Perfect Teeth

“Greetings, my little honey bunches of oats. It is currently Tuesday, Feburary 23rd, 2013, and it’s time for another weekly update of TMI Tuesday. First, I want to thank you guys so much for your support of the video I put up last Tuesday. I know it was a heavy, but it was a subject matter that I felt really needed to be addressed. I was a little nervous, but I know that I can be straight and honest with you guys. To balance things out a little bit, today’s TMI Tuesday is going to be considerably lighter. The 50 Facts About Me Tag has been floating around the web and I am nothing if not a follower. I’ll try to keep this quick and interesting - even if I’m not particularly interesting. Let’s chat, yeah?

1. My middle name is Olivia. Yes, I am aware that Ezra Olivia is a mouthful.

2. Ham and pineapple pizza is my favorite.

3. When I was seven, I stole a tube of chapstick from a store and that is the highlight of my career in crime.

4. I can’t roll my tongue.

5. The bottom of my purse contains nothing but uncapped pens and taco sauce packets from Taco Bell.

6. More often than not, you can find me in the school supplies section of Target.

7. Wendy’s is the best fast food chain. Yes, I’ve been to In N Out. No, I haven’t been to every fast food chain in the world, but of the basic like, five, Wendy’s is the over all winner. I also stand by my beliefs so yes I will fight you to the death on this.

8. I am Troye Sivan. Troyen Sivan is me. If me had better hair and more sass.

9. I have spent my time in the shower since I was thirteen perfecting my Oscars acceptance speech. Now it’s just time to figure out what I’m winning one for.

10. I can lick my elbow.

11. I was a dancer for a very brief, but very important period of my life. I was basically a celebrity. Also, I was two and a tree in the dance recital.

12. Coincidentally, I stopped being a dancer because I was so awful I couldn’t even handle being a tree in a dance recital.

13. I collect Russian stacking dolls.

14. My favorite Saturday morning activity is going to garage sales with my mom.

15. My second favorite Saturday morning activity is sleeping Saturday morning away.

16. My cat’s name is Chunky Salsa. She is a queen.

17. One Direction used to be like, my ironic guilty pleasure, but now I just think I’m genuinely obsessed.

18. I have a favorite spot in my school’s library and it’s gotten to the point that if I come in and someone is sitting in my spot I will either hover until they are uncomfortable or leave.

19. I have seen every episode of Gilmore Girls ever and my collection of all seven seasons is a prized possession. This stems from the fact that I live in Connecticut and the show is set in Connecticut and also I really want to be Rory Gilmore.

20. The third season is my favorite, in case you were wondering.

21. Every sandwich is a perfect sandwich as long as it has avocado on it.

22. Okay, the last fact wasn’t so much as a fact about me as it was a general accepted truth about life but I am full of exciting facts and details like that. Fact.

23. Like everyone else so wrongfully believed, I too believed that FAQ meant facts and not Frequently Asked Questions and finding out the truth is why I don’t trust the world.

24. My animal self is a sloth.

25. The first thing I did when I turned eighteen was buy a lottery ticket, which was mildly disappointing because they didn’t even card me for it.

26. I can only write with pens, not pencils.

27. When I’m driving by myself, I listen to obnoxious rap music. It really helps keep up my cool image.

28. I can’t play a single instrument. Not for lack of trying, but I have no music gifts.

29. I am 5’6”, which, personally, I think is a pretty good height, but most of the time when people meet me in real life the first thing they say is that they thought I was taller. Sorry to disappoint.

30. I can fit a sunflower seed in the gap between my teeth.

31. Not a day goes by where I don’t wish I could sing.

32. If I’m having a bad day, a milkshake makes it better.

33. I prefer chicken strips and fries over a burger. Mainly because I don’t really like burgers.

34. Pepsi is better than Coke, but Cherry Coke is better than Cherry Pepsi.

35. The most expensive thing I’ve ever physically purchased was my computer. The most expensive thing I’ve ever paid for is college tuition. That was a bad day.

