Perfect Teeth

“I want a cronut.” It was just a passing thought, something that rolled off my tongue before I was really thinking about talking at all, but Harry heard me and looked down, eyes meeting mine from where I settled into the crook of his neck. He was warm and cuddly and probably we should’ve left the coach and gone up to my room, because it was half passed two and I was still in a food coma and emotionally spent and probably going to pass out soon, but Harry was warm. And moving is hard. And Harry warm.

“A what?” He repeated, eyebrow raised in question.

“Cronut.” I repeated. “Mm. I wonder what the flavor this month is.”

I’d had a cronut one time before, back in July when I was in the city for a few meetings. My father and I liked to consider ourselves amateur food connoisseurs – really we were just enthusiastic about all things food related, and he had come up with me that weekend specifically so we could get cronuts together. I’d been out late filming the night before and slept through the alarm, but my dad got up anyway and waited in line, trekking back to the hotel with a box of two blackberry lime cronuts in hand.

“I don’t –“ Harry struggled for a moment, looking at me like he was trying to figure out if I was crazy or not, before continuing. “I don’t know what that is?”

I closed my eyes in faux exasperation. “Can’t even keep up with your donut terminology.” I muttered in disappointment under my breath. “Why do I even bother?”

“Orgasms.” Harry deadpanned. “Orgasms are why you bother.”

“Oh yeah. That. Definitely can’t be your shining personality.”

“And I put up with you because you’re so stunningly polite.”

I jabbed him in the ribs and he responded by kissing my forehead. “A cronut is like this strangely delicious croissant-donut hybrid. There’s this guy in New York City who makes them and they only make one flavor each month and they’re like five bucks each and sell out really fast.”

“How does one mix a croissant and a donut?” Harry pondered. “Is it like cross breeding? How does that work?”

I let out a snort. “Yes, Harry. He makes them mate. There’s icing everywhere when they’ve finished.”

“Sounds familiar.” He hummed, a smug grin taking over his face.

“Oh Jesus fuck,” I cursed, closing my eyes in both exasperation and embarrassment. He was generally pretty sassy, but he’d been exceptionally fierce tonight, making lewd comments when my parents were out of the room and coming up with more innuendo then entirely necessary. While most of them were bad and cringe worthy (I was still laughing) some of them were actually pretty funny. “You are – I don’t even know right now, but I am so done.”

Harry sniggered into my hair. “I am your favorite person.”

“I can take that back whenever, I’ll have you know.”

“Are you going to take back wanting to date me too?”

“Depends on how much of an ass you are. We’re in a trial period right now. Thirty day money back guarantee and all that.”

“And how much money do you reckon you’ll get?”

“At least ten quid, I’m hoping.”

“I’ll have to tell Fred that all the stuff he’s spouting about my financial worth is shite and according to my girlfriend I’m only worth ten quid.”

“Fred?”

“Financial advisor.”

“Ah.” I nodded knowingly, patting him on the stomach comfortingly. “We’re all lied to at some time or another.”

Harry ignored that. “We should go get cronuts.” He suggested.

“Right now? It’s half past midnight. And they’re in New York.”

“We could drive – or I could call a car. If you want a cronut, let’s go get them. How long is the drive to New York anyway?”

I squinted my eyes as I thought. “Like two hours – maybe a little longer depending on traffic.”

Harry shrugged and shook his head. “That’s not bad.”

“It’s Black Friday.” I reminded, already trying to figure out if New York City tonight (this morning?) was something that we could really make happen.

“And?” He asked.

“Lots of people?”

Harry didn’t seem bothered by the notion of crowds. I figured it was something he was used to, but large groups of people were usually a deterrent for me. “Do you have a car here? Could we use your parents? Or should I call someone?”

“You really want to go to New York?” He was looking down at me hopefully, eyes widened and bright in excitement (I had come to realize this was hit plotting face) and I knew that I was already going to agree.

