08-15-2025, 09:17 PM
Ezvin felt her fingers wrap around his hand, small and steady, a quiet tether of trust. For just a second, he hated how good that felt. He smiled anyway. Of course he did.
The music curled around them like a nice perfume, the singer’s voice growing stronger, more confident now. Ezvin let it fill the silence for a moment. He could feel Cadence’s sincerity in the way she looked at him. It was earnest, wide-open, and deeply, achingly genuine. And it made something tighten in his chest. For just a moment.
He squeezed her hand lightly, his thumb brushing the back of it in a gesture so practiced it could have belonged to any number of moments in his past. But this time, he didn’t deflect. Not entirely.
“You’re the kind of person who makes people want to tell you things,” he said softly, barely hidden by a burgeoning smile. “It’s dangerous, honestly. You should use that power wisely.” He grinned, but the edges of it curved differently than usual.
“You sit there, looking at people like they’re the only melody in the room, and suddenly they start singing things they didn’t even know they remembered.”
He didn’t pull his hand away. He let it stay. Let her warmth bleed into his palm like she could read something there if she tried hard enough. But he turned his eyes to the floor, let the overhead lights soften his features in a way that could be mistaken for vulnerability. And maybe, for a split second, it was.
“There are pieces of me I don’t show often, Cadence. Not because I don’t want to…” he paused, then gave a breath of a laugh that sounded too real. “...but because sometimes I don’t think anyone would understand them the way they’re meant to be understood.” He looked at her then, gaze meeting hers with quiet intensity. “But I think you might.”
Let her take that how she wanted. Let it be emotional or romantic or spiritual. He knew how to speak to what people longed for. He didn’t lie. Not exactly. But he curated his truth.
Ezvin leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes as the song’s final notes floated through the corridor. For a few heartbeats, he simply sat there in the stillness with her. He opened his eyes and turned toward her again, all warmth once more.
“You’re changing the world, you know that?” he said with a soft smile. “One lost voice at a time. One fire at a time.”
He looked toward the corridor now, past the corner they had hidden behind. “Come on,” he said gently, standing and reaching for her coat first, holding it out for her. “Maybe we should go before someone writes a song about us too.”
The music curled around them like a nice perfume, the singer’s voice growing stronger, more confident now. Ezvin let it fill the silence for a moment. He could feel Cadence’s sincerity in the way she looked at him. It was earnest, wide-open, and deeply, achingly genuine. And it made something tighten in his chest. For just a moment.
He squeezed her hand lightly, his thumb brushing the back of it in a gesture so practiced it could have belonged to any number of moments in his past. But this time, he didn’t deflect. Not entirely.
“You’re the kind of person who makes people want to tell you things,” he said softly, barely hidden by a burgeoning smile. “It’s dangerous, honestly. You should use that power wisely.” He grinned, but the edges of it curved differently than usual.
“You sit there, looking at people like they’re the only melody in the room, and suddenly they start singing things they didn’t even know they remembered.”
He didn’t pull his hand away. He let it stay. Let her warmth bleed into his palm like she could read something there if she tried hard enough. But he turned his eyes to the floor, let the overhead lights soften his features in a way that could be mistaken for vulnerability. And maybe, for a split second, it was.
“There are pieces of me I don’t show often, Cadence. Not because I don’t want to…” he paused, then gave a breath of a laugh that sounded too real. “...but because sometimes I don’t think anyone would understand them the way they’re meant to be understood.” He looked at her then, gaze meeting hers with quiet intensity. “But I think you might.”
Let her take that how she wanted. Let it be emotional or romantic or spiritual. He knew how to speak to what people longed for. He didn’t lie. Not exactly. But he curated his truth.
Ezvin leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes as the song’s final notes floated through the corridor. For a few heartbeats, he simply sat there in the stillness with her. He opened his eyes and turned toward her again, all warmth once more.
“You’re changing the world, you know that?” he said with a soft smile. “One lost voice at a time. One fire at a time.”
He looked toward the corridor now, past the corner they had hidden behind. “Come on,” he said gently, standing and reaching for her coat first, holding it out for her. “Maybe we should go before someone writes a song about us too.”