36. My desk is always a mess.

37. My very first YouTube video was a favorites video. I think I had some type of aspiration to be a beauty guru, but that was quickly thwarted when I attempted to film my first ever tutorial and realized that if I could barely get my eyeliner on, I probably wasn’t qualified enough to teach other people how to do it.

38. I drool when I sleep.

39. My Big Fat Greek Wedding taught me that Windex is the solution to everything and I firmly believe this.

40. I’m really lazy and not that interesting, so we’re going to cut this tag about 10 numbers shorter. Fifty is a bit much. I commend you if you’ve made it to the end of this video, thank you for your sheer dedication to watching me ramble. I hope after this you still find me mildly interesting and entertaining. Probably not, but y’know, you guys asked! Stay saucy, you minxes!”



I didn’t tell a soul about my supposed lunch with Harry, which probably tells more about my feelings towards the entire thing than I would care to admit. I hadn’t had the time to freak out about my dinner with Liam - it was a twenty minute flurry and then I was there, eating falafel with him and George, and it was so pleasant that all of my nerves washed away. But I had an entire twenty-four hours to digest the news of my impending lunch with Harry and it wasn’t boding well. I was nervous (because he was Harry Styles), skeptical (he was Harry Styles why did he want to get lunch with me?), and at the point in my anxiety where I was rethinking different scenarios of how the disaster was going to unfold. I was almost hoping that come one o’clock on that Tuesday afternoon, Harry wouldn’t be meeting me in front of the administration building of my university. It was to the point that him not showing up at all was probably the best option, because the other scenes I scripted in my head included spilling a drink on his phone, accidentally touching his person, and admitting that there had been a point in time where I spent an entire night watching every One Direction tour-highlight that came up on YouTube. Each of these proposed scenes had Harry scurrying away, grimace on his face and already unfollowing me on Twitter.

Because the thing is, I like to consider myself a cool, calm, and collected person, but I’m not. I pride myself in my professionalism, ability to speak in front of large crowds without a hiccup, and logical demeanor, but really I am a straight up mess. I had labored breathing and butterflies the entire thirteen minute trek from Whitmore Hall to the Administration Building. My headphones were in and my soothing playlist on, but it was doing nothing for my nerves, and I kept compulsively checking my phone for the time and wincing as the numbers clicked closer to one. When I finally made my way to the large gray building, I checked my phone once again, looking for some type of confirmation text from Harry, and then let out a shuddering breath as I planted myself by the large double doors.

It’s cool. You’re cool, Ezra. It’s lunch. It’s a few hours, at absolute most, of food and polite conversation and if it’s awful, that’s it. My interaction with Harry Styles would be donzo, but it wasn’t like we had a super brill friendship in the first place (yet, my brain wanted to add). We were, at best, acquaintances. And maybe it wouldn’t even be bad. Maybe he’d actually laugh at my awkward attempts at jokes and we would sip on our respective drinks and have a smashing time.

Maybe, maybe, maybe. Both prospective outcomes of this lunch made me tremble with nerves.

I was glancing between my phone (still no message) and the sidewalk (which was surprisingly empty, considering it was midday) when I finally glanced up and a decidedly boy-shaped figure was strolling towards me. He was far enough away that I couldn’t see his face, but I knew it was Harry because of the pants. They were tight - possibly even as tight as mine, and my pants were technically jeggings - and they hugged his calves and hips in just the right way. I was instantly reminded of the heat flash Harry’s voice had given me in the corridor outside of class yesterday. The rampant hormones had mildly calmed down since then, but there was still something about his practically-painted-on pants and haphazardly buttoned flannel shirt that made me feel faint. But upon further realization, the light-headedness I was feeling might have also been related to the fact that Harry and I were kind of matching. Black pants, flannel shirt, green jacket. Except Harry was wearing the same pair of boots as he always seemed to be wearing and I had on a pair of white Keds.

Harry shot me a very sweet, very lovely smile as he approached and I plucked the headphones out of my ears. I wound them round my fingers and shoved them in my bag, before strategically placing my (may or may not be shaking) hands in the pockets of my green utility jacket and smiling back at him.

