On a cold Sunday night, Tom lay next to the soul stripper in a room used to the sound of only one sleeping body. He hugged me. Me. Tom's heartbeat quickened again. Each time he thought that they would stay friends, Ezra glanced at him in a certain way, or sat close enough for them to touch. Tom would flirt and Ezra would blush. Neither of them would tell the other to stop.
Tom wished that he could roll on top of him and push their lips together, but he had to wait for Ezra. Tom's feelings and what he wanted wasn't a mystery to the demon, yet he still resisted him, thinking that it was for the best.
How is it for the best when it's hurting us both? Tom sighed, hugging his pillow. He closed his eyes, hoping the pillow was enough to keep him from reaching out for the demon in his dreams.
The pillow was not enough.
Tom woke to warmth and comfort, more comfort than he had ever felt before. He opened his eyes to black fabric, moving up and down like a calm ocean. He lifted his head, seeing the shapes of Ezra's barbed wire tattoo in the lowlight of dawn.
Only when he stretched did he feel his heavy arm draped around him, holding their bodies close. He thought Ezra was still asleep, so he stole a glance at his face. Tired brown eyes stared down at him, wary and hopeful, and a little scared of being so close.
"Morning," Tom whispered.
A ghost of a smile touched Ezra's lips, almost terrified to move a muscle. Tom didn't comment on their closeness in case it scared him away. He placed his head back onto Ezra's chest, listening to his fast heartbeat until it slowed enough to soothe him back into a light sleep.
He woke again when Ezra moved underneath him. "An angel is outside," Ezra whispered close to his ear. "I need to go with her." Tom grumbled something inaudible and weakly clutched at Ezra's wrist. "Go back to sleep, it's still early," Ezra whispered. Tom felt something on his forehead, hot and soft before drifting back into another dream.
When he woke for the final time, he sat up, glancing around and blinking the sleep from his eyes. He kissed me on the forehead. Tom touched where he remembered the feeling. Such a small tender act, yet for Ezra, it meant that maybe he was giving in, and chasing what his heart wanted.
Tom leapt out of bed and phoned Cal while it was early enough for him to not be at work. They talked for almost an hour while Tom got ready for the day. They discussed the lie to farmer Joel, which Cal was very chill about once his sympathy for Ezra took over. They discussed how Tom and the demon were growing closer. Then they talked about Cal and Harper and how they were planning a trip abroad in the summer.
Tom hung up the phone with hope in his bones, and love in his heart, and relief that he didn't have to work.
His parents weren't up when he left, so he would have to hear about the council meeting through gossip. Though the village was quiet. Tom ate at Cal's work for lunch, rummaged through a few charity shops, and met up with friends who he hadn't seen for a while. in the evening, he ended up outside the library, waiting for the angels to finish choir practice.
He tried not to think about the village meeting. His parents had shut the pub early to fight their corner. He wanted to ask about how it went, but he wasn't sure if he was ready to know. What if his parents lose the pub that had been in their family for generations? The thought was too grim.
Ezra hadn't showed up all day. Tom had wanted to spend time with him, though he had no idea what Ezra was dealing with. He worried about him constantly, and what awful things he was forced to see. His punishment was to take souls and ask no questions.
Ezra said he was accused of murder and was so ashamed that he wouldn't tell Tom what had happened. If only he gave a date of when the crime occurred. If only Ezra gave him names, or a town, or even a county.
"Are you okay?" a voice asked.
Tom blinked out of his sorrow and looked into the old sagging eyes of Othrowan, the elderly angel. The one who had scolded Ezra for not summoning angels when he was saving Tom's life at Berry Pond. "Oh, hello. Yes, I'm fine," Tom said with a smile.
Othrowan looked around. His gaze lingered near the end of the street, where shadows were at their darkest. "There is a demon watching you."
Tom shivered and followed his gaze but saw nothing. "Which demon?"
"A soul stripper." Tom's heart fluttered. The angel looked down at Tom's chest with quizzical eyes, as if he had heard the sudden change. "Ezrakhell."
