Perfect Teeth

I was used to Harry’s touches igniting, making me feel like I was heating and burning and sweating, but the hands on me from the second we crossed through his threshold were different. They were slower, calmer, a type of soothing heat.

The car ride had been terrible, twenty-five minutes of keeping our hands to ourselves. Harry picked me up a block away from the after party, far enough away that the buzz of paparazzi disappeared. I didn’t say goodbye to ZZ, catching a glimpse of her body pressed together with a blonde boy I hoped was Niall, before grabbing my coat and speed walking down the block.

We barely made it through the door, one fumbling hand closing it and locking it behind us. I was too distracted by his mouth and his tongue and his body and his skin to take in the foyer, completely renovated from the last time I was here. It’d been six months and maybe a lifetime since I escorted Harry up the stairs last September.

This time I wasn’t pulling Harry’s stumbling body through the rooms or freaking out because I was in his house or having an inner debate on if I should stay or go or steal one of his fancy coats from the hall closet just to stare at. Now we were both tipsy and tumbling, a frantic mesh of hands and lips and bodies trying to pull each other closer.

It wasn’t even a question on if I was going to stay.

His hands were on my back, pressing against my spine as he pulled me closer, and his lips moved to a spot on my neck, sucking solid pulses underneath my jaw. His mouth was hungry but gentle, pressing smooth and soft pillowy kisses as our mouths opened and Harry’s tongue traced the tip of mine. He was searching and adventuring and every hot movement of his breath and tongue and hands made it harder to stand straight.

I pressed back against him just as eagerly, melded our mouths together as my hands went straight for his hair, fingers tangling themselves in the soft hairs along his neck. He groaned as I tugged and I moaned as his hands moved down, following the curve of my back and ass until his fingertips were brushing under the hem of my dress, stroking the top of my thighs.

“I missed you.” He groaned into my mouth, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth. “I missed you so fucking much.”

He settled me with a deep, lingering look before pressing more kisses along my lips and cheeks and jaw, hands traveling up the hem of my dress to find the top band of my tights, fingers immediately tucking into the back and pulling them down. He pushed the fabric down the top of my thighs and I moved my hands from his hair to help him, but he shook his head and dropped to his knees in front of me.

One of his hands grasped the bottom of my dress, holding it up by my left hip, and the other peeled my tights down until they gathered around shaky knees. Harry leaned forward, nipping and sucking against the top inside of my thighs, and I thought I was going to fall down.

“Wall,” I gasped out, hands finding Harry’s hair just as easily as before. “I’m gonna fall.”

Hands on the backs of my thighs, he guided me backwards until my back was supported by the wall and one hand was clutching onto the tiny end table where he put his keys.

I wasn’t focusing on much but his mouth, having only the lingering thought that his jeans were much too nice to be pressed against the hardwood floor, and that his knees were probably going to hurt from this, but then he trailed a line of heavy, wet kisses from one thigh to the other, hand spreading my knees apart as he sucked on the inside of my thigh, the spot where my thigh connected to my pelvis, and then one directly in the center of my underwear, pressing his tongue hard enough to make me gasp, before pulling away and moving towards my other leg. I could feel his smirk against my skin, pleased by the sharp sounds I was making, and I tugged on his hair in retaliation.

Harry groaned against my skin, sound reverberating as I shivered, and I moaned again when he chuckled. His mouth was between my legs and I was wearing Spanx, for Christ’s sake, but then he sucked harder and my split second of caring vanished.

His fingers stroked the skin on the back of my thigh softly, rounding the curve from my thighs to my ass, and then traveling up, up, up, arms stretching to find the band.

“Good?” Harry punctuated the word with another deep kiss, tongue opening wet and flat exactly where I wanted it to be. Another half composed groan before a nod.

“Words, baby,” he reminded, just as he reached up to gently pull down my underwear. I let out an extraordinarily relieved sigh as the Spanx stopped compressing my ribs and organs, resting even heavier against the wall. Harry noticed the deep relief and raised his eyes to meet mine questioningly, lips still lingering against my skin.

“They were crushing my ribs.” I said.

Harry laughed, hands finishing pulling down the stretchy fabric, letting them pile on top of the tights bunched around my knees. I tried to lean down and pull off my heels, but Harry shook his head, pressed a large hand against my hip, and anchored me into place. He used the other hand to spread my legs just a little bit farther apart, running his hand up the back of my thigh, before swiping two fingers against me and making me gasp.

“Good?” He repeated the question, just as he pulled his fingers up and up until they were pressing and rubbing small circles, just enough pressure to keep me whimpering, and then slipped inside of me.

I shouldn’t have been expected to speak when he was touching me like that, thoughts static. I was barely able to manage out a stuttered “yes” before Harry’s mouth was back to deep, wet kisses as he fingers moved.

