Perfect Teeth

I knew that the story was going to break and the video was going to surface within fifteen minutes. I knew that when it happened and I knew that when it was through, but it still didn’t stop my heart from stuttering every time my phone vibrated with any type of notification as I finished jogging the last two blocks to my apartment, chest heaving as I took the steps two at a time to make it to the second floor walk up.

Probably, I should’ve already called him.

We weren’t supposed to be keeping secrets from each other, but suddenly my brain was swimming with knowledge of things I didn’t want him to know. Moments I didn’t want to keep reliving.

I was sweating from running in my coat, the thick layers sticking to my skin after I’d booked it from the Tube station and ran all the way home. I was too distracted to wait for a taxi, too anxious to stay in one place for too long. The first thing I did when I got through the door was go to the kitchen and wet a paper towel, scrubbing the left side of my face vigorously. The second thing I did was pull open my laptop and type my name into the search tool on Tumblr.

The post wasn’t time stamped, but it’d been fifteen minutes since the initial incident and we were already at over three thousand notes. I refreshed the page once and the notes multiplied, the three turning to a four easily. My fingers were pressing play before I could rationalize enough to stop myself, hunching over my computer where it sat on the black Ikea table that Harry had built. The filming was shaky and the footage was grainy, the iPhone tilting as it pointed in a specific direction. You could hear the sound of the Tube in the background; the mechanic humming of electricity and movement, and then you could hear her, voice strong and accusatory. Watch the indignant look on her face. The anger as it spread. Watch as her back straightened, stretching up on the balls of her feet as she --

And then you could see my face, frozen in some type of shock, back pressed against the door, trying to get as much distance between us as possible, before you saw two people spring forward, a flash of bright blonde hair and glasses as one of them yelled at the girls to back off and the other slid themselves directly between us, his back to me as he faced the girl and told her to take a step back. The video cut off just as the announcement of the next stop was made.

I’ve seen my face on a screen thousands of times. I looked at it far too often, knew every little spot and coloring and eyebrow hair perfectly. I knew what my face looked like on a screen when I was in control of editing it, when I knew exactly what face I was making because I was consciously aware of what I was saying. The face in the video, the tired eyes and slightly agape mouth and mussed up hair, was a different version of Ezra Callil than I was used to.

When did I start looking so tired?

I was pressing play again before I was doing anything else, and then I was refreshing the page, and then I was watching the notes hit into the tens of thousands, and then I was thinking that I probably needed to call Harry.

Because if he saw it before I told him, he was going to lose it. He was going to be upset at the half hour time lapse between when it happened and now, his last thirty minutes of blissful ignorance, but I’d been preoccupied with getting out of the Tube station and thanking Tristan and Naomi and rushing off home.

“Hiiii.” Harry greeted, picking up after the second ring. My hands were shaking as I held my phone up to my ear. I wanted to pause him there, absorb the sleepy contentedness in his voice before it inevitably all washed away. “Did you change your mind about breakfast?”

“Um, no.” I swallowed, taking in a short inhale before continuing. “I just - um - something happened. So I’m telling you.”

I could practically hear him tense over the phone. The firm stiffening of his shoulders, the way his jaw locked. “Something happened?” He repeated gruffly.

“There was an...incident.” It was the only word that even seemed to remotely fit. I was trying to categorize it in my head but that meant reflecting on it and I couldn’t do that. Not with the amount of adrenaline rushing through my veins, fingers shaking as my heart jumped and the small of my back tightened into a knot.

“What - what kind of incident?” He was drawing the words out, speculative, cautious.

I wanted to fast-forward. Jump cut. Edit this part of my life out. But life wasn’t like a YouTube video, perfectly compiled of moments that showed the parts I debated over and got to pick and chose because they fit into what I wanted.

“Just a few girls.” I answered, instantly picking the words that could downplay it the most. “They were - upset? It’s - they - just don’t watch it.”

“Why? What? What did they do?” Harry wouldn’t even let me finish talking, voice jumping considerably in decimal. He probably stood to his full height then. There was rustling in the background, a clinking of plates and forks, and then it all quieted, like he’d gone into a different room. I wondered if they were at a restaurant. If all of them had gone out to breakfast, cramming around one of the tables in the grody breakfast shop they all liked to frequent when they were hungover. I wondered if Hadley was there. Or if Nick had said something already, about the conversation this morning.

My blood was rushing at the thought and there was a swirling in my stomach that made me feel sick, like I’d just gone downhill on a rollercoaster and my entire world was dropping out directly underneath me.

Nick had said Harry didn’t know - had seemed adamant that the notion hadn’t even planted itself in his head, but what if that was all on a “yet” contingency. What if Harry didn’t think that about me yet? What if he didn’t think that about me yet?
“Ezra?” Harry prodded.

