Hoe for Pedro Pascal

It was a close call. A close call that should’ve never happened. You were tired and just over having to constantly be on edge and only having temporary shelter. Despite life never being predictable since the apocalypse, you were just… over it. Sick of constantly living in fear, knowing every moment might be your last (even more so than before the fall of civilization), fuck, you just wish for the mundane, some damn downtime, the ability to relax without it costing your life. And maybe that’s why you didn’t notice the infected. Not that you didn’t notice, but it seemed dead, trapped against the wall for who knows how long. It didn’t occur to you that the body pinned by vines and tendrils against the wall and covered in stale dust would be alive or be able to break free from its bindings.

If you’re honest, even though they were no longer people, you were tired of killing them. Of late, you had been having a hard time as you couldn’t help but think of the life they lived, the horrors they saw, and how hard they fought to survive. Killing the infected wasn’t really the problem; it was confronting that hard reality, losing what little humanity was left, erasing what was and could’ve been. You saw her on the wall and thought of her family. Did she fight for them? Is that how she got there? Did she lose everyone and pass thinking about them? How heavy was her conscience with the crimes many of us have had to commit to survive?

Did she still have something to live for? These thoughts flooded your mind as you continued past her and surveyed the next room. As your mind becomes bombarded, your body goes into auto-pilot, which is not vigilant enough to survive.

You never heard her joints crack and pop as they were moved for the first time in years. Your never heard the tendrils tear away from the wall. You never heard the uneven sound of debris hitting the ground, as she took each step closer to you.

You never heard her heavy, almost excited breaths. But you felt her. You felt her when hands grazed over your shoulder to catch herself as her stiff tissue and joints failed her. You felt her stale breath on your face as you turned around to her. You felt the dead weight of her arm  and hand in yours when you instinctively went to catch her. You felt her body stiffen in aggression when she realized you weren’t going to be easy prey, at least not anymore. You felt your stomach drop as you realized the danger you were in.

She opened her mouth to scream, a shrill noise you knew all too well, but it never came. You could see and feel the energy she put into it. But the likely years of being food to the spores had partially eaten away and eroded her vocal cords. Between being in auto-pilot and this very unwelcome surprise, you seemed to still be in a fog. Your mind is racing but not with any specific directives.

Her stiff joints have her fall forward, atop you. The broken and uneven cement hits your back harshly, stealing the air from your lungs.

You audibly gasp, both in fear and in an attempt to try and get some oxygen back into your lungs.

The infected reaches for your face, her deformed, dingy fingers looking for something to grab hold of, seemingly attempting to target your eyes. You use your forearms to push her hands away, only for them to fall beside your head, grabbing chunks of hair from your scalp. Her nails pierce through the skin of your scalp before pulling away chunks of hair. Then she tries to pull herself up towards your face with nothing but the leverage of your hair.

Both lucky and unluckily for you, your hair rips from your scalp while you leverage the ground under you, your legs scramble to get you out from under her. You continue kicking even when released from underneath her, all the while grabbing the knife from your waistband.

The heel of your foot breaks in some teeth and breaks her nose, but the infected is unfazed as thick clots ooze from its face. When you feel the weight of the security in your palm, you yank it free before plunging it into the infecteds face with a cry. Luckily, the fight ends there; it’s enough to kill her.

It all happened in a matter of seconds.

But it feels like you were fighting for your life a lot longer, and the ache in your body reflects that. As you pant, you stay planted on the ground, your elbows holding you up, your back aching with every breath intake of air.

You feel the adrenaline leave your body as the overwhelming onslaught of emotions brings tears to your eyes. Yet you’re still in too much shock to let them fall or blink them away; they just pool. 

You hear another gravelly voice, but before you can move, before you can get ready to defend yourself. Joel comes around the corner. It’s just Joel. His chest heaves like your own. Has he also had a close call? Is this place not safe? Is it crawling with infected?

You hear Joel talking, but you can’t make out the words. He’s made his way over to you and throws the limp and heavy infected body away from you.

“Hey,” he shouts to get your attention when you don’t take his outstretched hand.

You blink yourself back into reality. Blinking away the tears, you take his hand and pull yourself up while frantically asking, “Are you okay?” All at the same time, Joel asks you, “Are you hurt?”

