Chapter 179
Sebastian
"Close your eyes," I said, and when she gave me a skeptical look, I added, "Please. Just for a moment."
She complied, though I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her free hand twitched slightly as if reaching for a weapon she no longer carried. I guided her inside, positioning her in the center of the space where she'd have the full effect when she opened her eyes.
"Okay." I stepped back slightly, suddenly terrified of her reaction in a way I hadn't been terrified of anything in years. "You can look now."
She opened her eyes, and I watched her expression shift from wariness to confusion to something that might have been wonder, her gaze tracking from the canopy of flowers overhead to the vines on the walls to the intimate table setting in the center of it all. Her hand came up to cover her mouth, and I saw her blink rapidly as if fighting back tears.
"Sebastian." Her voice was barely a whisper. "What is this?"
"Your birthday." The words came out rougher than I'd intended, heavy with implications I couldn't quite articulate. "I know it's not for another week, but I wanted... I thought we could celebrate early. Just the two of us."
She turned to look at me, and the expression on her face was so complex, so layered with emotion, that I couldn't begin to parse it all. "How did you even know when my birthday was?"
"I have my ways." Actually, I'd had Marcus hack into the Genesis Foundation's records, but that seemed like the kind of detail that would ruin the moment. "I also know that you've probably never had a proper birthday celebration."
"Well, this is different." I moved to pull out her chair, a gesture that felt simultaneously too formal and not formal enough for what I was trying to convey. "This is just... dinner. And flowers. And whatever conversation we feel like having. No expectations, no ulterior motives. Just—"
"Just you trying to give me a good memory before you die?" She said it without accusation, but the words still hit like a punch to the gut. "Is that what this is, Sebastian? Your way of making peace with the entropy?"
I should have known she'd see through it. Should have known that Lirael was too smart, too observant, to take this at face value. But hearing her say it out loud still stole the breath from my lungs.
"Maybe." I admitted, because lying to her now would defeat the entire purpose. "Or maybe I just wanted to do something nice for you. Does it matter?"
She was quiet for a long moment, her gaze moving between me and the elaborate setup I'd created, and I could see her wrestling with whether to accept this gesture or reject it as another manipulation. Finally, she moved to the chair I was still holding, settling into it with a grace that seemed at odds with the tension in her shoulders.
"It matters." She said softly, looking up at me with those silver-grey eyes that seemed to see straight through every defense I'd ever built. "But I'm choosing to accept it anyway. Because you're right—I've never had a real birthday, and I'd like to know what it feels like. Even if it's complicated. Even if it hurts later."
The relief that flooded through me was disproportionate to the moment, but I didn't care. I took my own seat across from her, signaling to the staff I'd stationed outside to begin bringing in the food, and allowed myself to simply look at her in the candlelight, surrounded by flowers that seemed to glow in her presence.
"Thank you." The words felt inadequate, but they were all I had. "For trusting me with this."
"Don't thank me yet." But there was a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth, the first genuine one I'd seen in days. "You still have to get through dinner without saying something that makes me want to stab you with a fork."
"I'll do my best." I poured wine for both of us, a vintage that tasted like liquid gold. "Though I make no promises."
And as the evening unfolded—as we ate and talked and laughed in ways that felt dangerously normal, dangerously human—I let myself believe, just for a few hours, that maybe we could have this. That maybe the entropy and the curse and all the darkness that defined my existence could be held at bay long enough to give her this one perfect memory.
The plates had been cleared away, leaving only our wine glasses and the soft glow of candlelight between us, when I found myself standing and extending my hand to her. The gesture felt both impulsive and inevitable, as if every moment of the evening had been leading to this.
"Dance with me." It wasn't quite a question, wasn't quite a command—something in between that I hoped she'd accept.
She looked at my outstretched hand for a long moment, and I could see the war playing out behind her eyes, the careful calculation of risk versus desire that had become her default state around me. Then, slowly, she placed her hand in mine, allowing me to draw her to her feet and into the small clearing I'd left in the center of the greenhouse.
There was no music, but we didn't need it. I pulled her close, one hand settling at the small of her back while the other held hers against my chest, and we began to move in a slow circle that was more sway than proper dance. She fit against me perfectly, her head just below my chin, and I could smell the moonflower scent that always clung to her skin, could feel the warmth of her body seeping through the thin fabric of her dress.
"I don't know how to dance," she murmured against my shoulder, but her feet followed mine with an instinctive grace that belied her words.
"You're doing fine." My voice came out rougher than I'd intended, thick with emotions I couldn't name. "Just follow my lead."
She tilted her head back to look at me, and the expression on her face was so open, so vulnerable, that it physically hurt to hold her gaze. We moved together in the candlelight, surrounded by flowers that seemed to lean in as if witnessing something sacred, and I felt the careful walls I'd built around whatever this was between us beginning to crumble.
"Sebastian." She said my name like a question, like a prayer, like a warning all at once.
I didn't answer with words. Instead, I let my hand slide from her back to cup her face, my thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone as I lowered my head toward hers, giving her every opportunity to pull away, to stop this before it became something we couldn't take back.
Our lips met in a kiss that started gentle, almost tentative, as if we were both afraid of breaking whatever fragile thing existed between us. But then her free hand came up to tangle in my hair, and something inside me shattered completely. I deepened the kiss, pulling her closer until there was no space left between us, until I could feel every curve of her body pressed against mine, until the only thing that existed was the taste of her mouth and the soft sound she made in the back of her throat.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, I felt something wet on my cheek and realized with distant shock that I was crying. Not the violent, angry tears that sometimes came with the entropy, but something quieter, more devastating—the kind of tears that came from knowing you were holding something infinitely precious and infinitely temporary.
I looked down and saw that she was crying too, silent tears tracking down her face in the candlelight, and the sight of it broke something in me that I hadn't known was still whole.
"Lirael." Her name came out broken, barely more than a whisper.
She reached up to wipe the tears from my face with trembling fingers, her own still falling, and in that moment, we both understood what we couldn't say out loud—that this was goodbye as much as it was hello, that we were stealing something beautiful from a future that might not exist, that every moment of tenderness between us was shadowed by the entropy counting down in my blood.
"I know." She said softly, and I didn't have to ask what she was responding to, because she knew, had always known, exactly what I was thinking. "I know, Sebastian. But for tonight, can we just... pretend?"
So we did. We stood there in the greenhouse, holding each other as tears dried on our faces and candles burned low around us.
It was probably a delusion. But for tonight, it was enough.
The end.