I leaned against the dining room table, staring at the Tumblr screen in front of me, but I could no longer keep still. “They’re young - and upset. I just--”

“Ezra.” His voice was cutting. “What did they do?”

I inhaled deeply, closing my eyes and feeling the dread creep up on me. I felt sick with it, sloshing through my veins. Why were these things drowning? “One of them spat on me.”

The breath washed right out of him, the low “whoosh” exhale as the air left completely. It was like an expletive of a breath, a sound that said fuck and shit and oh damn. Or maybe I was filling Harry’s silence with words because my own thoughts were so loud they were practically screaming to be let out of my head. I imagined he was closing his eyes. There was an almost inaudible, “What?” as his voice cracked.

I exhaled too. Fuck. Shit. Oh damn.

“Um--”

“There’s a video?”

“I think her friend took it.” I provided, pivoting on my foot as I paced the length of my living room. I couldn’t sit still but my knees felt shaky, wobbling as I moved. I propped myself against a wall next to the couch, pressing my forehead against the cool white paint. “I--”

Harry’s voice was suddenly frantic. “Where are you? Are you home? Did you get their names?”

“I made it to my flat.” I said, and then, “No, I left the second the train stopped.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No.” I breathed out. “I’m just - I wanted you to know. Before you saw it. Or something. I don’t really know what I am right now.”

More rustling, the sound of a chair and then keys. “I’m coming over.”

I pressed my forehead harder into the wall in an attempt to calm myself down. I was so confused, my emotions all over the place, and adding Harry into the mix probably wasn’t going to help with that. “You don’t have to - you’re at breakfast, right?”

“Ezra.” His voice was sharp, a contained fury, and it wasn’t any louder but it was so much harder. “I’ll be there soon.”

And then he clicked off.

And I didn’t know what to do. I paced the room, I washed my face again, I checked my phone. And then I rewatched the video.





“Are you Ezra Callil?”

“Oh, hi, yeah, I am. How’re you?”

“Are you dating Harry Styles? What’s he like?”

“...I, um, that’s kind of...private.”

“Are you? Are you dating him?”

“Did you want a picture or something?”

“Do you really think you’re good enough for him? Does he even like you or is it just sex? You haven’t known him for very long.”

“We’re just...friends. We’re good friends.”

“It isn’t fair, how you get to come to London and be friends with Harry. I’ve liked him for years.”

“I’m sure he would be really flattered that you like him? But like, I don’t - do you need something?”

“You just don’t deserve to date him. Harry deserves someone special. Doesn’t he have a type?”

“Look, I’m really sorry you feel that way, but whatever happens between Harry and I is between Harry and I, so could you maybe not?”

“Just tell me if you’re dating him.”

“It’s not--”

“Are you or aren’t you?”

“I just--”

“You don’t have to be such a bitch about it.”

“I’m not--”

“Entitled twat - just because you’re friends with Harry you think you’re--”

“--hey! Don’t talk to me that way. I’m sorry you’re upset, but you really need to go elsewhere, okay? And maybe grow up a little.”

“You fucking bitch--”

“Jesus Christ, get away from me!”

“Stupid bitch--!”

“Hey!”

“Did you just spit on her?”

“You need to back up, right now. Leave.”

“Fucking cu--”

“GO.”

“Now arriving at--”



Watching it was rejogging my entire memory, which almost seemed to hurt worse.

I remembered being huddled against the side of the car, one of my hands wrapped around a pole for balance because it was pretty crowded for an early Saturday morning. And I remember both of the girls approaching me, looking no older than fifteen, with looks of determination on their faces. I remembered grappling for an answer to their questions, feeling trapped because after this morning, I wasn’t sure how to answer. Saying yes violated a contract. Answering anything about Harry violated a contract that scared me shitless, but saying no felt like I was belittling everything we’d been working towards. If we were even working towards something anymore.

For all I knew, Harry was sitting around Nick’s kitchen as they called up Hadley and had her explain, in a very organized, bullet point list, how exactly I was using him and how that made me an awful person. I remembered feeling sick to my stomach throughout the entire confrontation, finally the tiredness and ache in my bones making me snap, eyes widening in exasperation as I told the girls to leave me alone. Only one of them had said anything at all, her friend just watching. I’d been too wrapped up in my own thoughts to notice the iPhone tilted my way in her hands until it was too late and then her friend was standing up on her toes, closing the gap of space between our bodies as the Tube started to slow, the announcement saying something that was lost, and then she was opening her mouth, made a sound, and spat directly on the left side of my face.

