Perfect Teeth

Harry was absolute shit at cleaning up after himself when cooking. He was good at remembering to put down the toilet seat and strategically placing his boots somewhere I wouldn’t trip on them in the morning, but he couldn’t seem to get a proper grasp on holding a scrubbing brush and wearing some dish washing gloves and cleaning up the messes he made. The “clean as you go” method was a skill he had not mastered.

Nothing was officially decided about where Harry was staying, but he’d spent every day of this week at my house and in my bed. He went out a few times, had lunch with Nick while I did some filming, but he came back for dinner, trying to build up his culinary repertoire by experimenting with recipes he found on the Food Network app. He went out to the shops and bought groceries and everything. He could cook surprisingly well, if it wasn’t super complicated, and I got all fluttery-stomached at the image of Harry singing along to his music while sautéing, hips sashaying side to side as he very zealously stirred.

However, I didn’t get all fluttery-stomached when I woke up Thursday morning and there was a counter full of open boxes and spices and a frying pan caked with stir-fry sauce on the stovetop from Harry’s various cooking experiments over the past day. Especially because I’d asked him to clean up the mess yesterday, sending a quick text when I breezed past it on my way to an interview earlier that morning. He had sent back an affirmative message and barraged me with smiley face emojis afterwards, but apparently the sentiment had been forgotten.

I wouldn’t have even minded doing the dishes, but there was a mess of cutlery on the counter and a spill next to the sink and my favorite coffee mug was buried under a pile of sauce bowls in the sink.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and willed the irritation not to swell up in my stomach, but it was already there and growing, expanding with each breath and gaze into the kitchen like a balloon filling with my annoyance. I was moving towards Harry’s sleeping body without much other thought, determination set in my bones.

“Harry,” I prodded at his shoulder gently. He didn’t even stir. “Harry.” I pushed again, this time a little more forcefully.

He let out a groan and pressed his face deeper into the mattress, curls smushed to the side of his face.

I reached towards the foot of the bed, grabbing the end of the duvet and pulled it up, just enough so that his feet and shins were uncovered.

He started squirming instantly, feet kicking to find the blanket as his eyes blinked open slowly. “Whaa--?” He grumbled. “Gimme.”

“Please clean the kitchen.”

“Hmm?” His legs scrunched up as he tried to find warmth, shoulders slumping as he curled into a ball.

“Please. Clean. The. Kitchen.” I pulled more of the blanket off of him, wrapping it in my left hand as Harry’s chest became exposed.

His eyes snapped open, disgruntled. “You couldn’t have texted me that?” He rasped. “Or waited until I was up?”

“I did text you.” I informed him shortly. “Yesterday. Kitchen’s still a mess. Not effective, apparently.”

“I was busy.” His face pinched, and there was an edge to his tone. “Sorry there are a few dishes in the sink.”

“A few dishes—“ I started, exasperated, looking back at the mound of dishes and the accumulating mess.

“—it’s not a big deal. I’ll clean it later.” Harry grumbled. “Can I go back to sleep now? You know I got in late last night.”

I blew an irritated breath out of my nose. “Sure.” I snapped, rolling my eyes at him and turning away, releasing the duvet from my hand and stomping over to a pile of clean clothing. “Whatever.”

Harry exhaled. I could hear him shift in the bed, most likely sitting up. I could imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose, tired look on his face he got when things didn’t go his way. “Ez—“

“I’m going to go get some coffee or something.” I grabbed a pair of jeans and pulled them onto my legs angrily, glaring down at the ground as I tried to ignore the hurt prickling at Harry’s snappish tone.

Harry didn’t snap at me. I didn’t like being snapped at.

And maybe I should’ve waited until he was up properly, not waking him up at half nine in the morning, but also maybe he could’ve done the one thing that I asked him to do. Our coexistence depended on compromise.

“Okay.” He swallowed. “Do you, uh, want to get lunch—?”

“I’m getting lunch with your sister.” I cut him off, whipping off my shirt and pulling a different sweater on. I slid my feet into my boots, grabbed my bag off the couch, and headed towards the door.

“Ezra—“ he started again as I snatched the keys up from the end table, sighing, but I shook my head at him. “I’ll—“

I tried not to slam the door behind me, but the urge was too strong, and I might’ve shut it more forcefully than anyone over the age of fourteen should.



Seeing Gemma in real life reminded me of that scene from Mean Girls, when Cady’s talking about how if you shaved off all of Regina George’s hair she’d look like a man. The same could be said of Gemma – if you shaved off all of her hair, she could pass off as Harry’s doppelganger. Or maybe if Harry grew his hair out more (not that he needed to, he looked a bit like a shaggy dog already) and started filling in his eyebrows, he’d look like Gemma. Except she was much more attractive, with a mane of long, messily waved blonde hair, perfectly sculpted eyebrows, and the type of effortless cool that only came with age and experience and a contact list of people who wore leather jackets and had pastel-colored hair

We met up at a very earthy café of her suggestion and she was there before I was, loitering outside of the entrance with her head dipped down as she scrolled through something on her phone. I hadn’t felt nervous prior to the lunch at all – too high off of my irritation with Harry, then my silliness for being irritated at Harry, then my irritation at feeling silly for being irritated at Harry – and I felt a bit like I knew her already, with the direct messaging on Twitter and seeing her Instagram posts, but seeing her in the flesh sent a little nervous shiver up my spine.

