Magic, Madness, Heaven, Sin (Sebastian Sallow x F!MC)

I'M DYING TO SEE HOW THIS ONE ENDS

Sloane spends the next hour carefully charming Sebastian's notes back into their original form, the delicate parchment birds taking flight from her palm to flutter in patterns around her ceiling. She returns to pacing, hugging the empty wooden box to her chest as she inspects the patterns in the wood grain beneath her bare feet.

It's deja-vu—just a week ago she was circling her dorm room in a pale-pink dress, trying to drudge up the courage to chase Sebastian down and kiss him like she wanted. As much as she likes to think that evening is when everything changed, it was simply the climax—their fate was set in motion a long time ago.

Even without his written confessions, Sebastian's love for her is obvious, something she's been struggling to reconcile with for months. Sloane struggles with the idea that she is worthy of the emotion, her shattered heart still healing from the last time she let her guard down. She is afraid, but knows deep down she will never forgive herself if she runs away from his affection again.

At first she thinks to sit and wait until sunrise, but doubts her father will allow them any privacy over breakfast, even if it for the sake of young love. It's now or never. Compared to Sebastian's grandiose gestures, Sloane feels woefully unprepared. She's not good at improvisation, but thinks rehearsing any sort of monologue is disingenuous. All she can hope is that her love will be enough.

Sloane snatches her wand from the bedside table, setting down the box in its place. She bites her bottom lip in concentration as she carefully opens her bedroom door to a darkened hallway, the cottage quiet, save for her father's snores that echo from behind the closed door at the end of the hall. Wand raised, she mutters a quick apology to him, her late mother, and God (just to be safe) before whispering a silencing charm, the soft glow of magic ensuring her father remains in his deep slumber. She can deal with the consequences later.

In the sitting room, Sloane finds Sebastian asleep on the sofa, the low flickering flames of the hearth dancing across his face. His expression is tranquil, as if he didn't spend the day under her father's scrutiny. It reminds her of the few times she's seen him like this, vulnerable and without a care in the world. It's a sight she wants to wake up to for the rest of her life. He's still dressed in the same clothes he wore at dinner, other than his shoes that are neatly placed on the floor, a thick blanket tucked around his body. She kneels down to be level with him, trying and failing to calm her frenzied nerves before tentatively reaching out.

"Sebastian," she says his name softly, gently shaking his shoulder in an attempt to rouse him. Nothing. She jostles him a little harder. "Sebastian, wake up."

His heavy-lidded eyes are slow to open and at first that's all he does, unmoving as he slowly blinks once, twice, three times. After the fourth sleepy blink, his lips curl up to the side in a lazy grin. His voice is raspy, "mornin', sweetheart."

Sloane offers a wry smile as he blinks a few more times, realization settling in as he takes in his surroundings. He leans up on his elbow, staring at her in bewilderment. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here."

Sebastian groans, smacking a hand to his face before threading his fingers through his sleep-tousled hair in exasperation. "You know, I'm trying really hard not to get murdered by your old man."

"He's not going to kill you," she protests with a soft laugh, hinting at the precaution she's taken with her pocketed wand. She slides her hand up so her fingers can tease the hair at the nape of his neck, her thumb brushing across his freckled cheek. Sebastian sucks in a sharp breath, eyes widening at the intimacy. Does he not expect her to reciprocate? For all the confidence he held earlier in the day, doubt has a wicked way of clouding ones mind—something Sloane understands all too well. He settles back down, and even though it's obvious he has a million things to say, he remains silent, expectant.