Trapped In Here, With You (Sebastian Solace X Reader)

Hellooo guysss, school is kicking my ass rn and I start writing my mocks next week, but inspiration hit me in my head and said "write the damn thing" so here's this literary garble. College time, human genitalia, only gendered genitalia you are still genderless as the Reader, canon to timeline. (Be prepared to be hit with guitar jargon, I started learning it and I'm going to be insufferable even though it's only been a week.) Still mildly unsure about posting but aye we move, enjoy.
This is not beta read, please point out any mistakes you find.

Friends since highschool, and now Roomates in college. You and Sebastian had been through thick and thin, high and low, bear hugs and bleeding noses alike. Being able to live with him, in his space, changed a small bit of that friendship.

It felt intimate, and it was a thin glaze over the line of platonic love, how much the difference was when you shared an apartment. Sharing clothes was common, of course, although it grew to be a regular occurrence. Band shirts, jeans, sweatpants, hoodies, emergency towels, fishnet gloves, rings, jewelry, and fashionable corsets (one occasion but it counts). On the exact opposite side of the spectrum, so was the occurrence of no-bra-days and just-boxer-days when classes ended, or shorts-under-massive-shirt-days. His guitar was taken care of by both of you, and you ended up being taught (infodumped on) about the instrument without your permission (you found it endearing and ended up analysing any song that had a guitar in it for a month) and were sometimes pressured (begged and forced) to learn the string contraption that consequently hurt (mortally wounded) your fingers. You cleaned the fretboard when he was gone, and always hunted for his pick, because apparently they get lost extremely easily. He made you a necklace with one of his older picks on it, and a ring out of a spare low E string.

With shared space, came frequent touch, but nothing abhorrent at first. "Is it okay if I hold your hand?" Was how Sebastian braved the notion, which slowly faded into head leanings, chest laying, arm holding, and the (so very rare) times he'd sleep with his face tucked in the crux of your neck. It was fine.

It didn't change how you saw him, he was your friend, someone you trusted, and loved. Loved, but not in anything past platonic.

As fresh adults do, they get curious, especially if one of said adults (you) have no prior experience (not including anything that was read or watched or seen or listened to), and felt squeamish at the thought of committing those actions with someone. Imagine a stranger holding you, learning your body, kissing you. You'd shudder at that.

Sebastian glanced sidelong when you went on a miniature rant about how ridiculous it sounded to you. How people described kissing or sex as some phenomenon that hit the limits of infinity when it came to pleasure, that it somehow fried your brain and stopped your thinking. Garbage, you thought, utter garbage, what nonsense. "I think it would take months before I felt comfortable enough to disrobe myself in front of someone." You stated.

Sebastian shrugged, his hair untied and covering the side of his face, and partially obscuring his eyes. "That's just because you're inexperienced." He turned his head towards you. It was no secret that he had a bit of experimentation in highschool, he was honest about it with you, but he wasn't loose, just experienced. And informed to the best of his ability.

You scoffed, "it sounds dumb, regardless."

His eyes traced the muscle of your neck, the necklace of his you had on, and upwards to your lips. You'd taken to using lip balms and lip oils recently, something about keeping them healthy. They shone nicely. "I could help with that." He blurted under his breath, but internally willed his heart to freeze when be realised he uttered that outloud. 'Shit', he thought, 'i fucked it up, I pushed it, damn it—' his fingers clench around his kneecaps.