Gemma was (besides his mother) Harry’s favorite person. Her opinion was the most weighted over everyone else’s, followed perhaps only by his friend Cal or Nick or the boys. They talked regularly, they were running in the same friend circle since Gemma moved to London, and they were easily each other’s best friends. I was not blind to Gemma’s influence over her brother.

She greeted me warmly, pocketing her phone, lips shaping into a smile as I sided up next to her “Ezra Callil,” she announced with a smile. “Nice to finally see you in person.”

“Likewise, Gemma Styles.” I returned her pronounced grin.

“Shall we eat?” She gestured towards the door.

“We shall.”

I could draw a lot of comparisons between Gemma and Harry – their laughs were similar, their smiles almost identical, the same sparkle in their eyes when they were telling a really good joke. Gemma spoke much quicker than her brother, her words actually coming out in normal time, not like they’d been slowed down in a movie editor, and her presence was smaller. Not that she was meek or invisible – she was quite noticeable, with her perpetual smirk and wide eyes – but Harry’s presence could be felt by an entire room, even if he was doing nothing but just sitting there. It was like he moved force fields just by existing.

We sat and ordered and she convinced me to try one of their green juice smoothies, even though I was skeptical about anything that was called a smoothie but contained both kale and broccoli, and she asked me how the channel was going and I asked her about her new internship and we talked politely and I made a few stupid (but successful) jokes.

After the waitress took our order, Gemma leaned back in the booth, fingers gripping the edge of the table, before pulling herself closing and propping her forearms on the wood, folding them on top of each other. “So my brother’s pretty infatuated with you.”

This was her leading statement.

I couldn’t stop the guffaw that bubbled up, laughing (maybe nervously) and sending her a skeptical look. “Oh is he?”

She didn’t seem the least bit bothered by my laughter, nodding twice. “Won’t shut up. Ezra this, Ezra that. ‘Oh, you want to get lunch? I was gonna go to Ezra’s. You saw what movie? You should hear what Ezra has to say about it – she’s so bloody smart.’ It’s like you’ve drugged him. Are you a wizard? Have you given him a love potion?”

“No Amortentia was involved, promise.” I tried not to blush at the way she mocked Harry. He didn’t, did he? Talk about me like that? “We’re just – we’re good.”

Gemma grinned at how uncomfortable I looked, shifting noticeably in my chair and grabbing for the wrapped up silverware, unrolling the napkin and shredding the paper apart.

“Harry seems to think so.” She remarked.

“I would have to agree with him.”

“He’s a good kid, that one.” She smiled fondly, looking over my shoulder for a moment like she was remembering a particularly funny memory, before refocusing her eyes on me. “Remember that.”

“I don’t know if I’d go as far as to say good, but he has his moments.” She didn’t sound threatening – weren’t older siblings supposed to be threatening in these situations? This was more like a sentiment she was adamant he not forget. “He was being a right ass this morning.”

“What’d he do now?” She rolled her eyes, looking not the least bit surprised.

“He has a problem with cleaning up after himself. And I might’ve gotten a little grumpy and woken him up because he left a mess in the kitchen and he might’ve gotten a little cranky.”

Gemma laughed, the sound strong but still somehow delicate. “He’s really awful at keeping up with the dishes.”

“It’s like – he likes to cook.” I continued, earlier irritation at Harry flaming up again as I remembered. “Okay, cool, yeah. I’m down with that. He has to buy all the food because I’ve got nothing but like, mustard in my fridge, but he likes to cook. Great. Except he’s awful at washing anything. I’ll come home from the studio and he’s made eight meals and used every dish in the house.”

“He’s forgetful. You’ve got to remind him of it or he just won’t. Our mum used to get on him all the time. And on tour you know he’s not cleaning up after himself.”

“I’m gonna get those post-it notes that are little Chore Violations and stick them on his forehead until he remembers.” I decided, shaking my head at her.

“Please take a picture.” She practically pleaded, laughing. “And tell me if it works.”

“I’ll make it a scientific experiment.”

“He makes some things difficult, but he’s a good kid.” She repeated, face still giggling but eyes turned serious. “I say ‘kid’ even though technically he’s a man, but whatever. He’s one of the good ones.”

“I know.” And I did – he was irritating the piss out of me, but considering he was also doing things like insisting I come to Saturday Night Live and arranging pug sitting, things could be much worse. “He’s quite special.”

“His life is quite special.”

The waitress swung by the table to deposit our smoothies then. I took a sip of the green concoction warily, grimacing as the first bitter taste landed on my tongue. It wasn’t awful, but it wasn’t the most pleasant taste. It certainly wasn’t a banana chocolate milkshake.

Gemma laughed loudly and took a greedy drink out of hers, looking at me from underneath her lashes as she waited for me to pick up from her statement.

I swallowed. “He’s got special circumstances. But doesn’t everyone?”

“Harry’s might just be harder to deal with than most.” Gemma remarked. She was fishing. I could feel it, able to read her just the same way I could read Harry’s friends. I knew what they wanted me to admit – that it was too much, that I couldn’t handle it – anything that looked like cracks, so they could warn Harry before things got too deep.

