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Playing for Keeps | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Chapter 13

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Words: ~6,300

Tags: Modern AU, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Romance, Confessions

“Oh, shit.”

The curse left your lips in a sharp whisper as instinct took over, your body shrinking beneath the water in a desperate attempt to disappear.

But Sebastian was already moving.

His head snapped toward the sound, his entire body coiling with tension. In one fluid motion, he reached for his wand, which rested precariously on the edge of the tub. His fingers barely brushed against the polished wood before he flicked it toward the water, his lips parting just enough to murmur a Silencing Charm.

The effect was immediate. The soft splashes of your hurried movements, the rippling of disturbed water—everything was smothered into an unnatural silence, as if the entire bath had been swallowed by a vacuum.

Before you could process what was happening, another precise wave of Sebastian’s wand sent both your piles of discarded clothes gliding soundlessly across the slick marble floor, disappearing beneath one of the benches along the wall. Concealed. Hidden.

His gaze flicked back to you. “Come here,” he breathed, low and urgent.

You barely had time to react before his hands were on you—strong, sure, entirely unyielding.

A startled gasp tore from your throat, lost instantly to the silencing spell, as Sebastian lifted you from the water with ease. The heat of his skin burned against yours, wet and fever-warm, every muscle of his grip tense with urgency. Your hands instinctively grasped at his shoulders, seeking balance, though it was impossible to ignore the way one of his hands was splayed firmly across your thigh, the other gripping the soft curve of your ass as he hoisted you into his arms.

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words never made it past your lips. The look in his eyes was razor-sharp, his focus trained on something just beyond you.

A small, nearly invisible door nestled at the back of the grand, marble-laden bathhouse. A linen closet.

Sebastian moved fast.

With only a few quick strides, he reached the door and nudged it open. The faint scent of lavender and laundry greeted you as he stepped inside. The space was narrow, barely enough for the two of you, but he managed to maneuver you inside with without jostling against the doorframe. The moment your feet touched the cool stone floor, he pressed you gently but firmly against the wall.

Before you could react, his hand was at your mouth, fingers brushing against your lips in a silent demand.

Stay quiet.

Your heart pounded violently against your ribs, the confined space making every breath feel shallow, every moment stretched taut with the weight of something unspoken. Sebastian was close. Too close. Every hard line of him pressed against every soft curve of you, the damp heat of his skin seeping into yours as if the very air between you had ceased to exist.

Then—

A muffled cough.

Your spine went rigid.

Somewhere just beyond the door, something metallic clattered against the ground, the sound dull but unmistakable. Your eyes darted to Sebastian’s, wide with alarm, but his expression remained sharp, calculating, his brow furrowed in silent concentration.

Then came the unmistakable shift of movement. A shadow stretched across the narrow gap beneath the door.

Someone was there.

Sebastian moved before you could react, his body shifting protectively in front of yours. His hand slipped from your mouth to your hip, fingers pressing lightly against the bare skin there, a silent reassurance—though whether it was for you or himself, you couldn’t be sure.

Then, with measured precision, his free hand reached toward the inside of the knob.

A faint click. The lock slid into place.

And almost instantly, as if in response, the doorknob rattled.

Your breath lodged itself in your throat, your fingers tightening where they clung to Sebastian’s shoulders. Every muscle in his body remained tense, poised, but his expression didn’t waver. The weight of his hand on your hip shifted just slightly, the pressure firming in subtle reassurance.

Then, finally, the rattling stopped.

“Forgot my bloody key,” a voice grumbled from beyond the door, muffled but unmistakable.

Mr. Moon.

Outside, his footsteps resumed, each slow, deliberate step dragging out like an eternity. Your pulse pounded in your ears, drowning out everything else as you strained to hear the sound of his retreat.

Then, at long last, a faint creak. The bathroom door swung open, and after another agonizing beat, it swung closed again.

Relief slammed into you all at once, so overwhelming that your knees threatened to give out beneath you. Without thinking, you let yourself lean forward, the weight of the moment catching up to you as your forehead came to rest against Sebastian’s shoulder.

“Merlin,” you breathed, your voice muffled against the curve of his shoulder. “That was close.”

Sebastian let out a nervouschuckle. “Too close,” he agreed.

