barkbites

@azishimi @mundosafico25 @bl00df1redeath @saffrontieee

you laugh under your breath and lift your chin. “you’re not strong enough.”

it's a terrible lie, really. one of the worst you have ever told. sebastian has been able to pick you up like you weigh nothing since you were kids, and he knows it, and you know he knows it, which is exactly why you say it.

his face brightens immediately. “you want to see?”

you make a break for the stairs immediately, even with your heels. the movement is awkward, the dress catching at your legs. unfortunately, sebastian is faster.

you are halfway to the door when his hands catch your hips, steady and familiar, and you let out a tiny yelp before it turns into laughter. your whole body goes stupid for half a second, because apparently being lifted by sebastian is enough to remind your nerves that they are, in fact, alive.

“excuse me,” he says, sarcastic.

you glance back at him, still laughing. “god, i forgot i was talking to sebastian wilder. my knight in shining armor.”

“careful,” he mutters, but he sounds amused now.

he helps you into the taxi with irritating competence, one hand guiding you in, the other smoothing the dress so it doesn't bunch awkwardly around your legs. he does it without thinking.

the touch is brief, but your skin notices anyway. you try very hard to act normal about it.

sebastian slides in after you, all long limbs and easy confidence, like he has not just sent your heart into a full sprint with one hand at your waist.

you look at him.

he looks back, entirely too pleased with himself.

“what’s the name of the bride again?” you ask, because you are committed to have the last word for as long as possible.

sebastian looks at you, then drops his gaze with a smile.

“you want to bet how long you can talk to people before they notice you do not know the bride’s name?”

you tip your head, considering it for a moment, knowing you are absolutely going to win.

“if i get them to think i am her sister,” you say, leaning in close enough to whisper it to him, “we make it double.”

——

the wedding is lovely in the way summer things usually are. the kind of wedding that makes sense in june. all open sky and white chairs and flowers, little kids running around giggling.

you cry a little when they say the vows, you clap when they kiss, because that is what you're supposed to do, and because there is something hard not to believe in when two people look at each other like that.

you glance at sebastian after. he is looking at the couple the same way people look at things they have forgotten how to want. not with sadness, but more like a scene of a movie that shows you what could've been.

“that’s a nice dress,” you mutter when the food starts arriving, because now seems like a decent time to bring it up. the waitress sets a fancy plate down in front of you, then another in front of sebastian. his looks better immediately.

he leans in slightly when you speak, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. “mm?”

“if i marry someone one day,” you say, “i would want a dress like that.”

sebastian turns his head just enough that you can hear him without the whole table hearing him too. his hands move quickly, swapping the plates before you can even pretend to object.

“you want to marry?”

the question surprises you more than it should.

you look at him, frowning a little. “i suppose i do. you don’t?”

you know him enough to know he does.

mia flickers through your mind for a second. you don't remember much of her face. you remember her hands more than anything else. her hands on sebastian’s arm. her hand on his shoulder. the perfect way her hands looked holding into his. you suppose you grieved her too, in the strange way people grieve someone they only knew as a person in the life of somebody they loved first.

but after all of that, after everything that had made him quieter in certain places, you had thought—

what had you thought?

that maybe, after all these years, he would have looked at you and understood something obvious?

you tighten your fingers around your fork. you are not foolish enough for that. you are smarter than that, even if your heart is being irritating about it.

sebastian hasn't answered you yet.

the table noise goes on around you, silverware against plates and someone laughing too loudly a few seats away. you lift one shoulder in what you hope looks casual.

“just asking,” you say.

the music suddenly starts. you supposed you must have been too deep in your own head to notice when they announced the couples’ dance.

the bride appears again, her dress changed now, shorter than before. she beams at the crowd, all white teeth and happiness. you get up immediately, trying to get a better view of a dance the couple probably didn't practice enough.

the crowd closes in and the back of your dress catches on someone’s hand, you know it's sebastian behind you before you even turn. you don't feel strong enough to look at him after your conversation.

a girl laughs nearby, it sounds too much like mia. you wonder if sebastian heard it too. you wonder if he is thinking the same thing.

someone steps on your dress, and a kid shoves you without meaning to, he doesn't apologize either. you watch him disappear into the crowd. you've only walked a few yards, but it feels much farther. the couple is still dancing somewhere ahead and your chest feels oddly tight.

then someone touches your arm.

you look up to find an older woman studying your face with polite suspicion.

“are you a friend of the couple?” she asks.

the answer comes out before you can stop it. “i’m the bride’s sister.”

you say it loudly enough that sebastian, wherever he is, will hear. there is a known snort somewhere two feet to your left.

your shoulders loosen by a fraction.

the old woman’s expression does not change much, but at least it softens around the edges. “really? emily never mentioned having another sister.”

“oh, you know,” you say, already committing to the bit. “travelling around the world. we are not that close.”

she nods, though her expression still looks a little sour.

“where have you been to?” she asks.

“oh. argentina, brazil…” you start, because apparently lying with confidence makes the lie sound more expensive.

