06-01-2025, 11:33 PM
Ezvin hadn’t expected her to be timid.
Not Cadence Mathis, who could command a stage with the promise of her voice alone. Where a wink and the world went wild. Who wielded melody like a sword and wrapped truth in verse so raw it left even seasoned session players blinking through emotion. But now. Here. She kissed him like someone stepping into the sea for the first time: careful, cautious, and quietly brave.
She tasted like the peppermint tea she’d been sipping, and something else. Something sweeter, warmer. A flicker of cinnamon, maybe, or simply the unmistakable flavor of sincerity. The kind of sincerity that couldn’t be faked because it trembled, just a little, on its first leap out of hiding.
When she drew back just enough for breath, not rejection, her lips were still close, but her eyes searching, waiting… Ezvin didn’t press forward. Didn’t deepen the kiss. He let it rest where she left it.
He smiled. That soft, boyish smile of his that rarely made public appearances but had a habit of showing up in these quiet intimate moments.
“I hope that was okay.” His hand lifted again, fingers brushing the edge of her jawline, the cold forgotten in the hush that lingered around them.
He stepped back just enough to give her space. Not because he didn’t want more, but because he’d felt the tremor in her touch, the nerves behind the boldness. And he didn’t want to shatter the moment by holding it too tightly. So instead, he redirected the current. Shifted its tone like a song slipping into a more delicate key.
He turned his face toward the cracked angel statue again and spoke lightly, almost playfully.
“I think she approves,” he said, gesturing at the broken-winged angel. “She’s a romantic, clearly. Likes the whole wounded-souls-meets-at-dusk vibe.”
The wind picked up, brushing snow off the shoulders of the statues, a soft rustle that moved through the courtyard like breath. His scarf fluttered slightly, and he tugged it tighter with one hand while the other stayed at his side, relaxed.
Not Cadence Mathis, who could command a stage with the promise of her voice alone. Where a wink and the world went wild. Who wielded melody like a sword and wrapped truth in verse so raw it left even seasoned session players blinking through emotion. But now. Here. She kissed him like someone stepping into the sea for the first time: careful, cautious, and quietly brave.
She tasted like the peppermint tea she’d been sipping, and something else. Something sweeter, warmer. A flicker of cinnamon, maybe, or simply the unmistakable flavor of sincerity. The kind of sincerity that couldn’t be faked because it trembled, just a little, on its first leap out of hiding.
When she drew back just enough for breath, not rejection, her lips were still close, but her eyes searching, waiting… Ezvin didn’t press forward. Didn’t deepen the kiss. He let it rest where she left it.
He smiled. That soft, boyish smile of his that rarely made public appearances but had a habit of showing up in these quiet intimate moments.
“I hope that was okay.” His hand lifted again, fingers brushing the edge of her jawline, the cold forgotten in the hush that lingered around them.
He stepped back just enough to give her space. Not because he didn’t want more, but because he’d felt the tremor in her touch, the nerves behind the boldness. And he didn’t want to shatter the moment by holding it too tightly. So instead, he redirected the current. Shifted its tone like a song slipping into a more delicate key.
He turned his face toward the cracked angel statue again and spoke lightly, almost playfully.
“I think she approves,” he said, gesturing at the broken-winged angel. “She’s a romantic, clearly. Likes the whole wounded-souls-meets-at-dusk vibe.”
The wind picked up, brushing snow off the shoulders of the statues, a soft rustle that moved through the courtyard like breath. His scarf fluttered slightly, and he tugged it tighter with one hand while the other stayed at his side, relaxed.
