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The first thing Ezreal hears that morning is the alarm echoing at an ungodly high volume through the walls of his room. He winces in discomfort, his eyes still glued together as he slowly — and unwillingly — sits up on his bed with his legs crossed and grabs his phone on the nightstand to turn the alarm off.
He sighs.
He doesn’t move for a good whole minute, enjoying the silence surrounding the house since he’s probably the only one awake.
The second thing Ezreal hears that morning is a loud metallic thud that startles him enough to unintentionally blink his ass on the floor.
“What the fuck…” He whispers confused, massaging his back. Maybe he was wrong, someone is actually awake. He lifts himself up, puts his bunny slippers on and heads to the stairs.
He’s met with sounds of dishes being roughly piled on the sink and a string of curses. He doesn’t even have to check to know who’s making all this noise.
“What the hell are you doing?” He walks in the kitchen, rubs his eyes and yawns as he watches Kayn jolt in surprise, drop the pan in his hands — making another catastrophic sound — and curse once again.
“What do you think I’m doing, asshole?!” Kayn barks back like he personally offended him and grips the sponge in his hand impossibly tighter, making soap spurt everywhere.
The sink is a fucking mess.
Kitchen tools splattered everywhere, plates stacked up messily on the side, water mixed with soap soaking the floor.
It’s Kayn, though. Of course it’s messy. He wants oh so bad to be a living nightmare, a menace, acts like one, like an unleashed dog who’s ready to savage everything on its way, if not stopped.
And doing dishes is not any different from everything he does: messy, loud, careless, like he’s living alone in this fucking house and honestly Ezreal doesn’t know how the others haven’t complained yet about all the noise he’s making.
He plops down on his assigned chair at the table and looks at his back, strong, wide shoulders covered by a wrinkled shirt, messed up by bleach stains and cigarette burns.
Messy. Just like him.
Kayn drops once again something in the sink, a glass, making another incredibly loud clatter which makes the other hiss annoyed.
“Fuck!” He shouts as he rubs the sponge on a new dirty pan, scratching it with an anger he had seen him doing to his own skin, nails digging into the flesh of his arms, his back, suppressing whatever was going on inside his mind, distracting himself from all the unbearable thoughts with pain, focusing on the burning sensation of his skin tearing apart.
“They keep increasing, it ain’t possible…” He mutters as he sets the pan aside the shaky piles of plates. Ezreal wonders if he’ll free himself — and everyone else in this house — from hell and take a pause.
“Why are you washing dishes at 7 AM?” He asks, following him with his gaze, eyes piercing through his back as Kayn dries his hands on a cloth he throws on the floor shortly after and works with the coffee machine.
“Mind your own goddamn business, brat. What are you doing up at 7 AM?” He talks back, sliding a mug of milk and coffee on the table, with three teaspoons of sugar in it. Just how Ezreal likes it.
“I’ve got an interview, and a photoshoot after that,” He takes a sip from his mug. Even if Kayn is a walking disaster, he never misses his morning coffee.
“And you ?” He emphasizes that last word, looking at him with his brows raised.
Kayn looks away, he puts his hands inside his pocket, seeming to be looking for something inside them and leans on the counter — and Ezreal is really, really scared when he sees the pile of dishes shaking lightly. —
“I didn’t do dishes yesterday,” He admits, taking out of his pocket a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a black lighter. “Yone’s gonna kill me if I don’t wash them.” Ezreal huffs a laugh.
If there’s something Shieda Kayn is good at, it’s lying.
He does that with such ease, like it’s an automatic reaction of his brain, even when he doesn’t really need to. He sure is clever enough to fool all of them sometimes.
Not Ezreal, though. He could never fool him.
He learned how to read between those wild, messy lines. He knows Kayn avoids his eyes when he’s lying, he can’t stand still, whether is smoking or fidgeting with his rings, he needs to move around.
He knows that. He studied well enough.
“At 7 AM?” He insists, throwing him a knowing glance. Kayn rolls his eyes and walks towards him, leaning over his seat and flicking his forehead with his fingers.
“Yup.” He smirks, the usual shit eating grin he wears everyday on his face.
“Rude!” Ezreal hisses as he holds his forehead with his hands.
He knows something’s not right, that Kayn is trying to dodge the argument right now.
He also knows he’ll tell him later in the day, when they’re in the privacy of Kayn’s room and their bodies are tangled together under the sheets of his bed, Kayn’s head resting on his chest, hearing every thump of his heart. He would run his fingers through his scalp and Kayn would let him see the broken part of him, bare from every armor, every smirk, joke and his tough persona.
“Ez.” His eyes lift up at his name, watching as the other puts a hoodie on and walks away from the kitchen. Ezreal stands up almost automatically and follows him like a puppy, like it’s the only thing he knows how to do.
“Where are you going?” Kayn stops by the sliding door heading on the balcony, opens the pack and brings it to his mouth, catching a cigarette between his lips.
“Gonna smoke,” He announces, turning around to face him.
“Wanna join?” He asks, with that smug smirk on his face. He knows he doesn’t even have to ask.
“Sure!”
The thing is, Ezreal doesn’t smoke. He doesn’t like it.
He likes Kayn, though.
Likes watching him as he lights his cigarette and takes a deep drag, exhaling the smoke into the freezing morning air.
Likes watching his nose scrunch from the cold as his arms rest on the iron railing, observing the city lights, the sun not fully risen yet.
Likes to lean over his body, warm and welcoming and be lulled by their silence, the only things audible being his shaky breaths and the cigarette’s paper burning.
“Cold?” Kayn asks, an eyebrow cocked upwards as he glances at him. Ezreal hums, a cloud of steam coming out his mouth from the cold air.
