Ghost

You were currently sprawled on a plush, impossibly expensive velvet sofa in the middle of Valko’s penthouse.

As the sole heir to Eoncore Tech, Valko’s college living situation was less "dorm room" and more "billionaire's high-rise playground," complete with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city and experimental tech prototypes scattered across every surface.

"Okay, but listen, if we overclock the core processors on the new VR rig…whoa!"

Valko, who had been pacing excitedly while rambling about the latest tech he was working on, suddenly tripped over a tangled mess of fiber-optic cables. His arms flailed wildly, his glasses flying off his face as he plummeted toward the glass coffee table.

Before you could even flinch, Mei was there.

The female Alpha moved with terrifying speed, catching Valko by the back of his designer hoodie then hauling his tall, broad frame upright with one hand like he was a stray kitten.

"Careful, idiot," Mei grumbled. She didn't let go of his hoodie right away, eyes locking onto his flushed face.

"Ah... right. Thanks, Mei," Valko chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked like a massive, clumsy golden retriever who had just bumped into a glass door. He beamed at her, and the raw, unspoken Alpha energy between them felt so thick and intimate that you felt guilty just for watching. 

You sighed fondly, picking up your textbook. 

It was beautiful, really. 

Two incredibly powerful Alphas, one a grounded, protective force of nature, and the other a brilliant, obscenely wealthy, loveable dork. They were a perfect match. You were just lucky they let their token Beta friend hang out in their penthouse to use the ultra-fast Wi-Fi.

Mei finally let go of Valko and walked over to you. She silently placed a plate of perfectly sliced fruit on the table in front of you, a soft, almost imperceptible gentleness softening her features when she looked your way.

"Thanks, Mei," you smiled.

Valko immediately scrambled over, nearly tripping again, to drop a brand-new, unreleased Eoncore smart tablet into your lap. 

"I had the engineering team install that specific reading app you like! The screen adjusts to your retinas so you don't get headaches while studying!"

"Valko, this is worth more than my car," you said, staring at the sleek device.

"It's just a prototype! Consider it... beta testing," he said, winking proudly at his own pun.

You looked between the two of them. They had flanked you again, standing on either side of the sofa, looking down at you with undivided attention. Even without being able to smell their pheromones, the territorial, possessive aura in the room was suffocating. 

They were practically vibrating.

They must be getting ready to court each other, you thought. They’re so tense. I’m totally ruining the mood.

You closed your textbook and carefully placed the ridiculously expensive tablet on the table. 

"You know what, guys? I think I'm gonna head out. I have a lot of reading to do, and I really want to give you two the apartment to yourselves tonight."

Both Alphas froze. 

Valko blinked, his brain clearly struggling to process the statement.

"Give us the apartment?" Mei repeated, eyebrows furrowed. "Why?"

"Well, you know," you gestured between them with an encouraging smile. "You two have been circling each other for months. The whole ‘Alpha power couple’ thing is great, and I fully support it, but you don't have to keep pretending to hang out with me just to spend time together. You should just establish your pack already!"

Silence fell over the penthouse. 

Both Alphas stared at you then, they slowly turned to stare at each other.

"You think..." Valko started, his voice dropping slightly "You think Mei and I want to mate... with each other?"

"Well, yeah! You're always paying for our dinners, and Mei is always physically guarding us in public. You're constantly scenting the furniture around, which I can't smell, by the way, but I'm not blind. I know how Alpha courtships work!"

"We're scenting you," Mei stated bluntly, pinching the bridge of her nose. "We scent everything you touch so no other Alphas come near you. I'm guarding you. Valko is buying things for you."

You paused, your brain short-circuiting. 

"Me? But… but I'm a Beta."

"Yeah, a Beta that we are entirely obsessed with," Valko blurted out, his cheeks burning. He practically threw himself onto the sofa next to you, looking like a panicked billionaire puppy. "We don't want to mate with each other! I mean, Mei is great, but she terrifies me! We want you. We've thought of you as our mate since sophomore year!"

Your mouth fell open. 

"Wait. Both of you? But..."

"Did you really think," Mei said softly, sitting on your other side and boxing you in perfectly between their warm, solid frames, "that the heir to Eoncore Tech and I spend every single day following you around just to get to each other?"

"I thought I was the supportive third wheel!" you defended, your face flushing hot.

"You're the entire vehicle," Valko groaned, dramatically resting his forehead on your shoulder. "Please tell me you don't actually want to leave. Because if you do, I'm going to have to panic-buy the building you live in just so I have an excuse to be your landlord, and the paperwork is a nightmare."

Mei reached out, gently but firmly taking your hand, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. 

"Stay," she murmured, a quiet, possessive plea in her tone. "Study here with your pack."

ꨄ︎ a/n: i also don't remember if i ever wrote a purely fluff fic for other lis...

ꨄ︎ taglist: @seraphineash, @loreleis-world, @tinuvieloflemuria, @thehyperfixationgirly (if i missed someone who requested to be perma-tagged, please lmk and i'm sorry 😭)

likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! hope you guys enjoyed reading!

Yeah, Sylus. Your main in the game and you didn't know what to feel. Knowing that you're not your MC and realized that MC is probably the custom avatar of the game. A far cry from your supposed MC or you. Technically you were MC when you're playing but this time you are not. You were starting to believe that you are not truly MC which is true.

Enough of that, if you want to survive you better start relying on your own and learn a few tricks to save your ass. You don't want to die in a foreign land, let alone a land in a fictional game that you're currently in.

You were about to embark in a journey when you remember you didn't have a trade. Elysium was for intelligent information, assassination and trade of arms and other illegal stuff and you don't do illegal. You can't even handle a gun or pull a pin on a grenade. Hacking? Not a plausible idea. You were only good at organizing documents in a computer.

You stopped in your tracks. Careful at your surroundings, your shoulders slump as you agonize on what trade you can offer in exchange for some lump sum of money or shelter or food or all of the above. You were good as a dead meat. You badly want to cry until a light bulb appeared in your head.

The game was basically your manual on how to survive the game or how to live in the N109 Zone. Although people like you won't survive long. It's either to rise in the ashes or drown in the murky waters.

You already finished the main story, starting from Sylus first appearance which made your heart go thump-thump and spent money that almost your whole salary in a month. You read the anecdotes, his myth. You knew everything about him. His personal life and his connection with MC and how he rules the N109 Zone. Onychinus was the top of the hierarchy here. You know how the Elysium operates so that's what you're going to do. Exchange some information about the future canon events that is yet to happen.

The problem is — it was suspicious. You can't really crash in Elysium and tell Aislinn, the bartender about it. Knowing she directly reports to Sylus and the reality that you weren't your MC — you were surely going to end up with a gun to your head. A stranger revealing secrets, it wasn't a ideal way but you really want to live and that weighs more than anything than the fear and so, standing in front of the Elysium — you entered with death’s hand at your shoulder.

For the better, it turned out good. You didn't reveal anything, someone beat you to the punch of revealing and opportunity opened up to you. Even the N109 Zone was lawless and chaotic, some gangs and organizations really didn't want to leave trace of the transactions that occurred in the hidden areas or the docks and warehouses that the deals takes place.

One of the patrons were looking for someone who can take care of that and you volunteered without a second thought. Your safety will be compromised with that line of work but they only is to keep your mouth shut and deal with the bloodied mess — you took it without hesitation. It was rare for someone to take that but you really need money to start or provide yourself with some basic needs and thus, you ended up in your current situation.

Bullets are flying everywhere and you're going to end up as a casualty if you don't move. You grabbed the classic Smith and Wesson handgun you keep even you don't know how to use it but only when the times comes you need to protect yourself. You didn't know it will come to this point.

You intentionally picked this place for your base. It was the abandoned place far from the chaos of the main zone and it wasn't really ideal for wars because it was very far and the terrain wasn't that good. Broken concrete roads and it can be really hot in the mornings. The surrounding buildings are covered with moss and the fauna was slowly taking over. It wasn't ideal for you to live in the area but it provides safety except now.

A stray bullet pierced to a glass window near you. The glass shatters as it broke and falls near your feet. Without a second thought you immediately crawl. Grabbing the small bag you keep under your bed when you need to run immediately. You grip it tightly as you stand up and bolted away from where you are. The building was still sturdy but the previous gang wars and the Chronorift Catastrophe left it to be abandoned like the other surrounding buildings.

As you descended from the stairs, you held the gun close to you. Your fingers finds the hammer of the gun and hearing the familiar click, you swallowed hardly. Tapping your varsity jacket pockets to check if you have the extra magazines in case you need to reload if you — you hope not, you have to fire in case of self defense.

God, why must you be transported in such a hostile place. You would accept to wake up in a hospital — preferably Akso Hospital and be declared as someone who had amnesia and is truly clueless of what's happening and maybe you can get a glimpse of Dr. Zayne.

You could have gone to Linkon City but you didn't have an identity with you and getting out of N109 Zone needs a special entrance and exit to be granted in order for a individual to leave. The No Hunting Zones was also a way to leave but there's a reason why it was a no hunting zone. It crawls with Wanderers and as a civilian with no Evol, there's a higher chance of you being butchered or succumb to the Flux Nexus.

