REMI
After a tense, heart-pounding drive, pushing Ian’s car to its limits without quite breaking the law, I finally pull up outside the house where Sebastian grew up.
The neighbourhood is pristine, almost clinical in its perfection.
Every trimmed hedge and gleaming driveway radiates wealth and quiet superiority.
It fits exactly what Ian told me about the Arnettes: status, reputation, control.
But I’m not here to admire the landscaping or analyse the social dynamics of privilege. I’m here for Sebastian.
And if things are anywhere near as bad as I think they are, I’m not leaving without him.
I take a breath, square my shoulders, and ring the doorbell, bracing myself for whatever, or whoever, awaits on the other side. I’m hoping for civility, but I’m ready for a fight. One thing’s non-negotiable: I will see him.
The door opens after a pause.
The woman who appears is unmistakably related to Sebastian, same delicate features and the same graceful frame.
But where his beauty is warm and alive, hers is polished to the point of lifelessness.
Blonde hair perfectly styled, flawless skin, not a hint of emotion.
Her eyes, Sebastian’s exact shade of green, are void of warmth, stripped of anything resembling vulnerability. Cold. Measured.
In that instant, I understand exactly what I’m dealing with.
This woman is made of ice.
“What do you want?” she asks, voice smooth and crisp, like glass on the verge of shattering.
“Good morning. Mrs Arnette, I presume?”
She gives a curt nod, those glacial eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. Calculating.
“I’m Remi Elliott. I’m Sebastian’s flatmate and friend,” I add, hating the way it downplays everything we are. But I have no idea what Seb has told them, and I won’t betray his trust, no matter how much I want to scream that he’s mine.
“Forgive the intrusion,” I continue, keeping my voice steady. “I know Sebastian was meant to visit, but he’s been unreachable since yesterday. I just came to make sure he’s alright.”
She studies me in silence, eyes narrowing with thinly veiled suspicion, and I feel my spine stiffen beneath her scrutiny.
“Let me get this straight, you drove all the way from London because he didn’t return a message for a day?”
“That’s correct,” I reply evenly, refusing to flinch. “And now that I’m here, I’d like to see him.”
She turns without a word, visibly irritated, and I get the distinct sense she’s silently summoning someone from inside.
It’s not Sebastian, because the next figure to appear in the doorway is a tall, broad-shouldered man.
He must be Sebastian’s father. The resemblance is subtle: same black hair, now streaked with grey, but the rest is all contrast. Where Sebastian is slender and compact, almost delicate, this man is solid and imposing.
He studies me with cool detachment, measuring. But even with all that presence, he doesn’t unnerve me the way she does.
“Mr Arnette, I presume?” I offer with a polite nod.
“Mr Elliott,” he replies, voice deep and formal, tone unreadable. “I appreciate your concern. But I’m afraid my son is not receiving visitors today.”
“May I ask why not?”
“It’s a private matter,” he says curtly. “So if you’ll excuse us.”
He moves to close the door, but I step forward and press my hand firmly against it. Their eyes shoot to the contact point, then back to my face, stunned by the boldness.
“How dare you?” Mrs Arnette hisses. “What do you want from Sebastian?”
Her husband shifts to block me, but I meet his gaze without flinching.
“If you don’t leave this instant, we’ll call the police,” she snaps.
“Please do,” I reply evenly. “But do consider what your neighbours might think when a patrol car pulls up on your lovely, quiet street.”
That stops them. They exchange a silent, fraught glance. Then, reluctantly, she steps aside.
Inside, the house is as pristine and soulless as the couple standing in front of me.
Everything is polished to perfection, carefully designed to impress, but there’s not a hint of warmth or personality.
It feels more like a showroom than a home.
A mausoleum. I find myself wondering how Sebastian managed to grow up in a place like this.
No one offers me a seat. They just stand there, watching me with thinly veiled hostility.
“Mr Elliott,” Mr Arnette says again, this time more firmly. “Please leave. My son is resting. He’ll contact you when he’s ready.”
My hands curl into fists, but I keep my voice level. “I’m not going anywhere until I see him with my own eyes. And if he wants me to leave, he can say so himself.”
“Why are you being so stubborn?” Mrs Arnette snaps, exasperated. “Why can’t you understand?”
She stops. Something shifts in the air. I turn, and there he is. Sebastian, rushing down the stairs, eyes wide, breath unsteady. And before I can even process what’s happening, he’s throwing himself into my arms, clinging to me like he might fall apart if I don’t catch him.
“Remi… You came. You came for me?” he whispers, voice cracked and trembling against my neck.
His disbelief breaks something in me. How could he ever think I wouldn’t come?
I wrap my arms around him tighter, lifting him slightly off the ground, holding him as if I can somehow shield him from everything that’s hurt him.
He buries his face in my neck, and I feel the wet heat of his tears soaking into my skin.
Gently, I set him back down and tilt his chin until our eyes meet, and what I see guts me.
His face is blotchy, red, his eyes glassy and swollen.
His hair’s a mess. But it’s the look in his eyes that hits the hardest: utter devastation.
Like someone’s reached in and crushed whatever was left of him.
Fury rises in my chest like a tide. Who could do this to him?
I don’t need to wonder. The answer is standing right beside me.
I place a hand gently on his shoulder, keeping my voice soft. “Let’s go, Seb. I’m taking you home.”
He nods, something resolute flickering in his eyes. He doesn’t question it, he just knows.
“You are not going anywhere!” his mother snaps, her composure cracking, her voice suddenly sharp and shrill.
I bite back my reply. This isn’t my fight, not right now. Sebastian needs to take this stand himself.
And he does.
“I’m packing my things. Don’t try to stop me. I’ve made up my mind,” he says, his voice calm but unshakable.
He turns and heads upstairs, and I feel a surge of pride so strong it almost chokes me. His father says nothing, just watches in silence. But Mrs Arnette turns on me, eyes blazing.
“So it was you,” she hisses. “May warned us there was a boy, but we never imagined someone could corrupt our son so completely. What do you even want from him? No, don’t answer.
I don’t care what revolting things you’ve lured him into.
Sebastian had a future here. A suitable girl.
A proper life. And you’ve destroyed it.”
Her venom lands like acid, but I don’t flinch.
What stuns me isn’t her hatred, it’s the truth buried beneath her words.
May told them.
She outed him.
The rage that surges in me is nuclear, white-hot, and blinding.
But before I can speak, Sebastian’s voice cuts through the silence like a blade.
“Mum, stop. Remi didn’t ruin anything. I’ve always been gay. If anyone’s ruined a life, it’s me, his.”
My heart twists, but I don’t let it show. As I follow him upstairs, I lean in and whisper, “Don’t say that again, Seb. Ever.”
He gives a faint nod, his eyes shimmering with something softer. Steadier. He drags his enormous pink suitcase into the hall, and despite everything, the chaos, the pain, I can’t help but smile.
“I’ve got it,” I say, brushing my hand against his cheek. And I mean it. Not just about the suitcase. About him. About us.
He seems to understand. As we make our way down the stairs, he reaches for my hand and squeezes it tightly.
That’s all I need. That’s everything.
His mother watches us with thinly veiled disgust. His father, pale and silent, looks as though he’s only just begun to grasp what he’s lost.
Sebastian opens the door. I wheel the suitcase out into the morning air.
And just before the door swings shut behind us, he turns back, voice clear and cold as glass.
“Oh, and by the way? Consider May fired.”