My back pressed against the wall of his foyer, shaky legs and calves holding me up, as one hand pressed against the table for balance and the other gripped onto the back of Harry’s hair. He was eager, mouth delicate and then hard, soft and then searching, each lick and stroke of his tongue and fingers making me shake and shiver.

His tongue moved in shapes I couldn’t make out, letters or numbers or maybe just geometric curves, but it was all enough to make me dizzy. I was gasping and groaning, pressing myself harder against him as he devoured, and then he was pulling his fingers out of me and pressing both hands to the back of my thighs, pulling my legs so they piled directly over his shoulders, and then his tongue touched, warm and delicate, against my center, and I thought I was going to pass out. I was definitely going to pass out.

The wall was supportive, but I was sliding against it, one hand pressing flat in an attempt to anchor myself up while the other clutched at Harry’s hair. He was supporting me almost entirely with his torso and hands, one spanning across my waist as his mouth worked.

“Bed,” I gasped out, slipping farther down along the wall. “I need a bed. Couch. Floor. Soft rug, I don’t care but I--”

Harry’s answer was another puckering of his lips and movement of his tongue. My eyes were heavy, hazy, weighted in my skull with pleasure as his lips and tongue navigated. Maybe it was because of how long it’d been, or maybe it was just because it was Harry, but I was on the edge of passing out or exploding. Maybe one before the other, maybe both, but concentration was impossible and I was going to go tumbling to the floor any minute.

“Harry,” I whimpered out his name. “Please.”

He grinned against me.

“Please what, Ez?” He asked, moving his mouth away for only a moment before pressing another heavy kiss.

“I don’t - I don’t know.” I gasped as one hand moved from my thigh to gently tease back inside me.

“Hmm?” The vibrations had me reeling. “Tell me what you want.”

“H-Ha- I ca-an’t—“ My fingers clenched in his hair and I pulsed around him, another swirl of pleasure shooting up through my system.

“C’mon, baby,” His mouth and his voice and his tongue and his fingers were all coaxing. “What do you want? Tell me what you want.”

“I don’t—“

He flexed his fingers inside of me, pressing up and then down, up and down, and I let out a load moan. I slipped a little farther down the wall, hands clutching to hold myself up. He slivered his hand behind my back, pressing between the wall and my spine to hold me there, and then he dipped his head down again.

“Hmm?” He persisted. “Ez? What do you want?”

“Everything.” I managed out. “Everything.”

Everything, everything, everything.

He let out a soft purr, fingers moving faster and mouth working quicker, and it was too much to focus on, standing and orgasming, and I promptly slid down the wall as my eyes closed and my mouth fell open. Harry’s mouth was soft and his touch gentle as he removed his fingers and pulled my legs off his shoulders delicately. He pulled my limp-limbed body up against his and supported me completely, head rolling forward to loll on his shoulder.

“I can do that,” he promised, words thick as he pressed a kiss to my temple. “I can do that.”

Harry carried me up the two flights of stairs that led to his lofted bedroom, clutching my legs around his waist and pressing kisses to my neck and face every time we moved. He was trying to be smooth, but the movements were awkward and jerky and I was terrified he was going to drop me. I was relieved when he dropped me on the plush bed, scooting me down to the edge of it while he stayed standing.

“Is this a California King?” I asked, toeing off my boots as Harry kneeled down in front of me. My ability to speak after an orgasm that strong was surprising, but I was always willing to discuss a good bed.

He pursed his lips, unsure, before shrugging. “I asked for a nice, soft bed, and this came in.”

“You didn’t even test it?”

“I’m not here all that much.” He pinched the toe of the tights and pulled them completely off, the Spanx following.

“Maybe you’d be here more if you had a bed that you liked. Or if you don’t like this one, I’ll take it.”

“It’d take up the entire front room of your flat.”

“That’s okay. I could just live on this bed. Like a raft.”

Harry chuckled against my calf, pressing a kiss to my shin before he crawled above me on the bed, supporting himself on his forearms as he hovered above me.

“I missed doing that,” he whispered, and his face up close and steady was as overwhelming as it always was.

“Taking off my tights?” I whispered back.

“Touching you.” He dipped his head closer to mine and kept his voice soft. “You get so needy and I love it.”

“Needy? You like it when I’m needy?”

Harry nodded, slotting his legs in the spaces between mine, and there was a flush blooming along his neck. “I like it when it’s obvious you want me.”

“I thought it was always obvious.”

Harry shook his head, quiffed hair falling down between us. My fingers reached out instantly to push it away from his forehead. His gaze dropped from my eyes to my mouth to back up again, very deliberate in the way they trailed along my face.

“Harry?” The words were just tiny slips of syllables, only big enough to exist in the space between us.

“Mmm?”

