nyall

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[div class="title"]& — EZEKIEL .[/div]
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Ezekiel would argue that his first mistake was curling himself up into a blanket burrito to begin with, because then it is that much easier for Ariel to tug him off the bed. He’ll agree with an unlocked door being his second mistake, and his third would probably be how he’s lived eighteen years in the same house with her rude awakenings, and not a single time has he ever learned - and this is for real, now, it has simply never crossed his mind long enough to stick there - to set an alarm.
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But there is one hill he will die on, and that hill is his suit, which he had spiralled into a whirlwind romance with the second he saw it on the thriftshop rack. Orange as a traffic cone, shaped like a friend. And maybe… a lover?
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Purely on autopilot, the fallen caterpillar that is Ezekiel grunts out some approximation of ‘closet,’ and ‘rrrgghgh,’ in response to hearing [i]suit[/i], before his head pops out of the blankets, eyes so scrunched one could barely discern eyelashes from eyeball. No, he hadn’t fallen asleep while he was down. He was meditating. [color=#AE543A][b]“Show up?”[/b][/color] he asks, grappling onto consciousness. [color=#AE543A][b]“To?”[/b][/color]
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Then he remembers, and if he hadn’t been dragged off the bed he would’ve fallen off of it himself.
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[br][/br][center]🍊[/center][br][/br]
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[color=#AE543A][b]“No, I think they only have those itty bitty finger sandwiches,”[/b][/color] Ezekiel says, at exactly his normal volume, which is accidentally loud enough to startle a tiny circle of people beside him. They startle in a typical rich person way, which is to glance at him pensively up and down very fast before turning back to their glasses of punch that do very good jobs at looking like wine. Zeke is not immune to Rich Person Glare, and his head shrinks back right after they look away.
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He doesn’t miss the chance to take a nibble out of his own aforementioned itty bitty sandwich while nodding along to Ariel, but he stops midway. Maybe they shouldn’t say that. He’s already gotten a look from someone wearing one of those official, golden nametags, just for fiddling with his collar. Ezekiel knows body language, and if that person’s poise does not spell ready for combat, his name doesn’t have four vowels. Once they smell dissent, they might come over and -
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And something. Ezekiel hasn’t gotten that far. He shoves the rest of his sandwich in his mouth, fingers convulsing as he reflexively goes to wipe them on his shirt before slamming on the brakes just in time. He pats the tablecloth instead, eyes travelling slowly around the room. Oh, look, now there’s a spiffy outfit. Very green. It catches the eye so violently Ezekiel forgets to blink for a second. And there’s a girl with a striking red dress, her steps endlessly careful.
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[color=#AE543A][b]“Maybe I should’ve gone with yellow,”[/b][/color] Zeke decides, giving Ariel a little nudge with his elbow. Orange as he is, somehow the sparkling chandelier lights and the clacks of heels drown him out into something very, very small. [color=#AE543A][b]"Like, then I could’ve been the belle at the ball.”[/b] [/color]
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