Your grip on him loosened slightly, though you didn’t pull away just yet. Instead, you allowed yourself a moment—just a moment—to linger in the solid warmth of him, letting the steady rise and fall of his breathing settle your own.

Above you, Sebastian tilted his head slightly, the damp strands of his hair brushing against your temple. His voice, when it came, was quieter than before, softer. “You alright?”

You nodded against him. “Yeah,” you managed. “I think so. You?”

His next laugh was different—warmer, looser, as though only now was the tension finally beginning to leave his body. “Never better."

You lifted your head, slowly, reluctantly, until your eyes met his. There was something unreadable in the depths of his gaze—intensity softened by something else, something warmer.

“Thanks,” you murmured, quiet, almost shy. “For… well, everything. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you practiced this little stunt.”

Sebastian’s lips curled into a slow, crooked grin. “Practice?” he echoed. “What, you think I make a habit of sneaking girls into linen closets?”

You arched a brow, the corner of your mouth tugging upward despite yourself. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

His chuckle was soft, the sound vibrating against the space between you. “I am a man of many talents, Chouette.”

You rolled your eyes, though the motion was half-hearted at best. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he said smoothly, his voice dipping just enough to send a shiver trailing up your spine. But then his expression shifted, the teasing edge giving way to something quieter, something unguarded. “Really, though. I wasn’t about to let anything happen to you.”

Your heart lurched painfully at that, and the lighthearted quip forming on your tongue diedbefore it could take shape. He meant it—really meant it. And that made it even harder to breathe.

“You really know how to lay it on thick, don’t you?” you muttered, grasping onto humor like a lifeline, as if it might steer the moment back into safer waters.

Sebastian’s grin softened. “It’s not thick if it’s true,” he said simply.

The linen closet felt smaller now, impossibly small, the walls pressing in, the tension stretching taut.

Sebastian’s throat bobbed.

“Chouette?”

“...Yeah?”

For a moment, he didn’t speak. His Adam’s apple dipped again as he swallowed, his gaze flickering—briefly, almost hesitantly—to your lips before snapping back to your eyes.

“I…” He exhaled, like he was struggling to find the right words. Then, finally, he settled on, “We should probably get out of here before Moon decides to come back, right?”

You nodded slowly. “...Yeah.”

But neither of you moved.

Sebastian’s grip on your hip remained firm, his fingers curling slightly against the soft curve of your waist, not hard enough to keep you there but not loose enough to let you go, either. His other hand shifted with deliberate slowness, pressing against the wall by your head, his knuckles ghosting against your temple as he leaned in, just a little.

“Yeah,” you repeated, though this time your voice wasn’t as steady. It wavered, betraying you, and you weren’t sure if it was from adrenaline, from the warmth of his palm still on you, or from the way his gaze kept flickering down to your lips before darting back up.

“We…” Your breath caught as he inched impossibly closer. “We should get out of here.”

Sebastian tilted his head slightly, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, but it wasn’t his usual, easy grin—it was something smaller, something struggling to take shape, like he was trying to smile but couldn’t quite manage it.

“Should we?” he asked quietly.

Your fingers twitched at your sides, itching for something to do, something to hold onto. You felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff.

“Um… yes?”

It came out more like a question than an answer.

Sebastian let out a slow, quiet exhale, and his hand against the wall flexed, fingers tensing, knuckles brushing against the loose strands of your hair. His gaze softened—still intense, still burning, but gentler now.

“I guess you're right," he murmured. "But before we do, I just… I need to confirm one last thing.”

You swallowed hard. “...Confirm what?”

"I think you believe me.”

“I—” Your mind reeled, his words tangling with the tangled mess of thoughts already storming inside your head. “What?”

“That I like you,” he clarified.

You searched his face, desperately looking for the smirk, the tease, the inevitable punchline that should have been coming.

But it never did.

There was no humor there, no trace of playfulness. His expression was open, raw in a way that left you breathless.

“What… what makes you think that?” you managed.

Sebastian shrugged a shoulder, the movement slow, deliberate, as he tilted his face ever so slightly closer.

“For one thing,” he murmured, “you’re still here. You’re not running away this time.”

You blinked, his words striking something deep, something vulnerable, something you hadn’t been ready to face.

Because he was right.

And suddenly, the way you had always seen the world—its rules, its expectations, the roles people like Sebastian were supposed to play in it—felt like they were crumbling beneath you.

