After working a long shift, Tom and Ezra went for a late night stroll, both not tired enough to attempt going to bed. They laid on farmer Joels field, pointing at the stars and talking about anything philosophical.
They ventured to berry pond and disturbed the water with pebbles until Tom felt bad for the fish. They wandered into the village. No other soul ambled the old streets of Wileshire. They sat by the fountain, staring at the golden statue of the young child who died over one hundred years ago.
Ezra didn't look at it. He stared ahead, and eventually pointed at the neon sign in the distance. "The cricket field used to be where the gym is now."
Tom looked down the street where it plunged into darkness. "Is that where it happened? Where the women were murdered."
"Yes."
"It must've been so hard coming back here."
"It was. I just wish there was an obvious reason for everything that's happening here. So much hate, but where is it coming from?"
Tom sat closer, feeling his frustration. "Even I've had nightmares of demons. But I'm not feeling hateful. Cal's girlfriend Harper is doubting you guys too. She never used to think that way."
Ezra looked down, studying him. "I would like to say that you're not influenced by my demon presence, but I think you are."
"How?"
"What is your greatest desire?"
Tom sat still for a moment until concluding an obvious answer. "You."
"And maybe that's why you've tried so hard to keep me in your life."
"Good." They stared at each other. "Maybe I am influenced, maybe I'm not. Without it, maybe I would have buried my feelings, but with it, maybe it's given me the confidence to go with what I wanted. I don't see that as a bad thing. Either way, I have very strong feelings for you, and those would have happened with your influence or not."
"I guess it shows how pure you are."
Tom smiled and opened his mouth to argue, but he frowned. "Do you hear that?" They listened intensely until the faint sound of the angel's choir blew through the breeze.
"Why are they singing at this hour?" Ezra mumbled, annoyed.
"I guess the village fair is next week. Maybe they're practicing more."
Ezra rolled his eyes, grimacing at the noise.
Tom chuckled and linked arms with him. "Come on, it's past three in the morning. We should get at least a little sleep tonight."
Ezra didn't hesitate to go with him. The further they walked, the quieter the singing became, yet the breeze still carried it far. Ezra glared ahead with each gust. "You really don't like it, do you," Tom said.
"It's annoying."
"I'm guessing you won't want to be around when the fair is on."
"I'm guessing you won't either."
Tom's smile dropped, and Ezra stopped walking. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay. I'll still go. They can try to push me out, but this is my home. We deserve to be here as much as anyone else." Tom started walking again until he could hear the familiar flapping of the Glass Horns pub sign in the wind.
When they went to bed that night, Ezra held Tom extra tight. And he was still there in the morning, holding him, breathing softly into his hair. Tom stretched again him, waking him from a deep dream. "Good morning," he grumbled, rolling over and wiping the sleep from his puffy eyes.
Ezra's black hair was ruffled. One cheek was red from pressing into the pillow, and his t-shirt had risen above his belly button. Tom did his best not to stare. "What time is it?" Ezra croaked in his deep voice.
Tom pulled his phone from under the pillow, squinting at the bright screen until the time made sense. "Shit!" he scrambled out of bed running around in a panic as he tried to find clothes to wear. "I start work in ten minutes!"
He grabbed clothes off the floor and hurried into the bathroom, leaving his bedroom door open. He cleaned up in the sink and brushed his teeth before returning to the bedroom for a pair of shoes.
He paused in the doorway at the sight of Ezra kneeling on the floor next to his five year old niece, Catherina. She was showing him her paintings she had created that morning.
"This is my bike," she said, proudly showing him the messy drawing. "Mum says I can play on it later. If the rain stops."
"The rain will stop," Ezra said softly.
"It will?" Catherina yelled, scrambling to her feet. "Move Uncle Tom!" she ran past him, squealing to Neasa in the living room about the weather.
Ezra gathered the drawings and placed them on Tom's desk. "You're going to be late," he reminded him.
