of things that change and do not change

you punch harder. red bruises begin to bloom at the tips of your knuckle. a strange satisfaction blooms from this, as if seeing proof of your efforts will make you more adept.

this is, perhaps, the worst part. the mission had been relatively simple: get in, collect information, maybe take down a few wanderers along the way, and get out.

you had done almost none of that.

that’s why you’re here, opting to get as far away from the hunter’s association as possible. what better place than the n109 zone?

when you arrived earlier in the evening, sylus was nowhere to be found. such was what you were hoping for.

you had gotten patched up at the association just in case. after the battle, you were left with a shallow but nasty gash on your forehead and several bruises to the torso.

god forbid sylus see you with an open wound, otherwise, he'd raise hell before even asking what it was from.

it was only after you arrived though, did a memory from a few months ago surface. one that certainly didn't help the shame brewing in your chest.

it was a rare instance when the both of you had run into trouble in the n109 zone. a pack of petty thieves who had chosen the wrong people to target.

when the encounter escalated from verbal threats to physical, sylus had pushed you out of the way, absorbing a nasty punch all for the sake of protecting you.

he dealt with the rest of them no problem, and with your help, but after it was over—and the thieves lay half dead in the alleyway—you had turned to him with narrow eyes and a crease between your brows.

"why would you do that?" you asked, hand coming up to push against his shoulder.

he didn't budge.

"you mean protect you?" he said, with wide eyes and a look that bordered on shock. as if he couldn't believe you'd deny his protection.

"i didn't need you to take the hit for me," you had told him, turning away. "i can handle myself."

and from then on, sylus took care of you, but he didn't protect you. at least, not in the same way. he is always there, always hovering, but never overprotective, as if your brief confession to him was all-telling about the care you were willing to receive.

this memory lingers in your mind again as you continue your assault on the punching bag. your hand shoots out, harder than the last time, and you can't help but wonder if sylus sees something about you that you don't.

that maybe you can't handle yourself as well as you thought you could.

and if you couldn't even hold your own in a fight... then what else was there for you to claim prowess for?

the next punch breaks skin.

your knuckles sting as they split.

you wonder how far you can go until your body gives in.

by this hour of night, you feel the toll. the exhaustion settles deep in your lungs and heavy in your feet. but the pain does little to deter you.

in the back of your mind, there is a nagging voice. a fear that maybe one day, you will be ten times as injured and met with the presence of a wanderer.

you have to fight.

what will you have if you don't?

"weren't even going to tell me you were coming?"

a deep, velvet voice interrupts the room. for once, it is the last person you want to see right now.

you continue hitting, eyes locked on the poor bag in front of you.

"you can't expect to come into my home and ignore me, kitten."

you feel his presence approach you. his footsteps are almost as prominent as the thud of your punches.

you hit again and again.

and like a pin dropped to the ground, you can almost feel the moment he realizes what is going on.

the blood that stains the punching bag and your hands. the bandage pressed against your forehead. the sloppy fighting stance you're sure you've adorned but couldn't be bothered enough by to care.

a large hand wraps itself around your wrist before you can make contact again.

before you can throw yourself out of sylus' grasp, he pulls on your arm. it's not hard enough to hurt, but it is enough for you to be fully turned towards him, hands catching against his chest for balance as his arm wraps around your waist.

the look on his face is stern, red eyes automatically scanning down your face and body. it is a look he tries to make deliberate but one you recognize as frantic.

the last thing you wanted to do was worry him.

"i'm fine-"

"you're hurt."

you attempt to pull away from him, but his hold on you is firm. you remain flush against his chest with the only place to look being up at him. with breaths still heavy from exertion, you remain silent.

sylus raises a brow and tilts his head to the side, seemingly deciding that your injuries were not the highest of his concerns.

"you better have a damn good reason why you didn't tell me sooner," he says. his voice is lower than normal as if restraining himself from an outburst.

"i can-"

"and why you're injured."

