History project submission day was as exhausting as it was chaotic. By the time I dropped into my seat, I felt like a balloon that had been deflated by a parade of group presentations and glitter posters.
Sebastian leaned back in his chair beside me, that crooked smirk already tugging at his lips.
"I heard about the drama in the hall," he said, voice low but clearly amused.
I let out a long sigh and dropped my head onto the desk. "Don't even ask. Yes, it was entertaining. Yes, it was messy. But God—I hated every second of it. I've never had that much drama in my life, and I used to be a damn cheerleader."
Sebastian shook his head, his smile widening like he was enjoying the memory a little too much. "You looked like you were seconds away from throwing popcorn."
"Don't tempt me. I considered it," I muttered, then shot him a look. "Are you seriously enjoying this?"
He shrugged, eyes twinkling. "No… maybe a little."
I gave him a playful shove, but before I could say anything else, his expression shifted, growing more serious.
"Are you okay?" he asked, voice gentler now. "She didn't hurt you, did she?"
"No," I said firmly, straightening up. "If she had, I would've kicked her ass right there in front of everyone. Trust me, I was ready."
Sebastian burst out laughing, full and loud, startling a few people around us.
"What?" I asked, mock-offended.
He leaned closer, his voice laced with disbelief. "God. Who are you? Where's that olivia—the one who was a stammering mess when she bumped into me for the first time hmm, Bumping Girl?"
I muttered, rolling my eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Blame yourself, green eyes. You woke the animal inside me. So now you're just gonna have to deal with it."
He shook his head, still smiling, then murmured under his breath, "I like it."
My heart did a full somersault, and my cheeks went warm. He wasn't even trying to be charming—he just was.
Mrs. Topaz walked in just then, breaking the moment. She started collecting projects and complimented the class on the variety of topics and presentation quality. For once, I felt like I could just sit back and enjoy a normal class.
But normal never lasted long around me.
After school, Sebastian offered to walk me out, and we headed toward his car. That's when I saw him—
Carter was standing by the car.
His posture was slouched, hands buried deep in his pockets. When he looked up, his expression was unreadable—some strange blend of guilt and something close to fear.
"You okay?" I asked, my voice cautious.
He nodded slowly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah. I mean… not really. I told Emily."
My heart froze. "You told her and what did she say"
He gave a hollow laugh. "She said being with someone like me would ruin her reputation. That if I used it again, people would start looking at her differently."
I blinked. "Wow. What a—" I caught myself before finishing the sentence, then gave up and muttered it anyway, "—bitch."
Carter didn't even flinch. He just looked tired. Bone-deep tired.
Sebastian stepped forward, hands casually tucked in his pockets, but there was a quiet weight behind his gaze. Something deliberate. Unspoken.
"You know what I think?" he said, his voice low, calm.
Carter looked up, wary. Like he expected a punchline or a lecture.
Seb didn't flinch. "I think we need a boys' night."
The words landed like a missed step on a staircase.
Both Carter and I stared at him.
"What?" Carter asked, stunned. "You and me?"
Seb gave a half-shrug. "We're not exactly enemies, are we?"
He said it so nonchalantly, but I caught the flicker of tension in his jaw. The way his fingers flexed once before curling back into his pockets.
"And sometimes," he added, "it's easier talking to someone who doesn't come with expectations. A stranger's a safer sounding board."
Carter blinked. "We're strangers now?"
Seb smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Strangers with common ground, maybe."
Carter looked at me, unsure. Almost like he was asking permission. Like he didn't trust his own instincts anymore, and needed someone else to decide if this was safe.
I didn't say anything at first. I just looked at Sebastian, and he looked back—steady, sure, kind. And somehow, despite everything, I trusted him. Even with this.
"Seb's right," I said softly. "He's… good at listening."
Seb gave me a quick glance at that, like he wasn't expecting me to say it out loud.
Carter hesitated, then nodded once, slowly. "Okay."
Sebastian opened the passenger door for him, then turned to me. "Sorry I can't drop you home."
"It's fine," I said, forcing a smile. "Just… take care, okay?"
He nodded. "I will."
Then he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.
Right there. In front of everyone.
I froze. Not because I didn't want it—but because it was public. And still, somehow, it didn't feel overwhelming or embarrassing. It felt… right.
Butterflies erupted in my chest, fluttering like wild things, and my throat felt tight with something I didn't want to name yet.
Seb turned away, gave me one last look, then got in the car.
I watched the two of them drive off, my heart still fluttering from the kiss and the strange feeling that maybe—just maybe—things were starting to change.
Sebastian POV
The drive to Luke's place was mostly quiet, except for the occasional turn signal and the low hum of the engine. Carter sat beside me, fidgeting with the zipper on his hoodie, his foot bouncing against the floor mat like it had a mind of its own. Neither of us said much. What was there to say?