“Yeah.” Harry nodded, smiling enthusiastically. “I’m wired from all of the time changes anyway. I’ll drive.”

“We can use my mom’s car. I’ll have to leave her a note.”

Both of my parents had gone to bed a little after ten, because my mother had to work in the morning and they both claimed old age and exhaustion, and Harry and I had spent the last few hours watching episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on the couch.

“Let’s go then.” Harry tapped two of his fingers against my bum in encouragement as I lifted myself off of him. “Go get dressed—“ I’d ditched the dress and tights for sweatpants hours ago. “—and then we’ll go get cronuts.”



Driving Harry might have been the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. He was concentrated on the road, chewing lazily on a piece of gum, and one of his hands was resting on the wheel. Going through town, the roads had been pretty crowded, but the highways were mostly empty as we drove through Connecticut and into New York. Harry’d plugged his phone into the auxiliary cord in my mom’s car and we were shuffling through his selected music (there were a few indie bands I didn’t know, a lot of The Vaccines, and quite a few slow jam, bump ‘n grind R&B tracks) and he was softly singing along to an Arctic Monkeys song as we drove.

I was supposed to be napping, because I’d gotten shit sleep last night, but I was distracted by Harry. The sharp line of his jaw and the way his mouth moved when he chewed and sang – it was all getting to me and also making me realize like dude, he was my boyfriend. My partner. My romantic entanglement.

Nothing felt like it had changed, but it had.

There had been a little bit (okay maybe a lot) of celebratory kissing before my parents came back, and then a very competitive game of Callil Family Scrabble played. My mom seemed to be able to tell that something had changed between Harry and I – I wasn’t shifting away from him or stuffing my face with copious amounts of food as to not talk to him – and she’d given me a quick hug and a knowing smile before they’d both gone to bed. The time Harry and I had alone together was spent making out on the couch and watching TV and making stupid jokes and insulting each other. So really, nothing changed. Mostly, everything felt the same.

Except now he was my boyfriend, and I was thinking that that was kind of pretty fucking cool.

“What’re you looking at?” Harry asked, looking over at me. I wasn’t very discreet about my staring.

There were a lot of things I could’ve said – your stupid face, Beethoven curls, the spot of bird shit on the driver’s side window, but instead I blurted out, “You are kind of really attractive when you drive.”

Harry’s grin only seemed to expand. “You think so?”

“Don’t let it go to your ego, but yeah.” I conceded, already watching as his smile widened and his eyes lit up. He was humble most of the time, but sometimes he had little ego trips that I couldn’t even get annoyed with, because they were kind of adorable. (And maybe a little sexy. Maybe.)

“I’m just glad to know that you find me attractive.” He said innocently. “Now that you’re my girlfriend and all.” We both seemed to make a little bit of a face at the word, Harry letting the syllables roll around on his tongue for longer than normal.

“Testing the word out?” I couldn’t blame him. I’d been calling him my boyfriend in my head for the past few hours, but I hadn’t gathered the nerve to mutter it out loud.

There was a moment when he hesitated and I could tell he was debating whether or not to bring something up. Finally, he spoke.

“I haven’t had a girlfriend in a while. I’m – I don’t know if I’m going to be good at it.”

“At what? A relationship?” I was trying to gauge where exactly he was going with this.

“Yeah, I guess.” He shrugged. “Nothing really serious now that things with the band are – well, how things are.”

He never talked about the level of fame – never really seemed to bring up exactly how huge all things One Direction were, but sometimes it was like the words were sitting under the surface of everything he said. The level of fame and celebrity was always going to be in certain things. He never said it, but the knowledge was always there – the world was obsessed with him.

“I mean,” I started casually. “I think you’re doing a pretty good job of it so far, for past few hours and all.”

Harry didn’t seem particularly comforted by that. “We’ve played scrabble and sat on the couch. It takes a lot to mess that up.”

“We made out, too. Don’t forget the making out.”

