Ezra pushed open the apartment door, the familiar creak of the hinges announcing his arrival home. The scent of his fer father's cooking—something with garlic and herbs tonight—wrapped around him like a comforting blanket, but it couldn't quite dispel the confusion swirling in his mind.
"Sweetheart? That you?" James called from the kitchen.
"Yeah, Papa," Ezra responded, slipping off his shoes and padding into the kitchen where his fer father was chopping vegetables with practiced efficiency.
James looked up, his perceptive eyes immediately catching something in Ezra's expression. "How was the study session?"
Ezra had mentioned it briefly yesterday, downplaying it as just helping another student. Now, setting his bag down on one of the kitchen chairs, he found himself unsure how to answer.
"It was... fine," he said finally.
"Fine?" James raised an eyebrow. "You've been staring into space for the past thirty seconds. That's not fine, that's thinking."
Despite himself, Ezra smiled. His fer father had always been able to read him like a book. "It's nothing, really. Just... unexpected."
"Unexpected how?" James set down his knife, giving Ezra his full attention in that way that made it impossible to deflect.
"The student I tutored—Kai Ashford—he actually showed up. And he actually paid attention. And he..." Ezra struggled to articulate what was bothering him. "He quoted 'The Little Prince' from memory, Papa. The line about seeing with your heart."
James's expression softened with understanding. "And that surprised you."
"Shouldn't it?" Ezra moved to help with dinner preparations automatically, washing his hands at the sink. "He's Kai Ashford. His family is social media royalty. He drives a car worth more than our annual rent. Why would someone like that care about a children's book?"
"Maybe because he's more than his family name and his bank account?" James suggested gently. "People can surprise us, Ezra. Sometimes in wonderful ways."
"Or sometimes they pretend to be something they're not," Ezra countered, grabbing a cutting board. "I don't understand why he's suddenly interested in studying with me. We've been in the same school for four years, and he's never even looked at me before."
"And that bothers you?"
Did it bother him? Ezra considered as he began slicing carrots with careful precision. "It doesn't make sense. People like Kai Ashford don't suddenly befriend people like me without a reason."
"People like you," James repeated, his tone careful. "And what kind of person are you, exactly?"
"Papa, you know what I mean. I'm nobody. I'm the scholarship kid who keeps his head down and doesn't make waves. Kai is... he's everything I'm not. Popular, wealthy, confident. We don't exist in the same world."
James was quiet for a moment, continuing his own chopping. When he spoke, his voice was soft but firm. "Your father and I never wanted you to think of yourself as less than anyone else because we don't have as much money as some families."
"I don't—" Ezra started, but James held up a hand.
"Let me finish. You are not 'nobody,' Ezra Wells. You are brilliant, kind, hardworking, and more mature than most adults I know. You got into Brighton University on your own merit. You've maintained a perfect GPA while working part-time to help with expenses even though we've told you not to. You are extraordinary, sweetheart. And if Kai Ashford is finally noticing that, maybe he's not as shallow as you think."
Ezra felt his throat tighten with emotion. "What if he's just bored? What if this is some kind of game?"
"Then he'll reveal himself eventually, and you'll handle it the way you handle everything—with grace and strength." James reached over to squeeze Ezra's shoulder. "But what if he's genuine? What if this is the beginning of a real friendship? Are you going to deny yourself that possibility because you're afraid?"
"I'm not afraid," Ezra protested automatically.
"Aren't you?" James's eyes were knowing. "You've spent four years keeping everyone at arm's length, protecting yourself. It's kept you safe, but sweetheart... it's also kept you lonely. I've watched you come home every day to bury yourself in books instead of going out with friends. I've seen you eat lunch alone. I know you tell yourself it's because you're focused on your future, but Ezra... it's okay to want connection. It's okay to let someone in."
Ezra blinked back sudden tears. "What if I let him in and he hurts me?"
