Your first thought is of warmth. It's all over, wrapped around you, relaxing every muscle, making you feel utterly safe. Cracking an eye open, you're met with the sight of a slumbering Sebastian, and you're reminded of the amusing petulance of the night before. He stirs, sighing in his sleep as he pulls you impossibly closer, his scruff rasping against your forehead. His lips are slightly parted as he breathes softly, and you quickly wrinkle your nose at the smell of morning breath mingled with stale beer. Pushing away from him reflexively, you unintentionally rouse him. As you see him trying to open his eyes you register the brightness of the room and jump out of bed, lunge across the room and wrench his drapes closed, nearly tripping on your flowing skirt in the process. He groans, rubbing his eyes, and squints into the dusty light of the room. You notice him freeze when he sees you, but he doesn't say anything, he just stares. After a few seconds you start to feel self conscious,
"What?" You ask finally. He shakes his head gently,
"Nothing." Regardless of the curiosity sparked by the goofy smile on his face, you decide not to press him.
You can't see the halo of light edging around you from the part in the curtains at your back; you have no idea how it shines through the sapphire chiffon of your premiere dress, or how otherworldly it makes you seem; how could you know that all Sebastian could think of right then is how you look like an angel.
"How do you feel?" You ask, careful to keep your voice low,
"Kinda like I'm gonna puke, but otherwise, not too bad. What about you?"
"Oh, I'll be fine," you chuckle, "didn't have near as much 'fun' as you."
He looks to be about to say something, but he's cut off by your phone ringing in your purse across the room.
Wrestling it from the depths of your bag, you groan when you see the caller ID.
"Hey," Marcus greets warily,
"What's up?" You reply, "Did you not get those grad prints? Because I sent them in a week ago--"
"No, that's not it, I was just wondering..." You can just picture him pacing back and forth in front of his desk, raking his fingers through his hair, "is there any possibility of you saving my life and coming in to work today?"
"Are you kidding? Please tell me you're kidding."
"I got a last minute engagement shoot, and that on top of three rounds of family portraits may just be the what kills me. Especially if I have to do it alone."
"I'm off this weekend, man, come on!"
"I know, and you know I wouldn't call if I didn't absolutely need it."
"There's no way you can reschedule someone?"
"You think I didn't already try that? If you can't come in, I'm going to have to take a loss on this."
You know all too well how crabby he gets when he has to cancel an appointment or he loses business.
After a long suffering sigh and a minute or so of mentally switching gears, ditching any plans you'd made for your day off, which usually consisted of spending the afternoon in random parts of the city with your camera, or staying in bed all day with a book. You prepare yourself for work and finally concede. It's not like you could actually tell him no anyway, bosses generally don't like that.
"You're a life saver."
"You have to give me about an hour and a half to get ready, though." He pauses,
"Oh... Really? I thought you lived closer than that. I guess that could work... I'll get started on the prep now, but it's stretching it."
"That's every minute I can spare. I'm not exactly prepared."
"You don't need make up or anything like that, you know--"
"No, Marcus, I'm... I'm not at home."
"Wait, like out of town? I didn't realize--"
"Not out of town, just... I have to stop by my apartment and grab a few things and I'll be there as soon as I can after that."
You end the call as soon as you can after that and look apologetically at Sebastian, draped across the bed on his stomach, limbs flailed out in all directions, obviously staving off a headache.
"One of these days, I'll get to have breakfast with you." He mutters into the mattress. You laugh lightly,
"If you plan on making a habit out of getting sloppy drunk every night, I may have to stage an intervention now."
"Not making a habit out of this." He groans, "Definitely not."
"Go back to sleep." You whisper, pulling the covers back over him, "Get a good cup of coffee when you can stand up without feeling seasick, and don't you dare forget to rehydrate. At least you don't have to go to work out of the blue."
"Can I at least pay for your cab?" He asks pitifully,
"Way to make me feel like a call-girl, Stan." You chuckle,
"Sorry. I just feel bad." He groans again,
"I can tell."
The two of you share a long look before you make your way home, ignoring the looks from those who notice your ultra formal breakfast attire.
.
.
.
When you make it to the studio Marcus is finishing up with one of his portrait appointments. He sees them out after the customary paperwork and letting them know when their portraits would be ready. When the door closed behind them, he immediately rounds on you, making you shrink back,
"Where have you been?"
"I already told you, this is the soonest I could manage considering the completely last minute request. On my day off."
You ditch your bag on a chair in the corner and check his schedule to see what he needed to be set up for next,
"I thought you only live twenty minutes away on foot."
"I already told you." You sigh, "I wasn't at home."
You can tell it's his stress level that's making him argumentative, but it's hard not to take the tone personally. You both know you don't have time to explain, much less fight about it, so you get to work. Each of you works silently, tension thick in the air. You try to brush it off, call it nerves and fatigue from over booking, especially for the sake of the rest of his appointments show up. You do your best to seem pleasant when you're dragging from a night of partying and a less than grateful greeting from your boss.
Almost six hours later, the engagement shoot, the last appointment on the books, is wrapped. The couple leaves happy, which is really all Marcus can ask for at this point. As soon as they step out, the facade dissolves and the tension is back. You begin cleaning up, wanting nothing more than to be heading home,
"You were with that actor again last night weren't you?" Marcus cuts into your thoughts suddenly. It takes a moment to realize what he is asking,
"You mean my friend? Yeah, I was."
"You went back to his place with him after that premiere..."
"He had too much to drink at the after party and I helped him get home. How do you even know--"
"And then you stayed the night."
"Yes. I did. What's your point?"
He's quiet for a long time, seemingly wrestling with his words,
"I just... I don't want to see you get..."
"What? Pregnant? Hurt?"
"Used. Tossed away when he gets bored."
"You think he'll get bored of me? Am I not good enough for him or something?"
"That's not what I said. I just-- I don't think he's good for you... Or good enough for you."
"And you are?"
He gulps. Sighs.
Oh.
"Marcus--"
"Just listen for a second..."
"No. You're my boss, what are you thinking?"
"I'm only your boss?" He looks both hurt and frustrated,
"Of course! And if you don't see the impropriety in this, then maybe I should go." You turn away, abandoning the pretense of cleaning in favor of gathering your things,
"I thought you knew." He says so low you barely hear him, but he sounds so defeated it makes you pause, "I thought you could tell. I've just never felt like it was ever the right time to say anything."
"Well, you were right." You turn away again.
Out. You just need out.
"I don't need you to pick my friends, Marcus. And that's all Sebastian is, by the way. A friend. Not that it's any of your business." You finally locate your bag and sling it over your shoulder.
"If you don't need me, why even bother sticking around? This obviously isn't what you want to do, I don't think it ever had been."
"It's a paycheck. A means to an end, Marcus, that's all." Your words come out with a little more venom than you intend, but you've had enough, "if you can't bring yourself to stifle these feelings you apparently have then maybe... Maybe I should be looking for another job." Your voice wavers slightly at the weight of your words, and his astonishment doesn't go unnoticed,
"Maybe you should." He whispers finally.
With a deep breath, you're out the door, fear settling in your stomach, churning your insides.
Just walk.
You quit your job. Rent is due soon.
Walk.
Breathe.
You can't breathe.
You let your feet lead you as you try to calm down, and find yourself staring at a door.
A familiar room number that isn't yours.
You must have knocked, because someone is already answering,
"Hey... What's wrong?"
