Perfect Teeth

My computer died on a Monday.

Or I killed my computer on a Monday, but I was much more inclined to put the blame on the fates, on the forces of the world that were up to making things more difficult, than I was to freely admit that I tripped over my own two feet, hit the edge of the couch, and spilled an entire cup of chocolate milk on it.

AppleCare didn’t cover clumsiness and spills.

I found myself in the busiest Apple Store in London (stupidly), sandwiched between Tristan and Naomi as I fiddled around on one of the iMacs and waited for my appointment time. Naomi demanded that we take Photo Booth selfies.

“We’ll take a different one on each computer and leave it up for people to see,” she plotted. “Blanket the store with our faces.” She punctuated that with a pinch to Tristan’s cheek.

“Ezra’s famous, remember?” Tristan pinched her cheek right back, both of their faces caught between the other’s forefinger and index, grinning stupidly. Sometimes they were so obviously in love it made me sick, but I put up with it because they put up with me.

It was the middle of February in London, cold and grey and windy and rainy most days, but I felt warmer than I had the entire month of January. Maybe this was because I finally broke down and bought an ugly but incredibly cozy parka at Topshop two weeks ago, but it probably had something to do with my friends.

Tristan Ye was actually maybe the loudest boy I’d ever met, with a booming laugh and a voice that stretched across aisles in supermarkets when he talked, but he was funny and loyal. Like a golden retriever in glasses. And Naomi Cuin, Tristan’s counterpart, was the younger version of Amy Poehler in sparkly purple glasses and wildly curly hair. They were both there the day of the Spitting Incident, both went to UCL, and both put up with all of my bullshit without blinking.

Which was admirable in a sense that no one besides ZZ knew.

“I’m not famous,” I rolled my eyes, shaking my head at both of them as I moved from the iMacs to the Macbook Pros. “My public persona is obsolete. I’m a ghost.”

“Someone stopped you on the Tube Friday morning.” Tristan reminded. “I’ve never been stopped in my entire life, so if that’s obsolete, I don’t exist.”

“Maybe you don’t exist.” I said. “Maybe you’re a ghost. Here to annoy me in the Apple store.”

“I’m sleeping with a ghost.” Naomi shook her head sadly. “Explains the quality.”

Tristan started to sputter and I let out a loud laugh, watching Tristan’s face as it dropped and Naomi as she grinned at him smugly. I’d coerced both of them into joining me for my Apple Store adventure, because Oxford Street wasn’t too far from where they wanted to get lunch, and the Apple Store wasn’t super exciting by yourself.

We’d done nothing but fuck around for a solid twenty minutes, more banter between Naomi and Tristan as he tried to make her rescind her previous statement about their sexual exploits, when Naomi turned around, made a sound of surprise, and turned back to me.

“Don’t you know Nick Grimshaw?” She asked.

It was enough to make my heart sink, hands immediately running up to tug the beanie down farther on my head, as if that would be adequate to disguise me if Nick was actually in the same building.

“Not really,” I lied. “We’ve met briefly. Is he here? Why would he be here?” This was the busiest Apple store in London, save for maybe the one in Covent Garden, and he had people to go out and buy fancy electronics for him.

My heart twisted even more, because sometimes wherever Nick was, Harry wasn’t too far behind.

“He just walked in with someone.” Naomi continued, twisting her neck back around to get another peek.

“Someone?” I ducked away from the entrance, back straight as I tried to hide behind Tristan’s towering frame. “Boy someone? Girl someone? Do I need to find a back door?”

“It’s not Harry.” Tristan glanced over his shoulder. “Would you really go out a back door if it was? I thought you two were friends?”

‘Friends’ was a relative term. We were, at most, maybe friendly. If friendly meant radio silence shared between two people. I didn’t feel like I had the right to text him anymore, to take up more of his time on his break, and he must’ve felt the same. There was one drunk texting experience - maybe around the beginning of February, maybe around the time of his birthday, maybe I was never gonna admit to that, and I’d woken up with my phone wiped but a vague memory in hand and never had the guts to check - but besides that, nothing. I was mum on the Internet, the Self Control app keeping me off of Twitter and Tumblr when I focused in on school. I made it a point not to know what he was up to.

Even if that sometimes made me feel empty.

I was not thinking about it.

“Shhh.” I shook my head at Tristan. “Just...don’t try and attract any attention. This shop is big. He won’t see us.”

Naomi sent me a sympathetic look. “I’m almost completely certain he already has.”

“What? Why?”

“Because he keeps glancing over here and then texting on his phone.”

“Fuck. Shit. Damn.” I cursed under my breath, tucking myself closer behind Tristan and hunching my shoulders over. “I don’t want to deal with him today.”

“When’s the last time you talked to him?” Naomi asked.

“Before things happened with Harry.” I didn’t wince saying his name. I could think it and say it and stay strong, which was sufficient progress if I ever saw it. There may have been some cringing if I saw a photo in a magazine, but I was used to circumventing magazine aisles and focusing on the gum displays in shops. “He apologized about his insinuation that I was a fame hungry social climber. There was a text once too, I think, but I deleted it before reading it all.”

Tristan’s eyes widened at the bitterness in my voice. We talked about Harry, about the entire demise of that relationship, because two weeks into trying to get Over It a One Direction song came on in the refractory at school and I almost lost it. They both knew about what went down between us. They knew some of the basics of what happened with Nick and Alexa and Pixie as well, but I never went into detail. There were parts of the last few months that I didn’t want to think about, let alone speak of, and certainly not to people I liked and wanted to like me back. Tristan’s and Naomi’s opinions mattered. Nick was good at swaying people.

“Fame hungry social climber?” Tristan repeated, turning his back around to steal another glance at Nick. “Nick Grimshaw said that? Nick Grimshaw who got famous for fucking about and being drunk on the radio said that? Fucking--”

“To be fair, he didn’t say it. His friends did.” I cut Tristan off before he got too agitated, wincing at the caliber of his voice. It traveled well when he spoke, let alone when he raised it. While Harry’s voice was calm, a level droll no matter the mood, Tristan’s was full of inflection. There was no hiding what he was feeling. “He just didn’t exactly protest.”

“They said this to your face?” Naomi questioned, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and distaste.

