Perfect Teeth

Going out with Harry and company was a complicated, multi-step process. Nick was usually the ringleader of the entire organization, ringing everyone up and deciding on a place and a time, but going out for a pint or to a club was much more difficult than deciding on a destination and getting into a car. Whenever that many of London’s elite were gathered together, large groups of paparazzi followed. There was strategic transportation planning and an army of security guards to follow every time Harry decided to indulge in a night of shenanigans with his friends.

In the fourteen steps from Nick’s door to where the Uber London car idled at the curb, there were at least ten photographers. The clicking was loud, the obnoxious flashes of blinding white light even worse, and they crowded like ants around an abandoned piece of meat, pushing and standing and holding their cameras above their heads to get a photo of Nick and Harry and Pixie and Alexa and anyone else that was deemed important.

I had offered to meet them at the club.

I had suggested the idea after the NDA meeting, when Harry and I had gone to go get real lunch and had to eat our Thai food in the backseat of his car because there were too many people out, but Harry had looked confused and slightly offended that I wouldn’t want to travel with him, so I quickly backtracked and scratched the idea.

The horde of paparazzi would inevitably catch a photo of Harry and I together, meaning that tomorrow my @ replies would be full of nothing but questions and mindless hate, but I tried not to think about that as I shrugged on my coat and stepped out of Nick's, where everyone had gathered to pregame.

Harry’s hand tried to loiter on the small of my back as we exited, fingers finding their preferred spot just about the curve of my butt, but I twisted away from him, one hand swatting at his and pressing it down by his side.

His eyes were confused as we moved forward up the steps, a strange conga line of shuffling feet and artfully tousled hair that led with Nick and ended with Colette, three separate security guards surrounding us.

“Paps,” I mouthed at him, jerking my head towards the crowd of men in black at the street level.

Harry looked disgruntled but nodded, his hand staying away from my body but still awkwardly hovering in the vicinity, as if he was ready to reach out and steady me at a moment’s notice. I appreciated the thought and I wanted to touch him - I always wanted to touch him, even in our sleep, because no matter how Harry and I started, we always ended up curled around each other, a tangle of legs and open, drooling mouths - but I didn't want to be photographed touching him.

It was a mission to get through the throng of shouting photographers, pushing through them as they shouted questions and names excitedly, everyone vying for Harry's attention, but we were successful enough, squeezing into the black backseat of the SUV and piling on top of each other. I kept a respectful distance away from Harry as we waited for the crowd to clear away and the car to pull away from the curb, hands resting in my lap, but the second we merged forward into the lane, Harry's head dipped down in front of mine, smiling. He'd had a few drinks at Nick's, but only enough to unclench some of the tension in his shoulders.

"Hi," he whispered, before leaning forward to steal a kiss, lips only brushing against mine for a second before he pulled away. "Sorry, you just look really fit right now."

I let my lips pull into a playful snarl. All I'd done was put on a top that didn't have a stain and run a brush through my hair, but I'd take it.

"You're gonna get so drunk tonight." I told him. "I can already tell."

"Probably," he agreed easily. "Will you hold back my hair?"

"Isn't that what the bandana's for? To hold back your unruly hair?"

"But my bandana won't rub my back and get me water."

"Truth. I'll hold your hair back when you get gross then," I pledged. "Wouldn't be the first time. It's kind of a trend with you."

Harry tilted his head to the left, eyes narrowed as he thought.

"Pixie's party," I prompted. "I had to take you home even in the very beginning stages of our friendship. Except now I suppose I'd just take you back to mine."

"Oh yeah, I remember." Harry swallowed, a blush staining across his cheeks as his eyes darted from my face to directly across from him, where Alexa was showing something to Colette on her phone.

Instantly, I was suspicious. I think I'd seen Harry blush maybe twice, and one time was when I made a comment about his dick (to be fair, it wasn't a mean comment - more of an observation - and I felt like I had the right considering I put the thing in my mouth and all) and the other was in a conversation with some record executive I didn't know.

"What's this? What's going on?" I gestured a hand toward his face. "Why're you blushing?"

"No reason." Harry coughed. "Oh hey, we're almost there."

"Don't deflect." I nudged him with my elbow. "Something you want to tell me, Styles?"

"Nothing big." Harry said. "I just...might not have been as drunk as I led on that night. If we're... being honest."