I was in shock for at least a few seconds, eyebrows raised and jaw dropped as I felt the saliva make contact with my face, splattering over my jaw and chin, and then two people were stepping forward. I vaguely remembered Tristan from my film class, though I hadn’t realized he was on the train at all, and the girl with him was someone that I’d seen around campus. Both of them had instantly acted like a wall, cutting between me and the very angry teenage girls just as the train slowed to a stop. There had been words exchanged, Tristan’s loud voice reverberating in the Tube car, but all I remembered was bringing the sleeve of my sweater to wipe the spit off my face. Tristan’s friend - Naomi, her name was Naomi - had ushered me out of the train car, Tristan saying something about pressing charges and Naomi asking me if I felt alright.

I had told them that I felt fine, even though I felt dizzy and like I wanted to vomit, and then the second we made it up the Tube stairs, I told them that I needed to go and started off in the other direction before either of them could say anything else, and stumbled/ran the rest of the way home.



Harry Styles @harry_styles
There’s a video going around right now and I’m going to please ask you all not to spread it.

Harry Styles @harry_styles
We’re working on getting it removed from the Internet completely, but it’s not something to be shared.

Harry Styles @harry_styles
If you have a problem with one of my personal decisions, take it up with me, not with the people I care about.

Harry Styles @harry_styles
Because what happened today leaves me absolutely disgusted.

Harry Styles @harry_styles
Violence is never accepted or tolerated. Disappointed that someone who calls themselves a fan would stoop so low.



I was hitting play for the fourth time when I heard Harry’s footsteps outside of the hall, hard slaps against the carpet, and I slammed my laptop shut abruptly, pushing it away from me and turning towards the door. I hadn’t even bothered to lock it in my frantic rush, Harry swinging it open quickly, Nick trailing behind him and closing the door gently.

I was surprised to see Nick, head reeling back slightly at the once again brutal reminder of this morning. His face was pulled into a very deliberate, blank mask, but his eyes looked cautious as he stepped forward. He’d never been in my apartment before - we spent most of our time out, at restaurants or with others at his house. I probably should’ve realized that I was just a convenient placeholder friend for him earlier, someone to spend time with so he could observe and determine, rather than someone to form a genuine relationship with. I was burned from it regardless.

Harry looked angry. Straight up, jaw tense, eyes firm, lips in a snarl, heaving chest angry. And that’s how I knew that he’d seen it, that he had to have, because he was looking at me and his eyes were heating the left side of my face, where she’d stood on her tip toes, defiant and angry, and spat.

He was normally so Zen, so “let’s just be calm and chill about things” that actual rage burning through him was shocking.

“Are you hurt?” He asked again, words throwing themselves out of his mouth. He’d asked this on the phone as well and I gave him the same response I gave them then.

“Hurt? Wha- no, no. I’m okay. It’s not a --” I started to say.

The look he shot me had me shutting up in seconds, the confession that it wasn’t a big deal dying on my tongue. I didn’t believe it - rationally, I knew it was a big deal. It was technically assault. Tristan had insisted on telling me that, asking repeatedly if I was sure that I didn’t want to file a police report. I’d left before I’d really given it much thought, but I already knew that I wouldn’t.

Filing a police report would make it into an even bigger deal than it already was.

I didn’t want Harry to think it was a big deal, to just upset himself further, but his reddening ears and glaring eyes told me it was too late for that.

“Don’t say it’s not a big deal, because it is,” he rasped out, just as he crossed to me and his hands were reaching for my face, one cupping around my jaw and tilting my chin to the side. “What happened after the video ended?”

“The train stopped and I left.” That was the simple version of it, anyway.

“Who were the people that helped you? That stepped in front of you?”

“Um, Tristan’s in my film class, actually, and his friend. I didn’t even know they were there.”

“Are you sure you’re alright? Okay?”

“I mean, yeah.” I shrugged it off. “I’ll be okay. I think. Ask me when the adrenaline stops.”

“Fuck,” Harry breathed out, and then he was releasing my chin and drawing me to him, a quick tug to his chest. He was shaking. Or maybe I was shaking. We were both a vibrating mess, Harry’s hands attempting to soothe as they rested on my back, but I could feel them quaking. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Harry’s, don’t, it wasn’t your fault--”

“But it was.” I pulled away from him minutely, to look up at his face, but his eyes were twisted closed. “So don’t say it wasn’t, because it is. They came up to you because of me. She -- because of me. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

It was the first time he’d maybe ever admitted to any of it, ever directly showed the guilt on his face, and it was so obviously eating at him. Nick was still awkwardly loitering behind us, barely really inside my apartment, and he was looking like he wanted to run and hide.

