Page 116 of We Used To Be Magic

‘I’m sorry—’ I begin, but he’s shaking his head.

‘No, don’t be sorry. I just – I want you to know that I’ve been doing better, these past few weeks,’ he says stiltedly. ‘Trying tobe better. You have no reason to believe that, I know. I’m not sure if you should, even, but …’

‘Ezra—’

‘I mean it. I’m not drinking. I’m not smoking. I’m trying to fix things with my dad. I might even get therapy – apparently everyone else in my family does, so maybe they can fix me up with someone—’

‘Ezra,’ I say firmly, placing a hand against his chest. ‘Why are you telling me all this?’

‘Because I want you to come back,’ he says seriously. ‘I want to be a good enough reason for you to come back.’

I have to swallow a lump in my throat before I can reply.

‘I’ll come back,’ I manage finally, voice wavering. ‘Of course I will.’

‘You have to. You don’t want to offend the universe after it put in so much work to get you here.’

‘Right.’ I smile. ‘Except I thought you didn’t believe in “that stuff”?’

‘Yeah, well – life happens. You happened.’

I laugh, rolling my eyes like I’m embarrassed at the cheesiness and not about to melt into a puddle of pure joy.

‘Either way,’ he continues. ‘I don’t think we need it any more.’

‘Because you love me,’ I say, a painfully heavy-handed prompt. I don’t even care. I just want to hear him say it again. And again. And again.

‘Because I love you,’ he says, grinning. ‘I have done for ages, actually. Way before it would have been normal.’

‘It’s not even been two months,’ I point out, trying to deflect from the colour creeping into my cheeks. ‘We’re miles from “normal”, still.’

‘Too late. You already said it back.’

‘I said it first, actually.’

‘… That’s true. How can I make it up to you?’

‘You don’t—’ I begin, but then I meet his gaze and it becomes distinctly obvious that he’s not really asking a question. My heart thuds hard against my chest, and I distantly realise that I must look like a mess right now – all damp and smudgy, pink-nosed and tear-stained. But the way that Ezra’s looking at me, you’d never know. He’s looking at me like I’m magic, actually. And when he puts his hand on my face and guides my lips to his, that’s exactly what it feels like.

In all the time we’ve been standing here, not one passer-by has done a double-take at the wet, bleeding teenagers declaring love for each other in the downpour. That’s New York for you, I guess, but in this moment they might as well not exist. There’s only us – only me and him. His mouth, his hands – one on my jaw, the other tangled in my hair. I want him to keep it there – to hold on to this, to him. When we do finally break apart, I’m clutching his shirt like it’s the only thing tethering me to this planet.

Tomorrow is the flimsiest thing in the world, a totally ephemeral concept that has no bearing on us at all. I think about telling Ezra that, but as he leans in to kiss me again, smiling crookedly, I realise that he probably already knows.