"What does that mean?"

Harry had the decency to look abashed. "I just wanted you to stay."

"So you pretended to be drunk so you would ask me to stay?"

"To be more drunk. I was pretty gone already."

"I don't know if that should warm my heart or piss me off."

"Warm your heart." He decided. "Because I'm really, really into you."

"Don't play cute."

"Play?" He scoffed. "I'm always cute. Now accept it and promise to hold my hair back."

"I don't know. Might be good for you to be photographed with some vomit dribbling down the front of your shirt. Keep up your image. The public loves drunk Harry."

"Please?" He widened his eyes as he looked down at me. "Ez? Baaaby?"

I flushed at his pet name, glancing around the car to make sure that everyone was too engrossed in their own conversations to pick up on it. "Fine, yes, shut up."

"Much obliged." Harry dared to reach forward for another kiss, this time a little harder, a little less restrained, and when he pulled away, Nick had the audacity to let out a whistle.

"Keep it in your pants, Styles," he teased, grin stretching across his face.

Harry only smirked, digging his hand between my back and the plush leather seat of the car, cupping my hip.



We made it through two clubs and Harry was drunk and I was making my way there. I was nowhere near Saturday Night Live plastered, just a nice, pleasant warm that made the forced conversation I was having with Hadley and Colette tolerable. Colette was nice and funny and laughed at my jokes, but I didn't find Hadley any more welcoming than that first conversation at Harry's welcome home party weeks ago. I'd done all I could to avoid the section of Harry's friends that had a less than warm reception to me, but Hadley had managed to weasel her way over to where Colette and I were standing.

"How's your YouTube stuff?" Hadley asked, swirling the little red straw in her drink menacingly, in a way that only a posh blonde Londoner really could. She was all polite, practiced smiles and artfully smudged eyeliner, a socialite gone grunge. I bet there were at least two Tumblrs dedicated to her style and life choices.

"It's going well, thanks." I gave her my toothiest grin (only a little forced), finishing off the rest of my drink.

"You've got like, a ton of subscribers, don't you?" Her responding grin was sharper than mine.

"A fair amount." Calling a little under four million subscribers was probably underselling it, but Hadley gave me the impression that she was the kind of person you needed to undersell yourself to. Like giving too much away was giving her some type of advantage.

"Harry probably helps with that, huh?" She laughed breezily, but I felt the force behind it.

I jerked my head back a little at the insinuation, surprised. "Harry?" I repeated. "Why would he--?"

"You need another drink." Colette cut in suddenly, arm reaching to curl itself around mine. "And I think I see Nick at the bar. C'mon."

She moved in a flurry, tugging me away from our perch and Hadley and the confusing insinuation that was hanging between us before I had a chance to protest.

Both Nick and Harry were at the bar, but Harry was surrounded by a group of women, chatting and smiling as one of them enthusiastically tapped something into her phone.

Harry glanced over at the group of us, all drunk eyes and wide smiles, and pursed his lips together, stretching them out in the sides and bearing a remarkable resemblance to a frog. A cute little amphibian boy.

I winked at him, still trying to shake the strange feeling Hadley's comment had ignited. Like Harry was helping what? He was an influence and he was prevalent in my life, but I didn't know his prevalent he was in my YouTube channel. I didn't think I wanted him to be prevalent on my YouTube channel. It was like crossing another gray area business boundary that made me uncomfortable.

I had already ordered another drink and was hanging back, vaguely listening to Colette and Nick make a joke about someone being sloppy in the corner when Harry popped back around, his hand sliding along my back and surprising me as he pressed the side of his body against mine.

I looked up from my drink, disoriented, and blinked at him questioningly. “Hmm?”

“Fun?” He leaned down and fit his mouth around my straw, taking a generous gulp from the drink in my hand. I’d been zoned out when the bartender came round and asked, just sputtering out something about having whatever Colette was having, even though her drink was dark and sugary and kind of gross.

“Sure.” I was stuck in my thoughts, stuck in five minutes ago. I was searching for Hadley’s swish of hair over the crowd, but she was in a nondescript black dress and it was hard enough to distinguish shapes in here, let alone hair color. “Fab time.”

Harry leaned in closer, swinging himself around so he was stuck in between Colette and I, wedged between the two of us as he peered down at me, grinning. He was at the right stage of happy, buzzed from the energy of the club and the people coming up to him all night. "Feel like I haven't seen you all night."

