Sebastian hung back a moment — it's not often he hears his name in conversation and for a second, he almost thinks he hallucinated. But Sterling's slurs confirm that his ears are working just fine (under the blood rushing, at least).

"He's such a fucking weirdo. You're doing community service bringing him out here," laughter joins Sterling's, none of it as boisterous and some of it uncomfortable. "I mean, does anyone really like spending time with him?"

Even if he can't be seen in the shadows of the bar corridor, he thinks the sound of his heart pounding (shame and anger and despair all mixed in a horrid little cocktail, one that makes the beer in his grip taste like nectar) — that might give him away.

And bile rises in his throat when he hears the farmer's voice, more forceful than he's heard in a while and full of what must be disdain. His whole face is one furrow trying to hold down the emotions threatening to spill out of him.

"He's fucking weird." A glass thunk punctuates her sentence. Sebastian has half a mind just to run out the back and keep running until he reaches the city or dies, or both. But he's quick to question if that... derision in her voice — is it directed at him? "But aren't we all kind of weird?"

"Come on, you're not serious."

"You two share half the same hobbies."

"Uh huh, and I have twice the social skills that he does."

"And he's twice the man you are because he would never think of talking so rudely about a friend." "It's not like he's your biggest fan but he keeps it to himself for my sake. And that makes his social skills a million times more than what yours seem to be, at least right now."

If Sebastian stepped just an inch closer to the light, he could get a blurry view of the table — and of Sterling raising a hand to talk, but god was farmer was not done, and she let him know:

"I'm not done. I love spending time with him. He's hilarious, and witty, and thoughtful and intelligent — he —"

"So if you love him so much, why invite me out too? Just have your lovey-dovey little night with the circus freak."

"You know I'm asking myself that very question." The squeak of a chair, and her heavy boots hitting the floor. Her legs always dangled so cutely from these high bar seats.

And she's out the door by the time Sebastian realized the farmer was leaving.

He waits a moment before appearing.

"Hey, where did _____ go?"

Bitterly: "Your girlfriend thinks I'm an asshole, she went home."

"Girlfriend?" His face colors despite his dry remark: "That's news to me."

"Well she loveeeesss you, so —"

"She loves spending time with me," with a dry stare that says Oh yeah, I heard everything.

"Bro, I'm —"

"Look, save the bro-ing and the apology for when you're sober. It'll mean more."

Sterling nods, abashed and ashamed.

And Sebastian heads outside. He thinks if he walks fast enough, his long legs will mean he'll catch her before she's all the way home — and he knows her well enough to know she took the long way, anyway.

Yep, there she is. Sat at the edge of the river at the Cindersap Forest. Her bike is kicked over next to her and she's tearing off bits flowers and leaves at random, hands fiddling.

If he didn't know what to look for — namely, that wild head of hair shaking with every thought she murmurs to herself — he might miss it among the shadows and the trees that shudder even in such a light breeze. A huge log acts as her seat, and little slices of leaves and flowers are scattered across her lap and down her legs. She's pulling the petals off another innocent sweet pea now.

His seat at the end of the log is a comfortable one, all things considered. Sebastian's legs stretch out in front of him and his hands rest on the back of his neck: a picture of relaxation, no matter how hard his heart keeps beating.

Louder and louder the closer he is. He's noticed that and it annoys him — does his thick sweatshirt muffle it? Can she hear?

"I was wondering if you were going to come looking," her voice is hardly audible over it, or the sound of a twig snapping under the weight of a deer, or something. It's wild country out here. "You didn't hear that much, did you?"

"Eh. I heard enough. I always knew he didn't like me all that much," he says so matter-of-factly as if to shrug off the bruises on his ego that still remained.

"So you knew he didn't like you, and I presume that means you didn't like him —"

He interrupts, looking at the corner of his eyes to gauge how much of a fond chuckle he might earn: "Eh, I would've disliked him anyway. I don't like anyone."

Oh. Just a loud exhale. Tough. Sebastian scoots closer, hands resting on the rain-softened bark.

"So neither of you like each other and yet you've been hanging out constantly. Why would either of you put up with that?"

"For you."

"Okay, that's not a good enough answer. I try not to spend time with Abby if I can avoid it," "No offense. It's not for lack of trying."

"None taken," "But it's not like I hang out with Abby all day, anyway."

"I — I don't hang out with Sterling all day."

"No, but see the math is like," and he's talking before he can really get a sense of the words he's letting out: "If you spend 50% of your day with him, and 50% of your day with me, that's still 50% I'm not getting, you know?"

She's quiet.

"We both just want you all the time, I guess."

She's silent.

"I mean, I don't wanna speak for him but like that's..." And now his voice is fading softer and softer. "That's how... I mean, if the choice is to be with you and a guy I don't like, or not you at all it's just..."

She's staring at him.

"I mean you would do the same for me I think."

"I guess," her voice is thick. "You've never made me have to choose. And maybe that's why I'm feeling so bad."

"There's nothing to really feel bad about. I can take him talking shit about me, as long as you don't agree,"

"And I don't."

"Yeah, I know." "I mean, I know now."

"Did you doubt that?"

Now it's his turn to be quiet.

"Sebastian, seriously. Did you think I was going to sit there and let him talk about you like that?"

"I don't know."

"You don't —" she's speechless.

"I mean I just... it's not that I think you're that mean. It's that I think I'm that—" he searches for the word. "Weird."

"I know this reflects more on you than on me," she turns to her favorite phrase. "But I really wish you wouldn't think of me like that. I like you so much, Sebastian. Don't use me as a cudgel for your own self-hate.

I try not to do the same for you."