“I don’t think so.” I disagreed, formulating my response carefully. “In the grand scheme of things, it’s not that difficult. There are times – and things – and sometimes it’s a bit overwhelming, but it’s manageable. He could be like, a nymphomaniac or never shower. And I’m not exactly the easiest person in the world to deal with either.”

“You mean because of YouTube?”

“That’s part of it. But also because I’m difficult as hell.”

Her finger circled the top of her plastic smoothie cup. “You’re already in the public eye. The fans…you’ve got to know that they can be brutal. Harry told me about the thing in the airport.”

“They’re very…passionate.” It was a placeholder world.

Passionate. Scary. Overly zealous. I knew that not all of the fans were like that, that the ones that mobbed outside of hotels and approached people in airports were a minority, but their presence was so apparent that it was hard to remember about everyone else.

“Sometimes they’re scary.” Gemma didn’t look the least bit apologetic for admitting this. “Like fucking crazy.”

That made me laugh. “Yes, sometimes. I’m working on getting over being slightly afraid of them.”

“Look them in the eye, don’t show them any fear.” She advised. “They’re like sharks. They can smell it. Or is that blood?”

“Maybe both?”

“Definitely both.”

We both giggled, some of the seriousness around her eyes fading away. I relaxed into the back of my chair.

“Anything else exciting and new in your life?” she asked. “Either in relation to my brother or not?”

“I’m signing an NDA sometime soon, I think.” I shrugged, a little wary on the details. “He’s asked me about it.”

“Ahh. Those are more binding than blood or demon sacrifice.”

“Are they?” I bit down on my bottom lip, fingers rearranging the shredded napkin on the table. “I haven’t really – I meant to Google more about them.”

“They’re straight forward. Don’t sell tabloids secrets or leak them to the fans.” She waved her hand nonchalantly. “We all have to sign them. It’s like initiation.”

“Is it scary? Should I be scared?”

“They’re fine, honest. I signed one years ago, so I don’t know if they’ve changed much, but you’ll be fine.”

I inhaled deeply, holding it before letting it out slowly. Gemma seemed fine with it. I trusted her. I think “Okay. Cool.”

“You guys are serious then, aren’t you?” She spoke around her straw, biting it between her teeth in a move that I recognized as a shared trait between her and Harry.

“Hmm?”

“Confidentiality agreements? The lot? Means serious stuff.”

“I think management’s just bugging him about it.” I picked at my straw. “This makes things easier.”

“You know, if you ever need help with some of it – the fans or the overwhelming stuff, you can talk to me?” She offered, green eyes bright and accepting. “You’ve got my number now. I get it, in a sense.”

“Thank you.” I told her sincerely, feeling much better with Gemma in my court. If she was offering help, that meant she liked me. Or was at least pretending to like me. And I was all about faking it until you made it these days. “Things are good right now. It’s a cool place to be.”

“See if you’ll be saying that in two weeks after you’ve had nonstop Harry and you’re ready to kill him.”

That was a sentiment I felt like I could understand. “I’m gonna start working out a custodial agreement with Nick or something. So he can take Harry off my hands.”

“Rotate every weekend?”

“Yup. Harry says he’s gonna be busy with mates and stuff after this week, so that’s good. He needs to get out a little.”

“He likes being a homebody when he can. But out is good. Don’t want to get sick of him.”

“I could never.” I quipped, pursing my lips at the thought of irritated Harry this morning. I was – mostly – over it. Maybe.

“I mean he tells just absolutely the best jokes.” Gemma played into the teasing.

“And those stories – so quick, so brief, but such attention to detail.”

“I could’ve done school twice with all the time I’ve spent wasting listening to Harry try and get to the point. When he was a kid, he’d constantly loop around and get off track – he was that kid in class that everyone was looking at and thinking, just get on with it already.”

“If he didn’t have such a nice voice, no one would listen to him.”

“Know him long enough and you stop listening to him anyway.”

I snorted. “We’re so polite.”

“Absolute sweethearts.” Gemma agreed, smiling sweetly.

Gemma told stories about Harry’s childhood – how he was an adventurous kid, but hated getting in trouble, and how he was popular with the girls as a young teenager, if only because he didn’t like telling people no. I was giggling along to a tale about the first time he got in trouble for kissing a girl at school when Gemma cut off abruptly, eyes flashing to the door as the bell above it jingled and someone stepped inside.

“Of course he’s here.” She practically muttered to herself, sighing. “Can’t go a day without meddling.”

I twisted in my chair in time to see Harry heading straight towards us, adjusting the bandana tied around his head and shrugging out of his coat. He was smiling sheepishly, but there were no traces of actual guilt on his face.

“Hiiii,” he stretched out as he came over to our table, leaning down to press a kiss to Gemma’s cheek before coming round to me, pressing a kiss to one cheek as he walked around and took the empty seat to my right. As he sat down, he pressed a kiss to my cheek as well. I grimaced, giving him a bored look, suddenly once again displeased by his grumpy behavior earlier this morning. It was more for show than anything. I enjoyed the slightly nervous look on his face as his hand reached underneath the table, resting on the inside of my knee.

“Fancy seeing you two here.” He grinned. “Just thought I’d stop in for a bite. What a coincidence.”