"You're a social lad. And Colette's been telling me embarrassing stories all night."

Harry was the right kind of drunk where the prospect of his embarrassing stories being told we're more exciting than embarrassing. His eyes lit up in amusement. "Did she tell you the one with the asp-"

"Asparagus and the seal impression? Yup."

"I'm pretty hilarious." His voice was full of pride.

"You're pretty something."

"Attractive? Comical? Kind? That the word you're looking for - what're they called, they say something about something else--?"

"Adjective?"

"Yes! Adjective.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my cheek before I could protest, talking much quicker than normal Harry in his amusement. “Thank you, you're so smart. Knew I liked you for a reason. Those are all the kinds of adjectives you're searching for."

I nodded, bringing my drink back up to my lips and finishing the last of it. I was cutting myself off after this one, because I could feel the inhibitions slowly creeping forward and I really couldn't afford to do something stupid right now, with all of London's paparazzi staking their claim out of the club entrance door for our inevitable departure.

Harry's eyes dropped down my face, settling on my lips as I pulled the drink away and held it in my hands. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand self-consciously, waiting for his stare to rise.

When it didn't, I asked, "What's up, buttercup?"

"I wanna make out." He practically whined, letting out a husky noise of discontent. "But you'll get mad at me if I try."

I settled him with a look. "We're in a room full of people. And a lot of them are watching you."

"But I'm only watching you." I winced a little at the cringe factor on that, shaking my head at him.

He ignored me, head dipping down even closer, eliminating the inches of space between our faces (and, conveniently, our lips). "Your hair's all messy and your cheeks are red. Make out with meeee."

I wanted to give in at that, because the same could be said of Harry - his hair was a mess and his cheeks were red and his eyes were droopy and the thought that he so actively wanted some action with me in the middle of a club was flustering and warming - but there were too many eyes. Too much room for it to get messy. So instead, I struck a bargain.

"Find me at Nick's later and I'll make out with you." I promised.

"I'm holding you to that." Harry grumbled, still not entirely satisfied but looking a little more sated, before he turned and decided to get another drink.



We ended up at Nick's. We always ended up at Nick's.

Usually, we ended up in the kitchen, normal habits including gravitating anywhere that had an island to lean against or a counter to perch on, but tonight we were sprawled underneath Nick’s too expensive wooden dining table, limbs thrown haphazardly as we forced ourselves to fit vertically underneath the space.

My head was spinning, but it was more from the noise and the night than the alcohol. I’d stuck to my limits, determined to not keep breaking promises to myself just because Harry’s friends made me occasionally uncomfortable. I stood in a group of five for half an hour. Every dialogue exchanged had been uncomfortable, terse words and strange statements between cautious glances, and eventually I gave up, because they kept looping the conversation back to specific events, certain memories, things that I could contribute absolutely nothing about. I loitered next to Nick, then Evie, before Harry finally caught up with me.

We had rotated around the party like planets, aware that we were on the same orbit but never clashing. I didn’t want to close in on him. He was constantly bouncing between groups, laughing and chatting and catching up. He came at me like some type of asteroid at the tail end of the night, looping an arm around my waist and somehow convincing me to lie under the dining room table with him.

We lay side-by-side, bodies stretched out and hands down at our sides. My entire right was pressed against his left, making me overly conscious of the feeling of his body heat, but we hadn’t gotten closer than that. He had tried, tugged at my arm in hopes that I would curl my body into his, but I settled with intertwining our hands. Tonight left me feeling less than affectionate in public, especially under the judgmental eyes of a few of Harry’s friends.

“Looks like there’s a squirrel on the bottom of the table.” Harry squinted up at the woodwork in front of us, at stained patterns on the unfinished underside of the table above us. “See it?” He pointed to a small patch of shapes, a long oval, then and a smaller fluffy circle that looked like a tail.

“I see it.” I tilted my head to look at it with a different perspective. “Kind of looks like a cheese grater, too.”

“Do you have round cheese graters in America?” He asked.

“Sometimes.” I tried to remember what the cheese grater at my parent’s house looked like, we’d used it at Thanksgiving, but I was drawing a blank. “I think.”

