Perfect Teeth

“I can’t believe you outted my Niall obsession to all of London.” ZZ huffed, bringing the oversized coffee mug up to her lips. She was glaring at me over the rim, her newly dyed peach hair falling in her face.

“Out of the entire interview and everything that I just told you, that’s what sticks? Half of London already knows you’re obsessed with Niall. You won’t shut up about him.” I rolled my eyes at her, before breaking off a flaky piece of croissant and popping it in my mouth.

“Also,” she continued, completely ignoring me as she swallowed the last of her latte foam and picked right back up on her rant. “How is it that I’ve been living in London my entire life and only met One Direction a few weeks ago, yet you’re here for three bloody weeks and you’ve ran into Harry Styles twice?”

“I only ran into him once.” I corrected. “I met him the first time when you did, remember? And it’s not like we’re suddenly friends.”

“He asked you to lunch.” She grunted, fixing me with a look. “He let you spit water all over his precious hair and then he asked you to lunch. And he followed you on Twitter.”

“He did?” I raised my eyebrows, before fishing my phone out of my pocket and opening my Twitter app. My follower count had gone up drastically within the last few hours, the numbers rising so dramatically that I didn’t even bother to check who exactly decided my 140-character musings were worth reading. “I didn’t know that.”

Sure enough, when I looked at Harry’s profile, the words “follows you” were right there next to his name. “Huh.” I mused. “Would you look at that?”

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t go to lunch with him.” ZZ stated, shaking her head at me as she reached over and stole a piece of my croissant. I slapped her hand away, but she was quicker than that, tearing off a huge chunk as I glared.

“Because he didn’t ask me to lunch, he told me we were going to lunch, like I suddenly didn’t have an option. I don’t care if he’s Harry Styles, he can have some common courtesy, especially because I know the boy has manners.” I practically, huffed, shielding my croissant with my hand as she continued to eye it hungrily. I told her to buy her own, but she persisted, adamantly stating that she really wasn’t that hungry. Apparently she was misreading her own signals.

“So if he would’ve asked you to lunch, you would’ve gone?” She clarified, quirking an eyebrow skeptically.

I shrugged, before tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear and taking a sip of my tea. “Probably? Maybe?” I guessed with a little half shrug. “He’s nice. Funny. And Grimmy seems like a laugh.”

“So you stopped yourself from potentially making two new friends today because Harry didn’t ask you to lunch?” ZZ pressed, now looking more exasperated than concerned.

“It’s more than that.” I protested, because it was. Or at least I thought it was. It was about manners and politeness and also, my nerves were shot after Innuendo Bingo and I wasn’t sure how much more I could handle in one day. “Do I really want the whole Hezra thing to get blown up even more than it is?”

“Why not?” ZZ shrugged. “People are going to talk about Harry and whatever girl he happens to look at that week anyway. He’s a celebrity, it happens, but I don’t think you should hold that against him.”

“I’m not holding that against him!” I argued, shaking my head at her accusation. Because I wasn’t.

“Oh really?” ZZ only rolled her eyes again, with such force that I thought she might perhaps give herself a migraine, and took my momentary distraction to finagle the rest of my croissant from the napkin and pop it into her mouth, chewing quickly. “Because you not wanting to go to lunch with him because someone might talk about it is holding it against him.”

“I didn’t want to go to lunch with him because he didn’t ask.”

“Mhm, sure.” She accepted dryly, accompanied by another eye roll. “Whatever you say.”

I rolled my eyes back at her with equal force, before crumbling up the napkin the croissant had been on and placing it next to my now empty cup. We were in a cafe next to the Daily Mix studio, a little hole in the wall place that was only noticeable by the COFFEE sign directly above the door. It wasn’t the best coffee I’d had in London, but it was slightly better than Starbucks and, unlike the not-so-friendly baristas in the Starbucks down the road, the cashiers here didn’t glare at me for stealing their free wifi and taking up a table in the corner for a few hours.

“Think what you want, ZZ Cakes.” I sighed, reached into my bag and pulling out my laptop sleeve, setting it down on the table. “Now skedaddle. I have work to do.”