“no europe?”

you shrug. “nah, bores me.”

it's a ridiculous answer, especially since you have never left the country your feet are currently planted in, but it seems to satisfy her well enough. apparently europe has enough critics already.

the singer suddenly leans into the microphone to announce that the dance floor is open for everyone. people clap right away. you join them too, because not clapping would be weirder and you are trying to keep a respectable distance from weird tonight.

the music shifts, brighter and groovy.

mothers go to dance with their children. husbands take their wives by the hand. it is all very sweet in a way that feels almost aggressive, like the room is insisting on happiness. you wonder if sebastian feels that too.

he at least has an excuse. he has had love once. real love, or whatever the version of it was that left marks. your own sorrows are more embarrassing because no one else can see them, and that does not make them less annoying to carry.

you start looking for him without meaning to, your head turning left and right until you spot him near the rose garden.

your feet move before you can rethink it.

“you owe me money,” you say when you reach him, putting on your best al pacino impression.

sebastian’s mouth twitches. “the wedding is not over yet.”

“they’re married,” you say. “they said the vows. people are dancing. it's over.”

you extend your hand.

“she believed me. give me the money.”

“you are always so stubborn.”

you give him a look that says ‘the pot should really not be calling the kettle black’, and he answers with the sort of expression that says ‘fair enough’.

he reaches for his wallet. “why do you want to leave?”

“i don't want to leave,” you say immediately, which is how he knows you are lying.

“you do,” he says. “you have that expression in your eyes. like a deer caught in the headlights.”

you wrinkle your nose. “i don't like weddings.”

“how do you plan on getting married if you don't like weddings?”

you stare at him.

“is it any of your business?”

“might be if i am your future best man.”

that makes you recoil on instinct. “why do you think you will be my best man?”

he glances at you like this is the easiest answer in the world. “i don't think you have other friends.”

you huff and fold your arms. “i don't like big weddings, that's what i meant. i’m going to have a small wedding. no best man.”

even to your own ears, you sound a little petulant. which is unfair. sebastian has an irritating ability to make you sound like a child just by existing near you.

“and who are you planning to marry in this perfect wedding?” he asks.

the question snaps something in you.

“okay,” you say, too quickly. “that is enough. that is— that is not funny anymore, okay?”

your hands curl into fists. you hate when you do that. it always makes you feel twelve years old again.

“i’m sorry i talked about getting married knowing about mia,” you say.

sebastian blinks. “i— i never talked about mia.”

you ignore him.

“i’m sorry. that was mean of me, okay? but that is not an excuse to make fun of my—”

“i never mentioned mia once,” he says again, baffled now.

“you were making fun of my dreams.”

“i never said anything.”

“that was the problem,” you huff. “you always have an opinion, seb. suddenly when i talk about it, you don't? i have known you since we were kids. do not act like i don't see through you.”

he looks at you with something almost like disbelief.

“oh, you do?” he says.

“yes, i fucking do, sebastian,” you shoot back.

his eyebrows lift at that, offended. “oh, do not call me sebastian like you are all high and mighty.”

you let out a sound that is somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.

“we are not having this conversation right now, okay?” you say. “i have been enduring your personality since we were kids.”

you shut your eyes for a second, as if that might hold the anger in place. your voice comes out sharp next.

“i am at a wedding, so i am going to behave like an adult,” you start, “but i want you to remember who was the one who pulled you out of your ass when you were too depressed to do anything.”

you jab a finger into his chest, hard enough to get your point across.

“remember it,” you say, “and act at your own accord.”

then you leave him standing there with whatever he was about to say still caught at his mouth.

the bar is easy to reach for obvious reasons. the bartender asks what you want, and you answer immediately, because if you have to think about it for one second you might start thinking about sebastian instead.

“whisky, on the rocks,” you say.

——

you hate whisky. it is, objectively, the worst thing anyone has ever decided to put in a glass. you cannot even be dramatic about it properly, because by now it tastes less like alcohol and more like diluted melted ice.

around you, people are still dancing. the kind of dancing that looks charming, it would make a beautiful photo if you caught it at the right angle, but your phone is still in sebastian's back pocket. the sun has almost fully gone down, and the sky has darkened into that late-night blue where the stars start appearing one by one.

you still have no idea where sebastian has gone.

you are not even sure whether you are supposed to care anymore.

there is a growing feeling in your chest, that maybe every moment from his breakup with mia until now has been you filling a spot that was never really yours to begin with.

someone sits beside you. a man. good-looking, but not like Sebastian.

“did you get dumped at a wedding?” he asks.

what kind of asshole opens a conversation like that?

you huff a little laugh despite yourself. “uh— worse, i think? i was a bad friend to my best friend.”

your words are slightly slurred at the edges, which is annoying because you do not think you are drunk. just tired, very very tired.

“that’s bad,” he says. “but not that bad. where do you know the bride from?”

“she’s my sister,” you say automatically.

the man turns his head, giving you a long, flat look.

“that’s crazy,” he says. “because i’m her brother, and i don't remember having you as my sister.”

you make a sound of pure horror and immediately cover your face with both hands.

“i’m so sorry— i… i made this dumb bet with my best friend about getting people to believe i’m the bride’s sister. i don’t even remember her name,” you say, and the last few words come out in a rush of mortification.

“how much?”

“like— two hundred?” you say. then, because that sounds worse out loud, you add quickly, “it was not that much. and he didn't even pay me, we started arguing before he could.”

“that is not a great business plan.”

“i know,” you mutter. your voice sounds small and whiny in a way you do not appreciate at all. “but he just gets on my nerves so bad.”

“like siblings?”

“i guess,” you say, though it is not really the same thing and you do not want to think about why.

“ah,” he says after a moment. “i get it now.”

you squint at him. he looks far too satisfied with himself.

