flowers and chocolates {ezrabel}

Ezabel Sycamore

Ezabel chewed on his pencil eraser. His handwriting was improving immensely, his tutor had claimed, but compared the man’s neat, artistic scribbles, his own writing looked like a mess of unrolled yarn. He was surprised Mr. Brown could comprehend it at all. He could recognize his own attempts at drawing each individual letter from the alphabet, but it was dreadful in comparison to everything else. Mr. Brown said one day he would be able to write exactly like him, and that was what he would work for. However, his main reason for attending these private lessons (free of charge; a favor to the Sycamore family, or perhaps a pity instead because of their recent losses) was reading. He just wanted to learn how to read signs and books. Mr. Brown insisted that writing was just as important, and that it would help him practice learning words. Ezabel trusted the man’s judgment. If only everything wasn’t so tedious.

”Tomorrow’s your break day,” the old man said softly. He was in his early fifties, and always wore suits to their lessons even though it was just him and Ezabel sitting in a tiny office. It smelled like moth balls and really old perfume, probably because it was Mr. Brown’s house, all crowded with stuff that needed to be dusted. Ezabel didn’t mind it; it was homey, even if all of the decorations felt old fashioned. ”So I’ll see you the day after? Same time?” He took Ezabel’s scribble paper and regarded it with interest. It was just his name written over and over again, because that was the word he could write best. That, and Ezra’s name.

”Yes sir.”

They exchanged their goodbyes, and he left Mr. Brown’s house with a cinnamon cookie in his mouth. It was sweet and crunchy, and he devoured it before he even reached the end of the block. It was a bit of a walk to the Sycamore property, but he didn’t mind. Their house could be very unsettling from the inside, mainly because it was always eerily silent until Lilith called them down for dinner or Ara started to wail. A breath of fresh air was always a relief to his senses, especially when he was still on the property. It always smelled like pine.

He stayed silent as he slipped through the front door. Everything had been deathly quiet since the Reaping. Ezabel didn’t know what to make of it. He didn’t want to watch the Games and see someone he had lived with getting hurt by other kids, but he also didn’t want to disrespect the family by ignoring it. Fortunately, the television wasn’t on, and he could slink upstairs without detection.

The first thing he always did was flop against his bed, but today there was something different waiting for him. A bouquet of flowers was resting against his pillow. Roses, red and white, tied with a thin yellow ribbon. Ezabel cupped his hands over his face and smiled until his cheeks began to ache because he already knew who it was from, and he couldn’t wait to look at the little piece of paper that was attached to it. It always felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest when Ezra did nice things for him. He didn’t deserve it, but Ezra always insisted he did. Suppressing an excited giggle (he often embarrassed himself when he was alone, but luckily Ezra never saw him react like this), he plucked the note from his pillow and glanced at the symbols. They were words. Ezra had been learning how to read and write too.

Now he just had to focus.

My.

His, his something.

Place. Place?

Location? His location? Oh, his apartment.

5 pm, that’s a time. I know numbers.

Dress, something girls wear. Nice, like kind and sweet. Dress nice, does he mean nice dress? That doesn’t make sense.

Oh, dress nicely. I’m supposed to dress up.

The winking smile at the end made his stomach flutter. What was he dressing up for? And how nice was he supposed to look?

He checked his watch and threw open his closet doors. His nicest shirt was a blue button up with a collar, so he matched that with a pair of long jeans and his new sneakers. Then he combed his hair in front of the mirror until his habitual watch-checking warned him that he was about to start running late if he didn’t leave soon. With a deep, nervous breath, he climbed out through the window to avoid detection and questions (not that any of them really cared). Ezra’s apartment was not too bad of a walk, but he didn’t want to rush or else he would start sweating in his nice shirt and ruin everything.

When he reached the premises, Ezra was already waiting for him. Ezabel timidly smiled and looked at his feet.

”Hi.”

Ezabel Sycamore

Ezra always knew what to do. He slipped his arms around Ezabel’s neck and pecked his cheek affectionately, prompting the boy to smile and feel like his usual giddy and comfortable self. Whenever he snuck over to Ezra’s apartment to spend the night, or whenever Ezra climbed into the Sycamore house to meet him in his bedroom he always felt nervous, like it was a whole new experience. It was, but they had been together for quite a while now, yet the thought of Ezra coming over to kiss and cuddle him in the dark always knotted his nerves. However, once Ezra was actually there and they were nestled in each other’s embrace his nerves straightened themselves out. He would feel normal again, like doing these things with him was the most natural thing in the world.

He smiled warmly against him and felt just that – comfortable and instinctive. The height difference was always an interesting quirk, since Ezra was usually the initiator. Ezabel simply followed along and settled his arms around Ezra’s waist. ”You look wonderful too,” he said, giving his attire a once over. He could tell Ezra had chosen his cleanest and fanciest clothes, like something he would wear to a Reaping, but even better. It definitely didn’t compare to what some of the well-off citizens wore, like the shirts with ties or the girls’ smooth dresses and flowery skirts. They had to make due, and Ezabel was no exception either. ”You even combed your hair back.” He didn’t want to ruin it, but he couldn’t help running his palm through it gently. It was still wet.

They held hands as they walked. Ezra still hadn’t explained where they were going or why they were dressed so nicely – it must’ve been a surprise, and he had a feeling it would definitely be a lot of fun. It was always pleasant walking around with their fingers entwined, because passersby’s would notice them. Some of them would smile; he recalled an older couple whispering something about “Young love,” and it had made his cheeks burn brighter than the sun. He hadn’t known if Ezra heard it or not, but he kind of hoped he had. Other people looked at them strangely, because holding hands in the streets wasn’t common. It usually only happened in schools or when two siblings were trying to stay together. When Peacekeepers were nearby, it was even worse. People were nervous to express affection in front of the law. Ezabel didn’t mind either way. He was proud to be Ezra’s.

