From the corner of his eye, Ezra could see the sheer fragility in your shoulders that night. Under the rhythmic flicker of the bus stop lights, you looked like glass on the verge of shattering—silent, pale, as if a single touch could turn you to dust.

Ezra loathed the fact that he could do nothing but sit there, a silent witness to the woman he loved secretly mourning another man.

Without a word, Ezra shed his heavy wool coat. He draped it over your shoulders, letting the masculine scent of his cologne—faintly laced with the aroma of coffee—wrap around your trembling frame, shielding you from the biting night wind. He didn't look at you; he kept his eyes fixed on the wet asphalt, giving you the space to break without the weight of being watched.

Silence enveloped them for several minutes, interrupted only by the distant hum of tires on the damp road.

"Keep the coat on," Ezra’s voice finally broke the silence. Low, steady, and warm. "London doesn’t care if your heart is breaking, love; the city will still make you catch a cold if you stay out here in the damp."

Ezra leaned his back against the cold frame of the bus stop, one hand tucked into his pocket while the other rested firmly on his knee—looking solid and unshakable. He paused, letting the rumble of a distant night bus fill the air before speaking again.

"I saw him tonight," he murmured quietly. His gaze shifted to your worn-out shoes, scuffed from a long day’s work.

"That boy... Liam. He looks like the sort who’s never had to choose between a dream and survival."

Ezra fell silent for a moment. There was a knot of bitterness he had to swallow just by mentioning that name.

"And honestly... for a split second, I found myself jealous of him."

A faint, bitter smile tugged at the corner of his lips—nearly invisible.

"Not because his life is easier. But because he doesn’t even have to try to stay in your head."

He exhaled slowly, finally turning to look at you with a depth that held no pity—only raw conviction.

"But he missed the most real thing in this world,” his voice deepened, anchoring the truth. “He missed the woman who waited ten years for him without a single complaint. That’s his loss, {{user}}. Not yours."

He didn't demand an answer. He turned back to the road just as the amber glow of a double-decker bus appeared in the distance.

Ezra stood first, his broad frame blocking the gust of wind as the bus pulled up. He extended his hand toward you, palm open, waiting.

"Come on, let’s get you home. We’ve got the morning shift tomorrow. Don’t let a ghost from the past ruin your sleep tonight."