“I think I’m always going to want you.”

His shoulders relaxed, dropping down as he inhaled deeply. On the exhale he said, “Good to hear.” and kissed me.

We were greedy. It only took seconds before I was panting underneath him, mouth moving against his kiss for kiss as his hands searched. He was pulling up my dress as we moved, hand tucking under my back to arch it as he pulled the fabric up, up, up, separating our mouths to finally pull it over my head.

I was wearing nothing but the lacy bra ZZ insisted on, chest straining against the cups, and Harry groaned. “Fucking Christ,” he cursed, and then his hands were snaking behind my back to unhook the band. I reached up for him, to start shedding him of some of the clothing still on, but he kneeled on his knees and stretched across to reach one of the nightstands. I whined over the lack of contact between our mouths.

“Hold on,” he said, “Watch.” He lifted the wrist his watch was on before unhooking the clasp. I swallowed as the metal dropped against the wooden table. Next, he pulled off his rings, sliding the bands down his fingers, before tucking his fingers into his pockets to deposit his phone and wallet.

“I missed watching that.” I said. “You unloading at the end of the day.”

“I missed watching you take off your make up.” Harry crawled back to me, scooting me further up towards the head up the bed before slotting in between my legs.

“I missed sleeping next to you.”

His hands tangled in my hair. “I missed waking up and your hair being in my mouth.”

I started to unbutton his shirt. “I missed taking baths with you.”

Harry shimmed out of his shirt as I pushed it off his shoulders. “I missed making tea for two in the mornings.”

I reached for his trousers next. “I missed tripping over your boots.”

He kicked off his trousers and his boxer briefs. “I missed arguing about things.”

“Fuck, me too,” I breathed out, because if there was one thing I missed most about sharing a space with Harry, over the cuddling and the sex and the tea, it was the bickering. Over what TV show to watch, or if earl grey was superior to English breakfast, or if Bleachers was better than fun. and Jack Antonoff really needed to dedicate his time to one project - we bickered over everything, small, amusing little arguments that had us both laughing and kept on our toes. I missed the casualness of making a point, of the way Harry’s eyes lit up when he thought he was going to win, and the shared kisses when we had to settle for an impasse. The severeness of missing those arguments hit me in the gut, but then Harry settled in between my legs, naked and warm, and I forced myself to move forward.

“I’m going to touch you,” he said. “And I’m not going to stop until both of us are so tired we can’t move.”

“Promise?” I asked.

“Promise.” Harry whispered back.

And we did. We kissed and touched and we had a lot of sex, laughing through the cramp I got in my calf and the fact that neither of us were at our freshest, and I forced myself to not think ahead, about the morning or the eventual conversation that was going to happen after this. I focused on Harry, on the sweat on his skin and the flush of his cheeks and the squeeze of his eyes right before he came, and I willed that to be enough.



I wasn’t strong enough to put distance between us, but Harry didn’t seem to mind. Body on top of his, I wound my arms up and around, one hand tangled in the curls at the nape of his neck as I pressed my face comfortably in his collarbone. He was breathing heavily underneath me, chest expanding and falling as his hands stroked the skin of my back. They moved slowly, a steady trace of shapes on dip of my spine. I wondered what he was invisibly engraving into my skin, but I couldn’t concentrate on the feeling long enough to figure it out.

Every part of me was touching every part of him, the distance between our skin nonexistent. I could feel the heat of him, the slight sheen of sweat on his thighs, the hardened muscle of his torso underneath me. And even though there wasn’t any space, no room for air or distance, I wanted closer. There were always going to be complications with the fusion of Harry and I, endless amounts of problems that neither of us were going to be able to figure out, but it was half past three in the morning and I didn’t fucking care.

When I’d fallen asleep on the couch with Harry, crying into his chest and mourning the loss of everything between us, I’d felt like I’d been punched in the throat or the gut or in my entire being. It was like something black and sticky and awful was clinging to my insides, making me feel every pang of hurt and remorse and guilt, but now as we lay together, it was different.

It didn’t hurt. Maybe because I was savoring in the warmth of him, hands pulling through strands of hair and body relaxing against him, or maybe it was because I wasn’t nearly as emotionally spent as last time. I’d had more time. I decompressed. I made a plan.

Or maybe it was the orgasm.

“Ezra?” Harry whispered, breaking the silence. His bedroom was large and quiet, the entire house still.

“Hm?” I tilted my face look up at him.

“I love you.” He said, the words gentle and sweet and sincere. He’d been saying it all night - maybe not in as many words as movements or sighs or touches, but he’d been saying it. Hearing it maybe should’ve felt different, but I knew. I knew, I knew, I knew.

His hands pressed more firmly to my back. “Sorry, I know I’m probably not supposed to say but - I do.”

