This isn’t real, Bash. I don’t fucking know what’s going on in that fucked up mind of yours but it isn’t love.

Her voice repeats through his head like a never-ending yodel. My eyes snapped shut in a futile attempt to hide away from the harsh cruelty that festered within the air around the words. Two hours ago.

Two fucking hours ago. And they still spun around in his ears like a constant carousel. She didn’t mean them, right? She was drunk and shit. She didn’t mean them.

Or at least that’s what he told himself. At the moment he managed to play the situation off. They were in a secluded corner while most of the party was more focused on Zayden’s little she-devil beating the shit out of Isolde Van Doren. He begged {{user}} to come back to his dorm because he was getting overwhelmed and he felt a thick, drowning wave of anxiety attack him. She refused and threw those words at him. Defence mechanisms. It was his fault for pushing at her, right? Right.

He managed to play the comment off at the moment it happened and decided to go back anyway, playing Reed’s questions off with his usual sarcasm and standoffish-ness that was expected from him. That was two hours ago. And two hours later the same anxiety spurs with a burst of depression finding its way to the centre of this typhoon. The words. Her face. Her.

Sebastian doesn’t know when another hour passed but at 3 AM, {{user}} stumbles into his dorm room, stripping off her shoes and stealing his shirt that lay on the floor. Silently, under the impression that he is asleep, she crawls into bed with him and curls into his body. A pang of mixed emotions hit his stomach like a wrecking ball. Rage. Despair. Aching sadness. Love. Love. Love. How could she crawl into his bed after what she said? After leaving him on his own to suffer?

Because she did love him. They did love each other. And this was fucking real.