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Ezra yanked the tarp back roughly, rushedly- his hands were already outstretched when he caught his first glimpse. He froze, still as prey. Stared, helplessly transfixed.
“What’s taking so long?” Easton teasing voice did little to distract him, even when he crouched down, leaning on Ezra’s shoulder, and gave a low whistle.
“That’s something, all right.”
Ezra responded with a minute nod. His hand was still hung in mid-air; he’d curled his fingers back, like he was afraid to touch it.
“Looks a little like red, don’t it?”
Ezra shook himself out of the trance, and grabbed the closest bottle.
“We don’t have time to stare at it, c’mon.” He admonished himself as much as he did Easton, thrusting the bottle towards his partner; but his grip faltered, and the next thing he knew was the musical sound of shattering glass, fragments glittering like
“Shards.” Ezra swore, a hand flying towards his forehead, eliciting a low chuckle from Easton.
Ezra’s heart was fluttering like a caged bird in his chest. He stared uncomprehendingly at the droplets on the floorboards, each meandering tribuarity, as it continued to spread, slow and viscous as blood.
“There’s plenty more of it.” Ezra looked up at Easton’s voice, and let out a short, surprised breath like he’d been struck.
The color was luminous, phosphorescent, and the way it lit Easton’s face, casting shadows, accentuations where they hadn’t been before…
Ezra didn’t have the vocabulary for what was in front of him.
It was the rosy sweetness of Turkish delight. It was the instance of overwhelming relief. It was finding something that he’d thought he he’d lost, winning something that he’d thought he’d lost. It was cold sheets, and cold floorboards, and the inexplicability of the rising sun. It was the lurch in his stomach looking down from a great height.
“D’you think someone head the glass shatter?” He heard himself say, faintly. No footsteps echoed in the hall, no doors were thrown open. Easton’s easy grin didn’t wane.
If his heart had been fluttering before, it was thundering now. Unable to tear his gaze away from the curve of Easton’s lip, aware that Easton was staring right back-
“If someone had heard, they’d be here by now.”
And then Easton sits forward to kiss him, and the color without a name is behind his eyelids, flooding his lungs, pouring through his veins.