“No,” I shook my head, closing my eyes briefly as I felt the hurt stir up as I thought about that conversation. It was ages ago in my life, but didn’t always feel like ages ago in my head. That night had been wonderful - talking to Harry under the table, falling asleep drunk and curled into his body - but the entirety of it was overshadowed by that one conversation in the kitchen. The one I wished I could’ve slept through. “I overheard them in the kitchen and I - it was early, they thought I was asleep and - it was just a mess.”

“Who the fuck discusses someone when they’re in the same house as them?” Naomi rolled her eyes. “If you’re gonna talk shit, make sure you’re secure. It’s Shit Talking 101.”

I just shrugged helplessly, agreeing completely. I fished my phone out of my pocket, checking the time. “It’s a quarter to 2. D’you think I should just cancel my appointment and reschedule? Duck out?”

“If he comes over here and says something rude, I’ll fuck him up.” Tristan said, just as Naomi leveled me with a look.

“Do not give him the power to change your day. If he was that awful to you, he doesn’t deserve it.”

“I don’t even know if I’m mad at him anymore,” I admitted quietly, turning my attention from the both of them to the computer in front of me. Talking to the screen as I figured out the words. “He’s just...like, he’s Harry’s, y’know?”

In the association game in my mind, Nick would always get Harry and Harry would always get Nick. They were each other’s as much as any other pair of friends. Thinking about Nick made me think about Harry, and I was getting better at thinking about Harry, but it still wasn’t my preferred subject to spend a lot of time on.

“He’s coming over here, whatever he is.” Naomi spoke quickly, voice going up as she flung back around. “Do you want me to create a diversion? Because I will. You name it and I’ll start screaming.”

“No? No.” I stated more firmly. “We came here with a purpose.” There were many things I could function without on a regular basis, and maybe my computer was one of them, but I didn’t want to test that. I was avoiding most parts of the Internet, but that didn’t include Netflix. I sighed. “I’ll just...fuck. Okay.”

I was taking a deep breath, hoping that maybe Naomi was wrong and Nick was heading in our general direction but not actually towards us, when Tristan shifted behind me and someone else stepped forward.

“Ezra,” Nick said my name the way you say someone’s name when you’re not sure if you’re allowed to form the syllables anymore. “‘Lo, Ezra Callil.”

I turned because I had to, to see Nick and Colette standing behind me, Colette’s face miles more relaxed than Nick’s.

“Nick,” I said back in greeting, acknowledging him with a nod but not a polite smile. “And Colette.”

Nick shifted on his feet, leaning forward like he was going for a hug and then thinking better of it, tucking both of his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “’S been ages! You all right? How are things?”

He had such a diplomatic smile. “Good.” I forced out. Every ounce of Charismatic and Cool Ezra Callil had been drained out of me and I wasn’t even capable of mustering up a better response. “Just…shopping. You?”

“About the same.” He nodded, and then gestured to Colette. “Colette cracked her phone.”

“Sucks.”

“Yeah.”

An awkward, tense beat. Nick shifted and Tristan’s face hardened. I could beg and plead for civility all I wanted, but even knowing Tristan this long I knew that he was unwaveringly loyal and had no qualms letting people know how he felt about them. He was much like Nick in that regard.

I broke the silence with an introduction. “This is Naomi. And this is Tristan. This is Nick, Colette.” I offered no other explanation but that, uncomfortable with the words that almost wanted to roll off my tongue but didn’t. It wasn’t like he was my friend. I couldn’t introduce him as my friend.

Both Tristan and Naomi nodded, Naomi’s smile much more relaxed as she offered her polite “nice to meet you’s”. There was another odd moment of exchanged smiles and acknowledgements, Colette standing just far enough back from the group to seem like she was observing. I checked the time on one of the MacBooks. Tristan let out a small cough.

Nick cleared his throat before speaking again. “I saw your name for one of the tables at the Brits. I didn’t know you were going.”

Oh. Naomi raised her eyebrows in my direction, a oh really, Callil? passed between us, and I shrugged helplessly at her before replying. “Oh. Um. I’m. I don’t know if I am.”

Sentences, Ezra. Firm, reassured, confident sentences. Not fumbling, awkward questions.

Nick perked up, charming smile sneaking onto his face as he went into persuasive mode. “It’s always a fun time. There’s an open bar and everyone gets absolutely pissed and it’s hilarious. You should go.”

The open bar and free alcohol were pros, but absolutely everything else sounded like a major, major con. I was just as aware of the type of people going to the Brits as Nick was. “Maybe,” I said noncommittally, another strange half shrug. “Yeah. I’ll um, think about it.”

Nick opened his mouth to say more, maybe try to sell me on another point or say something about Harry or who the hell knows, but Tristan was swooping in before the conversation derailed into something more terse and awkward than it already was.

“Ezra.” Tristan piped up. “Your appointment’s soon.”

The little breath of relief was unintentional, but definitely there. “Sorry,” I apologized. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, we should probably make one of those, yeah?” Colette piped up for the first time. “An appointment.”

“Helps to respect the system.” Tristan quipped.

“It was nice to see you,” I said (lied), backing away from Nick and Colette with a slightly more convincing smile as I headed up to the Genius bar. “Have a nice day.”

“Ezra—“ He started, voice strained. Something flashed across Nick’s face for just a moment, some type of recognition or thought, but I was backing away too quickly and the store was filling up even more, and he let it pass.

“Nice to see you as well,” he said instead. “Hope to see you at the Brits. There’ll be a champagne flute waiting for you.”



“So you’re going to the Brits?” Naomi asked as we exited the Apple store. I wondered how long she’d been holding that question in - probably the entirety of my appointment inside - because it came bursting out of her with both incredulity and excitement.

I readjusted my bag on my shoulder, the bulky computer box sitting awkwardly under my arm, and swallowed. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Tristan echoed. “Are you invited?”

“Technically?” I was doing the weird questioning thing again. I stopped, stood up straighter, tried to harness some of that self-assurance I was sure I once had. “I am through DailyMix. I was supposed to do media correspondent stuff, but they’ve left that up to me.”

Naomi’s eyebrows furrowed as we dodged a group of strollers. “So you’re NOT going to go? Can you just give the invite to anyone? Because shit, I’ll go to the Brits.”

I shrugged, yet again. It was becoming a lifestyle as much as it was a motion. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Ezra.”

