Perfect Teeth

www.tumblr.com/tagged/harry-styles

Officially I think that they’re my new OTP s2g how perfect could two people be Ezra is so funny and like a normal girl and Harry is adorable and he seems really happy right now like he keeps tweeting and posting Vines and seems like he’s having a blast.

They’ve been spotted out together like six times within the past three weeks idk if it’s a relationship or not it’s perfect

I don’t really get why people are tripping over Hezra it isn’t confirmed like she denied it herself. Everyone’s all wet because she’s “a fan” and “normal” but um no. Normal isn’t making money making stupid videos and getting to interview famous people

Ngl if Hezra is real I’m a little disappointed Harry could do sooo much better. He could date supermodels and actresses and super gorgeous people why would he go for someone is so plain? She’s not pretty at all.

I am so mad at the people saying Harry could do better did it never occur to people that it might not be about looks for him she seems really funny and smart and that’s better than her looking perfect.

Omg imagine if Hezra is real she could do like a boyfriend tag video or vlogs with Harry and it would be so perfect I would die.

Idgaf if it’s true or not but jesus get it out of the harry styles tag I want to see hot man meat not shit about some chick and him it’s his life


I ended up at Pixie Geldof’s birthday dinner by accident. I did not start out that particular Wednesday night hoping to crash (was it crashing?) a London socialite’s birthday celebration, nor did I anticipate any of the events that would follow, but somehow I ended up sitting directly across from Nick Grimshaw, squinting at him through the dim lighting of the restaurant and the steam that was building on my glasses. He was smirking down at his phone, fingers tapping swiftly against the screen, and then his gaze darted up to me, lips twitching up even further.

“Ezra!” He exclaimed, making my name and my appearance seem like a much jollier occasion than it probably really was, resting one elbow on the table as he leaned towards me. “How do you know Pixie?”

“Um, I don’t, actually.” I ran my tongue along the bottom of my lip nervously as I looked to my left, searching for the reason that I was at this restaurant in the first place. “I know Evie.” I jerked my head to the blonde standing at the edge of the table, flipping through the karaoke selections. “And we just kind of ended up here.”

‘Ended up here’ was the only vague way I could describe how exactly I ended up at a karaoke lounge in North London, because if it were up to me, the only place I would’ve ended up tonight was back at my flat, revising for my media communications exam and editing footage. Originally, that had been the plan. Evie, the long-legged, blonde goddess giggling over song selections with Daisy Lowe in the corner, sat next to me in my media communications class. We were supposed to be revising for our exam together, as had been the plan at five thirty this afternoon, but when I showed up to her flat in all of my dirty-haired, glasses-wearing glory, wearing a pair of thick leggings and my dingiest flannel shirt, she told me that she wanted to go for a late dinner somewhere first. I agreed, thinking that dinner meant some Chinese food and Chinese food was good studying fuel, but somehow I ended up here, looking like a complete mess in front of, apparently, hipster London royalty.

“Evie didn’t tell you where you were going?” Nick asked, looking more and more amused by the second, probably because I was wearing a flannel shirt that was missing two buttons and had a hole at the bottom hem.

I shook my head my head with a sigh. “We’re supposed to be revising.” I informed him. “Had I known where the night was going to lead, I would’ve left the textbooks at home and brought a card.”

“You have textbooks with you?” Nick eyes widened as he guffawed, his entire face lighting up with hilarity as I reached down and grabbed my tote bag from where it was resting at my feet, struggling to pull the bulging bag between the gap in the table and my body. My arm struggled under the weight of not one, but two textbooks, my notebook, my laptop, a variety of writing utensils, and a stack of flashcards four inches thick. I flashed the bulging bag to Nick with a dry look, raising my eyebrows exasperatedly before dropping the thirty-pound satchel back down on my floor.

“Textbooks and a laptop and flashcards and highlighters. I’m tempted to spread out my supplies on this table and start studying as they karaoke, but I figure that might be a bit rude, so I’m probably just going to go.” I didn’t want to be rude to Evie and just leave her (though she probably deserved it) but I also didn’t want to be the weird person who crashed Pixie Geldof’s birthday party, so it was probably about time that I extracted myself from the situation.

“No!” Nick exclaimed quickly, shaking his head. “You can’t go! You’ve just arrived! Sit, stay, sing! I’ll buy you a drink!”

I tried not to let my face convey my surprise that he wanted me to stay, but continued to shake my head and stand up from the table. “I have a final tomorrow.” I explained. “And footage to edit and a warm bed to occupy.”