“Course work or editing?” ZZ asked, raising up from her chair and grabbing our two empty mugs. She was wearing a yellow printed floral dress, the silhouette nipping in her hips and flaring out a little above her knees. It wasn’t exactly warm in London, but the sun was shining today, which was more than it had done in the past three weeks, and apparently ZZ was diving into the sunshine with full force, bare shoulders and all.

“Both.” I scrunched up my nose, before taking a deep sigh and wiggling around to get comfortable in my seat. I had two videos to edit, an inbox full of e-mails to read, and some chemistry notes to revise (and I use the term revise loosely here, because really I was just going to stare at them helplessly and hope the knowledge would somehow absorb into my brain).

“Anyone ever told you that you work too much?” She asked as she turned away from me, placing both of our mugs on the counter before turning to retrieve her purse.

“Yup.” I nodded, taking my laptop out of the sleeve and opening it up. I looked around for an outlet, before finding one underneath the table and leaning over to plug my charger in. “Multiple people, actually.”

“Well, as long as you’re aware then.” She said brightly, her sarcasm quotient high, before grabbing her bag and sending me a warm small, always only two seconds away from peaches and sunshine.

“See you in a few hours. Don’t work too hard.” She instructed, walking backwards and making her way to the door. A boy with dark brown hair and scuffed boots was holding it open for her.

“Aye, aye captain.” I saluted, before pulling a few books and my notebook out of my bag. ZZ saluted back, before walking through the door and out into London. I stared at her retreating back for a a second, wondering if we had officially crossed the space from coworkers to friends. She called me the second I stepped out of the Radio 1 offices, demanding that we meet up for coffee to dissect the entire Harry Styles fiasco. I told her that there wasn’t much to dissect. She begged to differ and, after fifteen minutes spent getting me to rehash both the run in with the elevator and what happened after Innuendo Bingo, we agreed to disagree. She thought I should’ve gone to lunch with Harry, especially since he was so foxy, and I thought that if I wanted someone to demand I take lunch at a certain time I would go back to primary school. Despite her persistent prodding, chatting with ZZ was nice. She was fun - she was never afraid to tell me what she thought - but still, she was sweet. She had the type of kindness that was magnetic, a head full of water-color hair, and the kind of smile that could stop traffic.

She was the type of person that I wanted to emulate. Not in her looks, exactly - my hair was dark brown, shorter, and I liked my jeans and sweaters more than any vintage-inspired Topshop dress, but in her personality. Maybe spending some time together would make her breezy, careless energy rub off on me. If nothing else, at least maybe now she’d be on my side in the Alfie vs. Ezra fight, which was still an ongoing thing in the Tongue in Cheek offices.

I spent the next three hours editing two different videos, staring at my chemistry notes, and refreshing my Twitter page (I may or may not have spent a few moments refreshing Harry’s Twitter page as well, but even the mighty occasionally fall). It was a normal Monday afternoon.

After my normal Monday afternoon, my normal Tuesday, and my normal Wednesday, I felt like I had finally fallen into some semblance of a London routine. I went to school. I ate lunch with Cassie, who was in both my media relations and my chemistry class. I filmed and I filmed and I filmed some more, putting up my regular channel videos as well as those for my classes, Daily Mix, and Tongue in Cheek. I ordered take out Chinese and spent my nights doing coursework and liking One Direction .gifs on Tumblr. I had more coffee with ZZ, hung out with my friend Finn, and flipped through an IKEA catalog and daydreamed about adding more furniture to my apartment.

My plans for Friday night included staying in, despite the invitation extended to me by my friend Louise for a night out, and by six PM I had already showered and made two bowls of microwavable Easy Mac. I was debating heating up a third serving when my phone rang across the apartment, the shrill sound reverberating from my bedroom to the empty living room. By the time I unwound myself from my blankets, the bowl sitting on my stomach, and my laptop, the call had already gone to voicemail.

And that was when my Friday night plans changed, because on Friday I had a voicemail from Liam Payne.



It took me approximately ten minutes and three listens of the voicemail to calm myself down enough to call him back, and then it took another twenty minutes after hanging up to run a comb through my hair, find a pair of clean jeans, and navigate my way through London.

