Sebastian's POV
The moment the front door creaks open, I can hear her.
"Miiisss meeee?" she yells, thudding down the hallway like she's part human, part hurricane. "Kaaaai wouldn't let me call you during the meeting! I brought snacks though! Did you eat? Did you drink anything? Were you grumpy? Did you kill anyone today? Did—"
"Sky," I warn softly, looking up from my laptop.
Too late.
She slips on the hallway rug—again—does a whole flailing windmill arm thing, and crashes straight into my chest like a rocket of heat and hair.
"Oof—Seb!" she gasps, grabbing my face with both hands like I've been gone for decades. "You didn't text me back! I thought maybe you fainted from dehydration! Or boredom! Or murder!"
I catch her waist, steadying us both before she pulls the chair over again. "It's been three hours."
"Exactly! That's basically eternity," she pouts, looping her arms around my neck. Her stupidly long hair gets stuck in the buttons of my shirt and I sigh as I try to detangle us.
"You should really consider a haircut."
She gasps like I've committed high treason. "You—you take that back."
I don't.
But I do help untangle the silky mess, strand by strand.
She clings tighter. "I brought you pasta. With real basil. I even grated cheese over it! Like a proper wife."
"I'm your father."
"And you're welcome."
I give up. She's already pulling a container out of her tote bag and crawling into my lap like it's the most normal thing ever.
My laptop's shoved onto the couch, my day plan is forgotten, and her mouth is moving a mile a minute as she forks pasta into my mouth like I'm five and need feeding.
"You didn't eat lunch, did you?" she accuses.
"No."
"Knew it." She points the fork like a dagger. "I knew it, Kai knew it, even Mrs. Fairweather probably knew it and she's literally blind in one eye—Seb, for real, you've gotta stop acting like you're made of granite."
I blink at her. "I am made of granite."
Sky laughs, loud and beautiful, before resting her cheek against my shoulder like she's run out of steam. "Well, I'm cling wrap. Deal with it."
I hold her close. Breathe her in.
She smells like vanilla, paint, and trouble.
And in that moment—after everything I've done, everything I've become—this right here?
This is the only thing that feels clean.