“maybe you should stop lying to him,” he says then, much more casually than the words deserve. “you look like you enjoy doing that too much, even when no one is paying you any money.”

“i do not—” you start, but the sentence dies immediately because he is annoying and, unfortunately, correct.

you do lie to sebastian.

you lie about your feelings, about how much you notice, about why you are always there when he turns around. you lie about why you stand so close to him. you lie about why you never liked his girlfriends.

everything feels wrong suddenly. not just awkward. wrong.

what if this has been unfair? what if sebastian only wants a friend, and you have been borrowing that friendship like it is something more?

and if that is true, doesn't he deserve better than that? even if saying the truth breaks your heart? even if leaving him does?

the exhaustion drops out of your body suddenly. your eyes start to sting. you need to find sebastian.

you mutter a slurred thank you to the man, who looks at you like you may have taken something far stronger than whisky, and push yourself to your feet. your legs ache and the grass is annoying. the heels make everything worse.

so you kick them off.

you can feel the cool ground under your feet, and you pray to every deity you can think of, hoping that nobody has dropped a glass.

you find him near the dance floor. the music has shifted into something slower now, one of those old frank sinatra songs that you know he likes. couples are starting to sway to the rhythm. you hate slow dancing, too many rules and too much eye contact.

sebastian looks like he has been standing still for too long. his shoulders hang with the kind of tiredness that is not really physical. more like the aftermath of a thought he has not managed to put down yet.

you startle him when you touch his shoulder.

“fuck,” he says immediately. “give a guy a warning.”

you laugh, soft and a little breathless. “sorry. you looked like you needed to stop thinking about it.”

his eyes flick to you. “about what?”

you do not say her name, there is no need. he is testing you, and you know it.

“i'm sorry,” you say instead. “i was such a fucking asshole.”

sebastian makes a face that says ‘yeah, kind of,’ but he doesn't look angry. his shoulders drop a little, like he has been holding something. he jerks his chin towards the floor.

“wanna dance?” he asks. “you know this one. and you owe me one.”

“i have to tell you something first—”

you don't even get to finish before his hands are on your hips, steering you towards the dance floor.

“you can say it late— where are your heels?” he asks, and despite everything, there is a laugh trying to get out of him.

you blink at him. “at the bar. i— i kind of went running to find you. it was sort of a revelation moment.”

sebastian hums, the sound low in his throat, like he is deciding what to make of you all over again. he moves you closer to him.

“you deserve better than me,” you say. the words sound false in your mouth, like a script.

sebastian’s eyebrow lifts at once. “we have been friends since we were kids. having an argument is not going to change that.”

“it’s not about the argument,” you say quickly. “god knows it’s not our first.”

he looks at you like he is waiting for the part you are actually trying not to say.

“i have not been entirely sincere with you.”

“you really cannot wait?” he asks.

you shake your head. sebastian sighs, and his hand shifts a little higher on your waist, like he is trying very hard not to pull you closer than this.

“for nobody else gave me a thrill. with all your faults, i love you still…” sinatra croons, and the line lands strangely between you.

the next sentence dies at your tongue. maybe he's right. maybe you should have done this later.

sebastian says your name. you nod once, but your eyes are already shiny with tears.

“it can wait,” you say. you lick your lips, nervous habit. “it can wait.”

he knows you too well for this. knows the face you make when you are trying not to say something that is eating you. knows what it looks like when you go quiet and bright-eyed. he has seen it before.

not with him, never with him.

the realization lands hard, because he has seen you do that with other people. idiots. ex-boyfriends. men who never deserved the attention you gave them and he hated them on sight. he always had reasons to step in without thinking, cutting conversations short with a look, a hand, a careless remark that sent them off somewhere else. nobody was good enough for you.

he always told himself it was because he was protective. it was also because he was a fucking hypocrite.

when his own heart had been broken, you had been the one to put it back together. he had always let you fix him, maybe that was the problem.

because if your heart was breaking now, if you were standing here with that same shining, careful expression, then it meant it had to be for someone else.

he knows he should be happy for you. but the idea of you loving someone enough to leave him makes him angry. possessive, in the stupid, ugly way he hates admitting even to himself.

“it had to be you,” sinatra goes on, and it's starting feels less like a lyric and more like an accusation.

sebastian watches your face, and when he speaks, his voice comes out quieter than before.

“is this about love?”

your whole expression changes. you hesitate. your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

sebastian nods, slow and careful, like he understands.

“i’m sorry,” you say at last, voice smaller now. “i did not want to say anything. but— i just didn't want to ruin this.”

“i get it,” he says. “no worries.”

your brow lifts before you can stop it. he gets it? that was not what you were expecting from him after confessing your love, or whatever this was supposed to be.

“you… you get it?” you ask, because you are not actually sure he heard you correctly.

sebastian nods again.

“if he makes you happy, i understand.”

“he—? who?” your words come out blank, confused enough to sound almost stupid.

sebastian blinks.

“i feel a little heartbroken you did not tell me you were dating someone sooner,” he says.

you stare at him.

“that is because i am not,” you say slowly. “i’m literally single.”

sebastian looks confused, and slightly relieved.

“i don't understand,” he starts.

you let out a breath that shakes on the way out.

“i’m in love with you, seb,” you say. “like, since we were teens.”

sebastian’s eyes widen. his mouth falls open a little, the expression so stunned that it almost looks uncharacteristic on him.

you give him a miserable little smile that fails before it even forms.