Harry let out a small, contented sigh, head lolling back against the hardwood floor. Some of the earlier alcohol had been processing and leaving his system, so he was sufficiently happy and his speech was still slow, but not slurry. My odds of getting through the night without cleaning up any vomit were pretty good. “Can’t believe I’ve already been home for a week.”

“Does it feel different? Being home?” I questioned.

“Sometimes. But not bad. We’ve just been going for so long that not being around everyone feels kind of weird. I think I miss Niall? And I think I’m supposed to feel relaxed, but I don’t.”

“You don’t feel relaxed?” He’d done nothing but lie around in my flat or go out for meals or hang out with friends or go to the shops. That seemed like a relaxing vacation to me. But maybe Harry needed to be moving to feel at peace with things.

“Dunno.” Harry shrugged, words lazy and hazy in his drunkenness. I thought that we found ourselves doing this a lot, talking about one thing and then suddenly broaching a more sensitive topic. The steps of the Met. The bathroom after SNL. Were we only honest when drunk? “Feels a little off this week.”

“Maybe it’s the time change,” I suggested, shifting a bit on the floor to get more comfortable. “Or you’re getting too much sleep. Or you’re just bored.”

“Might be.” He hummed, and then he tilted his head to the side to look me in the eye. He waited a beat, before saying, “Sorry I didn’t clean the kitchen.”

I tried to shrug nonchalantly and take in a small breath at the same time, but I ended up choking on a section of my own spit and coughing, body flopping around on the floor for a few moments as I tried to dislodge the saliva and clear my throat. Harry didn’t move much, one hand weaving it’s way underneath my back to rest between my shoulder blades and pat comfortingly. His head was still lolled back on his neck, but his eyes were wide with concern.

I dropped back to the floor with a huff moments later, eyes watering at the effort of my coughing. “‘S fine,” I rasped out, one hand reaching up to cup my throat as it stung. “Obviously I’ve got bigger problems to think about, like choking on my own spit.”

“Everyone does it.” Harry reassured. “Was funny.”

“Glad you liked my floundering fish impression.”

“Think I like most of the things you do.”

As I relaxed back against the ground, Harry’s hand stayed lodged underneath my back, flattened between my spine and the floor, pressed against where my heart was. There were seconds of silence as our breathing evened and I let my eyes flutter closed, focusing on my inhaling and exhaling and the apparent pounding in my head and how it was just slightly out of synch with the beating of my heart.

“‘M scared.” Harry whispered suddenly, his voice catching me off guard. My eyes shot open, cutting over to him to see that his were still serenely closed, face relaxed and tilted towards the ceiling.

“Of what?” I whispered back, and there were still at least fifteen other people in Nick’s house and the sound level was high, a clash of glasses and bottles and chit chat and someone’s really shitty party playlist, but the space between Harry and I felt quiet. And calm. And like anything above a whisper would break that and we couldn’t. Shouldn't. My heart picked up at the idea of Harry being scared.

Harry, who could handle anything. Harry, who had somehow convinced the entire world to fall in love with him by twenty. I didn’t think things could scare him anymore.

“Failing.” He answered, voice hushed.

I felt my eyebrows pinch together. “Failing at what?”

He shrugged up one shoulder and I felt the movement against mine, shirtsleeve brushing against the fabric of my sweater. “I dunno. Life. Work. This.”

“This?” I repeated, trying to calm the stuttering in my chest at the prospect of this - whatever this was, this not quite tangible but still very real thing between us - scaring him. I didn’t want to scare him.

“You were mad at me today.” He continued, all low, husky rumble. “Don’t like it when you’re mad at me. I forgot. I do that a lot. Forget things.”

“I know.” I didn’t, really, because Harry had been so attentive to me in most aspects of our relationship, remembering class schedules and which brand of bread I preferred when he went to the store. “It’s okay. I’m...I'm scared too.”

“Of this?”

“Sometimes.”

A pause.

“Is it because of me?”

I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth as I tried to figure out how to answer that. How much honesty to include. “It’s probably me. Or everyone else. I’m still trying to figure that out.”

“Are you still mad at me?” He asked, hesitant in a way that I didn't associate with Harry. Harry was bold and brave and careful, yes, but not hesitant.

“Of course not.” I felt a little kick in my stomach at the fact that he had asked. How could I be mad at a boy who still had a trunk full of action figures in his car because he wanted to assemble a group of Superhero Boy bands himself and then bring them to a shelter for the holidays? He had divulged his plan over lunch, murmuring about it between bites of curry. He thought maybe it would be a little tricky, to be able to do it without the paparazzi finding out, but he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. “Why would you think I was mad at you?”