Both of you have worry in your eyes, but there’s something heavier in Joel’s—more than worry and something heavier than fear: grief.

Joel’s eyes search yours, your question almost seeming to worry him further.

He grabs the side of your face like he wants you to focus on him,

You try to focus on him, but it’s his eyes that can’t stop moving over your features. “Are you hurt?” he asks again, tenser than before.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay,” you confirm, nodding.

Joel takes a step back to survey your body like you might be lying. You’ve got some cuts, scratches, and bruises, but you’re okay.

You’re not infected, and you’re not dead; you’re fine.

His brows remained furrowed like he was furious.

Even though his eyes are still soft with worry. “Let’s go,” he says while all but pulling you by your arm, but you’re still in too much shock to really think.

The evening walk before settling on the forest ground for the night was quiet. The scene replayed in your head. They say hindsight is 20/20, but even now, you couldn’t have heard or seen her coming.

You were just so lost in your own head, it nearly got you killed. Later, when you’re both settled and are huddled to keep warm far from the cold, you choose to break the silence.

“Did you manage to find anything?”

“You mean before you almost got yourself killed?” he says in a stern tone.

You turn to look at him, but his eyes remain glued to the fire. You don’t have anything to say back.

But you did almost get yourself killed because you weren’t paying attention. You weren’t focused like you should’ve been.

You were lucky this time. It was only your life risked, and not Joel’s. But it did ingrain a deep-seated fear, you could be a danger to someone more than just yourself. It also made you realize how everything's changed.

Any moment could be your last; you heard people say it, in movies and novels before the world went to shit, but you never truly understood how pertinanent or instant it is until you’re facing that reality in the face.

They never go into detail about how heavy that reality sits.

That you then try to analyze and predict every movement, which exhausts you to no end, adding a heavy stress on your shoulders. All because most can’t be analyzed past the point of proper prediction. 

Your body is left in cold and unforgiving fear.

As the days pass, you find yourself often thinking about death, about dying. Before, you’d have a loved one plan a ceremony in your honour. You’d be given a plot or kept where for loved ones so they could visit or rest assured your body was kept safe.

Now…nothing was assured. Hell, even simply leaving a dead corpse didn’t mean it would just become animal food. There are plenty of cannibals or people who are just desperate enough.

Being eaten wasn’t the worst. Dying wasn’t even the worst—a reality many understood even before the virus.

Up until this point, you didn’t really get to care about what happened to your body after death.

If infected, many took matters into their own hands or had a vow that another person would. But after that?

Not only was your body left to the forces of nature but to the violence of mankind; a violence that’s only grown since the virus.

But fuck, you didn’t much care what happened to your body except when it came down to this one, very real, reality.

You, morally, couldn’t let your body be used, taken, violated. You refused it. You’d seen enough now. Death should be your body’s refuge and not someone else’s plaything.

After all you’d seen, you couldn’t let your body symbolize nothing more than an object.

But things are different now. There was no longer a process to assure this eternal rest.

For the last couple nights, your mind has done nothing but create worst-case scenarios as to what may happen to your body.

Currently, you find yourself in an abandoned store—a small little convenience store found on a campsite.

At its peak, it would have only had the very few necessities. Firewood, water, food, and probably marshmallows.

It’s provided refuge from the bitter wind that howls outside. Although it still whistles and howls in the old building’s bones. Given its size, it’s really more of a shack, about 4×8 m, but it’s enough for the two of you.

You & Joel pushed old shelves & refrigerating units against the 2 doors that are directly across from one another.

The two of you lay parallel, heads near the door. The large window behind the checkout counter has long been boarded up.

For such a small space, it offers a fair amount of safety.

But it’s here, in the temporary safety of these howling walls, that your mind wanders.

“Joel?” you call out to him softly, your eyes glued to the ceiling.

He gives a grunt of acknowledgment.

“Would you cremate me?” you ask, still unable to face him, face your almost fatal mistake.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I mean, if I die before you, would you cremate my body? I know we don’t have the same equipment and all, but a pyre…”

“What are you talking about?” he presses, still confused.

“A pyre. It’s like a big fire used to burn bodies.”

“I’m not that kind of person who thinks about things after dying.”