You're basically a NPC in this world and that sucks more than anything. Where you isekaid here because your main was Sylus? A deepspace tunnel opened and it brought you here. You didn't want to know. It was really disheartening that you have to be here because your main was Sylus. It wasn't like you were hating him or being disappointed. You were basically thrown in a den of lions.

Somehow you managed to survive on your own by being the lackey or you like to call yourself, a cleaner for some of the powerful organizations. You have learned how to remove bloodstains without a trace. The bodies were taken care of by whoever availed your services to clean. You make sure the scene of the crime were spotless as if nothing happened and it was just the same cold and moldy warehouse or alley.

Anyways if you can't get out of this mess, you can kiss your life goodbye.

A sudden burst of adrenaline pumping in your veins made you maneuver the steep stairs and crumbly walls with such ease. Your palm sweaty as it slides in the cold railing. Your body felt like iron as you bump in the walls at every sharp turn. Not bad, self. You want to pat yourself in the back for being able to do such things at your plump stature. You feel like the main protagonist from the movie you used to watch and was it the reason you were here in the N109 Zone? You got the prowess for combat? Such tall tales and that was later proven wrong.

You were good at evading not fighting. That's what you're currently doing right now and you almost let out a breath of relief as you pushed the door in the ground floor. Stumbling in the process as your two feet became unsynchronized. A bullet flew right by and it almost sent you tumbling backwards. You badly want to cry. You're not really built for this.

It seems that your escape route hasn't been intercepted and they're far away from it. You can just run and go for it. Except when you're about to breakthrough — out of the corner in your eye — you caught the glimpse of him.

Sylus.

You can't be mistaken. It was hard to miss him. His name was spoken in whispers. In harsh words and in contempt because there's nothing more cruel than the one who rules the N109 Zone. The leader of Onychinus.

You avoided Sylus nor get involved with him. A civilian or rather a powerless human being in his world cannot survive and you cannot risk making enemies at the same time. You kept a low profile in the duration of your stay.

But to see your main love interests breathing and fighting his enemies in flesh made your chest bloom with warmth. The screen was your boundary between him and you. It was the closest you can ever have him. Pressing your fingertips in the cold screen of your phone and hope you can feel his warmth and hoped he can feel yours too.

He was so close and yet, out of your reach.

Suddenly, you were glued in the floor. Your body refusing to move despite your mind screaming for you to run off. Your legs are frozen. You cannot get involved with him. MC exists in this world andthey were destined for each other. He's waiting for her and you left that with the game's dynamics.

The sound of heavy rifles being loaded and the static ringing in the area and Sylus, there wasn't even much of a tremble or quiver in his movements. He was precise and calculated as he draws his gun. Easily replacing it with a new magazine. His dark glasses perched on his nose. He slides the rack before the sound of gunshot fills the air.

Wait, it's morning. Sylus should be asleep at this time and was only active in the night. Does this means he was overwhelmed and clearly ambushed? You run towards a nearly dilapidated beam. Assessing the situation and when you got a closer look, you notice the damp part of his dark collared shirt.

It wasn't visible but with the morning light and his movements that sways his leather jacket, you can see it. You remembered that Sylus can heal himself but he still get wounded and to get that wound — it must be deep for him to heal properly and he's currently bleeding under his clothes.

You did say you weren't going to get involved the moment you realized you weren't MC. Such matters would have sucked and in the time of care you deeply felt for him. Love will get you killed. Indifference will save you. That was the reason you survived upon being isekaid in the lawless land of N109 Zone.

Alas the moment you had fallen in love with Sylus that even the tiniest voice concern of why you shouldn't save someone just because they were in danger or rather they were the danger, it didn't matter.

Arriving at a resolution, you raised your gun. Pointing at him with a slight tremor in your arm and your palms sweaty that you might slip as you push the trigger. You can do it. You really can do it. You take a deep breath and with a exhale. You push the trigger and with a loud bang that resonated in the area — you hit your target.

He really can't say he was at his wit's end. He was Sylus. Ruler of the N109 Zone and being defeated at this foolish game of foolish people who wants him gone is a humiliation that will haunt him at his death. There's a rule among the residents of this land. It's to kill or be killed. And Sylus isn't going to get slaughtered like a lamb.

The sun's high and he was in a little pinch. His eyesight is made for the night and not in the light. He gives these men who managed to use their cards against him to corner the Onychinus leader. They were really pooling their meager resources to kill him but it wasn't enough although he can give them credits for getting a little smarter and Sylus isn't the one to back down from a fight.

He can give them a little recognition of such feat for injuring him. It was a stray bullet that found its way on his abdomen. He can heal — sure but being repeatedly injured, it stops. His shirt was soaking his blood and his enemies were closing in and then, in some twist or fate or luck or another person thirsty for his blood scrapes him by the shoulder with a bullet.

A stray bullet, maybe but whoever shot him and hitting the one who's closing him falling at the scorching road with a thud must be an amateur or was just really lucky for wounding him and maybe killing the other.

Before he can turn around to look at this one who's brave enough to take a shot, they grab his hand. Pulling them with force of urgency. They run, evading his enemies and although Sylus isn't the one back down from a fight, he knew he needed respite.

Turn after turn, him returning the rounds of bullets to his aggressors. He takes a look at this mortal who dared to save him. Navigating narrow alleyways and taking every sharp turns without pausing like you know every part of this place.

The gunshots have stopped, deciding that you successfully shaked them off. You take a look at his face. “There’s a nearby exit here. They probably don't know about the area and you will be safely get back in your own. I'll be going now. Goodbye.” You say with such firmness before running in the opposite direction without looking back.

You disappeared quickly in his sight. The black and white vision of you in your varsity jacket, boots clicking in the distance. Sylus was left with a strange feeling.

Who was this stranger who saved him and only to disappear on him?

Someone could have used this as a chance to curry favors from him. A chance to rise in the top cause the Onychinus leader never left being indebted to others and such act of saving him can bring fortune if he deemed you worthy but alas, he was only left in the abandoned street with no signs of life besides him. Reeling in the sensation of the stranger's soft hand that previously held his wrist.

No data found.

The screen of his laptop glares at him. No traces or evidence that stranger existed. He hacked every database around the world and no record are found about your identity. Are you a spy? A ghost? He knows you weren't a figment of his imagination that one morning. You were warm and you spoke to him.

You must have one cause despite being nonexistent to others or how much a person hides their identity — there will always be traces of a past of how a person lived no matter how much they try to bury it. The Onychinus searched for any activities that might have linked to you and why did you hole up in that kind of building.

He went back there. The buildings were riddled with bullets. Blood stains in the walls of what violence had occured in there. Investigating and leaving no spot untouched just to get a trace that you were there and you exist. What else could you have been doing there? Maybe you were running away from something or you just didn't like anything that relates to the ruthlessness of the place.

You were a mystery he wants to solve and any day now, you will appear. In the most of convenient or the most unwanted places but Sylus was sure that he will be meeting this stranger again.

“Boss, the scene's spotless. Kieran and I been searching for hours at that warehouse.” Luke's voice can be heard behind him as he stared at the screen. Sylus raises a brow. There's always a spot that's left untouched and he's been living in the N109 Zone for too long that after a bloody showdown, there's always dead bodies and shell casings littering on the cold floors.

Since when these bunch of nobodies started to clean up after themselves?

Well, this have been a occurrence of lately. Crime scenes are left clean. No bodies and not much left even a tiniest speck of blood. Whoever cleaning up these scenes are a professional. It's also hard to found out of whoever doing these are a group or individual but he can appreciate the cleanliness much it was a hassle for his operations. Everyone's evolving in the N109 Zone and he needs a little bit of an entertainment before the boredom catches up to him.

The district warehouse were huge. Larger than what you usually received from the organizations who avail your cleaning services. It was a mess but nothing you can't handle. Upon setting foot in the damp and cold warehouse with the scent of blood and gunpowder, you assess the mess.

Letting your OTTO fly and survey the scene. Scanning trails of blood that you have to manually clean and hidden dead bodies to be disposed of. Securing that there will be no marks or traces of DNA that will point the instigators of this conflict.

Scan completed.

Your OTTO cheerfully chirps at you and you began to slide the gloves in your hands and securing the shoe covers in your feet to avoid footprints that will link to you. You take the plastic sheet from your crate before rolling it to the moldy floors. This is where you will be putting the dead bodies and put them on the body bags you brought. Individually wrapping them up like spring rolls.

It was tasking for a individual work but doing it for months made your body stronger — strong enough to haul bodies heavier than yours. You began your work, stacking them up like building blocks and rolling them with a huff as you struggled cause why men looks like they're light and only to find out they're heavy with that kind of body. Even in death they were still dead weight.

After hauling the last body, you made your way to the blood trail with your handy cleaning tools along with a special solution. You were quick to learn for your trade of cleaning crime scenes for the organizations that pays you a lump sum of money enough to sustain you and sometimes they will throw an extra to a job well done which you always do.

You can always use the referral for your services. The quietness of the warehouse didn't bother you much. It was once a quiet night to work in and you doubt there will be anyone after such bloodied mess. You only focused on scrubbing the dried blood from the dry floor and sweep the dust to conceal the scent of your special solution. It wasn't that pungent but it didn't hurt to be extra careful. Discretion was your specialty.

The OTTO encircles the area and the humming sound coming from it was the noise you can hear while you busy yourself. Halfway through when it got too quiet and your OTTO was missing. You stopped in your tracks.