Nick was persistent. “You can’t go.” He insisted. “I simply won’t allow it, for purely selfish reasons. Harry says you’re funny. I’m funny. Therefore, by default, we should be friends, and now is the perfect opportunity, so—,”

“I—,” was there an adequate response to that?

“Nonsense!” Just as he spoke, Pixie Geldof herself sided up to the table, drink in hand, and Nick turned his attention to her. I was relieved for a moment, before he opened his mouth.

“Pixie, this is Ezra. Tell her to stay.” Nick demanded, eyes flickering between his shorthaired friend and me.

“Ezra—?” Something like recognition flashed across her face, before her smile spread and she nodded. “Yes, stay!” She insisted. “Have a drink, pick a song, make a fool out of yourself.”

Nick sent me a proud glance before patting the seat next to him, smug smirk still in place. I shot another look between Pixie and Nick, searching for something, before I dropped my bag back down on the ground and plopped back into the seat. Peer pressure, it strikes again. Pixie turned to chat with someone else and Nick angled his body towards me.

“So, Ezra,” he started, dragging out my name slowly. “Tell me about yourself.”

“You trying to pick me up, Grimshaw?” I raised an eyebrow and reached for the water I’d been sipping on previously.

“If only you had a dick, honey.” He shot right back. “Then we’d be a right match.”

Nick (“Just call me Grimmy. Nick feels too professional when I’m this drunk.”) Grimshaw spent the next hour extracting as many facts from me as possible (I told him to just read my Wiki page, he told me to fuck off and I probably made it myself), while introducing me to every single person that walked by the table. It wasn’t so much the introductions - I like people, I am used to being introduced to people, I understand the ritual of exchanging names and pleasantries that society follows, but it was the way Grimmy introduced me to people that was weird.

“This is Ezra,” He would say, gesturing to me with a smile, putting so much emphasis on the beginning and end of the sentence that I was confused as to what he was trying to say. Some people looked almost as confused as I did, before nodding politely and reaching over to shake my hand, but there were a few people who reacted differently.

“Oh,” Alexa Chung had said with a smile, doe-eyes widening by a fraction. “Ezra! Lovely to finally meet you.”

There was something in the way she said ‘finally’ that made me believe that perhaps I’d been a topic of discussion once or twice, the inflection of the word just enough to have my brain overworking and my muscles slightly tense. Were people talking about me? What exactly were they discussing? And who?

Apparently we’d arrived early to the party, because by the time Evie was wandering back to the corner booth Nick and I were sat in, the building was packed with more people than ever. I’d been caught up in something Nick was saying about his radio show that I didn’t even notice the string of people Evie had behind her until Harry was sliding into the spot next to me, Kelly Osbourne sliding in right next to him.

“Heard you were wrecking havoc around here,” Harry murmured in my ear as a greeting, his arm snaking around my waist as he pulled me closer to him, squeezing me into his side in what was, apparently, a sitting down hug. His t-shirt was soft where I tucked into it, returning the hug as smoothly as possible as his breath washed down the side of my neck.

“Can’t be bothered to return my texts, but you have time to crash birthday parties, apparently.” Harry said as he pulled away, looking down at me wryly.

“I didn’t intentionally crash.” I protested. “It’s all Evie’s fault. And I didn’t text you back?”

“No,” Harry fished his phone out of his pocket and opened up our texting conversation, where his text, a simple, How was class? Did The Redheaded Bitch steal your seat again? was sitting, unreplied. “You left me hanging.” You could even see that I read it, which I had, but I opened it right before I entered the Tube station and forgot to reply amongst all of the chaos.

“Sorry.” I apologized, patting his arm gently. “But you know I’m shit at texting.”

“That you are.” He agreed. “Don’t even know why I’m friends with you, with the way you ignore my texts. Now did she take your seat?”

I had an ongoing saga with a redheaded girl in one of my film classes, who, if she got to class before me, conveniently liked to steal my seat, leaving me stuck with the corner desk that had the worst view of the screen. Harry had been the one to dub her The Redheaded Bitch after one of our conversations one day, when I’d ranted for a good fifteen minutes about how infuriating it was that she not only took my seat, but also liked to give me a smug smile when I walked into class late. It was an ongoing story, one that Harry enjoyed immensely. He said he was putting bets on when we would finally duke it out.

