summer in the city 「 s.stan 」

DAY 12

— AUGUST 12TH —

As it turned out, things were slightly awkward. You'd avoided Sebastian for the whole day after the incident (that's what you were calling it now), but even the next day, the atmosphere was still weird – unnatural, almost as if both of you were putting on a front.

"Good morning, Sebastian," you spoke formally as you breezed past him in the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of orange juice.

"We're back to full names, huh?"

It was intended as a joke, but it struck a nerve. Your fake smile fell flat as he laughed nervously, neither of you making any attempt to continue the already uncomfortable conversation.

After a few minutes of deafening silence, you decided that enough was enough – you couldn't possibly endure a whole day of this torture, not when you could be out with your friends, distracting yourself from the dull ache in your heart.

You reached across the counter to grab your phone, your fingers accidentally brushing over Sebastian's defined tricep. You drew your hand back as if you'd been electrocuted, apologising profusely as you clicked on the FaceTime icon next to Allie's contact.

"Y/N," Sebastian sighed, "is this how things—"

He was interrupted by the sound of Allie's voice as she answered the call. She appeared to be standing in front of some kind of museum; the second you pointed it out, she invited you to meet her there. And just like that, you had plans – it took no more than a minute before you were shrugging on a denim jacket and heading out of the door.

You left Sebastian standing in the hall, watching you leave. As soon as you were gone, he hopped up to sit on the kitchen counter, resting his head in his hands. He felt like crying, but he bit the inside of his cheek and held back the tears, telling himself that you'd be back later, that he'd have a chance to fix whatever the hell had happened.

He waited for you for hours, completely forgetting to eat or drink or do anything at all because he was so nervous. Nervous about what you'd say to him because, even though he'd been the one to knock your developing relationship down a notch, he already wished he could take it back.

He didn't care if things were happening too fast, or if you had to leave at the end of the month.

He just wanted you.

When you finally arrived back at the apartment, it was almost eleven at night. Sebastian was on the couch, his hair messy from running his hands through it, but he stood up when he caught sight of you. The sudden movement made you jump a little.

"Sit," he commanded, his voice sounding much louder than he'd intended. "Sorry, I– fuck, please, I need to talk to you."

Still slightly startled, you took a seat and frowned at him, wondering what he could possibly have to say to you now, after he'd already made his thoughts clear. You remained silent, allowing him to speak.

"About yesterday, I... I wanted to ask if you're okay," he began slowly. Because at first, that was the most important thing to him – he'd hurt you, that much was clear.

"I'm fine," you lied, painting a bright smile onto your face, "in fact, I think we actually made the right decision. I mean, I'm only here for one month a year, right? It would've been immature to... y'know. Carry on. Right?"

It was almost enough to fool him. Almost. But as he opened his mouth to dispute your claims, he was interrupted by a knock on the door. Three fast knocks followed by two slow ones – a pattern which was all too familiar to him.

"I'll get it," you chirped, "I ordered some food on my way back."

He tried to stop you, but it was too late. The door swung open, and it was definitely not the delivery guy.

There she stood – Margarita Levieva, his ex girlfriend.

Decked in a tight red dress and scowling at you as if you had no right to be there – which, in her opinion, you probably didn't.

"Is Sebastian here?"