Saying that I was nervous would’ve been stupid, because no shit I was nervous. I would’ve been nervous meeting anyone for a first official meeting out, even if that person wasn’t an international celebrity with biceps that made me want to punch someone, and I was more than a little surprised that not even thirty minutes ago, Liam invited me to dinner for ‘the best falafel in the city’.

The restaurant was crowded enough for a Friday night in London, but I spotted Liam’s security guard before I actually spotted Liam. He was standing a few feet away from the entrance, arms crossed as he stared into one of the high booths, and he was laughing at something. It was a bit of a guess, but I assumed that where I could find a six foot three man dressed in black and looking slightly fierce, I could find Liam. It took three steps before the security guard noticed my presence, back straightening as he turned to me.

“Sorry, miss, but no one is allowed—,” he said, though not unkindly, his smile crumbling into a straight line.

“Wait, is it Ezra?” Liam piped up, leaning over slightly in the booth, his head suddenly appearing over the side.

“Hi.” I greeted, sending him a small wave. Liam’s face lit up, eyes brightening as he beckoned me into the booth. He looked absolutely thrilled that I had decided to join him, posture straightening as he scooted forward in excitement, and I was suddenly reminded of why I had always said Liam was my favorite in the first place - the boy seemed like an absolute sweetheart.

“She’s good, George.” Liam smiled.

“Thank you for inviting me.” I said as I slid into the cracked vinyl booth, shrugging off my coat and setting my bag next to me.

“Well, you did choose to marry me in a game of shag, marry, kill on the radio. Figured the least I could do is treat you to some falafel.” Liam laughed, reaching towards one of the menus on the table.

“You mean the secret to having people invite you out to dinner is as easy as saying you’ll marry them on a public platform?” I asked excitedly, leaning forward and widening my eyes in faux-realization. “Someone should’ve told me this years ago.”

“You learn a new thing every day.” Liam shrugged, a teasing half smile on his face as he studied the menu in his hand.

I took his cue and read the list of options as well, peeking up at Liam every few seconds just to make sure he was actually real and actually sitting across from me. We fell into a moment of semi-easy silence until the waitress came and took our order, plucking the menus from our hands and leaving us with nothing to occupy ourselves with.

So I started talking, leaning forward and resting my forearms on the wooden table. The lighting in the restuarant was fairly dim, the London sun setting in the window behind us, and the hum and chatter of people chatting and eating set a nice background tone. “The best falafel in London, you claim?”

Liam nodded enthusiastically, before reaching forward and catching his straw with his mouth. He took a sip and said,“The very best and I’ve tried my fair share of places. It’s one of my favorite places to eat.”

“I’m excited now, though I don’t know how it’ll compare next to the best falafel in the world, which I’ve had.”

“Oh?” Liam raised an inquisitive eyebrow in challenge. “And where was that?”

“My tata’s house.” I informed him, leaning back in the booth. His eyebrows narrowed, presumably on the word ‘tata’ and I laughed before explaining. “I’m Lebanese. And my tata is my grandmother, thank you very much.”

“Lebanese?” He repeated. “Really?”

“Really, really.” I nodded. “My dad’s mom grew up in Lebanon, and then she moved to New York where she met my grandpa. It’s the culture I identify with the most.”

“That’s really cool.” Liam acknowledged, and the way he said his words made me think that he meant it. He spoke with such a sense of sincerity and he looked at me like I had just done something amazing, a look of genuine fascination on his face. “I always wanted an exotic culture as a kid, but we’re just boring English people.” He admitted.

“Being English is far from boring.” I protested, shaking my head. “The world is practically obsessed with the English! The accents, the disinterest - not to mention you guys make a mean cup of tea.”

“That doesn’t compare to making a mean falafel. Can you make a mean falafel?”

“I can’t, no.” I sighed disappointedly. Tata Marie had tried to convince me to learn how to make traditional dishes since I was thirteen, but it was never something I was incredibly interested in. The process took too long and I was a busy kid, always having something else to do. Now that I was living alone, I wish I knew how to make something a little more complicated than boxed pasta and canned Alfredo sauce. “I can barely make easy mac. I was more interested in eating the food as a kid than learning how to make it.”