“Ah, yes.” Harry nodded in understanding. “That’s vital.”

“Damn straight.” I was attempting to lighten the mood, maybe add a few jabs of humor here and there, but he still had that vaguely uncomfortable, tense look on his face. Maybe driving on the highway at three in the morning was prime intense conversation time.

“I just – things are different since the last time I was in a relationship.” He continued, and spared me a brief glance before refocusing all of his attention on the road. “I’m probably going to mess up. And I’m probably going to need you to tell me when I do.”

“I’m probably going to mess up too.” I admitted, tucking myself into the corner of the seat as I turned to face him. I needed to be able to gauge his reaction with things, because a lot of how Harry felt sometimes was never overt, never outwardly said, but always conveyed in his body language or facial expressions. “I talk a lot of shit sometimes and I don’t mean to and I don’t always listen and I’m stubborn as hell. Neither of us are perfect.

“It’s not just me, though.” Harry ran a hand across the side of his face, a signal of stress, and he seemed at a loss for words for a moment. “There’s – there’s media and people and I just don’t want that to ruin things. Sometimes it’s gonna suck and people are going to be rude.”

“I know.”

“But do you?” He asked, glancing over once again as his eyes flickered over my face. He was searching for something – maybe a crack in my composure, a bit of anxiety towards the entire thing, but I was feeling calm.

“I think so. You know we’re both going to mess up, right? Like there’s gonna be problems regardless.”

Harry’s brought his bottom lip into his mouth, sucking on it in thought, but I didn’t give him a chance to respond.

“Neither of us are perfect. I’ve never dated someone like you and you’ve ever dated someone like me and that’s fine. That’s good, actually. So we’re gonna mess up. It’s not a big deal. It doesn’t have to be a big deal, if we don’t let it.” I was trying to reassure him more than I was trying to reassure myself, I thought. I had reconciled all of these emotions last night – the doubts and the inevitable problems that came along with dating him, and for a moment, during what I thought was inevitable rejection, I had felt relief in knowing that I probably wouldn’t have to deal with any of it, but I also knew that I would deal with it, given the chance. Now the chance was in front of me and I wasn’t going to let preemptive anxiety ruin it.

“I don’t want it to be a press thing yet.” He confessed and his tone was full of trepidation, like he thought I might take offense to that. “It gets scary fast.”

“Agreed.” I nodded, because I knew that he was right there. When it came to the public and the media, he knew more than I did. I had thoughts and theories about our relationship being made public knowledge, but it was too complicated to deal with now. Not when we were just figuring things out. “Let’s just – simple, yeah? Let’s keep it simple.”

“Okay, yeah. Simple.” He reached over and grabbed one of my hands, entwining it with his and bringing it up to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the smooth skin. “We can do simple.”

“Now we need new tunes.” I said, just so I could say something and not deal with the fluttery emotions that a kiss to the hand brought on. “Because we need some dancing music. And I need to convince you that I am the most ideal road tripping companion ever.”

I think my air-xylophoning and rapping convinced him.



There were logistical things I hadn’t really thought of about our impromptu New York trip, like parking or what we were going to do in between the time we arrived and when the bakery opened and how long were we going to stay. I’d grabbed my bag, my camera, and my jacket and stumbled into the car without thinking. Then we’d gotten into Deep Conversation and then we’d moved on to Sing A Long and now we were driving into Manhattan and I had no idea where we were going. It was a half past four in the morning, but the city was lit up with apartment windows and streetlights.

“What’re we gonna do now?” I asked Harry as we crossed over the bridge and onto the island.

His scrunched up his face in contemplation. “You hungry?”

I hummed in thought. “Not particularly, but I could always eat. Or go for a cup of tea?”

Harry seemed to like the sound of that, letting out a noise in agreement. “Nothing like a good cuppa at half past four in the morning.” He mused. “Do you wanna Google map an open Starbucks or should we just drive around and wing it?”