Joel’s voice gets caught in his throat at the mention of death, like it pains him to say.

You don’t know how to respond, isn’t it obvious? You don’t want to have to vocalize your mistake again.

“Any moment could be our last. My last. I’ve known that since this virus came about, but…I never had to face it so closely and truly understand how fast that really goes. And as stupid as it may sound…I don’t want—I can’t—my body needs to be disposed of forever. It’s no one’s but mine. I don’t want anyone taking that from me. The one thing left in this world that is mine.” Your voice tenses as to explain. 

“You’re worried about…cannibals and infected getting to you?”

You shake your head, and a tear rolls down your cheek before you finally turn your head to face him.

It’s not till now that you notice Joel has turned his body to face you and that he’s sat up, resting on his elbows.

“Worse,” you say.

“Worse?” he presses, although he’s scared of your answer. 

“Humans, no… monsters. If you could guarantee I was eaten by animals, infected or even other humans, I’d be more than content. I mean, at least I’d be providing one last bit of survival to something, something we all fought so hard for. But think of the groups we’ve encountered and the violence they committed outside of survival. Violence for their own pleasure.” you swallow thickly. 

Joel doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing he could say to reassure you because it’s true. Every woman's worst fear became much more prevalent since the fall of civilization, and it was already too prevalent before the fall. 

“Joel, I can’t be taken, violated like that. I’ve fought so hard to survive, our bodies are all we have left that’s truly ours in this world. I need it to remain my body even in death. No matter what, even if you were to dig a bloody hole, you couldn’t guarantee that my body would only remain as food unless you stayed and watched over it until nothing remained, which I’d never ask of you. So, I need you to burn me, cremate me,” you say sincerely. You stare at the ceiling because you know the moment you look at Joel, you’ll break down. 

Joel hates this conversation, not because of the reality he has to face but because of the one you face, one you’ve faced far beyond the cordyceps, and one you’ve been silently stewing in for days now. Joel never wants to talk about losing each other; he’s already lost so much that he doesn’t think he could survive another, but he knows that just because he ignores it doesn’t mean it’s no longer feasible. So he swallows his fear, his trauma and even a bit of anger and softly says, “Okay.”

“Okay?” you ask, finally turning to him. 

Both of you have tears in your eyes, but neither of you let them fall, as though if they fall, then these nightmare possibilities will become reality. 

Joel nods, “Okay. I mean, I hope it’s something I never have to do but… I understand how important this is, not only to you but to me too. I’ve never thought about… that happening after death, and if it’s something I can prevent, I will,” he says solemnly. 

You nod solemnly, “thank you,” you breathe. 

You reach out to him, and he does the same, the two of you holding each other's hand. Things were far from easy; nothing was simple, not even the relationship between you and Joel. But no matter what, you could depend on each other, you were inseparably bonded, the fall of civilization forcing the two of you together. The simple touch said many unsaid words. But told each other exactly what the other needed. I’ll always be there for you. 

You’re not normally one for social media trends, you found some funny, most becoming redundant after everyone and their mom did it. Although, does it count if you’re not recording? Besides it was all harmless. Well… unless you have an awful partner but if that’s the case… then maybe this is the last sign you need to leave their sorry ass. However, know you’re more than safe within this relationship for that to not be the case, a comfort you didn’t know possible.

You and Ezra are sat on his couch, the two of you switching between doomscrolling and reading. It’s dead silent between the two of you, save for the quiet music that plays from the speakers.

“I feel like an orange,” you state matter-of-factly.

Ezra barely hesitates for a moment, “I feel like a rambutan,” he says with the same conviction.

You’re left stunned, of all the videos you’d seen… this was not an outcome you’d been familiar with or thought feasible. You can’t help but laugh.

“Although, I don’t think you’d be as ordinary as an orange, perhaps a tangerine. Yeah, I'd think of you as more of a tangerine. It reminds me of the blossoms in spring and the sweetness they give the air."

Ezra is utterly serious and it's quite romantic of him, to have such details about a silly thought.

"No, no," you say between laughs, "I had meant that I wanted an orange," you explain.

"Ahhh," he says in understanding, "well why didn't you just say that?" he teases. "You know we got those nice ones from that fruit market."