“I dunno.” He shrugged again, playing it off, but he did know. “Thought maybe we could do something today, but you were gone all day. Figured maybe you were mad.”

“I had filming.” I replied, because I did, but I could see where he was coming from and it was already making me wince. “And then I was working on a couple videos coming up.”

“Could’ve worked on that at the flat, though.” Harry pointed out. “And not wherever you went.”

“I was at Starbucks.”

“I could’ve made you a chai. ‘m good at them, remember? Been practicing on Nick’s fancy espresso machine. Finally figured out how to steam the milk.”

I rested my head back against the floor, inhaling deeply. I felt too woozy for this, too out of myself. “Sometimes I just need space.” I finally said, struggling to find a way to explain the way I felt without offending him. “Like, to be by myself. It’s not a bad thing.”

“So you are mad at me.” Harry concluded, and he sounded stung and deflated.

I shook my head, and then slowly rolled onto my side, hovering over him. He must’ve felt my presence, one bloodshot eye popping open. I let my eyes scan his face, the sharpness of his cheeks and jaw, the few slight red bumps between his eyebrows and the neatly threaded hair there. “I just need time to recharge. Like alone. To not feel so...overwhelmed with people.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t you get like that too? On tour? When you’re around people too long and you just need some time by yourself?”

His second eye popped open. “Yeah, but not from you. I don’t need to recharge from you. That’s different.”

“Different?”

“Like, I recharge with you, not away from you.”

Stomach flips at that. I leaned my head down, pressing my forehead against the side of his face as I breathed in deeply, suddenly not caring how intimate we looked. “I think I’m just not used to spending so much time together.”

“Is it a bad thing? Should I stop?” Harry swallowed, self conscious, as he tried to come up with solutions.

“I like spending time with you. It’s just sometimes - I need space. Not bad space.” Harry’s face dropped slightly at the mention of space and I brought one hand up to rest it on his chest, feeling the warmth of him underneath his faded t-shirt and unbuttoned flannel. “Not lots of space. Just a little. So when I come home I have things to tell you.”

“You coulda told me if you didn’t want me to stay at your flat.” Harry propped himself up on one of his elbows, face dropped down and eyes tired. “I could’ve stayed at Nick’s.”

I rolled my head from side to side against him, before pulling my neck up so I could drop a kiss to his jaw. Harry’s upper body relaxed, if only incrementally. “It’s not that.” I tried to explain, words feeling flat and awkward and strange on my tongue. I wanted to run a wire between our brains, make him understand that it wasn't because I was tired of him or hated him or anything. It was just a thing that happened. “Sometimes I just - I get full up of people and I need some time to myself so I don’t get grouchy. It’s me. All me. Not you.”

“You sure?” I could see on his face that he didn't believe me.

“Yes, I’m sure.” I loaded those words with as much sincerity as I could, hoping that somehow I could convey that it wasn't all Harry. It was me too. It was mostly me. And it was okay that it was mostly me. I needed him to understand that.

“I just - fuck, I’m so afraid of ruining this.” Harry’s hand reached up to cup the back of my head, fingers slowly threading through my hair. I stopped breathing, head spinning again and feeling even more out if place. Why was he scared? Was I doing this? “Like I’ll almost be asleep and I’ll suddenly think, what if I ruin it and it freaks me out so bad. There’s just all this other shit--"

"Harry--” I started, and the word was hitching and cracking in my throat.

“Tell me if I’m ruining it. Tell me, tell me, tell me.”

“I will.” I stressed, word so fast it almost didn't exist. "I will, I will, I will."

“Will?”

“Would.” I corrected myself. “If you did - if I thought you did. But you aren’t. We had a few off days. It happens. We’re good.”

“Promise?”

“Pinky.” I brought my hand up to hook with the one settling on his chest, twining our pinkies around each other’s.

“I know that things get crazy. With like, the online stuff. And anyone else, I’d ask not to look at it, but it’s your job, y’know? So I can’t do that. But I don’t want it to hurt. Ignore them. Ignore everyone but us. It’s just us.”

“Just us.” I repeated. “Easy. Things should be easy now. I’ve signed the NDA. There’s nothing else, yeah?”