Because if you thought about it, if you really looked back at all of it, the signs had been there, hadn’t they?

He had snuck into the prefects’ bathroom with you, risking detention without a second thought. He had stood up to Leander on your behalf, defended you against Amelia’s sharp remarks when no one else had. He had respected your request for space, even when it was clear it had pained him to do so.

Piece by piece, the weight of it all settled into your chest, twisting into something aching and unfamiliar. Because the walls you had built—walls meant to protect you from disappointment, from rejection, from the pain of wanting something you could never have—were being chipped away.

And Sebastian was the one doing it.

You wanted to push back. To challenge him. To remind him who he was—Sebastian Sallow. Effortless and untouchable. The boy who flirted shamelessly, who moved through social circles with natural ease. The boy who was supposed to chase after girls you thought you could never compete with.

And yet… here he was.

Here he was, looking at you like you were the only person in the world. Here he was, standing so close, his body a steady, unshakable presence, like he had no intention of moving away.

“Chouette?" His voice was soft, almost cautious. “Please say something.”

But you didn’t know how.

How could you possibly explain that everything you had ever resented about the world—the way it constantly judged you, underestimated you, placed you in a box—was exactly what you had done to him? That you had built an image of him in your head that was safer than seeing him for who he really was?

How could you say that yes, you believed him? That every glance, every unspoken moment between you had slotted into place, revealing a picture you had been too afraid to see?

You couldn’t. You didn’t know how. So instead, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Even if I wanted to leave,” you said, voice dry, stammered, as your eyes darted to the space—what little there was—between his arm and the wall, “you’ve got me caged in here, Sallow.”

Sebastian blinked, his brows lifting in surprise before a startled laugh escaped him. His grin returned, lopsided and boyish, and he leaned back just enough to glance at his own hand, still braced against the wall beside your head. Then down at his other, still resting firmly on your hip.

“I guess I do,” he admitted. “It’s a solid strategy, though, isn’t it? You can’t run if there’s nowhere to go.”

You managed a shaky laugh, though your pulse still thrummed wildly. “So this is your master plan, then?” you teased, voice not nearly as steady as you wanted it to be. “Corner me in a linen closet until I give in?”

Sebastian’s laugh was softer this time, low and knowing, the sound sending heat curling down your spine. His grin widened, but he didn’t take the bait. Instead, his dark eyes held yours, steady and unyielding, pinning you in place.

“Trying so hard to change the subject, hm?”

His fingers traced the slightest, absent-minded pattern against your hip.

“Then I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, the words wrapping around you like silk. “You believe me.”

You blinked, your heart stuttering. “You can’t just decide that,” you protested weakly.

Sebastian shrugged. “I think I can,” he said simply. “You’re not denying it, are you? So the question now,” he continued, “isn’t how I feel about you. The real question is how you feel about me.”

The words hit like a jolt, cutting through the haze in your mind and leaving you completely unmoored.

Sebastian’s fingers brushed tentatively against your cheek, warm and slightly damp from the bath, but what struck you most was the way his hand shook—barely, but undeniably. He was nervous.

“And before you answer,” he said softly, “I need to tell you something else.”

Your heart lodged itself in your throat. “W-what?”

“I wasn’t completely honest back on the Astronomy Tower,” he admitted, his eyes searching yours. “I don’t just like you. I…”

He paused, swallowing hard. But when he spoke again, his voice was low and resolute, like he was both terrified and relieved to finally say it.

“I love you,” he said. “I’m in love with you. And I think have been since the first time we met.”

The world seemed to stop. Your heart hammered against your ribs, your breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts. You wanted to speak, to say something, but the thoughts in your head tangled and collided, leaving you utterly speechless.

Sebastian let out a quiet, almost self-deprecating laugh, his thumb continuing its soft, soothing motion along your cheek. “Probably since the moment you took one look at me and said I was trying too hard to look deep and intellectual.”

You blinked, the memory flickering to life in your mind—Sebastian in the Great Hall on your first day wearing that rumpled Smiths shirt, that cocky grin faltering as your comment hit its mark.

“And I thought,” he continued, his lips twitching into a faint smile, “who the hell does she think she is? And why can’t I stop staring at her?”

Your breath hitched, his words pulling at every thread of armor you’d wrapped tightly around yourself.