I parked outside the flat, cutting the engine. The air between us thickened immediately, heavier than it had been the whole ride. I knew this was a risk—inviting Carter here, of all places. But something about the way he looked earlier, that hollow grief etched into his face, made it impossible not to reach out. He didn't need pity. He needed someone. And I… I knew that feeling a little too well.
"You sure this is okay?" Carter's voice broke through the quiet. It was low, hesitant. Like he'd already prepared himself for the answer to be no.
I nodded, eyes still forward. "Luke's chill."
We didn't even make it to the couch before Luke appeared, bleary-eyed, shirtless, and wielding a spoon like it was a weapon of war. His eyes dragged from me to Carter and back again, his expression sharp despite the bedhead.
"What the hell is he doing here?" he deadpanned, skipping over greetings like they were beneath him.
Carter muttered under his breath, "Nice to see you too."
I scrubbed a hand down my face. "Hello to you too, Luke."
Luke looked between us, then dramatically dropped his spoon in the sink. "No, I mean—you and him? Together? What did I miss at school today? Did Kim Kardashian get hired as our new history teacher?"
I groaned, tossing a pillow at his head. "Relax, man. Go back to bed."
He caught it one-handed. "No seriously—are you guys plotting something? If this is some weird team-up to screw with Olivia, I swear to God I will throw you both out of my flat."
"What the hell, Luke?" I snapped, my voice rising.
"Hey, I'm just saying! Her Ex and her Next hanging out feels like the plot of a CW show."
"Be shocked all you want," I muttered. "Now go. Sleep. You look like a zombie."
That part wasn't even an insult. His eyes were rimmed with fatigue, skin paler than usual. He had a dinner with his family dinner last night and clearly didn't go well.
Luke raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. But we're talking about this later. and West, I'm watching you. Don't steal my best friend."
Carter scoffed. "You're so dramatic."
Luke pointed at him. "And you're a suspiciously quiet ex-boyfriend. But fine. I'll go. But if I come back and you're watching The Notebook, I'm calling Olivia."
The moment Luke disappeared, I slammed the door to his room harder than I needed to. It thudded shut like a period on the conversation I didn't want to finish. "Ignore him," I muttered. "He thinks sarcasm is a valid personality trait."
Carter offered a faint, tired smile as he peeled off his jacket and tossed it onto the arm of the couch. He didn't lean back. Just perched on the edge like someone afraid to leave footprints behind. I knew the feeling too well.
I dropped into the armchair opposite him. The springs groaned under me—maybe in protest. Maybe in warning. Either way, the silence settled back in like it had been waiting for its turn.
"So…" Carter finally said, voice dry, like the words had to scrape their way out of him. "What exactly did you want to talk about?"
I hesitated.
God, why was it so hard to just say it?
"I just thought maybe you needed someone," I said quietly, fingers raking through my hair. "Someone who's not Olivia. and you know you can talk to me like anything that you don't wanna talk to liv"
He stared at me. Not defensive, not grateful. Just… wary. Like he couldn't tell if this was real or some kind of emotional trap.
"Why would you care?" he asked after a beat, the question fragile beneath the flatness.
I exhaled slowly. "Because I know what it's like to fall apart when no one's watching. And even worse—when no one stays to pick you up."
His expression didn't shift, but something in his shoulders loosened, like the weight of pretending was finally cracking.
He laughed—but it was broken. A hollow sound that didn't reach his eyes. "You wanna know what she said?" His gaze dropped to the carpet, lost somewhere beneath the weave of it.
I didn't speak. I didn't need to.
"She said that if I could fall apart in front of her—if I could relapse, or crumble, or let the dark win—that it would ruin her."
I swallowed. Hard.
"She said loving me made her look weak. Broken. Like she needed help too. And she didn't want that."
I clenched my jaw, heart stammering against my ribs. "She made it about her."
He nodded once, slow and deliberate. "She said if I really cared, I'd keep it together. That I wouldn't put her in a position where she had to defend me. That loving me would cost her more than she was willing to pay."
My stomach turned. I looked down at the sleeves of my hoodie, tugging them lower on my arms. My thumb brushed against the faint lines beneath the fabric—those quiet reminders of the nights I couldn't hold myself together.
"That kind of hurt…" My voice was barely more than a breath.
He didn't reply. Didn't have to. The silence between us was loud enough.
But my chest felt too tight. Like if I didn't say it now, it'd choke me
"I need to show you something," I muttered, barely recognizing my own voice. My fingers trembled as I tugged up the sleeve of my hoodie. The fabric resisted, like even it was trying to protect me from the truth.
There they were.
Thin, faded lines along my wrist. Some older. Some not so much.