Because Harry apparently had a vested interest in my life now. In the two weeks since our lunch at The Grill, we hung out four more times and talked pretty continuously. He was fond of texting, but since I was so bad at it, he called me a lot, too, generally when I was walking across campus for class and he was waiting for a meeting or just sitting at his house. For someone who was an international celebrity, I think I kind of thought he’d be a bit busier, but he always answered when I called.

“She did.” I sighed. “Was putting her bag down when I walked in the door, but I was too tired to care.”

“What’s up? What’s wrong?” It was like he was finally noticing that I was wearing a flannel and leggings in North London, because his eyebrows furrowed even further. “Are you sick?”

“I have midterm exams already. Two films, a paper, and a presentation due by Friday. Which is exactly why I need to go home and study, but your little pal here wouldn’t let me.”

“Grimmy?”

“The one and only.”

Harry leaned over me. “Grimshaw, are you harassing this poor girl into staying when she has exams in the morning? How dare you advocate such poor respect for her studies.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Shut up, Harold. Thank me later. Now get the girl a drink and make her loosen up a little!”

But I didn’t want a drink. It was bad enough that I was wasting precious minutes watching Grimmy make sex eyes at a boy across the bar, but I was not drinking the night before a huge exam. I had some sense.

“Do you want a drink?” Harry finally asked, leaning back into his seat, his arm going up around the top of the booth, fingers dangling over my right shoulder.

“Not anything alcoholic.” I declined. “I’ll watch the drunk people tonight.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Getting drunk and not studying the night before a midterm does not a good student make.”

“Maybe not a good one, but a normal one.” Harry laughed, before reaching across the table and grabbing one of the drinks crowded at the lip of the booth. He put the straw between his lips and took a large sip, eyes wandering around the room. Evie was sitting next to Grimmy now, laughing loudly at something he just said, and people were crowding around one of the large karaoke screens. In the forty-five minutes that I’d been here, only two people had gone up and sang. One was a very poor rendition of Don’t Stop Believing, the other a slightly better warbling of Genie in a Bottle. The party was just heating up now, though, because with enough alcohol in their systems, people were brave. People also thought that they were really good at karaoke.

I wouldn’t admit it to Evie (or Grimmy, or possibly even Harry) but watching drunk people attempt to sing was a spot more fun than sitting in my flat and making flashcards. Making flashcards was more responsible and incredibly more productive, but I didn’t think I’d ever forget seeing off-pitch renditions of No Scrubs and Single Ladies. I was introduced to people all night, even though I only got out of the booth once to pee, but the table we were sitting in saw a constant stream of people.

I stuck with water and iced tea, while Harry seemed to only get progressively drunker. I kept offering to slide out of the booth in case he wanted to go mingle, but he seemed adamant in staying right here. Both he and Grimmy were in a game of rating the people singing.

“She sounds like a dying seal.” Grimmy said, just as the girl singing on stage attempted to hit the higher range of Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep”.

“She’s kind of on pitch,” Harry offered up kindly, but his lips were twitching into the rim of his drink as Grimmy continued to verbally eviscerate the performance.

“Stop being polite, Harold. You of all people should know that this industry is harsh. I’m just trying to prepare her.”

“We’re at a karaoke bar, not X Factor.” Harry retorted.

Grimmy flicked his hand about dismissively, before hoisting himself out of the booth and beginning to stumble towards a group of people. “I’m going to go socialize.” He rolled his eyes, before zeroing in on me. “Your turn to be the tough love, Ezra.”

I opened my mouth, ready to protest (dude, I cannot sing - I can’t even hum properly) but Grimmy was already walking away, hips swaying to the beat of another Adele song. I sent an exasperated glare at his retreating back before reaching for my iced tea again, fingers finding the straw to twirl in a slightly nervous habit. Harry and I were now the only people at the booth, our bodies huddled together against the back wall. Every time I attempted to scoot over, to put some distance between my body and his, he just seemed to follow me. I could feel the heat radiating off of his thighs and it took more conscious effort to not think about that than it did for anything else.

“I’m not judging people’s karaoke performances.” I told Harry with a firm shake of my head.

“Not willing to release your inner Simon?”

“Don’t say that, that’s weird because you know him. And no, because I have no singing talent and it would be hypocritical of me to judge.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, as if to say fair enough before he sent me another goofy smile and angled his body towards me. “How’d you end up accidentally crashing a private birthday party in the first place?”

“Evie.” I nudged my head towards the blonde currently leaning against Grimmy for support and Harry nodded understandingly. “She’s in my media class and we were supposed to study together. I think she got the dates mixed up and was too nice to blow me off.”

