Sebastian
There are three things I don't tolerate: mess, noise, and surprises.
All three collided with me at 8:42 AM on a Tuesday morning.
Austin and I were walking through the university courtyard. Correction—I was walking. Austin was gliding like the chaotic ray of sunshine he was, tossing grins at girls and cracking jokes about the economics quiz we just destroyed.
"I swear, Seb," he said, "if I get anything less than an A, I'm blaming you and your freakish standards."
I was about to respond when something soft, fast-moving, and utterly loud crashed into me.
Hot liquid. Sticky sweetness. A puff of whipped cream. Then a splatter.
I froze.
The front of my black coat—Italian wool, limited edition—was drenched in coffee. The kind that comes topped with colorful sprinkles, enough whipped cream to drown in, and probably three shots of sugar in disguise.
"Oh my god—ohmygodohmygod!"
A voice. High. Panicked. Female.
Sweet like sugar and loud like a fire alarm.
I looked down.
She was small. Small enough that her head barely reached my chest. She had the longest black hair I'd ever seen—thick, glossy strands that swayed like ink pouring down her back, nearly brushing her knees. And she was… digging through her bag.
"I'm so so SO sorry—I didn't see you—I mean I did see you—but only after I bumped into you—oh god, are you okay?" She fished out a napkin. Pink. Floral. Ridiculous.
She started patting my coat. With that napkin. On my coat.
"Please stop," I said, voice low.
She didn't.
"Oh no—did it go through? Are you cold?" she asked, eyes wide, fluttering ridiculously. "It had whipped cream. The whipped cream's usually warm but—wait!—did the sprinkles melt on you? That sometimes makes it stickier! Oh god, I ruined your coat, didn't I? Do you want me to pay for dry cleaning? Or I could just buy you a new coat? I mean, I can't afford a new coat—but I could try!"
Austin was wheezing behind me.
"I'm not cold," I said flatly.
She blinked up at me. "Are you sure? It's soaked. Your poor chest. I feel like I just murdered your torso."
Austin lost it. A full laugh now. "She murdered your torso, Seb. You gonna survive?"
Ray's eyes snapped to Austin. "Oh my god, are you his friend? You have nice hair. And your dimples are kind of illegal."
She turned back to me. "I mean. Yours are too, but you look mad. Are you mad? You're totally mad."
"I'm not mad."
"You sound mad."
"I'm not."
"Oh." Her face fell a bit. "You just always talk like that?"
Austin slung an arm around my shoulder. "Yep. That's his happy voice."
She smiled nervously and extended a hand. "I'm Ray. Psychology major. Professional tripper. Offender of expensive coats. It's nice to meet you, even if I ruined your outfit and your morning."
I stared at her hand. She was still holding that damn pink napkin in it.
"…Sebastian," I muttered.
She gasped. "Oh. Ohhh. Sebastian. You're that Sebastian."
I raised an eyebrow.
"People talk about you. All cold and mysterious and scary and hot. Like a James Bond villain but younger and better dressed."
Austin choked again.
I narrowed my eyes. "Do you always talk this much?"
"Yes." She grinned, entirely unbothered. "Sorry. Nervous thing. I just say whatever I think. Like now, I'm thinking your coat probably costs more than my rent."
"You'd be correct."
"Oh god."
For a moment, we just stood there. She with her napkin and bouncing energy. Me with coffee dripping from my collar and a desperate desire to rewind time.
Then she said, "Well. I should… run. Before I cause another caffeine catastrophe."
She turned, hair swishing behind her like a black curtain. She tripped over nothing, caught herself mid-yelp, and waved over her shoulder.
Austin leaned closer, still grinning. "She's something."
"She's a walking disaster."
"Admit it. You love that."
I said nothing.
But I didn't stop watching her until she disappeared around the corner.