He wasn’t supposed to, not really. But he wasn’t supposed to do a lot of things. We weren’t supposed to be doing any of this. Not the touching, or the kissing, or the cuddling, or the hushed declarations of love that he thought I hadn’t heard throughout the entire night, when he whispered them into my skin in between kisses and caresses. But I let him, and I poured every I love you right back as we touched, because I was pretty sure we both knew that this was going to be it.

“You can say whatever you want,” I replied, and then, in a movement of both bravery and stupidity, I hoisted myself up enough to kiss his neck. “I love you too.”

Harry breathed out another sigh of relief.

“This is it, isn’t it?”

I nodded into his chest. “Yeah. Probably.”

“Last time felt - I’m sorry I left like that.” Harry swallowed, a catch in his voice as he struggled to come up with the right words. “I’m sorry for a lot of stuff.”

“Harry—“

I didn’t want to have this conversation. I never wanted to have this conversation. I’d already created it so many times in my head - before bed, in the shower, during Tube rides to school - I imagined all of the ways we would argue it out, confess all of our misgivings and figure out how to fix this between us. The scenarios in my head were dramatic, emotional, full of either crying or shouting, and they never ended happily, and even though I’d already rehearsed it in my head, I wasn’t ready to go full out with Harry.

We’d sobered up, sweating out the alcohol, and even though I knew we needed to talk, it made me nervous. Last time hurt so much.

“You’ve gotta let me talk, Ez.” He gently pinched the skin of my hip and I bit down on my bottom lip, nodding as I repositioned myself on his chest. Kept my fingers running through the strands of his hair, scratching at the nape of his neck as Harry purred contentedly before finding what he needed to say.

He started slowly. “All of this is hard. I think...I’ve been making it all up as I go since I was sixteen, and sometimes that works and sometimes it doesn’t.” Harry’s hands stilled against my back. “It didn’t work. And I’m sorry I let you be in the middle of that not working. I’m not proud of how I handled things between us. I should’ve put your well being in front of my happiness and I didn’t do that.”

He sounded like he’d had those thoughts on his mind for a while, letting the words brew and stew in our month of separation. In between the drunk texts and weeks of silence, this was what he was thinking.

“You deserve to put yourself first sometimes, Harry.” I replied.

He shrugged, conceding in a argument he knew he wasn’t going to be able to win, and kept talking. “I should’ve listened more. Paid attention. Not let it all slide and believe that just because I was only allowing myself to see certain things that those were the only things that existed.”

Maybe he should’ve, but he wasn’t the only person at fault. “I didn’t…I didn’t tell you a lot of stuff.” I started. “I should’ve - I thought about it, but I just…”

“What?” Harry prompted when I stalled.

“I think I was afraid of freaking you out.”

“How?” He tilted his head in confusion, hands settling on the fleshiest part of my hips.

“By telling you that I was freaked out. I think I thought that like, if I acknowledged it - that the people and the internet and what they were saying and all of the shit - suddenly I had to deal with it, and that sounded exhausting.”

“It is exhausting.”

“Maybe it shouldn’t be.”

“We didn’t talk.” Harry stated, and it was the overarching problem that we kept skimming over. “I mean, we talked a lot but - not about the things that mattered. I think that’s what went wrong.”

I nodded. “Among other things.”

“Other things?”

“We worked.” I said, because that, at least, was true. “Everything else just…didn’t.”

Harry sighed. I shifted on his lap, propping myself up so I was staring him directly in the face. “My mom told me something, when they came for Christmas. I freaked out on them, because of the spitting and the video and all of the comments on my videos were shit and I just…flipped, and she said, she said that relationships don’t exist in a vacuum. Like, the rest of the world still exists. There are all of these outside influences, and I think we forgot that.”

“It was good when it was us.” Harry said, and there was so much defeat there that I tensed.

“So good.” I agreed.

“But it’s never going to be just us.”

“Not when you’re you, no.” I tried to make it light, a joke, but it fell flat just as Harry’s face fell entirely.

“Yeah.” Another sigh, head pressing back in the pillow as he closed his eyes. The corners of his mouth tightened in irritation. “Because I am who I am and that ruins it.”

His voice sounded so dry. “Harry, I didn’t -”

“You’re not wrong.” Two fingers reached up to rub at his eyes. “Gem says the same thing. We have these talks every few months about how I should just let it alone, don’t start anything serious until things calm down.”

It made sense. His life was hectic, a constant whirlwind of tour dates and appearances and constant media speculation and there was no easy way to navigate that. Even the strongest of people faltered when thousands of people screamed criticism in their face. The scrutiny from my perspective was awful, but I was allowed to run away from it. I could delete my internet presence and burrito myself in my duvet and run away, but Harry couldn’t. He had to sit there and take it, live out his dream while it destroyed other parts of his life.