Then Harry was putting space between us, pulling his arms away so his fingers could anxiously run through his hair. They were shaking as they pulled through his fringe, lips stretched into a thin line.

“I just--” He cut himself off, voice trembling. “I don’t know how to make them fucking stop.”

“Mate,” Nick cut in from behind us. “Calm down, yeah? Just take a deep breath.”

Harry’s breath rattled through him. “I don’t know what to do.” He repeated, soft, shaky, before opening his eyes again and there was fire, the kind that had been simmering underneath for a while.

“What am I supposed to do? Fuck. Fuck! Fuck.” His eyes were wild and he was only one step below yelling, loud voice rumbling through me. “What am I supposed to do? Why would they - how could they-- it’s like they fucking - and you don’t deserve - fuck, if they’re mad at me, take it out on ME. But I don’t know what to give them anymore. It’s like nothing I do pleases them and I don’t understand why they get so angry.”

Nick’s worried gaze caught mine as Harry started to pace, trembling body making short, jerky steps as he spoke, arms thrown out but fists clenching.

I pressed a hand to my stomach, trying to ground myself there, before blinking back the tears that were building and stepping towards Harry. I had no idea why I was crying, maybe because looking at Harry made me undeniably anxious, or because I was finally coming down from the adrenaline. “Harry-”

“I just want one thing. One thing that’s mine and I just - fuck. Fucking goddamnit. I can’t fucking believe--”

“Mate, calm down.” Nick’s voice cut in.

Harry’s phone began to vibrate in his pocket, loud, angry sounds that I could hear from several feet away. His hands rummaged through his pockets, a wad of receipts falling away as he pulled his phone between the tight fabric and sighed at the screen.

“Hello?” He answered, swiping the screen and bringing it up to his ear. His volume wasn’t very high, only the vibrations of the voice on the other line able to be heard, but they sounded angry and forceful.

Harry wasn’t even letting them finish a sentence before he was cutting them off. “No. No, stop, don’t. I don’t care if they’re rude right now - they spit on her...I know it makes things hard, but don’t you think it says more about our image that we have fans that spit on people and to not saying anything about it?...I just, not right now. Can you get it down?...I don’t care, just get it down.”

He was turning away from me before he was saying much else, marching towards my front door and yanking it open as he slipped outside, edge of his tone just getting harder and harder with each word.

I was attempting to be discreet as I swiped underneath my eyes, thumbs pressing at the excess moisture that I’d been hoping wouldn’t gather there, and I was suddenly so tired that my shoulders were slumping and I was turning away from where Nick stood, padding into the tiny kitchen and yanking open the freezer, pulling out a handful of tiny little shot-bottles of alcohol that I’d swiped from the Daily Mix Halloween party a few months ago. I wasn’t one to usually buy hard alcohol, because I was much more of a cheap wine drinker, but when life gives you free alcohol, generally it’s good to swipe it.

I took the mini shot of whiskey and offered the tequila to Nick. It was an instinctual reaction, a movement of offering before I really thought about how I shouldn’t be offering him anything, but he was taking it wordlessly and uncapping the tiny bottle before I could take it back.

I followed his movement, twisting off the plastic cap and bringing the bottle to my lips, grimacing as the liquid made it’s way down my throat. I was partial to wine because I wasn’t very good with hard alcohol, but sometimes it’s nine o’clock on a Saturday morning and your boyfriend’s friends think you’re manipulative and some girl spits on your face and said boyfriend is on the edge of some catastrophic emotional state and you just need a fucking shot, so I felt no remorse in tipping the miniature bottle back and downing it all in one go.

Nick set his empty bottle down on the counter and I grabbed it, chucking both of them in the garbage bin before letting out a sigh and facing him.

“Harry really wasn’t in the condition to be driving.” Nick offered as a way of explanation for his presence.

I looked over at him, nodded, but said nothing.

I wasn’t entirely sure what to say to him, if I could manage anything at all civil or pleasant or coherent after this morning. My hands were still shaking and my mind was still reeling.

“I don’t think you’re using him.” Nick blurted out.

I raised my eyebrows incredulously, letting out a little laugh as I anxiously started stacking the few dirty plates on the island and bringing them to the kitchen. “Oh really?”

“I don’t.” He insisted. “Hadley does and maybe a few other people do, but I don’t.”

Maybe that should’ve made me feel better, Nick’s persistence that he didn’t think I was fake or manipulative, but I was more focused on the fact that apparently everyone else did. When had I given off that vibe?

“That doesn’t really make me feel better,” I said, stacking more plates and bringing the final batch to the sink before turning the tap on.

I needed to clean to keep my hands busy and my mind focused so I wasn’t looking at him.