You remained crouching with a brush in your hand as you raised your head. Listening to any telltale signs or noise that you're not entirely alone in this warehouse. Perhaps the heavy footsteps or a puff of breath. Anything that may harm you but nothing and you thought that maybe your OTTO malfunctioned since it was really a old model that you managed to salvage cause you can't still manage to upgrade it.

You were about to finish anyway and so scrubbed the floor a little harshly until the blood has separated from the floor before sweeping dust all over it before you walked towards where you hear your OTTO humming.

It was behind the crates, you can see your OTTO was blinking lights and was roughened in the edges with claw marks. The sight of your half destroyed companion send shivers down your spine. It feels like you were surrounded but when you look around there was nothing. You swallowed. Your hands inside the gloves were starting to moist. The pit of your stomach feels like sinking.

Something dangerous is near and you can't really pinpoint where it is. You try to balance it out. The pros and cons of leaving for your safety but your job was still not done. You couldn't really risk losing the source of your living in the N109 Zone and besides you faced fear many times before. What's the harm of risking another?

Deciding that you really can't leave your job, you grabbed your broken OTTO and decided that it really needs a replacement and it's been long and it should rest for being your companion for a long time. Still, seeing it destroyed pains you.

Now you have to manually check that they will be no evidence that you've been here after your OTTO’s broken.

A step and sudden jolt of uneasiness strikes you again. Raising your head, you caught a glimpse of a familiar silhouette in the upper railings. The sound of flapping wings followed by a rather loud caw. Black feather slowly descending towards you and landing in your outstretched palm.

God, any minute now or seconds he will be appearing now.

Snap.

A swirl of black and red mist appears in front of you and just like that — your main love interest, leader of Onychinus and the one who rules the N109 Zone — Sylus stands before you.

Scared? Not really. You were blinking back tears because he was so close and your mind really decided to replay what he had gone through. Dying in the hands of his sorceress and not granting him death unless she allows it. Then, they found each other again. Both immortals dying in each other's arm and again, two children fighting to death and escaping to another planet and only to separate once again and he's here in front of you.

Standing tall and immaculate with the air of authority in his stature. Head held high and you can see the subtle glow of the Aether Core in his right eye. The reds of his eyes glimmer in the dim lit warehouse.

You take a step backwards, cradling your destroyed OTTO closer to you. Not daring to speak a word or look in his eyes.

“Just when I thought these fools has learned to be careful.” He muses. A faint smirk in his lips as he looks at you and the pile of dead bodies you were about to dispose behind.

“Maybe. I'm the only person here though. Cleaning out the mess.” You shrugged. Cradling your destroyed OTTO and walking towards your “cleaning van.” You gently put your companion in a crate before grabbing the brush again to continue cleaning. Wiping the sweat off in your forehead with the back of your arm.

Sylus remains silent. Following your every movement under his gaze about this person who was unintentionally ignoring him and going back to your job. Not even an ounce of fear behind those tired eyes. Were you feigning ignorance of the truth that you saved him? The leader of Onychinus and the feared man of the N109 Zone. That matter didn't seem to bother you.

“Do you know that when people save someone they expect something in return?” He began. Baiting the person in front of him for a favor. “It’s a chance for them to rise in this wasteland.”

“I’m managing.” You pragmatically answered even when your heart is beating fast cause you know secrets in this world and you really don't want to involve yourself with Sylus. You were living quietly and you badly want to get out of this world or maybe ask him to get you a identity to live in Linkon but that would raise suspicions cause why would you ask for a identity. It's either you're a criminal or someone who doesn't belong in this world.

He also didn't belong in this world but wherever MC is, he follows. A flower who still bloomed beautifully in a different soil.

His expensive cologne wafts in the air. His shoes scraping the dust in the floor. His coat swaying every movement and it's enough to intimidate you and you hope you're calm in the outside.

“Oh really.” His voice lowers into a timber and oh, it was really different from his secret times and tender moments, you want to squeal so bad if it wasn't for the implication that he's already smelling your bullshit.

“You want to go home. Why is that?” You swallowed. You cursed the goddamn Aether Core in his eye that can see the desire of someone. It's true. You've been wanting to go home since you got isekaid here.

“I’m not from here. Just a terrible luck.” You confessed under the intensity of his gaze but still withholding the secret you have. You're not easy to crack but Sylus can read you like an open book.

He hums in understanding. Not forcing you to give the details of your life cause he will be the one to know it. “I don't like the feeling of being indebted from someone below me.”

“You’re not indebted to me.” You briefly paused. Daring to steal a glance before focusing the task in your hand.

“My body choose to move that day when I could have run. I have no intention of saving you.” You say in a matter-of-factly. “I don't want to involve myself to someone powerful and if you feel indebted.” Swallowing the imaginary lump in your throat. “There is one thing you can do.”

You look at him straight in the eyes.

“Leave me alone.”

Sylus raises his eyebrows. He can't brush it off why you were so adamant not being involved with him when people got the leverage to do business or something simple as favor they rush but you — you were rushing to get out of his hair.

Leave you alone? There is really something wrong and Sylus sharp instincts knows better than to grant it. To call it quits. You were also calm and composed when facing him aside from the sudden beats of your heart that he can hear.

You didn't also run the moment he made his appearance which people usually do upon meeting him. Maybe is it because you know he can't harm you after saving him that one morning. N109 Zone wasn't really that barbaric and there's sliver of morals that are still practiced.

You can't kill someone unless they're the first to draw blood or unless it was contractual and the killing is ordered. Sylus has disposed people that betrayed him or were hindering his plans.

Besides you look amateur but Sylus isn't someone to really judge based on how you look. It was finding the value of someone and with some pressure you could be a coal turning into a pearl with the right pressure.

You didn't quite grasped how the N109 Zone works and you choose the job to clean the aftermath of every shootouts and doing the dirty work of disposing corpses. You were only surviving base on your skills and Sylus can use some of your talents.

“That would be impossible, dove.”

His eyes narrowing, clearly intrigued cause it was looking into a blank slate but is packed with so much color.

He can see how you freeze for a second. Hands trembling like you were hiding a secret and the next question confirms his suspicion.

“Who are you?” Ruby red eyes stares at you. Waiting for you to crack and this where Sylus would have normally put you in a gun point. Forcing you to reveal yourself but can you really? Will he believe you? That he was only a pixelated character in a game. A otome game that doomed you for loving him? Whereas you were supposed to be the MC, the player but when you saw your reflection you were just you.

Nothing special like the MC. Not a badass hunter. Not someone's childhood friend. Not someone's bride or a princess. Not a knight nor a queen. Not a sorceress who didn't allow her dragon to truly die and be destined together with every lifetime.

You were you. A regular human who didn't possess a extraordinary power. You were someone who was flawed. Trying to survive in a place that won't be merciful to someone weak.

“It’s none of your business.” Closing the doors of your van after hauling the dead bodies to dispose of with a loud thud. If you were somewhat decent you wouldn't have shown Sylus such hostility. You know what he's capable but being cornered by him — yeah — you should be squealing or be flustered cause it was Sylus, you were in no position because you were in a dire situation and your existence doesn't contribute to the storyline of this world, including MC and his.

You also can't really tell him you're from the other world. It might be catastrophic. You don't really want to stray from canon events and the first step is to stay away from Sylus.

You were about to open the door of your van to get away. You were an inch of pulling that handle until thin red and black mists coils around your wrist. Preventing you from moving your hand.

You look at him in disbelief. Scoffing as you try to pry the tendrils of his Evol wrapped around your wrist. “Really?” You take a step forward. “Is this how you treat people who disagrees with you!?”

Sylus remains nonchalant. Although there's a hint of amusement and curiousity behind his eyes. You weren't perturbed at all with his Evol but he can give you the benefit of the doubt. “Not really. Usually they end up dead.” His hand moves manipulating it to pull you.

“Assuring but can you let me go? I really don't want anything from you. Let just call it quits, please?” You pleaded. The sleeves of your varsity jacket crumples as you try again to get out of his grip. “I still have to finish my job.” Biting your lip anxiously as you desperately look at your van. The bodies are going to rot now before you can dispose of them.

“The twins can take care of it.”

“How can Luke—” Your eyes widens, biting your tongue at your slip up. You forgot that no one really knows what the twins names are except Sylus. They were his henchmen after all and a stranger — you was the final nail in the coffin.

“Interesting.” His lips curve into a smirk and you know what it means. “You and I are going to have a long conversation.” Giving you no room to retaliate or defend yourself. It was useless anyways, no one really escapes him and you hope that you can still get out. Alive.

The hallways were dark. The warm light of the wall sconces was the source of the light. You get the idea that Sylus is taking you to the dining room where he once eviscerated someone after a disagreement and finding the other person was trying to take both sides and Sylus does not like traitors.

You were walking behind him. His Evol long deactivated cause he knows you can't run even as you try to look around for possible escape routes and you really can't even you want too. His windows are a no-no. You don't want to plummet to your death from the top floor.

Sylus pushes the door. Inside were the sleek black marble top table with two candles lit in the candelabra. A deep red velvet chairs upholstered. Everything was Sylus's taste that you saw in his bond memories where he and MC stays. Your remember their little banters and how bossy he was.

It brings a smile to your face as you take the surroundings of the room. Luke and Kieran were probably wrecking your van. They were making you jobless in the Zone. You hoped that your van will still be returned in one piece.