"Yeah... but they're such a pain to peel. I don’t want to have to peel it," you say exasperated like it's the most troublesome thing you could be asked to do. "Fruit should come peeled, without any upcharge... for my convenience," you can't help but smile, knowing how ridiculous you're being.

Ezra smiles, "What are you on about, all your fruit already comes peeled at your very command. I'd peel it, fillet it, sautée it, juice it, whatever you want."

His tone is playful but you know he's serious so while the two of you have smiles painted on your faces, your heart flutters.

You laugh, you laugh at how outrageous he can be all in the name of love, the love he has for you.

Your brain reminds you what else Ezra said previously, "Wait, why a rambutan?"

"Because a lychee felt too fancy," he says as though it were obvious.

"What's the difference between the 2?" you ask knowing he'd know the answer.

He was like Wikipedia, you can ask a question out loud and your living Google will answer. You've even tested this, asking random questions aloud sporadically, in which he'd almost always have an answer and if he didn't know the answer then he'd have knowledge about things surrounding the topic or in common with it and would make some observations or rough conclusions based on that. At first, you wanted to see how long you could do this without him catching on. But, then you just became interested in all the knowledge he possesses and how he's able to remember it all and keep it all straight. Now it's become a bit of a habit, asking a question that popped into your head aloud and having the answer given as though you'd asked an Alexa or GoogleHome.

“A rambutan has a spikey, hairy-like exterior while the lychee has a bumpy but smooth exterior. Rambutan is a little more aromatic to the lychee but the lychee is crisper and a bit more acidic,” he explains easily.

"Huh," you say, having not known so much about both fruits at once.

"So you're a rambutan because...?" you ask, still not yet having answered your question fully.

"Well why would you be an orange?" he deflects back.

"I'm not! I didn't say I was, that's just how to interpret it."

"Right... Well Rambutan, while lesser known in the Western world, tastes similar to a green grape, just with a scarier exterior. It's often mistaken for Lychee and vice versa. So while easily misunderstood, it is very much like a well-known fruit and it is just its exterior that puts people off.”

"So you feel misunderstood by the masses?" you confirm.

"Aren't we all?" he poses genuinely, not sad or melodramatic, just as fact, “there’s always more of us than meets the eye and rarely are assumptions found true.”

"True," you say with a shrug.

"Luckily, not by all," he says, moving towards you, his arm looping around your shoulders, curling into you.

"I'm afraid I cracked you open like the world's easiest nut."

"Yeah... but only cause I let you," he teases.

Your jaw drops, feigning shock, "You did not!"

He chuckles against you, burrowing his face into your neck while he laughs.

"No, I fear I didn't. You snuck your way under my skin real easy and just when you finished that you'd already found your way into the chambers of my heart."

"Ew," you say while laughing.

"What?" he asks, looking at you.

"The way you said that makes it sound like I'm some heart disease or something," you say laughing.

Ezra joins you, "well, you might as well be because everything I do has a touch of you inside it and I think of you constantly and... you just might kill me," he says, and right before you ask how you'd kill him, "if you were to leave me, that is."

You scoff at the idea, "And why the hell would I even think of doing that, never mind actually doing that. I think I'd rather peel my skin off with a rusty pocket knife," you say, giggling at the image and your own theatrics but still being deadly serious.

Ezra smiles with you, "That's quite the dedication you've got."

"Only for you," you say with a smile.

Ezra laughs a little, "And I thought I was the cheesy one."

The two of you sit in each other's arms, a smile on both of your faces.

Once you both settle again, Ezra breaks the silence, "So, did you want it in slices or..."

Taglist:

PRESENT

Waking up alone in a tepid bed wasn’t unknown to Ezra but now, it certainly felt foreign. Turning in the sheets felt eerily familiar, not a familiarity you can’t place but one you can; a familiarity that creates fear. It felt as though the past was pulling him away from the present that he worked so desperately hard to get to, and yet he didn’t move. He didn’t stand from the bed and try to fight the void that was the empty space beside him, the one pulling him into a space he no longer felt comfortable in. Perhaps it was the dull throbbing in his head that turned sharp when he moved too much too fast, a lingering gift from a night of overindulgence. Maybe the heavy regret that sat on his chest kept him pinned to the bed. What if he just didn’t see a reason to fight back, that all hope had been expelled from his body?

