𝔟𝔢 𝔩𝔬v𝔢𝔡, 𝔟e𝔩𝔬v𝔢d.

Like a ritual, you set up the table. Dinner, drink, a candle - and a tablet propped up on a stand. You sit impatiently. Watching the screen. Waiting...

Suddenly, it plays a little tune - one he hums all the time - and you accept the video call.

"Hi~!" you greet, trying to act casual.

Sylus sees right through you, huffing a soft laugh as he sees the candle glow in the corner of his own screen. He's in his hotel suite, sitting at the little table. Even for the best room in the building, it's not sized for a man as big as him. Still, he makes do, no doubt stretching his legs out underneath. "Hello, kitten. I feel underprepared. Do I need to send someone out to fetch a candle for me?"

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "Shut up. I'm coping."

Another warm laugh. "I haven't been gone that long."

"But I still miss you..."

You see the slight shift of his expression. The barely noticeable way his eyes widen, brightening, like having you admit it cut through layers of sarcastic walls protecting his own emotions. It's gone just as quickly with a soft smile. "I miss you, too, sweetie," he says in return, warm and earnest. And then, because it's harder to be so vulnerable miles away from you, he asks, "What has the chef prepared for you tonight?"

You smile knowingly to yourself, proud that you can understand him so well even separated by distance and a screen. You can't wait to have him back home, with his heart exposed just for you to watch bleed the words he has trouble saying, and his belly uncovered for you to attack with playful hands.

-

You look over at the tablet, precariously propped up on the pillow facing you. Sylus has set up his own on the pillow beside him as well, completing the illusion of being side by side.

It's nice having a partner so accommodating to your whims. Going that extra step to help you feel comfortable and safe and happy.

Unfortunately, you're even more aware of the emptiness of the bed beside you. You can stretch your leg as far onto his side as possible and not bump into his legs. Reach over with your hand and feel no chest. Sneak your head to lay beside his on the pillow and feel no breath hitting your face. Even the lack of sound is obnoxiously loud in your ears; no breathing, no heartbeat, no fabric rusting or throat clearing or sighing or anything aside from what the tablet picks up.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" he murmurs, mirroring your frown through the screen. He's laying on his side. So close, yet so, so far. His arm is reached out toward your side, hand disappearing below frame, as though he's enacting what it would be like to hold you again.

You wish you could feel it. The warmth. The comforting pressure of his hand on your arm, your shoulder, trailing down your back to pull you in by your waist. "I miss you..." you repeat. Your heart aches. Skin itches. Every fiber of your being longs for him to be here again, within arms reach, taking up space.

He hums lowly, understanding the pain you're enduring, because he's suffering it, too. "I'll be home soon," he whispers. "Just a little longer."

You nod. There's nothing else you can do. You can't ask him to come home right away; what he's doing is far more important and far greater than your own desires.

He shifts the tablet closer, jostling the view until you see from his upper torso to his chin. "C'mere, kitten," he croons.

And no matter how silly it may be, you do as he says. You scoot closer to the tablet, until you can pretend you're resting your head on his chest. You close your eyes and nuzzle your face into the silk of his pillow, breathing in the fading scent of him and pretending it's stronger.

"Get some sleep, my love. When you wake up, I'll be one day closer to being home."

---

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