𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 ✓

THIRTEEN

-

A few days later, Sebastian and I have figured out a routine that allows us to mostly avoid each other. However, we still get into the occasional arguments, usually when either of us has to go to the bathroom while the other is in it. He sleeps on the couch, and I can tell it's not as comfortable as it seems to lay on that brown L-shaped gigantic sofa all night. He has his hands on his back a lot, stretching his body, and his face has an everlasting frown glued onto it. Maybe he deserves this pain for a little while. Two weeks is not that long. Though I have contemplated asking him to switch or just... share. No, Charlie, you wouldn't want that.

The night is about to begin, the cloudy sky tinted in a rich orange tone, and I open the cabinet next to the fridge for the first time in the search for bowls. I usually don't eat cereal as dinner, but it doesn't seem like we have anything else, really. Sebastian enters the kitchen with some dirty dishes and puts them in the dishwasher right away. I didn't know men could do that.

"We need more food," I say as casually as possible to not fire up another discussion, "One of us has to go to the store tomorrow."

"'Kay," I hear him mumble. He gets one of the apples on the kitchen island counter and washes it briefly before taking a bite. Meanwhile, I make a great discovery. No bowls, but...

"Hey, I found wine."

His attention goes from the scenery outside the kitchen window to me. I get out the good-looking bottle of red wine and hold it up to him.

"Want a sip?"

He shrugs.

"Why not, the day can only get better."

"Hey, we haven't argued that much today," I defend the situation. To be fair, we haven't really seen each other today. While he was on his laptop in the living room, I spent pretty much the entire day on the back porch, taking notes of what I plan to put in that article. Kelly had texted, too, so I spent my obligatory lunch break texting her. Chester is okay, and the girl she's currently seeing asked her to be her official girlfriend, to which Kelly said yes. I'm happy for them, but also kind of afraid they'll accidentally rub it under my nose how happy they are. I don't even know when my last real date was...

Sebastian, without commenting on my statement, gets out two wine glasses that we both just looked at when getting out the normal ones, yearning for some alcohol in this household. Good thing I discovered the wine.

I open it with the corkscrew I found in that same cabinet and give the drink a sniff. I nod, impressed by how good it smells. Not bitter or sweet, just the right amount of good.

"Go on, I really need that right now," he impatiently rushes me, pushing one glass further to me. I roll my eyes.

"How bad was your day that you want to drink that bad? It's just wine," I basically make fun of his impatience while I pour a glass. He takes it, takes a huge chug, and scoffs.

"Okay, I see. Not my fault though, correct?" I ask while pouring myself a glass. 

"Not everything is about you, Emmons," he dryly comments and takes his glass to the porch. From there, we have a great view over the lake, and as of now, the sun sets behind the rangy horizon, giving the lake an orange covering. Somewhere in the distance, cicadas chirp. It gets louder when I follow him to the outside. He plops down on one of the two deck chairs and closes his eyes, enjoying the slightly cooler air of the evening hours. He wears a white shirt that seems to be too tight around his arms and some navy blue sweatpants. I, in my loungewear that consists of a red tee and knee-long joggers in that same crimson color, sit down in the other deck chair and watch the treetops sway in the slight breeze. It's a picture-perfect night, especially because none of us say a thing.

For the next hour, we practically say nothing. I just get the wine from the kitchen and top off our glasses until the last drop leaves the bottleneck. By now, we're slightly tipsy, and I feel my chest grow hotter from the soothing influence of alcohol. This feeling is one of my favorites. 

The sky is dark, just a slim sliver of light orange-tinted blue hovers behind the mountains in the distance. I can see the first stars. 

"So, what happened today that made you need alcohol?" I eventually break the silence, turning my head in his direction. He has his eyes closed, head leaned back against the headrest of the chair, and inhales deeply as if in a meditative state. Upon my question, his chest rises a little more than before. I can't help but look at his pretty side profile and the defined muscles of his arm. I even detect faint veines running down from the hem of his sleeve down to his hand. I never noticed those before...

He sighs as he exhales, apparently surrendering. 

"Didn't really make progress today," he mumbles quickly, barely parting his lips as he speaks. I scrunch my nose and nod understanding.

"I know that very well," I answer in nothing more than a whisper in his direction. "Been there."

He finally opens his eyes and glares over at me, his blue eyes shining in the faint light that reaches us from behind the windows. His lips slightly curl up in a mischievous way, as if he's glad I know that feeling well. I huff.

"It's a lot of work," I continue, "Sometimes, I just get stuck."

His expression changes faintly. The mischief makes way for something that could be compassion. But maybe that is the alcohol turning him into a softie, who knows.

"Hence the wine," he explains himself and takes a sip. I let my own wine swirl around in the glass, watching the reflections on its surface. It's almost hypnotizing.

"It's a lot of pressure," I agree, my tongue starting to feel heavier than before, "Wine definitely helps from time to time."

"When I drink after a hard day, it almost makes me forget that I don't even know if I want this new job," Sebastian lets out in a sigh, and his back instantly stiffens when the last syllable leaves his mouth. I arch a brow.

"You what?"

"No, I mean," he tries to explain, "I'm under more pressure than you, so much that I don't even know if I truly want this promotion."

He chugs the rest of the wine in his glass, suppresses a hiccup, and looks over to me with a tense face. I feel uneasy. Did he mean what he said?

"Why not?" I find myself asking. I'm genuinely curious about this. Why on earth would a talented young man like him not want a good promotion?

He inhales deeply again, his palm wiping across his slightly sweaty face. I watch his bicep flex and relax, then his Adam's apple bob up and down as he gulps. He's contemplating whether or not to tell me about this. When he sighingly exhales, I know he will tell me. I straighten my back and prop my chin on my hand, elbow on the armrest of my deck chair. 

"My dad always wanted me to be the best," he starts, leaving me in awe, "All I ever did was to meet his expectations. But I never seemed to have succeeded. And even now that he's gone, I feel the pressure from him. It's fucking exhausting, Charlotte. I work hard just to not disappoint a dead man."

He called me Charlotte. He never does that. I gulp at his explanation. He looks away and puts the empty wine glass on the ground beside the chair. I feel the grip around my glass tighten subconsciously. 

"I'm sorry," is all I manage to say to that. He's just opened up to me in a way he never did before. No sarcastic comments, no teasing. I blame the alcohol. Thank you, alcohol.

He sits up as straight as a board and looks over to me, jaw clenched, eyes darkened in anger. Then, without a further word, he gets up and leaves me alone on the porch, my thoughts circling around what just happened. And how I relate to him in a way.