“Harry--”

“Liam can do it.” He laughed, shaking his head scornfully. “Louis and Zayn can do it. It’s not perfect and sometimes Louis gets pissed because of the stuff said about El, but they’ve made it this far.” The frustrated breath came out of him in a hiss. “Why don’t I get that?”

Silence hung between us. I wanted to comfort him, but I didn’t have an answer. If I knew how to make it work properly I would’ve, ages ago, but I didn’t. I just decided on an option.

“It’s really shitty,” I finally said, the words lame and flat.

Harry swallowed. “That made me sound really ungrateful, I--” His voice cracked, words trailing off as he turned his head towards the wall. When he blinked I saw the sheen over his eyes.

Panicking, I sat up. “You aren’t,” I said adamantly. “You aren’t ungrateful at all. Ever.”

“I don’t - “ He swiped at his eyes, pinching them shut in frustration, and it was like something in him had cracked. It wasn’t just about us. This was Harry’s entire life. “Sorry, I’m not - I know it’s different. You and I are different.”

We weren’t, though. Like in the grand scheme of things, our relationship wasn’t that different than anything else, we weren’t that different from a thousand other couples who had battled the same problems and figured it out. We just said we were, because it made us feel better about quitting.

“It sucks.” I repeated.

Harry snorted. “Yes, it does.”

“And it’s not just you, it’s me too. I can’t - I hate the idea of you just blaming yourself, because it’s wasn’t. It’s not.”

“Maybe.” He allowed, probably just to appease me again. I knew he was going to internalize it somehow, beat himself up over all of the things he couldn’t change, but I didn’t want that. Neither of us needed that. “But we have to get over this guilt train. I think we’ve both battered it to death. We have to forgive and move on.”

“Okay.” I agreed easily. “I forgave you ages ago.”

Harry smiled, eyes loosening up as thumbs resumed movement over my skin. “I never blamed you in the first place but I - we have to forgive ourselves. And I know that sounds very daytime TV, but it’s true. I don’t want you carrying around guilt for things forever. We figured it out, eventually. Or we will.”

“Okay.” I said. “I can work on forgiving myself, but you have to too.”

“I will.” Harry nodded, and then added, with a self-conscious laugh, “So I’m not crying the next time I do a SoulCycle.”

“You cried?”

There was only a little embarrassment in his expression, but mostly acceptance. “Bawled like a baby and almost had an asthma attack because of it.”

“Harry--”

“Shh,” he swiped his hand over my back to calm my fretting. “I’m fine, I’m fine. It was good, cathartic. And I was in the back so no one noticed when I had to stop and do my inhaler.”

“You could’ve died.”

He puffed out a laugh. “If I’m going out I think I want it to be more than on a stationary bike.”

“When was this?”

“When I was in LA earlier this month, around my birthday. Have to keep the body healthy in my old age.”

I could feel the conversation transitioning between us, the seriousness melting away. We both let ourselves relax.

“That’s a very...healthy coping mechanism.” I situated myself more comfortably on his lap. “What else did you do? Read some poetry? A couple timed reflective writes?”

“There’s nothing wrong with journaling.” Harry sniffed. “Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not mocking, I’m not!” I squirmed away from Harry’s hands as they ghosted along my waist, tickling. “I’m proud!”

“And what did you do?” He prompted, hands reaching up to hold me still. “What were your stoic ways of feeling better?”

“I moved into a cubicle at the library, watched a lot of Gilmore Girls and cried - but probably half of that was you and the other half was when Lorelai and Luke broke up - and tried to make some real friends.”

Harry’s face brightened at the mention of friends. “They’re good to you, right? Your friends? Good people?”

His concern left a warmth in my stomach, and I nodded. “They’re great. Tristan’s like a golden retriever with glasses and Naomi’s the funniest person I’ve ever met.”

“Funnier than me?”

“Of course. But a different type of funny. She wants to make her own TV show. It’s good, they’re good. Things are better.”

“Better is progress. I’m just - I’m so glad.”

“I did have a minor freak out in WH Smith once, though.” I confessed. “I will admit to that.”

“Why WH Smith?” Harry was perplexed.

“I was buying pens. It’s impossible to escape your ugly mug in this fucking country. I was fragile. I ended up shoving my basket into one of the sales associates hands, muttering something about how I fucking hate One Direction, and went and had a cry in the bathroom.”

Harry looked torn between laughing and wincing, eyes wide and cheeks puffed out in a guffaw he didn’t quite allow himself to release.

“Laugh,” I encouraged with a roll of my eyes. “It’s hilarious now, but I can’t go into that WH Smith anymore.”

He did laugh, shaking his head through it. “So in summary, breaking up sucks and both of us are bad at it.”

“I think that’s a conclusion that we can both healthily come to, yes. Bad times all around.”

