Sebastian wipes his mouth, still silent, and then slowly turns to look at me.
I brace myself for guilt, for embarrassment, for some kind of apology.
But instead, he glances back over his shoulder, eyes glassy and gleaming… and smiles.
He actually smiles.
That damned dimple. Full force.
And right there, on the sticky, grimy floor of a nightclub toilet, with the stench of sweat and antiseptic all around us, I realize something with painful clarity:
I’m completely, irreversibly screwed.
SEBASTIAN
Remi’s eyes are wide, locked on mine.
He’d have every reason to be upset right now.
I’m the one who vanished into the crowd, the one who drank too much, the one who ruined the night.
But there’s no trace of frustration on his face.
Just concern. Something tender. Maybe even a little lost. It’s hard to tell.
He probably thinks I’m on the edge of another panic attack, and maybe he’s not wrong.
So I try to smile. Just enough to reassure him.
I want him to know I’m okay, or at least that I’m trying.
I wish I could tell him how much it means to have him here.
How safe I feel when he’s near.
But the words catch in my throat, thick and heavy.
So I just look at him, and hope he sees it all in my eyes.
I wouldn’t have fallen apart like this if I hadn’t drunk so much, but tonight was too much, all at once.
The rush of coming out.
The pressure of a packed club.
And the slow, terrifying realisation of just how deeply I feel for Remi, feelings I shouldn’t have, but do, all of it collided in my chest and knocked me flat.
And poor Ian… I basically used him as a distraction all night. Which obviously didn’t work, because even now, half-drunk and with my stomach still in knots, all I can think about is Remi. Just Remi.
I need to find a place of my own.
I need distance, before this gets completely out of hand.
Remi’s voice cuts through the fog, low and steady, but tinged with concern. “Seb… can you stand? I’m taking you home.”
I nod, trying not to seem like more of a burden.
“Yeah, I’ve got it, I’ll get up…”
