Ezra had started watching him from further away.
Not with hunger at first—but with something more like concern. That concern, however, had its own shadow. It leaned too close. It lingered too long. And Ezra never really asked questions—he just observed and waited.
He could see the change in Luca plainly now.
It wasn't the skirt. Or the shy glances. Or even the way he seemed to float through the hallway with that same dreamlike softness he'd always had. It was something beneath that. Something broken open.
Luca didn't say no to anyone anymore.
He didn't really say much of anything at all.
He walked like his body had been spoken for—like everything he did was in anticipation of someone else's needs. Every step measured. Every expression watched. He no longer even flinched when boys brushed too close, or stared too long. He didn't look like someone trying to avoid attention.
He looked like someone who no longer believed he was allowed to avoid it.
And Ezra, who had once thought himself the only one paying close attention, felt a quiet fire building in his chest that he didn't know how to name. Maybe guilt. Maybe jealousy. Maybe both.
So he waited for the right moment.
And found it on a Friday afternoon—Luca alone near the edge of the practice field, hair caught in the late sunlight, hands folded over the strap of his school bag like a child waiting to be picked up.
Ezra approached with careful steps.
"Hey."
Luca turned slightly. Not startled. Just... there.
"Hi."
"You heading back?"
Luca nodded.
Ezra smirked at him. "You look like a gorilla's been riding your back."
Luca offered a weak smile, then looked away.
Ezra waited a beat.
"You haven't said much to me lately."
"I didn't mean to ignore you."
"I didn't say you did." Ezra's voice was calm, almost light. "But you have."
Luca shifted. "Sorry."
Ezra stepped closer. "That's not what I'm asking for."
Luca looked at him then, brows barely knit. Like someone trying to wake up.
Ezra studied him for a long moment. "You used to tell me things. Little things. Like what you were reading, or how annoying it was when people stared."
Luca didn't respond.
"And now..." Ezra took a slow breath. "Now you walk around like you're waiting for permission to be."
"I'm not," Luca said too quickly.
"I didn't say you were."
A silence hung.
Ezra dropped his gaze, then looked back up. His voice softened. "You haven't really been a good friend lately."
Luca blinked.
Ezra didn't say it with malice. There was no bite in his tone. Just the kind of honesty that slides between ribs.
"You don't talk to me. You don't ask anything. You act like I'm not even here."
"I didn't mean to," Luca said again. "I just..."
"You've changed." Ezra folded his arms, eyes narrowing slightly. "And I don't think it's just school."
Another beat. Ezra tilted his head. "You want to come to my place?"
Luca looked up, surprised.
"Just for a little. It's not far. And I think..." Ezra let the sentence trail, then finished it under his breath, "...you could use someone who remembers who you were."
They didn't speak much during the walk. Luca followed beside him like something quieted. His steps were small, practiced. Ezra kept glancing at him without making it obvious. He noticed everything—the way Luca's fingers brushed the edge of his skirt like a habit, the faint bruise on the inside of his wrist, the way his shoes barely made a sound when he walked.
Ezra's place was simple. Clean, with a wall of books and a soft armchair by the window. Luca stood in the doorway for a second, unsure whether he should enter.
Ezra closed the door gently behind him.
"You can sit."
Luca moved slowly to the couch, lowering himself like his body remembered being told where and how to move. Ezra didn't sit right away. He watched Luca for a moment longer before joining him.
Luca's eyes were on the floor.
Ezra spoke after a long pause.
"You don't flinch anymore."
Luca blinked.
"I used to think you were skittish," Ezra continued. "Like you were waiting for something awful. But now... you don't even react. You just accept it."
Luca looked up. "It's easier."
"Easier than what?"
"Than fighting."
Ezra let that hang between them. Then, quietly: "Is someone making you fight?"
Luca's throat tightened.
Ezra didn't press.
"I miss when you looked at me like I was someone you wanted around," he said gently.
Luca's lip trembled.
"I'm still your friend, Luca. Even if I've been quiet about it."
Luca met his eyes.
Ezra leaned in—not too fast, not forceful. Just enough that the distance between them closed like a door swinging shut.
"If I touch you now," Ezra whispered, "is it because I asked? Or because you don't know how to say no?"
Luca opened his mouth. But nothing came out.
Ezra touched his hand.
Luca didn't move.
And when Ezra leaned in to kiss him—softly, slowly, lips brushing like a question—Luca let it happen.
Not because he was sure.
Not because he was ready.
But because no part of him remembered how to say otherwise.