Sebastian's POV
The knock came at exactly 12:03 AM.
Three times. Soft. Then aggressive. Then rapid-fire like a squirrel on Red Bull.
I groaned and rolled out of bed, expecting Austin or maybe even Ava yelling about Ray burning pasta again—because yes, it happened before.
Instead, I opened the door and nearly got tackled.
"Thank god you're awake," Ray gasped dramatically, stumbling in wearing Ava's oversized hoodie and her own bunny slippers. "I can't sleep alone."
"Why not?"
"There was a sound."
"A sound?"
"A ghost sound. Ava's with her parents, so I'm alone alone. Austin didn't even pick up my call. He's the worst boyfriend I've never had."
"…You called Austin before me?"
She clutched her chest, offended. "You were asleep. He had one job. But he said and I quote, 'I'm not getting out of bed again because you heard your own microwave beep.'"
I blinked. "Was it your microwave?"
"Irrelevant. I'm traumatized. Let me in."
She didn't wait for an answer. Marched in, climbed onto my bed, and flopped dramatically face-first into my pillow.
I shut the door, turned around… and there she was. Already under my blanket like she'd lived here for ten years.
"You're so warm," she sighed. "Be my blanket."
I stared. "Ray—"
"No. You don't understand. If I close my eyes and you're not hugging me I'll die. I'll explode. Panic explosion. It's a medical condition."
She stretched her arms toward me with teary eyes. "Sebastian. Do you want to be a murderer?"
Jesus Christ.
So yes. I climbed into bed. And she attached herself to me like a koala. One leg over my waist. Arms under my hoodie. Her face squished into my neck like she was trying to become one with my soul.
"This is the best bed ever," she mumbled. "It smells like clean boy and safety and cinnamon toast."
"It's literally unscented detergent."
"Your vibe has cinnamon toast energy."
She looked up suddenly, eyes wide. "Did you lock the door?"
"I—"
"LOCK. THE. DOOR."
I sighed, got up, locked it, got back in—and she immediately flung herself over me again with a sigh of pure relief.
"I love you," she whispered like it was a sleepy spell. "Even if you don't make cinnamon toast."
"I made you coffee with glitter sprinkles last week."
"You're the only reason I haven't burst into flames."
Her hair was everywhere. Her lashes tickled my neck. Her breath was soft and warm and smelled like strawberry gum. I tucked the blanket tighter around her. She gave a satisfied sigh and went limp like a sleepy toddler.
Moments passed. Then:
"…Seb?"
"Hmm?"
"Will you braid my hair in the morning and put flowers in it?"
"Yes, Ray."
"Okay," she whispered. "Then I can survive tonight."
And just like that, she was asleep.
Wrapped around me like peace and chaos in one tiny body.
God help me, I wouldn't trade this mess for anything.