“Sit.” He orders you and you complied without hesitation. Sylus can be impatient and being stubborn will probably get your neck choked. Settling in the chair, it was remarkably soft. You can't remember the last time you sat in something plush. Concrete stairs and crates in warehouses were your chair. The cold floor of the temporary base you set up covered with a old mattress was your bed.

Sylus stands behind the counter. Pulling glasses to pour a drink for himself and to you. “Let’s get started with a simple conversation.” The glass clinks as he puts on cubes of ice. “I ask you a question and you will answer me.”

“Okay.” He hears you murmur. Your posture was rigid. Legs bouncing out of nervousness in the chair. Chewing on your lips and your hands were hidden in the sleeves of your jacket like you were put in a straitjacket but he knows you were scratching your skin.

You were guilty as you look. Actions don't lie. Or maybe you were anxious. He got something to ease you up. “Here.” Nudging the glass in front of you. The amber liquid sloshing with the ice. You take it. He's probably making you loosen your tongue which is maybe going to work.

His eyes follows your movement. Bringing the glass of whiskey in your lips and your nose scrunches at the sharp aroma. He watch as you look at him before breaking eye contact and taking a swig of the drink and the reaction was immediate.

Sharp violent coughs shook your whole body. Your eyes watering as the liquid burned down your throat. You used your arm to cover your mouth while you coughed. God, what kind of humiliation the universe is putting you through and in front of Sylus.

“Who are you?” He began to question you and you glare at him. Wiping the corner of your mouth with the sleeve of your jacket. “A stranger.” Coughing up the last bits as you try to draw out the bitter taste.

You really don't want to lie but you were not in your world and you were afraid that you were going to disrupt the timeline of this story. You didn't want to be a huge spoiler or accidentally trigger a effect that will rip the balance of this world.

Sylus looks at you blankly. “What are you doing in the warehouse?”

“Trying to make a living. I can't survive here unless I do something.” Rubbing your knuckles in your eyes.

“Let’s get back to my former question. Who are you?” His voice are dripping with venom and you watch the subtle twitch of his hands and the next thing will be is he's blowing your head off.

“You want to know? I'm just some unfortunate soul who got here.” Pursing your lip in a thin line. Conflicted on how to process your emotions. You were scared, frustrated and angry. You shouldn't have saved him.

“And now you’re going to ask why I knew Luke and Kieran.” You paused for a bit. The confession is going to give you a headache. “You're a pixelated game character on my world.”

And the headache begun. He only raised his brows like you were just messing up with him. “I know how ridiculous it sounds but it's true.”

“You don't believe me? You're Sylus Qin. You're a wanted criminal in Philos and you escaped from Tartarus.” You began to explain. Legs bouncing anxiously with every tick of the clock. Sylus was practically a weapon ready to fire at any moment.

“Want to know more? You manipulated Miss Hunter to kill you when she was a sorceress and you were a dragon. You were ostracized from your own kind. You can't die unless she allows you to. You were also children too. Fighting to death in the arena with the other children and when it's down to both of you — you made the decision to escape and she did too but you two got separated.” ‎You revealed. “Is that enough?”

‎He didn't say anything else as if convinced. ‎“How did you end up here?”

‎“I don't know. I just woke up in the middle of the road.”

‎Sylus didn't press anything more. As far as he knows you're an anomaly.

‎”Can I leave now?” You asked. Thinking this interrogation is done and you really don't want to disrupt this world. Afraid that if you interfere some butterfly effect would activate and all of this world are going to be doomed. The plot was really important and every decision of the characters either make or break.

You waited for his response. Thinking of the van that are being used by the twins. You hoped that they know where to dump the bodies and your van isn't being banged up. The source of your income and means of survival rests on how they treat your van.

“I'm afraid that's not going to happen.”

“W-waa—what? Why!?” Eyes wide in disbelief. Your brows are raised and with the little shot of that alcoholic unnerved you in ways that you didn't know you can.

You look at him like you hit your head (which you already did by thunking your forehead in the top rail of your chair) and find that he's real ugly but he's not. He's hot. Infuriatingly hot. You can't count how many times you fantasize kissing Sylus and moisturize that dry lips of his.

You wanted that when he was on your screen and now, you're not, maybe a little. Get a grip! You tell to yourself but you dread about this — of not being able to leave. You're going to be in the front row and watch the world fuss about MC. The next days are going to be the start of her story with Sylus. Their first meeting.

“You're an anomaly in this world.”

Your heart drops. Of course, you're an anomaly. Sylus must have analyzed you or searched for your identity and to only find nothing.

“You know a lot about of things going around here and I can't have you running around with that kind of information.” He reasons, taking a step towards you.

“I'm basically a NPC in this world. I don't see the relevance of me being here.” You counter. Pressing your forehead in the back of the chair because you really didn't want to be involved with him.

“What if I say, I don't want to?”

“You really don't have a choice here, kitten.”

“Fuck.” You muttered, running our reasons to use. “I have a job around here. I can't have you bossing me around. I won't also ask for a compensation.” Referring to your destroyed OTTO and your van that is going to be thrashed by the twins. You can always start. You survived your first day and managed to live this long.

Sylus can see the reluctance in you. Mixed with the desperation of not wanting to get involved with him. He's a dangerous man. Money isn't really a problem for him and he can get you a nice place to live and a brand new van and the latest OTTO catered to your needs. When in reluctance, give them the assurance.

“Is cleaning up dead bodies and blood that fun?” Your eyes flickers towards him. “Not really but it keeps my stomach full and meets my basic needs. Shelter I have plenty.” Rubbing your arm in an attempt to comfort yourself. Eyes a little droopy and your lips curled into a frown.

Living in the N109 Zone with no means of being the strong was your struggle. It was life or death for you.

“I have a proposal.” When you can't convince someone, you put the stakes higher. Sylus continues as he noticed you tilt your head. Interested at the proposal he was about to make.

“You will be provided everything you need. You shall never starve or work for your food. I will give you shelter. You can hole up in one of the rooms here. I have plenty. You will have a identity you desire. A clean slate for you to start somewhere new.”

“That's preposterous for someone like you, Sylus.” Shaking your head as you try to think about what to do before looking back at him. “I can't be near you. I'm a walking spoiler.” You swallowed as if there's something stuck in your throat.

“If information is what you want of future events, I can't tell you about it. I won't disrupt the natural order of this world.” Pulling your jacket and standing up. Putting back the chair in its right place.

“The only mistake I did was to save you.”

“Is that so?” He hums.

Thinking of what he should do about you. “Such trivial matters don't bother me. You're not really disrupting anything and I won't ask for information.” You can see the brief flicker of light passing through his right eye where the Aether Core is placed.

“Work for me. You'll get more benefits than what you wished for.”

He watched as you hesitate. You will still have a choice with the proposal he suggested. You are free to operate around his area and maybe he'll take you as a secretary. It's unlikely you'll betray him. You're smart for your own good to betray as someone powerful like him.

It didn't take long for a few seconds for you to decide.

“Fine.”

The smirk on his face grew wider.

You gave the arrangement six months.

It shouldn't be too long or less. You wanted Sylus to make it shorter because any time soon or any day, he and MC will cross paths and even you wanted to witness their long-awaited reunion — you just can't.

Because what kind of bullshit of people telling you that you are MC in your world and to find out you were the anomaly in this world even you accepted it that you really can't be MC with the game having her life determined and the routes of the story written. MC may have your face in the game but you can never be her.

It sounds bitter but this was your reality. You're not about to witness their love when you have a life to live. A few months staying under his base is the thing you have to live through. You didn't understand why Sylus has to take you under his wing.

You did say you weren't tell him about the future happenings or any information that will about to happen. Probably he's getting bored and what's a little fun to observe a anomaly for his entertainment.

That's your sentiment but you know Sylus isn't that cruel to treat you as one. He may have his reasons and you will never know any of it.

The least you can do is stay put until there's a change of events. It's a matter of time before the story line of the game will start to happen and when MC has grown curious about the N109 Zone and Sylus.

The Onychinus base was huge. Well, huge is an understatement. It's a whole fricking building and despite that doing nothing means you're penniless. Sylus did tell you that the commodities in the building are free to use but a week after almost exploring the whole base — you found yourself restless.

You've been on the run the moment you were transported in this world. Always thinking for ways to survive. Hustling to get by and earn that money that was essential for your job and puts a food in your table. You were always on the lookout for jobs that needs your specialty. It's pay per transaction and you take pride in your work.

Abandoning your livelihood means abandoning your security. There was no discussion about it between you and Sylus even he did say you will work for him, there was really nothing about the job description and you hate to think you were freeloading to him.

So you did what you know best — accepting a clean up job. The pay was huge. The bigger the money they offer the messier and complicated it was but you didn't care. Money is money. You take the keys of the van Sylus owed you after the twins has trashed it like you expected.

You begin to drive towards your destination after picking up a new stash of cleaning supplies you have hidden in one of your hideouts.

The building wasn't that ruined when stepped out of your van. It changed by the times and the lack of maintenance made it unsuitable for moving.

You began to unload the supplies from your bag. Securing the roll of plastic wraps and duct tapes. A makeshift cart that contains all of your cleaning materials with some strong chemical that's enough to knock someone out when inhaled.

