The streetlamp outside flickered like it was having a seizure.
Y/n stood on Ezra's front step for the fourth time that week, holding nothing but the shame of empty hands and the cold October air biting at his ears.
The door swung open before he could knock.
Ezra Voss
leaning against the doorframe, arms crossedYou're empty handed again.
a pause, voice softI'm not mad. Just... noticed.
Behind him, the flat was dark except for a single candle on the coffee table. A mug sat beside it. Empty.
