Perfect Teeth

Nick Grimshaw was the bane of my existence.

“So are you and Harold going to go on real film dates now?” Were the first words out of his mouth when I slid into the passenger seat of his car. I had just gotten out of a six hour filming session at Tongue in Cheek and he was demanding that I get dinner with him. I had ever so cheekily reminded him that he had about a zillion other friends he could dine with – seriously, the contact list in his phone seemed never ending – and he ever so kindly told me to shut the fuck up and that he’d be picking me up at half past seven.

I was tired, bones weary and eyes heavy, but I had already learned that when Grimshaw wanted something, he usually got it, because giving in was the only way to get him to shut up.

“I can’t handle you right now.” I breathed out in an exasperated sigh, bringing my fingers up to pinch the bridge of my nose.

Today had been shit. Exhausting, frustrating shit. Days like today didn’t happen all too often; where everything that possibly could just seemed to go incredibly wrong, but today had been one of them. I was usually stressed, overworked, and tired, but with a large dosage of caffeine and a generally optimistic attitude, I could combat those feelings and get through my day relatively unscathed.

It was a Tuesday from hell.

Grimmy was known for being relentless. He wasn’t always the best at picking up social cues of when to stop his pestering, but there must have been something extra fierce in my face because he opened his mouth and then clamped it shut.

“You alright?” He inquired after a moment, his brow slightly furrowing as his eyes scanned my face.

I let out a sigh. “Today’s been shit.”

“What happened?”

“Just…work shit. School shit. Life shit.” I shrugged and looked out the window. “You’re in a loading zone.”

He ignored that. “What’s going on? C’mon, Calil. Spill.”

I exhaled deeply, shrugging again as I fidgeted in my seat. I hated complaining about work and school, because it made me feel like an ungrateful brat. I was making a decent enough living by filming videos – it was long and sometimes exhausting, but I could have it so much worse, especially for being nineteen. I was privileged to be living the life I was, even if at times it made me want to pull my hair out.

“It’s nothing. It’s stupid. I have absolutely no validity to my complaining.”

“Oh, shove it.” Grimmy rolled his eyes. “If you’re upset, complain. Stop being socially conscious for one moment and just let it out.”

I took a moment to gnaw on my lower lip, sucking it between my teeth before letting it go. “Alfie’s just being a tit.” I finally admitted. “I understand that he doesn’t like me or doesn’t think I’m qualified or whatever, but the least he could do is be civil. There’s like a passive aggressive jab every five minutes and it’s irritating. I deal with enough shit from people every day and I don’t really need him piling on more.”

“Why doesn’t he like you?” Nick asked. His hands were on the wheel, but we were still loitering in the loading zone.

“Honestly?” I shrugged. “I have no idea. And I don’t mean that in a like, oh-I’m-so-perfect-how-could-he-not-like-me kind of way. There are plenty of reasons why he might not, but I wish that he would tell me what exactly it is so I could fix it or find a way for us to be civil.”

We couldn’t even have a decent conversation, because Alfie was either pretending I didn’t exist or attempting to undermine everything I said. It was like, in his eyes, every contribution I made was invalid.

“Maybe he’s threatened by you.” Grimmy suggested.

“I’m like the least non-threatening person I know.” I said. “I’m 5’4”. I can’t even throw a shot put, I’m that weak.”

“He’s not threatened by you physically.” Grimmy scoffed. “But maybe he’s threatened by your success. You’re nineteen and you’ve already moved up to the same job that he’s been doing for years. The YouTube thing’s going well, you’re getting media attention – he’s probably just afraid that you’re out for his job completely.”

“But I don’t want his job.” I protested. “I like the job I have right now. I just want to contribute to Tongue in Cheek and help keep it awesome. That’s it.” I struggled to articulate my next thoughts. “And like, I don’t feel like I should apologize for my success? Because I’ve worked really hard.”

“Oh you absolutely shouldn’t apologize.” Nick shook his head. “I’m not saying you should – fuck that, be proud. You work really hard. I’m just saying that that might be the reason he’s being such an arse to you.”

“I don’t know how to fix that, though? Do I make him a card proclaiming that I’m not out to steal his job or what?”

“You just need to put on your big-girl pants and have an adult conversation with him about it.”

“God that sounds awful.” I groaned.

Grimmy laughed. “It probably will be. Maybe get drunk and do it. That might make it easier.”

