You Cannot Put a Fire Out // Sebastian Sallow [Book Three]

Chapter Thirteen: Dealbreaker

As the day turned over into night, Sebastian found solace in the bottom of a glass. Damien didn't stop him. In fact, he joined him. They drank unchecked, their worries drowned in the endless variety of scattered colors before them: red and white wine, amber ale, dark brown whisky. A whole cornucopia of choices.

Earlier that day, after calling for Florence and ensuring Rosie had at least one person in their right mind watching her, Sebastian and Damien went in search of the late Mr. Evans's liquor cellar, finding it easily. Damien had known precisely where it was. Not that he'd ever ransacked it when he was a boy, the perfect paragon of virtue that he'd been. On second thought, that he still was.

Now at least three glasses of wine and a shot or two of whisky each in, everything was a bit blurry and confusing, but there was one thing that was clear as day: They couldn't send Rosie back to the orphanage.

Against his better judgment, Sebastian broached the next inevitable question: If they couldn't send her back, what were they supposed to do with her?

He suspected he wouldn't like Damien's answer.

"Take her home with us," Damien slurred, pounding his newly poured glass of beer on the table.

Sebastian winced. "We don't have room." Their cottage in Hogsmeade was tiny. They hadn't even added indoor plumbing yet, which was long overdue.

"We'll make room."

"We don't know anything about raising a child," he countered, holding back a sigh.

"What are Leigh and Albert to you? Hippogriffs? And you're a professor, Bash," he said through a laugh, not reading Sebastian's seriousness through his stupor. Despite Damien's girth, Sebastian, having had more 'practice,' so to speak, held his alcohol much better than him. "We'll figure it out."

"You misunderstand me," Sebastian replied, raking a hand through his hair. He suddenly felt painfully sober.

Damien grasped Sebastian's shoulder and shook it gently. "Do I?" he drawled, amusement flickering in his eyes.

The easy familiarity of the gesture transported Sebastian back to their early twenties, when they would knock back a few Butterbeers with Sirona at the Three Broomsticks. Damien was a happy drunk, not that he ever drank more than one or two glasses. Back then, Sebastian was too, but over the years he became more reflective and moody. Like now.

"Yes, you do misunderstand me," Sebastian said, his tone clipped.

Sebastian didn't want a child. At least he didn't think he did. Should he say it? Was now the right time?

"Oh, well, then enlighten me." Damien hiccupped, then giggled under his breath. How could Damien be so relaxed right now? It was infuriating beyond measure.

Sebastian grimaced. He needed to say something. He needed to make things clear to Damien, to himself.

"Damien," he slowed down his speech, punctuating each word. "I've never wanted a child." He passed a hand across his face, then added, "I don't know that I ever will."

Damien's cheeks reddened. "What are you saying?"

Sebastian scrubbed at his chin, rubbing it raw. Perhaps now wasn't the time to push the issue after all. They were both exhausted after a long day, and they still weren't on the best of terms. After a beat, he said, "We can discuss it again in the morning."

"No," Damien replied, his eyes narrowing. "We will discuss it now."

"Fine," Sebastian shot back. If Damien wanted to hear it, he'd lay all the cards on the table. "Temporarily, Rosie can stay with us. It's fine. But if we find out she's your daughter, I don't know that this will work." He gestured vaguely between himself and Damien.