The scene that greeted you were something out of a horror film or some sci-fi you used to watch back in your world.

Bloody was the least you will used to describe the scene. It was beautiful. If you can ignore the lifeless bodies impaled with ice spikes. The paleness of the blues of ice mixes with the red. Creating a almost whimsical look like a blood red moon.

You guessed that you find anything as visceral as this normal after cleaning up places. Murder with the use of Evol wasn't unheard of, you've clean plenty of it and disposed mutilated bodies that was almost beyond recognition. You've also thrown bodies or parts of one in a single trash bag.

Time is the essence and even with the structured ice Evol, it was starting to melt and when ice are thawed — everything's going to be bloody from here and so you began to take your trusty lightsaber-esque equipment that's good for cutting through metal, bones and of course, ice. As long they're solid it gets the job done.

The smell didn't even bother you. It was like meat that you left to defrost and forgot to take it out for cooking and it starts to go bad. It's worse for you the first time but the fear of not being able to survive gets you out of that disgust.

Pressing the button of your tool, it shortly crackles — bursts and emits a bright orange glow and then you start to cut through flesh and bone.

It's good to know that you're still capable.

After that work and clean up, you were done for the day, night. You still didn't regulate your sleeping hours even with the comfortable place Sylus provided for you at the base and paired with restlessness.

Driving back to Onychinus base made you uneasy, sure you move places to places and sometimes settled for months but a month in Sylus's base didn't feels like something you can live with. You were grateful but coming back to the base is still unfamiliar territory for you.

Attachment creates dangerous conflicting feelings and having known danger and how powerful attachment can be — you ignored.

It's the reason why you keep the interaction to Sylus minimal except when it's necessary and you can't avoid him without being too obvious.

You surely can't start catching feelings for him even he's your main love interest in the real world and when he's a game character. But how about when he's real and you're near him? That you can hear his voice, can touch him and talk to him? Can you not really fall in love? And there's MC.

But it's difficult when you're in his world and living in his base where any chance you can bump into him and it happened the moment you were about to retreat in your room. The hallways were big but it connects to everything.

You were about to turn when you almost bump into Sylus. The familiar outfit that he almost dons everyday in your home screen is what he wore. "Hey." You awkwardly greeted him. Gripping the hem of your sweatshirt that reeks with the scent of blood and chemicals for cleaning.

"I thought you might have escaped.”

Liar. He knows where you are and he knows your circumstances. You can't leave him. Not yet.

“As you can see, I can't. I'm powerless.” You murmur.

There's a moment of awkward silence but it might be you until Sylus broke it.

“Care to join me for lunch, dove?”

You didn't know why Sylus started to call you dove but maybe he was referring you to one like the dove MC rescued and was put in his care temporarily in the Nightplumes card. It didn't happen yet but the cards are connected to the future events after their meeting.

You refused. “No, thank you. I'm not really—” Your stomach betrays you, growling like you haven't eaten for days. “— hungry.” You finished to say with your cheeks burning hotly from embarrassment.

Sylus chuckles and you badly want to jump out outside the window and plummet to your death.

“Do you really find me insufferable?” He asks, his eyes narrowing although there's a lilt.

“Insufferable? No. I don't find you like that or anything.” He's many things but insufferable. You mumble, concealing the expressions that might show in your face as your brain panics.

“Good. It would be a bad thing if my guest finds me intolerable.”

Turns out Sylus has already set up the table in the terrace. His chef, you meet him the second day in your stay in Sylus's base and asked you what you wanted to eat. The Onychinus leader told you that you have permission to use the kitchen or ask the chef whatever you felt like eating.

You absolutely remember the terrace it was shown in the kindle of his first myth card where he taught MC on how to improve her combat skills. Knowing the terrace part of the base is where Sylus sometimes took his meals.

If you did suddenly get back home, you have a lot of things to brag as you take your sit across "Boss-man Sylus."

It's not like everyday is an opportunity to share a table with Sylus, the most desired love interest in your world.

“How was your work today?”

“Grotesque but it's nothing that I can't handle.” You shrugged, taking your cutlery and mimicking Sylus's gesture as he began to eat.

You have quite the appetite despite the scene earlier. Your stomach has gotten thick overtime as you took that line of work.

"I assume someone has gone rouge.”

“If you would put it that way.”

He hums. Gently twirling the glass of wine and the red liquid sloshed inside of it. He takes a sip before resuming on his meal. You had done the same and the taste of wine made your taste buds burst into these tiny quantities of flavors you can taste.

Amusement glimmers in Sylus's eyes. Watching you taste something that you're not accustomed to. You told him that back in your world you have a job that covers your expenses and an extra for some indulgence.

Your indulgence was getting all his cards.

“Do you find your room comfortable?” He pries.

“Yes, thank you.” You whispered. Meeting his gaze to show how sincere you are. You missed having a real bed not the make shift beds you have to temporarily sleep with.

“You really didn't need to spend much on me. I'm not staying that long.” Reminding him of your arrangement.

Sylus chuckles. “I'm not the one to forget, dove.” Leaning on his chair and crossing his legs. “You plan to go back in your job?” His eyes narrows at you.

“Maybe. I didn't really asked you about the details when you said that I'm working for you.” You told him. Putting your fork down cause you know where this conversation is being headed.

“How about as my secretary?” He says without a beat. The way he says it was the same as he speaks in the game and you would have accepted it within a heartbeat if it wasn't for the position you are in.

“Me?” You asked, hoping you misheard it or your ears was playing tricks. “Your secretary? You don't even know me that much to be entrusted with that kind of work.”

“I don't need to know what kind of person you are.”

“I know you're not the one to make stupid decisions and I'm not going to doubt your judgement but even I am an anomaly in this world there's a chance that I will betray you.” You say, gripping the table cloth. Well, there's no betrayal that's going to happen but it was an excuse and a reason not to get closer to him.

Sylus smirks. You can see the amusement flickering all over his eyes at what you said. You were getting more interesting as the seconds pass and Sylus likes who he deemed interesting.

“People who plan to betray me don't tell me they're betraying me. You’re selling yourself short, dove.” He pauses, crossing his legs underneath the table while he waits for your response.

He can see that you were still torn and hesitating.

“Take this offer and I'll make sure it will be worthwhile for the both of us.”

Is what he said and now, you're thinking that doomsday is already ahead in the game with you interfering. You hope that Sylus stays canon with MC and the original plot still intact.

now you’re half naked underneath him and wet against his crotch, clothes still in a pathetic pile by the front door of your apartment because you’d welcomed him in with the same unexpected feverishness of a bustling city’s summer heat wave. heated kisses and burning touches that speak more than a week’s worth of yearning. katsuki feels stupid, he doesn’t know why he cries, perhaps it’s because he knows — no condom means no sex. he hates to leave you high and dry, hates to have to go take a cold shower until he can hit the stores tomorrow, but then your fingers curl in ash blonde baby hairs and you pull him back into you as though he’s rope slipping through his fingers. firm. grounding.

“maybe… maybe tonight we can try without?” you suggest because you’re so perfect, so undeniably good to him in ways the blonde isn’t even sure he deserves. your lips are glossy, your eyes are glassy and katsuki can feel your pussy smear over him with a layer of sweet glaze — clenching around nothing just at the thought of taking him raw. “i don’t want you to go. just want to be close to you.” you add, pouty. so pretty.

he should say no. he should insist on going down on you and rubbing one out in the shower later tonight. but there you are, squirming against his thickness that presses into your soft tummy, peering up at katsuki with those captivating, hypnotic eyes that plead for a slither of mercy. “please.” you whisper, the secret lying underneath your tongue next to every form of begging you know possible. you’re prepared to do it, if it means having him sink into you completely free of rubber. just skin on skin and the passion burning in your lungs.

“okay,” pearls of sweat form a halo around his head, sand blonde locks stick to the feverish skin as it drops to your bare shoulder. blood diluted with droplets of sin set a course for south and katsuki’s thick shaft pulses to life against you — as if to lead him into temptation — put it in. “god, fuck, okay. you’re gonna be good though? g-gonna let me pull out?” he manages a choked groan, rooted strongly in his chest like a sturdy oak tree. reverberating through your lush, syrupy cunt with enough bass to make you bend into him.

when you smile this time, it’s relieved and earnest — a beautiful glow that settles against the natural slopes of your features because katsuki strips faster than he ever has in his life. cock rock hard, wet and bare against you, seedy tip lathered in pre cum already married to your aching clit which he taps so lovingly against.

“n-no promises.” you mewl.

it’s so crude, no unlike the two of you, to be messy and raw. the heat of him blooms within you as bakugou lines up with your entrance, shallowly thrusting past the quivering hole with a grateful hiss. because he’s so lucky to be let into the gates of heaven. that you’ll let him fuck you even with the risk.

“can’t play around like that, baby, c-can’t say shit like that,” his breathing stutters, you squeeze around every hot, bare inch he gives to you. “…mmm fuck— ‘m gonna —!” katsuki heaves into your neck, lips on your pulse point to check you’re still with him whilst he bottoms out — pelvis flush against yours, thighs hiked high on his hip, dick dragging along your welcoming walls. “you’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”

end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesn’t do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! — asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!

The council chambers were already full by the time you entered the next morning, their vastness swallowing all sound and scattering it into the low, constant murmur of multiple voices layered over one another and the crackle of braziers burning steadily along the walls. Light poured in through high-set windows, filtered and golden, catching on lacquered pillars and the gleam of armour.