“I just…I don’t know. I’m just having an off week.”

Grimmy let out a noise of understanding and nodded, before finally putting the gear into drive and pulling away from the curb.

“You want my advice?” He offered as he pulled into the oncoming traffic.

“You’re going to give it to me regardless, so might as well.”

“Sharp as a whip, you are.” Grimmy mused bitterly before continuing. “Take a mental health day. We’ll go pick up some greasy Chinese food and then you need to go home, drink a bottle of wine, and blow off some of your responsibilities.”

“I have class tomorrow.” I shook my head. “And I need to upload a video.”

Grimmy fixed me with a sharp look. “Will the world end if you skip one class or upload one video a little late?”

I narrowed my eyes at him and opened my mouth to respond, but he didn’t give me a chance to speak.

“No, it won’t.” He said. “Take a fucking night off, Ezra.”

I didn’t respond, rather pulling out my phone from my pocket and typing out a quick message as Grimmy changed lanes.

Rain check on the milkshakes? Not feeling up for going out tonight.

When Nick dropped me off an hour later, two half-full Chinese take out containers in my hands, Harry still hadn’t texted me back.

It wasn’t until I was lying facedown on my bed, halfway to dream world, when my phone buzzed.

Open the door I have milkshakes.

What

Come open your door

hold on

I rolled out of bed with a groan, tugging the hem of the boxer-briefs I slept in down as I stumbled to the door.

“You said you didn’t feel like going out, so I brought the milkshake to you.” Harry greeted, stepping through the threshold of my door balancing two milkshakes in one arm. He offered one to me and shut the door behind him.

I blinked at him slowly, reaching up to rub the sleep from my eyes. “When did your plane get in?” I mumbled. “What time is it?”

“About 45 minutes ago. And it’s 10:12.”

I took the milkshake from him groggily, my lips finding the straw. Even in my half asleep state, I could appreciate the chocolate banana.

“Thank you.” I murmured after my first appreciative sip. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know.” Harry replied, still grinning at me. He looked entirely too cheerful for having just gotten off a plane, even if he did have a milkshake in his hand. “But I figured you might be thirsty, so I’d bring you something thick and creamy.”

I blinked at him and took another sip of my milkshake, balancing precariously on my two feet. I felt a bit like I was going to topple over.

It was then that Harry’s face fell, the cheeky grin he had been sporting morphing into something that looked much more concerned. He took a step forward, his head dipping down so his eyesight was more level with mine.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, eyes narrowing. “How’re things?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” I answered, but it was feebly at best. I was so tired, the words thick on my tongue, and there was little reassuring about my tone. “I’m fine.”

Harry shook his head before I was even finished. “There was perfect set up for a Daily Dick Joke right there and you completely missed it.”

“Oh.” I took another sip of my milkshake. “Sorry.”

“Ezra,” Harry said my name in a warning tone, before setting his cup down on the side table by the door. He took another step towards me, the tips of his boots almost touching my sock clad feet. “Are you ill?”

I shrugged noncommittally, too tired to tell him anything but the truth. “I just had a bad day. It’s nothing.” I continued on with the shrugging, hoping that by seeming noncommittal maybe he’d let it go. “Thank you for the milkshake. I’m sure you’re exhausted, so you should go home and sleep for the next three days.”

“Why did you have a shit day?” Harry ignored everything else I said, his face crumbling to one of extreme concern as his hands reached out, perhaps instinctually, and rested on the curve of my waist.

I almost jerked away in surprise, the affectionate movement shocking me. I had to remind myself that he was like this with everyone.

“Just…work stuff. The internet is being especially cruel this week. It’s not a big deal. I just need to sleep it off.” I shrugged again, letting out an instinctual sigh at Harry’s warm body temperature and leaning towards him. He was like a space heater, all warm and cuddly and fuzzy.

“I’m sorry that you had a bad week.” He offered instantly, one hand sliding up my side and rubbing the area in a gesture of comfort. It felt really, really nice.

“It isn’t your fault.” I shook my head. “Don’t apologize.” Some of it might have been his fault, maybe indirectly, because it seemed like people were especially out for blood every time we had any type of online interaction. I was starting to think that maybe it was time to stop the online interaction completely, but then that just pissed me off, because people were ruining something funny and witty that we both enjoyed.

“Do you want to watch a film? The Breakfast Club? Isn’t that your happy movie?”