Tom looked back towards the shadows. Still, he saw nothing but darkness. "Doesn't a demon have to come when they're summoned?"
Othrowan tucked twisted, aged fingers into the sleeves of his cream robe. "Does he come when you summon him?" Tom inhaled sharply. "I mentioned his name aloud at the pond. You didn't react." Othrowan stood closer and his drooped neck wobbled with the motion. "I've known Ezrakhell for a long time. His contract with you is fading. He wants you to know his name now." Othrowan smiled. "How curious." When another angel stepped out of the library, Othrowan stopped him. "Give the keys to Thomas O'Connell. He will lock up when he's done with his studies."
Tom took the keys, cold and alert, not liking how he knew so much. Once inside, he shut the curtains and noticed Ezra at the back of the library. He leant against the wall, watching him, still cast in shadows.
"How did that angel know so much?" he asked, knowing Ezra would have been listening.
Ezra shrugged. "It's how they operate. They just know."
"I felt like he was judging me for knowing you."
"He was."
"He said he has known you for a long time."
"He has."
"How?"
"He condemned me."
Tom frowned. "Why?" As soon as the word left his mouth, he knew. "He condemned you to be a soul stripper?"
Ezra nodded, peeling himself off the wall to stand in front of him. Tom was sometimes wary of Ezra's height and large frame. Being tall himself, he wasn't used to feeling small in someone else's presence. But now, he craved to be engulfed.
"Did he know of your innocence?"
"So, you did your research?"
Tom shook his head to say no. "I didn't find it in the book of Wileshire crimes. Where did it happen?"
"I was accused, that was enough for him," Ezra mumbled. Ignoring the question that would lead Tom to his past.
Tom wanted to get angry, to curse at the angel until he damned his soul. But that would make Ezra angry too, and he wanted to enjoy their time together. He took a step closer until their chests brushed. He looked up and tried to smile. "Why were you following me? You can come up and say hello."
"People will talk."
"They're already talking. But I don't care. What I do care about is having nothing to tell them. I could say we're friends but . . . "
"But?"
"I would want to say that we're not just friends."
Ezra blushed. This time, his brown eyes didn't dart awkwardly around the room. They fixed on Tom, studying his face, thinking of a reply but failing and resorting to raising a brow. He cracked the tension by wandering down a corridor between two bookshelves.
Tom followed, feeling a little hot.
Ezra paused to scan the shelves as a distraction. "There are new books here."
Tom looked too. They had spent so many hours in the small library, so long scanning every shelf. Tom especially scanned the history section, and now there were other topics between the old.
At the same time, they reached up to a big book with black writing on its thick spine. Their fingers touched in the air, and they quickly looked at each other. Tom chuckled at such a cliché move and broke his stare to grab the book. Ezra didn't look away. He felt it burning the side of his face like a growing flame. "I wonder when these arrived." Tom admired the painted dinosaur skeleton on the front cover. "Haisley must've bought them. Or maybe she got funding for them." He flicked through some pages, stopping on the paintings of dinosaurs with necks longer than trees. "Maybe there's more in the crime section?" he suggested, pausing when Ezra's expression surprised him.
He was chewing his bottom lip. Brown eyes had glossed over, darkening with desire. Ezra suddenly grabbed the book and dropped it on the floor. In the same heartbeat, his large hands gripped the sides of Tom's face and pushed him up against the wall. Posters feathered to the floor as Ezra pressed their foreheads together, breathing on him with desperate, ragged breaths.
Tom gripped his elbows and looked up, but Ezra changed the angle of his face, so their lips didn't touch. "Stop me," he whispered.
Tom felt his breath hot against his lips.
"Stop me," Ezra repeated.
"No," Tom whispered back.
"This is a mistake." But Ezra didn't separate their foreheads, nor did he move his hands from his face. "Stop me, Thomas."
Tom shuddered against him. "No," he repeated.
"We can't be together."
"We can."
"It won't work."
"We can make it work."
"How?"
"Kiss me," Tom whispered.
Ezra finally leaned his body against him, and tilted Tom's chin up to kiss him with weeks of suppressed passion.