blame the champagne || s. sallow one-shot

part 1: blame the champagne

it was a nice party.

no, really. it was.

sure, there were some things sebastian could've done without—the awkwardly stiff ballroom, for one, with its velvet curtains that probably cost more than his entire wardrobe—but on the whole, he couldn't deny credit where it was due.

the music was stimulating enough to have ballgowns spinning around endlessly on the dancefloor. food, exquisite; hors d'oeuvres that looked more like art than appetizers, but delicious nonetheless. and the decor? a tad too extravagant, maybe, with gold ribbons draped from every chandelier, catching the candlelight in a way that felt more like a royal procession than a social gathering. but who was he to judge? he was certainly drinking enough to blur any such distinctions, and there was more than enough champagne.

so, yeah, it was a really nice party.

well, save for the fact that it's his ex's engagement party to some guy from a prestigious pureblood family or whatever. sebastian still couldn't quite remember his name, though he's pretty sure it starts with the letter h. he read the invitation, the fine lettering that seemed too fancy for its own good, but the moment he'd seen "engagement" paired with her name, his brain had short-circuited. he didn't need nor want the details. it was enough to know that she was moving on—and he, apparently, was not. but that's fine. he's fine.

sebastian would have preferred to avoid the entire affair, but anne had insisted—no, berated him—into attending. "just be grateful she even thought to invite you to such a special day." she'd demanded.

ominis, bless him, had tried his best to offer some well-meaning, clumsy attempt to soften the blow, but when all was said and done, suggested sebastian defer to anne. there was no doubt (maybe a little) ominis was his best friend but he was also anne's husband now. and a wife's word, especially in the sallow family, was the law. infuriating, as if they haven't ganged up on him enough their whole lives.

speaking of those two, where the hell are they? sebastian was already this close to hexing them for dragging him here in the first place—much less leaving him alone in a crowd of polished, tight-lipped strangers. not that he hadn't been to his fair share of these high-society events. as an established wizard, a decorated auror, top of his division no less, he had his place at these things, his duty even. in fact, somewhere deep down, part of him even liked the glitz and glamour. it was the sort of thing that would make most people feel important, like they were part of something larger, something better.

but this? this wasn't his crowd at all. not when he had to stand there, watching the one that got away and her decorated hand clutch her husband-to-be's arm. the sight of it churned something deep in his gut, like a bitter knot that wouldn't untangle.

alright, maybe it's time to admit it.

it was not a nice party at all.

the music? too stiff. too classic. she usually liked it loud and roaring. she used to love a ceilidh, for merlin's sake. the food? too tiny. he could practically see her at the table, scarfing down a full plate before reaching for seconds, her stomach always growing faster than her appetite. the decorations? too gaudy. too excessive. then again, she never had a good eye for interior decor—at least, not according to the proper standards. her idea of decoration had been finding old furniture abandoned in the highlands and somehow hauling it back to their (now just his) flat in london.

salazar, this whole party is wrong. she never even cared for this kind of thing. she would always roll her eyes when he dragged her to some work event, muttering something about she'd much rather be laughing over a pint in the pub with him.