“No one thinks you’re innocent, so wipe the stupid smile off your face.” Gemma practically snarled. “Where’s George?”

“In the car. He saw that it was empty and decided his security detail was needed elsewhere. He’s playing Fruit Ninja on his phone.”

The waitress came over to drop off our food and take Harry’s order, not even blinking twice at Harry as he barely glanced at the menu and picked the first salad they had, smiling widely at both Gemma and I as the waitress left.

“So what’ve you been chatting about?” Harry asked casually, leaning back and surveying the both of us. “Anything interesting?”

“Just you.” Gemma supplied.

“So dead boring.” I finished.

“I don’t like this.” Harry shook his head sadly, leaning over to attach his lips around the straw of my smoothie. I slid it over to him, taking his glass of water and bringing it in front of me. “I don’t like this at all.”

“You’re just afraid of our girl power.” Gemma observed. “You’re threatened.”

“We’re gonna take over the entire world.” I told him.

“Down with the patriarchy.” Gemma continued.

“This—“ Harry pointed between the two of us, eyes moving back and forth. “—is dangerous.”

“Damn straight.” Gemma nodded.

“Be scared.” I taunted.

“I need to stop this before it gets any worse.” He nodded gravely. “For the sake of the world. Gemma, can you go to space?”

“You’re just afraid I’m going to tell her every embarrassing story ever and she’s not going to like you anymore.”

“You don’t need to worry about that.” I interjected, patting Harry’s hand. “You embarrass yourself enough as it is.”

Harry groaned. “This can’t happen. It’s gonna kill me.”

Gemma and I both shrugged in unison, grinning at each other across the table. “Get over it.”

Harry huffed.



Gemma left the restaurant in search for the Tube entrance. Harry had tried to insist that she take a ride from him, he was only parked a block away, but she was only going a few blocks over to meet a mate for some last minute Christmas shopping and taking the underground was faster than driving with the December traffic anyway.

I was standing and shrugging on my coat and looping my scarf around my neck next. “Well, I’m off in search of a Toys ‘R Us. See you tonight?”

“Why’re you going to Toys ‘R Us?” Harry asked, standing up and putting on his coat.

“I’m going to buy toys.” I told him slowly. “To donate for Christmas. There’s a shop on Kent, I think, so I better get going. Thanks for crashing Gemma and I’s lunch date.”

Force of habit, I stood on my tiptoes and reached for his mouth, realizing only at the last minute that we were in the middle of a restaurant in London in the middle of December and that perhaps wasn’t the best venue to be kissing Harry. I diverted my lips to his cheek (really landing more down by his jaw) and kept it brief, trying not to blush in embarrassment as I took off towards the door.

“Wait, what?” Harry looked discombobulated that I was leaving so quickly, snatching his phone off the table before following me out of the restaurant. He wasn’t inside long enough for paparazzi to sprout up, but it wasn’t a good idea for us to be in one visible place for too long.

“I’m buying children’s toys to donate for Christmas,” I explained to him again, stepping off the front stoop of the restaurant and loitering under the awning, not quite merging into the busy lane of walking traffic. “So I’m gonna go to Toys R Us. I’ll see you later?”

“Can I come?” Harry ducked under the awning next to me, back facing the steady stream of people.

“To Toys ‘R Us?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I’ve got some gifts to get anyway. Could be fun.”

“But I was gonna vlog.” I replied dumbly, pointing out the first thing my brain highlighted that was wrong with Harry accompanying me.

Harry tilted his head to the left, looking down at me strangely. “You can’t vlog if I come?”

“I mean like, I could,” I backtracked. “It’s just – people don’t always react super well to you being in a video, y’know?”

“Oh.” His face fell. “Yeah.” He lifted a hand to brush through the long curls at the back of his neck. “I could at least give you a ride? Or I don’t have to be in it? I could film you?”

I knew I was going to accept the second his face fell, because it was hard to say no to Harry. To not feel constantly obligated to give him what he wanted, because he was always making large gestures and trying so hard.

“I mean, yeah, sure.” I changed my mind, nodding and already trying to formulate a way to make this work. “Do you know how to get there?”

“It’s on Kent?” He echoed. At my nod, he smiled.

“Yeah, I can get there. I parked that way.” He jerked his head to the left, the opposite direction of where I’d previously been going.

“Lead the way, kind sir,” I gestured, hiking my bag higher up on my shoulder and already resigning myself to the fact that I probably wasn’t going to be making a toy donation video this year. With Harry it would just seem – complicated.

Harry was bounding down the sidewalk, weaving through the crowds of people with his beanie pulled down and the collar of his peacoat popped up and my hand wanted to reach for his instinctively, to keep a chain between us around the throng of people. I tucked my hand into the front pocket of my jeans to subdue the tingly feeling and to hopefully stop myself from doing something foolish, like holding his hand in central London.

“So you’re buying toys?” Harry prompted as we moved further down the street. I could see his Range Rover on the curb, parked in one of the metered spots. George was sitting in the passenger’s seat.

“Yeah, to donate them. I’ve done it a couple years in a row.”

“As just like a thing or a video thing?”

“Usually I make a vlog every year when I do it and then I use the ad revenue from the previous year’s vlog and use that money to buy the toys.”

