Sebastian POV:
"You sure you're okay here by yourself?" I asked, standing awkwardly at the edge of the bed while Hannah burrowed into what looked like a mountain of blankets.
She smiled, eyes already half-lidded. "Yeah. I haven't slept in months. Like... actual real sleep, not that weird blinking contest with the ceiling."
"Okay," I said, easing off the worry in my tone. "I'm just gonna hit the Saloon for a couple hours. I'll be back before you know it."
"You don't have to report your every move," she mumbled, voice muffled under the covers. "It's not like I think you're running off to start a new life with Pam."
That made me laugh—more than I meant to. "I just want you to know I am coming back," I said, quieter now.
Her green eyes met mine, soft but tired. "I know," she whispered, just before they slid shut again.
The last two days had been... intense. We barely left the bed. Talking, sleeping, more talking, not-sleeping. Making up for lost time, but also dancing around the cracks we couldn't quite name. She wasn't the same Hannah who used to drag me out of my room for stargazing or blueberry pancakes at midnight. She was rougher now, worn down like sea glass—still beautiful, but with edges.
And weirdly, I think I loved her even more for it.
Whatever she'd seen or survived in that cavern had reshaped her. But through all the silence and shadows, she never stopped seeing me. And I'm not going to make the mistake of walking away again. She's not a statue I get to preserve in memory—she's a person, evolving, scarred, messy. That's what makes her real.
And I'm not leaving her for being real.
"I love you," I said softly as her breathing deepened and evened out.
The air outside was crisp, fall wind tossing leaves around like confetti from a party no one was invited to. I shoved my hands in my pockets, the chill stinging just enough to feel alive. For the first time in a long while, I had that stupid pep-in-my-step feeling. Like the world had cracked open a bit, and for once, something good had crawled out of it.
I pushed into the Saloon, ignoring the usual chaos of the front room and heading straight to the back. The gang was already there. Abigail's unmistakable purple hair was the first thing I saw, haloed under the warm glow of the pool table light. She sat with Alex and Haley, while Sam lingered nearby, flipping a pool cue in his hands like a drumstick.
"Look who decided to show up," Sam called. "The man, the myth, the two-day vanishing act."
Abigail turned at the sound of my boots. "Well, well. If it isn't Mr. Mysterious Brooding Romantic."
I dropped into my usual seat with a small grunt. "You people are exhausting."
Abigail smirked. "So, how was your little reunion with Hannah? I assume it involved a lot of 'reconnecting.' Emotionally, of course."
Alex perked up. "How is she?"
"She's better," I said, keeping my voice even.
"Vague," Haley muttered, twirling her hair. I wasn't sure when she decided to start caring about Hannah, or if she was just bored.
"Almost like it was meant to be vague," I shot back. She rolled her eyes with all the grace of a soap opera villain.
Abigail leaned in, eyes narrowing. "Has she asked about any of us?"
I thought back to those two days. To the way she'd stared at the wall in the dark, or traced circles on my chest like she was grounding herself in something real. I smiled—small, involuntary.
"Oh my gods," Abigail gasped, smacking Alex's arm. "He smiled."
"Yeah, and now I have nerve damage. Thanks," Alex muttered, rubbing his arm.
Sam grinned. "That's what Hannah does. Gets you all soft and sentimental."
But Abigail didn't let up. "Sebastian," she pressed. "Did she ask about us?"
I exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. "She's... not the same person. Not entirely. She's still her, but she's not thinking the way you think she should. She does care—don't doubt that. But she's processing things in her own way. It's not exactly linear."
They all went quiet, trying to wrap their heads around that.
"So," Abigail started, "when can we see her?"
I hesitated. "She's not really ready for a night of drinking and getting the third degree, if that's what you're planning."
"Maybe something lighter?" Sam offered. "We could meet at your place tomorrow. Just hang out. Ease her in."
I didn't want to volunteer Hannah for anything, but I nodded slowly. "If she's up for it."
Abigail didn't seem entirely convinced. There was this flicker of hope behind her eyes that made me nervous. Like she thought this was going to be the part where everything just... went back to normal.
It won't. Not really.
"She still cares about you," I said, hoping that would be enough—for now.
Haley tilted her head. "Why do you sound so concerned?"
I glanced over at her, perched beside Alex like some judgmental support animal.
"Why are you here?" I asked, deadpan.
She huffed. "You don't have to be such a dick."
"That is kind of his brand," Alex added with a chuckle.
I just shrugged.
"So tomorrow," Abigail said, more to herself than anyone else. "Good."
But she didn't sound convinced.
And neither was I.
I went back to Hannah's place expecting to find her asleep again—but instead, I saw her outside on the porch, sweeping leaves into a neat little pile. Mind you, it was ten o'clock at night.
"Hey," I called gently as I approached, not wanting to startle her—but she jumped anyway. Then she gave me a tired smile, one of those practiced ones that looked like it belonged to someone else.
"Hey," she said back.
"Spring cleaning?" I smirked, stepping onto the porch.
"Fall cleaning," she corrected with a flicker of something like amusement. I chuckled—just a little—but it was one of those moments where the old Hannah peeked through, and it made my chest tighten.
She leaned the broom against the wall and stepped into my arms without hesitation, wrapping hers around my neck. I slid my hands around her waist and kissed her cheek, the skin cold from the night air.
"Come on, it's freezing," I said, nodding toward the door.
Inside, the fire was still going. The house was cleaner than I remembered. She hadn't slept long.
"How was the Saloon?" she asked, trying to inject enthusiasm into her voice, but it didn't quite land.
"You didn't miss much," I said.
"Only... everybody," she replied with a dry laugh, almost under her breath.
I took the opening. "Speaking of everybody... they asked if you'd be up for hanging out tomorrow. Just something chill at my place."
Her whole demeanor shifted. She looked down at her hands, then toward the window, then back at me. The flickering firelight danced across her face, casting shadows under her eyes.
"Uhh... I mean, yeah. That's cool, I suppose," she said, voice uneven.
"You don't have to," I reassured her. "Seriously. It's your call."
"I want to," she said, but her words were heavy. "I just know they're not going to like what they see."
She didn't laugh. She wasn't joking.
She looked into my eyes—really looked—and it sent a shiver through me. There's something haunting about her now. Beautiful, but distant, like her soul is standing behind a locked door and only watching through the peephole.
"Don't worry about that," I said softly. "You've been through hell. You're still standing. That's what matters—not what they think."
She held my gaze for a moment longer, then slowly shook her head. She didn't believe me. Not really.
"Okay," she said anyway.
And that was the thing—she said she was okay, but nothing about her felt okay
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