“I don’t know! Like, it’s a job, and money is always nice considering my income is stagnant and I just had to buy a computer again. But I’ve been ghost for the past few months and it’s been nice.”

“But it’s the Brits.”

“It’s not like I couldn’t watch them perfectly fine from my flat. In comfortable sweatpants, no less.”

“You don’t want to go because Harry’s going to be there.” Tristan was brutal in his observation.

I glowered at him, including an extra eye twitch for emphasis. “You have no proof.”

“Your face is proof.” Naomi retorted. “Are you going to avoid him forever? That’s it, friendship completely terminated?”

“What else would you suggest I do?”

“I don’t know, suck it up and talk to him?” Tristan’s sarcasm was not appreciated.

“You make it sound so easy. It is not that easy.”

“You could make it that easy.” Naomi said flippantly.

“Or I could make it even easier and watch the Brits from my flat and run away from my problems forever.”

“Haven’t you run away enough?” Tristan asked. “With the whole ‘going ghost’ thing? Wouldn’t it be easier to just get it over with?”

“In a public awards ceremony with paparazzi everywhere?” I snorted. “Yes, super easy.”

“You’re missing the point, Ezra,” Tristan’s voice was sharp, the I’m-calling-you-out-shut-up voice that I dreaded to hear, but usually needed to because he was usually right. “It’s a public space. You’ll see him in passing, maybe spend five minutes talking to him, tops, and then move along. There will be so many people there you won’t have time to make it awkward.”

“I don’t even have anything to wear.” I stuttered out the first excuse I thought of. “It’s in two days.”

“Now you’re just making excuses.” Naomi pursed her lips at me. “If you don’t want to go because you don’t want to go, don’t. If you don’t want to go because you’re no longer interested in working with DailyMix or you don’t miss your work, don’t go. But if you don’t want to go because you’re afraid of this huge awkward confrontation with Harry, then I think you’re wrong, and making a bigger deal out of it then it needs to be. There, I’ve said my peace, and I’ll let it along. Tristan will too.”

“I never agreed to let it alone.” Tristan protested.

“Tristan promises to too,” Naomi repeated. “But think about it, Ezra. When do you stop sacrificing things because that’s the easier option?”

“Fine,” I conceded, feeling Naomi’s words sink deep into my chest. Suddenly things were heavier again, the creeping feeling of dreaded decision making crawling up and settling. My shoulders dropped. “I’ll think about it.”



I didn’t actually have plans to think about it. I had plans to fake an illness, remember a big project due, maybe get food poisoning from a sketchy gyro, but no plans to contemplate attending the Brits. I probably could’ve gotten away with it too, by avoiding Tristan and Naomi for a few days and hiding in the library at school, but then they had to go and get ZZ involved.

She texted me early Tuesday morning, right when I was leaving my flat for class.

What colour dress are you wearing? I need to plan the eye makeup accordingly.

…what
i’m not wearing a dress i’m wearing jeans
and a pair of leggings too it’s like 20 degrees outside with the wind
what are you on about

For tomorrow, what colour’s your dress for tomorrow?

when did i say i was wearing a dress tomorrow???

What are you wearing to the Brits?

god fucking damnit
they SAID they’d leave it ALONE

I don’t understand. What are YOU on about?

did naomi text you saying i was going to the brits?

Tristan did, actually.

this is why you don’t mesh friend groups together
they conspire against you
i’m not going to the Brits

What? Why? But I was excited! I was going to come over!! I was going to do your make up!!!

sorry :( you can still come over and do my make up tho!

Why would Tristan text me that you’re going if you aren’t planning to?

whoooo knows he’s a strange lad

…
…

So you’re not going because of Harry?

you texted him didn’t you?

I’m a smart bird, Callil. I can form conclusions.

i’m not not going because of harry
i’m just not going

What does that even mean?

it just means i’m not going

Because of Harry.

bc award shows are stuffy and weird and i don’t want to go by myself! and i don’t have a dress to wear! and i haven’t even contacted daily mix! there are a ton of reasons why i don’t want to go and harry doesn’t even make the top ten

I’ll go with you.

what

If you’re worried about going by yourself, I’ll go with you! I love the Brits!! I’ve always wanted to go to GO, not just to work.

i don’t have a dress to wear

Says you.

the idea of going scares the crap out of me

There’s that honesty.
That’s okay.
Seeing your ex can be scary, but you probably won’t even see him for very long, and if you do, I’ll be there. I’ll shank him for being an arsehole, steal his phone so I can get Niall’s number, and we’ll be fine.

can you just let me think about it a little more?

!!! I’m going to Zara to find a dress!!


ZZ had an uncanny way of convincing me to do things I was unsure of or admitting the truth when I was doing everything in my power to deny it.

She was already loitering in my hallway when I made my way home from class Wednesday afternoon, garment bag strung over one arm and an arsenal of beauty tools in the other. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet, an excited puppy expecting treats, and the little tiny amount of resolve I’d been holding out with crumbled.

If going to the Brits was going to make ZZ happy, I was going to indulge. She’d been a better friend to me in the past month than I’d seen in a lifetime - honest but caring, sincere but straightforward, and on particularly bad days, she made me hot chocolate with a small dash of Fireball to loosen the edge.

“I don’t have anything to wear.” I said, moving past her to unlock the door. “So you’re gonna have to figure something out.”

“I’m offended,” she fired back. “It’s like you don’t even know me. This is my life - this is my job. You will look flawless in under two hours. Promise.”

If there was anything ZZ did, it was deliver. She forced me into the bathroom to shower and when I came out, my Wednesday Addams Halloween dress - a black velvet, long sleeve mini dress with a white Peter Pan collar – was on my bed next to pair of sheer back seam tights and high-waisted Spanx underwear.

“Spanx?” I curled my lip scornfully. “Why Spanx?”

“They’re slimming,” ZZ was currently digging through a drawer of underwear, thumbing through my bras. “Don’t you have something sexier?” She asked, holding up a plain black bra.

I ignored her, unwillingly picking up the Spanx and glaring at them. They were slimming, yes, but they also dug into my skin and left a red band around my waist at the end of four hours. I bought them for filming, but I didn’t actively enjoy wearing them.