“i know,” you say quietly. “i never said anything because i thought maybe one day you would… see me?” you shake your head before he can answer. embarrassment burns through your face. “god, that sounds ridiculous.”

you look away for half a second, then back at him again.

“but i think you deserve better,” you say. “you deserve a friend without second intentions, and i don't know if that can be me.”

“oh, pretty…” he says, and his voice sounds soft around the edges in a way you were not expecting. “i’m so sorry for not noticing before.”

before you can stop yourself, your face crumples. one of his hands comes up and presses your head gently against his chest, like he already knows you will not argue with it.

you’re grateful for that. for the fact that his shirt is hiding your face from everyone else’s eyes. you don't even realize you’ve started crying until the first tear slips free and the rest follow.

you let out a tiny hiccup and press your face closer.

“it’s no—” you start, and another hiccup ruins the sentence. “it’s nothing.”

“it is something, isn’t it?” he says.

his voice is so soft that you nod against his shirt before you even think about it.

some small, traitorous part of your brain wonders whether he has ever spoken to another woman like this. you like to think you're special. you know you are, in your own way. you just do not know whether that extends into the part where someone might love you back.

sebastian cups your face with both hands, thumb brushing lightly over your wet cheek. his forehead rests against yours for a second, and you have the strange, dizzy thought that maybe this is his polite way of letting you down gently.

then his eyes drop to your mouth.

your fingers find his hair, threading in carefully, pulling him closer before you can lose your mind. he hesitates only for a second. his lips meet yours, and the kiss is soft at first, almost uncertain, like neither of you quite trusts how real this is.

his hands drift lower from your face, settling at your neck with a pressure that feels more grounding than anything else.

you part only when the air in your lungs finally gives out.

the two of you separate on the same shaky breath, both of you looking a little stunned. your chest rises too fast. your heart is thudding against your ears. sebastian's lips are a little redder than before, thing that makes you a little bit proud.

“that was— that was really good.” you glance up at him. “we’re good, right?”

sebastian’s mouth twitches and he nods once.

you laugh under your breath and lift your chin. “you’re not strong enough.”

it's a terrible lie, really. one of the worst you have ever told. sebastian has been able to pick you up like you weigh nothing since you were kids, and he knows it, and you know he knows it, which is exactly why you say it.

his face brightens immediately. “you want to see?”

you make a break for the stairs immediately, even with your heels. the movement is awkward, the dress catching at your legs. unfortunately, sebastian is faster.

you are halfway to the door when his hands catch your hips, steady and familiar, and you let out a tiny yelp before it turns into laughter. your whole body goes stupid for half a second, because apparently being lifted by sebastian is enough to remind your nerves that they are, in fact, alive.

“excuse me,” he says, sarcastic.

you glance back at him, still laughing. “god, i forgot i was talking to sebastian wilder. my knight in shining armor.”

“careful,” he mutters, but he sounds amused now.

he helps you into the taxi with irritating competence, one hand guiding you in, the other smoothing the dress so it doesn't bunch awkwardly around your legs. he does it without thinking.

the touch is brief, but your skin notices anyway. you try very hard to act normal about it.

sebastian slides in after you, all long limbs and easy confidence, like he has not just sent your heart into a full sprint with one hand at your waist.

you look at him.

he looks back, entirely too pleased with himself.

“what’s the name of the bride again?” you ask, because you are committed to have the last word for as long as possible.

sebastian looks at you, then drops his gaze with a smile.

“you want to bet how long you can talk to people before they notice you do not know the bride’s name?”

you tip your head, considering it for a moment, knowing you are absolutely going to win.

“if i get them to think i am her sister,” you say, leaning in close enough to whisper it to him, “we make it double.”

——

the wedding is lovely in the way summer things usually are. the kind of wedding that makes sense in june. all open sky and white chairs and flowers, little kids running around giggling.

you cry a little when they say the vows, you clap when they kiss, because that is what you're supposed to do, and because there is something hard not to believe in when two people look at each other like that.

you glance at sebastian after. he is looking at the couple the same way people look at things they have forgotten how to want. not with sadness, but more like a scene of a movie that shows you what could've been.

“that’s a nice dress,” you mutter when the food starts arriving, because now seems like a decent time to bring it up. the waitress sets a fancy plate down in front of you, then another in front of sebastian. his looks better immediately.

he leans in slightly when you speak, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. “mm?”

“if i marry someone one day,” you say, “i would want a dress like that.”

sebastian turns his head just enough that you can hear him without the whole table hearing him too. his hands move quickly, swapping the plates before you can even pretend to object.

“you want to marry?”

the question surprises you more than it should.

you look at him, frowning a little. “i suppose i do. you don’t?”

you know him enough to know he does.

mia flickers through your mind for a second. you don't remember much of her face. you remember her hands more than anything else. her hands on sebastian’s arm. her hand on his shoulder. the perfect way her hands looked holding into his. you suppose you grieved her too, in the strange way people grieve someone they only knew as a person in the life of somebody they loved first.

but after all of that, after everything that had made him quieter in certain places, you had thought—

what had you thought?

that maybe, after all these years, he would have looked at you and understood something obvious?

you tighten your fingers around your fork. you are not foolish enough for that. you are smarter than that, even if your heart is being irritating about it.

sebastian hasn't answered you yet.

the table noise goes on around you, silverware against plates and someone laughing too loudly a few seats away. you lift one shoulder in what you hope looks casual.