“Sebastian…”

“I know,” he interrupted gently, his smile soft but tinged with vulnerability. “I know I’m laying it all out there. But I don’t care. Not when you’re standing here, looking at me like that.”

“...Like what?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“Like you might actually feel the same way."

His eyes bore into yours, dark and searching, and you realized—too late, far too late—that he was right.

You weren’t sure when it had happened.

When he had stopped being the boy who drove you up the wall with his relentless teasing and had instead become the boy you thought about before you fell asleep. Maybe it had been somewhere between being utterly furious with him and missing him when he wasn’t around. Somewhere along the way, you had started to count on his stupid, cocky grin, on the way he always had a sharp remark waiting on the tip of his tongue, on the way he always seemed to be there when you needed him most.

It wasn’t one grand moment but a thousand small ones.

A thousand little cracks in the walls you had built around yourself, each one slowly breaking away, until they had crumbled entirely—until you had been standing in the rubble for so long, you hadn’t even noticed.

You had fallen for him.

Slowly. Quietly. In ways you hadn’t even understood until now, until the words were hanging between you, still unspoken yet undeniable.

Maybe that was why it hurt so much when he got it wrong—when he teased too hard, when he said something careless, when he made you feel like you weren’t enough. Because deep down, you had always cared. Deep down, you had always been afraid of what it would mean if he didn’t care in return.

But now, here you were.

Pressed against the wall of this tiny, stifling closet, his hand warm on your cheek, his eyes so open, so certain, while your heart threatened to break itself open beneath the weight of it all.

A quiet, disbelieving laugh escaped you before you could stop it, shaky and breathless, and you let your head fall back against the wall with a soft thud.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your chest rising and falling in shallow bursts.

“Shit.”

Sebastian went rigid. His hand stilled against your cheek, his thumb freezing mid-stroke. “Shit?” he echoed.

Your eyes flew open, locking onto his, and you immediately saw it—the flicker of doubt, the way his confidence wavered, his expression shifting into something dangerously close to panic.

“Oh—oh, no,” you rushed out, straightening quickly as your hands flew up to press against his chest. “Not bad shit. Good shit. I mean, well—this is a lot, but—”

Sebastian still looked alarmed.

“Wait, okay, let me try that again,” you blurted, shaking your head as you tightened your grip on his shoulder.

“Shit,” you repeated, firmer this time, looking straight at him. “As in, oh my god, this is real,” Your voice wavered, but you didn’t stop. “Because you're right."

Sebastian’s brows lifted, a flicker of cautious hope lighting his expression. “I am?”

"Yes," you said, your breath hitching as a nervous, shaky laugh tumbled from your lips. “I believe you, Sebastian. And I—” You hesitated, your throat constricting around the words, but you pushed forward anyway, because this was real, because there was no running from it.

“I feel the same way.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened. His breath caught, his entire body going still.

“You… you do?"

You nodded, the motion small and hesitant, but there.

“Yes. And I... I think I have for awhile."

Sebastian huffed a quiet, breathless laugh, and then, before you could process the shift, before you could even brace yourself, he was kissing you.

It was a collision, a desperate, unthinking thing, like he had spent too long holding himself back and had finally snapped.

A soft, startled sound escaped you, lost against his mouth, and then you melted into him, hands sliding up his chest, clutching him like he was the only thing keeping you upright, like if you let go, you might just collapse.

Sebastian groaned low in his throat, his body pressing flush against yours as his hand skimmed up your side, fingers splaying across your ribs like he wanted to map out every inch of you, to make up for all the lost time in one breathless moment.

You barely registered the linen shelves digging into your back or the way the air between you had turned thick, stifling. All you knew was the way Sebastian felt—solid and warm and pressed against you like he had no plans of ever letting you go.

And god, you didn’t want him to.

You gasped against his lips as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, the movement both desperate and devastatingly sweet. And then, as if realizing that he finally had you—really had you—he slowed just enough to let it sink in. His fingers curled at the base of your skull, his lips brushing yours in a way that sent heat flooding through your veins.

When he finally pulled back—just barely, just enough to let you breathe—his forehead dropped to yours, his breath warm and unsteady against your lips.

“Chouette, please tell me I didn’t just imagine that.”

You managed a breathless laugh. “You didn’t.”

