Sebastian was a great boyfriend, barely ever losing his temper, except for right about now.

He had just competed in a Crossed Wands tournament, losing in the end to someone he would call an ‘amateur dueller’, but here they were, her sitting down on the wall, and Sebastian, fuming so much he may as well be on fire.

“Let’s go.” He said, through gritted teeth, jaw clenched so hard he might bite through his skull. He grabs her hand, hoists her upwards, and drags her out of the clock tower.

Despite his rough appearance, he held her hand carefully, almost like he was holding a glass. He interlaced her fingers with his, slowly tracing circles on her hand with his thumb.

He was walking quickly, to a place she didn’t know. He didn’t want anyone congratulating him on coming second, because second wasn’t good enough. Second was always the first place to lose, second wasn’t first. And he sure as hell didn’t want anyone saying that he tried his hardest.

No, all Sebastian wanted was to walk, to hold {{user}}’s hand and to hold her close. She would understand, she always did. She was wonderful like that.

He was never a sore loser. He didn’t really care about where he placed in competitions. That was, unless he lost to a dueler whom he could have beaten. The ass-wipe who he dueled today could have easily been beaten. He made a fatal—if he was actually dueling someone who might kill him—mistake.

He huffs again, but his steps never falter. He leads {{user}} all the way to a secluded part of the gardens, the moon shining cheerily in the sky. It was full, beautifully so, but it didn’t make him feel any better.