Page 119 of Wrath

“Okay.” He looks younger with his hair brushed off his forehead. I kiss him again there, tuck him in and give him a small smirk.

He smirks back.

“Rest here, Prince Peach. I’ll BRB.”

I’m smiling to myself at the silly nickname as I walk down the stairs, thinking of Ezra with his peach ball cap and that small, sunlit smile the day I passed him on the road back to school. I find Carl on the couch watching sports and play the Ezra stuff off pretty casually. Then, to give myself a reason to be downstairs, I go grab a drink.

When I get back to my room, I find Ez right where I left him, looking tired but maybe content.

“You look good in my bed,” I whisper. Dammit, but I love the sight. I just can’t help myself. Even with this big, new worry on my mind—about what might have happened to him—I still get hit with endorphins.

I hop on the bed beside him, reach into my nightstand for a small, white remote.

“Check this.” I turn on the neon light machine Ritchie and Pipsa gave me last Christmas, and for the shape, I choose hearts. For the color, blue. Small, blue hearts stream across my room, dotting the wall. I punch the key for “fade” and choose teal, so the hearts fade from royal blue to pale teal.

“You know what that is?” I ask him softly.

He shakes his head.

“Dream machine. This way if you dream, you dream of me.” I step into the light and strike what I hope is a funny pose.

He smiles, but it looks strained, which makes my chest ache again.

“You want a cool cloth for your forehead?” I ask.

Ez shakes his head.

“You want some space, or you want me up in your bidness?”

“Whatever you want.” He shuts his eyes.

“Well, I only ever want one thing,” I confess, climbing into bed beside him.

I stretch out on my side and brush a soft kiss over his cheek. “I want to make you feel good.” I scoot near him, stopping to tuck my semi up into the waist of my briefs. When he feels me moving in close, he shifts onto his side to face me, and I slide an arm gently around his waist, pulling him so close to my chest that I can’t see his face. I inhale near his hair.

“You always smell so damn good.”

He snorts softly.

“You feel sleepy?”

“I don’t want to,” he says.

“I’m gonna tire you out with random questions. You’re gonna drift off, bored as fuck and thinking about something weird like your favorite month of the year.”

“What?” he murmurs. I can hear a smile in his voice.

I stroke my fingers up his spine and kick off my game. “Justin Bieber or Ed Sheeran?”

“Bieber.” There’s a tiny silence. Then he whispers, “Maybe.” His head is bowed so I can feel his breath on my throat. I can’t see his face, which I guess is his intent.

“I’ll accept this verdict.” I rub my lips over his hair, thinking of a new question. “Beauty or power?”

After a second, he says, “Power. No contest.”

“That’s because you’re beautiful,” I whisper, smiling. “I might be tempted to go with beauty.”

He kisses my chest. “You’re perfection, Millsy.” His lips find my chin. “That little cleft.” His voice sounds hoarse.

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