I was an awkward, anxious, bumbling mess, but I knew how to hide that shit well. (I hoped.)

“Good afternoon,” Harry greeted, just before reaching his body over and enveloping me in a hug.

Or at least he tried to, because it took me a second to realize that he was hugging me and that I should probably return the favor. Because also apparently we were to the point that we greeted each other with hugs? Even though we’d only talked briefly? And yes technically we had swapped spit but not in the way that most of Tumblr had assumed?

I wrapped my arm around Harry in reciprocation, my phone still in the hand that was wrapped around his back, and ignored the tingling on my skin as he gave my waist a squeeze before pulling away.

“Good afternoon. Happy Tuesday.”

“The most glorious of Tuesdays.” He agreed. “And certainly a fine day for lunch. You look lovely.”

I wasn’t initially aware if he’d caught onto the fact that we were pretty much wearing the same outfit (I would fight to the death that I wore it better, but debatable) but the slightly mischievous grin on his face led me to believe differently.

“I could say the same to you. Great outfit choice.”

“I mean, I try.” Harry shrugged nonchalantly.

Most of his face was obscured by a large pair of black Ray Bans, but it wasn’t exactly much of a disguise. Between the trademark hair, the newly resoled brown boots, and the distinctive posture, anyone who was looking hard enough would know that it was Harry.

“So where to?” I asked, glancing up at Harry in question. He was still smiling down at me, his car keys dangling in his hand.

“That I don’t really know.” He admitted. “I don’t really spend a lot of time on this side of London. If you fancy a bit of a drive, I know of a good sandwich place, or we could just walk around until we find something?”

Walking around London with Harry Styles searching for a good lunch option seemed dangerous. And I only really had an hour and a half to spare before I had a film seminar to attend, which is how we ended up in a booth along the walls of The Grill, the only other campus food source besides the dining hall. It was slightly crowded, especially for a Tuesday afternoon, but a couple was leaving a booth just as we walked through the door. I darted to the table quickly, sliding in against the hard wooden paneling.

“Lots of competition for booths?” Harry laughed as he slid across from me, eyebrows raised.

So maybe my dash from the door to the table didn’t have as much finesse as I would’ve desired, but booths were rare at The Grill. Normally you had to push and shove around one of the uncomfortable plastic tables or, if things were really bad, elbow your way for some room at the front counter.

“This booth is one piece of fine real estate, I’ll have you know. You should feel honored.” I said.

Harry grinned and grabbed one of the laminated sheets of neon colored paper that The Grill used as a menu. The fluorescent orange sheet in his hand didn’t have many options, admittedly, and I waited for some type of reaction from him as he started at the three options on the page.

Grilled cheese. Hamburgers. Chicken strips. Those were his options. Each came with a side of chips (fries) and a soft drink, all for the lovely price of three quid fifty.

Harry set the sheet of paper down as quickly as he picked it up. “I just don’t know what to choose.”

“The options are overwhelming. You can go for all three? Mix and match two? Personally, I recommend the chicken strips, but that’s because nothing in the world is better than chicken strips, but that’s just me.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” He nodded.

“Good choice.”

“What do you want?” The kid who took our order looked like he was having absolutely none of anyone’s shit today, his eyes set in a scowl as he glanced between Harry and I. If he knew who Harry was, he certainly didn’t let it show, or his day really was that awful that a celebrity sighting did absolutely nothing to cheer up his spirits. Harry looked a little shocked at the tone, but if there was anything I had learned about London in the past few weeks, it’s that most people were brisk. And that was putting it kindly.

“Chicken strip meal, please, mate.” Harry ordered politely, interlocking his hands and resting on his elbows on the table.

Scowly Waiter nodded and then flashed his eyes over to me.

“I’ll have the same, but instead of a soft drink can I get a banana chocolate milkshake?”

“Two quid extra.” He grumbled, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“Yup, that’s fine.” I tried my best at my most adorable smile, teeth and all, but he just stared at me blankly before scribbling something down and turning away, heading back towards the lunch crowd. I sunk back into the booth and turned back towards Harry, who was looking at me quite contemplatively.

