The Oscars had come and gone, leaving behind a whirlwind of flashing cameras, forced smiles, and the ever-present weight of expectations. The after parties were still in full swing somewhere in Los Angeles, but you and Sebastian had slipped away early, trading the glitz and glamour for the quiet comfort of home.

Sebastian sat on the couch, his bow tie undone, the top buttons of his tuxedo shirt loosened. His fingers traced absent patterns on the fabric of his dress pants as he stared at the darkened TV screen. The golden envelope, the one that hadn’t held his name, was long discarded somewhere in the back of his mind.

You walked over with two mugs of tea, setting one down beside him before curling up next to him. He sighed when you leaned into him, his arm automatically coming around you, but there was a heaviness in his posture that hadn’t been there earlier in the night.

“You were incredible, you know that?” you murmured, your fingers brushing through his slightly disheveled hair.

Sebastian huffed a quiet laugh. “Tell that to the Academy.” He shook his head, looking down at his hands. “I know it’s not about winning, but…” He trailed off, exhaling slowly. “It still stings.”

You took his hand, lacing your fingers through his. “Of course it does. You worked so hard, gave everything to this role. And you deserved it.”

He finally turned to look at you, his blue eyes searching yours, a mixture of gratitude and lingering disappointment flickering there. “I really thought I had a shot.”

“You did.” You squeezed his hand. “And you will again. This isn’t the end, Seb. Just a chapter.”

He studied you for a long moment, then leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he whispered.

You smiled softly, rubbing circles against his knuckles with your thumb. “Luckily, you’ll never have to find out.”

A small, real smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and you counted it as a win. Maybe not the one he had wanted tonight, but an important one nonetheless.