Sebastian's lips quirked up in a lopsided smile. “Alright, then,” he said, his voice still breathless. “Does that mean I get a rating?”

“...A rating?”

“Yeah.” His grin widened, and though his tone was playful, there was a glint of nervous anticipation in his eyes. “You know, out of ten. Just to make sure I’ve met expectations.”

You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head as a smile tugged at your lips. “Are you seriously asking for feedback right now?”

“Absolutely.” He smirked despite the faint pink tinge creeping up his neck. “Come on. Lay it on me. How’d I do?”

You leaned back slightly, as much as the cramped space would allow, pretending to give it serious thought. His hands quickly moved to your waist, his thumbs brushing against the curve of your stomach.

Finally, you shrugged, your expression carefully neutral. “It wasn’t terrible.”

Sebastian froze, his mouth dropping open as he stared at you. “Not terrible?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly. “That’s it? Not terrible?”

You fought the urge to laugh, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your composure. “An eight,” you added after a beat, your tone flat but your eyes glinting with mischief.

His jaw dropped further, and he gaped at you, his brows furrowing in exaggerated disbelief. “An eight? Are you joking?”

You shrugged again, your lips twitching dangerously. “It’s a solid score. Room for improvement.”

“Room for improvement?” he echoed as his expression morphed into one of mock outrage. “Do you have any idea how much effort I just put into that kiss?”

“Well, you clearly didn’t put in enough effort,” you quipped, your deadpan delivery pushing him right over the edge.

“Oh, that’s it,” Sebastian growled playfully, leaning back in until your noses touched. “You take that back right now, or I swear, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” you interrupted, tilting your chin up defiantly. “Kiss me again? Show me a nine out of ten?”

The challenge in your voice was enough to break him. He laughed, the sound low and warm as his shoulders shook. “You’re a complete pain in my ass,” he said. “You know that?”

“Mm,” you hummed, your grin widening as you looped your arms around his neck. “Maybe. But you like me anyway.”

“Wrong,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a near whisper as his eyes searched yours. “I love you.”

“Well,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady even as your heart fluttered in your chest, “that makes one of us.”

“One of us?” he repeated, his voice pitching up dramatically. “You just admitted you’ve been in love with me for ages, and now you’re already backpedaling?”

“I didn’t say ages,” you shot back, raising an eyebrow as you fought to keep a straight face. “I said a while. There’s a difference.”

“Oh, I see,” he said. “A while. So, like… Weeks? Months?"

You rolled your eyes, tightening your arms around his neck. "Listen, Sallow, if you get too cocky, I’ll downgrade that eight to a seven."

Sebastian’s grin turned downright wicked, his dark eyes glinting with mischief. “No problem,” he said smoothly, his hands sliding ever so slightly up your waist. “Once we’re out of here, I’ll show you a ten."

You blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard by the sheer confidence radiating from him. “Oh, really? Bold of you to assume I’d even agree to that.”

He leaned in closer. “You will,” he murmured. “Because you want me prove you wrong.”

Your heart stuttered, and you hated how much he was right. Rolling your eyes, you gave him a gentle shove on the shoulder. “Alright, enough of that,” you said. “Come on. We really should leave, we’ve pushed our luck enough for one night.”

Sebastian chuckled, his hands reluctantly slipping from your waist. “Alright, alright,” he said softly, his voice laced with lingering amusement.

The door to the linen closet creaked faintly as he unlocked it and eased it open, stepping into the steamy haze of the bathroom.

Sebastian moved across the marble floor with slow, deliberate strides, and you couldn’t help but watch him. There was something effortlessly captivating about the way the soft, golden light skimmed over his broad shoulders, tracing the subtle curve of his ribs as he breathed.

When he crouched beside the bench to retrieve the clothes he’d hastily stashed, the movement sent a ripple through the lean muscles of his back, and as he stood, his damp hair fell into his eyes, the stray strands clinging to his forehead. Warmth crept up your cheeks, and you quickly averted your gaze—just in time to avoid being caught staring.

“Here we go,” Sebastian said, his voice casual as he turned to face you, holding up your clothes. “Your stuff’s here too.”

Your pulse leapt in your throat.

He was about to see you.