“Rough day?” He asked.

“Pardon?”

“Banana chocolate milkshake?” He reminded, before quirking his head towards the left, in the direction of our stomping server. “Sounds like consolation food to me. Everything alright?”

Harry looked genuinely concerned, green eyes wide and blinking at me.

I kind of did a hybrid move between shaking my head and shrugging, a bit of a ‘well, yes, but no’. Because milkshakes were my consolation food (how he knew that or if it was a lucky guess, I was unsure) but they were also a safety food, because no one is in a bad mood when in the presence of a milkshake (save the unlucky lactose intolerant/choose not to do dairy types) and I figured that if I at least had a milkshake, the lunch couldn’t be a total disaster. None of this, of course, I told Harry.

“Mmm.” I hummed out. “Just a bit stressed, got a lot going on lately. But the milkshake is so good that it shouldn’t be reserved just for special occasions.”

And also you make me really nervous, like bone shatteringly, I’m shaking like a Chihuahua nervous, even if I’ve covered my hands under my table and am trying my best to keep my squirming at bay. Because Harry is - well, he’s Harry Styles, isn’t he? He’s a fit bloke with nice hair and lovely teeth and a nice sense of humor. And even if he wasn’t Harry Styles, the way his hair moved when he grinned across the table at me was enough to raise my blood pressure. And then there was the issue of that I wasn’t even sure if this was a date or not. Harry was alone - not even a body guard in sight - and we were huddled into a booth at the back of The Grill, but that could easily go either way. Maybe this was a cool, slightly romantic lunch date, where we would bond over chicken strips and banana chocolate milkshakes. Or maybe this was just a very nice platonic lunch between friends, possibly even an apology lunch for earlier this week.

Stay cool, Ezra. Keep it calm. Keep it collected. Stop acting like you’ve got to piss yourself or you’ve just robbed a bank. And for the love of all things holy, stop over thinking things before they’re done yet.

It was a mantra if I ever had one, but it probably wasn’t working.

“Let’s get down to business then, shall we?” Harry leaned forward, forearms now completely flat against the table.

I raised an eyebrow. “What business?” Did we have business to attend to? Had there been a memo missed or some type of communication error that I’d zoned out on when I was contemplating the physics of his hair and the dimples on his face?

“Pug names, obviously.” Harry supplied and immediately I was smiling, grinning teeth matching Harry’s. (Was grinning flirting? Was this flirting? Were we allowed to flirt if this was only meant as a platonic lunch date?) “I’m thinking something decidedly English. I quite like Winston for one. Are they both boys? Girls? Do we want to gender identify?”

“Both boys.” I decided.

“Although,” he contemplated with a hum, bringing one hand up to tap along his mouth in thought. “If we are living in the South of France, French names may be in order? Pierre? Etienne? Jacque?”

His accent wasn’t terrible, but I laughed at him anyway.

“Well, I mean, if you don’t want to live in the South of France we don’t have to. It just seems like a very picturesque option. You do have some say.” I conceded.

“We share the pants in this relationship, do we? I’m thrilled.

“I take it you watched that video, did you?” I shifted a little in my seat, still slightly uncomfortable at the thought of Harry watching me spend five minutes talking about him. I wasn’t ashamed of my content - I was damn proud of it, actually - but you never quite think about the people you talk about sometimes in videos (re: slightly famous people) watching them and forming their own opinions.

“Course I did!” He exclaimed. “Enjoyed it. Was brilliant.”

“I wasn’t going to address it at first, because it was kind of a laugh, but it was getting a bit overwhelming. I hope that you’re okay with it?” I asked tentatively, trying to gauge if he was hiding a reaction underneath the seemingly-never-leaving grin on his face.

“It’s actually quite refreshing, to be honest, to have someone else saying ‘it’s not true’ rather than me for a change. It doesn’t bother me at all.” Harry leaned back slightly in the booth, now reaching one arm up to sling it across the top. I could see the fabric of his shirt stretch under his movements.

“You sure?”

