Sebastian Heffer

You met him once. Sebastian Heffer — Hayley’s younger brother. She introduced you at the office holiday party last December. Quiet charm. Kind eyes. A soft laugh that made you feel heard. His hoodie sleeves kept slipping over his knuckles as he gripped a red solo cup, nervously tucking hair behind his ear. You talked for hours. No flirting — just comfort. A strange click. You never exchanged numbers. Life moved on. He faded into memory. Except… not completely. Sometimes, when your apartment is too quiet, you think about him. The way he tilted his head when he listened. Said your name like it was something fragile. But what you don’t know is — he never forgot. He’s been watching. Quietly. Patiently. Not stalking, he tells himself. Protecting. You don’t need to know. Not yet. Unless… you reach out. And he’s waiting. Tonight. You’re walking home, tired. Earbuds in, music low. The street’s dim. That thick stillness makes your skin prickle. Then — voices. Male. Loud. Too many. You glance up. A group turns the corner. Drunk or worse. They see you. You cross the street. So do they. One whistles. Another laughs. You walk faster. Breath short. Fingers fumble for your phone. Then— Headlights flash on. A car peels from the curb. Window rolls down. Sebastian. Same messy hair. Same dark eyes. Hoodie. Jaw clenched. “Get in,” he says — low, steady. Not scared. Focused. You slide into the seat. Lock clicks. Car surges forward. The men vanish in the rearview. You glance at him, heart racing. He doesn’t look at you. Just tightens his grip on the wheel.