As Harry’s laughter died down, he started and then stopped. “I don’t..I don’t want to go through that again, Ez. Like - I know that this is necessary and even though I want it to, it’s not going to work right now. But I don’t want the silence. Not talking to you fucking sucked.”

He was right, he was so right, it did absolutely fucking suck, and even though I knew being his friend was always going to be a slippery slope, it was something I thought we both needed. “I wanna be your friend, Harry. I’m always going to want to be your friend.”

He raised his eyebrows defiantly. “That’s what you said last time.”

I shot him a look right back. Phones worked both ways. “Neither of us accepted it last time. I just - we have to keep it lowkey. I’m not - I’m not ready for it all yet. I’m still finding my footing.”

“Yeah, of course, absolutely. We can just...talk. Chat. Converse.”

“Converse.” I agreed with a laugh. “Call me sometimes, yeah? I wanna hear about whatever patterned shirt you’re excited about this week and how tour rehearsals are coming and the nonfiction that you’re reading. We were good at being friends.”

“I wanna do this the proper way.” Harry said. “I want to be your friend in whatever way I can. Until things start to feel good again.”

“Okay.”

“Brill.”

There was a beat in that half of the word, a tiny moment of tension as I contemplated what to do next.

That was...that was that, then.

“I should probably go.” I slumped against his chest, and even though I didn’t want to move, it was probably the best thing to do. “Before it’s 6 AM and your neighbors judge me for going home without tights.”

“Stay.” Harry prodded, hands clasping tighter on my sides. “We both deserve decent sleep after this. I’ll drive you home in the morning.”

“We’re supposed to be lowkey.” I reminded. “I don’t think getting papped leaving your house in the morning is lowkey.”

“You can lie down with a sheet over you until we’re on the motorway.”

The hopefulness in his voice was enough to stop my wheedling. That voice always held way too much power. “This bed is really comfortable.”

“Perfect amount of support for your back.” Harry offered.

“And I’m pretty comfortable…”

“Shh.” Harry’s lips brushed against my forehead as he puckered them into a shush. I rearranged my limbs, sliding down so I was curled against his side, all soft edges curving into his. He smelled like sweat and the last few hints of his cologne, not entirely pleasant but enough like Harry to make me feel safe, and I fell asleep drooling against his collarbone.

In the morning, I woke up before him, forcing myself to slip from the warm cocoon of blankets and Harry. It was just past seven am, winter sun deceivingly bright for how frigid it was outside. My tights were ruined, runs in the thighs and the calves from Harry’s tugging fingers, and I was contemplating the pros and cons of wearing super trashed tights or going bare, stubbly legs in February, when Harry came to.

“Already?” He grumbled. His thick, scratchy sleepy voice got me every time. If we were different people, maybe at different times, that grumbling timbre would’ve been enough to get me back into bed, shedding the Spanx for a second time to wrap myself around him. But for all of the banter and the jokes and the comfort in the world, we weren’t different people.

He was Harry and I was Ezra and I already ordered a car.

“Is there a way to make sure there aren’t paps outside?” I decided to forgo the tights, which really were just strings of spandex holding together, and slipped my bra straps through my arms.

“They don’t hang out around here anymore,” Harry croaked. “I’m never home, it’s not exciting.”

“Not even after last night?”

“Hold on.” Harry yawned. “Let me ask security. They can give you a ride home, if you want.”

“I already ordered a car.”

“Were you even going to wake me up?” Harry tapped something out on his phone before rolling over, groaning again as he stretched his arms above his head, and sitting up. The sheet pooled around his hips, entirely too obscene for something accidental, and I very purposefully looked away from him as I tugged on my dress.

“I was contemplating leaving a note on the mirror in lipstick.” I said. “But then I remembered that I didn’t have any.”

“Regular trollop you are, Callil. Just hit it and quit it.”

“That’s me.” I flashed him my biggest, brightest smile, before crossing to his dresser and plucking out the longest pair of black socks I could find. I was going to look suspicious anyway, sans tights in February, and Harry’s black trouser socks wouldn’t compliment my look at all, but I liked my toes. “A philanderer. You were just another name in a long, long line of conquests. Normally they don’t even get me till morning, so consider yourself lucky.”

“I’m bathing in this blessing.” Harry flung the sheet off of his hips, giving not a care in the world for nudity at half past seven in the morning, and raised his arms up to stretch again. And again, the flexing of his muscles, the little rounded out muscle of his tummy and his thighs, was obscene.

I wanted to pout. Instead, I focused on jimmying my foot into my boot, Harry’s socks substantially thicker than my tights. With a tug and a huff, I got one foot on, and then with another tug and a potential trip, the second one on as well.

“I could make breakfast,” Harry offered. “I have eggs.”