“just asking,” you say.

the music suddenly starts. you supposed you must have been too deep in your own head to notice when they announced the couples’ dance.

the bride appears again, her dress changed now, shorter than before. she beams at the crowd, all white teeth and happiness. you get up immediately, trying to get a better view of a dance the couple probably didn't practice enough.

the crowd closes in and the back of your dress catches on someone’s hand, you know it's sebastian behind you before you even turn. you don't feel strong enough to look at him after your conversation.

a girl laughs nearby, it sounds too much like mia. you wonder if sebastian heard it too. you wonder if he is thinking the same thing.

someone steps on your dress, and a kid shoves you without meaning to, he doesn't apologize either. you watch him disappear into the crowd. you've only walked a few yards, but it feels much farther. the couple is still dancing somewhere ahead and your chest feels oddly tight.

then someone touches your arm.

you look up to find an older woman studying your face with polite suspicion.

“are you a friend of the couple?” she asks.

the answer comes out before you can stop it. “i’m the bride’s sister.”

you say it loudly enough that sebastian, wherever he is, will hear. there is a known snort somewhere two feet to your left.

your shoulders loosen by a fraction.

the old woman’s expression does not change much, but at least it softens around the edges. “really? emily never mentioned having another sister.”

“oh, you know,” you say, already committing to the bit. “travelling around the world. we are not that close.”

she nods, though her expression still looks a little sour.

“where have you been to?” she asks.

“oh. argentina, brazil…” you start, because apparently lying with confidence makes the lie sound more expensive.

“no europe?”

you shrug. “nah, bores me.”

it's a ridiculous answer, especially since you have never left the country your feet are currently planted in, but it seems to satisfy her well enough. apparently europe has enough critics already.

the singer suddenly leans into the microphone to announce that the dance floor is open for everyone. people clap right away. you join them too, because not clapping would be weirder and you are trying to keep a respectable distance from weird tonight.

the music shifts, brighter and groovy.

mothers go to dance with their children. husbands take their wives by the hand. it is all very sweet in a way that feels almost aggressive, like the room is insisting on happiness. you wonder if sebastian feels that too.

he at least has an excuse. he has had love once. real love, or whatever the version of it was that left marks. your own sorrows are more embarrassing because no one else can see them, and that does not make them less annoying to carry.

you start looking for him without meaning to, your head turning left and right until you spot him near the rose garden.

your feet move before you can rethink it.

“you owe me money,” you say when you reach him, putting on your best al pacino impression.

sebastian’s mouth twitches. “the wedding is not over yet.”

“they’re married,” you say. “they said the vows. people are dancing. it's over.”

you extend your hand.

“she believed me. give me the money.”

“you are always so stubborn.”

you give him a look that says ‘the pot should really not be calling the kettle black’, and he answers with the sort of expression that says ‘fair enough’.

he reaches for his wallet. “why do you want to leave?”

“i don't want to leave,” you say immediately, which is how he knows you are lying.

“you do,” he says. “you have that expression in your eyes. like a deer caught in the headlights.”

you wrinkle your nose. “i don't like weddings.”

“how do you plan on getting married if you don't like weddings?”

you stare at him.

“is it any of your business?”

“might be if i am your future best man.”

that makes you recoil on instinct. “why do you think you will be my best man?”

he glances at you like this is the easiest answer in the world. “i don't think you have other friends.”

you huff and fold your arms. “i don't like big weddings, that's what i meant. i’m going to have a small wedding. no best man.”

even to your own ears, you sound a little petulant. which is unfair. sebastian has an irritating ability to make you sound like a child just by existing near you.

“and who are you planning to marry in this perfect wedding?” he asks.

the question snaps something in you.

“okay,” you say, too quickly. “that is enough. that is— that is not funny anymore, okay?”

your hands curl into fists. you hate when you do that. it always makes you feel twelve years old again.

“i’m sorry i talked about getting married knowing about mia,” you say.

sebastian blinks. “i— i never talked about mia.”

you ignore him.

“i’m sorry. that was mean of me, okay? but that is not an excuse to make fun of my—”

“i never mentioned mia once,” he says again, baffled now.

“you were making fun of my dreams.”

“i never said anything.”

“that was the problem,” you huff. “you always have an opinion, seb. suddenly when i talk about it, you don't? i have known you since we were kids. do not act like i don't see through you.”

he looks at you with something almost like disbelief.

“oh, you do?” he says.

“yes, i fucking do, sebastian,” you shoot back.

his eyebrows lift at that, offended. “oh, do not call me sebastian like you are all high and mighty.”

you let out a sound that is somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.

“we are not having this conversation right now, okay?” you say. “i have been enduring your personality since we were kids.”

you shut your eyes for a second, as if that might hold the anger in place. your voice comes out sharp next.

“i am at a wedding, so i am going to behave like an adult,” you start, “but i want you to remember who was the one who pulled you out of your ass when you were too depressed to do anything.”

you jab a finger into his chest, hard enough to get your point across.

“remember it,” you say, “and act at your own accord.”

then you leave him standing there with whatever he was about to say still caught at his mouth.

the bar is easy to reach for obvious reasons. the bartender asks what you want, and you answer immediately, because if you have to think about it for one second you might start thinking about sebastian instead.

“whisky, on the rocks,” you say.