“You should add that to your bucket list then.” Liam suggested, taking another sip of his water.

I tried to keep my eyes trained on his face, not his lips, but there was always the matter that he was devilishly attractive. It was different, though - sitting across from Harry made me feel slightly faint of breath, but it was like a challenge. I wanted to be funny, to impress him and make him laugh, but I was comfortable sitting across from Liam. Maybe it was the smile or the eyes or the relaxation of his posture, but something about him told me that I didn’t need to impress him.

“Learning how to make falafel?” I asked.

“Learning how to make falafel from your grandmother.” He explained. “Keep the tradition alive or something?”

“You’re right, I should.” I agreed. “I don’t know how edible they’d be, but it couldn’t hurt to try. Are you big on bucket lists, then?”

“Have been since I was a kid.” He admitted, with something that might have been a bashful grin. “Spent a lot of my time dreaming about things instead of doing them, but then X Factor happened and all of my dreams came true.”

“Have you completed your bucket list then? Finished everything off you’ve ever wanted to do?” I asked. One Direction had accomplished a lot, and short of going to the moon or something, I wasn’t sure there was much left that Liam wanted to do that he probably couldn’t or hadn’t already.

“Hardly.” Liam chuckled, a little scoff on his lips as he shook his head. “A lot of the big things, yeah. I’ve accomplished things I never dreamed of doing, but there are always going to be more.”

“Like?” I prompted, propping my chin on my upturned hand.

“Marriage. Children. I want to do one of those Iron Men triathlons.” He ticked off each as he spoke, looking up contemplatively. “There are some outrageous ones, too, like to visit every continent and go to Mars.”

“I think if anyone can go to all of the continents, you certainly can.” I laughed, because it was true. My passport had three stamps in it, but I imagine Liam had pages full of exotic country stamps and it was only going to continue. “Antarctica’s just itching for their One Direction fix.”

Liam only laughed and shook his head. “What about you then? What’s on your bucket list?”

“Total world domination.” I answered seriously, looking Liam dead in the eye. It took him a few seconds to crack, shifting uncomfortably in his seat and studying my face until I started laughing. “I’m kidding! Partially, at least. Um. Hmm. I want to direct a movie. Like a real, full on, actually has a budget and will be released in theatres, movie. Host an award show, maybe. Volunteer some time somewhere. Actually get some furniture for my apartment.”

“You don’t have furniture for your apartment?” He was apparently hung up on the last one, shooting me a strange look as I fiddled around in my booth.

I shrugged. “I mean, I have some. Like, a mattress and an arm chair from the lady across the street.”

“Why don’t you have more?”

“I don’t really feel like lugging furniture through the Tube? None of my friends have cars big enough and I’m too cheap to pay for home delivery. I’ve been meaning to make my way to IKEA, but I haven’t had the time, I guess.”

“You should do that eventually, yeah? Get real high class and buy a desk?”

“That might ruin my mystique, though.” I joked. “Isn’t it super hip and cool to eat all of my microwavable meals on a thirty year old paisley arm chair?”

We spent the rest of dinner chatting over our falafel and laughing. George’s awkward standing grew to the point of bugging me to no return and I forced him to take a seat next to Liam. He kept looking at Liam questioningly, as if it was alright that he was crashing our dinner, but Liam only sent him a smile and continued chowing down. I asked George about his life and his family (he had one daughter, Abigail, who was seven and the most adorable little creature in the world, as shown by the pictures he showed me) and both he and Liam rehashed a few tour horror stories. I rated the falafel a 8.5/10, because it was damn good but it needed more sauce, and I had a very pleasant evening.

And I think what made it so pleasant was that I felt like I was at dinner with someone I’d known for years. Liam was warm and inviting and he laughed at my stupid jokes and he looked completely absorbed by everything I said. When I spoke, he kept his eyes trained on my face and nodded appreciatively. He didn’t check his phone, he didn’t gaze around the restaurant, he simply stared at me and listened. Sometimes when you talk to people you can tell that they aren’t really listening to you - they’re wondering if they turned their curling iron off or fed the fish or patiently waiting for a break in the conversation where they can interject and start talking about themselves, but Liam didn’t act like that.

