Convoke

Chapter 22

Tom grabbed Ezra's jacket and shoved him into the wall behind the door. He didn't let go, so Ezra couldn't disappear like he usually would, not wanting to risk taking Tom with him.

"Could you have been any louder!" Gerry hissed, black hair sticking up wildly on one side.

"Sorry, I was trying to be quiet," Tom muttered, not looking in Ezra's direction. "Why were you sleeping in the living room?"

"I pay rent here, so I can sleep wherever I want! And I should be able to do that without you waking me up at a daft time in the morning."

Tom rolled his eyes. Usually, he would have snapped back and woke everyone up with their arguing, but tonight he had a demon hiding in the shadows, listening. "Go to bed." He tried to shut the door, but Gerry slammed a palm against it. "Are you trying to wake everyone else up?"

"I'm sick of you being so inconsiderate! I am a man with a wife and a child. You have no commitments, and you're selfish of everyone else's!"

Tom's eyes lost, and he glanced to the demon behind his door. Ezra was staring at Gerry through the crack between the hinges and the wall. He was frowning deeply. If he was getting angry, Tom couldn't afford to get angry too. "Get your hand off my door, and fuck off to bed," he hissed through gritted teeth.

"We'll continue this in the morning," Gerry muttered before stomping, rather loudly, towards his own bedroom.

Tom shut the door and rubbed his temples. "Sorry about him," he said, freezing when dark bottomless pits leeched onto his face. Ezra wasn't just angry, he was enraged. His face had twisted into pure hatred, and Tom shivered. He stepped backwards, nervously rubbing his hands together, suddenly very aware of Ezra's tall frame, wide chest, round shoulders, and big arms. "Do you need to leave and calm down?" Ezra nodded slowly, not blinking, not breaking their gaze. But he didn't leave, he stood in the shadows, clenching his jaw, curling his fingers, glaring at Tom like a fire quickly flickering out of control. "Ezra, leave and come back when you've calmed down," Tom whispered. The fear wavered in his voice, and Ezra quickly relaxed his frown to widen his eyes. He abruptly disappeared and Tom felt the tension leaving with him and stopped holding his breath.

He quietly got ready for bed, brushing his teeth, washing his face, and combing through his messy brown hair. Looking at himself in the mirror, he wondered if Ezra inspected him just as intently. Tom liked the way he looked. He like the colour of his blue eyes, light enough to stand out. He liked his soft, pale skin, and how the cold flushed his cheeks, and the way his face matured over time, but kept its youthful roundness. He was insecure about certain things, like his ears sticking out too much, or his brows being too bushy, or the random spot on his forehead, or the shape of his teeth.

He hoped that Ezra liked his imperfections, the way that Tom liked his. He shook his head at how he was worrying whether a demon liked him, when that demon just left to avoid snapping him in half. How have I found trust in him? How wasn't the right word. Why have I found trust in him?

He returned to his bedroom, not expecting Ezra to have returned so soon. "Oh, hi," he whispered, shutting the door as quietly as he could.

Ezra stood by the window with the curtains drawn shut. His head was drooped, and his hands dug deep into his jacket pocket. "Hello," he replied, almost inaudibly. "I'm sorry."

Ah, it's because he's cute, Tom thought. "You don't have to apologise," he reassured.

"I didn't trust myself not to punch him, or worse."

Tom scoffed. "Gerry has that effect on people." Ezra didn't find it funny. "He's a prick. If you expect it from him, it makes it easier to deal with. Did you really think you would punch him?"