I was floating.
The pill I'd taken before lunch had finally leveled out into a soft, synthetic hum, and the joint we were passing back and forth acted like a secondary filter, sanding down the world until it was nothing but muffled sounds and blurred edges. For the first time all day, my skin didn't feel too tight. The nightmare of the school hallways was gone, replaced by this quiet haven where nothing could actually reach me.
Sebastian took a final pull of the joint we were sharing, the cherry glowing bright orange for a second before he crushed it out in a ceramic tray. He leaned back against the wall, his dark hair falling over his eyes, looking every bit like the silhouette I used to watch from a distance.
"You're doing it again," I murmured, my voice feeling heavy and slow.
He shifted, his gaze sliding from the screen to me. "Doing what?"
"The brooding protagonist thing." I crawled across the mattress, knees sinking into the blankets. I settled into the space between his legs, resting my palms on his chest. I could feel the steady thumping of his heart through the thin cotton of his shirt. "You look like you're contemplating the end of the world. Or at least the end of your server."
A ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth—the kind of look he only gave me when the door was locked and the rest of the Valley didn't exist. "It's just my face, Aurora."
"It's a very intense face," I teased, leaning in.
I pressed a slow lingering kiss along his jawline. He smelled like the cold October wind and the sweet, lingering bite of the weed we'd just smoked. I moved upward, planting a soft kiss on the bridge of his nose, then another on his cheekbone, right where the blue light of the monitor hit his skin.
Sebastian let out a quiet, shaky breath, his hand coming up to rest on the small of my back. He wasn't the "Basement Ghost" right now. He wasn't the guy who hid behind code and cynicism. Under my touch, he felt human.
When I finally reached the corner of his mouth, he didn't wait. He turned his head, capturing my lips in a kiss that was desperate and honest. It wasn't like the shy, tentative brushes at the bus stop. This was heavy. This was us claiming the space we'd finally cleared for ourselves.
He tasted like smoke and the quiet, aching need he usually kept buried. He shifted, pulling me closer until I was flush against him, his fingers tangling in my hair with a grip that was possessive but careful. For a few minutes, the guilt of the pills and the weight of the secret disappeared. There was no "static" here—just the heat of his skin, the quiet hum of the PC fans, and the way his breath hitched every time I pulled him closer.
"You're shaking," he whispered, voice low and rough.
"Well, I'm definitely not cold," I murmured back, leaning down until our foreheads touched. My hair curtained around us, blocking out the rest of the room.
He exhaled sharply when I kissed the corner of his mouth again, slow and teasing this time. Then the other corner. Then the center—soft at first, barely there. His lips parted on a quiet sound, and that was all the invitation I needed.
The kiss deepened fast. Tongues sliding together, wet and hungry. His hands slid up under my sweater, palms rough and warm against my bare back. I arched into the touch, pressing my chest to his.
"Fuck, Ro," he breathed against my mouth. One hand slipped lower, cupping my ass through my jeans, squeezing hard enough to pull a small, needy sound from my throat. I rocked forward instinctively, grinding down against the growing hardness in his lap. The friction sent sparks up my spine.
I broke the kiss to drag my lips along his jaw, down the column of his throat. He tilted his head back, exposing more skin, a low groan vibrating under my mouth when I sucked lightly at his pulse point. His fingers flexed on my hips, urging me to move again. I did—slow, deliberate rolls that had us both breathing harder.
Sebastian's hand found the hem of my sweater and pushed it up and off in one rough motion. Sebastian's mouth stilled against my collarbone. His breath came in short, uneven bursts. I felt the moment shift—he pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes dark and uncertain, like he was waiting for permission or a sign that this was still okay.
I swallowed hard. My voice was barely above a whisper.
"...you can take it off."
He hesitated, fingers curling into the hem of my sweater. Then slowly—agonizingly slowly—he lifted it over my head. The fabric dragged against my skin, cool air rushing in where the warmth had been. My bra was simple black lace, nothing fancy, but the way his gaze dropped made me feel completely exposed.
For a second he didn't move. Just stared.
"God, Ro..." His voice cracked on my name.
I reached for his face, cupping his jaw, guiding him back toward me. He came willingly, but the kiss was softer now, almost careful. His hands slid up my bare sides—palms warm, fingers trembling slightly—and stopped just under my ribs. He was breathing hard against my mouth, like he was trying to hold himself together.
Then he slid one hand between us, thumb brushing the underside of my breast through the thin lace of my bra. My own hands were greedy—sliding under his shirt, tracing the lean lines of his stomach, the faint trail of hair disappearing into his waistband. I wanted to feel more of him. All of him.