Harry was still outside, arguing with someone on the phone. I felt like it was management and it seemed like it was maybe something he’d said. Had he addressed the issue already?

“Harry’s special.” Nick said, as if that was some excuse. And I knew that Harry was special, people had been telling me that since before I met him, and now the statement as an excuse irritated.

“What about me?” I asked him, back still towards him, and I meant to sound strong but the words were strained “Aren’t I special?”

Nick fumbled for what to say. “Ezra--”

“It’s okay, I get it.” I played nonchalance and shrugged, turning off the tap as the sink filled with soapy water, and faced him again. “Harry’s special and brilliant and you’re his friends and I’m the manipulative girl playing him. Have you told Harry this? I know you said you didn’t, but at breakfast?”

“No.” He shook his head quickly. “Harry’s got it bad. He hasn’t fancied a girl in ages, more than just lazy sex, and it’s about time he did better, but I think that scares people. Hadley’s had a crush on him for ages and suddenly you come in.”

“He pursued me.” I pointed out.

“I know.”

“And maybe I’m the one that started the relationship business, but he agreed. He said yes.”

“I know.”

“And I didn’t want him to be in the videos, it just happened.”

“I know.”

“I just - I would never, okay. And the thought that people think I do--”

“People suck, Ezra.” Nick interjected. “People and fans and the entire world is shit sometimes. You’ve got to get over it. For Harry.”

“I’m trying.” I slumped against the back of the sink, fingers pushing up into the side of my hair. “But to be honest, I really don’t feel like taking advice from you right now.”

Nick’s expression faltered at that. “This morning was shit.”

I rejected that. “This morning was more than shit, Nick. I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends.” He stated, but that just made me shake my head harder.

“No, we’re not.” I corrected, trying to get the distinction straight in my head between what he was in relation to Harry and what he was in relation to me. “You’re Harry’s friend.”

“I want to be your friend too.” He sounded pained, bracing his hands against the island counter.

“Then you need to try a little harder and have a little more faith in me as a person.”

“I’m sorry.” He apologized again, and the words sounded sincere but I still didn’t know what to do with them.

“Okay.”

“I am, Ezra.” He insisted. “Harry’s happy. And that’s because of you. And I’m absolute shit for doubting that. I was confused. And it was for a moment too long but I was. And I feel like shit because I made you feel like shit, but can we please just not tell Harry about this?”

His adamant suggestion that we keep the entire conversation a secret surprised me. “You don’t want him to know?”

Nick almost scoffed. “He’s more protective over you than he is over anyone else besides his family. I don’t want him to know ever.”

“Okay.” I swallowed, and even though the thought of Harry never having someone put those intrusive thoughts about me in his head was relieving, it still felt like I was burying something that shouldn’t be buried.

“We don’t have to tell him.”

“No, we don’t.” I relented with a small sigh, eyes cutting over to my front door. “He’s - he’s got enough to worry about right now.”

There was a moment of silence and then Nick diverted the subject to Harry’s more pressing matters.

“He was really mad.” Nick offered, relaxing slightly against the island counter. “I didn’t want him to drive alone. I’ve only seen Harry that angry once and that was a really long time ago, back when we first met.”

“Why was he mad then?”

“Same reason as know. Fans get in the way of his personal relationships.”

“Everyone’s so possessive of him.” I observed, voice dry. “Friends included.”

“Ezra,” Nick made a sad sound of discontent as I brought the subject up again. Maybe it wasn’t the mature thing to do - letting it go and moving on was probably a better path - but I couldn’t let it go yet. I had a canny ability to hold a grudge. “I know that this morning made things difficult--”

“I thought we were friends, Nick.” I interrupted him, feeling my irritation rise at his persistence at trying to downplay the entire thing. “And maybe that was stupid of me, but I did. And this morning I realized that we aren’t and that sucks.”

“But we are friends.” He insisted. “We are.”

“Then if that’s how you treat your friends, I don’t want to be involved in that. I get it - Harry comes first, there’s loyalty or whatever. But I’m not going to be friends with people who treat me like shit.”

Now Nick looked irritated. “It wasn’t the worst conversation you could’ve walked in on.” He defended.

“So I’m supposed to just wait around until I walk in on one worse? Or you guys just hide it better?”

“We have a right to be concerned about him. It doesn't have to be so personal. It isn’t because I don’t like you.”

I scoffed. “You can like people and still talk shit about them.”

I was so sick of people saying things about me when they had no idea who I was, but it was worse when they did. I could handle anonymous messages because they were people who had no idea, who I’d never had a real interaction with, but I thought Nick and I knew each other.

“I’m sorry for the assumptions and for doubting, but I’m not sorry for being protective over Harry.”

