I think waking up beside Sebastian could become my new favorite habit.
There was something about the way his arms curled around me in sleep, how the steady rise and fall of his chest anchored me to something safe. I felt strong with him near—stronger than I had in weeks. And warm, in a way that had nothing to do with blankets or sunbeams spilling through the window.
Wrapped in his embrace, I felt… safe.
And more than anything, I wanted to be that place for him, too. A refuge. A heartbeat he could return to when everything else went dark.
I shifted slightly, careful not to wake him. His face was soft in sleep, lips parted slightly, lashes brushing against his cheeks. There was no tension in his brow. No fear. Just peace. God, he looked so peaceful.
Can't we just stay like this? I wondered. Just… lock the world out, stay in this room, and forget everything waiting on the other side of the door?
But that was a dream, and reality would tap on the glass soon enough.
I slipped out of bed quietly, collecting my thoughts like scattered clothes on a floor. When I stepped out into the living room, I found Evelyn and Luke sitting on the couch, eating breakfast. They looked up as I entered, their expressions soft.
Luke gave me a small smile. Evelyn mirrored it.
I smiled back.
Then Emily stood up from the corner of the room. Her eyes searched mine, full of silent questions and hope that trembled at the edges.
"We're not going to school today," I told her gently. "I'm taking Seb somewhere."
A flicker of panic crossed my face. "Will… will that be okay? I mean—your dad—if I take him out—"
She shook my head, trying to ease the sharp fear in my eyes.
"He won't care," she said, quieter. "He's already left enough scars that are hard to hide. He knows if Sebastian shows up like that at school, it'll tarnish his reputation. So, no. There won't be a problem."
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from crying. The calmness in her voice was the kind that only came from too much damage—familiarity with pain.
She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For not running away."
I hugged her tighter. "Never."
Luke stood then, walking toward me. His voice was soft when he spoke. "Thank you."
I just nodded, too full of emotions I hadn't sorted yet. Then I returned to the room with coffee and bread in hand, only to find the bed empty.
A moment later, Sebastian stepped out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, his hair damp, steam curling behind him. My gaze dropped instinctively, and a familiar ache pinched my chest. The bruises on his torso, the faint cuts, the angry red marks across his side—they were still there. Visible proof of what he'd survived.
"Morning," I said softly.
"Hey," he answered, his voice low and a little rough.
He cleared his throat. "You should get ready. We'll be late."
He reached for a shirt, but I spoke before he could put it on.
"Seb…"
He paused and looked at me.
"We're not going to school today."
His eyes widened slightly. "We're not?"
I shook my head, stepping closer. "No. I want to take you somewhere."
I reached out, wrapping my fingers around his. "Will you come with me?"
His gaze locked onto mine, steady and unwavering. "I'll follow you anywhere."
My heart flipped.
"Okay," I whispered. "Get dressed. I'll change and meet you in an hour."
I tiptoed, kissed his forehead. The way he looked at me when I kissed his forehead… it stayed with me long after I left the room. Like I'd touched something raw in him and somehow didn't break it—just held it.
An hour later, Sebastian stood waiting for me outside Luke's building, that slouchy hoodie pulled over his head like armor. I drove today—needed the control, the quiet between the seconds. When he opened the passenger door and slid in, his eyes found mine.
He opened the passenger door without a word and slipped inside.
"Where are you taking me?" he asked, finally, when I turned the key in the ignition.
"To heaven," I said simply.
He looked at me, startled at first. Then he laughed—soft and real—and it was the best sound I'd ever heard.
"Then I guess I'm already there," he murmured, eyes locked on mine, a quiet storm behind them.
The words hit me harder than I expected. My cheeks flushed instantly, warmth blooming up my neck like a secret I couldn't hide.
I looked down, biting back the smile threatening to take over my face.
And that's when I heard it—his laugh. Soft, surprised, and completely real.
"You're blushing," he said, grinning.
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't stop it.
"I am not," I muttered, still not meeting his eyes.
"You so are," he said with a soft laugh, his eyes never leaving mine.
I looked away, heat blooming on my cheeks as I smiled shyly. My fingers fidgeted with the hem of my shirt, heart fluttering like it always did around him.