No, it wasn’t the last one. It couldn’t be because when he thought of you his heart warmed. When he thought of you he thought of your smile and laugh, particularly the ones he was graced with after fending off any insecurities you had voiced to him. Ezra was no knight in shining armour or brave warrior for keeping your insecurities at bay because it wasn’t something he had to fight or struggle for. His sword was his truth seen by adorning eyes that admired you. 

Ezra is ashamed to admit how it is that he came to these conclusions. It’s been over a week and a half now and he tried to convince himself that his love for you was something that he could replicate elsewhere. Even more outrageously, he tried to find the love that you gave him elsewhere, which he found was like looking for a lion in the jungle. Since last seeing you, Ezra feels like he’s been living a lie like the Lion’s title of King of the Jungle. 

The day after you walked out the door of his place, he went to a small market, proving to himself that light still shone upon him even when his sun was gone. And to be fair, he did find and see a lot of light. He loved the low hum of the crowd that all gathered to collect some local goods. He loved the smell that stemmed from the small family-run kitchens. He loved how lively everyone was, to all be enjoying this space away from the normal mundane of everyday life. 

The second day after you had voiced your concern, he went out for breakfast to his favourite place. Despite having taken you there on multiple occasions he believed your ghost wouldn’t haunt the small cafe located in an apathetic hotel. The familiar smell welcomed him when he walked into the hotel but so did the ghost of you. He felt like he was following the steps of the tender past. Inside the cafe sat couples, mostly seniors, also known as the regulars, each of them living a future he envisioned with you. It certainly didn’t help when the wait staff asked where you were.

Reading in his well-worn chair with his favourite tea wasn’t even safe from your ghost. As he read he’d find a quote he liked or thought you might and would read it aloud, only to look up from the words to an empty room. You weren’t there, you weren’t seated nearby absorbing and mulling over the words he spoke to you, developing words of your own to express enjoyment.

By the fourth day following his failed attempt at democratic discussion, he found comfort in the warmth of the bottle. He never allowed himself to overindulge to the point of incapacitation or becoming the messy drunk but just enough to have your haunting figure disappear and to silence your disembodied voice. However, the warmth could only comfort him for so long. 

So by the fifth day, Ezra found himself in crowds he’d normally never be caught dead in. Crowds that thought he spoke weird instead of eloquent, crowds that didn’t give themselves to their loves and passions in fear of the unknown, crowds that felt all too claustrophobic and dishonest. The one thing he did like about these crowds was that they were so loud and busy, that you couldn’t follow him in and he couldn’t hear the aching voice in his head. He kept this process up for days, numbing his senses and then overloading them when the numbing wore off. 

Which brought him to the soberingly cold bed he lays in now. He was exhausted, his head hurt and his mind yelled at him for being so childish and running from something that was within him. Ezra could no longer find the energy in himself to run, and while the agonizing void continued to pull at him, his newly sobered and angry mind lugged him toward the land of rationale. 

BEFORE

"Ezra, I need to talk to you,"

"Mmm?" he responded distractedly.

Inside you sigh, given this was exactly why you wanted to talk to him. He'd become… nonchalant. He wasn't quite distant but you'd felt like he was taking you for granted, like no matter how little he cared you'd always be dutifully waiting for him. It was almost like he had checked out of the relationship & while you'd brought it up multiple times, he assured you nothing had changed. But you felt forgotten, like a ghost in your own relationship.

"Ezra... I," you sigh, "I'm feeling... forgotten about,” this makes him look up with furrowed brows,

"What'd' ya mean?" he asks

"I just feel like you've become... disinterested in us.” He sighs frustratedly, 

"Not this again, babe, I told you-"

"No, I know," you interrupt, "but I need you to understand that this isn't about what is or isn't but about how I'm feeling. You could be 100 % right: that you haven't & nothing between us has changed but maybe I have, which is making me feel the way I am," you explain calmly despite your bubbling frustration. Ezra sighs and approaches you, placing his hands on your shoulders to be reassuring, 

“We are fine. Ain’t nothing changed. We’re together and in love, okay? I love you,” he says but it feels forced. 

Ezra’s ‘I love you’s’ have felt like an apology from a toddler forced out by a parent; like it’s an annoyance rather than a statement of love. You sigh, seemingly unable to get him to understand, leaving you feeling more alone and forgotten. 