At the far end, elevated above it all, sat the Fire Lord upon his dais, his expression carefully neutral. To anyone else, his distant gaze and the slight downturn of his mouth were simply relics of his patience, worn thin by the endless droning of advisors. 

But you noticed the subtle pinch between his eyes that had not been there yesterday, and his lips were a fraction thinner than usual. It brought you an almost wicked satisfaction to be the only one who knew that he was likely nursing a hangover. 

You silently took your place among the Earth Kingdom delegation at the far end of the chamber, and Zuko immediately sought you out. In fact, you had noticed his gaze stray to you the moment you entered the room, and his lips quirked slightly. 

You had returned the expression politely, but there was nothing gentle in your responding smile. No, you felt rather triumphant, because today would be the day you finally allowed him to let you do your job. 

You had carried him through the corridors of his palace like some overburdened attendant, you had endured his hiccuping indignity, and you had deposited him into his chambers, very nearly compromising your own reputation in the process. If he was willing to rely on you in such a manner and allowed that moment of familiarity to exist at all, then you would use it to corner him. You would make him sit his pretty behind down and finally choose a bride.

Then the Fire Lord's chamberlain began to speak, distracting you from your thoughts, though truly, you could not say that you paid much attention to what he was saying. It was, perhaps, the most remarkable feat of endurance you had witnessed in recent memory, not the content of his speech, which ranged from trade discrepancies to minor disputes between provincial governors, to ceremonial obligations and updates on infrastructure, but the sheer length of it, and he spoke as if every minor inconvenience in the Fire Nation required immediate and exhaustive articulation.

You took notes the entire time, but every now and then, you felt the burning gaze of the Fire Lord on you. Every time his attention drifted, he would seek you out again, though you did not look up. You weren't sure if he was testing you somehow, gauging your reaction or measuring your attentiveness, but you refused to be an easy target. 

If he expected anything other than the utmost professionalism from you today, he would be sorely disappointed.

It was well past the appointed hour for lunch when the Fire Lord finally excused himself. His command to dismiss the council proceedings for a brief reprieve was perfectly composed, but when he rose, it was too quick. You watched him depart and then decided to follow, because if you let him escape fully, you would lose your chance. The rest of the afternoon would vanish into more council matters and more interruptions.

You stopped by your own chambers first, to retrieve the stack of scrolls you'd left there, before making your way toward his private study, where you'd been informed he would take his midday meal. When you knocked at his door, Zuko's voice was exhausted as he bade you to enter. 

You found him slumped over his desk inside, seated with his shoulders hunched, one hand braced against the surface of the desk while the other pressed to his temple, his fingers working slowly to ease his pain. A tray of food sat before him, lavishly prepared dishes still steaming, but untouched. 

You let the door close behind you before assessing the spread set out for him. "Might I suggest a lighter lunch, my lord?" you said mildly. "Something with broth and ginger tea, perhaps... after the night you've had."

Zuko straightened immediately at the sound of your voice, his expression brightening. "Oh, are you here to join me for lunch? We can take it in the gardens, if you like. They're much nicer in the daylight."

You shook your head apologetically. "I am here for work, my lord."

The change in him was almost comical, and the Fire Lord actually groaned. "More work?" he muttered, dragging a hand down his face before letting it fall limply against the arm of the chair. "I have been very hard at work all morning."

"Certainly. But this matter requires your utmost attention." You stepped forward to set the stack of scrolls down on his desk. 

"Those look more tedious than the chamberlain's scrolls," Zuko complained wearily.

"They are more important."

"And what could possibly be more important than everything I have already endured today?"

"You must make your selection of candidate brides, my lord."

Zuko's brow pinched even further. "Now you sound like the chamberlain, too."

You inclined your head. "The old man has a point, even if it takes him a century to make it."

"He's already shown me the lists," Zuko protested. "I needn't see them again."

"My lists are different."

"And if it's just lists of names, why are there ever so many scrolls?"

You rolled your eyes at the Fire Lord's antics and unrolled the topmost one. "They are not merely lists. They are dossiers, compiled with care, and if you would take the time to review them properly, you might find that each of these women is more than a name on a list."

"And you intend to make me do this now?" Zuko asked. 

"Yes."

"You're going to force me to choose a wife."

You glared at him unflinchingly. "I prefer to think of it as ensuring you fulfill your duties, my lord."

His lips twitched at that. "You are rather bold."

"And you are rather behind schedule."

That earned you a reluctant chuckle, though it dissolved quickly into another sigh, less dramatic and more resigned as the Fire lord gestured toward the seat across from him. "Very well, take a seat."

You did not need to be told twice, settling down and spreading out the remainder of the scrolls on his desk. "Each of your candidates is a person, with hopes and wants and desires and aspirations for her life," you said earnestly. "I know most people do not care much about what a potential bride might like, or who she might be aside from a pretty face and a strong lineage to carry on your legacy, but they are people, my lord. And when you make a selection, you must do so with that in mind."

Zuko's demeanour changed when you said that, and the exasperation that had been evident in his posture evaporated, leaving behind something close to awe. 

"Has anyone ever told you that you'd make a great matchmaker?" he asked almost fondly. 

"Yes," you replied flatly. "Now, let us get to work."

"I couldn't stop you if I tried, I think. So go ahead."

"First, there is Lady Ruolan of the Upper Ring." You glanced up briefly to ensure Zuko was at least pretending to pay attention, then continued. "She is the eldest daughter of a well-established noble house. She is exceptionally educated, fluent in three dialects, with a particular interest in botany. She maintains her own gardens, which, from what I have seen, are quite extensive. Perhaps when you meet with her, you might take her on a tour of the gardens. And she would take particular delight in meeting your groundskeeper."

Zuko raised an eyebrow. "My groundskeeper?"

"Yes. And if you wish to gift her something, she would prefer the botanical marvels of your nation over any jewels."

"The chamberlain says that jewels are only an inappropriate gift for a noble lady."

"And that is why the chamberlain remains unmarried yet," you scoffed. "You must trust me."

"But you are also unmarried," Zuko pointed out cheekily. "How am I to take your word for it?"

You ignored his attempt to derail the conversation, pointing to another scroll. "Next, we have Lady Lihua. Daughter of a merchant family recently elevated to nobility. Highly skilled in calligraphy and poetry. She composes her own verses—quite beautiful, from what I've read, and she is known for her sharp wit. She would challenge you."

"And you think I need that?" Zuko asked.

"I think that a Fire Lord surrounded only by agreeable voices is a Fire Lord at risk of becoming insufferable."

"And now you are calling the Fire Lord insufferable."

"I am merely suggesting the possibility of it." You tapped the desk to bring his attention back to the matter at hand. "Now, Lady Jingyi is very sociable and has a fondness for music. She hosts gatherings where she plays the zither. She is rather shy, but enjoys being complimented on her skills. She would make your court feel less... rigid."

"And I am rigid?" Zuko's tone became more amused by the minute. 

"Yes."

"You certainly don't hold back, do you?" he huffed. 

"Politics will never make a liar out of me, my lord," you said evenly. 

"You have an admirable sense of self, then."

You ignored the compliment, unsure how to receive it, and continued like that for some time, moving from one scroll to the next as you outlined each woman's habits, interests, and temperaments. Through it all, Zuko listened intently, his eyes never once straying from yours, that same oddly fond smile gracing his lips all the while. 

Eventually, he leaned back and shook his head in disbelief. "How is it that you know so much about them?"

You shrugged. "It is my duty, my lord."

"When the chamberlain presented his lists, all he told me were their names and their lineages."

"Men rarely pay attention to these sorts of things," you sneered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "I take my job very seriously."

"But your duty is to merely present them, is it not?"

"No. While my duty may be to help find you a wife and strengthen your alliance with the Earth Kingdom, it is also to ensure that whoever you marry is happy here. That you are a good and attentive husband to her. What better way to do that than to ensure that you know who she is as a person?"

Zuko seemed somewhat offended by that. "You doubt my ability to be a good husband?"

"Being a good husband means more than simply ensuring your bride is provided for in a material sense."

"Is it not? I am the Fire Lord. My wife would want for nothing."

You looked at him as if he were daft, though you dared not say it aloud. "Being the bride to such an important man can be incredibly lonely, and brides are rarely told to make their grievances known. Yours could be withering away right before your eyes, and you'd be none the wiser."

Zuko flinched subtly, his next words coming out wounded. "And you think I'd let that happen?"

"You seem busy," you told him. "Busy men tend to miss important things."

He exhaled sharply, a hint of frustration surfacing now. "Well, that is hardly fair. I assure you, I would do my best to be a good husband."

It seemed very important to him that you take his word for it, so you decided not to be any more argumentative than you'd already been. 

"Very well, my lord," you acquiesced. "I am simply reminding you."

There was an awkward pause before he tapped the scroll in front of you. "Is this a list of every eligible lady from the Earth Nation?"

You nodded. "Of course."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. Why..." You trailed off as the implication settled, and you could feel the beginning of a smirk break across your face. "Is there someone in particular I am missing? I assure you, I was being most thorough in my gathering of information, but if there is someone, I am certain we can make it happen. The Fire Lord makes a love match. Even if she is not of noble birth, the poets would immortalize you." 