“I’m doing this for you,” I told her. “And because it’s going to be easier to get everyone off my back if I go.”

“Doing things for others is good for the soul,” she replied, then made a noise of triumph as she unearthed a lacy black bra from the back of the drawer. It was my raciest bra, a demi cut with black lace and sheer paneling. I’d never actually worn it. “Now put this on, Wednesday. We’ve gotta get you hot.”

At the end of the two hour prepping session - in which ZZ blasted Beyonce and I tried to eat snacks in between her primping the both of us - I looked like a proper adult and ZZ looked like she could straight up kill someone. Her dress was simple and black, but it clung to every curve of her body and dipped low in the back, skimming right above her butt. The expanse of skin was rich, smooth, and was probably going to cause someone to go into cardiac arrest.

“Holy shit,” I breathed out as she turned around, natural curls left to fall free around her face. “You look incredible.”

ZZ beamed. “We look proper fit. If both of us go home alone, London will be doing us an injustice.”

The very idea made me scoff. “I will be coming home by myself in approximately four hours. But you, hopefully, will be going home with some fit guy with nice hands. Maybe his name is Niall. Maybe it’s not. Who knows.”

ZZ’s grin only spread, but she shrugged demurely. “The car should be here in less than half. Is there someone we’re meeting there?”

“Natalie with DailyMix is going to meet us at the main car entrance. I already messaged her yesterday asking for a second pass and she said it’s fine. There’s wiggle room at the media table.”

“All right.” ZZ clapped her hands excitedly, before reaching forward to fix a strand of my hair. “It’s going to be fine, Ezra.” She promised. “We’ll listen to the music and enjoy the free champagne and it’ll be fine. Don’t stress yourself out so much. It’ll be a good night.”

“You have absolutely no way of guaranteeing that.”

“No, I don’t,” she allowed. “But I can guarantee that there’s going to be free champagne, and that’s basically the same thing. Now let’s touch up your lipstick and wait for the car.”



Two hours later and backstage was swarmed and busy in the way that award show backstages always seemed to be on television, full of stage managers covered in black and murmuring into headsets, women wearing embellished gowns and lots of people I’d never seen outside of magazines and the internet chatting each other up over the snack table.

The official person in black I’d asked about the direction of the loo had vaguely pointed to the left, but navigating through the haze of elegantly dressed celebrities and prominent British people was hard, especially with the amount of water and champagne I’d been nervously downing for the past two hours. I really had to pee, my bladder pressed uncomfortably by the high waisted, slimming Spanx, and I was trying to walk as quickly as possibly in the heeled boots, but the champagne hit and the people were everywhere.

We’d been at the Brits for a little over two hours, doing our fair share of not mingling and only observing before the award show started. We were seated at a media table that included people from PopSugar, DailyMix, and a few other independent companies, seated far enough in the back to never fully be panned on screen. Neither ZZ or I had any idea that Alfie was going to be in attendance, but he was sat across from us at the table, making polite chitchat with ZZ and at least not glaring in my direction. So far, things had been harmless. I drank a lot, the flutes of champagne going much faster than they probably should have, and tried to temper the tipsying effect with water. The result was that I really, really had to pee.

I’d caught three glimpses of Harry, the bright pattern of his shirt and the quiff of his hair, but I never held the gaze for very long.

Backstage, I peered around groups of people hesitantly, eyes searching for any indication of a restroom sign. I was two steps away from saying fuck it and finding a back door and peeing in the bushes, or leaving entirely and finding a McDonalds, when the shining beacon of a restroom sign and little unisex symbol greeted me. Practically diving for the handle of the door, I was blessed to find it unlocked and empty. I was shoving the door closed and grappling to pull down my tights within seconds.

Peeing was a comforting release, a reprieve from the pressing spandex and my full bladder, and I willingly admit to spending an extra forty five seconds sitting on the toilet, head dropped down to my chest as I inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to get my bearings around me.

ZZ was still at the table. Alfie was at the table. There were people I was semi-comfortable with at the table, people I could have a conversation with, but there was still the weight of everyone else’s stare that felt crushing. They were looking at me, but they weren’t looking at Ezra Callil. They were looking at Ezra Callil, girl who used to date Harry Styles. I could see the flash of recognition in their eyes, from the second we made it to the venue until we were sitting down at the table. There were pictures, proof of a relationship that no longer existed, and the curiosity of the public was stifling.

I didn’t know how to shake that.

I was getting around to finally gathering the energy to get up, mentally preparing myself for the wobble of standing up and pulling my underwear back on, when the door handle wiggled and the door swung open.

Apparently I’d been too focused on the actual act of peeing to consider privacy and locks, because there I sat, hands bunching my dress up around my waist, underwear dangling between knees, surely looking alarmed and panicked, as a swish of black and white print and unruly hair filled the doorway.

The irony of the situation was that it was Harry, because it was of fucking course Harry. Harry who had to pee constantly because he was actually hydrated, Harry who always had a knack for these kinds of situations. On the plus side, at least he had already seen me naked, so no one else could go blab about seeing my exposed thighs and lower region. Not that it was exciting - there were definite red indents from where the Spanx had been pressing into my skin, pale, veiny thighs that had been hiding under leggings and jeans all winter.

“Oh fuck,” Harry exclaimed, eyes widening as he registered someone was in the restroom, and then he said, “Ezra,” as he registered that it was indeed me, sitting there awkwardly with my pants down, and then he rushed out, “I’m sorry,” as he backed out of the room and swung the door closed with a resolute click behind him.

There was a moment of bewilderment, reflexes slightly muddled with the alcohol, and then I was springing to action, pulling up my underwear and flushing the toilet and smoothing down the velvet of my dress and trying not to topple over as I rushed to wash my hands and get out of the bathroom.

Even though Harry was possibly outside. But maybe he’d gone to find another toilet, and I could find my way back to the table and forget about the slight twinge in my heart and my stomach that came with seeing him again. Was it ever going to get easier?

We always had a thing for public restrooms. I shouldn’t have been surprised.

My fingers shook as I wiped them off on the dingy towels hanging from the bar, continued to shake as I ran them through my hair and around the edges of my smeared lipstick. I inhaled deeply and reached for the handle of the door.

