𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 ✓

SEVEN

-

The day goes by and with every syllable that leaves Sebastian's mouth, I'm convinced that he wants people to hate him. There is no other explanation. It is a few minutes after four, Sebastian has just returned from a bathroom break, and I am just editing the last few paragraphs of the article that is due tomorrow when a knock on the door gets both of our attention.

"Who is it?" Sebastian shouts at the milky glass door, behind which I can see a silhouette I can't place. I save my file, just to make sure, and while Sebastian sits on the edge of his desk, his head tilted, his brow furrowed, I crack the knuckles of my hands.

"It's Erin," a voice says from outside, and I sigh. Erin is the one colleague who always tries to be friends with everyone. Even Sebastian, though he has made it pretty clear that he hates all of us. 

"Come in," I say loudly when the brunet remains silent, clearly annoyed by who is asking to enter our little office space. The door opens, and Erin, a bubbly redhead with a constant smile on her face, taller than Golden Boy, with a bright pink blouse and skirt, enters the room, looking behind her as if she was afraid to be stalked.

"What is it?" I ask, leaning back in my chair. 

"Do you guys want to come with the rest of us tonight? It's Joyce's birthday, we wanted to celebrate a little. You know, in a bar or something?"

Expectantly, she glares at me, then at Sebastian, who doesn't seem to have paid attention and is instead biting his nails. I go through my plans for tomorrow morning and decide that some socializing is maybe not that bad.

"I'll come," I say with a faint smile, "Directly after work?"

"At eight," Erin tells me, and Sebastian groans, straightens up, and eventually speaks, his cold gaze glued to me.

"If she's there, I won't be," he says, his steel-blue eyes piercing through me, making me feel like he just put all of his hate for the world into his expression. My stomach twists. I don't want him to look at me like this.

"Don't be silly, Seb," Erin intervenes, slightly offended, yet shyly giggling. "It'll be fun."

He groans, as he often does, and looks at her after an eye roll. 

"Will it? Party pooper over there won't ruin everything like she ruined the hike in Jersey?"

My jaw drops and I look at him in disbelief. Erin gasps and steps toward me.

"She didn't ruin anything," she states, and for once, I'm thankful for how nice she is to everyone. Without her here, I don't know if I would've cried. His words hurt me more than they should've.

"And I'm not a party pooper," I add, crossing my arms in front of my chest, and look him dead in the eye, trying to seem as confident as possible. He scoffs, shakes his head, and eventually surrenders with a sigh while plopping down on his chair.

"We will see later tonight," he says, and Erin laughs insecurely while I smile at her gratefully.

"So you're going to be there?" Erin asks, just to make sure. Sebastian nods before getting back to his computer, and after telling us where to be at eight, the redhead leaves us alone again. I look over the monitors to see him rub his beard nervously. I hear the fast clicking of the mouse. What is he doing?

"Party pooper," I mock him, grimacing in his direction, "You're the one who's always in a bad mood."

He glares up to me, head tilted down, his eyes stinging into my skin from far away. I gulp.

"What are you going to wear?"

I freeze. Did I mishear what he just said? In shock, I raise a brow, looking at him questioningly. 

"Excuse me?" I croak, "What?"

"Forget it," he mumbles, scrolling through his phone now. My shoulders drop and I sit back in my chair, confused. What a random question was that?

"No, why did you ask?" I say, rolling my chair to the side of my desk to see him staring at his phone screen. My feet dangle an inch above the ground, which is why I have to use my hands to grip and pull myself forward with the help of the desk. He looks up to me briefly, looks me up and down, and huffs.

"No, don't do that," I groan, "Answer me, Stan."

"I was asking because if you wore that one skirt again, I definitely would be in a bad mood."

"What skirt?" I ask, confused about this revelation of his, and run a hand over my hair.

"The dark blue one," he answers, "the one that goes down to your calves. You look like a grandma."

I squint my eyes, trying to process his insult. 

"Won't wear that," I eventually say slowly, unsure whether this is the right reaction to this. He tips his chin down in a quick nod before focusing on his phone again, typing some messages.

"Good," he grunts, "Good."

"So I will finally see Sebastian Stan in a good mood?" I tease and get his attention back in an instant. 

"With enough drinks," he teases back, and for a second, I think I see a corner of his mouth twitching upward, his eyes shimmering mischievously. 

"Let's just hope you don't ruin everything again," he adds after some moments of me staring at him and his unreadable face, and I shake my head, trying to get the thoughts in there sorted. 

"Idiot," I hiss, "I didn't ruin the fucking hike. You were the one who forgot to get the bag with the food out of the van."

"Which you were supposed to remind me of," he counters, "And then you blamed me for everything without even considering that it was at least partially your fault as well. And then you tried to make me feel bad by complaining about my mistake the entire hike. So who ruined it now?"

"I-" I stop talking because I don't know what to say to that. He's kind of right.

"Mhm, I know, shocking for you," he chuckles, "You're not perfect."

"I never thought I was perfect," I mutter under my breath, rather talking to myself at that moment, and his gaze jolts up to me instantly, as if he was surprised by my answer.

"What?" I snap at him, "Mind your own business."

He shakes his head as he goes back to his phone, and I roll back behind my monitor just quick enough to let him not see the pooling tears in my eyes. All of this bickering, all of the teasing and blaming each other for everything, it's exhausting. And it's even worse for me to know that he is right about me. I'm not perfect, I never will be perfect, and I am a party pooper, ruining everything with my temper and my clumsiness. Thanks for that, Golden Boy. Thanks for the reminder.