𝐄𝐳𝐫𝐚 | 18+

37

What are we?

That's the question that's been lingering on my mind for over a week. Ezra and I continued hanging out as if the kiss never happened, but I can't pretend like it's not on my mind all day. I don't want to ask him because I'm scared to make him uncomfortable, but I can't just sit here and wait for him to tell me to get out, or that he wants nothing to do with me. Part of me hopes that he's asking himself the same question as I am, while another part hopes we can forget about it and go back to how we were before.

"Hey, Lee?" Ezra hollers, his rapid footsteps pattering against the group as he walks towards me.

"What?" I ask.

"I have to go to my old house to see my dad..." He mutters.

Ah.

"I'll come with y-" I start getting up but he speaks.

"No." He deadpans.

"Yes. I'm coming with you." I answer, slipping my slides on.

"Delilah." He almost growls. He's never really called me by my full name.

"Ezra." I repeat.

"You're not coming." He shakes his head vigorously, fetching the keys to his car. He goes to walk past me but I place my hand on his bicep. He turns and looks at me, annoyance visible in his eyes.

Great, not only does he have to go visit his father, but I got him angry.

"Ezra, let me be there for you." I say softly. His expression softens and he looks down. He bites his bottom lip, thinking.

"Fine." He huffs. My eyes lighten up.

"Thank you." I step up on my tippy toes and press a kiss to his cheek. The edges of his lips turn upwards but he turns before I can fully see it. He heads to the door and I follow shortly after him.

———————————————————

We walk through the hallways of a giant house, one he claimed to be his old house. The walls are adorned with all sorts of paintings, a few being family portraits. I recognized a little Ezra in them and I was going to see his mother but we walked past it too quickly for me to get a good look.

His steps are quick and anxious and I can tell that he just wants to get this over with. His right hand is pulled to his lips where he's biting his nails, while his other hands loosely. I make a bold move and grab his free hand. He slows down and looks back at me, his right hand dropping from his swollen lips.

"It's okay." I whisper. He nods slowly, looking at me as if he were thinking of something, but he quickly looks away shaking his head and walking forward. He slows down in front of an old wooden door. It's cracked open.

"I'm scared." He whispers.

"He can't hurt you," I say softly. "I'll be right next to you, okay?"

He nods slowly. With a deep breath, he pushes the door open. I squeeze his hand reassuringly, as we enter the luxurious room.

In the center of the room, there's a king sized bed. There's a man laying in the center of it, his head propped up on multiple pillows. He has salt and pepper hair, gelled back slickly. His eyes are closed and wrinkles of old age mark his olivastre skin. His eyes crack open at our presence, and he looks at Ezra, then at me. I recognize that he has the same color eyes as Ezra.

"Ezra..." He croaks. "Chi è, questa?" He points a fragile finger at me and I furrow my eyebrows in confusion. [who is this.]

"Delilah." Ezra says. The old man's gaze shifts to mine and a small smile grazes his lips. He extends a hand out towards me but Ezra steps in front of me.

"Sono qui per salutarti." Ezra says, venom lacing his tone. [I'm here to say goodbye.]

"Figlio mio...non ti vedo da anni." The old man smiles up at Ezra but I easily see through the mask.
[My son, I haven't seen you in years.]

"Ne sono consapevole." Ezra nods, looking downward. [I'm aware.] I squeeze his hand, even if I have no clue what he just said.

"Prenderai il mio posto, lo sai già. Sei pronto, sí?" The old man croaks, followed shortly after by a cough.
[You'll take my place, you know already. You're ready, yes?]

"Sì." Ezra nods quickly, as if he were pushing the question away. 

"Bene. Sei stato un buon figlio, mi spiace salutarti. Ti ho sempre voluto bene-"
[Good. You've always been a good son, I hate to say goodbye. I've always loved you-"

"Mi hai voluto bene?" Ezra seethes, getting dangerously close to his father. Dangerous for the old man, because Ezra looks as though he could rip his head off his neck without batting an eye.

[you loved me?]

"Ma certo-"

[Of course-]

"No. Tu non mi hai voluto bene. Mi hai abusato. Non ricordi?" Ezra snaps back at his father.
[No. You did not love me. You abused me. Don't remember?"

"Era un periodo brutto devi capire."
[It was an ugly time you have to understand.]

"Non devo capire un cazzo. Per sette anni. Sette anni e la tua scusa è che era un 'periodo brutto'? Vaffanculo." Ezra growls.
[I don't have to understand shit. For seven years. Seven years of hell and your excuse is 'it was an ugly time'? Fuck you.]

I heard vaffanculo.

I've never really seen him as angry as he is right now.

"Ti sembra il modo di rivolgerti a tuo padre? Mentre sono sul letto di morte? Io sono un tuo superiore, mi devi il rispetto!" The older man barks.
[Do you think this is a way to talk to your father? While I'm on my deathbed? I'm your superior, you owe me respect!]

"Non ti devo nulla!"

[I don't owe you anything!]

I silently watch as they bicker back and forth until Ezra violently turns around, his hand still in mine, and drags me out. He agressively shuts the door behind me and knots his hands in his hair.

"I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him." He mutters, pacing around in front of me.

"Ezra." I call. He ignores me and his breath gets rapid.

"Ezra!" I repeat, a bit louder. He stops, staring at me. His chest heaves up and down. Without another word, he nears me and squeezes me in a tight hug. I wrap my arms around him in a comforting manner as he buries his head in the crook of my neck. I inhale his scent and smile.

"You smell nice." I mumble, before realizing it's not the time at all. A chuckle leaves his lips.

"Thank you. You too." He says, pulling away. He traps my cheeks in the palms of his warm hands and his eyes flicker between my eyes.

"What are you doing to me?" He whispers before pressing a kiss to my forehead.

"Let's go." He says, taking my hand in his.

I hate to admit it, but I wish we were more than friends.

word count: 1201
☂︎︎☂︎︎☂︎︎☂︎︎☂︎︎☂︎︎☂︎︎☂︎︎☂︎︎☂︎︎

oop👀💃
Stay safe<3
-S