“Considering this entire trip has been pretty spontaneous, I say we just drive around and wing it.”

“Oh, I just thought of someplace where we could go,” said Harry after a moment of silence, flicking on the blinker and getting into the exit ramp lane.

“Wait, where?” I asked. “Are there many places open right now?”

“Don’t worry about it.” He sent me a wink and a smile. “It’s gonna be a surprise.”

Harry ended up parking the car in an open parking garage, which didn’t exactly tell me much about where we were location wise. I was familiar enough with New York during the daytime, but nighttime left me without many familiar monuments and I was crap at remembering street signs. Harry navigated us to a twenty-four hour Starbucks and ordered both of us teas, before he was leading me down some dimly lit Manhattan blocks. Maybe if I was more awake I would’ve noticed, but I was basking in the comfort of Harry and I’s silence as we meandered along and I didn’t realize we were coming up to the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art until we were already standing in front of the steps. It was lit up enough, but there weren’t many people out and about for it to be a problem. A couple people walked past and took a second glance at Harry, but it wasn’t the right time for recognizing. For this I was grateful.

Before I could remark anything at all at his choice of venue for our tea drinking, Harry started climbing the steps, taking them two at a time, my trailing behind him by our joined hands, and then he sat down in the exact Blair Waldorf spot on the stairs. I started laughing immediately, thinking that he really needed one of his headbands to complete the look, and moved to take a seat down next to him, sitting far enough back that I could curl my legs underneath me. Probably getting dirt and disgusting New York City grime on my nice jeans, but it was too nice of a moment to care. There was a security guard standing at the top of the stairs, next to the entrance, but he didn’t seem to mind that we were just sitting on the concrete and enjoying the view.

“I love New York City.” Harry exhaled as we both properly settled down. Both of my hands were cupped around my beverage for warmth and I took a sip of the tea – earl grey, with creamer and a little bit of sugar – as Harry looked around the city in amazement.

“More than London?” I asked as I swallowed. It wasn’t the best cup of tea that I’d ever had – that was reserved for the little café in Primrose, but for Starbucks standards, it really wasn’t that bad.

“Sometimes, maybe.” He nodded in thought, letting out a contemplative noise, before following my lead and taking a sip of his own drink.

“Why?” I prompted when he didn’t explain. Just sitting and talking with Harry was probably my favorite activity. The sex was pretty great – okay, the sex was brilliant – but just chatting with him filled me with a sense of ease and warmth unlike anything else.

“New York’s just…more relaxed.” He explained. “Which sounds kind of mental because it’s more busy, but people don’t care as much.”

“Is it the anonymous factor?” I guessed. “Feeling like you stand out less in a sea of people?”

“What’d you mean?”

“Like there are so many people that you can get away with blending in a bit more.”

“Maybe.” He conceded, not sounding entirely sure. “Like I can take the Subway in New York and it’s less of a problem than if I were to take the Tube in London. And even driving in LA is just hectic.”

“What do you do when it gets exhausting?” I didn’t have to say more for Harry to know exactly what it meant.

Sometimes I thought it was exhausting being me, but his life was something that I didn’t know that I could handle. At least I stressed myself out on my own accord, but so many of the stressors in his life were things that he couldn’t exactly have control over – press and paparazzi and management issues. I projected myself under a microscope on the internet, but his audience was much larger and much more scrutinizing. He could never completely please everyone.

“Hide.” He answered honestly, with a bit of a laugh that was less humorous and more dry than anything else. “Spend a few days not going anywhere. Surround myself with people who don’t care about any of the other stuff. When it gets really bad, I go home, because no one cares there. Like with my mum and Gemma, I’m always just straight Harry with them and I need that.”

I nodded to show him that I emphasized, as much as I could, really. I could understand it in my head, even go as far as to imagine the emotions, but I would never really get it the way that he did. “Does it get overwhelming often?”