Harry was loitering outside. I saw him in the instant that I opened the door and almost contemplated closing it again, shutting myself away and hiding in the bathroom until the Brits were over, but I didn’t have a clock on me or a way to tell time.

Maybe I could’ve gotten past him without stopping. Maybe I could’ve just ducked right past, ran down a hallway and rushed back to the table, but there was a part of me that didn’t want to run past him and pretend he didn’t exist. Because he was waiting outside of the toilet for me, and we were supposed to be friends even if we absolutely sucked at it, and I missed him.

I missed him in the way I missed Connecticut, a deep homesickness and longing for the familiar. All-encompassing and sometimes miserably, but the cloud of dread and misery that had come with missing Harry was slowly lifting. As I stood up a little taller, and walked a little faster, and kept my head up more while taking the Tube, I felt less scared of letting myself miss him.

“Hi,” Harry said immediately as I exited the bathroom. And then, “I am so sorry, I should have knocked, but I needed a wee really badly and I didn’t pay attention and—“

“It’s okay.” I managed out, clearing my throat awkwardly as I teetered on the heels. “I should’ve locked it, but I also really needed to pee, and I was afraid of sacrificing any last seconds before I peed myself.”

Harry let out an awkward laugh, begrudging me that even if I didn’t deserve it, and the tension between us shifted again. “I’m glad you made it, then,” he said. “Pissing your pants is never a good idea at places like these.”

“I’m not sure if it’s ever a good idea at all, but I agree.”

“I, um,” Harry ran a hand through his hair - his long hair, that kept growing and had only gotten longer in the month between when I’d seen him last, as he struggled to find the words. “I didn’t know you were coming. Or that you were here.”

“I mean, I didn’t like, plan my trip to the bathroom explicitly for this moment, but I had to pee and—“

Harry’s cheeks stained with a slight blush. “No, not - the Brits. I didn’t know you were coming to the Brits.”

“I wasn’t really planning on it.”

Harry’s brow furrowed as he waited for me to elaborate, his silence edging me on in the way that he always did. I forgot how inquisitive he was, how observant and willing to just listen. I talked so much and he always listened.

“Didn’t Nick tell you?” I asked. “I saw him at the Apple store Monday and he brought it up. I’m sure he would’ve told you.”

“He did.” Harry admitted, jaw ticking before relaxing. “He told me he saw you, but he didn’t mention the Brits.”

“I’m here for Daily Mix.” I supplied. “As like a media correspondent, thing? It was one of the last contractual obligations, and I could’ve gotten out of it, but ZZ wanted to come and I…I figured it was too rich of an experience to not take advantage. And there’s an open bar.”

“There’s an open bar.” Harry agreed, nodding as he processed. His left hand was up and his fingers were running along his lips. “You’re still doing DailyMix?”

“This is one of the last things. I’m focusing on school right now.”

“That’s good!” He spoke with too much animation and then, catching himself, cleared his throat unsurely. “I mean, school is good. Being involved in school is good. How is that going?”

I was distracted by Harry’s hands, trailing anxiously across his mouth.

It was weird watching Harry shift so uncomfortably in front of me, struggle on his two feet as he fumbled for what to say. Things between us had always been so organic, so smooth and uncomplicated, a type of chemistry that made us mesh, but maybe all of that vanished when we stopped doing whatever it was that we did. I’d hoped that the awkwardness would fade with time, that one day I could stand in front of him and not be torn between catapulting into his chest or running in the opposite direction. Was there a way to get past this?

“School is good.” I answered, and that was true, but I hated that we had come to this. Good. Fine. Placeholders. “It’s hard, and there’s a lot of work, and I think I dread the journey from my flat to campus every day because it’s so fucking cold and slushy outside, but it’s good. I’ve made some new friends.”

“Nick, um, Nick mentioned that.” Harry seemed hesitant to point it out. He spoke slower than normal. “That you were with people at the Apple store. That’s good. I think that’s so good.”

“They’re good people.” I agreed. “They um, they were actually people I’d known before. The, uh, incident on the Tube? They were the ones who helped me with that.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up, something slightly darker and more reserved taking up his face, before he nodded and smoothed his features out.

“That’s good then, that they know, that you’ve found friends. I um - it’s good to see you.” He finally managed out, and then he released a deep breath and rolled his shoulders and his voice dropped. “You look - you look b - great. You look great.”

“Thank you.” I tried not to flush, and then my hands swept down to the short hem of the long-sleeved velvet minidress ZZ had snatched out of my closet for the event. “This was actually my Wednesday Addams costume. Figured I had to get some use out of it.”

“It’s a great dress.” Harry’s eyes lingered as they swept across me, and I could almost see the internal battle in his head, before his eyes reconnected with mine. There was something burning there, maybe something like yearning there, but I chose to ignore it. “You just - sorry. You caught me off guard.” He chuckled a little. “Tonight is overwhelming and you’re here and I still really have to wee.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” I moved out of the way of the bathroom immediately. “Pee! I didn’t mean to - “

“I’m so happy you’re good.” Harry cut off abruptly, voice serious and low. “I was worried that - I just….It’s good to see you. It’s so good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too.” I whispered back, letting the words fall in the space between us slowly, delicately, before allowing myself to look at him. At his slightly distracted gaze, at the way he almost seemed to lean in to me, at the way his body seemed to be drawing closer.

“I—“ He opened his mouth, maybe to say something, or maybe not. And I was suddenly aware of how close he was, of how the distance between us had only been closing as we talked, practically becoming nonexistent until the tips of his boots touched the tips of mine, and his mouth was only a few brushes away. It was looming.

His words were looming, and Harry was looming, and he was doing that half-lidded thing with his eyes that I recognized, and for a second, just a pure, stupid second, I wondered if he was going to kiss me.

And I wondered if I was going to let him.

I was half of a decision into that thought, into knowing the answer despite all of my previously convictions, when someone shouted his name across the corridor. I whipped away from him quickly, a step and stumble back against the wall, as Harry’s daze broke, looking up and around, bewildered.

“Mate,” one of the men in suits called as he approached us. “Your band’s just won an award and you’re not there to accept it.”

Harry’s eyes opened in surprise, scrambling between looking at me and looking at the man rapidly motioning for Harry to follow him towards the stage. I got was a quick, pleading look, a strangled sound of goodbye, and a rushed “I have to go” before Harry was jogging after the man and finding his way to the stage entrance.



