It started with an eye roll.
Ezra was two hours into reviewing slides for their clinical pharmacology assessment when Talia came crashing through the door—late, breathless, and irritated.
"Are you even gonna ask how my presentation went?" she snapped, throwing her tote bag onto the couch.
Ezra didn't look up from his laptop. "You said it wasn't a big deal."
"I also said I was nervous. That usually means I want support, Ezra."
His fingers froze on the keyboard. "Talia, I've been drowning in this study load all day. I didn't even know when your class ended."
"Well, maybe if you weren't constantly buried in your notes like the world will implode if you don't get a 99—"
He stood up abruptly, jaw tense. "You know what? I'm trying. I'm trying to build something here. For us. For me. I'm not sorry that I care about my future."
Her voice cracked like a whip. "And what am I, Ezra? A study break?"
The room fell into a thick, uncomfortable silence.
Neither of them moved.
Neither of them spoke.
Ezra's eyes darkened, but his voice was even. Too even. "You don't get to say that. Not after everything we've been through."
Talia crossed her arms, heat rising behind her eyes. "You're right. I shouldn't have said that. But you don't get to disappear into your books and expect me to sit pretty while you ignore every emotional cue like a malfunctioning robot."
Ezra flinched. "That's not fair."
"I know," she whispered. "But I'm tired of being the only one bending."
His stare burned, hard and unblinking. "You think I'm not bending? You think I haven't been holding my breath every time you pull away, waiting for the moment you decide this—us—is too much?"
Talia opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Then she stepped forward, fire in her voice. "I don't want to leave. I just want to be seen. Not as a distraction. Not as an obligation. As your partner."
Ezra's expression shifted—anger and hurt melting into something more dangerous: desire, desperate and unresolved.
He stepped forward. "You want to be seen?"
"Yes."
His hands gripped her waist, tugging her closer. "Then stop running long enough to let me look."
Talia inhaled sharply.
The kiss came fast. Hard. Not tender or careful—this was a crash, a fever. Teeth and tongue, breathless and reckless, like two storms colliding.
They stumbled back into the bedroom, knocking over a pile of papers, Ezra's laptop forgotten. His mouth found her neck; her fingers gripped his shirt, tugging it over his head as she backed toward the bed.
"Talia," he breathed against her skin, voice thick, reverent. "I'm still mad."
"So am I," she whispered, kissing his jaw, his throat. "But I want you more."
Clothes peeled away like layers of anger—slow at first, then fast. Her shirt hit the floor. His jeans tangled around his ankles. Skin flushed against skin as the tension turned molten.
Ezra guided her down gently, eyes locked on hers, fire flickering behind his restraint.
"I see you," he said, voice cracking with something deeper than lust. "I've always seen you."
Talia arched beneath him, hands gripping his hair, his back. "Then show me."
And he did.
It wasn't soft—not at first. It was fierce and messy, like they were both fighting to be heard through their bodies. But somewhere in the heat and urgency, it shifted. Became slower. Deliberate. Like forgiveness.
He kissed every freckle he'd memorized, whispered every truth he hadn't said aloud. She held him like he was both armor and wound.
And when they both fell over the edge—breathless, sweaty, tangled together—it was like the storm had passed, leaving something cleaner in its wake.
They lay in silence, hearts thudding in time.
Talia traced lazy circles on Ezra's chest. "We're a mess."
Ezra kissed the top of her head. "Yeah. But we're our mess."
She smiled. "You ever think love would look like this?"
"I didn't think I'd get to have love," he admitted. "Not like this. Not you."
Talia propped herself up on one elbow. "You've got me, nerd. Sharp edges, bad temper, emotional whiplash and all."
He cupped her cheek. "And you've got me. All the awkward silences and study notes you can handle."
"Then let's figure it out," she said. "Even when it's ugly."
"Especially then."
They stayed like that—naked, honest, whole—for a long while. No more yelling. No more running. Just two people holding on in a world that kept trying to pull them apart.
Because love wasn't just the soft parts.
It was also surviving the storm.
And choosing each other again when the skies cleared.