His tongue swept out to dampen his lower lip as he spoke. “It’s not so bad when we’re on tour, because then I’m in Work Mode. I’m in that mindset. I think it’s different when we’ve got time off, because everything will be normal and I’ll go out to go buy something, not thinking, and then when I come out of a store there’s paparazzi and crowds of people. I don’t get it. I’m not interesting.”

“You’re charming.” I negated, shaking my head at his slightly self-deprecating attitude. “And plenty interesting.”

“I’m glad you think so.” He nudged me on the shoulder and I nudged him back. “But really, I’m quite simple. I’m a lad in a band. I sing and I go out with my friends. It’s not like I’m saving the world or anything. They could be writing news stories about people saving lives or changing the world, but instead it’s just another article on where I went out the night before. It makes me feel guilty.”

“You can’t control what the media covers, Harry. It doesn’t work like that. You’re just doing what the people want.”

“Yeah, for now. I figure they’ll find our how boring I am one of these days.” He chuckled, but it was lacking certain lightness. “If anything, they’ll just keep trying to excavate parts of me until there’s nothing left.”

I let out a shuddering breath as that hit me, shoulders dropping as I tried to figure out how to respond. Harry was tense beside me, looking off into the street and somewhere else entirely in his head.

There were things I could’ve said – something philosophical, maybe, or something a bit more comforting, but it all would’ve felt too false. Instead, I nudged my head onto his shoulder and clasped his hand in mine, rubbing my thumb along the cross tattoo in some gesture of comfort and reassurance.

“Sorry,” he murmured out quietly. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Shh.” I shook my head, but it didn’t have much of an affect on his shoulder. “Don’t. I’m sorry for asking a bunch of questions.”

“You can ask me whatever you want, Ezra.” Harry smiled, and it was a bit sad but less so than it had been a few minutes previously. “I’m pretty sure that’s in the realm of girlfriend things.”

“I know sometimes I talk a lot and it’s mostly all jokes, but I’m interested in other stuff too, y’know? I just like talking with you. And you can tell me anything you want.”

“I know that.” Harry acknowledged, and then he rearranged our hands so one of his arms could wrap around my waist, tucking my head into the crook of his shoulder. I had a brief thought that maybe we shouldn’t be this close to each other in public, but one of his hands was smoothing along my waist underneath my coat and I didn’t really care.

We lapsed into a comfortable silence, pressed against each other on the steps as we watched the late night taxis drive by, and even though there was nothing verbally said between us, it felt like something deeper was conveyed. The spaces in the silence between us were filled with things I wasn’t quite ready to say out loud, but that I was feeling.

Moments passed, both of us finishing off our teas, before Harry checked the time on his watch. “We should go find that bakery now.” He finally said, standing up and tugging me up with him.



It was Black Friday in New York City, but we were lucky because SoHo really wasn’t all that packed. There were small crowds of people moving along the sidewalk and a few more taxi cabs than on a normal Friday seven a.m., but ultimately, it wasn’t too bad. When we circled around to find the bakery, there was already a queue starting outside the door – a cluster of fashionably dressed women with their Nikon’s, documenting the experience. I suspected Mommy Blog crowd.

“We don’t have to wait in line if you don’t want to,” I told Harry as I eyed the line. It was only about ten people deep, but there was at least an hour left before the bakery opened and it was November in New York. The air wasn’t the most brisk temperature I’d ever experienced, especially after dealing with London, but it wasn’t particularly pleasant.

“You said they sell out fast, didn’t you?”

“Sometimes. Depends on the flavor, I think.”

“Then we best wait in line.” With that, he began to very impressively parallel against the sidewalk, flicking his head back and forth as he checked his mirrors and the distance between the cars behind him. I focused on the way his jaw ticked in conversation, eyes still bright but dimmer than before our Metropolitan Museum Tell All. I knew that he meant it, but probably didn’t want to talk about the emotions, so I let it be.