“Not unless you want to go public.”

I nearly choked on my breath at that. “No.” I replied quickly. “Not at all. Do you?”

Harry looked a little taken back by my quick answer. “I mean,” his eyes dropped down to my nose, my lips, then finally made their way back up to my eyes. “like, not right now. If you don’t want to.”

“No.” I shook my head firmly. “I - maybe in a few months or something. Life’s overwhelming enough as it is without all of that.”

“Alright.” Harry nodded.

“So good?” I repeated. The entire exchange felt like an out of body experience, like I was watching Harry and I’s relationship flicker across like a movie screen, but touching him made me feel more grounded.

“Good. Pinky promise.”

We squeezed our pinkies together.

“Now we’ve gotta kiss.” He said, solemn face finally breaking into a grin.

“I thought we had to kiss our hands.”

“No.” Harry shook his head. “Change of rules. Gotta kiss lips. You promised. Now c’mere.”

I shouIdn’t have. Not in plain sight of everyone, but I had promised and I needed to kiss him. I dropped my head and allowed my lips to press against his, Harry’s neck stretching up to reach me. The hand that was cupped around the back of my head tightened around my hair, his fingers curling around a few wayward strands as he groaned against my mouth. I tried to pull back after a few beats, regain some of the separation between us, but he wasn’t having that, opting to open his mouth against mine and press and pull until I conceded to him.



Somewhere in the kissing, we fell asleep underneath Nick’s dining room table. The thumping of someone against the wall woke me up, followed by a whispered expletive and a giggle as the door opened and then slammed shut, cold December draft running through the house. It took several moments of hard blinking and familiarizing myself with my surroundings before I was able to place where I was, Harry’s hard body rising and falling underneath mine. His head was tilted back and he was snoring a little, a gentle sound that fell perfectly out of tune with the rise and fall of my body. He was cute when he slept, and even though the patch of floor we had chosen was probably the most uncomfortable patch of flooring in the entire house, I would’ve liked to just rolled over, burrowed deeper into Harry’s side, and fallen back asleep.

Except I really, really had to pee. It was probably from all of the wine/mixed beverages, but the more awake I became, the more I realized that my bladder was a few moments away from bursting. And Harry liked me, yeah, but I felt like maybe he had a line about me peeing on him.

Wiggling myself from underneath the dining room table to more open space was more trying than I would’ve ever liked to admit, my limbs feeling stiff and back protesting as I rolled and shimmied and then finally, slowly, stood. I tried to stretch my torso and arms, but every movement reminded me of just how much I actually had to pee.

I was ducking out of the dining room and bee-lining it to the little half-bath underneath Nick’s stairs before I could do anything else, stumbling into the bathroom and tugging my pants off before I could even bother finding a light switch. Three minutes of half-awake relief and assessment later, I was washing my hands and rummaging around underneath the sink for a bottle of pain reliever. The aching in my back was worse than the aching in my head, but I was still achey and I presumed Harry would be too.

The cabinet underneath Nick’s sink only held extra toothbrushes, toilet paper, and a box of condoms, which, while all good items to house underneath a sink, not necessarily helpful. I shut the cabinet with a thud, before wandering out of the bathroom and making my way to the kitchen. It was a better option than upstairs, because even the thought of climbing up stairs made my hips hurt in a phantom ache.

There was a hallway between the toilet and the kitchen, a long stretch of floor and wall covered with a collage of paintings and photographs and other miscellaneous objects, and I was just at the halfway point, next to a sketched charcoal portrait of Puppy, when the voices in the kitchen became loud enough to distinguish.

“Hadley let something slip.” It sounded like Colette and her sentence was hushed, a little muted through the walls, and I was taking another step forward and then stopping just as the next person spoke.

“To Ezra?” It was a female voice, low and a little raspy. “About what?”

There was a pause, a beat hanging through the air, and my breath held, suspended at the mention of my name, until Collette spoke again.

“About Harry helping her with her YouTube.”

A shuffling in the kitchen, a movement of plates and cups and feet, and I instinctively pressed myself flat against the wall, hands pressed to the stucco as I held my breath in anticipation.

“Why is she so obsessed with that idea?” Another voice, a little higher. And I knew that voice, I registered it, but it wasn’t recognizing.