“So she invited you to a birthday party instead?”

“She didn’t exactly tell me where we were going.” I pinched the fabric of the leggings on my thighs. “I at least would’ve worn normal pants.”

“You’re not wearing pants?” Harry’s voice dipped, register rumbling between us as his head leaned in closer to mine.

I furrowed my eyebrows at him. “I mean, I’m wearing leggings, but I meant like, jeans—“

“—Trousers, Ezra.”

“What?”

“Trousers. You meant trousers.”

“I’m sorry—?”

“—You can’t just go around and tell a bloke that you’re not wearing pants, it’s really not good for my heart—“

I scoffed loudly, eyes widening. “—Jesus Christ, Harry—“

“—I’m just saying—“

“—Shut up and drink.” I covered my embarrassment with exasperation, narrowing my gaze at him before turning away.

My face was flushed, from my cheeks down to my chest at the insinuation that my insinuation of not wearing pants - underwear - had done anything at all to Harry. I brought my iced tea up to my lips, effectively covering my mouth as I kept my eyes trained on the table. I was flushing with embarrassment, my entire body heating up, and just thinking about how to make an escape plan when Harry’s hand came up to my glass and plucked it out of my hands.

“Hey—“

He took a swig of my iced tea and then gave it back to me, swallowing before shooting me a little grin. “‘M all out.” He motioned towards his empty glass. “And you’ve left me quite thirsty.” He winked.

“I cannot even handle you right now.” I shook my head, before beginning to scoot out of the booth, needing an escape from Harry and his sudden behavior. It was making me flush in all kinds of different ways. He was a flirty fellow, a cheeky little bloke, but he’d never been so outright with it before. I chalked it up to the alcohol.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he chuckled, arm already reaching for me as I wiggled out of the booth.

“I’m going to get another drink.” I informed him as I stood up, making sure to tug my flannel shirt down. “You can just sit here and think about what you’ve done until I come back.”

“Yes, mum.” He grumbled, but he was still kind of smiling at me. His cheeks were slightly flushed, eyes glossy from the alcohol consumption, and he sent me another stupid grin. “But hurry back. I miss you already.”

I ignored that completely, shot him an eye roll, and headed towards the bar. I didn’t exactly expect Harry to just sit by himself and wait for me while I went to the restroom and got myself another drink, which is why I didn’t particularly pay attention to the time when I got distracted. I was pulled into a conversation with Kelly Osbourne about my Innuendo Bingo stunt (all the while thinking, holy shit this is Kelly Osbourne holy shit) before Nick attempted to immerse me into conversation with a group of people looking entirely all too fashionable. I even stopped a little bit to talk to Evie, who sent me an initial apologetic glance but really didn’t seem all the remorseful. In fact, she was teasing me.

“Been cuddled up to Styles all night, have you, Ezra.” She wiggled her eyebrows and laughed. “I vaguely remember talk of there being an Ezra, but I didn’t know that you were the same person.”

I didn’t even know how to formulate a response to that either. I had been stumped all night, with everyone acting like they were vaguely aware of whom I was. Were people vaguely aware of whom I was? Was Harry talking about me? The online blow up?

I wanted to open my mouth and ask her about it, corner her and demand to know anyone that had any relation to Harry ever said about me, but then I had to remind myself that that wasn’t exactly normal friend behavior. And that’s what Harry and I were, really - we’re friends. Better friends than I ever initially thought we’d be, actually.

“We’re friends.” I said.

And I mean, we were. Somewhere along the line, Harry Styles and I were mates. It was less surreal now that I thought of him more of a person, rather than a celebrity, but something about spending Pixie Geldorf’s birthday party with him caught me off guard.

“Why?” Evie asked.

“Why’re we friends?” I repeated, again, confused.

“No,” she rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Why’re you just friends? If that boy looked at me the way he looked at you, I would’ve blown him in the bathroom already.”

Not thinking about blowjobs. Not thinking about Harry and blowjobs. Not thinking about giving Harry a blowjob —

“You’re drunk.” I concluded with a bland stare. “But thanks for the visual. I think I’m gonna go now.”

As if the thoughts weren’t in my head already, I didn’t need Evie planting any more seeds. I had already decided, somewhere in the hour after Harry and I’s initial lunch meeting, that having a crush on him wasn’t a road I was going to go down. It would be messy and complicated and things online were already messy and we were barely even friends. It was a harder task to accomplish than I had anticipated, especially when he was being adorable and saying things like he missed me.