“A bit…” He whispers, rubbing his hands together. Kayn wraps an arm around his back and pulls him closer, drawing soothing circles on his back.
“Better?” He asks, taking a drag. Ezreal hums and rests his cheek on his shoulder. He can already smell the smoke on his hair, but it doesn’t matter as long as Kayn holds him.
It’s in moments like this his mind recalls everything that led him to reach this far into Kayn.
Like right now, or every morning they spend together watching the sun set over the city.
Like when they lay on bed and listen to each other’s breaths.
Like when they go on late night rides and he clings on Kayn’s back, the adrenaline flowing through his veins.
Like the first time he heard Kayn genuine laugh, the crystalline sound of his voice making his heart beat a tad faster.
Like the first time he treated his wounds after he had a fight outside.
Like the first time he said I love you and Kayn snapped right at his face, his eyes full of sadness, but he could also spot a sparkle of something else, hope.
“I’m not made for this, Ezreal, you can’t handle me,” He said, sputtering out those words like they were venom. Ezreal just stood there, in front of him, completely silent.
“I’m fucking sick in the head, can’t you see?! You think you can change me? You think you can manage to deal with my fucked up mind? Well, you’re fucking wrong! You’re—” “Kayn.”
Ezreal’s tone was still soft and gentle, even when he was screaming at him. He didn’t get mad at him. He didn’t run away. He took a deep, shaky breath, his hands reduced to fists, his knuckles white.
“I’m broken, Ez. You can’t fix me.” He said, his eyes stinging unpleasantly. Ezreal took a step towards him, grabbing his hands gently.
“I’m used to broken things, Kayn. I don’t need to repair them.”
Kayn avoided his eyes, holding his hands tightly, like he could’ve disappeared at any moment.
“It’s complicated…” He whispered, his tone weak, tired. Ezreal drew circles on his hands with his thumbs.
“It’s okay,” He murmured back. “I love complicated.”
But loving Kayn is not easy at all.
Loving him is hard, painful and exhausting but it comes so easy for him, like he was made for it, like it’s something that was planted in his brain, irreversible.
It’s hard, but he’s been facing hard things all his life and he got used to it, all his vices, all his breakdowns, all those ugly traits of him, he handles them with such ease, even if he comes out hurt, even if it’s destructive, even if he has to give all of himself.
Because Kayn is hard to love, but he loves him like it’s breathing.
And if Kayn acts like a dog, then Ezreal loves like one: deeply, purely and loyally. He’s doomed, because he knows Kayn could do whatever he wants to him and he would stay, nevertheless.
He stays now, watching the smoke from his mouth tearing apart in the air with the cold biting his skin and making it almost hurt.
He stayed, when Kayn’s back was bleeding as he kept digging his nails deep in his flesh and he brought him to the bathroom, patching his wounds on the cold floor with the uncomfortable smell of Kayn’s cigarette filling the room.
He stayed, when Kayn was yelling at him to leave, his voice full of rage and his face red while his eyes screamed please don’t go, stay and he got closer without fear, holding him between his arms.
That was the first time someone stayed after seeing him broke.
Kayn sobbed in his arms and Ezreal took them to bed. They layed down, as he coiled gently his tears with his thumbs and kissed his eyelids, then his forehead, holding him close so their hearts could meet, caressing his back gently and counting the bones of his spine.
He stayed, when Kayn had stolen his first kiss and it was completely different from what he had imagined it to be. He imagined he would kiss a beautiful girl, her lips soft and tasting like strawberry, her smell floral.
But there wasn’t any girl, there was Kayn and him fighting, no soft and glossy lips but a fist punching his face and arms grabbing him and chapped lips kissing him angrily.
There was no strawberry flavor nor smell of rose but the taste of blood and alcohol, the smell of smoke and musk digging inside his nostrils.
It wasn’t what he imagined.
It was better, though, and he kissed him back.
Yone would have killed them the day after, with all the cuts and bruises their face were spotting, but as Kayn kept kissing him, cupping his face with blood stained hands, he realized he couldn’t give a fuck about his status.
That was the first time he didn’t care about his appearance and, ironically, Kayn was the first person who saw him through the facade of his perfect popstar prince image, through his fan service smiles, his perfect looks and his people pleaser personality.
A huffed laugh leaves his mouth; he could rip his heart out of his chest, for him, and he would do it again a million times if he has to.
Loving Kayn is a sacrifice he’s willing to make.
“What?” Kayn mumbles, with the cigarette between his teeth. Ezreal cuddles closer to his side and nuzzles his cheek on the other’s shoulder.
“ I love you.” He whispers, a secret between them and the morning wind.
Kayn exhales the smoke in his lungs and coils gently his wrist, kissing the palm of his hand. He doesn’t say it back, but Ezreal knows he loves him as much as he does.
“I should go and get ready…” He murmurs again, closing his eyes and seeking the other’s heat. He doesn’t want to leave.
It happens every time they’re on this balcony, smoking and holding one another, he never wants to let go.
“Already?” Kayn whines, throws the butt of the cigarette away and holds him close, embracing him with both his arms. He’s always so incredibly touchy when the others are not around.
“I have to…” He says, pressing gently his hands on the other chest. Kayn leaves a kiss on the crown of his head and eventually lets him go, unwilling.
“Wouldn’t want the popstar prince to be late.” He smirks mockingly and Ezreal just rolls his eyes, sticking his tongue at him.
They both return inside, Ezreal runs towards his room and Kayn heads, once again, in the kitchen. He passes in front of the kitchen one last time before he has to get out of the house.
“I suggest you scratch harder if you want to finish before Yone wakes up.”
Kayn laughs loud as he wash the remaining dishes in the sink. It’s not his usual, cocky sneer he uses in front of everyone else. It’s genuine and soft, the one he only shows to him.
“Fuck you.”