07-23-2025, 01:38 AM
Ezvin let her go reluctantly.
He always did. Let them go. Let them speak. Let them chase. Let them believe in the magic they needed like that magic would change their lives. In Ezvin’s experience, there was no magic that changed lives. It was only up to him.
He watched Cadence step away. And though he didn’t understand exactly what Cadence had done, he recognized the effect.
The girl with the guitar… He had seen that posture before. In someone else, in someone he had once… Yes. Jensen.
Ezvin’s breath caught for a fraction of a second before smoothing out again. Yes, this was the same magic. Not literally. But he’d had the same effect. Cadence had the same look on her face, and the same euphoric effect overwhelmed the person she served it to.
Cadence returned to him radiant and spent, the edges of her fatigue curling around the fire in her. She wrapped one arm around his waist and leaned in, and instinctively, he adjusted to her weight, letting her settle against him like he’d done this a thousand times. I felt good to support her, even in that moment.
As the girl behind the corner began to sing, Ezvin didn’t speak. Not yet. He just let Cadence rest against him, her skinn still flush with the warmth of her effort.
When the first verse gave way to something deeper, he spoke quietly as not to over shadow the musician.
“That was amazing,” he said.
He turned his face toward hers slightly, enough to meet her eyes. There was warmth in his gaze, something soft, adoring even, but the edge of it was just out of focus. Just the right amount of intimacy, like a man who had long ago learned how to wear connection like a cool hat.
“You give people a path through the dark, Cadence. That’s rare. Powerful. Most artists scream into the void hoping someone echoes back. But you… you whisper. And they follow.”
He let the moment wait, his fingers tracing a gentle arc over her back, small movements that soothed more than stirred. Then, with a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he looked back down the hallway. Not toward the singer. But toward nothing in particular.
“You ever feel like people only see one version of you?” he asked softly, the question almost lost to the strum of the guitar behind them. “Like they fall in love with the face you show them, but never ask what’s underneath it?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. It wasn’t really a question for her. It was a breadcrumb. Just a tiny one. But maybe someday it would lead somewhere. He pulled her a little closer, his touch still warm, still careful.
“Let’s sit a while,” he murmured, gesturing toward a little alcove nearby with low cushions and scattered sketchbooks. “Let the song finish. Let the fire settle. I’ll keep you warm a little longer.”
He always did. Let them go. Let them speak. Let them chase. Let them believe in the magic they needed like that magic would change their lives. In Ezvin’s experience, there was no magic that changed lives. It was only up to him.
He watched Cadence step away. And though he didn’t understand exactly what Cadence had done, he recognized the effect.
The girl with the guitar… He had seen that posture before. In someone else, in someone he had once… Yes. Jensen.
Ezvin’s breath caught for a fraction of a second before smoothing out again. Yes, this was the same magic. Not literally. But he’d had the same effect. Cadence had the same look on her face, and the same euphoric effect overwhelmed the person she served it to.
Cadence returned to him radiant and spent, the edges of her fatigue curling around the fire in her. She wrapped one arm around his waist and leaned in, and instinctively, he adjusted to her weight, letting her settle against him like he’d done this a thousand times. I felt good to support her, even in that moment.
As the girl behind the corner began to sing, Ezvin didn’t speak. Not yet. He just let Cadence rest against him, her skinn still flush with the warmth of her effort.
When the first verse gave way to something deeper, he spoke quietly as not to over shadow the musician.
“That was amazing,” he said.
He turned his face toward hers slightly, enough to meet her eyes. There was warmth in his gaze, something soft, adoring even, but the edge of it was just out of focus. Just the right amount of intimacy, like a man who had long ago learned how to wear connection like a cool hat.
“You give people a path through the dark, Cadence. That’s rare. Powerful. Most artists scream into the void hoping someone echoes back. But you… you whisper. And they follow.”
He let the moment wait, his fingers tracing a gentle arc over her back, small movements that soothed more than stirred. Then, with a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he looked back down the hallway. Not toward the singer. But toward nothing in particular.
“You ever feel like people only see one version of you?” he asked softly, the question almost lost to the strum of the guitar behind them. “Like they fall in love with the face you show them, but never ask what’s underneath it?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. It wasn’t really a question for her. It was a breadcrumb. Just a tiny one. But maybe someday it would lead somewhere. He pulled her a little closer, his touch still warm, still careful.
“Let’s sit a while,” he murmured, gesturing toward a little alcove nearby with low cushions and scattered sketchbooks. “Let the song finish. Let the fire settle. I’ll keep you warm a little longer.”