Your teasing had the intended effect, and Zuko's ears turned an endearing shade to match his flame coloured robes. He cleared his throat and avoided your probing gaze as he said, "No, I simply meant... You are of noble birth, are you not? Your name is not on the list."

"You've done your research," you said drily. 

That drew a smirk of his own. "The Fire Lord is always well informed."

"Then surely you already know the answer to your question. Why would I put myself on a list I compiled, my lord?"

Zuko leaned forward, resting an elbow against the desk as his attention narrowed on you. "Well," he drawled, "certainly, if you were being as thorough as you claim, you would have put every single eligible lady on it. Which includes yourself."

"I am hardly eligible," you snickered, waving a dismissive hand in his direction. "Trust that I would make an awful bride, my lord. Besides, I am far too attached to my work."

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary. "That makes the two of us."

"Then we shall be the greatest of friends. Now, let us get back to the lists."

You did not know how it had gotten to this point, or what prompted this casual boldness into your words without permission, but when you received no resistance from the Fire Lord himself, you weren't inclined to stop any time soon. There were worse fates in the world than befriending a man like him, and he was rather interesting. 

"Yes," Zuko agreed with a wistful smile. "That we shall."

And that was that, an agreement of camaraderie if you'd ever heard one. 

But then he pushed himself out of his chair and brushed his hands together. "I think I have heard enough," he declared. 

"Find someone you like already?" you jested smugly. "Well, that was fast. I should have cornered you earlier."

He looked at you strangely then, with a strange sort of certainty that hadn't been there before. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes," he repeated. "But I shall not tell you."

You gaped at the infuriating man before you. "My lord, that is the entire purpose of this exercise. For you to tell me who it is that interests you so that I may arrange for the meeting."

Zuko ignored you, tapping his fingers idly against the desk. "It seems that you have taken the time to get to know every single one of these ladies very well."

"Of course I have."

"And how did you do that?"

You frowned at the unnecessary question. "Some of them are acquaintances of my family. Others—well, I got to know them, as anyone gets to know anyone. Over teas, and lunches, and promenades. Conversation and observation, my lord."

The Fire Lord considered your words carefully. "Then does it not seem unfair to you?"

"How so?" You resisted the urge to roll your eyes again at his line of questioning. 

"You have taken so much time to get to know each of my potential brides," Zuko said, leaning a fraction closer to you, "but you have not taken the time to know me."

Now that caught you off guard, because it was indeed true. You knew his policies, his reputation, and the careful image he maintained before his court and your delegation, but about the man himself, you knew almost nothing, and he knew it. 

Nonetheless, you were nothing if not stubborn, and you lifted your chin defiantly, unwilling to concede the point so easily. "Your chamberlain informed us that you require an obedient bride to carry the future of the Fire Nation. Which, I must admit, was rather shallow, but who am I to judge the preferences of the Fire Lord?"

Zuko looked annoyed, though you weren't sure if his ire was directed at you or his chamberlain. "'Who am I to judge,'" he mimicked sarcastically, "she says, after saying something exceedingly judgmental."

You let out a rather unladylike snort. "Now you are simply being difficult. Very well, if the chamberlain was mistaken, you may tell me what you wish for in a bride. I assure you, I will take your preferences into account."

It was a reasonable solution, but he refused to take it. 

"No," he said. "It would not be fair if I simply told you."

"It would be rather unfair if you didn't," you countered. 

"No," he said again, more firmly this time, his jaw set stubbornly. "You must get to know my preferences by getting to know me, just as you have done with my potential brides. It is the only fair way to ensure you are orchestrating an appropriate match."

You burst out laughing at that, unable to help yourself. "Perhaps it is you who should be the matchmaker."

"I shall not pick a bride if it is not done the correct way," the Fire lord protested sullenly, though his eyes glimmered with amusement. 

"Now you simply sound petulant."

His responding grin was unabashed. "What is a little petulance between friends?"

"Oh, spirits," you muttered under your breath, pinching the bridge of your nose. "What have I gotten myself into?"

This was not part of the plan. You had come here to complete a task, not be drawn into whatever plans Zuko was intent on arranging, but even you had to admit, the logic was not entirely unsound.

If you were to ensure that whichever woman you selected would be suited to him, not just politically, but personally, then you would need to understand him beyond the surface. You would need to see what he did not say, and what he might hide without realizing it himself. And, if there were any cruelties lurking beneath that poised exterior, you would find them.

You would not risk sending one of your own into a life of dutiful suffering because you had failed to look closely enough.

"Very well," you agreed reluctantly.

The Fire Lord practically beamed at your acceptance. "Wonderful."

There had better be a big promotion for you back home at the end of this, you thought to yourself, or you'd be very, very annoyed. 

your heart can’t help but swell at every sweet compliment she throws your way.

and when her first middle school dance rolls around, you make sure to arrive three hours early, arms loaded with your makeup kit and a box of hair curlers. with a beaming smile, you ask her if she’s ready to be the most dazzling sixth grader linkon middle school has ever seen.

it turns out, caleb had offered to help her get ready, but eve politely turned him down, saving the special time for her favorite person in the world—you.

you barely spare your boyfriend a glance from where he sits on the living room couch as you beeline for the kitchen table, already unpacking your supplies with practiced ease.

“well, hello to you too,” you hear him say as he comes up behind you, arms ready to wrap around your waist—but you pay him no mind. not when you're in work mode.

still, you can't help but stifle a giggle when eve chimes in.

“oh no you don’t. not in front of me.”

she tries, and fails, to push caleb away from you and back toward the archway to the living room. within seconds, she's huffing, barely having moved him an inch.

then she turns to you, giving you that look—the one she knows will have him gone in seconds.

you nod.

“i’m sorry, caleb. but this is strictly girls only." you lift your hand to his cheek, and he leans into your touch, those enchanting nebula eyes full of deep purple and gold making him so hard to refuse. “so, i’m going to have to ask you to leave, my love.”

this moment isn't about him at all—it's about your precious eve.

everything goes according to plan when he finally relents, shooting eve a narrowed look and sticking his tongue out at her, while she beams in triumph.

“your girlfriend loves me more than you,” she taunts.

caleb rolls his eyes in. “yeah, yeah. whatever. enjoy her now while you can, cause she’s hanging out with me later.”

that's when you finally let yourself laugh, enjoying their playful banter.

eve tells you everything—she always has. she trusts with secrets about her classmates and all the little dramas of her age. about aiden dating julianna, and what sarai said about carmela. it makes you reminisce about your own memories and your old friends, too.

she comes to you for advice, too.

advice about trying out for the volleyball team and about things she could never bring herself to ask her grandmother, much less caleb.

and once, on a girls' day while shopping for caleb's birthday present, she told you how happy she was that you were in caleb’s life, because without you, she would never have known what it was like to have a wonderful older sister.

your heart tightens at her words, because you feel exactly the same. your eve is such a loving, wonderful girl. she's just so easy to cherish.

later that same day, caleb finds the two of you, sprawled on the living room floor, surrounded by pillows and blankets, hands busy with crafts—measuring wrists with white string and picking out beads to match each others eyes. you're chatting and laughing about who knows what, and caleb can't help but pause at the sight, a genuine smile spreading across his face.

you've always treated his little sister with so much care and affection...

it was, by all accounts, a beautiful day.

zayne surveyed the small city as morning settled upon it, sunlight spilling over stone roads and wooden stalls.

despite the early hour, the streets were already alive. merchants calling out, workers hurrying along, doors opening to begin another day.

as he passed, some greeted him with familiarity. others bowed, stiff and respectful.

and a few, upon recognizing him, lowered their gaze and stepped aside, fear plain upon their faces.

rumors painted him as cold and ruthless.

zayne neither denied nor corrected them. he had long since stopped caring for what people chose to believe.

“and the other side?” he asked calmly.

“lord louis is overseeing it.” alfred replied.

“good.” zayne nodded. “then let us return—"

he had just reached the carriage when a sudden commotion broke the air.

voices rose and footsteps hurried as crowd began to gather not far from where they stood.

zayne halted. “what is that?”

“it seems something has occurred,” alfred said.

but before they could move closer, the crowd began to disperse, people leaving one by one, uneasy, and whispering.

“enough,” a clear voice rang out. “leave. all of you.”

zayne’s attention sharpened.

at the center stood a cloaked figure. beneath her, a small child trembled on the ground.

suddenly, a woman knelt hurriedly.

“we beg your forgiveness, your highness. our child did not know what she was doing.” the woman said, kneeling on the ground.

you exhaled softly and rose, brushing the dust from your cloak before helping the child to her feet.

the little girl immediately rushed into her mother’s arms.

“please, stand,” you said gently, guiding the woman up. you then crouched before the child.

from within your sleeve, you drew a piece of gold and pressed it into the child’s hands.

“your highness, you need not —”

“it is fine,” you murmured, cutting the woman off and your gaze softened as you met the child’s eyes. “listen well. taking what is not yours is wrong. if you desire something, you must ask for it. do you understand?”

the child nodded.

“i cannot hear you.”