The decline of your relationship happened so slowly that you thought you were imagining it. But then, when that voice of doubt in your head got too loud to ignore, you started initiating things and bringing it up with him, all of which he shot down nonchalantly. 

You even did things that he could never seem to resist, like making his favourite meal whilst dancing and singing to whatever playlist you’d chosen for the day. Whenever he came home to see you enjoying yourself while doing a menial task he couldn’t help but smile and join you. Even if he had the worst day when he saw you, love and joy filled his heart and he’d completely forget about what had happened that day or that there was a world outside the kitchen walls you remained within. His favourite was when he’d get into the house without you knowing so that he could watch you without you realizing. It was like seeing the rawest version of you. Ezra loved scaring you by creeping behind you slowly before trapping you in a bear hug. But in recent weeks, even when you purposely set yourself up for it, Ezra didn’t scare you; he didn’t even join you or make any innuendos with his classic smirk. He’d say a quick hello while walking past you with a peck to your forehead before leaving to shower, relax, or do anything else that he wanted to do. But maybe it’s just a small thing that you’re blowing up.

But then there was also how he started acting in bed, not just in regards to sex but all other forms of intimacy. Or rather it was the lack of intimacy he’d initiate and reciprocate. Normally he couldn’t keep his hands off of you, he’d want to cuddle or hold you, hell even just have a leg intertwined with yours. Recently he’s slept strictly on his side of the bed, often facing away from you.

FLASHBACK

You gain consciousness and feel the morning sun shining into your bedroom and rudely your closed eyelids. You haven’t even opened your eyes and you already think it’s too bright. You roll over, with a groan, into a warm body whose chest rumbles with a low chuckle. To which you groan in annoyance, causing further chuckling. You blindly reach for his face and push it away from you to show your disapproval. Ezra lightly nibbles on your fingers, still laughing at you. You take your hand away and finally open your eyes to look up at Ezra. You try to look serious but can’t help but smile when you see his warm smile and big grin.

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” you accuse through giggles.

“Not at all, but my bedbug sure is,” he says while pulling you against him. You give in and nuzzle into him, unable to resist his love. So the two of you cuddle and enjoy each other's company and warmth. Slowly, you become more awake and shuffle to get up. 

“No, no, no, no, no,” Ezra says while holding you tighter.

“Gotta start the day,” you explain while trying to escape.

“Nothing is waiting on you, I on the other hand am in need of you and your arms around me,” he says, still holding onto you. 

You sigh, “but I'll be guilty about being lazy and not doing anything.”

“You’re not being lazy, you’re enjoying your day off and recharging. Plus you are doing something.”

You smile, “and what is it that I’m doing?” you ask humorously.

“You’re fulfilling the very important task of keeping me warm.” Despite how cheesy he’s being you can’t help but smile.

“But,” you start.

“Nope, shush, shush, shush,” he says before kissing you to stop you from arguing with him.

PRESENT 

Despite the little time spent apart from Ezra, it feels as though it’s been months. You were hoping this time apart would help you clear your head and give yourself a solid answer as to where you stood with Ezra and your relationship. You wanted to feel free while away from him but you just yearned for him more and missed him… which left you with a bigger problem; how can you guys fix your relationship? You’ve tried a handful of times in the past and it seemingly fell on deaf ears, up to this point in time where you are now, if Ezra isn’t willing to listen there isn’t anything that can be done and you’ll have to mourn a relationship and love that you not only had but continue to crave.

You refrained from reaching out to him earlier; it was so premature that it felt like you were crawling back to him. But now you feel more confident in the midst of questions you stand in and hope that talking with him can clear that fog and reveal what is left of the village the two of you built together. Maybe the village will be fine, some broken branches and puddles, but fine. Or maybe the storm was a little stronger and entire trees have fallen and windows have broken. Or maybe the entire village is gone, no foundations left standing and nothing but raw torn-up soil remains.

