C'mon—it wasn't that hard to talk to someone. Ezra believed so anyway; why should he be anxious of chatting to someone? Why should his pulse be thumping rapidly in his chest as if he were about to vomit? Why were his palms sweating so much? Why did his face feel so warm? Why—?

...Okay, perhaps the task was far more challenging. But you weren't just anybody; you were, well, you. Ezra had never been so nervous to speak to somebody before. He clearly possessed a little crush on you, as Sabine frequently teased him about. But it wasn't his fault you were so lovely.

Every time he spoke to you, Ezra found some way to come off as significantly more awkward than he already was: stumbling over his words, uttering something out of turn that he should've kept to himself, knocking something over—stars, he still wasn't over when he tripped over his own feet right in front of you. And that had taken place weeks ago.

No, this time had to be different. A simple 'how are you?'. Or even 'nice day, isn't it?'—nothing that's excessive or complicated. For a normal individual. Instead, Ezra managed to blurt out something along the lines of—

"You have really nice eyes."

...Oh Stars—Ezra could feel his face warming as his throat closed up. Trying to disguise his mistake with a nervous laugh.

"N-Nice uh—stupid eyes. Haha—wait...no, I mean they-they're not stupid or anything they're actually really uhm, really pretty—Oh Stars, ignore that-"

Ezra would have rather had a blaster bullet lodged in his head in that moment...