"Then you'll survive it," James said simply. "Because you're stronger than you think. But what if you don't let him in, and you miss out on something that could be wonderful? Which regret would be harder to live with?"
Before Ezra could answer, the front door opened and Thomas's booming voice filled the apartment. "Something smells amazing! Are my two favorite people making my favorite dinner?"
"Your favorite dinner changes daily based on whatever we're cooking," James called back, his teasing tone a contrast to the serious conversation they'd just been having.
Thomas appeared in the kitchen doorway, his mer frame filling the space, construction dust still clinging to his work clothes despite his obvious attempt to brush it off. His face lit up when he saw Ezra. "There's my brilliant son! How was school?"
"Good," Ezra said, grateful for the interruption. "How was the site?"
"Exhausting," Thomas admitted, moving to kiss James's cheek and then ruffle Ezra's hair in the affectionate gesture he'd been doing since Ezra was small. "But we're finally making progress on that office building. Another month and we should be done."
As his parents fell into their easy banter about their day.
This was his foundation—these two people who loved each other and him with such uncomplicated devotion. His mer father with his rough hands and gentle heart, his fer father with his quiet wisdom and endless patience.
They'd met young, Thomas and James. Fallen in love despite coming from different economic backgrounds—Thomas from a working-class mer family, James from a slightly more comfortable fer family who hadn't approved of the match. They'd eloped, built a life together through sheer determination and love, and raised Ezra to value integrity and kindness over wealth and status.
Watching them now, seeing the way Thomas's hand found James's waist as they cooked together, the comfortable synchronicity of two people who'd spent over twenty years as partners, Ezra felt a pang of longing so sharp it almost hurt.
Would he ever have that? Someone to come home to, someone who looked at him the way his fathers looked at each other?
Unbidden, an image of Kai flashed through his mind—the way Kai had leaned forward when Ezra explained literature, genuine interest in his eyes. The soft smile when he'd quoted "The Little Prince." The absence of mockery or condescension that Ezra had expected but never received.
No. He couldn't let himself think that way. Kai Ashford was dangerous precisely because he seemed too good to be true. And in Ezra's experience, things that seemed too good to be true usually were.
Thomas waved a hand in front of his face. "You okay, kiddo?"
"Just tired," Ezra lied. "Long day."
"Well, dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. Why don't you go wash up and rest a bit?"
Ezra nodded and retreated to his small bedroom. He closed the door and leaned against it, his eyes scanning the familiar space. His walls were covered with quotes he'd written on index cards—lines from his favorite books, poems that had moved him, passages that felt like they'd been written specifically for him.
His gaze landed on one he'd written sophomore year, from Oscar Wilde: "To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance."
He'd put it up as a reminder to value himself, to not seek validation from others. But now it felt almost mocking. Because the truth was, Ezra was lonely. His father was right about that. He'd built walls so high that no one could hurt him, but those same walls kept everyone out—including the possibility of real connection.
His phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
Hey, it's Kai. Got your number from the school directory. Hope that's okay. Just wanted to say thanks for today. You made British Lit actually make sense for the first time all year.
Ezra stared at the message, his heart doing a complicated flutter in his chest. He should ignore it. Or send back something brief.
His fingers moved before his brain could stop them.
You're welcome. You were a good student—actually asked thoughtful questions.
The response came almost immediately.
Does that mean I get a gold star? 😊
An emoji. Kai Ashford had sent him an emoji.
Gold stars are for elementary school. You get the satisfaction of understanding poetry.
Fair enough. Same time next Thursday?
Yes. Don't be late.
Wouldn't dream of it. See you tomorrow, Ezra.
Ezra saved the number—telling himself it was just practical, for scheduling purposes—and set his phone down. His hands were trembling slightly, which was ridiculous. It was just a text. Just a study arrangement.
So why did his chest feel warm? Why was he smiling at his phone like some lovesick fool?
"Get it together," he muttered to himself. "It doesn't mean anything."
But as he lay on his bed.