I inhaled sharply, the sensation shooting straight through me. He froze again, eyes flicking up to mine, searching.
"Is this... okay?" he whispered.
I nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. My hands slid into his hair, tugging lightly. That seemed to be the permission he needed.
His palms cupped me fully then—gentle, reverent, thumbs circling slowly over the lace-covered peaks. I arched into his touch without meaning to, a quiet, broken sound slipping from my throat. He groaned low in response, forehead dropping to rest against mine as his hands continued their careful exploration, learning the shape of me through the thin fabric.
We stayed like that—kissing slow and deep, his thumbs brushing and teasing, my fingers tangled in his hair—until three sharp knocks cracked the silence.
We both froze.
Sebastian's mouth hovered over mine, breath ragged. His hands stilled on my chest, thumbs still pressed lightly against my nipples. Neither of us moved for a long second, like if we stayed perfectly still the interruption might vanish.
Another knock. Louder.
Sebastian exhaled against my collarbone, a shaky, frustrated sound. He lifted his head slowly, eyes dark and glassy with want. His thumb brushed my nipple one last time—almost accidentally—before he pulled my sweater back down to cover me.
He didn't say anything. Just looked at me like he was trying to memorize every inch of the moment we'd almost had. Then he leaned back, letting me climb off his lap, both of us pretending the air between us wasn't still crackling.
But we both knew it was.
And we both knew we weren't finished. Not even close.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚
The knock was a jagged crack running straight through the blue-lit matrix we'd built in that moment.
"Sebastian?" Maru's voice was muffled by the heavy oak of the door. "Emily is at the front door. She says she needs to talk to you. Like, now."
Sebastian let out a breath that was more of a growl. The boy who had been smiling shyly at me seconds ago was gone. The "Ghost" was back—eyes guarded, jaw set, his face settling into that familiar, stony mask of indifference.
"I'll be right there," he called out, his voice flat and projecting a coldness that made my skin prickle.
I started to slide off the bed, my movements feeling heavy and uncoordinated in the chemical haze. I reached for my shoes, already bracing myself for the familiar routine of hiding, of being the secret tucked away in the shadows while he dealt with the wreckage of his past.
But as I reached for my laces, Sebastian caught my wrist.
His grip was firm—not enough to hurt, but enough to anchor me. I looked up, squinting against the blue glare of the monitors. He wasn't looking at the door; he was looking at me, his silver-grey eyes burning with a sudden, defiant clarity.
"Don't," he said, his voice a low, rough vibration.
"Seb, I should stay here. It's Emily. It'll be weird."
"I don't care if it's weird," he countered. He stood up, pulling me with him until I was standing unsteady on the rug. He didn't let go of my hand. Instead, he laced his fingers through mine, locking our palms together with a strength that made the guilt in my chest throb. "I'm tired of the 'weird'. I'm tired of the shadows. If she has something to say, she says it to both of us."
I nodded, the pill-induced blur making it easier to just follow the pull of his hand. My brain felt like it was wrapped in wool, the edges of the room softening as he led me toward the stairs.
We left the blue light behind, moving into the hallway where the air smelled like sawdust and Robin's expensive floor wax. Sebastian didn't break his stride, and he didn't loosen his grip. He walked with a heavy, deliberate pace, dragging me out of the basement and toward the front door where the real world was waiting to demand an explanation.
He wanted a united front. He wanted the world to see the "Source Code" in high-definition. And as the cold draft from the entryway hit my face, I realized that for Sebastian, this was his way to get Emily to stop bothering us.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚
Emily was standing under the porch light when Sebastian pulled the front door open. The yellow bulb was harsh and flickering, casting long, sickly shadows across her face that made her look frayed at the edges—like a watercolor painting left out in the rain. She looked smaller than usual, her colorful shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders as she shivered.
Her eyes were fixed on the door, wide and hopeful, until they dropped.
I felt the shift in her before she even moved. Her gaze landed on our hands, her pupils dilating as she tracked the way our fingers were locked together. The hope in her expression collapsed. For a second, her lower lip trembled—a raw, quiet heartbreak that made me feel even worse. Then, her eyes hardened, the grief curdling into a monstrous jealousy that radiated off her in waves.
"Why are you here, Em?"
Sebastian's voice was a flatline. No greeting, no warmth, just a cold question that left no room for small talk. He stepped slightly in front of me, his shoulder brushing mine, a physical barrier between us and the girl on the porch.
Emily flinched at his tone. Her gaze snapped up to his face, then flickered back to me, her eyes narrowing into something ugly and dark. "I... I left a CD. The one with the meditation tracks. I need it back."