We finished our food between laughter and exchanged stories. The check was paid and I was sliding out of the booth, stretching my legs as I shoved an arm through the sleeve of my sweater when I heard an excited gasp. George had gone ahead to make sure that there wasn’t a crowd outside (there wasn’t) and get Liam’s car idling by the curb, apparently trusting Liam to make it out of the restaurant in one piece. The room was small and most of the people inside looked too old to really care about Liam’s presence at all, but the excited gasp had me thinking otherwise.

I turned back to Liam, who had stood up as well, ready to ask if perhaps he wanted to make his way out the back entrance or if we should leave separately, when I was interrupted by footsteps.

“Ezra?” Someone asked and when I turned back around, there were three girls standing in front of me, each looking impeccably dressed for a Friday night out.

“Hello.” I smiled, forcing myself to not look back at Liam in case he had taken the opportunity to slip out the back door.

“It really is you!” One of the girls exclaimed. “Hana thought she saw you when she walked to the loo, but she wasn’t sure. This is so great! You’re my favorite YouTuber! Can we get a picture?”

“Of course!” I replied, already hiking the strap of my tote bag higher on the shoulder and getting in picture posing mode.

I stepped away from the aisle, leaning against the back wall as all three girls situated themselves.

“Let me just find someone to take the picture—,” one of them started, looking around frantically for a passing waiter or patron.

“I can take it.” Liam volunteered, finally stepping away from the booth with a smile. He held out an outstretched hand and there was a moment of silence, each girl staring at him in shock.

“Holy shit.” The girl standing right next to me breathed, her eyes wide as she stared at Liam. “He really is perfect in real life.”

I couldn’t stop myself from laughing, shaking my head as I turned to look at her. “That was my reaction too!”

“Like, those arms—,” she continued, speech floundering as her eyes widened and zeroed in on Liam’s biceps. I just continued to giggle, shaking my head as Liam was handed the camera shakily and prepared to take a picture. I smiled for the first picture, grimaced for the second, and crossed my eyes for the third, before I wordlessly reached my hand out for the camera from Liam.

“I’m sure the lovely ladies want some pictures with you as well.” I told him. He grinned and nodded, before raising his eyebrows at the girls in question.

They looked at him like he was stupid. He hurriedly posed, all cute smiles and puppy dog eyes as they exchanged hugs.

“This is probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” One of the girls sighed, turning towards me with a smile. “I just met my favorite YouTuber and boyband member in one day. It only goes down from here.”

“You don’t know that.” I denounced, protesting with a shake of my head. “Maybe tomorrow you’ll meet the Queen.”

“Can I have a picture with both of you?” Another one of the girls asked, handing her friend the camera. “Because it’s going to be my profile picture for everything for the next ten years.”

“Only if Liam is okay with my stardom obviously overshadowing him in the photo.” I stipulated, flashing Liam a smile, gapped front teeth and all, to let him know that I was kidding, but also giving him an out. I didn’t know if he had certain management stipulations about being seen out with certain people in public. If I were his publicist, I probably would’ve already blacklisted me from the entire band. Not that I had intentionally done anything to cause a ruckus, but the potential was always there. Things around me were always haphazard at best.

“It’d be a pleasure to take a photo with you, babe.” Liam joked, before crossing over and wrapping his arm around around the girl’s waist. We sandwiched her between us and smiled, the successfully camera clickings a few minutes later informing us of a job well done.

“Thank you so much.” The girls gushed, going in for one last hug as we stood to the side of the restaurant.

“Sorry if we ruined your date—,” the smaller blonde girl, Hana, looked incredibly apologetic. “—but I never see anyone famous, and—”

“—it was so worth it.” Her friend finished off. “But now I’m totally Team Lezra, because you two are per-fect.”

Liam blushed and laughed, one hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.