“How financially savvy of you.” Harry sounded impressed, peering down at me as we reached his car. George was hopping out of the passenger’s seat before we’d fully come to the stop, leaving the door open for me as he got into the back. I told him every single time he did this that he didn’t have to – I was perfectly fine with sitting in the back seat, it really wasn’t a problem, but he always ignored my suggestion.



Harry grabbed a cart when we entered the store. For three in the afternoon, it wasn’t packed inside. Probably because it was a Thursday, but even for the week before Christmas, Toys R Us had the potential to be much, much worse. There were mostly parents shopping in the aisles, a few accompanied toddlers sleeping in strollers.

“Are you even supposed to be here?” I asked him. “Like without causing a riot?” George had wanted to come in with us to Toys R Us, this situation a much higher chance of getting out of control than the café, but Harry had done some heavy persuading.

“Kids are different than the older fans.” Harry explained, large hands gripping the handle of the cart as we headed off into the first section of the store. “They don’t crowd. Besides – toys. Fun.”

“I’m gonna lose you in a section, aren’t I? The trains?”

“I liked the action figures as a kid. I wanted to be an X-Men very badly.”

“Wolverine?” I guessed.

Harry shook his head. “Storm was my favorite.”

“She’s pretty bitchi—cool.” I grimaced as I realized I was in a child’s toy store and probably shouldn’t be cursing. “She’s awesome.”

Harry’s dimples appeared at my mix up, shaking his head at me before looking both ways. “Where do you want to start?”

I blew a gust of air from my lips. “I guess just go left for right now.”

“Are you going to record?” Harry asked, just as I put my bag in the little top part of the cart. My vlogging camera was set right on top, next to my wallet and a packet of post-it notes.

I pursed my lips. “I don’t know? I don’t know if it’s really a good idea?”

Harry pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, drumming his fingers on the handle of the cart. “Don’t you normally, though? I think I’ve seen one of these before.”

“I started doing it the year after I became a YouTube partner and I’ve done it since.”

“Then do it now.” Harry pushed. “I don’t have to be in it if that makes things hard for you.”

I laughed a little dryly to myself, thinking back to how people reacted to the last video he was in – even if only minutely. The comments weren’t exactly much different than the others. “I don’t even know if it matters anymore.”

People were going to say things regardless if they could see Harry or not. I liked making the Toy Donation vlogs – I wasn’t doing Vlogmas this year, because there was absolutely no way that it would go well – but I didn’t have to sacrifice this.

“Do you mind filming for me?” I decided, grabbing the small camera and holding it out to him. “It’s pretty straight forward.”

“Hand it over.” Harry offered one of his palms. “Let’s get artsy.”

Harry’s entire face lit up when we got to the action figures. They were conveniently placed next to the puzzles and ‘educational toys’, which I’d had my eyes on because it seemed to be the only section in the entire store that held gender-neutral toys. The first cart was completely filled to the top with dolls and plastic culinary sets and plushie things and we’d only gone through half the store. Harry had to go get a second cart when we went into the action figure section. He was trying to do his best at consistently filming me, but he got so excited so easily, stopping and forgetting that there was a camera in his hand when he went to ogle over at a deluxe edition X-Men action figure set.

Harry turned the camera off completely when we stepped up to the One Direction section of the Toys R Us.

“Nope.” He shook his head, pressing the power button on my camera and letting it hang down at his wrist. “I’m not getting these jokes on camera. I refuse.”

“Part of me feels like it’s obligatory to buy some of the dolls, but then another part of feels really weird about miniature supposed-to-be-yous.”

“I refuse to ring up with you if you buy any of them. And you don’t even need to buy them – I could get you dolls if you wanted to.”

“But that defeats the purpose. What if I don’t buy your doll?” I asked. “What if I just buy a bunch of Zayn’s?”

“Do they even have Zayn?” Harry stepped forward and started looking through the section. They were full up of their stock of Harrys, Nialls, and Liams, but Louis and Zayn were pretty scarce. He unearthed one letterman-jacket wearing, singing doll from the back. “They have one Zayn.”

“Well that answers the question on who’s everyone’s favorite.” I teased.

Harry gave me an unamused look. I scrunched up my cheeks in a smile.

“Do you know how many people would be delighted to be given a Harry Styles action figure?” I noticed his usage of the word action figure, as if he was a superhero equivalent to Spiderman. “Thousands.”

“You mean like two.”

“You know what would be really cool?” Harry was distracted. “Like a superhero boy band? Like in the movie? Like I want to be in a band with Spiderman and Wolverine. Or Superman. That would be wicked in rehearsals—“

I stared at him open mouthed for a moment, as he swiped the entire selection of Harry dolls off the shelf and into the cart. “We could like, put them in packs – a Harry doll with a Spiderman and a Green Lantern and—“

I couldn’t contain my giggle, letting it burst out of me in sheer enjoyment and excitement on his face. Superhero boy bands. He wanted to gift superhero boy bands.

“You might actually the biggest dork I know.” I told him fondly, grabbing for the camera at his wrist and turning it on. I could film him – I didn’t have to include it in the vlog, I could just film him. “But also, what about the ladies? Do they not get some representation?”

“Of course they do.” Harry grabbed one of the dolls from the cart – I’d been picky on trying to find some that had the least semi-realistic body proportions – and grouped it in his large hands. “We can do mixed groups. That can be a thing. This is exciting.”

