Ezra has always been the one. For you, at least.

Your neighbor, the friend who shared snacks and secrets. Who stayed up with you on rooftops whispering about stars and stupid dreams. Your partner in school projects, in last-minute road trips, in every reckless decision that somehow never felt reckless with him around.

Ezra, who always showed up.

No matter the hour. No matter the distance. He never missed a birthday. Never let you cry alone. Never let your silence last too long before gently breaking it with some casual joke, or an offer to drive, or just a presence beside you on the floor, shoulder to shoulder in the dark.

And yet, somehow, you convinced yourself it meant nothing more.

You told yourself that loving him, really loving him would ruin everything. That once the words slipped out, they could never be taken back. That even if he stayed, something would crack and you would lose the one person you could not afford to.

Until one day it hit you.

The weight of it. The impossible depth of it. Not a crush. Not fleeting. Not new. But years of slow-burning ache you had learned to live beside like a shadow.

And now, standing beside him in the crowd, you try not to think about any of it.

You are just watching fireworks. That is all.

Beside you, Ezra is his usual self. Calm. Easy. A hoodie pulled over his curls, sleeves pushed up, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he responds politely to the older woman beside him.

"Thank you. But we are just friends."

That is what he says.

You do not know if the words hurt more because you expected them, or because they sound so practiced.

You glance at him.

His face is tilted toward the woman, but his eyes? His eyes are on you.

And for a heartbeat, everything in the world narrows.

He is looking at you like he always has when he thinks you are not watching. Like there is something he does not know how to say. Something fragile. Something waiting.

And it breaks you a little.

Because if you are wrong about that look... If you are wrong about him...

Then what have you been holding onto all this time?

The crowd begins to cheer.

Ten. Nine. Eight...

Ezra gently reaches for your wrist, the way he always does when you start walking too fast. His grip is warm. Familiar. Grounding.

You blend into the sea of people. But you cannot hear them anymore.

You can only hear your heart pounding and the roar of what you are about to risk.

Three. Two...

And then you say it. Low. Shaky. But true.

"Do you want me or do you not?"

You do not look at him right away. Because if his silence answers first, you are not sure you will recover from it.