The walk was proving to be a drawn-out one, especially in comparison to the journey to Mr. Brown’s. Where was he taking him? He hadn’t visited this corner of the District in ages.

Ezra abruptly halted, and he was about to start looking around for their destination when Ezra tugged their bodies together. ”You know I love you, right?” Ezabel grinned sheepishly. He could feel his breath tickling the edges of his lips, so he leaned in and kissed him. ”Yes, and you know I love you too, right?”

Now Ezra was just teasing him. ”Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

Ezabel Sycamore

Reservation? What did that mean? Ezra was teasing him with little hints, he must not have wanted to spoil the surprise. Ezabel’s face dropped into a pout. He might be capable of wriggling his way past those sturdy defenses with the puppy-eye technique and the proper amount of whining, but his motivation faltered the moment Ezra tugged them closer together. Sometimes the smallest gestures could leave his heart panting for breath, and he lost all traces of composure. His ribcage was filled to the sternum with feathers tickling his insides. He wondered if Ezra felt a similar sensation – or perhaps he was too cool and confident to feel the childish things he did. He hoped one day he could be just as self-assured.

The pastel colors strewn across the horizon were fading. He couldn’t help but feel that this oncoming darkness – not darkness in the unsettling sense, but a mystifying sense with endless stars and distant galaxies – was setting a romantic mood to suit their evening. The black building up ahead matched the sky like it was meant to be, and Ezra paused directly in front of it. There was a man dressed fancy near the entrance, void of color. Candlelight was seeping into the walls. He had always loved candlelight; Ma used to keep a candle lit in their room during bedtime stories, and then she would blow it out and make the room smell like fire.

Ezra claimed his reservation, and the man escorted them inside. “Inside” was a vastly decorated room filled with tables and voices and the clinking of silverware. The floor was carpet and the space was dimly-lit, like it was supposed to radiate romance and passion through every pore. He glanced around in awe as the man – whose job was now clear to him – led them to a table. Ezra pulled out a chair for him and he eagerly sat down. They were on a date. He was on a date. With Ezra. In a fancy restaurant. Even the table cloth was soft. He rubbed the fabric between his fingertips.

Everybody else in the restaurant looked severely overdressed compared to them – which meant they were the ones underdressed, but who cared? They used to be homeless boys living in a tent, surviving on scraps and soup kitchens. He sat back for a moment, spine aligned with the oddly comfortable chair. Look where we are now. Instead of a tent that was too thin for winter and too fragile during storms, he was living in a house and Ezra was renting his own apartment. Instead of grumbling stomachs, they went to sleep with warm, full bellies. Instead of worry, they could sleep at night with optimism and reassurance about the next day and its trials.

Now they were in an expensive restaurant. Even Ma never took them to places like this.

”What do you think?” Ezra said, and he was speechless. What did he think? He thought a lot of things, and all of them were good.

”You took me out on a date,” he murmured, staring down at his menu with pink cheeks and stretched lips. ”To the nicest place I’ve ever been to.”

Ezabel Sycamore

He had to swallow his words. It was tempting to spit out the usual kindness, ”You didn’t have to!” but Ezra insisted that he was being paid the affordable amount. This did constitute a “real” date, but there were other things they could do that didn’t require so much money. They could take an evening walk at the park, feed the ducks, or make a home cooked meal and sit with Salmon in front of the television, or lay in the grass behind Sycamore house and just talk. Why did a date have to be so extravagant?

Not that he was complaining.

Everything was so romantic and bewildering. A woman in a slim black dress offered them wine and poured the purple-ish red liquid into their glasses, Ezabel expressing hesitation and confusion in the meantime with deep lines in his forehead. Weren’t they underage? The regulations for alcoholic beverages were poorly-addressed from what he had heard, but why offer it to them? They were obviously young teenage boys. Did they really not care?

He waited for Ezra to sip it first. The closest contact he had with alcohol was the time he decided to take a whiff of what Edgar had been gulping. The bitter odor stained the insides of his nose and made his face scrunch up. It didn’t smell the least bit appealing, but this wine reminded him of juice. Yet somehow, it was alcohol, and it probably had an unpleasant flavor. Ezra didn’t seem sure of his taste buds. It wasn’t bad or good, so it fell somewhere in the middle of the spectrum. He figured he might as well try it since Ezra had, and carefully lifted the skinny glass with his fingers. He sniffed it before bringing the rim to his lips and tilting his head back slightly. The wine was bitter, unlike anything he had ever tried before. Swallowing it felt even stranger, like it was heavy and didn’t belong in his throat.

”It’s weird,” he said, licking his bottom lip. He was not ungrateful, however, so he would at least finish the beverage with his meal. He hadn’t the slightest clue what he was going to order.

He laughed at Ezra’s comment and picked up his own menu. ”I can read some of the words,” he said, pointing to a large, bolded one that said “Special.” Special was the perfect way to describe tonight. Why not order something that suited the occasion?

A man with a handkerchief in each pocket marched up to their table with a notepad in hand. ”Good evening, my name is Gavin and I will be your server tonight,” he said, very politely, Ezabel noted. He was being treated not like a street rat, but like a prince. ”I see you’ve been tasting our wine. Are you two ready to order your meals?”

Ezabel placed his menu on the table and pointed to the word “special.” There were some words beneath it that he couldn’t comprehend, other than “side soup” clustered together, but he knew they were foods and he was fine with whatever it happened to be. ”I’ll have this, please.”