Eggs. Eggs which were the primary ingredient in breakfast burritos, one of which would do wonders for my achy, cold body and the swirling feeling of sickness in my stomach. But the prospect of a breakfast burrito felt entirely too much of a promise, so I shook my head.

“If I don’t go now, I’m never going to leave. But you are allowed to text me a photo of the eggs that you make later today, and I’ll reply with a photo of toast. Maybe toast. I can’t remember if I have bread, but probably toast.”

“I have bread.” Harry said.

“Harry.”

He rolled his eyes, but he was relaxed enough as he grabbed a pair of pants from the dresser drawer I left open and came to a stop in front of me, throwing his arms over my shoulders. The weight of him left me off balance, precariously stumbling in the heels for a moment before straightening myself out.

“What?” I asked, when Harry’s arms wrapped tightly around my shoulders to pull me into his chest.

“‘M cold.”

“You’re almost naked.”

“Still cold.”

“Put on a sweater.”

“Stop being practical and cuddle me back.”

“Stop making this harder.” My words were muffled and strained against his chest. I was trying so hard for it to be easy, for none of the awkwardness that this morning could’ve held to be there, and it was almost mission accomplished. The longer I stayed, the bigger the chance of slipping up.

Harry sighed against the top of my head, but he didn’t apologize. “Text me when you’re home safe.” He said instead.

“Will do.” Harry’s phone buzzed in his hand. He swiped it open across my shoulder.

“All clear for paps.” He read off the message. “Your getaway car should meet no obstacles.”

“That’s all a criminal can ask for, really. A good getaway driver and a clear path.”

“I thought you were a philanderer? Now you’re a low class criminal?”

“Who said anything about low class?” I pulled away so Harry could get the full power of my offended face, untangling our bodies so I could head down the hallway and the stairs. “I’m driving off in a sleek black car. That screams fancy and sophisticated criminal.”

“You’re a nervous laugher,” Harry said, following me down the stairs. “You’d get halfway done and then start laughing and arouse suspicion.”

“The laughter is just part of my wholesome appearance. I’m actually quite sly. Clandestine Callil, that’s my street name.”

“How can you pronounce the word ‘clandestine’ at half seven after last night?’ Harry looked at me with true wonder in his eyes. “Did I not do my job well enough?”

The ache in my inner thighs, upper arms, and jaw was evidence that he had, in fact, done his job well enough, but he didn’t deserve the satisfaction after doubting my career as a high class criminal.

“Apparently not. It happens sometimes. Don’t let it get you down.” I found my coat in a heap in Harry’s front hallway, a distinct crease in one of the arms, but I was hoping that I’d only be glimpsed by the Uber driver and maybe whichever of Harry’s security was babysitting before I could straighten myself out.

“You’ve never had any complaints before.”

“Sometimes people get rusty with time.” That thought, of course, prompted the idea that maybe Harry wasn’t rusty. Maybe he’d been with loads of people in the time we’d been apart, and while I’d been curled in my bed, miserable and horny but too sad to do anything about it, he was out accomplishing things. I wanted to wince, but I was afraid of upsetting the balanced ease between us, so I just scurried along, shrugging on my coat and making sure my keys and tiny wristlet were still in the coat pocket.

“Do you need money for the cab?” Harry asked, doing the polite thing and ignoring my awkward comment. “My wallet is upstairs but I usually keep a few twenties--”

“Please don’t give me money,” I replied, lips turning down as Harry opened one of the drawers in his entrance table, presumably scouring around for some money. “Please.”

“Oh.” Harry’s cheeks reddened at the implication there and the drawer snapped shut. “I didn’t - I just meant--”

“I know.” He was nothing if not honorable. “But it’s an Uber so it’ll pay through my card, and I’m fine. Honestly. Don’t - you don’t have to worry.”

Even if it was Harry, and I knew he was going to, he didn’t have to. I was good. Or if not good, good-ish.

Before either of us could say anything else, my phone buzzed in my hands, driver calling.

“Alright then,” Harry said, and then he made a move like he was going to hug me, but I used the heels and my newfound height-advantage to hook an arm around his neck and pull his head down a little, pressing a kiss to his forehead before he could make a move in protest.

“We’re good.” I repeated against his temple. “Just remember that we’re good.”

“We’re good.” Harry affirmed, and when I pulled back he was looking at me with heavy, wide eyes, the green of them shiny and warm. “Talk to you later. “

“Yeah, definitely. Lots of talking. Now go make your eggs.”

“Text me a photo of your toast.”

“Will do.”

“Bye, Ez.” Harry’s voice was strained.

“Goodbye, Harry.” And maybe his name cracked, maybe it didn’t, but I was turning around and he shutting the door behind me before either of us could acknowledge it.