You made yourself clear, you’d trusted him and he blew you off. The cold bed he lies in now is what he deserves. His anger simmers and begins bubbling over, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. Looking back, things had in fact changed, he changed. Ezra took you, and your love, for granted. He thought that no matter what, he’d have your love, that you’d always be there. It wasn’t that Ezra got comfortable, he was already very comfortable with you; Ezra had never felt more comfortable with someone. No, Ezra got lazy. Any and all relationships take some work, like a lawn, even if you only do the bare minimum you still need to do regular maintenance and Ezra stopped doing the maintenance, he let his lawn grow into the jungle and it swallowed you whole. 

The reality was that your love was one of a kind, it was the final piece to his puzzle. He’s spent the last few days going everywhere and doing everything and all he could think about was you. 

Ezra loves love. He loves watching couples laugh and smile together. He loves seeing someone sit in a cafe that they frequent, taking their usual spot. He falls in love with the sun twice a day, with every sunrise and every sunset. He loves seeing a child light up when they receive something they want. On the flip side, he loves watching couples argue, watching someone change their usual order due to a blue demeanour, seeing dark clouds hide the sun’s beauty, and seeing a child cry when heartbroken over a toy. 

Ezra loves seeing these human emotions and connections. Ezra sees love everywhere within almost everything and yet… he’s never seen or experienced a love like yours. Ezra fights with the idea of messaging or calling you. He wants to crawl back to you and tell you how idiotic he was, is! To tell you about what he’s learnt and seen. Ezra sighs and rolls over, still feeling lost and uneasy. He looks around the room as if a resolution will miraculously present itself on the walls. And while Ezra has long struggled with the idea of God, he’s the closest he’s ever been to believing when he sees The Symposium on his nightstand. 

It’s been nearly a week since you walked out of Ezra’s place, unsure if you’d ever want to return. Your mind is playing a cruel game of pong, you’re the poor ball bounding between ‘something changed, I felt ignored,’ and ‘we’ve had such amazing times, maybe this is just a rough patch,’ and you’re left to float in a desolate empty space in between these bounces. At least it felt that way until you saw that you got a missed call from Ezra and that he left you a voicemail. Your heart sings, even if you want to be unbothered and not interested. But, if you’re honest, you’ve been checking your phone obsessively for days. You begin to call your voicemail and your heart rate increases in excitement while a small part of your brain voices its disappointment. 

“Hello, my flower, I’m sure you don’t wish to hear from me but I fear I couldn’t help myself. I’d like you to do something for me, and I know that you owe me nothing, that you’re not obliged to do anything for me,” Ezra then explains what he wants you to do and that he wants to meet with you at a local cafe this coming Sunday,  “I just hope… I hope to see you soon, my flower,” Ezra ends the voicemail.  

Despite your brain’s rationale you’re excited to have heard from Ezra and are excited to complete the task he bestowed upon you, so that's exactly what you begin to do. 

TIME JUMP - SUNDAY

Ezra is nervous, the kind of nervous that makes his palms sweaty and stomach churn. The cafe is busy, with people coming in and out and many others sitting with friends and family, catching up in the cozy atmosphere. He watches some adolescent girls talk quietly amongst themselves with coy smiles and many giggles, talking about who likes who and giving advice to one another. There’s a mother and son keeping their mugs in cupped hands, the mother's eyes are soft, filled with love and hold a hint of pain. Ezra gathers, from the son's demeanour and the bits of conversation he overhears, that the son is back visiting, having taken an amazing career opportunity overseas. The mother is trying to keep her composure and not leap over the table and embrace her grown son and tell him how much she misses him. Two men sit at a table with their laptops discussing their workload and most recent project, it is clear they’re work friends but it doesn’t extend much farther than that. 

Even a larger group of 6 seniors, 3 couples, sitting together having lunch and catching up and making little quips about each other. It's clear many of them have known each other for decades. It’s not all positive though, a couple appears to be discussing their issues, one of them having trouble trusting the other and the other blowing it off. Many of the people coming in to grab beverages and snacks seem to be in a rush, irritated by having to wait. 

But everyone in the cafe ceases to exist when you walk in. If Ezra is honest with himself, he didn’t think you’d show but there you stand, scanning the room for him. You wear some comfy staples from your closet but have added some pieces to dress it up a bit. Ezra’s heart flutters, and he stands so you can spot him, which you do almost instantly. 