“I’m not asking you to be.” I shook my head at him, fingers pulling through more strands of hair. I wanted to fast forward again, get Nick out of my kitchen, because there was only so much I could handle in one day and I needed this morning to be over.

“Then what do you want?” Nick demanded.

“Nothing.” I bit out. “I don’t want anything from you right now.”

He sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. And Pixie and Collette and Alexa, they’re sorry too. But that’s all I can do.”

“Okay.” I allowed.

“And that’s it?”

“Are you really expecting us to go back to being friends again?” I asked him skeptically, wondering what exactly he was expecting out of this.

“It would be nice.”

“So would not getting spit on when I take the Tube after an awful fucking morning, but we can’t always get what we want.”

Nick’s eyes widened at my severe change in tone and I could recognize that he wasn’t the person that all of my anger deserved to be taken out on, but I wasn’t going to take it out on Harry and Nick was there.

“Okay.” He finally conceded with a sigh, shrugging because there was nothing else to say. “I’m sorry. That’s it. It was a shitty thing, but okay. I’m going to leave.”

“Okay.”

He gave me one last long, slightly searching look, before he turned and started towards the door. He stopped halfway there, head twisting back to stare at me. “Help him,” he advised, voice much softer. “Because he’s going to blame himself.”

I didn’t have a reply to that, the knot in my back only clenching as my throat dried up, so I nodded.

He opened the door and closed it behind him without looking back. Leaning against the kitchen sink, arms folded across my middle, I tried to regulate my breathing. In my first year of college we’d learned a meditative breathing technique during orientation week, because it was liberal arts school and that’s what they did, and I focused on that now. Inhaling deeply through my nose and letting it out from my mouth.

I was twenty-two deep breaths in when my apartment door opened again and Harry entered. I fluttered my eyes open slowly, focusing on him as he gently shut the door behind him and crossed towards me. His phone was still tightly clutched in his left hand, fingers gripping around the casing, and he looked straight at me with such a look of defeat that my heart jumped.

“Everything okay?” I asked just as Harry said, “Alright?”

Both of us paused for a moment, a stuttering of a nervous laugh on my lips trying to escape. The tips of his boots brushed with the tips of mine, which were still shining and wet from running through London puddles to get home.

“I’m...I’m gonna be okay.” I told him eventually, feeling like that was half a truth and half a lie. “How was your call? Sounded important.”

“Fuck the call,” Harry scoffed, one of his hands coming up to rest on the side of my neck, thumb stroking the underside of my jaw. “I care about you. Are you sure you’re alright? You can tell me if you aren’t.”

“I think I’m still a little bit in shock,” I admitted. “Never really been spat on before.”

My natural inclination was to make light of the situation, to make a stupid joke, but I wasn’t sure what exactly to say or how to laugh about it without my voice cracking.

Harry’s shoulders slumped, a shuddering breath leaving him as his eyes lowered.

“Ezra, I’m so sorry,” he whispered his apology. “I’m so sorry I’m doing this to you.”

A choked breath and strained exhale replaced whatever else I was going to say. Harry’s face looked a few seconds away from crumbling.

“Harry-”

“I’m trying to fix it - “

“There’s really not that much you can do.”

“Shit like this always happens.” He shook his head. “They get so angry and they take it out on you and fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” The words came out in an attempt to comfort even though I still wasn’t sure if they were true.

“No, it’s not. You can’t say it’s okay because it’s not. You should’ve have to put up with - you were just in the Tube. I just - I don’t know how to fix it. Or stop it or whatever.”

“Harry-”

“This isn’t fucking fair.” His face was twisted into a sad snarl. “It isn’t fair to you and it isn’t fair to me and I don’t know how to fix it.”

His breathing was becoming ragged again, head tilted down to stare at the space between us, and I was pulling his body closer to mine on instinct. His bones felt like they were trying to vibrate out of his skin, shaking as his jaw locked in frustration. I nudged my head underneath his chin, wanting him to look at me.

The rims of his eyes were red and glassy as his eyes met mine.

We kept having these moments that surprised me, moments of Harry being angry or frustrated or upset, and they were always so jarring because they were so different to the Harry that was happy or cheeky or excited or even exhausted. They were the moments of people that you only got when you knew them long enough, the unguarded glimpses into their lives that showed you something deeper. And maybe I should’ve felt like I was connecting to him on some deep psychological level, some life-altering moment that would change us because I’d seen him vulnerable, but mostly I just felt like crying, because I didn’t know what to do.

I was upset about what happened. I’d been assaulted in the Tube station by a teenage girl, someone only a few years younger than me, and her motivation had been out of jealousy and a type of hatred for someone you don’t know that I could never empathize with, but I was trying to hold it together because I thought that was what Harry needed.

