Ep unspoken

Noah opened his mouth to snap back, but the heavy clunk of the school’s back door echoing through the courtyard made both of them freeze.

"Ezra? Noah? Is someone out there?" The muffled, stern voice of their teacher, Ms. Halloway, drifted toward them.

"Shit," Ezra hissed. His heart hammered against his ribs—not just from the fear of getting caught, but because he was still standing inches away from Noah.

Noah’s eyes went wide with panic. He looked like a deer in headlights, his face still a mess of tears and red blotches. If the teacher saw him like this, the "perfect student" image he tried so hard to keep for his parents would be destroyed.

Before Noah could move, Ezra grabbed him by the arm. "In here, move!" he whispered aggressively. He hauled Noah behind a row of tall, thick cherry blossom bushes and pushed him back against the cold brick wall of the school building.

The space was tiny. Ezra had to press his body right up against Noah’s to keep them hidden from the windows. Noah’s back hit the wall with a soft thud, and he let out a sharp intake of breath as Ezra’s chest brushed against his.

"Don't. Move," Ezra breathed, his hand landing on the wall right next to Noah's head.

They stayed like that, paralyzed. Outside the bushes, they could hear the click-clack of Ms. Halloway’s heels on the pavement.

"I could have sworn I heard shouting..." she muttered to herself.

Ezra could feel the heat radiating off Noah’s body. He could smell the faint scent of Noah’s laundry detergent—a smell he hadn't been this close to in years. He looked down and realized that in the chaos, Noah had gripped the front of Ezra’s shirt, his knuckles white.

Noah was looking up at him, his breath coming in short, jagged hitches. In the shadows of the bushes, the anger was gone, replaced by a raw, suffocating tension. Ezra’s heart wasn't just thumping anymore—it was racing.

Ezra didn't move. He should have pulled back the second the coast was clear, but his boots felt like they were glued to the pavement. He stayed pinned against Noah, his hand still braced against the brick wall. He could feel the rapid, frantic beat of Noah’s heart through his thin school shirt—or maybe it was his own.

Noah’s grip on Ezra’s jacket didn't loosen either. Instead, his fingers twitched, clutching the fabric tighter as he stared up at Ezra. The aggression from their fight was gone, replaced by a wide-eyed, dazed look. His breath, still shaky from crying, fanned across Ezra’s neck.

"Ezra..." Noah whispered. It wasn't a snap or a taunt. It was the same way he used to say his name years ago, back when they were kids.

Ezra looked down at Noah’s lips, then back at his tear-stained eyes. The "tightness" in his chest was now a full-blown ache. He was supposed to hate this guy. He was supposed to want to punch him again. But standing this close, smelling the familiar scent of the boy he grew up with, Ezra realized he didn't want to leave.

"You're still a dick," Ezra breathed, his voice dropping to a rough, low tone. But he didn't pull away. He leaned in just a fraction of an inch closer, his gaze locked on Noah’s.

Noah didn't flinch. He didn't push him. He just let out a small, broken exhale, his eyes fluttering shut as if he were waiting for something to happen—or for the world to finally make sense again.

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