ZZ was watching and waiting for me at the table, fingers poised on the napkin and her phone as her eyes searched along the crowds. I’d taken an extra moment to compose myself, to steady my breathing and give myself a pep talk.

I wasn’t thinking about it.

I couldn’t think about it.

If I was thinking about it, maybe my thoughts would’ve resembled this: what the fuck oh my shit was he drunk am I drunk did that just happen or did I make it up is it weird why is it weird I thought it wasn’t supposed to be weird what happens now???

But I wasn’t thinking about it.

I was halfway to drunk but already feeling myself sober up. I didn’t want to think about it, preferring instead to slap a stupid smile on my face as I delicately sat back down at the table, nodding at the others before turning towards ZZ.

“That was you, wasn’t it?” She asked, smirking.

“What was me?” I echoed, swallowing thickly before reaching for my glass of champagne.

She raised her eyebrows and I knew she didn’t believe me. “He was out of breath and had a shit eating grin on his face.”

“He’s a happy guy. He grins a lot.”

“Not like that, he doesn’t.”

“I—“ I opened my mouth, intending to protest, but ZZ fixed me with a look.

“He walked in on me peeing,” I finally said, and my words were a second before ZZ was about to raise her champagne glass to her mouth and take a sip, lips poised on the rim. Her eyes widened and she sputtered out rings of laughter, shoulders shaking as she lowered her glass to the beige tablecloth and tilted her head back.

“What the hell?” She chuckled.

I ran a hand through strands of my hair and let out a sigh. “I was peeing, and I was taking too long and I was so focused on not pissing myself to lock the door, and Harry came bursting in, and then we saw each other.”

“It has been a month and the first face to face interaction comes from him walking in on you peeing.” More incredulous laughter. Thankfully most of the table was gone, up mingling or grabbing more food, and couldn’t overhear.

“Technically, I was done peeing. I was just kind of chilling on the toilet.”

“The tipsy chill?”

I nodded.

“And then what?”

“He apologized and shut the door. I fixed myself and left.”

“He didn’t stay to talk to you?”

“He stayed to pee, but not to -” I cut myself off with a shrug.

“Did you talk? You’ve gotta give me something here. He’s smiling sunshines and your cheeks are flushed. Did you fuck? You weren’t back there that long, but I wouldn’t underestimate him — “

“Yes, we had a quickie in the toilet at the Brits.” I rolled my eyes so far back in my head it hurt. “I’m slightly better than that.”

“I don’t know! I’m just trying to fill in the blanks that you aren’t giving me!”

“We talked a little. He asked me how I was. It was just small talk.”

“Small talk like that has him flustered?”

“I don’t know.” I told her, using my most clipped tone to end the conversation. “I don’t know what makes him the way he is. Now shh. Someone’s performing.”



After parties are loud and never as exciting as you want them to be. The lights were too dim, someone was smoking in the corner, and the bar was open and free but they watered down the drinks. The Brits had ended less than an hour ago, excited winners rushing off to celebrate and nominees grabbing drinks to console. I didn’t want to go to the afterparty. “ZZ, I do not want to go to the afterparty,” I had told her before we left the main venue. “Can I go home?”

“I did not spend two hours on us for us not to be seen.” She had replied. When I tried to point out that we had been seen - there were pictures and actual proof - she just told me that she’d already ordered the car and we could duck out early if it really, really sucked.

Needless to say, it really, really sucked.

“For an after party, I expected more than this,” ZZ offered up first, standing back next to a wall and looking around the room with a disappointed grimace.

“Celebrity culture is actually way less cool than it looks.” I said, two more glasses of watered-down champagne in and I was well on my way to properly buzzed (drunk). I was happy and warm.

“Really?” She hummed and almost pouted. “I’ve never been on this side of it before.”

“Maybe if you’re Kim Kardashian or Rihanna or Beyonce or in the Illuminati it’s different, but pretty much everyone is gonna go home and be glad to take off their shoes and sit and eat junk food on their couch in an hour and then have some really disappointing sex.”

“This is supposed to be glamorous.” ZZ complained. “We didn’t spend two hours getting dressed up for a blow of a party.”

“The music is lame.” For an after party of an award show focusing on music, it was, indeed, pretty lame.

“Ask them for a different song.”

“I don’t actually know anyone here.”

“You get to know them - that’s the point.” She tried not to huff. For someone usually so optimistic, the dreary party atmosphere was really getting to her. “Explain to me how you grew to wild online success? You’re not very charismatic.”

“We’re the antisocial generation.” I shrugged. “It’s part of the charm.”

“Are we just here too early?” ZZ tried to come up with a good excuse. “Maybe more people are coming later.”

Again, I shrugged and then took another sip of the watery champagne. Maybe more people would come later. Maybe they wouldn’t. It took two more drinks at the Brits to get my nerves back to anything near calm. If I was going to be at this party, I was going to do so drunk and happy.

Paying attention was giving me anxiety, so I stopped. Settled into my people watching, while ZZ hummed beside me, theorizing the best ways to make the party truly a success, I was content. I’d gotten through the Brits basically unharmed. The bathroom incident was unfortunate, but there wasn’t another run in with Harry after that. Probably it was a one-off. Probably I could get through this completely and totally fine. If I focused hard enough on the now, I could skip past the two hours before.

It was another ten minutes of people arriving and champagne sipping and teetering dangerously when I shifted on my heels before the lights dimmed and the music volume raised and people started dancing. We were at a club - not a particularly nice club, I didn’t think, considering the event, but a club nonetheless - and as the music grew louder, the atmosphere shifted.

ZZ loosened up next to me, grin taking up her face as she had an idea.

“We’re going to dance,” ZZ decreed. “C’mon, let’s go.” She plucked the champagne flute from my hands and set it down on one of the plastic tables.

“I can’t dance,” I said, but blindly stumbled behind her anyway. It was better than being left alone in the corner.

“Thankfully, I can.” She grinned. “Your girl has some hips and we’re gonna use that.” Her eyes flashed to the door, searching, before she turned back around, smiled, and dragged me to the middle of the dance floor.

