Convoke

Chapter 25

Tom waited until his parents had gone to bed to summon Ezra. While they had been at the library, fifteen demons entered for drinks, and according to the locals, that was a threatening number. Just like all the fights before that evening, a human had provoked a demon and was first to throw a punch. The entire pub fought hard. Two people had died in hospital, and all the demons involved had their souls stripped. Seven chairs had been broken, one table was snapped in half, seventeen glasses were smashed, the glass-stained window in the left front door was smashed, two curtains were ripped, and one painting of a bull had a big hole in it where someone's head had been forced through it.

He stood by his windowsill in black shorts and a black t-shirt, with damp hair from his shower. Various bruises started forming on his hips, knees, and elbows where he had been flattened to the hard path, but he wasn't hurt enough to notice any pain. He stared up at the big round moon, half yellow behind thickening clouds. "Ezrakhell," he whispered, and not even a shiver could reach the bottom of his spine before warmth pressed into his back.

He turned to look up and into beautiful brown eyes. "Hi," he whispered. The house was too quiet for footsteps, let alone deep male voices.

"Hi," Ezra replied. His black hair was freshly washed, fluffing around his forehead. He had changed into a black t-shirt that poked above his dark blue hoodie, and black jeans with rips at the knees.

"Are you calm now, or do you need more time?"

"I'm calm."

They stayed close, taking in each other's fresh smells and soft, clean faces. "Will you stay here tonight?"

"I will. Are you hurt?"

"No, are you?"

Ezra shook his head to say no. "You fight well. Every time I looked over, you were kicking someone to the floor."

Tom chuckled, though he didn't feel much joy. "Come lie down. Are you still feeling low on energy?"

Ezra sat on the side of his bed, unlacing his boots. He explained how each soul he took also took his physical and mental strength with it. If one soul strained his energy, fifteen made him struggle to keep his eyes open. He wasn't the best at explaining, and kept his talking brief, as if it was effort to string together sentences.

Tom laid next to him on the bed. They faced each other, and Ezra's eyelids were half closed. He yawned into the palm of his hand before tucking his arms under the duvet. Tom wanted to snuggle up close. He wanted Ezra's large arms to wrap around him, and for his lips to plant soft kisses into his hair.

"Go to sleep," he whispered instead. "The pub isn't opening tomorrow. Sleep for as long as you need to." He watched Ezra's eyes droop closed before turning off the bedside lamp.

Morning came too soon. Tom hadn't woken once. The neatness of his bed hinted that he barely stirred, and neither had Ezra, who still slept next to him. He faced the wall, so Tom studied his black hair that faded into short stubs on his neck, next to a cluster of freckles. He stared at his barbed wire tattoo stringing around and around in a rich black ink, and at his back with muscles pushing against his t-shirt with each breath. He watched until Ezra rolled over and stretched his muscular arms above his head. He rubbed his eyes without opening them and yawned into both of his hands.

Tom stretched too, and Ezra blinked sleepily in his direction. He looked at Tom for a few seconds before scrambling out of bed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to overstay my welcome." He grabbed a boot and clumsily shoved the wrong foot into it as Tom leapt out of bed too.

"Don't be so stupid!" Tom said, and Ezra paused with his foot hovering above the ground. "I confess my feelings for you, and you still think I want to wake up alone?" Ezra said nothing, though his guilty face spoke for him. Tom flopped back onto his bed and buried himself under the warm duvet. When Ezra didn't move, he said, "You really don't have to go yet."