Harry nodded quickly. “I was actually wanting to make sure that it doesn’t bother you. Sometimes that stuff can get…overwhelming.” He chose his words carefully, speaking slow (or maybe slower than normal) and with a slight bit of hesitation.

I only rolled my eyes and waved my hand, because really, I was fine. “Getting flack from people on the internet isn’t something new to me, but thanks for your concern.”

I don’t know how much of that he accepted, but Harry moved on to the next topic anyway. “I didn’t realize it until after but I’ve seen some of your videos before. You did a drunk humming challenge once, didn’t you? Niall showed me that once and he was in stitches. Almost pissed his pants.”

“I got so much shit for that video, you have no idea.” I recalled, remembering the video I had filmed with a friend a few months ago, when I was visiting my friend Rissa in Vancouver. “Because I was in Canada when I shot it but everyone thought I was in the US and I’m not legal to drink in the US and they acted like I’d just committed some type of huge felony.”

“—drinking age in America is rubbish—”

“—Glad Niall enjoyed it, then. Who knew my little films could make it to rock star eyes?”

“It’s your career, isn’t it?” Harry seemed curious and once again he shifted in his seat, leaning towards me.

“More or less. I’m going to school too, and then I’m a correspondent for Daily Mix and Tongue in Cheek. Basically I just sit in front of a camera all day.” And that was basically my life, SparkNotes version, because all I ever did was film with the occasional side dish of course work.

“Busy schedule.” Harry remarked, which was kind of rich for someone who had been to as many countries as I had been to states.

“Not as busy as an international pop sensation, but sometimes I’m stretched for time.”

“Career aspirations?”

“Is this twenty questions?”

“Just making polite conversation.” Harry seemed slightly offended at my questioning of his intentions, but kept on anyway. “Now, film? Do you want to be an actress? Is that what you’re studying?”

“Ha.” I scoffed/laughed, because I was actually kind of awful at acting. I was incredibly awkward saying someone else’s words rather than my own and I always clammed up in scripted scenes. “No. I want to make films.”

“Like real films?”

“No, like imaginary films.” I sassed. “Yes, real films. Jesus, Styles, I thought you were quick.”

“Oi!” Harry tried to sound outraged, but it wasn’t working. “Five minutes in and you’re already insulting my intelligence. Liam said you were nice!”

“Gossiping about me with your boy band member?” I fished, before propping my chin on my fist and fixing him with a look. “What are you two, a bunch of old ladies?”

“I have been told that I sometimes resemble a seventy-year-old woman.” Harry made a face, screwing up his eyes and possibly (slightly?) winking.

“That’s a striking compliment if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Makes my heart warm with joy.”

“So what’ve you been discussing with Liam? Hm? Hm?” I urged, not even bothering to really contain my eagerness at knowing what they discussed. You can’t help but want to know what people say about you. Even if they’re people on the internet and what they say is probably bad, there’s always a part of you that wants to know.

“Pushy, pushy.” Harry admonished, but he gave in anyway. “Just that you had a lovely falafel dinner. George liked you. Had to see what was going on. Don’t want Hezra shippers to think that Lezra has gotten the upper hand.”

“Oh my God.” I raised a hand to cover my face, rubbing at my temples before shaking my head at Harry. I couldn’t go a single damn day without anything Hezra or Lezra related finding me on the Internet (and also one in real life - a girl on the Tube had passed me on the way out of the station, whispered ‘Lezra’ into my ear as she passed and gave me a huge thumbs up). The pictures with Liam and the girls at the falafel place had surfaced before I’d even gotten home that night and they’d been making pretty continuous rounds since. Hezra vs. Lezra had been trending on Twitter, which, y’know, might have been a teeny bit flattering but also slightly ridiculous.

“What?” Harry asked, but when I looked up he was jeering his eyebrows at me.

“You know I never took you as like, a closet shipper and crazy fan, but I guess I can see it. Tour’s gotta get boring.” I shrugged in acceptance, as if that was the only possible explanation for his actions. “Like, everyone says you’ve got a secret Tumblr, but I thought that was bullshit—”

“Hezra Vs. Lezra was trending on Twitter. I was curious.”