——

you hate whisky. it is, objectively, the worst thing anyone has ever decided to put in a glass. you cannot even be dramatic about it properly, because by now it tastes less like alcohol and more like diluted melted ice.

around you, people are still dancing. the kind of dancing that looks charming, it would make a beautiful photo if you caught it at the right angle, but your phone is still in sebastian's back pocket. the sun has almost fully gone down, and the sky has darkened into that late-night blue where the stars start appearing one by one.

you still have no idea where sebastian has gone.

you are not even sure whether you are supposed to care anymore.

there is a growing feeling in your chest, that maybe every moment from his breakup with mia until now has been you filling a spot that was never really yours to begin with.

someone sits beside you. a man. good-looking, but not like Sebastian.

“did you get dumped at a wedding?” he asks.

what kind of asshole opens a conversation like that?

you huff a little laugh despite yourself. “uh— worse, i think? i was a bad friend to my best friend.”

your words are slightly slurred at the edges, which is annoying because you do not think you are drunk. just tired, very very tired.

“that’s bad,” he says. “but not that bad. where do you know the bride from?”

“she’s my sister,” you say automatically.

the man turns his head, giving you a long, flat look.

“that’s crazy,” he says. “because i’m her brother, and i don't remember having you as my sister.”

you make a sound of pure horror and immediately cover your face with both hands.

“i’m so sorry— i… i made this dumb bet with my best friend about getting people to believe i’m the bride’s sister. i don’t even remember her name,” you say, and the last few words come out in a rush of mortification.

“how much?”

“like— two hundred?” you say. then, because that sounds worse out loud, you add quickly, “it was not that much. and he didn't even pay me, we started arguing before he could.”

“that is not a great business plan.”

“i know,” you mutter. your voice sounds small and whiny in a way you do not appreciate at all. “but he just gets on my nerves so bad.”

“like siblings?”

“i guess,” you say, though it is not really the same thing and you do not want to think about why.

“ah,” he says after a moment. “i get it now.”

you squint at him. he looks far too satisfied with himself.

“maybe you should stop lying to him,” he says then, much more casually than the words deserve. “you look like you enjoy doing that too much, even when no one is paying you any money.”

“i do not—” you start, but the sentence dies immediately because he is annoying and, unfortunately, correct.

you do lie to sebastian.

you lie about your feelings, about how much you notice, about why you are always there when he turns around. you lie about why you stand so close to him. you lie about why you never liked his girlfriends.

everything feels wrong suddenly. not just awkward. wrong.

what if this has been unfair? what if sebastian only wants a friend, and you have been borrowing that friendship like it is something more?

and if that is true, doesn't he deserve better than that? even if saying the truth breaks your heart? even if leaving him does?

the exhaustion drops out of your body suddenly. your eyes start to sting. you need to find sebastian.

you mutter a slurred thank you to the man, who looks at you like you may have taken something far stronger than whisky, and push yourself to your feet. your legs ache and the grass is annoying. the heels make everything worse.

so you kick them off.

you can feel the cool ground under your feet, and you pray to every deity you can think of, hoping that nobody has dropped a glass.

you find him near the dance floor. the music has shifted into something slower now, one of those old frank sinatra songs that you know he likes. couples are starting to sway to the rhythm. you hate slow dancing, too many rules and too much eye contact.

sebastian looks like he has been standing still for too long. his shoulders hang with the kind of tiredness that is not really physical. more like the aftermath of a thought he has not managed to put down yet.

you startle him when you touch his shoulder.

“fuck,” he says immediately. “give a guy a warning.”

you laugh, soft and a little breathless. “sorry. you looked like you needed to stop thinking about it.”

his eyes flick to you. “about what?”

you do not say her name, there is no need. he is testing you, and you know it.

“i'm sorry,” you say instead. “i was such a fucking asshole.”

sebastian makes a face that says ‘yeah, kind of,’ but he doesn't look angry. his shoulders drop a little, like he has been holding something. he jerks his chin towards the floor.

“wanna dance?” he asks. “you know this one. and you owe me one.”

“i have to tell you something first—”

you don't even get to finish before his hands are on your hips, steering you towards the dance floor.

“you can say it late— where are your heels?” he asks, and despite everything, there is a laugh trying to get out of him.

you blink at him. “at the bar. i— i kind of went running to find you. it was sort of a revelation moment.”

sebastian hums, the sound low in his throat, like he is deciding what to make of you all over again. he moves you closer to him.

“you deserve better than me,” you say. the words sound false in your mouth, like a script.

sebastian’s eyebrow lifts at once. “we have been friends since we were kids. having an argument is not going to change that.”

“it’s not about the argument,” you say quickly. “god knows it’s not our first.”

he looks at you like he is waiting for the part you are actually trying not to say.

“i have not been entirely sincere with you.”

“you really cannot wait?” he asks.

you shake your head. sebastian sighs, and his hand shifts a little higher on your waist, like he is trying very hard not to pull you closer than this.

“for nobody else gave me a thrill. with all your faults, i love you still…” sinatra croons, and the line lands strangely between you.

the next sentence dies at your tongue. maybe he's right. maybe you should have done this later.

sebastian says your name. you nod once, but your eyes are already shiny with tears.