"sylus-"

"and why there's blood on your hands."

he spits the words out. his breath is warm against your cheek. his grip tightens around you. you are so, so close to him.

it's hard to tell if your heart is pounding because of his intensity or his proximity.

you can tell sylus is angry. not at you, but at the helplessness he must feel.

you know sylus better than anyone, so you know his questions are an attempt at finding reason before blowing the roof off his own base.

beyond what he asks, you see the downward frown at the corner of his lips. the gleam in his eyes that are shining for you, only barely shadowed by fury.

there is something about this look in his eyes that breaks through to you.

and all of a sudden, every emotion you had attempted to harness under the guise of training came through in the form of tears.

all at once, you buckle into sylus' arms. ones that let go of your wrist and instead bring you even closer into his embrace. the two of you sink to the floor, and as the tears fall from your face, his arms are the only steady things in the room.

what you don't see is the way his expression cracks, just for a second, as if his heart is breaking just from the sound of your sobs. any ounce of anger he had been harboring disappeared all at once.

he rubs your back as you cry. gives you a minute, maybe two.

"tell me what happened."

and you do. every last bit of it. from the weakness you felt fighting the wanderers to your failure of a mission.

you don't even mean to confess all of it. just enough so he understands why you're crying, but once you start, it all comes spilling out.

the words tumble from your lips. you speak what must be incoherent sentences. this is all you have ever worked towards. it's the only thing you could trust yourself to do well.

you even tell him about the time he took the hit for you in the alley. something that is as simultaneously haunting as it is irrelevant.

and beneath what you say, sylus knows exactly why it is so important to you for you to protect yourself.

he responds to your confessions with soft hums and brief nods. at some point, his hand comes up to pat your head. you think the action makes you cry more.

sylus gives you time. for this, you are most grateful.

he lets your breathing even out and your tears slow their fall. it is only then does he pull back from the embrace he wrapped you in. you almost don't want to look him in the face knowing how the crying looks on your face.

but the look in his eyes when you meet them is anything but bothered by that. instead, it is a look you almost mistake for pity.

because in all the time you have known sylus, he has never looked at you with only love. it is always a fraction of the expression, mixed in with concern or curiosity or lust.

but in this moment, sylus looks at you with pure adoration. you feel it in the depth of his gaze. in the dilation of his pupils. in the way his entire being would bend the rules of the universe just to be here before you.

his thumb comes up to brush a tear from your cheek, and he cups your face in his hands.

"you are not a failure," he says it with more belief than you think you've ever had for yourself in your life.

"do you think you got to where you are by being weak? every battle is a testament to your strength, even the bad ones."

sylus leans back and moves to hold your hand, running a feather-light touch over the newly split cuts.

"i will not let you hurt the strongest person i know."

he brings your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your wounds. his words come slow and sincere.

"and if you ever feel like your hard work isn't enough, i will do everything in my power to get you where you want to be. just say the word."

at this, he brings both of your hands to his heart, bringing you ever so much closer. and slowly, as if asking for permission, he inches his lips towards yours.

the kiss is sweet.

his lips capture yours, and a heated warmth spreads through you. it is filled with all the love he cannot put into words. a promise of all the truths he has just expressed.

sylus is not the cure to your doubts, but he is a form of severance.

in the dim light of the training room, he embraces you so lovingly that you can't help but believe these doubts could one day dissipate.

જ⁀➴ ✉︎ author's note: is this one-shot just me projecting? maybe LMAO. this is my first time writing sylus and lads in general, so i hope you enjoyed! i've been deep in the lads rabbit hole, and it's the only thing on my mind lately lol. i know people who are taken aback by the concept or the nsfw aspects of it, which i understand isn't for everyone! but at the end of the day, lads is so special because of the comfort, adventure, and love it offers. that's part of what inspired me to write this :3 and for these reasons, #bringvalkoback!!! (ps thanks for reading my rant)

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