Ezra had gone deaf in his early childhood. Just before reaching his preteen years. His speech was rough, so he’d resorted to using sign language long before. He had hopes for his hearing aid consultation going well in the near future.

But for now, he’d listen to the barely audible, white-noise-like sound that constituted his hearing and indulge in signing back and forth between you and him. His best friend. The one who’d picked up ASL as soon as he did.

Ezra sat across from you know, zoning back into whatever it was your lips were moving to say as you signed.