ZZ was a solid 10+ on an average day, all wild, curly hair and genuine smile and perfectly filled in eyebrows and a curve at her waist that made you close your eyes in appreciation, but ZZ on the dance floor broke any type of scale. Standing in front of her, as she grabbed my hand and twirled it above my head, I was mesmerized. Her hips swayed, then bounced, moving in time as she shimmied and dipped and laughed, teeth reflecting the flashing lights.

“Goddamn,” I stuttered out, laughing and smiling, just as she pulled me to her, turned around, and started grinding her hips against mine. “I don’t know if I’m drunk enough for this.”

“Just move!” She called over her shoulder, before she pressed her back to my front, did another impressive shimmy move, and flashed her eyes to the door.

“Who are you looking for?” I asked, but half the words got lost in the bass and the current.

I tried to follow her line of vision to the door, but I had no idea what she was looking for, and it was hard keeping up with her exciting hip gyrations in shoes this high. Dancing with ZZ was exhausting, but fun. She went from grinding to bouncing, turning around to pop her hips and sway rhythmically. I was trying to do something besides Chorus Girl Hands and some out of time hip sways, but ZZ dancing on me gave me the perfect opportunity to just act like a guy and stand there, swaying side to side.

The swaying gave me time to survey the room, and what I felt were eyes. It was like a weird, ritualistic mating call, but for ZZ, it was working. I kept up with my light swaying and tried to count the eyes on her, on her hips and her thighs and her back, but then I was scanning a face and stopped.

Five feet away, Niall was drooling. Harry was next to him, looking dazed. Or maybe just drunk.

“Niall?” I sputtered into ZZ’s ear, hips stilling. “You’re doing this for Niall?”

“Hmm?” She flipped some of her hair over her shoulder and looked at me. “What?”

“Niall.” I repeated. “Niall.”

“What?” ZZ smiled innocently, shrugging. “A girl’s gotta eat. Is he—?” Her head swiveled to find him, stopping half way as she spotted him standing next to Harry. Niall’s eyes were trained on her figure as he sipped the drink in his hand. He looked hungry.

“And with Harry!” ZZ flashed me an even brighter smile. “Two for one deal.”

“I don’t want to see Harry.” There was a vital difference in our plans.

“Don’t lie to me, Ezra. You’re too good for that.” ZZ turned so she was facing me, leaving only a few inches of space between our bodies.

“I am not lying.” I said. The talking and the moving was too much to do at once, so I stood still and tried to sort through the muddled thoughts in my brain.

Harry. Here. Niall. Did I leave? Car? Uber? Where was my phone? What time was it? Was the Tube still running? Could I do the Tube in these shoes?

“You were flushed when you saw him after the toilets,” ZZ said, eyebrows raised in challenge.

“He saw me pee.”

“Not for the first time.”

“It’s different now!” I shook my head wildly, flattened curls whipping around my face. “We’re different! He’s - him, and I’m - we’re not - I -“

“You don’t have to make it so complicated.” ZZ stopped dancing and put her hands on my shoulders, steadying me. “Talk to him if you want to. Don’t if you don’t. But just admit that you miss him, okay?”

Everyone made it sound so easy. Talk to him or don’t. Get over him or don’t. It wasn’t that easy, like I could just suddenly decide and everything else would clear up around us.

“I can’t.” I admitted, the honesty cracking the sentence in my throat. “I just…I can’t.”

ZZ’s sad eyes focused on my face. “Why?” She asked gently, trying to soothe the problem out of me right then. We were in the middle of a dance floor and she wanted to talk.

I didn’t want to talk. I felt overwhelmed - by the lights, by the music, by the alcohol, by the enormity of Harry and the daunting idea of being honest about what I was feeling and how I was going to handle it.

I thought I was getting better. I thought I was at a better place now, but sometimes you can convince yourself that you’re fine so much you believe it. I wanted to make seeing Harry hurt less, but maybe that was impossible. Maybe there were would always be untethered strings.

“That feels like failure.”

ZZ shook her head, sympathetic eyes burning into mine as she rubbed smoothing circles with her thumbs on my shoulders. “Nothing is failure. Some things make more progress than others, but nothing is failure.”

“That sounds like the type of hippie horse shit that preschool teachers say.”

“Yeah, because it’s true.”

“Do I have to deal with it right now?” I wasn’t particularly proud of the way my bottom lip slipped into a pout, but it did.

“When are you planning to deal with it?” ZZ knew me too well.

I pursed my lips together in thought. “Good question. I’ll get back to you on that.”

“It’s Harry, Ezra.” She said. “He’s not actually all that scary.”

Maybe he wasn’t, but some of the things I felt for him were. I had been so good at confronting my problems in the past few months. I’d been fighting things actively. I hardly ran away. I thought that constituted a break.

Instead of answering her, I just took a step back and looked for the toilets. “I’ve gotta pee again.” I said. “I’ll bet you a tenner Niall will approach you the second I leave.”

The mention of Niall was enough of a distraction for ZZ. “He damn well better,” she grumbled teasingly. “You can’t dance for shit.”

I laughed along with her, before shaking my head and heading towards the bathroom. The smile slipped off of my face the second I turned around, shoulders dropping as I took a deep breath.

If Niall captured ZZ’s attention by the time I was done in the toilets, did that mean I could leave? Harry trusted Niall, which meant that I could leave and feel safe about it.

For a club hosting as many people as this afterparty, the bathroom situation was bleak. There were two single person bathrooms and the line was 6 people deep. I didn’t recognize anyone standing in front of me, so I slumped against the wall and pulled my phone out of where it was tucked in my bra.

I checked my email and the weather app, paying little attention to how slowly the line in front of me was moving, and was loading The New York Times when a text message buzzed through.

There’s another bathroom in the back of the club.

I hadn’t changed Harry’s contact name, so ‘Beethoven’ stared back at me. I blinked at the message. I needed another drink. My thumbs poised over the screen.

i have no idea where that is

Opposite side of you. There’s a room by the bar.

i am probably not allowed in there

Meet me by the bar. I’ll take you.

I could’ve laughed. I could’ve told him no. I could’ve ignored the message and grabbed my coat. I could’ve called him out on watching me.

Instead, I texted back, k be right there

It didn’t make sense in my head, and the second I sent the text I wanted to take it back, but I realized that I wanted to see him. I was scared shitless of it, but I wanted to see him and I was just intoxicated enough to indulge myself on those whims.

