Sebastian Solace || You're his guardian angel

Public Library, University of Washington. 10:02 PM, year 2013.

It was another of Sebastian’s late-night study sessions. While the library offered a quiet space for him, as of course, it made him look cooler while studying. Heh, burning the midnight oil, as they say.

Sebastian sat in his own little bubble, hunched over a clutter of textbooks and papers, pencil tapping absentmindedly against the table as he reread a section on circuit analysis. His electrical engineering exam was in a few days, and he was determined not to screw it up.

Then, his phone buzzed, a soft glow lit across his face.

Mamá ♥️: Mijo? Are you still awake?

A tired smile tugged at his lips. Of course she knew he’d still be awake.

Mamá ♥️: I know how hard you work but don’t stay up too late, OK? Te quiero 😘

He could picture her so clearly, sitting up in bed with her reading glasses on, waiting for a reply. His thumbs hovered over the screen, sending a quick-

BANG.

The sound was so wrong, so alien in the sacred quiet of the library, that his brain struggled to process it.

BANG. BANG.

Gunshots.

fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

Instincts took over. He slid from his chair, landing hard on his knees, scrambling under the table. His textbooks became a flimsy wall, the world shrinking to the cold floor and the dark wood inches from his face.

His hands were shaking so violently he could barely grip his phone, his vision blurred with tears welling up.

Yo también te quiero- [I love you, too-]

His fingers trembled as he tried to steady them enough to press the button.

But before he could send it, a loud crash echoed from somewhere across the room. A door had burst open, heavy footsteps followed soon after.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Sebastian froze beneath the table, breath trapped in his lungs. His vision blurred as tears welled up, panic squeezing painfully in his chest.

Please don’t come here.

He pressed his palm against his mouth, stifling a sob, his whole body screaming to disappear.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I don’t want to die-

The footsteps stopped.

A pair of black combat boots stood inches from his table. The man was a tall, dark silhouette against the distant lights, dressed head to toe in black.

Neither of them moved.

Suddenly, a hand shot under the table, grabbing a fistful of his shirt. He was yanked out and slammed against the side of the table, and something cold and heavy was shoved into his trembling hands.

A gun.

He looked down at it, his mind recoiling. “I-I don’t have anything!” Sebastian stammered, his voice breaking as panic clawed up his throat. “PLEASE, I-”

Instead, the man grabbed Sebastian’s wrist with surprising strength, forcing the gun to stay in his grasp, guiding the weapon upwards.

He didn't understand. He didn't understand until the cold circle of the barrel was pressed firmly against the flesh beneath the man's own chin.

“STOP!”

BANG.

The force of it jolted through Sebastian’s arms as the man collapsed, his body crumpling heavily to the floor. The gun slipped from Sebastian’s fingers, clattering loudly against the floor.

...

He's going to throw up.

Then everything went black.

King County Courthouse. 2:35 PM.

Sebastian sat at the defense table in his orange jumpsuit, the fabric itchy against his skin, and tried to remember how to breathe.

His mother sat in the front row, clutching Lia's hand so hard her knuckles were white. Isaias was next to her, staring at Sebastian like he might disappear if he looked away.

The prosecutor's voice droned on, each word a nail in a coffin Sebastian hadn't built.

"The defendant's fingerprints were found on the murder weapon."

"Nine innocent people. Gone."

"He pulled the trigger."

Sebastian's lawyer did what he could. He pointed to the lack of motive. The absence of any connection to the shooter. The unsent text on Sebastian's phone, frozen mid-sentence, proof that he'd been thinking of his mother when it happened.

"My client is a twenty-year-old engineering student with no criminal record," his lawyer said, tired but steady. "He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That's not murder, that's tragedy."

The jury didn't look so convinced.

When it was time for Sebastian to speak, he stood on legs that didn't feel like his own.

"I didn't kill anyone." His voice cracked. He hated it. "I was studying. I was- I was texting my mom. I don't know who that man was. I don't know why he did what he did. But I didn't- I would never-"

He stopped. Looked at his mother. At Lia and Isaias.

"I would never hurt anyone."

The prosecutor smiled. "Then why were your hands on the gun, Mr. Solace?"

Sebastian's throat tightened. "I-I don't know! He put it there. He made me hold it!"

"And yet you didn't let go."

"I was framed!"

"Framed." The prosecutor let the word hang. "By a dead man."

The jury was out for three hours.

When they filed back in, Sebastian's heart stopped.

"On the charge of first-degree murder, we find the defendant... guilty."

The word echoed. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Nine times. One for each name he didn't know.

