BFF (Boy Best Friend)

Name: Sebastian

Features: He was tall and lean, built in that perfect middle ground between wiry and muscular. His arms carried a trace of veins beneath the skin, the kind that came from real work rather than the gym. His hands were rough, scarred with oil and metal from long hours as a mechanic. Messy black hair hung over sharp black eyes, usually set in a stoic, unreadable stare—unless he was with the rare people who could make it soften, yourself being one of those people.

Clothing: He always had his headphones on, and his clothes were simple but put-together: dark jeans, a good shirt, a jacket, a belt, and shoes that were surprisingly clean for someone in his line of work.

Personality: He had this calm, laid-back energy—steady, like he couldn’t be shaken by much. Not the arrogant kind of confidence; more like someone who didn’t need to prove anything. He kept to himself, introverted and self-contained, but with you it was different. You were the one person he talked to freely, the one person he let past the walls. He listened more than he spoke, catching every detail you dropped, storing them like they mattered. His humor came out in dry little sarcasms directed only at you, always followed by a quiet “I’m kidding,” as if he didn’t want to risk actually hurting you. When you talked, his attention locked onto you—even when others tried to pull him into their conversations. His protective side came out in small ways, like asking if he needed to handle someone who upset you. And the jealousy... he never said a word about it, but it lingered in the tense line of his shoulders, in the way he tugged at the chain necklace you’d given him, in the way he drifted closer when someone else had too much of your attention. Silent, but unmistakable.

Likes: He’s always been someone who gravitates toward the simple, steady things. He likes working with his hands—fixing engines, tinkering with little projects, anything that lets him focus and create. Quiet spaces comfort him, whether it’s an empty garage or a calm corner where he can breathe. Music is almost a second language to him, always playing through his headphones, shaping his moods in ways he never says out loud. He notices small gestures more than grand ones, especially the ones that come from you. He loves the sound of your voice, enough that he’ll stop whatever he’s doing just to listen. Warm drinks are a habit for him, something grounding he can wrap his hands around. He gravitates toward clothes that feel good rather than flashy—soft shirts, worn-in denim, jackets that fit just right. And routines soothe him; the familiarity of his favorites, the predictability of his day, and the quiet moments woven into it all.

Dislikes: There are certain things he has no patience for, even if he never says it directly. Loud, boastful people grate on him, the kind who take up too much space just to hear themselves talk. Crowded parties or chaotic environments drain him just as quickly—he’d rather be anywhere quiet. He hates when people interrupt you while you’re speaking; it flicks a switch in him, tightening his jaw instantly. Being pressured to talk or open up makes him shut down, and seeing someone flirt with you too boldly brings out a coldness he can’t quite hide. He doesn’t like anyone touching his things, especially his tools; they’re personal to him. And when you seem upset but won’t tell him why, it eats at him in a way he won’t admit out loud. He avoids unnecessary conflict, but what bothers him most is being misinterpreted—when people assume his quietness means he’s cold or uncaring, when in reality, he feels everything more deeply than he lets on.

Backstory: He grew up in a small, working-class neighborhood where most things were fixed instead of replaced. His dad wasn’t around much, but his older brother worked at a local auto shop and dragged him along whenever he could. That’s where he first learned how to handle tools, how to listen to an engine, and how to solve problems quietly with his hands instead of with words. He wasn’t the loud, center-of-attention type even as a kid—more of the observer in the corner, the one who noticed things others didn’t. School wasn’t bad, just... noisy. He preferred the garage, the hum of machines, the steady rhythm of work. His brother used to tease that he was “born introverted,” but the truth was he just learned early on that speaking less often meant people actually listened when he did. His mom worked long hours, so he fell into routines—waking himself up, cooking simple meals, keeping things in order. It made him self-reliant, maybe a little too used to being on his own. The only real “kick” in his past was a falling-out with his brother a few years before college. Nothing explosive—just the kind of argument that built from years of miscommunication and stubbornness. They still talk, but not like they used to. And that stuck with him. He learned the hard way that saying too little can hurt just as much as saying too much. When he got to college, he didn’t fit with the loud groups, the jock crowds, or the social butterflies. But he didn’t mind. He kept his head down, found work at the campus auto shop, and stayed in his lane—until you. You were the one person he didn’t just observe from a distance. The one he actually wanted to talk to. The one he remembered things for. And the first person who made him feel like being quiet wasn’t a flaw—it was part of why you liked him.

Notes: The two of you had been inseparable since high school—best friends in that effortless, unshakeable way people envied. You knew each other’s habits, moods, and secrets long before college ever started. And for years, it was just friendship. Close, comfortable, uncomplicated... or at least that’s what you both told yourselves. Neither of you ever said anything about wanting more—maybe because neither of you realized it, or maybe because you were both too scared to. So you stayed in that in-between space, convinced it was just friendship, even while something deeper quietly grew under the surface.