“Oh, Jesus.” I admonished, flushing as I made eyes towards the door. I figured that this was the point in the evening in which I extrapolated myself from the equation, as to not cause any more uproar within whatever types of fandoms. I was finally on a steady decline of death threats and that was only from spitting water out at Harry. Proof that I had dinner with Liam was probably going to be much, much worse.

“I have no idea why people keep assuming that I have a chance with someone as foxy as this lad,” I hooked a thumb in Liam’s direction. “But I’m flattered, even if it’s not remotely true. Have a nice night!”

Liam must have told George that he was okay, because he only looked mildly concerned when we stepped out onto the concrete. The sun had officially gone down and the street lights were on, the London city life swinging at full force. It wasn’t too late, just past eight o’clock at night, and I reckoned that I would be fine on the Tube at night.

“Thank you again for inviting me tonight. The falafel was worth getting dressed for.” I mused to Liam as he stepped closer to the car, his hand already reaching for the handle of a shiny black Range Rover. The paint job was so waxed that I could see my reflection in the body of the car - the knit beanie thrown messily over my naturally dried hair, the hastily applied concealer on my under eye circles, and a collared blouse paired with my favorite pair of jeans to at least give the allusion that I was somewhat put together. I looked like I really needed to go home and have a nap, which I did. The car also made me slightly nauseous, because it was probably worth more than my entire college tuition and possibly next ten year’s wages.

“Oh, so my pleasant company meant nothing to you?” Liam sassed, but his voice was entirely too genuine for dry sarcasm.

“Eh.” I shrugged with a smile. “It was alright.”

“Let me at least drop you off at home.” Liam insisted, already pulling the car door open and gesturing to the shiny leather interior. “It’ll be faster than the Tube.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience you.” I said, even though actually the sound of not having to awkwardly stand in an enclosed, underground metal train car with the rest of the early London nightlife crowd was fantastic. It was the time of night that people were tipsy, after having pre-gamed at flats before hitting the pubs, and they were all much too loud and handsy for my liking. I was all for the three AM, introspective kind of drunk, not the gropey uni lads who got really pissed when I elbowed them in the balls and told them to fuck off when they tried to touch my ass

“Nonsense.” He waved his hand again and jerked his head towards the seat. “Get in.”

I figured that it would be silly to overlook a chance to ride around London at night, in possibly the most expensive car I would ever touch, and enjoy the scenery. (Part of me was talking about London. The other part of me might have been talking about Liam and the way his shoulders curved in his t-shirt.)

“So,” Liam started, just as George situated himself in the driver’s seat and pulled away from the curb. He had opted to sit with me in the back, instead of in the passenger seat, and I laughed inwardly at the fact that I was getting chauffeured around London in a shiny black Range Rover with Liam Payne, especially because I was fully aware that one of the last things I had blogged about online had been an outraged response to some pictures that had surfaced of his gym routine. “Do you get stopped by fans often?”

“Subscribers.” I corrected automatically. “The word fan kind of freaks me out. And sometimes, yeah. It happens more often when I’m out with other friends who do YouTube, especially the boy types, but sometimes I’ll just be walking through the Tube and someone’ll stop. Nothing compared to you, yeah? Can you even go to the grocery store without behind mauled at this point?”

Liam grimaced. “Depends on the time, but not really, no.” He admitted. “Things have calmed down because we’re back in London for a while, but I’ve gotten used to there always being someone. If not fans, paparazzi at least. Tonight was actually pretty low key.”

“Guess you’re loosing your edge than, yeah? Not a single flashing camera tonight.”

“They don’t always flash.” Liam reminded, but then he shrugged. “I don’t get it nearly as bad as Harry. He can’t even go to Starbucks without there being a picture about in online.”

“That has to be exhausting.” I observed. Sometimes I got exhausted from just sharing weekly bits of my life online, but at least I had a say of which parts of my day people saw. Harry didn’t really have the power to edit out which pictures were taken of him - besides the really incriminating ones, which I’m sure his publicist would take down if they existed - but everything else is free game.

“It can be.” Liam agreed. “Sometimes it makes it hard to meet new people, y’know? Because our fans are really dedicated, and their hearts are always in the right place, but it can get hard on other people.”

