endgame // sebastian sallow

28: I'll Teach You Better

Chapter 28: I'll Teach You Better

Sebastian's Perspective

Some things didn't feel real to me. Birds chirping, the breeze of the winter climate entering down the cracks of the broken window, and the sun shining in directly on me — and it was too damn bright.

My head was foggy. I must've gotten at least a bit of a rest before a pressured weight shuffled above my arm.

Then a breath.

Getting a grip on the reality I was in, I looked down, noticing Elle pinch her brows together as her eyes stayed at a close. Her fine small fingers that traced above my chest were now twitching with a hint of blue swirls and I sat up.

"Elle?" My voice was grainy from the thick sleep, but it managed to wake her.

I propped myself on my elbow and focused.

My worry was on whatever she dreamt about, but my eyes were on her. Her sweaty lashes, the plumped irritated lips (that was my work), and her soft skin exposed by her neck.

Shit — focus Sallow.

Elle's gaze went around the home then it darted at me. I had a fear for a second that she had forgotten our earlier tangles and didn't know where she was.

The sensitivity of her emotions leveled, and her cheeks flushed red at my sight. "Oh, I..." She seemed like she didn't want to admit it, but I read her well like a book.

She was experiencing reoccurring nightmares. Tolls of traumatic events during rest times — her body reactions expressed a lot. I was aware of this information when I eavesdropped her visit with Blainey.

Elle looked down.

My eyes lowered, feeling guilty for not knowing how to help because I also had bad nights, bad dreams, and bad trauma — I was nowhere opposite to her perspective.

I didn't say anything else. Elle's eyes were droopy like the event invaded her dream state, so I didn't intervene anymore.

"Did I wake you?" Elle whispered.

I had rest. Plenty of it beforehand. It'll be selfish to say that she woke me up from a nap. She was the one that needed sleep, not me.

"Shh," I stopped her worry and caressed my fingers along her shoulders down her arms for a sooth. "Rest, Elle."

I watched Elle from a distance later that morning. I cycled enough rest the previous day, so it was only proper to wiggle myself out of her around noon and stretch it out mid-cottage home.

But I was a man. A man infatuated by the beauty of a woman who stood before me.

Who slept so peacefully from feet away. The sun glowed in the aspects of her face. How the closed eyelids gave a raw detailed look of the small veins on them. And the pink lips parting from how deep the sleep was.

I smiled.

The blankets were off her now from the heat of the sun, but she laid wearing a Quidditch jersey. Over the morning, she'd often shiver and I stood up, randomly finding an old jersey from the third year in between the drawers, and made her slip it on. She was too sleepy to ask about it.

It was tight on me now since the years passed. I didn't know why I still had the thing, but watching her slide in on — I'm glad I kept it. She looked good.