REMI
The journey home is quiet.
Sebastian and I don’t say much, but the silence between us feels easy. Unforced. At some point, he starts talking, light-hearted, animated, about everything he’s planning to do while he’s in London.
I don’t mention Ian. He seems relaxed now, and I’d rather let the evening settle in that feeling, focus on how well it went, on the joy he and Anne clearly felt at seeing each other again.
We’ve only just met, but there’s this strange sense, already, that he knows he can trust me. And when he’s ready to talk, I think he will. Until then, I’ll give him space. That feels like the right thing to do.
To be honest, I’m tired too.
It’s been an emotionally intense day, but nowhere near as difficult as I thought it might be.
Sure, I wish Maddie were here… but I also know she’s doing something important, something that matters to her. And my guest?
He’s definitely not the disaster I was bracing for. Actually…
I really like him.
He’s funny, thoughtful, sharp, but more than anything, there’s a warmth in him. A quiet kind of sensitivity that catches you off guard. That stays with you.
And it’s not just me. I saw how my friends responded to him, how genuinely kind they were, how glad they seemed to have him there. And I know them well enough to be sure: that wasn’t just good manners.
Still, when Ian showed up, I saw a different side of Sebastian, something softer, more fragile. Something I think he’s used to keeping well hidden.
We’re just a few minutes from our stop when he turns to me with a hopeful look and asks, “Do you like theatre?”
The question catches me completely off guard.
I blink at him for a second, then melt under one of his grins, with that damn dimple, and give the honest answer.
“Yeah, I actually do. Even if Maddie and I don’t go that often.”
He looks at me, mouth agape, borderline scandalised.
“Wait, why not? You two live in the middle of the West End and don’t take advantage of it?”
“Maddie’s got events to attend two or three nights a week.
It’s all part of the job. Her bosses expect her to show up at everything, so it’s not really optional… And Saturday nights, we’re usually out with our friends.
Doesn’t leave much time for anything else.”
He nods, thoughtful.
“That sounds exhausting…
I mean, I get being busy, I have midweek performances sometimes, solo or with the Philharmonic, but that’s part of the work.
Going to endless networking events? That would drain me.”
“Exactly,” I say, letting out a short laugh. “That’s why I don’t always go with her. Putting on a suit after a full day at uni? Sometimes it’s just too much.”
By now we’ve left the tube and we’re walking back to the flat, slow and unhurried. I circle back to his question, genuinely curious. “Why’d you ask about theatre? Is there something you want to see?”
He smiles again, this time a little shyly, then finally blurts it out: “If you’re free tomorrow night… would you come see a play with me? Theatre’s one of the things I missed most about England. Paris has great shows too, of course, but… it’s just not the same.”
I chuckle, though I’m not entirely sure what he means. I’ve never lived in France. “Sure, I’ll come with you. Tomorrow I just need to finish marking a few papers, do some shopping, and run a load of laundry. Once that’s done, I’m all yours.”
His face lights up instantly, and his excitement rubs off on me before I can even stop it.
“What do you want to see?” I ask, actually intrigued now.
I expect him to say something classic. Or maybe a big West End musical.
Instead, he surprises me again.
“I was thinking about A Little Life. It’s based on one of my favourite novels. Do you know it?”
“Erm… not really,” I admit, a little sheepishly.
“I’ve heard of it, but I never had the nerve to read it. Isn’t it, like, two thousand pages long?”
I let out an awkward laugh, but he’s too caught up in the moment to notice. And then, suddenly, he grabs my hand.
“You’ll love it! Apparently, the play’s nearly four hours long, but I swear, it’ll fly by. You trust me, don’t you?”
Then, just to seal the deal, he flashes that dimple again,
and I know I’m doomed. There’s no way I can say no now.
I squeeze his hand and nod, trying not to think too hard about sitting through four hours of emotionally intense theatre.
What have I gotten myself into?
When we finally reach the flat, we’re faced once more with that cursed spiral staircase, but not even that dampens Sebastian’s enthusiasm.
“Perfect! You won’t regret it, Remi. I’ll book the tickets first thing tomorrow. Actually, no, I’ll do it now!”
“Okay, okay, you’ve convinced me. Go ahead and book it, just let me know how much I owe you. Now, can we please get upstairs…”
But he’s already bounding ahead of me, gliding up the stairs with that same effortless grace. By the time I make it to the landing, he’s waiting, grinning, breathless, giggling quietly. Probably at me. Not that he says a word.
As soon as we step into the flat, Sebastian disappears into his room to get changed, still buzzing with excitement over the whole theatre idea. And again, that strange warmth blooms quietly in my chest. His happiness is contagious; it keeps catching me off guard.
There’s just something about being around him. You can’t help but feel better. And for someone like me… that’s not a feeling I’m used to.
Later, after I’ve showered and changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt, I head to the kitchen for a glass of water,
only to find him fast asleep on the sofa, curled up with his laptop pressed to his chest. The theatre homepage is still glowing softly on the screen.
The room is dark, lit only by the faint spill of light from the window and the pale glow of a full moon.
I walk over, meaning to wake him up and tell him to go to bed, but something holds me back.
Instead, I lean down carefully and ease the laptop out of his arms, closing it and setting it on the coffee table. Then I return to him, and, moving slowly, I slide one arm behind his back and the other under his knees.
Lifting him is effortless. He’s so light it almost surprises me.
I nearly laugh when I notice what he’s wearing, light shorts and a long-sleeved shirt covered in ice cream cones. Honestly… the surprises never end with him.
Barefoot and quiet, I carry him toward the guest room, wondering what else that pink suitcase of his might be hiding.
He’s warm against me, small and delicate in a way that feels impossibly human. That familiar scent, vanilla, laced with a faint trace of sweat, brushes past my face, and something in it makes my skin tingle. I don’t know what the feeling is. Only that I don’t want it to stop.
I open the door with my foot, step inside, and move towards the bed. For a moment, I hesitate, still holding him, unwilling to let go of this strange, quiet comfort that’s settled over me.
Then he shifts slightly, murmuring something in his sleep, and the spell breaks.
I lower him gently onto the bed, pull the duvet over him, and slip out, closing the door softly behind me.
Once I’m in the hallway, I lean back against the wall,
dizzy, breathless, like my whole body’s turned to jelly.
A rush of heat flares down my spine and pools low in my stomach, and then it hits me, horrified,
I’ve got a hard-on.
Seriously?
Oh God.
Thank God he was fast asleep.
What would he have thought if he’d noticed?
I feel like I might actually die from the sheer embarrassment. It has to be the Maddie thing.
I’m probably just… missing her.
Or I’m sick.
Or losing my mind.
Eventually, I stumble into my room and collapse onto the bed, a mess of confusion, guilt… and, yes, unmistakably turned on.
I tell myself it’ll pass.
That I won’t sleep a wink tonight.
But I’m out within seconds, lost in restless dreams I won’t remember come morning.