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Today was not a Good Day. In fact, Seb would go so far as to classify it as Shit. He didn’t know what was wrong (aside from the obvious) and he just felt.. emptier than usual.
"New crack in th’ ceiling," he comments to the crack itself, watching light from a passing car dance with the shadows on the wall. There was a voice, faint and so very condescending, but he couldn’t make out the words.
A glance at the muted telly only reconfirmed that any sound he heard was in his mind. Brilliant. And yet.. well, he wasn’t seeing things. That had to be a good sign, right? Only.. that ruled out drinking for the night. He always came around if Seb was drunk and Seb knew how much he hated it.
He wondered where Bastian was, turning his eyes upward again to trace the new crack. His mind wandered to thoughts of Irene and then Anthea, thinking of anything but him. Attempting to keep him from his head, for one bloody night longer, considering he’d been doing so fucking well…
Today was Shit, wasn’t it. Same as him.