“I don’t even –“ I shook my head at Harry wearily, but only laughed as he continued to have his fun.

We ended up with an additional cart full of an assortment of action figures and dolls (“I’ll pay for them!” Harry had volunteered eagerly when I side-eyed him) before we even moved on to the next section of the store.

Harry took the camera back from me, resting his forearms against the handle of the cart and pointing the lens in my frame.

“So, toy donation,” he prompted, nodding towards me. “How many years have you been doing it?”

“Three.” I answered. “I started the year after I became a YouTube partner.”

“It’s a nice gesture, yeah.” Harry grinned. “Like – this is the time of the year to be charitable.”

“I think it’s good to recognize when you have privilege and when you should share it. And the holidays are a nice time to do that. Books and toys – these are great things.”

It ended up taking forty minutes for us to check out, between all of the split transactions and carts. Harry insisted on paying for the cart that was full of his potential action figures, pushing me away and pulling out his credit card before I even got to glance at the total. (I just knew that it was a lot.)

We loaded most of the toys into the donation bin at the front of Toys R Us, deftly stacking each box on top of each other in order to make them all fit. There were too many, creating a nice little pile to the left, and the overflow made me smile.

Harry shook his head and stopped me from unloading the cart full of potential Superhero boy bands. “I want to do something different with those,” he said, before gripping the handle and starting towards the door. “Let’s load them into the boot.”

It took the assistance of George to get everything loaded into the back of Harry’s car. I asked him twice where he was going to store it all or what he was going to do with the dolls, but he only shrugged and said, “I’m figuring something out.”

“Oh hey,” Harry spoke up as we both buckled into the car. “Are you free tomorrow?”

“Depends.” I answered. “What do you have in mind?”

“Signing the NDA? They can meet us tomorrow at two.”

“Oh.” I leaned back in my seat a little, trying to figure out if there was anything substantial tomorrow at two. Anything at all. “Yeah, I think I’m free.”

“Alright, I’ll let them know.”



TOYS R US HAUL: Christmas 2013

“Hiiiii, friends. While I’m not doing Vlogmas this year – I know, boo, hiss, sadness – I’m still keeping up with some of the usual Christmas traditions, including the Toys R Us shopping spree for Toys for Tots. After much Googling, I’ve found that there is a Toys R US in the UK and even an equivalent charity. So today I’ve gone down with a friend to a very, very large Toys R Us and spent a few hours picking out toys and donating them. I’ve vlogged the experience and made a little video montage of the it all. It was really, really fun – I have much more fun shopping for other people than I do shopping for myself .The down bar is full of links of ways to spread kindness this season, from things like donating to little DIY ideas. Have a good rest of the holidays, my little honey bunches of oats. Be kind to each other, for the love of milkshakes. I’ll see you in the New Year.”

*all items purchased in this video were purchased with my own money and were not given to me/bought by anyone else

**yes, that is Harry

***yes, we’re friends, he wanted to come, it happens, let’s not make a big deal out of it, yeah?

****all ad revenue for this video has been turned off



The Wikipedia article on non-disclosure agreements (or confidentiality agreements or whatever) was vague and relatively unhelpful. It told me that they were contracts drawn up between two parties, that the good ones needed to outline the specifics if they ever wanted to hold up in court, and that they could hold all types of content.

Ultimately, they were business agreements. I had no problem signing an NDA, not if it eased the One Direction management’s nerves and gave Harry an easier time with things, but I did have a slight problem with the idea that I was signing something because, ultimately, whatever was between Harry and I, read like a business agreement.

The wording festered.

The thought of business for anything between Harry and I made me uncomfortable. I kept that part of my life separate from him for a reason, tried to remove him from my job as much as possible. It wasn’t easy, not with the internet what it was. I knew that him being in the Christmas Toy Donation vlog would bring forth drama – I would be naïve to think that it would be anything else, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to post it. It was an important video whether Harry was in it or not.

My expectations for an NDA signing included: scary men in expensive business suits, really uncomfortable chairs, and being on a really high, impressive floor of a building that had a view of London. It would feel very official, signing some type of document, and I’d even changed into a shirt that didn’t have a stain on the hem for the occasion.

I called my dad the night before and asked him to tell me everything he knew – which was minimal and basically parroted Wikipedia – but he had armed me with a decent amount of questions for clarification. He had asked if he needed to find me a lawyer in London, to really make sure I wasn’t getting swindled into a binding agreement that refused me to talk about anything, but I didn’t want to take that route.

I trusted Harry.

Harry drove us to smoothie shop near Piccadilly and lead me to a table with two women, both wearing smart dresses and tights and boots, who stood and greeted us as we pulled out chairs and sat across from them.

It was December in London, so the smoothie shop was virtually empty, making it a great meeting location for this. I had been expecting soundproofed rooms. Maybe they would security search me at the door, that kind of thing.

Kate was from the public relations team, blonde, and had a very low, soothing voice. I could easily understand how she was problem solver – she had a certain type of look on her face, like she was consistently scanning for things to fix.

The other women’s name was Sara and she was part of the legal team. She was a brunette, had a smile that made her eye’s crinkle, and was very, very pregnant. When we all moved to sit down at the table, Harry immediately pulled her chair out and asked her how the baby was.