“I just think she thinks it’s a little strange. They have moved fast.” The syllables were drawn out, lilted, and I knew it was Alexa then. Alexa and Colette and...Pixie, maybe?

“You don’t think she’s actually using him, do you?” Colette asked suddenly, sounding surprised.

I was putting enough pieces together to know that the she in the conversation was me and the him was Harry and for the second time in twenty-four hours, someone was speculating about the combination of me and Harry and YouTube. It was the kind of thought that had me pressing deeper against the wall, my stomach twisting and my throat burning.

Because I didn’t want to be eavesdropping. Suddenly I wished I was back in the bathroom, or back curled up against Harry, or back asleep, because I didn’t want to hear people say things about me. I was bad enough with keeping myself off of the mean comments and threads on the Internet, but in real life, from people who I thought were maybe friends - I didn’t want it, I didn’t want it, I didn’t want it.

But I couldn’t move, because once I knew that they were talking about me, I couldn’t force myself to walk away.

“She’s got a shit load of - what are they? Subscriber people? Submissives? I don’t know. Whatever the hell they’re called. You make money off that, don’t you? And Harry’s been in a few videos.” From Alexa, who sounded equal parts contemplative and accusatory.

I felt the correction rise in my throat, the overwhelming need to tell her that they were subscribers, and no, you don’t make money off of them in the way that you’re thinking, and yes, okay, Harry was in a few videos, but--

“Do you really think she’d do that?” Someone asked, and it was a voice I knew better than the others, Nick’s strong Northern accent cutting across the kitchen. “Use him like that?”

He sounded so unsure, so confused, and I felt the second wave of hurt wash in with the knowledge that Nick - Nick, who I got lunch with twice a week, who I texted almost as much as i texted Harry, who I considered myself good and jolly with - didn’t even feel sure enough about me to know that I wouldn’t use Harry for some stupid hypothetical gain.

That he would think that I was that kind of person.

“You know her the best.” Pixie mentioned, and there was another wave of shuffling in the kitchen. I took two small, tiny steps to the left, closer to where the archway of the kitchen was, and I wanted to peek around, see the looks on their faces and how they were all standing, but I simultaneously wanted to run and hide. “What do you think?”

“I - I’ve thought about it.” Nick admitted. “I’m just not--”

“They just happened so fast.” Alexa cut in. “And Harry’s got the entire world on his shoulders right now. He needs to be careful.”

“And you think he’s not being?” Colette asked. “With her?”

“I just think that she--” Nick started and then stopped, word catching and hanging, and I didn’t want to be there but I also wanted him to say it to my face. Maybe that would make the blow easier or maybe it would make it hurt worse, but I wanted him to say it to me. To have the knowledge that I knew, so I wasn’t slinking around and feeling sick with thoughts that I maybe wasn’t supposed to have. With the thought that this was what they truly thought of me.

I turned the corner quickly, pushing my feet forward before I could talk myself out of it, and Pixie saw me first. Her face fell a little bit, lips puckering as I stepped towards one of the counters, leaning back against it and anchoring my hands there, fingertips gripping the counter behind my back.

“Go on then,” I encouraged slowly, nodding towards Nick. “You just?”

He looked absolutely horrified. His normally playful expression was dropped and aghast, a face unlike any that I usually saw on him. His jaw was set, tense, and he pressed himself back against the counter opposite from me. “Ezra--”

“You just?” I repeated, voice stronger now, as I looked straight at him, trying to keep my face composed and closed off. Even though I felt a little lightheaded and suddenly the ache in my back and hips was nothing compared to the ache in my head and chest. Because he - he thought I was - that I could -

He didn’t say anything, just ran a hand up the side of his face and pressed at his temples, eyes closed and chest rising and falling quickly.

“We’re just protective.” Collette spoke quickly, jumping to the defensive as Nick remained quiet. “We didn’t mean anything by it - Harry’s just important to us.”

I didn’t say anything to that, didn’t drop my gaze from Nick’s distressed face. When his eyes opened, he wouldn’t make eye contact.

“Please don’t be upset.” Alexa said, standing up straighter in the kitchen. “It wasn’t meant to offend.”

It wasn’t meant to offend, but it did. Because Harry’s friends thought that I was the type of person to use him, apparently, and the realization was so jarring and hurtful that it made me want to be sick all over Nick’s recently cleaned counter. I’d been so worried about them not liking me because of everything else - how I acted, what I said, how Harry and I were around them - and it didn’t even matter. Because they thought I was using him, maybe. Or that I was the type of person that had the potential to hang myself around someone because of what I could gain from it.