Carter went still. His eyes dropped, locked on the skin I usually kept hidden like it was classified. He didn't say anything. No gasp. No judgment. Just a breath—sharp and quiet.
"I don't think I want to die," I whispered. "But sometimes, it feels like I don't want to be alive either. Like I just… want it all to stop. The noise. The pressure. The pretending."
My throat burned, but I kept going. "Last night, when Olivia was pushing you to open up to Emily, I was sitting there thinking... what a damn hypocrite I am. I had this secret—this huge, ugly truth—and she was right beside me. And I was lying to her"
I looked up at Carter, voice splintering. "And all I could think was, what if she finds out and leaves? What if this changes how she sees me? What if I'm too much for her, the way I've always been too much for everyone else?"
Carter's eyes softened. He leaned forward, his voice low but steady. "She's not Emily."
That hit harder than I expected.
"I loved Emily," he continued. "Or... I thought I did. But when things got dark, when I really needed her to see me—she saw herself instead. She saw the risk. The image. The effort it would take to stay."
He met my gaze. "But Olivia's different. She doesn't run from pain. She walks into it and holds it like it's sacred. She stays. Even when it hurts."
I swallowed. Hard.
"I lost Olivia," Carter said, his jaw tightening. "I was stupid, and selfish, and I didn't fight for her when it mattered. I'll always be angry about that. With myself. With the world. With timing. But you still have her. Don't make the same mistake I did."
"I'm scared," I admitted, my voice barely there. "What if telling her ruins it?"
"What if not telling her does?" he shot back, his tone sharp but not unkind. "Sebastian, this—what you're carrying—it's not something you can lock away forever. It'll eat you alive. And she's already seen the cracks. Don't wait until you're shattered before you give her the truth."
I nodded slowly, like I was still trying to believe him. Maybe I was.
Carter leaned back against the couch and let out a sigh that sounded like it had been waiting years to be exhaled. "You're lucky, you know," he said. "She looks at you like you're something worth breaking for."
I didn't answer.
Because something in my chest had shifted. Quiet. Trembling.
Carter was quiet for a while, then let out a breath like it had teeth. "I think I'm gonna talk to my dad. About the pills. Everything."
His voice didn't shake, but it wasn't steady either. It just… was. Raw and stripped down.
"I'm scared," he said simply. "But I'm tired of pretending I'm fine. I'm tired of hiding behind whatever version of me looks clean enough to keep around."
I looked at him, really looked at him—and for the first time, I didn't see the guy who'd wrecked Olivia . I saw someone standing right on the edge, just trying not to fall.
Carter leaned back, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. "This doesn't mean we're friends, by the way. At best, we're… emotionally adjacent with a shared liability."
"Sure," I said. "With the minor complication that we're both orbiting the same girl like emotionally stunted satellites."
"Oh yeah," he drawled. "The classic 'two guys, one Olivia' situation. Super healthy. Honestly, it's shocking we're not already in couples therapy."
I snorted. "Great. Can't wait for the group session. Hope there's snacks."
"Ah, yes," he deadpanned. "Nothing builds a healthy male friendship like mutual emotional damage and unresolved feelings for the same person. Can't wait for our double wedding."
I snorted. "I'll let you be the flower girl."
"Only if I get to pick the playlist. And throw hands with Brad."
I laughed, louder than I meant to. "You're insane."
"And you're emotionally repressed," he said, smirking. "So really, we balance each other out."
I shook my head, still grinning. "Alright, fine. We're not friends. We're just two emotionally constipated dudes in the same existential group project."
"Exactly," Carter said, pointing. "We don't like each other, we just got paired together by fate and emotional baggage."
"No shared feelings. No heart-to-hearts. Just passive-aggressive check-ins and pretending not to care."
He smirked. "We're basically coworkers in the office of unresolved trauma."
I laughed. "And Olivia's our overly competent boss who keeps trying to fix everything while we ruin the vibe."
There was a pause, a weirdly comfortable silence.
"Friends, then?" I asked, with a lift of my brow.
Carter shrugged, but there was a flicker of something real beneath the sarcasm. "Emotionally unavailable, sarcasm-powered, Olivia-overseen… sure. Let's call it that."
The couch groaned under us like it was tired of the drama, too.
And maybe we were still a mess. Still half-healed and awkward and deeply inconvenient to each other's pride.
But maybe this—whatever this was—could count as friendship. The kind you don't admit out loud, but rely on anyway.
He turned to me, voice low but clear. "But don't be an idiot. Don't let her be the one that got away because you were too afraid to show her the truth. You're not too much for her. You're just enough—and she's the only one who ever made me feel that way too."
I swallowed hard. Looked away.
He clapped me once on the shoulder. "Tell her, Seb. Before it's too late."
And maybe it already was.