A few strands fall across his forehead, where a scatter of freckles dusts his nose and cheekbones. His lips are full, soft, and despite the fact that I’ve clearly made no effort to look welcoming, he’s smiling. Wide.
But there’s hesitation in his eyes, too, just beneath those ridiculously long lashes. Then, just as I think he might say something, one corner of his mouth lifts into a cheeky half-smile, and a single dimple appears on his left cheek.
As all these little details start to sink in, I finally get it,
why Maddie couldn’t stop talking about him.
Sebastian is… adorable. There’s no better word for it.
But more than that, he might actually be the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. And the thought hits me like a punch to the chest.
He’s still smiling, a little shy now, standing at the edge of the landing with one hand on the handle of that pink suitcase and the other stretched out to me.
“Hi, I’m Sebastian. You must be Remi, right? Nice to meet you.”
Suddenly, I feel like I’ve run a marathon. Like I’m the one who just climbed four flights of stairs.
“H-Hi. Yeah, I’m Remi. Nice to meet you, too. Come on in.”
I stammer like an idiot, my brain short-circuiting.
I grab his hand to pull him inside, but I completely misjudge the movement.
I yank too hard, he stumbles forward with the suitcase, and before I can react, we’re both flat on the floor in a ridiculous tangle.
Brilliant.
Turns out I’m not just an arsehole, I’m a bloody idiot too.
SEBASTIAN
I have to admit, Maddie’s got excellent taste.
At least when it comes to appearances, because Remi… well, he’s absolutely gorgeous.
He must be at least six foot two, with the kind of lean, athletic build that makes you think of a swimmer, broad shoulders, narrow waist, defined abs. Strong, but not bulky.
Definitely not the slightly awkward, bookish physics guy I’d pictured.
And his face is just as striking, sharp jawline, a well-shaped nose with a hint of an upward tilt, and those deep hazel eyes, almond-shaped and intense. Then there’s his hair, a thick, tousled mess of ash-blond strands that fall right into his eyes.
The kind of effortless look that somehow feels deliberate, and completely unfair.
But what really throws me is the way he looked at me, well, at me and my bright pink suitcase, and just… froze.
For a second, he seemed totally caught off guard. And before I knew it, we were both on the floor, limbs everywhere.
I really hope he’s not the type to get hung up on colours or what’s considered “appropriate” for a man.
And more than that, I hope to God he’s not one of those quiet homophobes you only notice when it’s too late.
I’ve spent enough of my life pretending to be something I’m not. And I’m not going back to that, not for anyone.
But… I don’t think he’s like that.
He just looked surprised. A little overwhelmed.
Maybe I should give him the benefit of the doubt.