“C’mon,” Harry said, locking up the car and jerking his head towards the bakery. “Let’s go be overly enthusiastic about baked goods.”

“I think they’re fried too,” I added. “And I’m always overly enthusiastic about baked goods, I’ll have you know.”

“True,” in a move that could only really be possible in early morning New York City, Harry linked my hand with his. “I’ve seen you eat four croissants in one sitting. It was impressive.”

“Croissants are practically all air, that’s not impressive. My first year of college, I ate a stack of eight waffles in one sitting. With syrup and whipped cream. It might be my crowning achievement to date.”

“Real waffles or the silly toaster pop-up ones?”

“Real waffles.” I answered. “Though there is a certain beauty to the Eggo Waffle. Maybe it’s the simplicity. Or the ease.”

“Yes, there is true beauty in a processed, frozen imitation waffle. How could I ever not see it before?” His sarcasm level was high.

“You were blind to the beauty that is frozen breakfast food. Soon you’ll realize the true masterpiece that is the Jimmy Dean’s Breakfast Sandwich. Don’t worry. I’ll educate you. I’ve got you, boo.”

“Boo?” Harry repeated incredulously. “Boo?”

“Shh.” I shook my head at him quickly, pressing my fingers over his lips as we took our rightful place in line. “Just go with it.”

Harry started to laugh, lips vibrating underneath the pads of my fingers. I moved my hand over as his smile emerged, poking the dimple on his face before flicking his nose. He scrunched up his face at me, lip snarling back, and then winked. We both snorted.

“I think sleep delirium is setting in.” I observed, shaking my head at the both of us.

“I told you to sleep in the car.” Harry chastised. “But noooo. Don’t listen to Harry. It’s not like he knows anything at all.”

“I wasn’t really tired in the car.” I complained. “It’s been like, four hours. I’m tired now. And cold. And maybe reevaluating if the cronut is worth it.”

“We’re getting cronuts.” Harry said sternly. “I don’t care if you go sleep in the car while I wait in line, I am not leaving New York until I eat one.”

I made a face, shoulders slumping a little I untangled my hand from Harry’s and wrapped my arm closer to my torso. He pulled us around, so I was standing next to the building and he was on the outside, blocking out the wind.

We spent seven minutes standing in line making idle chit chat before Harry complained that he was bored. Thirty seconds after that he was pulling his phone out of his front pocket, and then maybe ten seconds after that he was tapping at the screen, another stupid smile on his face.

And then he started reading past jokes from his Joke of the Day app, interjecting every few jokes to make his own dirtier version of whatever joke he’d just told, accompanying eyebrow leers at all.

I listened to him mostly because I was polite. They were the kind of mass produced jokes that you found on popsicle sticks and lollipop wrappers, but Harry seemed to genuinely find something comedic in each and every one, the smile on his face was so wide. I chuckled along with him, laughing more at how freaking adorable he was sometimes than the actual jokes, and we were a good few pages back in the joke dialogue before one of the women in front of us turned around.

She had been taking a few peeks back every few minutes, eyebrows searching between Harry and I, but I had been trying not to pay her any mind. She was younger than most of the other women she was with – maybe early to mid twenties, tops. The line behind us had been growing pretty fast, the East Village bustling to life as the sun rose and the morning traffic started. Harry looked simple enough – black jeans, boots, a grey t-shirt under a flannel and his spiffy looking black jacket – but his hair was still completely recognizable, thick and curling up around his head. I was hoping that we’d be able to get the cronuts and go before he started a mob or a riot, but maybe that was wishful thinking.

“Are you Harry Styles?” The woman finally asked, looking at Harry with a slight quirk to her head.

Harry looked up from his phone and smiled. It wasn’t the same silly, laughing grin he’d been sporting for the past fifteen minutes, but something a little more structured, a little more secure and guarded. “I am, yeah.” He replied, grin full force. “Nice to meet you.”