God, why did he have to be smart and considerate and adorable when he was the one that should be getting coddled? The flight from Japan was long and I knew that he had a tremendous hangover for most of it. He should’ve just gone home and went straight to bed, and yet here he was, standing in my living room, looking concerned and all to willing to help put me in a better mood, mentioning things about me that I couldn’t even remember telling him.

“Aren’t you exhausted?” I questioned. “How’re you still standing?” I hadn’t been through half the business that he had this week and I already felt like keeling over.

“I promised you milkshakes. You were upset last week and you’re upset today and that deserves milkshakes and movies. C’mon, where’s your laptop? I’ll set this up.”

“Harry-,” I protested, just as he removed his hands from my person and crossed to the corner of my studio where my bed was, grabbing his milkshake and taking it with him. My laptop was sitting on the desk adjacent to my bed, where I had been importing excess footage into an external hard drive.

He shushed me, shaking his head as he started typing something into my Internet browser. “Get comfortable and I’ll find the movie. I call being the big spoon.”

I gnawed on my lower lip, watching him as he pulled up the movie online and maximized the browser, before finally taking the first few steps towards my bed. My reluctance was slipping as I watched the muscles in his back shift underneath the jumper he was wearing. Maybe it was a silly idea and it was really going to do absolutely nothing to help cure me of the massive crush for Harry that was manifesting under my skin, but nothing sounded better than curling up into his side and going to sleep.
Sometimes it feels really good to be selfish.

“Are we streaming this movie by illegal means?” I crossed over to the bed, sliding onto the thick duvet on the left side.

“Maybe.” He answered. “Or maybe I rented it on iTunes and charged it to your account.”

“You’re awful at being a criminal.”

“I’m a musician. I know how it feels when people pirate your work!”

“Oh shove off.” I rolled my eyes. “It doesn’t effect you too much.”

“I’ll give you the three pounds before I leave, I promise.” He sent me a cheeky smile.

“Just shut up and get in bed.”

Harry leered his eyebrows at me, but tilted the screen to maximum viewing efficiency from where it sat on the desk, before bending down to take off his boots. He pulled his jumper off of his head, leaving a flimsy black t-shirt, and then proceeded to get on the bed.

By crawling over me.

“’Scuse me, pardon me.” He murmured as he moved over me, stalling as he straddled one leg over my waist, the side of my hip held between his lower thighs. Both hands rested up by my head, propping him up. I twisted my head to the side to shoot him a look.

“You could’ve walked around, asshat.” I snarked.

“And there’s that snark back.” He grinned happily.

I rolled my eyes and Harry finally decided to move his legs completely up and over my body, settling down on his side behind me. He wiggled for a few moments, presumably to get comfortable.

“Adjust, adjust,” He urged. “Lift your head.” He snaked his arm underneath the pillow under my head, stretching the limb out that way, before his other arm flung over my waist, curling over my side and pressing against my stomach.

“Leg.” He instructed, just as he slotted one of his lanky extremities between mine, successfully tangling our legs together.

“You’re very specific about your spooning.” I muttered, resting my head back on the pillow on top of his arm. I focused as the beginning scenes of The Breakfast Club flitted across my computer screen, resting my hands comfortably. It was about thirty seconds into the second scene when I realized that by “resting my hands comfortably” I had laid one arm on top of Harry’s, slotting our fingers together.

Shit.

Bad idea.

His hands were smooth and long, my palm covering a little over half of his ginormous hands.

Bad move, Ezra, subconscious or not.

Because with that movement I was essentially holding hands with Harry, something that was sending my nervous system into a tizzy.

I flexed my arm, ready to attempt to stealthily and quickly remove my hand from on top of his, but he curled his fingers down, trapping mine between his.

My breathing quickened.

“I haven’t seen this movie in years,” he murmured, his soft, raspy breath feeding directly into my ear.

God, this was doing absolutely nothing to remedy the situation I had on my hands.

“It’s one of my favorites.” I finally muttered back.

“I hope it makes you feel better.” Maybe it was just me, but it felt like his lips had moved closer to my ear, brushing against my skin as he formed the word.

I exhaled slowly. “Thank you for being so sweet. You really don’t have to. You should be home.”

As much as I convinced myself that I didn’t need to be taken care of, it still felt nice to have someone doting on me, even if I knew that Harry should be getting that kind of treatment.

Harry only shrugged. “I was just gonna crash at Nick’s anyway. It doesn’t really matter.”