“it can wait,” you say. you lick your lips, nervous habit. “it can wait.”

he knows you too well for this. knows the face you make when you are trying not to say something that is eating you. knows what it looks like when you go quiet and bright-eyed. he has seen it before.

not with him, never with him.

the realization lands hard, because he has seen you do that with other people. idiots. ex-boyfriends. men who never deserved the attention you gave them and he hated them on sight. he always had reasons to step in without thinking, cutting conversations short with a look, a hand, a careless remark that sent them off somewhere else. nobody was good enough for you.

he always told himself it was because he was protective. it was also because he was a fucking hypocrite.

when his own heart had been broken, you had been the one to put it back together. he had always let you fix him, maybe that was the problem.

because if your heart was breaking now, if you were standing here with that same shining, careful expression, then it meant it had to be for someone else.

he knows he should be happy for you. but the idea of you loving someone enough to leave him makes him angry. possessive, in the stupid, ugly way he hates admitting even to himself.

“it had to be you,” sinatra goes on, and it's starting feels less like a lyric and more like an accusation.

sebastian watches your face, and when he speaks, his voice comes out quieter than before.

“is this about love?”

your whole expression changes. you hesitate. your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

sebastian nods, slow and careful, like he understands.

“i’m sorry,” you say at last, voice smaller now. “i did not want to say anything. but— i just didn't want to ruin this.”

“i get it,” he says. “no worries.”

your brow lifts before you can stop it. he gets it? that was not what you were expecting from him after confessing your love, or whatever this was supposed to be.

“you… you get it?” you ask, because you are not actually sure he heard you correctly.

sebastian nods again.

“if he makes you happy, i understand.”

“he—? who?” your words come out blank, confused enough to sound almost stupid.

sebastian blinks.

“i feel a little heartbroken you did not tell me you were dating someone sooner,” he says.

you stare at him.

“that is because i am not,” you say slowly. “i’m literally single.”

sebastian looks confused, and slightly relieved.

“i don't understand,” he starts.

you let out a breath that shakes on the way out.

“i’m in love with you, seb,” you say. “like, since we were teens.”

sebastian’s eyes widen. his mouth falls open a little, the expression so stunned that it almost looks uncharacteristic on him.

you give him a miserable little smile that fails before it even forms.

“i know,” you say quietly. “i never said anything because i thought maybe one day you would… see me?” you shake your head before he can answer. embarrassment burns through your face. “god, that sounds ridiculous.”

you look away for half a second, then back at him again.

“but i think you deserve better,” you say. “you deserve a friend without second intentions, and i don't know if that can be me.”

“oh, pretty…” he says, and his voice sounds soft around the edges in a way you were not expecting. “i’m so sorry for not noticing before.”

before you can stop yourself, your face crumples. one of his hands comes up and presses your head gently against his chest, like he already knows you will not argue with it.

you’re grateful for that. for the fact that his shirt is hiding your face from everyone else’s eyes. you don't even realize you’ve started crying until the first tear slips free and the rest follow.

you let out a tiny hiccup and press your face closer.

“it’s no—” you start, and another hiccup ruins the sentence. “it’s nothing.”

“it is something, isn’t it?” he says.

his voice is so soft that you nod against his shirt before you even think about it.

some small, traitorous part of your brain wonders whether he has ever spoken to another woman like this. you like to think you're special. you know you are, in your own way. you just do not know whether that extends into the part where someone might love you back.

sebastian cups your face with both hands, thumb brushing lightly over your wet cheek. his forehead rests against yours for a second, and you have the strange, dizzy thought that maybe this is his polite way of letting you down gently.

then his eyes drop to your mouth.

your fingers find his hair, threading in carefully, pulling him closer before you can lose your mind. he hesitates only for a second. his lips meet yours, and the kiss is soft at first, almost uncertain, like neither of you quite trusts how real this is.

his hands drift lower from your face, settling at your neck with a pressure that feels more grounding than anything else.

you part only when the air in your lungs finally gives out.

the two of you separate on the same shaky breath, both of you looking a little stunned. your chest rises too fast. your heart is thudding against your ears. sebastian's lips are a little redder than before, thing that makes you a little bit proud.

“that was— that was really good.” you glance up at him. “we’re good, right?”

sebastian’s mouth twitches and he nods once.

⤷ if he visited you during class hours (or vice versa), his students wouldn’t hesitate to echo a chorus of teasing ooooooohs

⤷ before he met you, Ryland was never picky about chaperoning for field trips, school dances, or any other events– he’d do it for his kids of course, but he rarely checked to see which teacher he got paired up with

⤷ but now?? as soon as the next event is announced, he’s checking the online signups every ten minutes for your name, waiting to pounce on the opportunity to volunteer for something together

⤷ he’s down bad for you, but he’s also very aware of overstepping boundaries (bc he’s genuinely incapable of taking hints), so you need to initiate the first actual move

⤷ otherwise, he’ll continue to crush on you like the schoolboy he is

- Colt Seavers -

⤷ he met you on set for another one of Tom’s movies— the whole film required a record amount of stunts, so the director decided Colt should get a stylist to make him look more like Tom during filming so they wouldn't have to edit as much during post production

⤷ you were introduced to Colt as his makeup artist, and he very quickly grew a fat crush on you

⤷ he desperately tried to hide it, but it didn’t help that you were constantly in his personal space to do his hair and makeup

⤷ you guys actually hit it off really well, which is good considering you have to spend every morning together for about an hour

⤷ you may have had to redo parts of his makeup because he was too busy talking to you, which messed up your work (he actually does it on purpose sometimes just to extend his time with you, but he'd never tell you that)

⤷ it doesn’t take long for him to invite you on set to see his stunts, and he claims it’s "to see your hard work pay off!”

