𝐄𝐳𝐫𝐚 | 18+

40

"Friends?" I breathe, pulling away from his lips.

"No." He grumbles. Something inside me churns. Something like butterflies.

"No?" I ask, still partly recovering.

"No." He growls, pressing his lips against mine again. I momentarily respond to the kiss, knotting my fingers through his soft hair.

"Ezra." I breathe, trying to gently shove him away from me. His lips are addictive like a drug, part of me doesn't want to part away from him. He resists my weak attempts of separating our bodies.

"Ezra." I say, louder. He pulls away from me.

"What does that mean?" I breathe, not meeting his eyes. His finger lifts my chin up. and his icy eyes find mine.

"You're mine." He says softly. I let out a breath, my stomach fluttering with butterflies.

He wants me.

"Yours?" I whisper.

"Mine." He repeats.

"Then you're mine." I respond.

"I'm yours. All yours, bellissima." He whispers, pressing his lips against mine again. He calls me that like it's my name. I love it. I love hi- no. I don't. I can't.

The obnoxious sound of his phone breaks the silence that had dawned in the room.

He grumbles something, shutting it off. It rings again. And he turns it off. The third time it rings, I speak up.

"Answer it." I say, reluctantly pulling away from him. He presses his lips together before bringing the phone up to his ear. I'm close enough to hear the line of words coming from the other line, but I can't make out what they're saying.

"Oh." Is all Ezra says, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Ok." He says, hanging up the phone.

"Who was it?" I whisper.

"He's dead."

———————————————————

We stare down at the grave. It's made of smooth black stone, engraved in it are holy words along with:

Here lies Luciano Romano,
1964-2022

The sides are made with white stone, multiple diverse flowers adorning its sides. At the far end, there's a small statue of an angel with its hands conjoined as it looks down blankly at the tomb. As if it were watching over it.

Ezra's gaze is directed towards the grave but he seems absent, his mind elsewhere. His hands are conjoined in front of him, his head hanging low. He wears an all black suit, complimenting his disheveled hair, while I wear a black dress, tight along my body.

Simple, not basic.

Around us, are the small groups of people chattering. I stand next to Ezra, trying to figure out what he's feeling. He probably doesn't know what he's feeling either.

I rest my head on his shoulder and sigh, his head rests atop of mine.

"Ezra." Someone calls from behind us. Both of us turn to see Matteo standing, his usual crazy hair gelled and combed back neatly. He has a black suit on, a white button up shirt underneath.

"I'm sorry," He says, patting Ezra's shoulder roughly.

"Don't pity me." He deadpans.