SEBASTIAN’S POV
The cool evening air was heavy with the scent of asphalt and faint traces of distant rain.
I slipped my keys into my pocket, eyes scanning the lot for my car.
The garage was silent, save for the faint hum of an engine somewhere in the distance.
I wanted silence tonight, desperately needed it, if I was being honest.
My thoughts were a jumbled mess of decisions, emotions, and the weight of things I could barely begin to unpack.
I reached my car, unlocking it with a beep that echoed through the emptiness of the garage. My hand was on the handle, and just as I pulled the door open, a voice broke through the stillness.
“Sebastian.”
I turned my head sharply, already on edge. Standing a few feet away was Roland, his hands in his pockets and his face carefully neutral.
Neutral for Roland, at least, his concern was etched faintly in the downturn of his mouth and the slight furrow in his brows.
“What?” I snapped, my voice harsher than I’d intended. “What do you want, Roland?”
He hesitated for a moment, his lips pressing together. That hesitation alone annoyed me. If you’re going to interrupt someone, at least get to the damn point. Finally, he spoke.
“Where are you heading?”
I couldn’t help but let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Why? Are you planning to write up a report for me? Or did you finally decide you’d make a good babysitter?”
His brows furrowed deeper, but he didn’t rise to my bait. He never did, which somehow made it worse. Roland had always been calm, collected, infuriatingly so.
“I’m not trying to babysit you, Sebastian,” he said carefully, his voice steady. “I’m just asking.”
“Why?” I stepped closer to him, narrowing my eyes.
“What do you think is going to happen? You think I can’t handle myself?
You think I’m going to spiral out of control and need you to swoop in and save the day?”
Roland held up a hand, palm out, like he was trying to calm a wild animal. “I didn’t say any of that.”
“No, you didn’t,” I shot back, my voice low and cold. “But you don’t have to. It’s written all over your face.”
For a moment, there was silence between us.
I could feel my chest rising and falling, my breaths coming faster than they should’ve. I hated this, this feeling of being cornered, of someone watching me too closely.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Roland said finally, his tone soft but firm. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”
“Look out for me?” I repeated, a bitter edge to my words. “Since when do I need anyone to look out for me, Roland?”
His jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he took a step back, his hands still in his pockets. “You don’t,” he said simply. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t try.”
That simple, quiet response threw me off more than any argument would’ve. I watched as he turned away, his steps slow and deliberate, as though he was giving me the chance to stop him. But I didn’t move.
I should’ve let him leave. I wanted to let him leave. But as he walked further away, something in me twisted guilt, maybe, or something uncomfortably close to it.
“Roland,” I called out before I could stop myself.
He paused, turning back to look at me.
I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my hair. “Wait.”
He stayed where he was, watching me carefully. I could feel the weight of his gaze, and it only made me more frustrated,
with him, with myself, with everything.
“I’m sorry,” I said finally, the words tasting foreign on my tongue.
“I didn’t mean to” I stopped, searching for the right words. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just…everything. Everything that’s happening.”
Roland didn’t respond immediately. He took a few steps closer, his expression softening. “I get it,” he said quietly. “Believe me, I do.”
I let out a humorless laugh, leaning back against the side of my car. “Do you? Because I’m not even sure I get it half the time.”
He didn’t push, didn’t press me to explain. He just stood there, his presence steady and grounding in a way I hadn’t appreciated before.
“I’m not trying to babysit you,” he said again, his voice calm. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay.”
I looked away, my gaze fixed on some distant point in the garage. “And what if I’m not?”
Roland was silent for a moment, and when he spoke, his words were measured. “Then you deal with it. Piece by piece, step by step. But you don’t have to do it alone.”
I hated how those words hit me, hated how they felt like both a lifeline and a weight. I didn’t want to need anyone, didn’t want to rely on anyone.
But hearing that-hearing that I didn’t have to do it alone-it was a reminder I hadn’t realized I needed.
I pushed off the car, turning to face him fully. “I’m sorry,” I said again, and this time, the words felt more genuine. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You didn’t deserve that.”
Roland shrugged, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ve been called worse.”
That earned a small huff of laughter from me, and for the first time that evening, the tension between us eased.
“Where are you heading?” he asked again, but this time, there was no edge to the question-just genuine curiosity.
“Nowhere,” I admitted. “I just needed to get out for a bit. Clear my head.”
He nodded, as though he understood exactly what I meant. “Want some company?”
I hesitated, but only for a moment. “Sure,” I said finally. “Why not?”
Together, we walked toward the car, the silence between us no longer heavy but comfortable. And for the first time in what felt like days, I didn’t feel entirely alone.