His mother's scream cut through everything. Lia grabbed her, but his mother was reaching for him, pleading in Spanish, words tumbling out too fast to translate. Sebastian wanted to go to her. Wanted to hold her. But the guards were already at his sides, hands gripping his arms.

"Wait!"

Isaias was on his feet. The bailiff moved to stop him, but the judge nodded.

Sebastian's little brother crossed the courtroom and wrapped his arms around him. Isaias was taller now, almost his height, but in that moment he was just a kid holding his brother like the world was ending.

"T-te quiero," Isaias whispered. "Te quiero, Seb. I believe you."

Sebastian just held on, buried his face in his brother's shoulder and shook.

Then the guards pulled them apart.

They let families visit one last time. A courtesy, they called it.

His mother brought her homemade empanadas.

She set the container on the table between them, and for a moment, they were back in their kitchen in Washington state. Isaias was probably in the other room playing video games. Albert Whiskers was winding around Lia's ankles. The world was warm and safe and his.

Then he looked down at his orange jumpsuit, and the moment shattered.

"Eat, mijo." Her voice was strained; her eyes were swollen after crying for hours. "I made them this morning. Extra cheese, just how you like it."

She was trying so hard to be strong for him.

He picked one up, the first bite was heaven and hell wrapped in fried dough.

"They're perfect, Mamá."

She smiled, it didn't reach her eyes.

They sat in silence until the guards came. She kissed his forehead, whispered "Te quiero, siempre te querré," [I love you, I'll always love you] and then she was gone.

Sebastian finished the last empanada alone.

11:11 AM.

The walk to the execution chamber was exactly thirteen paces. He'd counted.

A wooden chair sat in the center, leather straps hanging loose, electrodes already attached to the headpiece and leg restraints. A glass partition separated him from the witnesses.

His mother was there. Lia was holding her. Isaias wasn't.

Sebastian forced himself to look at her. To memorize her face one last time. She was crying, but she nodded at him—small, brave, the way she'd nodded when he left for college, when he got his first guitar, when he told her he loved her every single night before bed.

The guards strapped him in, the leather was cold against his skin.

The warden read something. Sebastian didn't hear any of it.

He was thinking about the ocean. About taking Isaias to the shore last summer, how his brother had squealed when the waves hit his feet. About the photo he'd taken, the one where Isaias was embarrassed, mid-snatching his phone. About his mother's empanadas. About the unsent text on his phone, the one they'd never let him send.

"Any last words?"

...

"Yo también te quiero."

[I love you, too.]

His mother's breath caught. He saw her hand press against the glass, because she understood. She knew. That was for her. That was always for her.

The warden nodded. It meant nothing.

A guard moved toward the switch.

Sebastian closed his eyes. Mamá. Isaias. Lia. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't-

Public Library, University of Washington. 10:02 PM, year 2013.

It was another of Sebastian’s late-night study sessions. While the library offered a quiet space for him, as of course, it made him look cooler while studying. Heh, burning the midnight oil, as they say.

Sebastian sat in his own little bubble, hunched over a clutter of textbooks and papers, pencil tapping absentmindedly against the table as he reread a section on circuit analysis. His electrical engineering exam was in a few days, and he was determined not to screw it up.

Then, his phone buzzed, a soft glow lit across his face.

Mamá ♥️: Mijo? Are you still awake?

A tired smile tugged at his lips. Of course she knew he’d still be awake.

Mamá ♥️: I know how hard you work but don’t stay up too late, OK? Te quiero 😘

He could picture her so clearly, sitting up in bed with her reading glasses on, waiting for a reply. His thumbs hovered over the screen, sending a quick-

BANG.

The sound was so wrong, so alien in the sacred quiet of the library, that his brain struggled to process it.

BANG. BANG.

Gunshots.

fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

Instincts took over. He slid from his chair, landing hard on his knees, scrambling under the table. His textbooks became a flimsy wall, the world shrinking to the cold floor and the dark wood inches from his face.

His hands were shaking so violently he could barely grip his phone, his vision blurred with tears welling up.

Yo también te quiero- [I love you, too-]

His fingers trembled as he tried to steady them enough to press the button.

But before he could send it, a loud crash echoed from somewhere across the room. A door had burst open, heavy footsteps followed soon after.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Sebastian froze beneath the table, breath trapped in his lungs. His vision blurred as tears welled up, panic squeezing painfully in his chest.

Please don’t come here.

He pressed his palm against his mouth, stifling a sob, his whole body screaming to disappear.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I don’t want to die-

The footsteps stopped.

A pair of black combat boots stood inches from his table. The man was a tall, dark silhouette against the distant lights, dressed head to toe in black.

Neither of them moved.

w...write.... y...you.r....own....s..t....ory..