Bullshit.
We both knew it wasn't about the music. It was about seeing if the "Source Code" had really been rewritten, or if she could still find a way back into Sebastian's server.
Sebastian didn't even blink. He didn't sigh or look annoyed; he just looked through her. "Wait here."
He turned to me then, his expression softening for a fraction of a second. He leaned in, his lips lingering against my cheek in a slow, protective kiss that felt like a brand. It was a statement made in silence, a boundary drawn in the cold mountain air.
"I'll be right back," he muttered, his thumb grazing the back of my hand one last time before he let go.
He stepped back inside, the door clicking shut behind him but not quite latching, leaving me alone under the yellow light with a girl who looked like she wanted to set the world on fire.
The silence that followed was filled only with the sound of the wind whistling through the trees nearby. Emily didn't move. She just stood there, her breathing shallow and uneven, her eyes fixed on me with a cold, animalistic hatred that the blue pills couldn't quite blur out.
"You really think you're doing him a favor, don't you?" her voice was quiet, stripped of its usual melodic lilt. It was flat and sharp, like a razor blade hidden in silk.
I didn't answer. I couldn't. I just stood there, my hands shoved deep into my pockets.
"He's finally breathing," she stepped closer. "He's finally out of that basement, and you're the first thing he latches onto. But look at you, Aurora. You're not a lifeline. You're a fucking loser.."
She leaned in, her eyes scanning my face. She looked at my pupils—fixed and dull under the yellow bulb—and a slow, cruel realization dawning on her face.
"I know that look," she whispered, her lip curling into something that wasn't quite a sneer but felt much worse. "I've seen it in the city. I've seen it in people who have already given up. You're just a junkie playing house, aren't you? You're dragging him into your mess because you're too weak to stand up on your own. Fucking pathetic."
The word junkie hit me like a spike of reality piercing through the blue velvet of the high. I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but she didn't let me.
"And do you want to know the saddest part?" Emily's voice was a jagged edge now. "He doesn't even love you. Not really. Sebastian is a good person, Aurora. He's a protector. He's only staying because your parents are in the ground and he's terrified that if he leaves, you'll be the next one to go. You're not his girlfriend. You're his charity case, just like you were for Alex."
The air left my lungs. The "charity case" comment felt like it had been carved into my chest. I felt small—tiny, actually—under the harsh glare of the porch light, exposed and pathetic.
The door behind us clicked open.
Sebastian stepped out, his face unreadable until he saw the way I was leaning back against the siding, my face probably as pale as the mountain mist. He caught the tail end of the silence—the ugly tension that Emily had left hanging in the air.
"Here," Sebastian said, his voice a low, dangerous growl. He didn't even look at Emily as he shoved a slim plastic case into her hand.
"Sebastian, I was just—"
"I heard you," he cut her off, stepping between us. He didn't yell. He didn't have to. The sheer, freezing weight of his gaze was enough to make Emily take a step back into the dark. "I heard exactly what you said."
He stood his ground, his hand reaching back to find mine, his fingers interlacing with mine.
"Aurora is ten times the person you'll ever be," he said, his voice steady but laced with a lethal kind of protective rage. "She's the only person in this town who actually sees me. So take your stuff and go. And don't come back here. Not to the shop, not to the basement. Nowhere."
"Seb, you don't understand, she's—"
"Go, Emily."
She stared at him for a heartbeat longer, her eyes shimmering with a mix of shock and pure hurt. Then she turned, her colorful shawl fluttering behind her like a wounded bird as she disappeared down the stairs and into the fog.
Sebastian turned to me immediately, his hands coming up to cup my face. His palms were warm, a stark contrast to the biting wind. "Are you okay? Don't listen to her, Aurora. She's just... she's bitter. She doesn't know what she's talking about."
I looked at him, seeing the fierce, unyielding loyalty in his eyes. He was defending me against a truth he didn't even know existed. He thought he was protecting a survivor. He had no idea he was protecting the very thing Emily had accused me of being.
"I'm fine," I lied. "I'm totally fine."
He kissed my forehead, pulling me into the safety of his chest. I buried my face in his hoodie, the scent of smoke trying to drown out the echoes of Emily's voice. She was gone, but the words were already under my skin, vibrating in sync with the pills.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚
Sebastian's basement sanctuary felt smaller after Emily left, the air still vibrating with the ghost of her presence. We sat on the edge of the bed, a mindless sci-fi show flickering on the monitors, the volume low enough that the hum of the cooling fans almost drowned it out. Sebastian didn't let go of my hand. He held it with a crushing, grounding intensity, as if he were trying to weld our skin together so I couldn't drift away.
