The streetlights blurred as they zipped past them, turning into a molten smear of colours in Rose's eyes. The low beats of a song that she couldn't quite place crooned from the radio, filling the otherwise silent car. The glass of the window was cold against Rose's forehead, a welcome relief from the burning heat of her skin. She could feel Sebastian's gaze on her, could sense the concern. But she had no words to assuage him, no energy.

Rose wasn't sure when her eyes fell shut, but it felt like just a few seconds had passed when Sebastian shook her awake. 

"This is giving me quite the déjà vu," Sebastian murmured as he helped Rose step out of the car, lifting the edge of her gown so it wouldn't drag on the muddy snow outside. 

Rose blinked, before looking around as she slowly remembered that day too. Their first night. She smiled, just a little.

"Still as stingy with that smile of yours," Sebastian sighed, earning a slightly bigger smile from her as they entered the house.

This, however, wasn't like that first night. The house didn't feel unfamiliar anymore. And Rose didn't feel scared. There was comfort here. Safety. 

There was something real, here.

She looked towards Seb, only to find him already looking at her. 

"You look beautiful today. Did I tell you that?"

His voice was soft, hesitant. A ghost of a smile flickered on Rose's lips.

"You did not," she said quietly, making her way towards her room. "But thank you."

Sebastian took a step towards her, but stopped. "Tired?" he asked, looking at her retreating figure.

Rose turned around, and gave a short nod. 

Sebastian smiled, but Rose could swear there was something sad about it. "Goodnight, then, Rose."

"Goodnight, Sebastian," she whispered as she walked away.

But sleep, elusive mistress that she was, refused to come.

Shrouded in shadows, Rose was perched in front of her dressing table. She had taken her dress and makeup off, but that was about all she had done. Decked in a nightgown, her hair still up in the complicated braids, Rose couldn't begin to calm her mind enough to attempt sleep. A small nightlight was all the light she had illuminating the dark room. Not that she'd need much light; Rose was far away from the four walls of this small room. Her mind was running around in circles, tearing through memories, old and new.

An afternoon in her college dorm.

An evening, picking apples.

An art show, with every piece a love note to her.

A picnic by the river, with soft, warm words.

A kiss, forever seared into her skin.

A kiss, gentle, tender. Easy.

Rose's muscles seemed to be moving on their own as she got up, her mind still a whirr of emotions.

Malachi was... gone.

The way he had looked at her, the sheer coldness of his gaze, the way his words had been those of a stranger's—

No.

She couldn't think about that. Wouldn't. She wasn't sure she'd be able to keep going if she did.

Sebastian was here. He was real.

That was what she had. That was what she'd cling to.

She had never been to his room. Almost two months, and Rose had never once stepped foot inside her husband's room.

And yet, here she was today.

The journey upstairs to his room had been too easy. Too simple. Why were there no obstacles in her path, stopping her? Why had she not lost her way, meandering around hallways till the early tendrils of morning light could erase the strange, cruel feeling churning inside her?

She took a deep breath, and raised her hand to knock. But the door wasn't closed, quietly swinging open under her touch.

Sebastian's room was big, much bigger than hers. But the first thing she noticed were the windows. They were huge, with the white lace curtains pulled aside, spilling silvery moonlight into the room. She could see the moon from here, a bright eye, so serene, so watchful. 

Rose's gaze drifted to Sebastian.

He was awake, too, his eyes on her. She could make out the mess that his hair was in, and the old blue t-shirt that he was wearing. He looked dumbstruck.

Rose took a step in, suddenly painfully aware of the thin silk of her nightdress, its green folds hardly covering anything. Her arms were bare, and in spite of the heating in the room, a trail of goosebumps broke through. She stared at him silently, and he stared back, both trying to find the right words.

"You couldn't sleep too—"

"You called me beautiful—"

They both started at once, before quickly falling silent. Sebastian shuffled up, sitting up straighter.

"You called me beautiful," Rose finally said, her voice a soft whisper. She took another slow step into the room, the light from the window fully hitting her. "Did you mean it?"

Sebastian looked at her. Swallowed. "Of course." 

"What else," Rose was almost by his bed now, close enough to see the redness of his cheeks, see the slight bob of his Adam's apple, "do you think of me?"

"Rose, what—"

"Tell me."

Rose was standing at the foot of his bed now, a strange sensation swirling inside her. A warmth, a rush. In the silence of the room, it wasn't hard to hear the shakiness of his breath.

"I think," Sebastian started slowly, "that you're the most creative, most talented, most confusing woman I've ever laid my eyes upon."

Rose walked around to the side of his bed, each step measured, like a predator on the hunt. The bed sank under her, rustling softly against the thin fabric of her dress as she sat down, her eyes never leaving his.

"Tell me more."

She could hear how heavy Sebastian's breaths were.

"I think your hair is like wildfire," he whispered, eyes following her as she moved closer. "And your eyes, they're like broken pieces of emeralds. And your..."

Rose tilted her head. "Go on."

"Your lips," he breathed, a tortured, agonized breath. "Your skin, your touch. I think—"

Rose was on him, her fingers in his hair, her legs straddling him. The warm winter blanket between them suddenly didn't feel thick enough. She tilted his face up, taking in the almost tormented look on his face. "Yes?"

"You could make me an addict, Rose. One touch, and I'm scared you'd have me hooked forever."

The corner of Rose's lips lifted up. She reached down, wrapping her fingers around his wrist and dragging his hand up—up against the soft skin of her thigh, past the hem of her thin gown, and higher up still, up to her waist. The slight hitch in his breath made her eyes glint.

He was here. He was real.

"Then," she whispered, leaning in close enough to have her lips brush against his. "Touch me."

—🥀—

A/N: You all should see my grin right now. It is hurting my cheeks. DO TELL ME YOUR THOUGHTS :>

Also, fun fact. I was listening to Somebody Else by The 1975 while writing this chapter. I don't think the lyrics are entirely accurate for this, but the vibes ✨✨✨. I like to think that's the song that was playing on the radio.

I shall see you all again on Tuesday! Drop your comments, and any criticism that you have is always welcome! So are votes, btw. Votes are very welcome too :>

Much Love,
Mimia