|| Continued ||
@counttwo-4
“ 𝚆𝚑𝚘? 𝚆𝚑𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚝? 𝙰𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙺𝚛𝚎𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚞 𝙲𝚒𝚛𝚌𝚕𝚎?– ” Richard called out in the horrible goddamn connection he had. Well, his own radio had shite connection. Had to adjust the waves a bit… turning dials and whatnot– fucking things.
On the flipside of Ezekiel’s situation, Richard… was worse for wear. Exhausted, weary, yet eyes wide with a gaze that had seen Hell. Wearing old clothes– a bomber jacket from his brother with a ‘WRF’ of some kind in a O on the breast, and a much larger one on the back. A tippet was around his shoulders, in tatters, while old military pants were tucked into work boots. His hair was a mess– shocks of white from within. Stress. New wounds all over him– a burn that went over his eye that took over perhaps most of his side, gashes, cuts. Gunshot wounds. Hidden away into what could only be described as an old flat– his old home in Cardiff, smelling of cigarettes and whiskey… mainly because of Richard, though.
“ E-Ezeki-… ”A moment of pause– and dead air on the radio, before he suddenly found himself snatching up the microphone near it as desperately as he could– his own voice had risen, desperate as ever, “ E-EZEKIEL! IT’S WESLEY! RICHARD! I-IT’S ME! Oh– oh, LORD ABOVE, THANK THE GODDAMN LORD! ” He cried out– his cheek was more or less pushed against the radio– not enough to change the waves, but oh… oh, god, he couldn’t help but feel himself tear up. No– he couldn’t help but cry.
“ Zeke– Zeke, oh, bloody– fucking–!! ” Wesley sobbed as hard as ever– a rare thing to hear back then. Must’ve been common now, judging by how weak his voice was when he cried.
“ I– I thought those Krauts might’ve gotten to you, ” He sputtered out, “ you’re alive. You’re okay. Oh, my God… W-What… fucking… dire straits I get myself into, eh? H-Having you worry for years… h-hah.. ohh, god, I’m so sorry… I’m so, so sorry… ”
“Wesley, it’s YOU - sweet Lord, it’s really YOU!”
Ezekiel found in the throws of a surreal tirade of emotion; crying his eyes out yet laughing aloud at the same time. As Wesley spoke, he shook his head in a frantic negative, as if Wesley could see him.
“No, no, I’m fine, I’m fine! Still a Churchman; wearing my goddamn hat and collar right now...” Why he added in that little detail, he didn’t really know. Perhaps he just wanted to conjure that old image of himself. Contrary to Wesley, his life had been quiet and truth be told, he hadn’t really changed much.
“You don’t know how happy I am to hear your voice-!! I thought...so many things...” So many awful things...
A heavier emotion was coming him now. It was a bizarre feeling, thick and cloying. Wesley was right there and yet he was miles away. And Ezekiel knew he was hurt - he just knew. Covered in wounds that he couldn’t tend to despite miles worth of bandages in the cupboard, an empty stomach that he couldn’t fill despite food being on the table, a cold body that he couldn’t clothe with the yards upon yards of cotton he had in the trunk upstairs - and yet all the while his voice was here, here in the same room that he was. And despite being surrounded by all that he needed to nurse the other, the only thing he could offer him was a voice of his own.
And God, there was so much he wanted to say, so many burning questions he wanted to ask. But for fear of losing contact, there was one thing he had to get before anything else was said.
“W-Wes-?” He took in a desperate breath, which inadvertently came out as a loud sob that until now he had practically been choking to keep in, cheeks flushed and drenched with tears.
“I-I LOVE you - I MISS you and I LOVE you...”