Not concealed by the swirling water and bubbles of the bath, not hidden in the darkness of the linen closet where shadows softened the edges of everything. No, this was different. This was real. No barriers, no excuses.

Your hands curled instinctively at your sides, as if that might somehow shrink you, make you take up less space. It was ridiculous, stupid, really—especially after everything. He had pressed you against the wall, had kissed you like you were something he couldn’t go another second without tasting. He had confessed that he loved you.

And yet, none of that seemed to matter to the insecure voice in your head.

Because if you'd known—if you'd had even the faintest warning that the first time a guy would see you in nothing but a bra and panties would be now, and that the guy in question would be Sebastian Sallow—the ridiculously attractive, unfairly confident, absolutely ruinous boy you had just bared your heart to—then maybe you wouldn’t have worn this.

The bra was old, worn soft from too many washes, and the elastic on one of the straps had definitely seen better days. Your underwear? Nothing better. Plain cotton. The kind you reached for without thinking. Functional. Practical. The opposite of sexy.

Merlin, at the very least, they should have matched.

You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting tighter, and before you could think better of it, you took a step back. Just a small one—barely noticeable—but enough to retreat into the shadow of the closet, just enough to put something, anything, between you.

“Uh, can you not—” The words tumbled out in a rush, colliding awkwardly. “Just… can you leave them on the bench? And, um, turn around?”

Sebastian blinked, his brow furrowing slightly. “What? Oh—yeah, of course,” he set your clothes back down on the bench with an easy motion. His tone was light, but there was the faintest flicker of confusion in his voice as he toward you one more time before stepping away.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, heat prickling at the back of your neck.

Sebastian’s footsteps carried him to the far end of the room, where he came to a stop and turned his back to you. For good measure, he raised his hands in surrender. “I’m not looking,” he said. “Take your time.”

Satisfied, relieved, you stepped out of the closet, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached for your clothes on the bench. The softness of your blouse clung stubbornly to your damp skin as you tugged it on, the motion almost clumsy in your haste. You tried not to let your mind wander, tried not to think about the way Sebastian’s presence filled the space, even with his back turned.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of him as he shook out his shirt. The flex of his arms, the freckles scattered across his shoulders, the way his damp hair curled at the nape of his neck...

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to focus on wrestling your socks over your still-damp feet.

When you were finally, thankfully, clothed, you cleared your throat softly. “I’m decent.”

Sebastian, now dressed as well, turned at your words, his dark eyes flicking to yours before sweeping briefly down your frame. For a moment, his expression faltered—his lips twitched, his brows lifting slightly as though he were holding back a laugh.

Your chest tightened instantly, your heart dropping into your stomach. “What?” you asked sharply, your tone tinged with defensiveness.

His eyes widened, and he shook his head quickly, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “No—it’s not… it’s not you,” he said hurriedly, his voice brimming with earnestness. “You look amazing. Gorgeous, really.”

“Then why are you laughing?” you pressed, the sting of vulnerability seeping through.

“It’s just… your shirt,” he admitted sheepishly. “It’s, uh, a little… see-through.”

Realization dawned, and heat rushed to your face as you glanced down. The fabric, clinging to your still-wet bra, had turned transparent, the outline of your chest clearly visible.

“Oh, Merlin,” you muttered, crossing your arms instinctively as heat flared in your cheeks.

Sebastian’s grin grew wider, though he quickly ducked his head, feigning an attempt to stifle his amusement. “Didn’t know we were having a wet T-shirt contest.”

You gaped at him, caught somewhere between mortification and begrudging amusement. “Sebastian!”

“I’m just saying!” he said, raising his hands in mock innocence

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop your own laugh from bubbling up. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. But now we really can’t get caught on the way back.”

Sebastian tilted his head, considering. “Hmm, you’re right. This would definitely raise some eyebrows,” he said, gesturing vaguely at your shirt.

“Which is why,” you said. “We need to go before Mr. Moon decides to double back.”

Sebastian moved closer, his hand brushing lightly against the small of your back. The touch was brief, but it sent a small thrill through you all the same. “Hold on, now,” he murmred. “There’s one more thing we need to do before we get back to the Undercroft.”

“What? We’re already cutting it close—”

“The photo,” he interrupted, holding up his phone. “We still need to post it. No reception down there, remember?”

You blinked, the entire reason for your being in the prefects bathroom suddenly rushing back. “Right, yeah, of course."