“He’s doing well,” Sara answered, resting a well-manicured hand on the top of her stomach. “I think he’s going to be a football player, with all of the kicking. Especially at night.”

Harry smiled and laughed like that was the most wonderful news he’d heard all day, before taking a seat next to me.

There were a few minutes of small talk – this was apparently Sara’s second child, her first being another little boy named Jack that Harry was quite fond of, before we actually got down to business.

Our table was tucked into the back of the smoothie shop, which was fairly hidden away already, with only one window to face the street, but Kate still took a quick surveying glance around before leaning forward, bracing her folded hands on the top of the table.

“So let’s get this over with quickly.” She said, just as Sara reached into her leather tote bag and pulling out two stapled packets of paper. “This is a unilateral confidentiality agreement.”

She slid the second copy of paper over to me and I picked it up gingerly, trying hard to remember if I still had Cheeto residue on my hands earlier today. I didn’t think they’d appreciate orange fingerprints.

The Wikipedia article told me that unilateral meant that only one party was divulging information. I was thankful that it least came in handy somehow, as I just nodded assuredly and didn’t have to ask her for clarification.

“Right,” I accepted.

Sara spoke next, brandishing a pen as she pointed to the middle section on the first page. “These are the clauses, which basically say that you cannot divulge any information of or about One Direction and the members of before it is public knowledge. This includes dates, album and tour details, and personal information.”

“Personal information?” I echoed. Tour dates, album information, that all made sense – Ezra must not release business information, but personal information? “Which includes what?”

“Addresses, relationship details, or anything that could be potentially problematic.” Kate piped up.

“Potentially problematic?”

“Things regarding drugs, alcohol, personal relations – things depicting the boys in a negative light.”

“So like if Harry killed someone, I wouldn’t be able to say anything?”

Harry started to chuckle, but when he realized it was a serious inquiry, only turned to shoot me a raised brow.

“Are you planning on committing murder, Harry?” Sara asked him primly.

“It’s not in my schedule, but I could make room.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

“It’s just a protection clause.” Kate elaborated. “What the boys do on their own time is their own choice. It just makes my job easier if there aren’t various pictures of them indulging in these things on the Internet, especially from someone who has personal connections.”

“Okay.” I nodded and stared down at the contract again, rereading the words over and over in my head. It was setting boundaries and I wanted to make sure they were clear in my head. “What are the limitations of that, then? Like what’s incriminating?”

“Anything illegal.” Kate answered. “Or that could turn into a serious problem.”

“Alright.” I said. “The addresses and the business stuff, that all makes sense. I think I’m just a little worried that I’m going to unintentionally let something incriminating slip and then get sued. Sorry, I just want to make sure.”

“Slips happen,” Sara acknowledged gently. Kate seemed a little less ambivalent towards this. “But it’s always good to be careful. It would take a serious offense to be sued. This is just preemptive.”

Both Harry and Gemma said that it wasn’t that big of a deal, and really it didn’t seem awful, now that I was staring at the contract, but I was nervous that I would mess it up.

Sara continued to outline the rest of the contract, basic legalities about not spoiling dates and tweeting about important things or making sure that I painted the boys in a negative light. I understand the reasoning behind the confidentiality agreement – there fame was huge and they were constantly being talked about and it was easier to try and quell any problems now before they happened.

There were more personal clauses than I had been anticipating – no giving out addresses, confidential relationship details, numbers, email addresses – to the public. It was only a two page document, full of legal jargon, and Sara attempted to be as simple in her summarizing skills as possible.

“It’s pretty simple.” She said as she finished, tapping the butt of her fountain pen against the table. “Don’t release important things to the public. That’s all.”

Harry nudged me in the shoulder with his elbow. “Easy peasy lemon-squeezy.” He grinned.

I refused to dignify him with a response, leaning forward instead towards Sara. “How long does the contract last? And what are the legal actions that could be taken if I did ever happen to say something – which I’m of course never planning to, but say I’m like, held a gun point and the choice is between telling a fourteen year old what the next single is going to be or death? Will I survive only to get sued?”

“It’s indefinite on time – as long as there’s vital information, it’s not to be told.” Sara answered. “And if the information is not given up voluntarily, you won’t be sued, no.” She smiled. “We make exceptions for life and death situations.”

“That’s comforting.” I nodded and took a breath, before reaching into my bag and rooting around for a pen.

Harry snorted.

“Signing this means that you understand the terms of the contract and the legal repercussions for breaking it.” Sara advised. “You can have some time to think about it or have someone else look it over if you want.”

“Am you swindling me? Is there like a hidden clause that’s actually going to get me in trouble?”

“No hidden clauses.” She reassured. “It’s a very basic contract.”

“Okay.” I nodded resolutely, before turning to Harry. “Think it’s a good idea?”

He had been unusually quiet throughout the entire ordeal, just waiting patiently and nodding along as I asked about the ins and outs of the contract. Now, he just sent me a hopeful smile and a shrug. “Completely up to you.”

On some level, I knew that was a lie. Not singing the agreement would change things – it would mean reluctance and unwilling and would make Harry’s life infinitely harder, because they would just push him to do it anyway. It was either move forward or let things regress. I was perfectly content with staying right where I was, but the rest of the world wasn’t, so I nodded my head and pressed my pen more securely in my hand.