I watched the screen, but the plot was a series of meaningless colors. I was floating in my comedown—that strange, detached headspace where my body felt heavy. The interaction on the porch felt like something I'd watched in a movie theater; I could see the girl who looked like me getting hurt, but I couldn't quite feel the sting yet.
A heavy clatter on the stairs broke the silence.
"Hey, is the Ghost in his lair?" Sam's voice preceded him, followed by his messy blonde hair as he poked his head around the doorframe. He was lugging an empty gear bag, looking far too bright for a Thursday night. "Sebastian, tell me you didn't forget the amp for Saturday. Elliot's going to kill us if we don't have the levels right for the festival."
Sebastian let out a breathy laugh, the tension in his jaw finally relaxing. "It's by the desk, Sam. Try not to drop it this time."
"Hey, that happened one time," Sam grumbled, though he was grinning. He looked over at us, his eyes softening as they landed on me. "Hey, Aurora. You look exhausted."
"Long day," I said, my voice sounding distant to my own ears. I glanced at the digital clock on the desk: 8:47 PM. "I should probably head back anyway. Abigail will be wondering if I got lost in the mines."
"I've got to head out too," Sam said, hefting the amp with a grunt. He looked at Sebastian, then back to me. "I can walk her home, Seb. Give you a night off from being the brooding bodyguard."
Sebastian threw a pillow at him, which Sam caught one-handed. "Watch it. She's more capable than you, anyway." He turned to me, his expression shifting into that quiet, private vulnerability. He leaned in and kissed me—a slow, lingering goodbye that tasted like the unspoken promise that he'd fight the world for me. "Text me when you get in?"
"I will," I whispered.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚
The mountain air was a cold shock, smelling of woodsmoke and the first hint of frost. Sam walked beside me, staying quiet for a minute, his usual energy dialed down to something more contemplative.
"So," he finally broke the silence. "Emily and I crossed paths on my way here. She looked like she'd just seen Krobus for the first time."
I hugged my jacket closer, the artificial peace in my brain starting to fray at the edges as the movement of walking burned through the last of the pill. "She was... kind of a bitch. She basically called me a mess. Said I was bad for him."
Sam stopped walking for a second, looking at me with a frown that wasn't judgmental, just concerned. "She's just... getting used to it, Aurora. She thinks she can heal people into loving her. But Seb... he doesn't need healing. He just needed someone to actually hear him. You did that."
He reached out, his hand hovering near my shoulder before he awkwardly patted it. It was a small gesture, but the warmth of it felt different than Sebastian's. It was lighter and reminded me briefly of our friendship before Sebastian had moved to town when we were kids. He didn't know I was high; he just thought I was tired. And for some reason, the fact that he didn't see through me made me feel closer to him.
We reached the General Store, the light from the storefront windows casting long, distorted shadows on the street. "Thanks for the walk, Sam," I said.
"Anytime. See you Saturday? Don't let the Golden Pumpkin get you," he joked, but his eyes lingered on mine a second too long before he turned to head toward the bridge.
That was the thing about Sam... He always found a way to lighten the mood, even when you didn't ask for it. He knew how to check in without directly checking in or being too pushy. Sometimes it was like he could just read my thoughts and know where to direct the conversation without making it awkward.
Unfortunately, I felt the weight of the loneliness bearing down on me, so by the time I reached my room, the "static" had started.
Emily's voice began to loop in the silence of the dark. Drug addict. Junkie playing house. You're an anchor. The words weren't just thoughts; they were physical vibrations, a cold static trying to claw its way back into my skull. I looked at my reflection in the mirror—pale skin, eyes that looked a little too vacant—and I saw the girl she described.
I'm not a survivor, I'm a junkie.
I couldn't handle the volume of the guilt. I couldn't handle the way Sebastian looked at me with pride while I was hiding behind a chemical lie. I couldn't handle thinking about if the truth got out... what that could mean to everyone...
I walked to the bathroom and didn't turn on the light. In the dim glow of the hallway, I reached for my "mute button". I didn't think about the seventeen days I'd lost. I didn't think about the "weed-only" promise I'd made to myself and those around me.
I just swallowed the pill and waited for the world to go quiet.
When the heaviness finally hit, it was a relief. I quickly sent Sebastian a text that I was home and then set my phone on 'Do Not Disturb', and climbed into bed, the cold sheets feeling like a cloud, and drifted into a thick, dreamless sleep where the gravity of Pelican Town couldn't reach me.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