I only shook my head disappointingly, before sighing. “I love that we live in an age where going out to dinner with someone means that we’re in a relationship. This lunch right now probably confirms our engagement and will be the catalyst for breaking up your entire band. The war is on.”

“War? Psh.” Harry scoffed. “We’ve already got two pugs and a house in France. Clearly, I’m winning.” He smiled quite smugly in my direction.

I sent him a warning look. “Getting close to objectification of women right there, Styles. I’m not a prize.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He raised his hands in surrender. “You’re the one that said it was a war.”

“Metaphorically speaking.” I replied. “Don’t you listen to Pat Benatar? Love is a battlefield.”

“She also taught me that hell is for children.” He quipped right back.

I rolled my eyes as our waiter approached the table, bringing Harry his requested Sprite and my milkshake, which was perfect and frothy and also came with the corresponding tin of extra shake. Normally, I don’t share milkshakes, unless you’ve also had an equally bad day or it’s my mom or someone, but Harry had just quoted a Pat Benatar song to me (which, save for quoting one of my favorite movies or making a film reference, was one of my favorite things ever), after choosing to get lunch in the slightly grimy campus diner, so maybe he deserved a little bit of leeway.

“I’m going to do something right now, okay, and I just want you to know that you should feel extremely honored because this may beat every other thing that has ever happened to you. So prepare.” I started, voice serious as I schooled my features into something that might have resembled a grave face.

Harry’s eyes widened and his lips parted slightly, looking at me in shock and anticipation, before raising an eyebrow in a way that could only possibly be described as flirty. “Are you implying what I think you’re applying, Ezra Callil?”

“No.” I shot him a look. And then, after a slightly terse moment of silence, I slid my milkshake tin across the table, pressing it directly in front of Harry. “I’m sharing my milkshake with you.”

“Liam can suck it now.” Harry practically cackled.

“Don’t make me regret sharing with you, Styles.”

“I would never.” But he lost the end of the word ‘never’, making it sound more like ‘nevah’ and I was so caught up in thinking about how he could take a language that I spoke every day, heard all around me, and make it sound suddenly completely different and beautiful. And then I promptly thought that Harry Styles was making me into a fucking sap so I stopped.

I left that train of thought and reached down for my milkshakes, lips finding the straw as I took my first sip. It tasted like how Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey tastes, but with a heavier chocolate flavor, probably because it was chocolate ice cream based rather than banana. The Grill milkshakes were the perfect consistency, because they weren’t so thick that you couldn’t properly use a straw, like a malt, but they weren’t so thin that it was like drinking foamy chocolate milk. Finished off with the proper dollop of whip cream (spray can whip cream, which is the best) and a spoon to get the bottom with, banana chocolate milkshakes from The Grill were easily in the Top Three Best Milkshakes Ever, which is a serious feat because I am damn serious about my milkshakes.

“This is amazing.” Harry stared down at the tin in front of him in awe, lips still brushing against the straw.

I sent him a smug look and continued taking sips of my milkshake, eyes glancing over to the food counter, where two baskets of chicken strips lay unattended. Our waiter was gossiping with the girl at the till, hip popped against the stand as he gabbed about something or another.

I checked my watch before looking back at Harry.

“Am I boring you?” He asked, words forming around the straw as he sipped.

“Bored out of my skull.” I jested. “No idea how I’m going to watch a two hour movie with you in it. I’ll just have to hope that Liam’s biceps will be worth it.”

“You’re going to see the movie?” He completely ignored the jab about Liam’s biceps, but it was more like it was a generally accepted truth that his arms could cause health conditions, anyway. “You haven’t seen it yet?”

“Haven’t yet, no. I might make it sometime this weekend, if I can con someone into seeing it with me. Everyone else I know has already seen it already.”

“You can come see it at mine, if you want.” Harry offered suddenly. “That way if you’re bored, you don’t waste the money.”

“You have it?”

Harry nodded. “The final cut DVD. It’s exactly the same thing as in the cinema.”