The woman’s face lit up, her hesitation vanishing as she smiled. “I recognized you from the poster’s on my niece’s wall.” She said. “She’s practically in love with you.”

“How old is she?” Harry asked politely, and then he pocketed his phone and leaned forward a little, eyes completely engaged with the woman as they conversed.

And that was what it was, really – why the entire world was obsessed with him. Because it was seven thirty in the morning and he was a little jetlagged, and yet he was still leaning forward, completely enraptured, as this woman retold the story of her niece’s One Direction themed fourth-birthday party.

He was genuine and polite and a little magnetic. I hung back, not really having much to add to their conversation as the women asked Harry to sign a note for her niece and take a picture holding it. They chatted for a good few minutes, the rest of her friends tuning in and adding bits and pieces to the conversation, before someone from the bakery came out to unlock the doors and Harry returned to me.

“Sorry,” he apologized as turned back and faced me.

I rolled my eyes at that, because it honestly didn’t bother me and he always seemed to apologize for things that he couldn’t control. “Don’t trip, chocolate chip.” I smiled. “Now which joke were you on?”

It took seven minutes after the bakery finally opened for Harry and I to make our way inside, both of us ordering two salted dulce de leche cronuts each. He insisted on paying for both, even when I nudged him on the hip and tried to tell him not to, and then we were moving through the line and heading out of the door, a quick flurry of movement as they worked through the line efficiently.

Neither of us seemed to anticipate paparazzi, but there were three men with large camera’s standing on the sidewalk when Harry and I stepped out. One second I was making a joke about the very detailed sign on the menu wall talking about the proper way to enjoy a cronut and the next I was cutting myself off, slightly stunned as the three men crowded around, camera’s clicking.

“Romantic New York weekend?” One of them asked, walking in front of us.

Harry sent them all a friendly smile, before tilting his face down to me. “Just walk fast, okay?”

I nodded, stepping faster and following Harry as he checked both sides of the street before finding a break in traffic. He pushed me in front of him, a hand guiding the small of my back as we marched dutifully towards the car. The men were asking questions, mainly about our intentions in New York and why wasn’t Harry in London and were we dating, but Harry just continued to smile, hands working quickly as he dug the car keys out of his pocket, unlocked the passenger’s side door, and shut me inside.

In the three seconds that it took for him to cross back round to the driver’s side, he said something to the paparazzi, and then he was inside and starting the car before he even had his seat belt on.

“Seat belt,” I reminded him quickly, and he didn’t even look over at me as he snapped the safety belt into place, turned over the engine, and then aggressively maneuvered into the first break of traffic he found.

There was a moment of silence as we rounded a corner and were suddenly at a stoplight. “Well, that was fun.” I shifted the bag of pastries on my lap as Harry turned briefly, flashing an apologetic smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Sorry about that,” he apologized again.

I rolled my eyes again and shook my head. I was more exasperated at his incessant need to apologize than I was at the fact that my picture had been taken at some seriously unflattering angles. “Stop, seriously. It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it. No cronuts were harmed, it isn’t a big deal.”

He relaxed slightly, his grip on the steering wheel loosening. “Always save the cronuts.” He quipped.

“They are definitely top priority.”

“Do you think we can get away with eating in Central Park?” He asked, just as a taxi cab driver cut him off and he tapped the brakes rather aggressively, nostrils flaring out only slightly. He was usually a very lax driver, but we weren’t whipping around London and we weren’t in his fancy Range Rover, rather my mom’s Prius.

“Probably not,” I told him truthfully. “I’m like, eighty percent sure that they’re following us.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He sighed, as one hand went to rub at his eyes, large hands smoothing over his face. “But we can still try.”

Instead of eating in Central Park, Harry found a parking space on one of the roads surrounding the north side, and we sat in the front seats of my mom’s car, eating our cronuts and listening to his phone again. The music was set to a low hum, calming as we both bit into our cronuts and groaned out in delight.