When I glanced back up, he was still smiling—quiet, warm, the kind of smile that made the air feel a little lighter.
And in that moment, I didn't say anything. I just watched him… wishing silently, desperately, that he'd never stop smiling like that. That I could be the reason he kept doing it.
The drive took two hours. It was mostly quiet, except for the music playing low from the stereo. Sometimes he reached for my hand, and we didn't speak. Just held onto each other. The silence between us didn't feel empty. It felt full. Like the kind of silence that only exists between two people who've seen the worst in each other—and stayed anyway.
When we reached the beach house tucked away in the quiet part of the coast, his eyes widened.
"It's my happy place," I said softly, glancing out at the waves. "Whenever things got too loud or too heavy... I used to come here. Just to breathe. To remember who I was before everything else."
He nodded, looking out at the crashing waves in the distance.
"My mom used to take us to a beach house too," he said after a long pause, his voice low, almost like he was speaking to a memory. "It was her... We used to go when everything was still good—when we were a happy family. Evelyn was so small back then. Just a baby, really."
He paused, eyes distant. I could see the way the memory tugged at him, both tender and heavy.
"But after my mom… you know, after that… we never went back. I don't even know where it is anymore. I don't know the location. It's like it disappeared with her."
I walked up beside him, reached for his hand.
"Then this can be our beach," I said. "New memories. Just us."
He looked at me, something soft and breaking in his expression, and he just nodded.
Inside, the place smelled faintly of the ocean and lavender. I opened all the windows to let the sea breeze in, then turned to him with a grin. "Wanna swim?"
A slow smile tugged at his lips. "With you? Always."
I went upstairs to change, heart thudding against my ribs. I slipped into my favorite bikini, suddenly self-conscious. When I came down and stood in the doorway, he was already by the pool, shirt still on, watching the water.
"Hey," I said, voice smaller than I meant.
He turned. And froze.
His eyes moved over me like I was something sacred and forbidden all at once. His lips parted, but no words came.
I looked down at myself. "Do I… look okay?"
He blinked, shook his head like he was trying to wake up. "No."
My stomach twisted. "No?"
"You look…" His voice dropped. "Beautiful."
I blushed, brushing hair behind my ear. "You're not going to change?"
"I'm okay like this," he said quietly, and I didn't miss the way his hand twitched by his side. Still ashamed of the scars. Still hiding.
But I didn't push him. Not today.
Instead, I walked to the edge of the pool and slipped in, the water cool against my skin. I surfaced and looked up at him. "You coming?"
He hesitated, then pulled off his hoodie and slowly stepped in, shirt still on. He swam toward me, and something in him loosened as the water wrapped around us.
We started splashing each other, laughing, gasping as the cold water hit our skin. He dunked me once, and I shrieked and clung to him as I surfaced, breathless and grinning.
At some point, we were just… close. No more games. No more splashing. Just the space between us melting until he was right there, water dripping from his curls, his eyes locked on mine.
I reached out, my palm resting over his heart. "Don't be ashamed of me," I whispered.
His eyes darkened. "I'm not."
"Then don't be ashamed in front of me either."
He stared at me. A heartbeat passed.
His breath caught. A tremble ran through him, almost imperceptible. Under the water, his hand found mine and squeezed, like he was anchoring himself to the one thing he trusted not to slip away.
I slid my other hand to the hem of his hoodie.
He tensed—but didn't stop me.
"Okay?" I asked softly.
Then, barely audible: "Yeah."
I moved slowly, letting the water help me, easing the fabric up inch by inch. It clung to his skin, then gave way. Scars whispered into view like ghosted confessions. I bit back the tears that rose in my throat.
"You're beautiful," I said, and meant it in a way that had nothing to do with perfection and everything to do with truth.
His eyes found mine—no shame this time. Just something soft. Something that looked like wonder.
"I want everything," I whispered. "Even the broken pieces."
He leaned in, forehead resting against mine. The space between us evaporated.
"You make me feel like I can be whole again," he said, voice hoarse.
My heart broke and mended in the same beat.
My lip quivered—and apparently, I bit it, because his voice deepened.
"Don't do that."
I blinked. "What?"
"Bite your lip," he whispered, eyes dark and glassy. "I can't think straight when you do that."
And suddenly the air around us was heavier, charged.