I didn’t want him to get upset or to think I couldn’t handle it.

I was so confused and we both felt so fragile, like anything harder than a gentle current could separate the tiny little frayed strings that were delicately keeping us together.

“I just don’t know how to fucking handle it - and sometimes I think I do but then everything goes to shit and--”

“Hey, hey, calm down,” I said, pushing a shaking hand up to touch the side of his face. “Harry,” I whispered, pulling him closer and pressing both hands to the side of his face, anchoring his gaze down on mine. “Baby, calm down. Look at me, look at me.”

“I can’t win,” he shook his head, words almost a whimper. “I try so hard and I can’t win and I don’t know what to do.”

“Calm down.” One of my thumbs passed over his cheekbone repeatedly. “Take a deep breath.”

“I just want--” He cut himself off, chest expanding in a harsh sound.

When I called Harry, I expected a blow up. Some anger, definitely some irritation, but the amount of defeat seeping out of him had my insides twisting and something crawling up to catch in my throat. I was hugging him because I didn’t know what else to do, didn’t have anything else to offer as I moved my hands from his face and wrapped them around his torso, pressing my face into his shoulder and neck and clinging.

His inhales were heavy, deep, and his exhales were short and jarring and it sounded like he wasn’t getting enough breath. Seconds passed before he was returning my hug, but then his arms were wrapping so tightly around me it almost hurt, curled fingers pressing into my sides.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he almost gasped out.

“Please stop.” I pleaded with him. “Don’t be sorry, please. Baby, calm down.” I pressed my trembling lips into the hollow of his throat. “I like you so much it doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters.”

“I don’t know what to do.” He sounded helpless. “How do I fix this? How do I make them not hate me for wanting this? For making myself happy? Tell me how to fix this.”

“I--” I didn’t have a solution. Ezra Callil, girl who always had a comeback for everything, didn’t have an answer. I wanted to fast forward again. “I don’t know.” I told him honestly, and there were slow, fat tears leaking from my eyes as I pressed myself against him harder. Held onto him tighter.

I wanted the absence of space between us to fill in all of the gaps my words couldn’t.

“It’s gonna be okay.” I finally said, unable to come up with anything else more convincing or less generic.

“I don’t know what to do anymore.” He admitted. “And it scares me so fucking much.”

There was another lack of words, another pause between us that I didn’t know how to occupy. I pressed kiss to his neck, held him to me tighter, and we stood there, nothing but shaking shoulders and shuddering breaths, until Harry’s breathing returned to normal and he felt a little less like he was going to collapse completely in my arms.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered against my ear. “I just--”

“Don’t apologize. Not about feeling things, okay? Not ever. I know it sucks.”

“Yeah,” he let out a strained laugh against me. “It really does.”

“But it’s going to be okay.” It felt like a promise that I wasn’t sure I could keep, some type of reassurance that wasn’t a guarantee but I was going to pretend it was anyway. Because sometimes you just need to say things even if you don’t believe them, even if they partially feel like a lie. Because you don’t know the future and maybe they could be true.

Maybe things would be okay. Maybe we’d get over all of the little shit that we were both keeping buried down, maybe we would ignore everyone who was trying to have a say in a relationship they had no possession over, maybe nothing else would matter because Harry and I were so devastatingly good together.

Or maybe we wouldn’t be okay. Maybe this would be a crash and a burn and a bang that would leave me reeling, but I had absolutely no idea which one it would be.

If it even mattered which one it was, because I was going to gamble anyway.

I’d already had this conversation with myself, this pro/con list on reasons why getting involved with Harry could potentially be sticky and troubling, but fuck if it mattered anymore. I was here and I was in it and this boy was still shaking in front of me, looking so apologetic over something that might’ve been indirectly his fault but I couldn’t really blame him for. He was trying to fix it.

And he couldn’t fix everything, but he was trying to fix this and that had to count for something, didn’t it?

Fuck everything else, because Harry was standing in front of me looking more vulnerable than anyone I’d ever seen in my entire life, and wasn’t that all that mattered? Not fans, not Nick, not stupid friends, not every stupid cheap magazine from here to Los Angeles.

Harry mattered. And I mattered.

And that was it.

The thought should’ve been comforting, but it still felt hard to breathe.

Harry put a few inches of space between us, just enough so he could look down at me properly, and he looked exhausted, eyes weary and droopy and bloodshot.

He kissed me before I could say anything else, spout off a few possible truths, possible lies about the nature of our relationship and our future. He kissed me desperately, his hands clutching at my back, and the conversation was over.