"Worth it . . . for that," Tom said before hurrying down the corridor. Ezra didn't follow him right away. Tom hoped that Catherina wasn't bothering him. Or he hoped that Neasa was making the effort to talk to him. Or he hoped that Ezra felt comfortable enough to relax in his room before his own shift started.
Half an hour later, Ezra appeared with lunch for Tom because they had slept way past breakfast, and Tom hadn't given himself enough time for food.
"For me?" he asked when Ezra placed it on the bar, sitting on a stool opposite him.
"For you."
As the day droned on, Cal arrived early for his shift. But he looked tired, with bags under his eyes, messy blond hair pulled back into a bun, and a hoodie covered in mud.
"Are you . . . okay?" Tom asked as he sat on the stool next to Ezra.
"I think Harper broke up with me last night."
"What! Why?"
"She wasn't happy that I'm working here now. She said I was stupid to quit my job at the sandwich shop."
"But you quit because they were treating me unfairly."
"I told her that. She said you made that choice."
Tom's mouth hung open. "Harper said that?"
Cal nodded. "I don't know what's gotten into her. I reckon her parents are saying stuff."
Tom didn't know what to say. Them arguing felt like his fault.
An old woman who had been drinking in the Glass Horns pub since she was eighteen, approached the bar. She pointed to the Carling logo. Tom held out his hand, but she slammed her coins onto the bar instead.
Tom glared at her as he picked them up one by one.
"Rude," Cal grumbled, sharing an irritated glance with Ezra. "What is happening to people? They've been living among the sheep for too long."
The woman walked away, tutting at Cal like he was the one being rude. Tom linked his fingers, leaning on the bar in front of Ezra. He smiled at him, to prove that he wasn't going to let the negativity from others bring down his mood. He had spent too many days sulking from what other people thought of him.
"Are you going to the village fair next week?" Tom asked his best friend.
"I will if you're going." Cal faced Ezra. "And you."
"I'm not going," Ezra said bluntly.
"Why? You live here now, and you work here. You have every right to enjoy the fair."
"What part of it is enjoyable?"
Cal scoffed. "Good question. It'll be full of overpriced food, rigged games, and angels singing shitty tunes. But at least you'll get to see the old people squirm when you visit each stall. Isn't that worth it?"
"I suppose," Ezra mumbled, watching the way another local pointed at what drink they wanted, rather than talk to Tom like an adult.
"We need to show the bigots that we're not bothered by them." Cal drummed the bar. "I wish I was drinking tonight, rather than working."
"You can drink tonight . . . but only Red Bull."
The shift dragged slower than usual. Ezra was posted outside the pub door, so Cal had the pleasure of glaring at all the locals to make sure they were behaving themselves. Still, Tom would have preferred to stare at Ezra for most of the night instead.
With only an hour left to go, Moira asked Tom to take the bin out and put it down the road for collection day. He gladly left through the back, and stopped to talk to Ezra after dragging the large industrial bin around the side of the pub.
"Almost done for the night," he said, wanting to melt into the floor when Ezra winked at him.
Tom smiled all the way down the road, pushing the bin along with him. He placed it in a shaved spot under the tall bush, and out of the way for passing cars. As he turned, a figure stumbled out from the bushes next to him.
The road was too dark to see, though he recognised the voice as he said, "She's been talking about that fucking demon all day!"
"Gerry, what-"
Tom was punched in the face. He fell heavily onto his back, hitting his head hard enough to knock any sense out of him. His ears rang loud as Gerry pinned him down, saying something about his daughter talking about making friends with Tom's demon.
Gerry punched him again, and again, until a searing pain rippled through his face, and warm blood seeped from his nose and over his mouth, and down his neck. He scrunched his eyes shut and rolled onto his side when someone yanked Gerry from him.
Tom had expected Ezra to be leaning over him, frantically checking his face and prying his eyes open. He hadn't expected Othrowan to be kneeling over him, wings covering him protectively, and gentle old hands touching his throbbing face.