“Have you told Harry then?” I rasped out, the words feeling foreign and thick and so difficult to get out. Suddenly it was all that I could think about. “Are these his suspicions too?”

Nick’s eyes snapped to mine, widening as he shook his head. “No. No. Harry’s not - he would be so fucking angry if he thought that we - he doesn’t.” He sputtered out. “He doesn’t.” He continued to curse under his breath, a string of soft expletives, before he finally straightened up and looked a bit more like himself. “You know I like you Ezra. That’s not a question, it’s just--”

“Ez?” Harry’s groggy voice called from the dining room, followed by a soft padding of his footsteps across the hardwood as he entered the kitchen. At least he’d taken off his boots.

Nick stopped talking, mouth still hanging open mid-word as Harry entered the kitchen, eyes squinted as he yawned and ran a lazy hand through his hair.

“What’s going on?” He mumbled, crossing straight to me, pulling me away from the counter and throwing both arms around my shoulders so he could lean on me, tilted head resting on the top of mine as he gazed out at his friends.

He was comfortable with affection always, but especially okay with it when we were around his friends.

His friends.

I closed my eyes and tried not to lean against him as I had the striking realization that these were Harry’s friends, not mine.

Even Nick. Who had a stupid kissy face fucking emoji next to his name in my phone, but didn’t quite think high enough of me to think that I would be above using his best friend.

My chest hurt more and more as I thought about it, the tension behind my eyes growing as something started to build there. Probably a stress headache but also maybe tears.

“We’re just having a morning chat.” Pixie managed to get out, voice a little less than steady as she managed a smile.

Colette smiled tightly. Alexa murmured, “I need a cigarette,” and started towards the hallway. Nick closed his mouth.

“Hmph.” Harry made a noise against my hair, arms locking against my chest to hold me back against him. “My back is fucking killing me. And I need food.”

Colette and Pixie started talking at once, Pixie about wanting a fry up and Colette about the little breakfast place that maybe they could go visit, but I didn’t bother listening to either of them. Nick was still standing against the counter, eyes focused on Harry and I, but his mouth wasn’t moving. I kept waiting for him to say something, even though I didn’t really want to hear it.

I tilted my head up to look at Harry. “I think I’m going to go.”

“But we’re gonna get food.” He protested, leaning back a little so he could look down at me. His lip were twisted in a pout. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“I don’t feel well.” I felt less than well. I felt sick. And I needed a shower. And to sleep. And to rewind the last fifteen minutes. “So I’m gonna go back to my flat.”

“If you wait until after breakfast I can drive you.” Harry offered. “I just really need to eat something.”

“It’s fine.” I picked up his hands and removed them from my chest, twisting out of his embrace. “It’s not too far to the Tube. And the fresh air’ll probably do me some good.”

“You really don’t want to stay?” His face creased as he turned me around to look at him. “You feel that poorly?”

“My stomach’s all twisty and yuck.” I replied, making a grimace as I stepped away from him. “Food sounds awful. I’ll see you sometime, yeah? My parents come in Monday, so I might be a bit busy.”

Harry looked even more confused. “Okay? I thought I’d come over tonight but - okay.”

I wanted Harry to come with me. I wanted to drag him back to my flat and curl up around him and think about nothing but his presence and that in relation to me, but then I wanted exactly the opposite of that at the same time.

“I’m gonna go find my shoes.” I pressed a quick, barely there kiss to his jaw, because I knew that if I didn’t his face would twist up even more, and then turned and left the kitchen quickly. I didn’t want to see the looks on his friend’s faces at our affection. Maybe they were getting ready to spill their theories with him as I left. Both Nick and Harry made noises simultaneously behind me, Harry saying something about walking me out and Nick just a version of my name, but I didn’t turn around and I didn’t bid either of them goodbye.

www.tumblr.com/tagged/hezra

another friday night another hezra attack i am not even surprised

harry was so handsy on Friday like his hands were constantly near her how do you guys still not think it’s a thing

how come ezra left nick’s alone on saturday morning did some shit go down

ezra looks sooooo upset in the pap pics from Saturday morning i wonder what happened

apparently Ezra Callil got accosted in the Tube station?