Two weeks into living together again, things had settled into a rhythm. Not quite routine—because Talia Quinn didn't do "routine" unless it was built around chaos—but something more like… balance.
Mornings began with mismatched alarms: Ezra's precise 6:15 a.m. chime and Talia's chaotic 6:30 playlist that never played the same genre twice. He studied with highlighters, she studied with music loud enough to shake their shared bookshelf. He wrote schedules in his planner. She scribbled to-do lists on napkins.
And somehow, it worked.
Still, not everything had settled. Some truths were too stubborn to lie flat.
One Thursday evening, Talia found Ezra on the balcony, notebook in hand, watching the traffic buzz below like it held all the answers he hadn't figured out yet.
"You're quiet again," she said, pushing open the sliding door. Her sweatshirt swallowed her frame, and her hair was twisted into a loose bun that threatened to fall apart.
Ezra didn't look up. "Just thinking."
"Dangerous," she teased, leaning beside him.
He closed the notebook but didn't set it down. "Dr. Callahan offered me a spot in the neuro research group."
Talia blinked. "Wait, seriously? That's huge."
"I turned it down."
Now she was staring. "Ezra—why?"
He finally looked at her, eyes unreadable. "Because I don't want to disappear again. I can't be that guy who says yes to everything and forgets what actually matters."
Talia stepped closer. "What does matter?"
Ezra reached out, brushing his fingers along her jaw, then down to the edge of her sleeve. "You."
They kissed that night like they hadn't before—slow, searching, not just mouths but promises made with fingertips and breaths. But they didn't fall into bed.
Not yet.
Because love wasn't just about heat. It was about safety. About learning how not to run.
The next morning, Talia walked into their shared kitchen to find Ezra cooking eggs in the most meticulous way humanly possible.
She leaned against the counter. "You cook now?"
He glanced over his shoulder. "Desperate times. I figured the least I could do is learn how to feed us."
"You're being weird."
"I'm being kind."
"Same thing," she said, stealing a piece of toast from his plate.
Ezra grabbed her wrist gently. "You know this isn't just a phase, right? I'm not here because I couldn't make it in New York. I'm here because I chose this."
Talia looked at him—really looked—and nodded once.
"Okay," she whispered. "Then let's stop tiptoeing."
Later that weekend, they were invited to a party.
Talia hesitated. Parties were her thing, not his. But when Ezra asked, "Do you want to go?" with that soft look of his, she knew he was offering her something more than just an RSVP.
He was showing up for her.
So they went.
And it was wild, like most of her friends' parties—half dance floor, half kitchen counter therapy sessions.
Ezra stayed close, but not clingy. He talked to people. Smiled. Even danced—awkwardly but sincerely—when Talia pulled him into the crowd during her favorite song.
At some point, she watched him from across the room while sipping her drink. Watched how he tilted his head to listen, how he never made anyone feel small.
And it hit her.
He wasn't the same boy she met in first-year anatomy class—the quiet one with shy smiles and a perfect GPA. He was something new. Someone braver.
Someone who had loved her through her worst and come back anyway.
That night, back in their apartment, Talia stood by the window while Ezra changed into a hoodie and joggers. The moonlight poured through the curtains, casting a glow over the couch, the floor, the coffee cups they hadn't cleaned yet.
"I've been thinking," she said.
Ezra raised an eyebrow. "Always a dangerous sentence."
"I don't want to do this halfway anymore. You and me. I don't want soft labels or weird half-together, half-not together things."
He crossed the room slowly, pulling her hands into his.
"Talia."
"I'm yours," she said simply.
His breath caught. Then he exhaled, like he'd been waiting to hear that since the day he met her.
"And I'm yours," he said.
Then, without another word, he kissed her again—like this time, there were no rules to break.