SEBASTIAN
Remi is… just a tiny bit overprotective. Okay, maybe more than a tiny bit.
On the way to the Savoy, he keeps going on about how reckless I am, how irresponsible it was of me to insist on coming to the theatre tonight. I get it, finding your houseguest passed out cold on your living room floor isn’t exactly something you just brush off.
And sure, I know it must’ve shaken him up. But I also know my body better than anyone else. I’ve learned how these episodes work, for me, at least. They look dramatic, but they’re not dangerous. Not really.
Still, I keep that part to myself. He already looked like he was two seconds away from wrapping me in bubble wrap, and I don’t want to push my luck.
Whatwilladmit, though, is that Remi looks absolutely stunning tonight.
He’s wearing dark blue Levi’s, a crisp white shirt, and a soft beige blazer. Simple. Elegant. Distracting as hell.
His blond hair is still slightly damp from the shower, a few unruly strands falling across his forehead, and I seriously don’t know how I’m supposed to sit next to him for four hours without completely losing my mind.
The Savoy is small but beautiful, with warm lighting, plush velvet everywhere, and the perfect blend of glamour and intimacy.
It's exactly the kind of place I imagined for this show. After we show our tickets and make our way down to the mezzanine bar, I feel a rush of excitement. There's already a crowd gathering, buzzing with anticipation.
Remi still looks a little tense, so I reach for his hand and give it a light squeeze. “I’m fine, I promise,” I say softly.
“Trust me. Let’s just enjoy tonight. I’ve been waiting ages to see this play. If anything happens, I’ll let you know. Cross my heart.”
He lets out one of those deep, reluctant sighs and finally nods, squeezing my hand in return.
Then he gently steers me through the crowd toward the bar.
It’s sweet how closely he sticks to me, not annoying at all, surprisingly. Actually… It's kind of comforting.
There’s something about the way he touches me that feels so natural. It just feels real. Uncomplicated.
And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t get to me. For a split second, I let myself imagine what it would be like to feel those hands somewhere else.
On my waist. My back. My hips.
Yeah. No.
Bad idea.
I mentally slap myself before my body does something I’ll seriously regret. The last thing I need is to walk into the theatre with a not-so-subtle bulge in my trousers. Jesus.
The thing is, Remi isn’t just any random straight guy. He’s Maddie’s boyfriend. That fact alone should be enough to shut all of this down before it even begins.
But apparently, my hormones didn’t get the memo.
He still doesn’t know I’m gay.
Not that I’m hiding it, exactly, it’s just… complicated. I don’t want to lie, especially not to him. Not to any of them. They’ve been nothing but kind, nothing but welcoming.
They deserve the real me.
And sooner or later, I’ll tell them. Remi especially.
He asks what I want from the bar, and we settle on sparkling water and a packet of cashews, just enough to keep us going until dinner later. We grab a couple of programmes and make our way to our seats.
We’re in the third row, close enough to practically feel the actors breathe.
It’s perfect.
