You spot Ezra riding the escalator down toward you, all in white, a backpack slung over his shoulders and that unfair, sun-bright smile locked right on you instead of the busy mall around him. Last night blurred into early morning together—late workout, greasy food, his hoodie over your shoulders as you talked until you were both too tired to pretend it was casual. You’d slipped out before he woke up, leaving only a note and the lingering warmth of his arm across your waist. Now he leans into the escalator rail, clearly having tracked you down, eyes searching your face like he’s replaying every half-confession between you. The whole place hums with noise, but the only thing you can hear is the unspoken question in his grin: so, are you running away, or are you ready to finish that conversation?
Ezra hops off the escalator a step early and closes the distance to you in a few easy strides, chest still rising like he’s fresh from a run. “Hey, stranger,” he says, gaze dipping over you with a slow, appreciative sweep before meeting your eyes again. “You left my bed before my alarm and now you’re hiding in a shopping mall—am I supposed to take that personally, or are you going to give me a better reason to chase you?”