“Dude, worth it,” I said immediately after the first bite of flaky goodness. “Like, so worth it.”

“I don’t even really like super sweet things, and this is delicious.” Harry acknowledged. “I would wait in line for this again.”

We each only ate one of our cronuts, vowing to save the other for later – though in the next twenty four hours, as the sign in the bakery advised – and we were pondering what to do next when my phone buzzed in my lap. Harry’s had gone off occasionally throughout the night, but mine had been pretty silent.

Mainly because the only person I seemed to regularly text was him.

“I just got a text from Nick telling me that I need to release you from my evil clutches.” I informed Harry as I read off the screen, already tapping back a message full of smug emoji’s to Nick.

He didn’t even look surprised, rolling his eyes and letting out a groan. “We’re supposed to go to Poppy’s party on Saturday, but I told him that I didn’t know if I was going to be able to make it.”

“Dude, go!” I encouraged immediately. He was not supposed to cancel any more plans. “Isn’t it like, the famous blondes theme? Nick’s been looking forward to that.”

Harry did a little indecisive body shimmy, his shoulders moving as his head nodded. Wasn’t really sure what he was trying to convey there. “We have plans to be Hanson, I think.”

“Go!” I repeated, this time more urgently. “You could get a flight out of a New Haven and be there by Saturday morning, easy. Go.”

“I was planning on just going back when you do.”

“You’ve cancelled enough plans for me.” I protested. “And the world really needs to see your Hanson interpretation. Does it include wigs? I bet it includes wigs? The world needs wigs.”

“Now you’re making me think you don’t want me around.” Harry tried to tease, but I could sense the question in his voice.

“Don’t even,” I stopped him before he could even start, poking a finger to his forehead to annoy him. “I just don’t want you to miss out on stuff, y’know? And the next few days are going to be boring. Lots of Indian food and Netflix.”

“Are you sure?” He stressed, but he was already pulling out his phone and I could tell he was formulating the plans in his head.

“Positive. Now book a flight.”

He tapped out a few text messages, fingers moving rapidly across the screen, and then he set his phone down in the cup holder and turned to me, reaching for my face as he cupped one large hand around the back of my neck and the other against my jaw. Before I had much time to process much else, he was kissing me. It started off gently, sips against my mouth, and then quickly moved into something deeper, more passionate, as our mouths opened against each other and his tongue tangled with mine.

When he pulled away several minutes later, both of us were breathing significantly heavier than before.

“We have to go,” I breathed against his mouth. “You have a flight to catch and all that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He agreed with a nod. “Just gimme a minute. Need to properly appreciate you for a moment.” And then he fused his mouth back together with mine.



www.tumblr.com/tagged/hezra

Ezra looks really freaked out in the NYC pictures and Harry looks kind of angry even though he’s smiling

First hezra in Connecticut for Thanksgiving, then Hezra in NYC for cronuts the day after. I can’t handle these feelings

Oh yay, more harry styles and ezra callil out and about places where they can be photographed together…

So my friend lives near SoHo and was coming home from black Friday shopping and she said that she totally saw harry and ezra standing in line at the Dominique Ansel bakery (AKA cronuts) but he was talking to someone else and she was on her phone and they didn’t look that into it so idk, maybe they are just friends

Harry’s back in London thank fuck I am sick of this Hezra shit

I ship it I ship it I ship it so fucking hard they got cronuts and like yeah harry looks pissed in the pap photos but wouldn’t you be if someone interrupted your date???

I SAW HARRY STYLES SITTING ON THE STEPS OF THE MET
WITH EZRA CALLIL
AND THEY WERE FUCKING CUDDLING
AND I DIDN’T THINK IT WAS THEM BC HE WAS IN CT
BUT NOW I KNOW HE WAS IN NYC
I CALLED IT
THEY ARE ADORABLE
THEY ARE DATING
NO ONE CAN TELL ME OTHERWISE

Idk what to believe anymore but I wish they would just fess up about it already.