Dylan's legs, which had been tapping restlessly against the floor, suddenly stilled midway as he heard Sebastian's question.
He slowly raised his head to stare at him, the little bit of alcohol he had consumed already clearing from his system under the weight of that single question.
What bothered him wasn't just the question itself, it was the intention behind it.
'Why would Sebastian think he wasn't alright?'
For a brief second, something warm flickered in Dylan's chest. A quiet, dangerous kind of warmth. He felt…noticed. Seen. There was something oddly comforting in the fact that Sebastian had even bothered to ask.
But just as quickly, that feeling was swallowed whole by something much harsher.
Anger.
Because beneath that concern, Dylan couldn't help but feel like Sebastian was only asking because of what had happened the night before—as though he assumed Dylan would be affected, unstable, shaken. As though he had the right to assess him.