Sebastian’s grin widened “So, what should we say? Something understated? Or should we really lean into the drama?”

You glanced at the phone in his hand, your lips pressing together as you considered it. You could still see Amelia’s smug expression, hear her patronizing tone, and the way she’d practically preened as she’d delivered her thinly veiled barb—“Sebastian will actually be joining me in the prefects’ bathroom tonight. It’s this absolutely luxurious space, reserved for prefects and people like me, of course.”

The words had clung to you like burrs, sharp and irritating, needling at your insecurities even when you’d tried to brush them off. The implication had been crystal clear: people like you didn’t belong in places like that. With him.

But now, standing here with Sebastian beside you, his hand hovering just slightly at your back, the warmth of his touch lingering from every stolen moment tonight, the memory didn’t sting the same way. It simmered instead, sharpening into something defiant.

“Lean into the drama,” you said, the corners of your mouth quirking upward.

Sebastian’s grin turned wolfish, his amusement clear as he handed you the phone. “By all means, Chouette. The stage is yours.”

You took the phone, your fingers hesitating briefly over the keyboard. The photo was already set to post—you and Sebastian smiling in front of the swirling tub, his arm over your shoulders as soft steam curled upward. It was luxurious, decadent even. Perfect.

After a moment’s thought, you began typing, the words flowing almost effortlessly:

"Not everyone can get an invite to the prefects’ bathroom😉"

Sebastian peered over your shoulder, his breath warm against your ear as he read the caption aloud, his voice brimming with amusement. “Not everyone can get an invite… Oh, that’s cold, Chouette.”

You shot him a sly grin, the kind you usually reserved for moments when you were trying to get under his skin. “She started it.”

Sebastian let out a quiet laugh. "Go on, then."

With a final smirk, you tapped the button. There was no going back now.

With the photo uploaded, Sebastian tucked his phone into his pocket, his grin firmly in place. “Well then, Chouette,” he said, “we’d better get out of here before our luck runs out.”

His fingers brushed against yours, light as a whisper, before curling firmly around them. The gesture was so effortless, so natural, that it took you a moment to process it—to realize that he had reached for your hand without hesitation, without second-guessing, as if it was something he’d done a hundred times before.

He didn’t wait for your reaction. He simply started walking, guiding you toward the door as though this had always been the way of things—as though leading you through the darkened corridors of Hogwarts was second nature.

The corridor was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through arched windows. Silver and shadow stretched along the stone walls, casting long, shifting silhouettes. With a flick of his wand, Sebastian cast a disillusionment charm, and the magic swept over the two of you in a cool, rippling wave.

He moved with purpose, his pace brisk but never hurried, leading you through the castle’s winding halls. The only sounds were the distant creak of old wood, the occasional flutter of tapestries, and the soft snoring of the portraits lining the walls.

Then, Sebastian glanced back at you, his expression mostly obscured by the distortion of the charm, but his grin was unmistakable. “Still with me?” he whispered.

You nodded, biting back a laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all—sneaking through the castle well past curfew, hand in hand with him after an evening so surreal it felt like something out of a fever dream.

Ridiculous. That was the only word for it. Utterly ridiculous.

None of this had been part of the plan. You certainly hadn’t woken up this morning expecting to find yourself trespassing in the prefects’ bathroom, wading into dangerous, uncharted territory with Sebastian Sallow of all people. And you definitely hadn’t imagined being backed into a closet, heart hammering, whispering confessions of love.

And the kiss—the kiss.

Your lips still tingled with the memory of it, the warmth of his mouth pressed against yours, the way he had held you like he never wanted to let go.

It didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel possible.

But as you trailed after him now, his hand warm and steady in yours, this—whatever this was—felt like the only thing that mattered.

Sebastian’s pace slowed as you neared the entrance to the Undercroft, the large clock coming into view. He glanced over his shoulder again, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, and squeezed your hand gently before pulling you to a stop.

The warmth of his grip lingered as you stood there, your chest rising and falling with the trace of adrenaline. Tonight had been reckless and unplanned, chaotic and unexpected. But as Sebastian raised his wand to reveal the hidden door, you found yourself smiling.

You hadn’t seen this night coming—not even close. But you knew with certainty—

There was nowhere else you’d rather be.

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