He was trying to sound nonchalant about the entire conversation, his posture relaxed as he peered at me across the car, but I could hear the edge in his tone. I knew enough about Liam’s life to fill in the gaps - he had broken up with his girlfriend that year because of difficulty with the fans. Relationships were hard work on their own, even without the pressure of the media and a couple thousand people always in your business. Early on in my YouTube career, about a year into making videos, I’d gotten my first boyfriend. I’d been so eager and excited to be in a relationship that I didn’t think long term - I filmed Boyfriend Tags and Relationship Questionnaires and daily vlogs of us on dates. The pain of my first heartbreak and break up had been hard enough on their own, but the added questions of people online and the video reminders of what had been definetely made things worse. I took the videos down, which only made things marginally better, but after that I vowed that I wouldn’t expose that side of my life to the Internet again. I at least had a choice in that, but Liam and Harry and anyone else the media deemed worthy of documenting didn’t have that choice.

What took me twenty minutes to trek across London earlier now took twelve minutes and that was because we hit traffic. We broke away from the slightly melancholic topic of media re: relationships and started chatting endlessly about the album they were working on how the One Direction film was doing. I still hadn’t seen the movie, but I promised him that the next day I had a free moment I’d hop over to the cinema.

We departed the night with a hug, a kiss on the cheek, and more farewells.

“I’m glad you came tonight, Ezra.” Liam smiled, pulling away from our quick embrace after patting my back soothingly. He was a good hugger, warm and soft in all the right places, even if the lingering scent of his aftershave was a bit strong. “Was a little worried that you’d say no, I’m really glad that you didn’t.”

“Why on Earth would I say no?” I asked him, perplexed.

“You shot Harry down.” He acknowledged. “No one ever shoots Harry down.”

“Psh.” I rolled my eyes. “Harry didn’t ask. You did. Automatically, you win.”

Liam chuckled.

“Thank you for inviting me tonight.” I thanked him again, as sincerely as I could, before reaching out and popping the handle on the door. “We’ll have to do this again, yeah?”

“Absolutely, babe. Have a nice night. Text me when you’re in your flat, alright?”

“Will do. Thank you. Goodnight Liam, goodnight George.” I sent them both a farewell nod and stepped out of the car. With a wave, I closed the door of the Range Rover behind me and hopped up the steps of my building. The car idled by the curb until the lobby door was shut firmly behind me.



I wasn’t late, not exactly,but I was still rushing to campus after the train I was supposed to take shut down and I had to fast walk/mildly jog the last five blocks to campus. I was trying incredibly hard to navigate my way through the Monday morning crowds when my phone started buzzing in my pocket.

“Hello?” I breathed, swiping the answer button before I even properly glanced at the screen. I had a Styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand and my class notebook in the other. I awkwardly tried to maneuver the notebook under my arm as I wedged the phone between my shoulder and ear.

“Ezra?” The voice on the other line asked.

I furrowed my eyebrows, the low drawl seeming oddly familiar, but it was barely nine o’clock in the morning and I didn’t quite have the mental facilities to play Put a Face to that Voice. I pulled the phone away from the my ear, taking a glance at the screen, but it was a number I didn’t recognize.

“This is she. May I ask who’s calling?” I tried to keep my voice professional in case it was a business enquiry. Most people contacted me through e-mail, but occasionally I had the rogue phone call here or there.

“Um, it’s Harry.”

Probably I should’ve been more surprised, but it seemed more like an oh, of course moment. I think some distant part of me registered his gravelly drawl the second I heard it on the other line. Because of course it was Harry, on a crowded and busy Monday morning from hell, after I had been up late working on a paper and dealing with technical difficulities while I tried to upload a video. The kid could never catch me at a good time, could he?

“Hi, Harry.” I sighed, wedging my way through the crowd and into the main campus building, the glass heavy glass door falling on my shoulder as the body in front of me didn’t bother to hold it open. I glared at no one in particular, but the act of glaring at the world helped. A little bit.

“How’re you?” He asked, voice smooth and slow. He sounded like he had a bit of a cold, or had been up well past his bedtime. (Probably doing debaucherous things, no doubt, and I crushed that thought the second it slipped out because of the way it made my stomach tingle.)