We weren’t going to talk about it anymore.

Harry’s mouth was a place that I could get lost in, a place that was so welcomingly familiar that the rest of my brain shut off and all I could focus on was his tongue in my mouth and his lips against mine and his hands, soft and warm, frantically running up the back of my shirt to bring the hem of my top up, up, up, and off.

We were grabbing and we were kissing and we were moaning and it was the kind of rushed, harried movement that left no thought for anything else, just the way his lips were pressing hard enough against mine to leave bruises and his hands were dipping under the waistband of my jeans, popping the button and inching down the zipper.

“Off, off, off,” he gasped out the demand as he separated our mouths, hands tugging at the bottom of my jeans as my own hands went for his chest, unbuttoning the flannel with heavy, shaking hands.

This was the way you kissed when you wanted to forget. This was the way you kissed when you wanted to block out the rest of the world.

My apartment was quiet except for the sounds of our out of synch breathing and the soft thud of clothing and shoes hitting the floor; Harry’s belt buckle landing on the linoleum with a clank; my bra hitting one of the stools at the island as it flung from one arm to the free space. There was nothing slow about our movements, nothing deliberate or sensual, just a rushed frenzy that came with needed to forget about the rest of the world and touch each other.

Harry was pulling me back to him with his hand resting on the nape of my neck, pressing another kiss to my lips, mouths open and breath mixing, before he was tapping the back of my thigh and nodding towards the floor beneath us.

The linoleum was cold, the temperature causing me to scrunch up my nose and momentarily separate my mouth from Harry’s, but he was making me think about absolutely nothing else but his hands as they smoothed up my thighs, across my stomach, over my breasts, as he lowered himself on top of me.

He pulled his mouth back, keeping our lips lightly brushing, and my eyes opened to Harry’s staring directly back at me. There was a moment of something there, something deep and scared and confusing, but then his hands were skimming, a delicate, feather like touch, and I could feel the weight of him between my legs and I couldn’t wait.

“Touch me,” I mouthed the words, maybe saying them but maybe not. “Touch, touch me.”

He did and I gasped, his second hand moving to exactly where I wanted it between my legs, and he was touching me and my back was bowing and then before anything else he was arranging my hips so they were like parentheses around his legs and he was pressing inside of me and my mouth was opening but I wasn’t saying anything and Harry was moving in quick, needy thrusts, and my hands were grasping at his back, nails digging into the skin.

I was trying to move my hips in rhythm with his, but his thrusts were so frantic that I couldn’t keep up, and his lips were on mine, before he buried his head in my neck and groaned my name against my skin, but it felt like I’m sorry.

We were lying on my kitchen floor, bodies moving together as Harry pressed into me and I moaned around him, and maybe we were having sex or making love or frick fracking or whatever other awful euphemism, but really, we were fucking, the type of fast paced movement that came with not wanting to think about anything else but each other. This was the kind of sex that came out of desperation, out of wanting to forget, out of trying to forget things you didn’t want to know.

And his mouth was by my ear, letting out little grunts and groans (I’m sorry), and he was pressing into me so fast and deep all I could do was let out breathless little whimpers.

It wasn’t even ten on a Saturday morning and it’d been the worst morning that I’d had in months, maybe years, but Harry was trying to erase all of that with every thrust of his hips, every press up, up, until I was unraveling beneath him, and I came once, because of the pressure and the movement, and then a second time under the aid of his hands, and I was so sensitive I was begging him to finish already, and then he finally did, body collapsing against me with a shaky kind of sigh. “I’m sorry.”



tumblr.com/tagged/harry+styles

what’s going on what are harry’s tweets about what video

#harrybroke2k13

sure enough do something to his girlfriend and Harry’ll actually tweet more than once a week

i’m so upset for him right now oh my god like don’t like Ezra, ok, but he’s so upset about this look at his tweets

this fandom is fucked up

www.tumblr.com/tagged/ezra+callil

here’s the video (+link) it’s pretty fucking funny

nice !

maybe you shouldn’t be a manipulative b*tch and people won’t spit on you…

STOP SAYING SHE DESERVES IT SHE DOESN’T DESERVE IT HOW DARE YOU

do you see the girl in the purple shirt in the new video? Yes? WELL THAT’S ME. I WAS THERE. And those girls were AWFUL. Ezra was minding her own business and they came up to her and starting asking her all of these intrusive questions and then got angry when she wouldn’t answer. She looked so scared and shocked and those girls were disgusting and you all need to reevaluate your fucking priorities if you think that she deserves it. Your jealousy is getting the best of you. Why the fuck would you want to date Harry anyway? Look at what it’s doing to her jesus fucking christ