After initialing here, here, here, and singing my name here on both contracts, Sara gave me one to keep (I tucked it in between my laptop sleeve so I would remember to take it out) and put the other one back in her bag, before making a move to stand up. She teetered slowly as she stood, her very pregnant belly throwing off her balance, before she pulled her coat off the chair. Harry jumped up, taking the garment from her immediately and helping her thread her arms through the sleeves, the ever attentive helper that he was.

“I’ll have copies of this made for future reference in my office.” She told me, adjusting her scarf. “I hope that was relatively painless for you.”

“Yes, thank you. Thanks for answering all of my questions.”

“Quite literally my job.” She smiled. “Now I’m going to go home and hope that my child stops playing the kick drum against my bladder.”

“Thanks for coming in,” Harry kissed her cheek politely. “Do you have a car? I can drive you?”

“My driver’s waiting.” Sara replied. “But thanks, Harry. It was lovely to meet you, Ezra. See you later, Kate.” She nodded at all of us as she spoke, before waving and waddling off towards the entrance, where a black town car was idling next to the curb.

I was very acutely aware that Kate was still at the table.

Harry sat down again, smiling at the both of us.

“Are we finished then?” He asked.

“Just about.” Kate smiled tightly. “Just wanted to check in with how things are going here.”

“Going here?” I parroted.

I liked Kate. I liked her dress and the fierce look in her eyes, but I didn’t like the way her mouth dipped when she said that sentence at all. The way she braced herself against the table as if preparing to give us unfortunate news.

“You’re keeping it private for right now?” She addressed this to Harry.

I looked over at him, eyes wide. I didn’t know he told his management that we had established to anything other than friends.

“Um, yeah.” Harry gauged my look and almost seemed to grimace, before turning entirely to Kate. “Keeping it quiet.”

“That’s to be the best, I suppose.” She nodded. “If you ever do decide to take it public, please come to me first so we can take the necessary steps.”

“Necessary steps?” From me.

“Just a few legality things, nothing huge.” She picked up her phone and slipped it into the pocket of her dress, before standing. Harry and I both rose with her. “Glad we could get that over with.”

“It was nice to meet you, Ezra,” she extended her hand and I slipped mine into it, shaking strongly. Her wrist flexed. “And good to see you as ever, Harry.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek and he did the same.

“Have a good Friday.” She said in farewell, accompanying it with a wave, before gliding out of the smoothie shop effortlessly in her heeled boots.

Her chicness intimidated me.

“Your management knows about us?” I asked Harry as I watched Kate’s retreating figure merge into the Christmas shoppers. “That we’re an – us?”

“Was I not supposed to tell them?” Harry checked. “It wasn’t like a huge announcement – I just think I was a little obvious. Is that alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course that’s fine.” I shook my head of any looping Harry management thoughts. It made sense that they would know – like a tactical decision. I’d told a grand total of maybe six people that I was in a relationship with Harry, but his social circle was infinitely larger than mine.

Harry hummed out an agreement but still studied my face closely.

Management knowing made me feel weird. Like everything was more official. Like we were one step closer to making this public knowledge – which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it also wasn’t necessarily something that I thought myself completely ready for.

“Alright?” Harry repeated, clutching his phone in his hand and digging his car keys out of his front pocket.

“Fine.” I nodded, smiling at him before looping my tote bag onto my shoulder and nodding towards the door.

“It wasn’t awful, was it?” Harry asked.

“Of course not.” I answered. “I didn’t think it was going to be awful – just very, official. Business-y. Gemma told me that it wasn’t going to be bad.”

“You guys talked about the NDA before I got there?”

“We talked about a lot of things.” I replied vaguely.

“Like?” He prompted.

“Life stuff. And things.” I wiggled an eyebrow at him.

“Are you really not going to tell me?” He whined.

“Ask your sister if you want to know.” I shrugged. “We’re bonding.”

“You’re gonna like her more than me, aren’t you?” Harry pouted. “And you’re going to leave me for her.”

“Everyone is under the impression that she is the better Styles.”

“That’s a blatant lie.”

He held the door open for me, hand pressing against my hip as I passed. We started towards his car once again. There had been a lot of in and out with Harry lately, flouncing from one place to the next, and we were supposed to go out with Nick tonight.

“Nick wants to meet up at around 10, is that good for you?” Harry questioned as we made our way to the car.

“Mmm, yeah, sounds good.” I hummed as I got in the car. This was a lie – I had negative desire to go out tonight. The contract had been relatively painless, but it still left me feeling drained. And slightly on edge. I needed energy and preparation to go out with Harry’s friends. “

Especially because Harry’s friends meant crowds and paparazzi, following us endlessly. Paparazzi that took pictures that were just a few steps closer to being completely out to the public. We said we were friends – we were friends, at the very root of us – but it felt a little silly of me to believe that people actually believed that and were going to put up with it much longer.



www.tumblr.com/tagged/hezra

of course he’s in another video I bet she made him pay for all the donations

how the hell can you guys make something as harmless as a charity video into a bad thing? fucking hell

SHE’S USING HIM WHY CAN’T HE SEE THAT EVERYONE TWEET HIM THAT SHE’S USING HIM UNTIL HE GETS THE FUCKING PICTURE