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It instilled in him, a sense of duty chaining around his chest. First thing in the morning, he searches for you to assure himself you haven't taken off.
He knows you would, without telling him, too. It had always been your nature to explore and loiter around the Highlands: that's how you manage that beautiful vivarium he loves so much.
But he's tired. He wants you with him. He wants to be enough.
Sebastian can't wrap his brain around your preference for the Highlands. You're his first thought when he wakes up, but he isn't yours. You're the face he wishes to see at lunch, while you're eating a sandwich somewhere in the grass.
He makes up little things to make you stay: he buys you flowers, but you forget to water them; he waits awake for you in the Room of Requirement when night had descended on his droopy eyelids; he plans dates you don't show up to.
The small boat sways on the gentle, wet waves of the lake, coronated by wet little sloshes. Not of the shore, no.
He moves his fingers to his eyes and dries them momentarily, leading way to fresher waterfalls. He doesn't know why he keeps perking his ears, loath to accept the inevitable proof of your absence in the mere hoots of faraway birds. Their companionship in the owlery, their duty of bringing two people together by words, a mockery.
He blames them for the lost letter he sent you.
A hand weights suddenly on his shoulder and his heart jumps up, inevitably. A broken, bleeding, warm traitor. He turns, because forgiveness belongs to him only when it comes to you.
"I'm a bit late, aren't I?" you say sheepishly, and he can't be mad. Because, after all, you showed up.
He moves to wipe dirt from your cheek. "Not at all... here."
Sebastian gives you his seat, he holds your hand as you cross the water with a hop, and holds you when you lose balance.
"Had business in Aranshire. I found myself there and had to free a house from spiders," you say. It's not a justification, nor an apology. It just is what it is, and it's not enough for Sebastian but he accepts it anyway.
"I waited for you this morning..." he blurts out, a complain, inequivocally embarassed like he'd do you a disservice.
"I'm sorry." Your eyes turn sympathetic and you move to hold his hand. And just like that, he thinks it's not that bad. Because despite everything, you stayed when no one did, and that should be enough.
"It's alright."
"You can aways tell me if you need something... I'm new to this." You gesture towards the both of you and he nods.
It was new to him, too, and he'd give up his soul to keep it. But parts of him had started to crumble and he needed you to patch him up best you could.
"I need you to water the flowers..." he mumbles and you agree.
"I'll put them in the vivarium."
And just like that, you cage it away. Lock it somwhere he can't reach or see, where he can only trust that you would care for it, where he has no access.
Sebastian will just wait for spring, when he can buy flowers again.