Snapdragons

Ezra

7 years ago...

"Ezra, you can't be serious."

"Mr. Deighton, forever the doubter. Is that really who you want to die as?"

"Rarely do you speak of death, and now you use it to persuade me?"

Ezra ruffled the skeptic's hair to get him to stop speaking. Not in his usual rough and playful way, though. He had a habit of touching too freely, but this wasn't nearly as harsh as it often was. Fingers lingered on tufts of rusty fluff. "'m just saying. It's not a bad thought, you hav'ta admit."

Edwin lazily swatted Ezra's hands out of his hair. "Stop slurring your words. It's going to sound like I have a drunk in my room."

"Ha! Not today." Ezra smiled. His hands retreated hesitantly to his sides. "You're lucky I'm sober. Actually...maybe it's worse that I'm functioning..."

"Drunk Ezra is a hassle, too," Edwin responded with a sigh. Unfortunately, it was very much true. Last time Ezra was drunk, Edwin had dragged his limp body to bed and felt his groggy hands allow themselves to roam. And heaven knows he was tired of having to explain what had happened the previous night to hung-over Ezra with as few details as possible.

Edwin was known as a troublemaker by the other students at his college. But he could never compare to Ezra, who often got drunk and was a suspected thief. However, that's why the two were friends. Their shared mischievous tendencies brought them together in a certain way, whether for better or worse.

Ezra with his childish laughter and teasing. Ezra with his bad ideas that somehow always worked out in the end. Ezra with his black hair and fond eyes and funny faces. And Edwin with his devotion.

"Alright, we'll go. But as soon as they figure out that we're just some university students, we're running," Edwin muttered.
...
When Ezra went for a walk earlier that day, he saw something on the ground. It was crisp, white, and unopened. When he picked it up, he noticed the swirl of expensive handwriting that adorned its back. It was addressed to "Mr. Darlington and Family." Had Ezra attempted to return the letter to Mr. Darlington? Oh, of course not. This was a professional troublemaker. He opened it.

As a summary of the letter, excluding all the fancy talk, it spoke of meeting for the first time, a man named Mr. Fernsby, rich people, a party, a mansion, money...(the details had escaped Ezra as visions of good food and aristocrats waltzed through his mind.) Being middle class, Ezra's trickery often involved being disguised as rich people and getting what he always dreamed of. It was funny. He knew Edwin was rich, and never once considered using him for his money. He didn't even seem like a money sort of man. He just wanted a good time, sought amusement.

Unfortunately, the seeking of amusement can make one's every move and motive questionable.

...

"Why is your dorm room so orderly?"

"Why is yours so dirty?"

"I can't be bothered with that little stuff." Ezra shrugged.

"Right. It's only where you live." Edwin muttered the words sarcastically. This was how every interaction of theirs played out.

Ezra straightened a round hat on his head and stared cluelessly at his undone tie in the mirror. Under that hat, his onyx hair was neatly combed, a rare occurrence. Lifeless in the mirror, his dark brown eyes appeared black and empty yet focused and intense.

"So, you're Archie Darlington...and I'm your brother, Edward Darlington. And your wife and children couldn't make it to the party," Edwin spoke slowly, making sure he remembered every detail.