It was hard, of course, walking out of his house and pretending that I didn’t want to immediately go back inside, the wind and the cold hitting me at the same time as the acceptance did.

It was hard, but it wasn’t any harder than anything else that I’d survived through lately.
And that was that, then. Everything before had felt hurried, unfinished, like there were strings dangling, taunting and precarious. But we’d just cut those off, left things neat and nice.

Maybe Harry didn’t have to always hang over my head like some daunting black cloud. Maybe we could get to someplace where I didn’t cringe when One Direction came on the radio, but texted him about it instead. Maybe we could get to the type of friends that we were before, the ease of it. Maybe we couldn’t, but we were at least a few steps into trying.



SOS I need coffee and some brekkie, you up?

ZZ...it’s just now 8 why are you up at 8 ????
what time did you get HOME last night??

I’ve not been, actually. Now PLEASE meet me somewhere I need food and I need it now before I am just a hungry heap of girl.

uuuuuh fine but only bc i’m hungry and have no bread
send me a dropped pin so i can tell the driver where i’m going

Driver?

ya for the uber i’m gonna call

Nice try, Callil. You can invite Harry if you want. We can make it a family breakfast.

are you gonna invite Niall then???

No, he was still sleeping, and he’s grumpy if you wake him before 10.

oh my fucking god

seriously

how long have you two been sleeping together

:)

Long enough that you’ll be the only one showing up in last night’s dress and make up

so last night was WHAT a game??? you put on a show even though you’ve already been banging for weeks then
where have I BEEN

am i seriously so selfish that i haven’t even noticed that you’ve been banging niall

how have you been able to keep it a secret how have you not shouted it from the roof tops

We like to keep things exciting. And Niall’s super cautious about the media and the public so we’ve kept it super DL. Don’t feel bad, Ez.

I’ll tell you more over brekkie, now hurry up I need food before I snatch the bagel from the bloke across from me on the bus.



“Hi, Ez, it’s me...uh, Harry. I’m just...calling, I guess. You’re probably asleep or out or something but you told me to call, so I’m calling. Hope things are well. I just -- bye.”

“Hi H, it’s Ezra. Sorry I missed your other call, you’re totally right I was fast asleep in a food coma. Things are well, hope all is good with you too. If you call me back I promise to try and answer! I’ll talk to you later, bye.”

“Missed you again - damn, we just don’t have very good timing, do we? I wanted to talk to you before things got hectic with rehearsals and stuff, just to catch up, but call me whenever. I hope things are great with you, I really do. Hope school is well and your parents are well and uh - shut UP, Niall - no, sorry, that wasn’t for you - Niall says to tell ZZ hello - tell her hello for me too - bye.”

“We are not very good at this whole phone tag thing, are we? Hope rehearsals are good! Tour starts soon, yeah? That’s gonna be hectic but amazing I mean - stadiums! I’m sure everyone’s super excited and proud. School is good, I uh - well, it’s mostly good. Hard. Lots of things to be made and decisions to decide, but it’s school. I promise to pick up next time. I’m going to put my phone on loud and keep the ringer on and everything. Talk to you soon.”

“...hi, Ez, it’s H. Sorry, it’s late. Sorry it took forever for me to call you back. Tour starts tomorrow. Things are good. I - I still don’t know what to wear tomorrow and Caro’s getting antsy because I won’t make a decision but nothing feels right. I’m. I’m nervous. Or excited? It’s fluttery nervous and I don’t know what that means. But anyway, I’ll just catch you later, hopefully.”

“Christ this time difference is awful and I’m pretty sure you’re already on stage but I wanted to tell you good luck or - are concerts like plays? Am I not allowed to say that? - break a leg! I’m sure what you picked out to wear broke the internet. There will be articles written about it tomorrow so I’m sure I’ll see then.”

“We went hiking in Peru and it was beautiful and I thought of you and wanting to film it and I - you should add Peru to your Places to Visit list. It’s beautiful. Everything’s beautiful and overwhelming.”

“Sorry it’s been forever, school was just - finals and exams and papers and I feel like I’ve not slept properly in three weeks and I’m living off really strong tea and instant noodles and I’ve occupied this spot in the library so much that I’m pretty sure I should start paying rent. I’m at the study break and I was going through my phone and I saw your voicemails and I just thought - I should call you back. I meant to call you back. I’ve seen some of the pictures from tour and stuff around and you look - you look great. I hope you’re great. Sorry if this is weird I just have no idea where my head is, I think I - nevermind--”

“Are you alright, Ez? You sounded stressed last message. Take a deep breath and drink water and walk around every time you have a break. Those are good study tips, or at least according to Google and Google must be right, right? Tour’s good, crazy, wild. We’re back in the UK in May so maybe - you should come to a show or something. You’ll do great on your finals and talk to you later.”

“I think - I - I’m moving to New York.”