eyes for a moment. “It does shit to me.”

“Isn’t it supposed to?” His mouth moved to mine.

“But you’re drunk.” I protested.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.” He murmured against my lips.

“You. Drunk. No control over your facilities.”

“Like you’re much better.”

“But I can say the word facilities.”

“Mmm.” He pressed his mouth harder to mine then, successfully shutting me up, and even though I knew it was really tacky to start making out with him in the living room of his best mate’s house, with a fair few of his best mates right there, I couldn’t exactly stop him.

Kissing Harry washed away the uncomfortable feelings that had been lingering since my conversation in the kitchen with Pixie and crew. I appreciated their concern about me, because it hopefully meant that they genuinely liked Harry, but I wasn’t convinced that I had won them over. I also had the feeling that they’d had this conversation with more than one girl, if the slightly knowing and sardonic looks had been any give away, and evidently none of them had lasted. I wondered why exactly that was. Harry was a goddamn catch, but I didn’t want to linger on the downfalls of his previous relationships.

I pulled away from him slowly, and with much resistance, but I was finally able to remove my lips from his.

He let out a small groan and opened his eyes slowly. “Come back. I’m not done.”

I shook my head. “We’re at Nick’s.”

He nodded and leaned forward.

I pressed a hand to his lips, stopping him. “No hanky panky at Nick’s.”

“What? Why? At all?”

“They’re right over there!”

“They’re not paying attention.”

“Do you really want to be that guy?”

“But I want to kiss you.”

“Use your imagination.”

“I spent months using my imagination. Real thing in front of me. C’mere.”

“Nope.” I pressed against his shoulder and then sat up from the couch quickly, stumbling slightly as the alcohol hit my brain. “Not here.”

“K.” Harry nodded. “Let’s go.”

“You have no house.” I pointed out.

“There’s a sofa inside of it. Your flat. Hotel. Back aisles of Tesco’s. Just gimme.”

“Aren’t you staying here?” I vaguely remembered hearing in passing about Harry staying here.

“I’ll go wherever you go.” He replied easily, and it was shit like that that really did me in. My heart fluttered a little, my stomach drooping, and I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath.

Stay strong, Ezra. Stay strong.

The idea of spending another night with Harry was incredibly appealing, but everything felt hazy and muddy and the drunken vibes were giving me thoughts I didn’t want to be thinking with Harry around.

“I should probably call a cab.” I said to Harry, but it was apparently loud enough for Nick to hear because he was replying to me in the kitchen.

“Just stay here.” He said, words slightly slurred and eyes heavy. He was getting in the tired portion of his drunk phase.

I think everyone was in the tired part of their drunk phrase.

I shook my head, but Harry was standing up and pulling on my arm. “Brilliant idea. Bed. Go. Let’s.”

“I should go home.”

“It’s late.”

“Exactly.”

“Go home in the morning. Go home never.”

“But if you don’t have a home and I don’t have a home, what do we do when we wanna frick frack?”

“Ummmmm.” Harry took a long pause. “I have a car.”

“You can do better than that.”

“Room here.” He tugged at my hand. “Bed. Warm. Gooooo.”

His literacy at the level of a toddler was really astounding, but I wasn’t much better. I wanted to protest, but Harry was continuing to pull on my hand and I just continued to stumble after him. Nick shot us a smirk as we stumbled up the stairs, but I ignored him and tried not to trip up the stairs after Harry.

I still wasn’t convinced that I should stay here, but it was late and I was tired and Harry warm.

He guided us to the last bedroom on the left of the hallway, opening the door to reveal what was probably once a simple guest bedroom, but had been transformed to Harry’s crashing pad. His duffel bag was open in the corner, a stack of magazines and a journal on the end table next to a water bottle, and the grey sheets on the bed were untucked and messy.

He let go of my hand to take off of his shoes and I followed suit, toeing off my boots and shrugging out of my sweater, both falling to the floor down by the dresser.

“Bed.” He pointed. “Now.”

“Bossy boss man.” I wrinkled my nose at him but walked towards the bed anyway, falling into the right side as Harry took his respective left. He was tugging off his jeans as he sat on the bed, grunting as he shifted his hips to pull them completely down.

“I keep telling you, jeggings.” I said as I reclined back on the pillows, eyes fluttering. “Same tightness, so much easier.”

“Do they make them for men?” He asked, finally wrangling out of his jeans.

“I’m sure if you asked.” I hummed.

“Hey hey,” Harry poked my in the side. “No sleep. Up. Kiss.”

I ignored him and sighed into the soft mattress. “How’s Liam?” I asked suddenly, as the thought popped into my head, remembering a Twitter mention from yesterday.

“Liam?”

“Haven’t seen him since you’ve been back.”

“Huh.” Harry let out a noncommittal noise.

I shrugged. “We’re friends. Maybe I’ll call him. Get coffee or something.”

“Maybe.” Harry shifted in the bed, arm reaching out for me. “Too far.”

“Not moving.” I shook my head. “You c’mere.”

He let out a grunt of discomfort, but closed the space between us. We hadn’t even bothered to turn the light on, the open window staring out onto Primrose Hill giving us enough light to guide us into the room. I was resting comfortably against Harry, drifting pleasantly to sleep, even through the shrill laughter from downstairs, and his breath was evening out underneath me.

We were too drunk and tired to have sex, settling for haphazard cuddling, and it felt really nice and warm and comfortable and god all I think I wanted was for him to be my boyfriend.