“That’s not the same as the cinema experience, though, because there won’t be any overpriced popcorn or Goobers or previews. And the previews are the best part.” Which was totally true, because the previews were the best part. That and the crunchy consistency of the slightly stale kettle corn, paired with a Cherry Coke (because apparently movie theatres are the only places in the world who serve Cherry Coke) pretty much made the entire movie experience.

And there was also something about possibly seeing a movie at Harry’s house that could potentially erase all of the calm progress I’d made in the past forty-five minutes.

“It’s up to you,” Harry raised a shoulder in a shrug, looking entirely noncommittal. “Just an offer.”

“I’ll keep it in mind, thank you.”

Apparently our waiter’s conversation was no longer important, because the two baskets of chicken strips were finally deposited on our table, a simple drop and a raised eyebrow before he turned back around.

Harry eyed the two cups of sauce by the edge of his basket warily.

“Is it ranch?” He poked at one of the plastic containers.

I nodded. “And the other one is barbecue. Do you not like ranch?” Were there people who didn’t like ranch?

“It’s really bad for you.” He had a stare off with the container of ranch for a second, his inner dilemma taking a moment of his time, and I wanted to laugh at the serious expression on his face. Like, dude, it was ranch. “And I probably shouldn’t be eating it, but whatever.”

“I think you’ll be fine.” I uncapped my two different sauce options and went in for a fry, dipping it in my ranch and popping it in my mouth.

“Checking me out, Callil?” Harry’s flirty voice was back, somehow huskier and slower than his normal one, which I wasn’t even sure was possible.

“You’re the one who stripped for half of BBC Radio 1 the other day, Styles.” I continued eating my fries, before finally reaching over and tearing apart a piece of my chicken strips.

“My shirt was wet! I was uncomfortable! What else was I supposed to do?” He seemed completely outraged that stripping in front of a room full of people wasn’t always socially acceptable, even if he was uncomfortable.

“Act like a normal person and go change in the restroom.” I suggested.

“Whatever. You probably enjoyed the show.” He huffed, but he was still slightly grinning and he was taking another sip of the milkshake.

“Shut up and eat your chicken.”

Because like, yeah, I did enjoy the show. Boy torso is attractive, especially tattooed and slightly defined boy torso, strange tattoos and extra nipples and all. But also, anyone would enjoy that show. It wasn’t my fault that my Find Harry Super Attractive Gene just seemed to flare up when he was wearing nothing but a slightly damp pair of skinny jeans, the top of his boxer briefs peeking out. Some things were impossible to resist.

“And anyway,” I continued, as Harry tore off a piece of his chicken strip, dipped it generously in the barbecue sauce, and shoved it in his mouth. “You’re practically a mutant. Four nipples and dimples? Really?”

“What’s wrong with my dimples?”

“Technically, dimples are a muscle deformity.” We learned about this sophomore year in biology class.

Harry did not seem pleased. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything else at all. Pro tip,” He mocked, making his voice slightly higher and haughty, I’m assuming in an imitation of mine. “Calling me a deformity isn’t nice.”

I threw a fry at him, but I missed his face and it landed somewhere in the booth by his shoulder.

“I wasn’t calling you a deformity, just that your dimples are. It’s not a bad thing.” I explained. “Everyone wants dimples. It’s quirky, it’s cute, it makes you unique. The most unique thing I have is that I can fit a sunflower seed between my teeth.” I shoved another piece of chicken in my mouth, willing my mind to shut up, because bringing up my most self-conscious flaw in casual conversation might not have been the best idea.

“And it’s brilliant.” Harry emphasized, eyes flickering to my face. “I would just spit water out at people all day. That’s it. That’s all I’d do.”

“I’d much rather have your smile and dimples than wonky teeth. Fancy a trade?” I suggested, hoping that maybe bringing up Harry’s dimples again would give us a proper change of topic.

“You have perfect teeth.” Harry said this rather seriously, setting his hands down on the table as he stared across from me. He might have meant it as an off-handed comment, maybe a cheap consolation between friends, but it hit me directly in the spine. I flushed under his gaze and found myself nodding, accepting his compliment quickly, because if there was maybe something else I would use to describe Harry as (besides adorable and slightly gangly) it was sincere.

