Different Times: Sebastian Sallow x Reader

7 - Dreams

I jolt awake in the middle of the night, sweat dripping down my forehead.

My heart is racing.

I know exactly why.

Every second of my dream had been about him.

And the worst part is that I didn't just want it to happen in a dream.

I wanted to run into the living room and actually kiss him.

My dreams had made one thing painfully clear—I wanted to kiss him, and I wanted him to kiss me back.

Everywhere.

I take a shaky breath, trying to calm myself before climbing out of bed for a glass of water.

When I reach the kitchenette, I notice the living room glowing softly from the fireplace.

But the couch is empty.

I fill a cup with water and step out onto the porch.

"What are you doing up?"

Just hearing his voice sends a shiver down my spine after the dream I just had.

Sebastian is sitting on the bench, staring out at the waves dancing in the moonlight like he belongs there.

And all I can think about is finishing what my dream started.

"Couldn't sleep," I say quickly, forcing my thoughts away. "Why are you awake? You're supposed to be resting."

I sit beside him on the bench and stare out at the ocean.

"Couldn't sleep either," he says quietly. "I feel like I've been sleeping for weeks."

Slowly, his hand moves across the bench until it finds mine.

My heart immediately starts racing.

"If I go to sleep," he continues softly, "I'm afraid I'll wake up and this will all turn out to be a dream."

His fingers tighten around mine, like he's trying to anchor himself.

"That wouldn't necessarily be the worst thing," I say gently. "If I send you back, it would be like none of this ever happened."

Even as I say it, I hope that isn't true.

Suddenly his grip loosens.

I feel his eyes on me and turn to face him.

In the silver glow of the moonlight, his features look softer somehow. Even in the dim light, I can still see the golden flecks in his eyes and the freckles scattered across his face.

"I don't like that idea," he whispers.

His fingers lace through mine as he shifts closer.

"I don't want to forget the days I've spent here."

"But when you go back," I laugh softly, "you'll basically be my great-great uncle."

He raises an eyebrow.

"And what if you only sent Anne back?"

My laughter fades.

"You're joking," I say. "She'd miss her brother terribly. And she'd probably be furious with me before I was even born."

I squeeze his hand lightly.

"But if you want to talk about that, it's a conversation you and Anne should have."

He squeezes my hand again.

Then he leans closer until our foreheads touch.

"I know you're right," he sighs. "But it's frustrating."