“To be perfectly honest, I’m a little stressed.” I muttered, flinging my half-empty coffee cup into the nearest bin as I made my way down the corridor. “I’m running a little late for class, the Tube broke down, and someone spilled their coffee on my boots and didn’t apologize this morning. ” And I didn’t have time for a proper breakfast and my alarm pulled me out of a very good dream, leaving a dissatisfied and dull ache between my thighs. I was hungry and horny and it wasn’t boding well for a great Monday morning, but at least I had enough sense to not actually say that bit.

“Oh.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, probably not expecting that level of honesty on a Monday morning. I couldn’t exactly blame him - the word fine had been on the tip of my tongue when he asked, but apparently I really needed a rant and Harry was the first available ear. “Right. I don’t want to keep you from that, then. Sorry if I called at the wrong time—”

“Oh, no.” I cut him off, bringing a hand up to massage my forehead as I ducked into a corner near my lecture hall. Why was smooth, suave Ezra who knew how to hold a conversation and deflected awkwardness and tension easily? I must have left her at the Tube station. “It’s fine. I’m sorry. I’ve made it to school, I’ve got nothing to worry about. Just dolling out my morning dosage of drama queen. Did you need something?”

Harry at least attempted a chuckle at my joke, which earned him point. “I actually just called to say hello.”

At nine o’clock on a Monday morning? I wanted to ask, but I figured that would probably only make things slightly more awkward, so I held it in. “Hello.”

“Hi.” Harry replied. His voice on the phone wasn’t as deep as it was in real life, but it was just as thick. He sounded as if maybe he was lying down. The imagine of him sprawled across his bed in nothing but a pair of underwear flashed across my mind before I could put a firewall up and I groaned a little, resting my forehead against the cold wall. Images of a half-naked Harry Styles on the other line of the telephone were enough to get my heart racing. I was hormonal and horny and his gravelly little chuckles and sighs really weren’t helping the situation.

“I, um.” He continued, clearing his throat once again. The sound made me shiver. “Okay. So, I thought that I needed to do last week over.”

“Pardon?” I asked, using every ounce of my abilities to keep my voice level. More people were filing into the classroom in front of me, a few giving me strange looks as I practically plastered myself against the wall to cool myself down. I angled my body towards the corner, giving my back to the rest of the world.

“Last week. At Radio 1. I need to redo that over.” He explained.

“Harry—” I said his name for the sake of saying his name, because I really didn’t have anything else to say. I knew exactly where this was going, but I wasn’t exactly sure of what I wanted the outcome to be.

“Ezra, if there is a time sometime this week when you’re free, I was wondering if you would like to have lunch with me?” Harry asked, his low-lilting sounding kind and polite and basically impossible to say no to.

Would I like to go to lunch with him? He was incredibly fit, funny, sweet. Yes, I would like to go to lunch with him. I’d like to enjoy breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snack time with him, with dessert preferably held in his sheets, judging by the flush of my cheeks and the tingle in my spine. Should I go to lunch with him?

No, probably not. Because at the rate my hormones were going, I’d probably jump him across the table and that would be a paparazzi scandal within itself. Even if we had lunch in the corner of the library basement, I figured someone was probably bound to document the moment, which didn’t thrill me. There was enough going on Hezra vs. Lezra wise on the Internet these days and I didn’t need to add fuel to the fire.

But that wasn’t actually Harry’s fault, was it? He wasn’t to blame just because the entire world seemed to find him adorable and was fascinated by his every move.

He’s a celebrity, it happens, but I don’t think you should hold that against him. ZZ had said.

Sometimes it makes it hard to meet new people, y’know? Liam had sighed.

And they were both right. It was hard to make new friends and I shouldn’t hold Harry’s fame against him. He was nice - so devilishly nice, and he asked. Politely, respectfully, he had asked me to lunch.

I let out a sigh, holding the phone away from my ear so Harry wouldn’t hear the exasperated groan that left my lips, and made my decision.

“I’d love to go to lunch with you, Harry.” I accepted. “I’m free Tuesday.”