“It’s not even one yet!” Evie protested.

“We have an exam tomorrow.” I reminded.

“At nine! You’ve got at least another three hours of partying in you before you start being unwise.”

I shook my head at her. “I’ve been unwise since I got here, Evie. I really do need to go.”

“Fine, whatever, go be a party pooper.” She waved at me dismissively. “Just make sure to say goodbye to Pixie before you go. It is her party.”

I did find Pixie, along with Grimmy, and bid her a very quick goodbye. I didn’t really feel like she would care whether or not I said goodbye to her, but she gave me a very warm smile and thanked me for coming when I did. Grimmy seemed slightly more perturbed that I was leaving early, but was distracted by someone bribing him into performing a Spice Girl’s song.

Harry was still sitting at the booth (though not alone) when I returned. I smiled at both him and the brunette sitting next to him, before leaning down and forcefully tugging my bag up off the floor.

“What’re you doing?” Harry asked. His cheeks were even more flushed (was that from the girl or the alcohol, I wondered) and he had a bit of a dazed look in his eye.

“Gathering my things.” I answered, before shrugging on my jacket and looping my scarf around my neck. It was September in London and though it had been unseasonably hot last week, it was back to the frigid temperatures, especially at night.

“Where’re you going?” He seemed confused.

“Home.” I answered slowly, sending him an amused smile as I tugged my overstuffed tote bag onto my shoulder.

“But I’m not ready to leave yet.” Harry said, voice dipping slightly as his lip jutted out into a pout.

“You don’t have to leave, Harry.” I spoke slowly, sending him a confused glance. The girl sitting next to him was looking between us warily. “You’ve got the rest of the night to live. Some of us have class in the morning, though.”

It was like explaining quantum physics to a toddler, because even as I spoke the words slowly and calmly, Harry had no flash of understanding behind his eyes. He continued to look up at me, glossy-eyed and lips parted, before he shook his head and patted the seat next to him. “Sit.” He said. “Stay.”

I let out a slow breath, but kept my bag hoisted up on my shoulder. “Harry—,”

“I want you to stay.” The woman sitting next to Harry looked about as surprised as I did by this, but then she shrugged her shoulders a little bit, knocked back the rest of Harry’s drink, and slid her way out of the booth. I kept my eyes trained on her as Harry kept his eyes trained on me.

“You’re not even going to remember me being here at the rate you’re going now.” I said, but I sounded as defeated as I felt. I knew, presumably just as Harry did, that I wasn’t going anywhere anymore. It’s like as soon as the words “I want” came out of that boy’s mouth, the entire universe stopped until he got it. And I couldn’t even let that bother me, because the stupid fucking grin he shot me as I set my bag down and huffed into the booth next to him was all dimples and happiness. I rolled my eyes (I have a nonchalant image to keep up, thank you) and rolled my neck back, looking up at the ceiling.

“When I fail out of university because I am being an awful student and don’t get a proper job and become poor and get evicted, you’re supporting me. I expect a room in your house and a Range Rover and everything.”

“‘Kay.” He hummed, before turning towards me, fingers grasping at my waist. I flinched at the unfamiliar contact, but didn’t pull too far away. He wrapped his arm around my waist and rested his head on my shoulder.

Normal, sober Harry was pretty affectionate. He was fond of goodbye forehead kisses and spontaneous waist squeezes and keeping his hand on the small of my back when we were exiting cars (this happened once) or restaurants (this happened more than once). It wasn’t something that I thought too heavily about - it was just one of his personality facets. He was polite and kind hearted and affectionate and really cheeky. He held doors open and gave at least a thirty percent tip and then made stupid jokes about his saliva covering my entire person.

Harry drunk just seemed to magnify these personality aspects. Sober Harry was affectionate, but drunk Harry was straight up handsy. His hand had started out at my waist, but it seemed to progressively move down throughout the night, until it was cupped at my hip and seemed to be inching farther and farther down. This was where I drew the line.

“Get your paws off the goods, Styles.” I picked up his hand and moved it off of my body, dropping it down onto the booth.

I wasn’t really paying attention to what exactly Harry was drinking, or the pace at which he was downing his alcohol, but as the clock was nearing closer to two (dear Lord it was two in the morning and I had officially accomplished nothing) it seemed pretty obvious that it was time for him to go home. He was loud earlier, laughing and smiling and joking, but he had slipped into an entirely different level of drunkenness, quiet and introspective and entirely too cuddly for me to be comfortable. He was nuzzling into my neck, breaths blowing in hot pools against the skin, and I was squirming underneath him when I decided that it was probably time for one of us to go home.