“Where’s Gemma?”

“She’s crashing at a mate’s.”

“Don’t you have a home, Harry?”

He shrugged and made a noncommittal noise. “Kind of. They’re still renovating. I haven’t bought any furniture.”

“Where do you sleep?”

“Ben’s, mostly. Sometimes at Tom and Lou’s or at Nick’s. Or wherever there’s a couch.”

“Ever the nomad.” I let out a chuckle.

He shrugged again. “I spent most of this year on tour. I’m kind of used to floating from one place to another.”

“But don’t you ever just want home?” I didn’t mean to push, but I didn’t completely understand it. I got itchy if I wasn’t in my own space for too long. “To just have someplace that’s just yours?”

“Home’s in Cheshire.” He answered easily. “Home’s always going to be in Cheshire. And I like staying with people, being around them.”

I let out a hum.

“You’re always so warm.” I mumbled out a few moments later, once I was comfortably burrowed into Harry’s chest. The heat was radiating off of him in waves, every inch of where his skin pressed into mine sending jolts across my skin.

“You’re cold.” He pressed our hands to my middle, pulling me back closer to him, and shifted his body so his torso was completely pressed against my back. His head peeked over my shoulder, staring down at me. “Poor circulation?”

“No, London is just fucking freezing.”

I expected a comment about how it was only going to get worse (it wasn’t even January yet, of course it was going to get worse) but instead, Harry said, “I missed you.”

I wasn’t expecting that. Crimson was already staining my cheeks, the flush spreading down my neck, but I tried to reel it in. I glanced down at our fingers, still clutched together and now pressed against my abdomen.

I missed you too, that’s probably what I should’ve said, because I had and I did. I hadn’t really thought about the semi-permanent fixture Harry had been in my life before he left for tour. He was also demanding that I hang out with him, for lunch or coffee or once or twice to pop into a shop and buy something. It was nice, having someone demand your presence, because it got me out of my head on days where I felt like maybe I was going to collapse from the work load and it was nice to feel like my presence was wanted. Even if we only hung out for a solid two weeks before he left, I had already adjusted to his presence.

Adjusting to his departure had been harder. We had our scheduled movie times, which were always appreciated breaks and I was always down to watch a good film, and we texted pretty consistently, but it was different. I was always responding to whatever he posted on Twitter, even if it was incredibly stupid, and he was always raising to the bait and defending himself, but maybe the lack of physical contact left me longing for something else.

(Or maybe not having Harry in my presence made me realize how much I fucking liked him.)

I hung out with Nick a bit, too, but his presence was less soothing than Harry’s. He was hilarious, full of stories and witty remarks and he knew pretty much everyone in the world ever, but I felt like I always had to be on with him, because he had a gaggle of people lining up to spend time with him.

Missing Harry scared me a bit, because admitting to missing him felt awfully like admitting to having feelings for him. And I couldn’t be there yet.

So instead of saying, “I miss you too,” and having a possibly very real moment, I said, “We talked. It was fine.” Like a dismissive asshole.

Harry didn’t say anything else, just moved his head back to the pillow and slightly loosened his grip around my waist. I cursed myself in my head for sounding so rude and turned my attention back to The Breakfast Club, inwardly shaking my head at myself.

“Hey,” Harry spoke directly into my ear. “So I went to buy some camouflage trousers the other day, but I couldn’t find any.”

He waited a moment, presumably for it to click in my head, and I groaned.

God, no. Not the puns.

“Two peanuts walk into a bar and one was a salted.” He said next.

I closed my eyes, as if silently asking for patience, and shook my head. “That Pun of the Day app is just a gift that keeps on giving.”

“Did you hear about that guy whose left side was cut off?” Harry continued. “He’s all right now.”

I opened my eyes and exhaled slowly from my nose, even though, truthfully, the corners of my mouth were already trying to turn up.

“Did you hear about the guy who got hit with a can of soda?” He just kept going. “He was glad it was a soft drink.”

“Shhh.” I shushed him with a small laugh, reaching our entwined hands up to reach for his mouth, covering his lips.

He tried to talk through that, his words coming out garbled as his lips moved against my hand. “Writing with a broken pencil is pointless.”

“Watch the film.” I demanded, still smiling, tapping his cheek with our entwined hands before resting them back at my hip.

I was holding his hand. We were holding hands. He wouldn’t let me pull my hands away.

Holyshit holyshit holyshit.