Harry was standing to the left of the bar, back facing the rest of the club as he leaned into someone’s ear and spoke. I hesitated just for a moment as I approached, unsure of who he was talking to or how important it was, but then the person across from him moved and Zayn’s face came into view. He smiled at me over Harry’s shoulder.

Harry turned around and I caught the thick movement of his throat as he swallowed.

“Bathroom?” He asked, nodding his head to the door just directly behind Zayn.

“Yes, please,” I nodded, sidestepping around Zayn as he gave me another blinding smile. I always forgot how truly attractive he was until I saw him in the flesh. He gave Harry’s shoulder a squeeze before turning and walking away.

“I figured I owed you for the toilet incident earlier,” Harry explained as he pushed open the swinging door by the bar and lead us into a back hallway, surprisingly empty of people but full of stacked boxes of beer.

“You don’t, but I’ll take it.” I said. I followed him as quickly as I could, heels clacking against the cement.

“Are you having fun?” He asked. His voice was too strained for the air of lightness he was trying to adopt, but we were both tense and awkward.

“Um,” I made a noncommittal noise in the back of my throat before deciding on something truthful. “The music sucks.”

Harry laughed before nodding. “It could be better.”

“What about you?” I asked. “Are you having fun? Congratulations on the awards, by the way.”

Harry turned his head a little and smiled, before turning left down a hallway and stopping in front of an unmarked door. “It’s mental, how much we won. Absolutely mental.”

“You deserve it. Honestly, every bit. Even the awards you can’t remember the name of.”

Harry chuckled sheepishly. “I was distracted.” He said, and then tilted his head towards the door. “Toilets. Completely queue free.”

“Thank you.”

I held my breath as I passed Harry, moving quickly so I wasn’t distracted by the smell of him. My legs felt wobbly and my head felt weird, a mixture of the champagne and Harry.

He looked fucking fantastic, all sharp jaw and tousled hair and smartly tucked shirt. I wanted to destroy and dishevel him.

The door clicked behind me and I immediately leaned back against it, slumping down as I rolled my neck to relieve some of the tension.

We were alone. He was standing on the other side of the door, closer than we’d been in months, and every part of me that wanted distance half an hour ago suddenly wanted to be as close to him as possible. I’d never missed someone so much and denying it was exhausting.

This time when I peed I didn’t linger on the toilet, finishing my business quickly before tugging the Spanx back up, flushing, and going to the sink. I looked washed out under the fluorescent bathroom lights, despite the heavy contouring ZZ had worked so diligently on. The plum lipstick I’d been wearing was almost completely faded.

I turned on the sink to wash my hands right when the bathroom door opened.

“Again?” I snapped incredulously, before looking up from hands to see Harry slipping the door shut behind him in the mirror. I blinked as the water ran.

We kept eye contact through the mirror for several beats, before he said, “You didn’t lock the door.”

He was right.

“It was just you.” I replied, an explanation.

“I know.” He nodded and then turned the lock. “You still didn’t lock the door.”

“Harry—?”

“I’m going out of my fucking head, Ezra.” He cut me off, the words like an explosion. He didn’t sound all that agitated, but he spoke quickly. One of his hands pushed through his very neatly coiffed fringe. “I can’t fucking think and seeing you there - with ZZ - I’m just - I feel like I’m going to lose it.”

“What?” I shut off the faucet and turned around. The bathroom wasn't very large, only a few feet between us from my spot in the corner and his at the door. “What?”

“I tried.” He spoke with resounding vigor. “Honestly, I did but I can’t - I thought it would get easier, with time and if we didn’t speak, but it’s not. I can’t think. I can’t focus. I just - fuck.” Harry released the breath almost violently. “I want you so bad.”

“What?” My reactions weren’t varied, but they were rising in volume. “You - what?”

“If you don’t - if you don’t, that’s fine. I get it, I just - fuck, I’m sorry.” Suddenly agitated, zealous Harry started to dim, replaced by a vulnerable, confused version of himself. “I shouldn’t have barged in here. That was inappropriate, I—“

“Stop.” I interrupted him. “Just - hold on. I need to think, I - are you drunk?”

“No.” His reaction was too immediate, and he let out a small, begrudging sound. “Maybe a little tipsy. But that doesn’t change anything.”

“I don’t - we shouldn’t do this.” Harry’s face fell in disappointment, but he nodded in agreement.

“You’re right, I’m sorry, we shouldn’t—“

“Fuck,” I cursed under my breath, shaking my head. My hands clenched together tightly, my shoulders tensed, and I knew I was probably not making the right decision, but I also knew I was going to make it anyway.

Nothing is failure, ZZ had said. Some things are just more progress than others.

“Ez?” Harry sounded concerned.

“Will you just -,” I fumbled with what I wanted. No, that was a lie. I fumbled with articulating what I wanted. “C’mere. Please.”

He wasted no time. The magnetism between us finally snapped together and then Harry was pressing me against the far wall, one hand tangled in my hair as the other pushed against the small of my back. His lips were on mine and I had to touch everywhere. The heels made it easier to kiss him, only needing to stretch a few inches as our mouths connected. Both of my hands tangled in his hair, clutching the back of his neck and scratching my nails along the base of his scalp as we kissed. His mouth was warm and inviting and familiar, lips meeting and meshing as our tongues intertwined. I’d never been more aware of my mouth than I was when I was kissing him.

Our hands groped desperately, our mouths moved in frazzled, rushed unison, and Harry was nipping on my lip and sipping on my tongue and grasping at my thighs, hands sliding over the entire back length of my body like he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch.

I moaned into his mouth and he let out a deep, rolling groan from the bottom of his chest.

“This is stupid,” I breathed out in the brief second our mouths disconnected.

“Completely nonsensical,” Harry agreed, and then kissed and kissed and kissed until I was gasping. His hands were warm and there was heat pooling in places that’d been frozen since December.

“Absolutely bad idea.”

“Yup.” Harry hummed. His hands moved to grasp on either side of my neck, steadying me as we kissed. It was all consuming and everything I’d missed. I didn’t know how to process it, how to feel besides absolutely fucking great as Harry touched me.

“Come home with me?” he murmured against my mouth, words barely passing in the miniscule amount of space between our lips. “Please, please, please.”