It began with music.
Not the kind they usually played during study sessions—the lo-fi, focus-enhancing instrumentals that blended into the background. This was different. Intimate. Low-volume R&B with honey-slick beats and lyrics that hummed beneath the skin.
Talia was stretched across Ezra's bed, his gray t-shirt hanging off one shoulder, legs bare, a half-read novel splayed on her stomach. The golden hour sun slanted across the room, catching in her curls and painting her in warm gold.
Ezra stood by the desk, pretending to study but failing miserably.
She caught him watching.
"You're doing that thing again," she said, not looking up.
"What thing?"
"The heart-eyes thing. I can feel it from here."
Ezra chuckled. "You make it hard not to."
She looked over, raising an eyebrow. "Flattery won't help you pass pathology."
"Who says I care about pathology right now?"
He crossed the room slowly. Deliberately.
And when he reached the edge of the bed, he knelt beside her, fingers brushing the spine of her book. His voice dropped to a whisper.
"I care more about this. You. Us."
Talia's throat went dry.
Ezra wasn't usually like this. He was all careful glances and soft touches. But lately—ever since the confrontation with Maya, the truths they'd shared, the boundaries they'd both finally trusted each other enough to drop—something had shifted.
He was bolder. More certain.
So was she.
She sat up, letting the book fall to the floor with a quiet thump.
"Say it again," she murmured.
"That I care about you?"
"No. That this—" she touched his chest, over his heart, "—matters more."
Ezra leaned in, his forehead pressing against hers. "It does. It always has."
The kiss that followed was slow and exploratory, like rediscovering familiar territory with new reverence. His hands found her waist, fingertips teasing the hem of her shirt, but not moving higher. Not yet.
Talia pulled back slightly, eyes dark with something that wasn't just affection.
"I want you," she said. "But not just… sex. I want this. All of it. All of you."
Ezra nodded, voice rough. "Me too."
She stood, tugging him gently toward the bed. As he followed, he kicked off his hoodie and hesitated only briefly before removing his shirt, exposing lean lines and a chest dotted with freckles she hadn't really noticed before.
"You're beautiful," she said softly.
He laughed nervously. "You've seen my GPA. You sure you're not projecting?"
She pushed him onto the bed. "Shut up, nerd."
Their clothes came off in pieces—casual, unhurried, like a secret they were finally safe enough to share.
The world faded.
There was only breath, and warmth, and skin against skin.
Ezra touched her like she was poetry. Like every curve and scar and freckle had a story he wanted to memorize. He kissed her collarbone, her shoulder, the inside of her wrist. His hands mapped her like a study guide—only this time, he wasn't trying to pass a test. He was learning her for the joy of it.
And Talia? She let herself be seen. Completely. No performance. No walls.
When he finally moved inside her, it wasn't just about lust—it was surrender. Mutual and raw and real. She held his face, eyes locked on his, and they moved together like music—syncopated, slow, sacred.
There was laughter too—because Ezra knocked over a pillow trying to be smooth, and Talia bit his shoulder when she tried not to moan too loudly.
But mostly, there was trust.
Afterward, they lay tangled in each other, her head on his chest, his hand tracing lazy circles on her back.
Neither spoke for a long while.
Then Ezra whispered, "That was…"
"Yeah," she said, smiling. "It was."
They were still catching their breath when Ezra added, "You didn't run."
Talia lifted her head. "I think I'm done running."
His eyes softened. "Good. Because I'm done chasing ghosts."
They kissed again, slower this time. Not the beginning of something, but the continuation.
Outside, the world kept spinning.
But in that little room, between heartbeats and breaths, they had built something new.
Not perfect.
But theirs.