Harry let out a noise of protest, but settled back down in his spot on the bed and kept his eyes on the screen. “Got you to laugh, didn’t it?”

I let my head fall back against his chest, getting comfortably against the warmth of his shoulder.

“I was thinking,” Harry said suddenly, his words soft in my ear, and I jumped slightly, “that we should continue with my film education.”

“We are right now.” I pointed out, because even though he had already seen it, we were still probably going to talk about it and learn some things.

“Let’s make it a weekly thing.” He suggested.

“Aren’t you going to be busy? With 1D Day and the album releasing?”

“Yes.” It felt like he was nuzzling into my neck. I squirmed slightly. “But I can make time.”

“I don’t want to be a burden to you.” I protested immediately, shaking my head.

“Ezra,” Harry all but groaned into my neck and I felt like I could hear him rolling his eyes, before his head popped up once again and in a swift maneuvering of hands, he had me lying flat on my back and facing up at him. His torso leaned over mine, until our faces were inches apart.
He was making direct eye contact and looking very stern.

“You are not a burden.” He said this very seriously, without a hint of joking inflection in his voice, and I realized that suddenly we were having a Very Serious Conversation.

One in which I was decidedly too tired to deal with, but whatever.

“You are the complete opposite of a burden.” He continued. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration and his mouth was tight. “I enjoy spending time with you. I enjoy watching films with you, especially when I don’t understand them or think that I don’t like them but then you go and prove me completely wrong. If you don’t want to do it anymore because you don’t enjoy it or you don’t have time, that’s cool, but don’t ever think you’re a burden to me.”

I shifted uncertainly. “I just don’t like, want to lock you into a commitment that you don’t have time for.”

“I’m the one suggesting it.” He pointed out.

I raised an eyebrow up at him in challenge, but Harry just seemed to give it right back, his nice little eyebrows and lovely eyes connecting with mine and refusing to look away.

“Fine.” I conceded eventually, because I was too tired to fight him on this and all I really wanted was to burrow back into his chest and go to bed.

“Now can we get under the covers?” He suggested, all victorious smiles.
I thought about making a quip about him keeping his hands to himself, but, well. I probably wouldn’t have meant it anyway.

I gave another nod and suddenly we were underneath my thick floral duvet, Harry pulling the covers up to our shoulders as I tucked into him. He readjusted on the bed, so we were both lying on our backs and his head was resting on my shoulder, facing the screen.

The Breakfast Club was my happy movie, but having that title meant that I watched it enough not to really force myself to stay completely awake. I was fading out of consciousness just moments after finally getting comfortable, the slightly lull of Harry’s breathing comforting me into a deep sleep.

The first time I woke up, it was still dark outside. My computer was still sitting on the desk, but the screen was black. One of my legs was directly over Harry’s body, the other stretched almost completely off the bed. My cheek was flattened against his chest and one of my hands was up by his hair, tucking into the curls by his neck. He was breathing deeply, a soft sort of rumbling through his chest.

I remained awake only for a few moments, still in that sleepy state between consciousness and sleep, only to readjust my legs and press a small, chaste kiss to the jut of Harry’s jaw, before resting my head and falling back to sleep.

The second time I woke up, the pillow cradled my head only and Harry wasn’t in bed next to me. I blinked slowly, bringing a hand up to rub softly at my eyes, just as the toilet flushed and the bathroom door opened.

He had lost his jeans.

He padded back towards the bed slowly, only in the same thin t-shirt and a pair of navy boxer-briefs, one hand tangled in his mess of hair, and it took a few moments for him to register that I was awake.

“Had to pee.” He mumbled in explanation, just as he reached the bed and climbed back in, situating himself back under the covers. “Sleep again.”

His voice was scratchy and throaty and brilliant. “C’mere.”

His hands were grabby, like a toddler wanting a toy, and I shifted over to him lethargically. His hands grappled for my waist, tightening around my torso as his head fell to my hair.

“God you smell so good.” He sighed, before his lips pressed a kiss to the crown of my forehead and we both fell back asleep.

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
I think I just slept for like 18 hours holy shit new record

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
Hypothetically if there was a hibernating bear in ur bed, do you wake it up for snacks???

nick grimshaw @grimmers
@ezracallil just make sure he doesn’t wet himself and you’ll be fine

>Harry Styles @Harry_Styles
Sooo, I’ve been asleep for about 3 days. Breakfast?