“Did you drive here or do I need to call a car for you?” I asked him, already reaching for his phone.

“Text Patrick.” Harry mumbled into my neck, face so close that I could feel his eyelashes fluttering against my skin. I took a deep breath to steady myself and found Patrick’s number.

He replied instantly, saying that a car would be outside in five minutes and that he would text when he was here to help escort Harry out. It was then that I started extracting myself from the booth, Harry letting out a pathetic sound as I pushed his body away from mine. I forced myself not to think about that as I grabbed my bag once more.

“Get up, you drunken fool.” I instructed to Harry, motioning for him to stand. “We’re getting your sloshed ass home.”

He seemed unamused by my name-calling, but then again he also didn’t really seem like he got what I was saying. He looked tired now, but content, as he swayed lightly in his spot before scooting towards the edge of the seat. He stood up tentatively, stumbling lightly, hand reaching out to steady himself on the table. I rolled my eyes (at myself more than anything, because even drunk and looking like bambi on roller skates I thought him absolutely adorable) and reached for his phone. I pocketed it, checked the booth for any more valuables, and then latched my hand around Harry’s forearm.

“We’re gonna find Pixie, say goodbye, and then go, okay?”

He nodded, smiled, and followed me compliantly.


It took Harry maybe two minutes to convince me to come inside.

“Are you going to be able to make it in alright?” I had asked him as we entered his security gate, turning away from the window to check on the drunken boy beside me.

He shook his head. “You have to come in.” He slurred. “Aren’t you gonna hold my hair back when I puke?”

“No.” (Yes.)

He pouted a little.

I stayed strong.

He said, “Please.”

I gave in.

Then it was just a journey getting his body from the car to the door to up the stairs. He was walking (stumbling), but he got distracted easily and he wouldn’t shut up when I extracted his keys from his front pocket. I was thinking that I was way too tired and way too sober for this when I finally got the both of us inside. It was then up another two flights of stairs to Harry’s bedroom, which was a trial in itself, and by the time I found the light switch on Harry’s wall, I was beyond tired and heading towards slightly irritated. My initial plan for this night had included flashcards and highlighters, not escorting drunk boys home and having to field off their advances (and then being irritated because I didn’t want to field off his advances).

He had managed to take off his shoes in the time it took me to find the lights and turn around, now lying face down on his bed, socked feet hanging slightly off the edge. He hadn’t even bothered to untuck his sheets.

“Roll onto your side.” I instructed, padding over to him slowly. He moved slowly, lethargically, and I reached down started tugging his blankets down. He whined but moved under the covers.

I was tucking the covers into his side when his fingers reached around and circled around my wrist.

“Stay.” He mumbled out, another one of his one-worded requests. He was apparently monosyllabic tonight, but the gravel in that syllable was still enough to kill me.

I shook my head. “I’ll just have Patrick drive me home.”

“He’s already left by now.”

“Then I’ll call a cab.”

“I just want a cuddle, Ezra.”

“Harry—,”

“Just c’mere, okay? P-please?” He hiccupped. And there he was with his magic convincing skills. And maybe it was because I was tired (it was because I was tired) or maybe it was because his bed looked like a cloud or maybe it was because nothing seemed more enticing than sleep and a possible cuddle with Harry, but I succumbed. I gave in to his persuasion, slipped off my shoes, dropped my bag to the floor, set our phones on his bedside table, flicked off the lights, and crawled into the bed right next to him.

It was weird, pulling back his duvet and snuggling against his sheets. It was like having an out of body experience, being in Harry’s bed, because it probably wasn’t as weird as it maybe should’ve been. I’d known him for a few weeks, less than a month, and I was inhaling the scent of his sheets.

“C’mere,” he repeated once I was lying down, and then he was flipping over and his face was in the curve of my neck and his leg was weaving through mine.

“You’re like a fucking monkey,” I laughed out, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Shh.” He hushed, lips brushing against the side of my neck. “Sleep.”



Www.tumblr.com/tagged/hezra

THERE ARE PICTURES OF THEM LEAVING PIXIE’S BIRTHDAY PARTY TOGETHER I REPEAT THERE ARE PICTURES THE SHIP HAS SAILED OMG OMG OMG

They are sitting way too close to be just friends in the picture on Pixie’s insta Hezra is real

Dude so they left together it’s not like Harry hasn’t left parties with dozens of girls before everyone calm your shit.