I leaned in before I could stop myself. His hands came up to my face, framing it like I was something precious. Our lips met in a kiss that started soft—barely-there pressure, a breath caught between us. But then it deepened, like gravity finally won. Like every moment we hadn't kissed before this was a mistake we were fixing in real time.
His hands slid to my waist, wet skin against wet fabric, and he pulled me to him like he needed the contact just to stay upright. He kissed me like he'd been starving for it. Like he didn't know how to stop.
I didn't want him to.
He lifted me out of the pool, mouth never leaving mine, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. My hands curled into his soaked hoodie, clinging to him like he was the only thing anchoring me to the world.
We stumbled inside, laughter breaking against kisses, water dripping from our bodies and onto the wooden floor. He pushed open the bedroom door with his shoulder and carried me in like I weighed nothing.
And then he laid me down.
Gently. Reverently.
His eyes swept over me, and for once, I didn't feel self-conscious.
I felt seen.
Like everything I'd ever been ashamed of had become something he wanted to hold.
He hovered above me, dripping from the pool, his curls falling into his eyes, shadows cast across the sharp lines of his jaw. His breath was ragged, the rise and fall of his chest brushing against mine.
The kiss had unraveled something inside us—something electric and reckless. And now that the dam had broken, the hunger had followed. It was in the way his lips found mine again, desperate and deep, his fingers tangling in my hair like he couldn't stand to be apart from me for a second longer.
I kissed him back just as fiercely, arching up into him, My body was alive with want, heat curling low in my stomach, but it wasn't just that. It was the need to feel him—to show him he wasn't broken, wasn't alone. That he was mine, and I wasn't going anywhere.
My hand slid along his ribs and I felt the sharp inhale that stilled him.
"Seb..." I whispered against his mouth, the sound a thread of breath, barely there. "I.. I want you"
He kissed me again, slower now but deeper, like he was memorizing the way I tasted. One of his hands slid up my arm, curled around my wrist—softly. Not to push me away. Just to stop me.
When he pulled back, it wasn't with coldness or fear. It was pain. Quiet and flickering behind his eyes like a candle about to be blown out.
"Liv..." His voice cracked. "I want this. I want you too."
I nodded, still breathless, my heart galloping so loud it drowned out everything else.
"But... I can't," he said, resting his forehead to mine. "Not like this."
I blinked up at him, my chest rising and falling. "Why?"
His lips pressed to my temple like an apology. His hand slid over my ribs, holding me gently, grounding me. "Because I don't even know if I'm here," he whispered. "I mean—I'm here with you. God, I am. But I don't know if I'm... whole enough. To give you what you deserve."
Tears stung at the back of my eyes, but I blinked them away.
"You don't have to be perfect to be with me," I whispered. "I never wanted to be perfect. I wanted you."
"I know," he said, his voice rough and quiet. "And that's exactly why I need to wait. Because you... you make me feel like I'm worth something. Like I'm someone more than just a pile of bruises and broken things."
He paused, eyes closing for a second like it hurt to even say it.
"I want our first time to be when I'm really there," he said. "When I'm not fighting ghosts while I'm touching you. When I can look at you and know I'm not bleeding all over the parts of you that are trying to heal."
I swallowed hard. My hands were still on his chest, his heartbeat echoing beneath my palms.
"You're not bleeding all over me," I said softly.
He smiled, but it was a tired one. "But I might, if we don't stop now."
I let out a breath, a reluctant, aching one. I didn't want to stop. I wanted to keep falling, to wrap myself around him and lose everything else in the warmth of his skin and the tenderness in his eyes.
But I also wanted him to feel safe. Not just with me—but with himself.
So I nodded. "Okay."
He looked at me, like he was expecting more protest, more resistance. But I just touched his cheek with trembling fingers and whispered, "I'd wait forever for you."
He closed his eyes at that, as if the words were too much. Or maybe just enough.
He pulled me into his arms then, our bodies still damp from the pool, curling together on the sheets with the windows cracked open to the sound of waves. His fingers found mine beneath the sheets, lacing them together like a promise.
And in that moment, even without going further—I had never felt so close to him.
Because sometimes the bravest kind of love is the one that pauses. The one that says not yet but still holds you like you're everything.