“Thank you.” I ignored the flush on my cheeks and grabbed at my milkshake. “Your’s aren’t too bad either. For a mutant.”

Harry let out a barking laugh, only shaking his head. “I seriously do not understand how Liam thought you were ever polite. He’s officially a poor judge of character.”

“Him? Pft, please. You’re the one living with me in the South of France. Obviously he got out while he could.”

Harry continued laughing, shaking his head and bobbing around in the booth as he shook. “You do realize you just insulted yourself, right?”

“Yup.”

“Just making sure.”

Harry ate quickly, large bites and quick chewing. I made a trade of my extra portion of barbecue sauce for his ranch and we snacked away quietly, exchanging the occasional odd joke and tidbit of information. I glanced around the diner a few times, trying to gauge if anyone else besides me realized that Harry Styles was gracing us with his presence, but the lunch rush was officially on and it was a madhouse. There was a line spilling out the door and a thick expanse of people waiting at the counter for their take out food. Harry kind of looked like any other mangy art school boy, anyway, with the stains on his jeans and the scuff marks on his boots. There was the fact that the watch on his wrist could probably pay the rent in my flat for the next year, but besides that, he looked decidedly normal in the crowd.

I’m a slow eater, especially in comparison to Harry, and by the time the both of us were done, I had maybe ten minutes to jet across campus and find a decent seat in my film seminar. I could see the back of the platinum blond head of our waiter near the front of the crowd of people and decided that it didn’t bother to flag him down. Instead, I put down a ten pound note on the table and started to shrug my jacket back on.

“I think I’m the one supposed to be buying you lunch.” Harry protested, already pulling out his wallet and flipping through the bills. “To make up for last time?”

“You can give him the tip.” I suggested, jacket officially on and bag hoisted up on my shoulder.

Harry agreed and put down another ten pound note on the table. I wanted to remind him that the waiter’s tip probably shouldn’t be more than the actual meal, especially considering he was quite shit at his job, but I needed to jet and didn’t have much time to argue.

“Alright, Styles.” I turned towards him after we fought our way through the crowd. “I’m making it a point to not be late to things anymore, so I really need to go. Do you think you’ll be able to find your way back to your car safely?”

“I’m an adult.” He said dryly. “I think I’ll be okay.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Go to class, Ezra.”

“I was trying to be nice!”

This time when Harry went in for a hug, I was more prepared. I reciprocated the embrace easily, giving him a slight squeeze round the waist before going to pull away. It was the firm, but still sweet, kiss on the cheek that I wasn’t expecting. His lips were soft against my skin and there for only a few seconds. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to kiss him back - was that a thing? - but Harry pulled away with a dazzling grin before my inner battle was up and I could make a decision.

“It’s been a pleasure.” He drawled in my ear as he pulled away. “And we’ll have to do it again.”

“We’ll see.” I tried to reply as casually as possible, but I’m pretty sure the grin on my face gave me away. “You’re not half bad.”

Harry only shrugged. “I already knew you were a gem. Have a good class!” He called as we walked away. I watched his figure (okay, his ass) as he weaved through the crowd of people, sunglasses now donned, before turning and heading towards my lecture hall.

I had no idea what that just was. Maybe it was a date or maybe it was just a lunch or maybe it was just a something, but there the butterflies in my stomach had upgraded to baby birds, but the anxious fluttering might have somehow become happier. I texted ZZ as I slid into my seat in the seminar, letting her know that if she was free something soon, I had things to discuss with her. Lots of things to discuss with her, because she would do all of my freaking out for me and then I wouldn't feel so ridiculous for beaming and being giddy that I just had a very pleasant afternoon with Harry.

The hall was still filling up with people, the lights not yet dimmed, and I took out my phone for a brief scan through my Twitter time line. Right at the top of my feed was Harry’s black and white icon picture.

Harry Styles @Harry_Styles
Checkmate.

I sent him a reply just as the lights started to dim and the automatic screen came down.

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
@Harry_Styles stop trying to make people think you’re classy, Styles.