⤷ he tries to do the craziest stunts just to impress you– when he sees it only worries you, he tones it down a bit and reassures you about his safety

⤷ Colt is also pretty obvious with his staring, and he knows it— but he loves making you look away first

⤷ at the end of the day, he definitely offers to drive you around and do donuts in his car

⤷ he’s also always trying to be around you— you’re at this part of the set for the day? no problem, he’ll wander around that area under the guise of trying to find dan so he can be in your presence/sneak glances at you

⤷ if he canonically listens to All Too Well in the car when he’s deep in his feels, he definitely listens to Taylor’s Lover album when he’s crushing on you

- Holland March -

⤷ you hired The Nice Guys for a small case, and it was like love at first sight for Holland

⤷ he would set up meetings with you under the guise of “gathering intel,” but for some reason it was always at a coffee shop and the questioning quickly devolved into pleasant conversation about your personal life

⤷ one time, he had to bring Holly with him because she couldn’t stay with any of her friends for the day– the two of you immediately hit it off, and after that, Holly frequently asked to stay at your place rather than with her other friends

⤷ seeing how well you got along with his daughter really sealed the deal for Holland

⤷ he needed to get you into his life, asap.

⤷ The Nice Guys quickly solved your case– Healy did most of the work and grumbled about holland being constantly distracted– and afterwards Holland offered you a ‘friends and family discount’ (he made that up on the spot)

⤷ you guys started hanging out often, typically going to bars to drink and chat

⤷  he thinks he’s suave, but in reality, he’s nearly confessed multiple times while drunk– he just doesn’t remember it because he blacks out and forgets

⤷ also, if Holland was a klutz before, it’s like it’s amplified tenfold around you

⤷ he’s genuinely a bumbling buffoon while in a 15 foot radius of your presence

⤷ in the beginning, he definitely used his private investigator skills to spy on you, and consequently made note of where you like to eat, shop, get coffee, etc

⤷ don’t be surprised to find your favorite takeout on your doorstep one night along with a note saying: from your secret admirer :) 

⤷ you totally recognized it as Holland’s handwriting… he thinks he’s being slick, so just go along with it please

⤷ he’s so in love with you and it’s painfully obvious, even though he claims the opposite

- Sebastian Wilder -

⤷ he spotted you sitting at a small table by yourself in Seb’s, nursing your drink and simply enjoying the music. his jazz music.

⤷ the club was lively and full of conversation, but unlike the other guests that treated it as background noise, you were fully immersed in the smooth sound that swept over you

⤷ and Sebastian noticed. oh man, he noticed so much that he almost missed his cues for some of his piano solos

⤷ when his set ended, you were the first to start the applause as you locked eyes with him with a sincere smile

⤷ in that moment, he just knew he had to talk to you

⤷ he slid into the seat across from you and offered you drinks on the house

⤷ the time absolutely flew by, and it felt like there was an infinite amount of things to talk about with you– music, especially

⤷ it was amazing to find someone else that shared his passion, and he couldn’t help but jump the gun and think: she’s perfect

⤷ without realizing, you guys talked till closing and you were the last stragglers in the club– he assured you it was fine, y’know, since he owns the place

⤷ like a true gentleman, Sebastian got the door for you and walked you to your car, all while silently praying that you’d visit again (unbeknownst to him, you already made up your mind to come back your next free night)

⤷ after a few weeks of coming to Seb’s and sitting at the same two-seater every time, he decided to place a little Reserved sign there so no one would take your table

⤷ the next time you came in and saw the little sign, you met his eyes across the room and tilted your head in question– he only nodded with a sly smile, confirming that that was officially your spot

⤷ he’s already imagining your future together— he’s gonna have at least three kids with you, and they’ll all play different instruments so you guys can form a family jazz band. you’ll sing, he’ll play piano, the firstborn will be a killer sax player, the middle can play the bass, and the youngest will go crazy on the drums…

⤷ Sebastian can get so caught up in his thoughts that he forgets he needs to actually ask you out first for any of that to happen

⤷ you were that someone in the crowd for him, and he’s sure as hell not letting you go anytime soon

- Ken !! -

⤷ when he first met you, it was like that one lego batman scene

⤷ he just stood there in a trance, unable to tear his eyes away from you

⤷ he only snapped out of it when you turned to introduce yourself to him, and he locked in to lower his voice and subtly flex his muscles while doing his own introduction

⤷ you’ve officially been engraved into his mind, and you’re all he thinks about day in and day out

⤷ he’s so distracted by you that he can’t do his beach job properly because of how often he’s daydreaming

⤷ but if you’re at the beach yourself, then someone give this man an employee of the century award– he does NOT play about your safety and will take his job so seriously

⤷ also, Ken made and wore a heart shaped locket with your picture inside it for a while

⤷ you eventually asked him what was in it, and he may have panicked a little

⤷ by “panicked a little,” i mean he tore it off his neck, chucked it into the ocean, and then proceeded to play it cool like he didn’t just launch the poor thing miles from the shore

⤷ anytime Rival Ken interacted with you, Ken would get so jealous and proceed to stomp away to formulate some elaborate plan to “win you back”

⤷ whenever he’s at home (does he have a home?) he would definitely periodically do the whole thing of sighing, resting his face in the palm of his hand, and staring wistfully out the window with a goofy lil smile

⤷ 100% had a celine dion moment where he belted out his feels for you in an epic ballad (where tf did that spotlight come from ??)