this hell we create || Sebastian Sallow

universal constants

A/N: Hi everyone! Please be aware there is some minor sexual assault in this chapter. It is not described in depth and does not occur between Sebastian and the bar girl. I've marked the beginning and end of the passage with /////, if you wish to skip. Please take care of yourselves. 💚 Otherwise, enjoy.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

The freckled stranger, Sebastian Sallow, breaks his four-month streak the day after you learn the truth.

"Has he come in yet?" you ask Bonny, one of the newer serving girls with a big heart – and even bigger bosom. It makes her popular with the older men, though she lavishes the attention. "Is he sitting in the garden?"

"Ain't seen a wink of him, miss," she says blithely. "Trust me, I won't be missing that muscled chest of his anytime soon, woooooo wee."

"Control yourself, Bonny."

"Don't know how you do. If it was me he was ogling I'd be all over him like Jesus on a Christmas turkey after his fortieth day in the desert."

You furrow your brow. "What? Ogling?"

She lets out a squalling giggle. "You ain't noticed the way he looks at you? I tell you what! You got assets, miss, and oh Lord does he know."

You flush deeply, and when she heads away to wipe a table, you glance down at yourself. You don't have a lot to boast about, frankly – you don't have enough money for fine clothes and your hair is raggedy on a good day, often thrown into a haphazard bun. What Sebastian Sallow has to look at, you'll never know.

Not that it matters. You wouldn't care – don't care – either way. You're glad Sebastian is getting help for his drinking problem and not squandering his time, money and potential. Still you glance to the barstool, his barstool, and recognise a pang of sadness at his absence. He's good company when he tries. You don't miss his attitude and poor life choices, but you do miss those kernels of goodness, like when he tries to make you laugh, or when he's happily entertaining conversation to pass the night.

He just needs to embrace them.

Don't give him too much credit. So he had one day of realisation? Ultimately it means nothing without the work. And it's not too late for today – he might come in later.

You sweep yourself down, retie your hair, and use the brass tap as a mirror to thumb away the dirt on your cheeks. For prosperity.

He doesn't come.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

The next day, the door opens at precisely eight o'clock. Your head swings up from cleaning a nearby table. The man who strolls inside isn't Sebastian, however, but someone else – a new stranger. His fine garb, lacquered cane and pristine gold band on his ring finger are so at odds to the humble surroundings that you think he must've got lost on his way to the bank, the courthouse, or hell, bloody Buckingham Palace itself.

"Welcome to Ye Olde Hen House," you call. "Want a drink?"

His head cants, and then he's weaving between tables and chairs and Squiffy Joe. The stranger is tall and commands presence, but not in the way Sebastian does – this man is slender and lean, with coiffed dark blonde hair and a scattering of moles on his face. It's his eyes that draw you in the most, though, like waxy opals. They never quite focus on you.

"Good evening. I'm looking to thank you, actually. My name is Ominis Gaunt."

That rings a bell. Sebastian mentioned him once. Best friend, he called him, along with some other chap named Garreth.