You carefully make your way over to him, dodging tables and ignorant patrons. You sit opposite of him, placing your bag on the table, before pulling out Ezra’s personal ichthys symbol; The Symposium. Ezra takes a deep breath, “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I wasn’t sure I was going to either,” you say softly. 

“Did you read it?” he asks hopefully. 

You nod, “I did.” You keep your answers short, not wanting to reveal too much of yourself to him just yet, you want him to explain himself first. He nods shyly, unable to process that you’ve given him this opportunity. 

“Ezra, I-” you begin, sure you know what he’s going to say, given the message of the text. 

“Page 23 to 25,” he swallows. You don’t seem convinced, not yet opening your text or softening your gaze. “Please just, humour me yeah?” he pleads. 

You do as he says and open your text to the pages and see a rainbow of highlighted mess, having annotated the shit out of it. You tilt the book towards you, trying to shield it from Ezra, not wanting him to see how seriously you took this.

Ezra notices but doesn’t say anything instead, his chest tightens, not because you did something you asked but because no matter what you do, you give it your all. 

“190d, After much hard thought Zeus delivered his conclusion. ‘I think I have a plan’, he said, ‘that will allow humans to exist but at the same time put an end to their outrageous behaviour by making them weaker. For the present I shall split each one of them in half, and that will make them weaker, and at the same time they will be more useful to us by being greater in number. Then, 191b, after the original nature of every human being had been severed in this way, the two parts longed for each other and tried to come together again. They threw their arms around one another in close embrace, desiring to be reunited, and they began to die of hunger and general inactivity because they refused to do anything at all as separate beings. And lastly, 191d, for each of us is a mere tally of a person, one of two sides of a filleted fish, one half of an original whole. We are all continually searching for our other half.”

You follow along as he reads, the bustling world around you disappearing. You’re taken back to when he’d read aloud to you, all because he used to whisper to himself every once and again while reading and you asked him to read it aloud, to which he always obliged. Of course, the quotes he reads from the book are highlighted and annotated. It spoke to you, and without having read it together the two of you found great beauty and importance. It felt like an invisible string was pulling the two of you together. The words break down the fragile walls you put up in defence of him, you look up to him with soft eyes and the smallest of smiles. 

“Plato wrote that according to Greek Mythology, Zeus separated humans into two halves because he couldn’t control us. And he left us to search for our other half our entire lives, many of us dying in the process… That’s exactly how I felt this last week, my flower. I wanted to convince myself otherwise, I went around this entire damned city, trying to fill the void you left and nothing, nothing even compared to the love I felt for and from you. You are the destined other half, you’re the one I’m meant to find and be with. I was the most foolish man to ever walk this rock because I didn’t realize that sooner, and only when you left I realized that I was and am nothing without you, that no love, despite the plethora of it in this world, even compares to the love you give not only me but everything. I’m in awe of you, my flower. And I vow to ensure you know this every day and to never ever be the ignorant ass I was,” Ezra finishes with a small smirk. 

“You were an ignorant ass,” you confirm. 

“I was,” he agrees, grabbing your hands over the table.

  “Please allow me to worship you as the deity you are,”

“You’re not going to play Zeus and do whatever you want for your own benefit despite any and all rationale?” you ask teasingly, digging at Zeus. 

“I promise, I’ll be the Orpheus to your Eurydice.” You sigh because you know he’s won you over. You wordlessly stand from your chair, readying to leave. Ezra's heart drops and he swears he’s moments away from vomiting. 

“Will you walk me out?” you ask him coldly.

“Of course,” Ezra says, gulping down the bile that’s risen in his throat. 

When the two of you step out of the cafe you turn around and kiss Ezra. Ezra is shocked but quickly embraces you, scared to let you go and lose you. When the two of you separate, Ezra’s eyes are glossy with hope and you have a devilish smile on your face.

“You’re lucky I love you,” you say.

“Trust me, I know that, I’ve the luckiest formation of atoms to have ever been formed in the galaxy.” You can’t help but scoff as you walk away, preparing to move back in.

“Remember, Orpheus, not Zeus!” you yell back at Ezra before you disappear from his sight, leaving him giddy and high. He feels warm and whole again knowing you’ll be at his side again and that he’ll get to wake next to you and come home to you. Ezra is the only man to ever get to receive the one-of-a-kind love that you have to offer.