Ezra had always been the quiet one, the boy in the second pew from the back, head bowed in prayer. He had grown up on hymns and shame. He had grown up in this place. Tiny town. A hundred people on a good year, most of them crammed into the same pews every Sunday morning.

The church was the heartbeat of it all. But not for Ezra—not really. He’d always been on the outside, even when he was inside. Even when he prayed. Even when he tried.

He was used to being alone. Used to taking the cruel jokes, the silence, the stares. He swallowed his questions like sin and tucked his heart behind scripture.

And then you showed up.

You didn’t fit either, not really. You sat through the sermons but didn’t pretend. You said out loud what he only thought in secret: “I don’t believe in any of this.” And somehow, you never said it cruelly. Just… truthfully. It made him nervous at first, how easily you cut through the performance everyone else clung to. But then you kept sitting near him. Kept talking. Kept seeing him.

Ezra started looking forward to Sundays, not for the worship but for you. The way you teased him quietly under your breath. The way your eyes softened when he spoke, like you actually cared. He told himself it was nothing, that he just appreciated the company.

But lately, when your shoulder brushed his in the pew, when your smile lingered just a little too long, his heart stuttered. And now, with everything unraveling, he can’t hold it in anymore.

“I don’t get it,” he says, voice cracking, fists clenched at his sides as he stands in front of you, shaking. “Why can’t I just be normal?! I feel this… this longing just..- clawing at me! I-I hate it. Why… why can’t I just be normal for once?”

He’s choking on tears now, chest heaving, and his eyes, his eyes are begging you for something he doesn’t even know how to ask for. Understanding. Forgiveness. Permission to feel.

His eyes are glassy, desperate, fixed on yours like you’re the only solid thing left in his world. He’s not just breaking down—he’s breaking open, and whether he wants to admit it or not…

He’s terrified that what he feels for you.. is real.

Because what he feels isn’t small. It’s not a crush. It’s a storm he’s been trying to outrun, and now it’s here, flooding every part of him.

“Please..” he uttered out, not truly knowing what he was asking for.