“yes, princess,” she said quickly.

a faint smile curved your lips. “i am no princess, foolish child.” you gently pinched her nose.

the mother bowed deeply. “i will ensure this never happens again. you have our gratitude, your highness.”

you inclined your head. “you are dismissed.”

you watched them leave, the child laughing, the mother holding her close. your smile lingered, though sadness flickered beneath it.

how fortunate the child is to have a mother like that.

footsteps broke your thoughts as you stiffened. someone was approaching.

without hesitation, you pulled your hood over your head and turned away, retreating in the opposite direction.

zayne froze, his hand lifting instinctively, as though to stop you, and realizing himself, he cleared his throat and straightened.

“who was that, alfred?” he asked.

“that was lady (name),” alfred replied. “the youngest daughter of the (L/N) family.”

“the (L/N) family..” a faint, unreadable smile crossed zayne’s lips. alfred noticed, it was subtle, but unmistakable.

“alfred,” zayne continued, “did we not receive an invitation from them?”

“you already declined it, young master.”

zayne turned toward the carriage. “make the preparations."

alfred sighed quietly and followed. the young master can be quite troublesome.

.

.

.

“is something the matter, young master?”

zayne blinked, alfred’s voice pulling him back from his thoughts.

“…nothing,” he replied, yet his gaze continued to wander, drifting across the hall as though searching for something, or someone.

“i have heard,” alfred added carefully, “that lady (name) does not attend such gatherings.”

zayne’s hand paused mid-motion. without a word, he reached for his napkin, dabbing at his lips before standing.

“why did you not inform me of this sooner?”

alfred inclined his head.

“you never inquired, young master.” zayne exhaled, displeased, though whether with alfred or himself, he could not say.

—

the carriage came into view as they stepped outside.

“young master,” alfred called.

zayne did not respond.

“young master.”

this time, alfred stopped and gestured somewhere ahead as zayne followed his gaze.

there, by the yard of the (L/N) estate, you knelt upon the grass, a small bundle of fur pressed close as you fed a stray cat.

alfred quietly excused himself. zayne hesitated, then carefully, he approached.

he cleared his throat, and the sound made the cat startled and fled.

you stiffened, disappointment flickering across your face as you rose.

“you frightened my cat,” you said flatly, though your words faltered the moment you saw it was him.

“as i recall,” zayne replied, keeping his tone even, “animals are not permitted within the estate grounds.”

your brows knit together. “and who are you to remind me of such rules?”

“zayne,” he said. “of the li family.”

he extended his hand. you stared at it for a brief moment before sighing and accepting, your grip light, fleeting.

“i.. i am (name).” you responded and withdrew your hand at once.

li family.

the name carried weight, authority and power. standing before him, you could not deny the faint unease curling in your chest.

“if there is nothing further,” you said, bowing politely, “i shall take my leave.”

you stepped past him, but then his hand moved before he could stop himself. your wrist was warm beneath his grasp.

you glanced down at where he held you, then slowly raised your gaze.

“is it not improper,” you asked, “to touch a lady without her consent?”

his hand fell away at once.

“my apologies,” he said, clearing his throat.

“if you require something from my family,” you continued, withdrawing your hand, “i will be of little use.” you inclined your head once more. “please excuse me.”

you walked away, leaving him standing alone by the gates.

zayne did not follow. he only watched until you disappeared from sight, and wondered, for reasons he could not yet understand, why the absence felt heavier than the silence.

—

“where were you.” the question was not asked. it was delivered.

your father did not look at you when he spoke, his attention fixed on his plate as the sound of cutlery continued around the table.

“do you understand,” he said calmly, “how many guests specifically requested your presence today?”

“i apologize, father.”

“for what?” he replied. “your apologies have lost all meaning.” the clink of porcelain echoed as he set his spoon down.

“you were instructed to remain available,” he continued. “yet you were nowhere to be found. do you take some satisfaction in embarrassing this family?”

“i—”

“enough,” he said. “i am tired of excuses.”

your brother leaned back in his chair, regarding you with open disdain.

“honestly,” he said, “why do you insist on behaving like this?” you kept your eyes lowered.

“princess aurelia is your age,” he continued. “and yet she understands her role.” his gaze swept over you, slow and assessing. “she attends gatherings without complaint. she displays her evol with pride. the people admire her.”

he paused.

“and then there is you.”

the words were quiet, deliberate.

“you avoid appearances. you hide like a liability. and you possess nothing of value to compensate for it.” your fingers dug into your lap as he continued.

“compared to her,” your brother said flatly, “you are a failure.”

silence followed. not even your mother intervened as you looked at her, just enjoying her meal, probably in her own world right now.

you then rose from your seat.

“father,” you said, voice strained, “may i be excused—”

“sit.” the single word struck harder than any raised voice. you couldn't do anything but obey.

“you will finish your meal,” your father said, finally turning his gaze to you. “you will remain at this table until you remember what obedience looks like.”

your plate trembled beneath your hands.

“you were born into privilege,” he continued. “yet you contribute nothing. if not for blood,” he said, “you would have been discarded long ago.”

your vision swam as you stared at the food you could no longer see.

you had not chosen this body. you had not chosen this absence of power. but they spoke as if you had chosen to be wrong.

you wondered if being born without value meant you had never deserved to be born at all.

and later, when the doors were closed and the estate had fallen silent, you curled into yourself beneath the sheets.

the room felt too large, too empty. for the first time, you did not think of anything.

you only stared into the dark and wondered, quietly, and desperately, if tomorrow would be any different.

.

.

.

“i beg your pardon, your highness,” you said, stopping abruptly. “but are you following me?”

zayne halted. for a brief moment, he glanced around the street, as if only then noticing alfred’s absence.

the space beside him was empty, intentionally so as you crossed your arms.

“and what authority do you have,” he replied, “to assume such a thing?” he said, his tone composed. “i am merely overseeing the capital. a responsibility i shall inherit soon enough.” he said as you scoffed softly and turned away.

“very well. my apologies for assuming such things.” you said. “you may do as you please.” you then pulled the hood of your cloak over your head and began walking in the opposite direction.

“lady (name)—” he called, and you stopped.

“your highness.” you turned back to him, expression carefully blank. “i believe i have already made myself clear. should you require something from my family, you may direct your concerns to my father.”

you muttered something under your breath as you turned away again.

“it is not about your family.” he said, and your steps faltered. against your better judgment, you faced him once more.

he hesitated. “well—” zayne paused, as though weighing his words. his gaze remained fixed on you. “i was wondering whether the lady might care to share a simple dinner with me.”

silence fell. you stared at him, incredulous. then you exhaled, a short, disbelieving laugh.

“your highness,” you said dryly, “did you perhaps strike your head?”

you said, but he did not smile, he did not laugh. his expression remained unchanged, with serious intent.

the realization unsettled you as you cleared your throat.

“and what,” you asked quietly, “could someone of your standing possibly want with me?”

you did not wait for an answer. you only turned away once more.

“there are countless ladies more suitable,” you continued, your voice steady despite the weight in your chest. “women who are admired, powerful, and seen.” your hand tightened around your cloak, not sure if you were still speaking to him or yourself.

“to stand beside you,” you whispered, “would only remind me how small i already am.” you stopped yourself from saying more. “please,” you finished, “excuse me.”

you walked away, and zayne did not stop you.

as your figure disappeared into the crowd, he could only watch.

—

zayne handed his coat to alfred as he entered the estate.

“you are back earlier than expected, young master,” alfred said. “how did it go?”

“i was rejected.” the words left zayne calmly, too calmly.

a brief, unguarded sound escaped alfred before he could stop himself.

zayne glanced and glared at him.

“i apologize,” alfred said quickly, straightening. “that was inappropriate. i simply meant.. it is difficult to believe someone of your standing would be refused by a lady so far beneath you.”

“mind your words, alfred.”

“at once, young master.” he said, clearing his throat, voice more careful this time.

“perhaps the lady was simply considering what is best— for you as well.”

zayne did not respond. he only loosened his gloves, expression unreadable.

alfred hesitated, then continued carelessly.

“there are rumors,” he said, “that lady (name) does not possess an evol.”

zayne paused for a fraction of a second. then he shrugged.

“rumors remain rumors.” he said. “in any case,” zayne added, tone even, “i have no interest in entertaining such talk.”

a brief silence settled between them.

“in matters of alliance,” alfred continued, “someone like princess aurelia would be far more.. suitable. a match that benefits your future, young master.”

“enough,” he said simply.

alfred bowed deeply. “my apologies, young master.”

zayne dismissed him with a wave of his hand and continued down the corridor alone.

he told himself it meant nothing. that he had no reason to believe idle whispers. still, the thought returned, uninvited, of when such rumors had begun at all. they were spoken too easily, as if they had always existed.

the capital required constant oversight, that's why it was only natural that your paths crossed more than once.

he did not question why his gaze shifted before he was aware of it.

sometimes, he noticed you moving through the streets with your hood drawn low.

you never lingered. you walked as though every place was temporary. and it caught his attention. he found himself noticing small things instead.

the way you avoided crowded paths. how you stepped aside before others reached you. how you spoke little, even when addressed.

once, he saw you stop before a shop window, not to browse, but to wait. only after the street cleared did you move again. he frowned at that.

another time, he observed you in a conversation, choosing your words carefully. he told himself he was merely assessing character.

after all, it was prudent to understand those connected to influential families.

yet he began to recognize you without effort. before his mind registered it, his eyes already had.

he noticed when you were absent, he noticed when you appeared. the realization unsettled him, not because of what it meant, but because he had not chosen it.

once, as he turned a corner, he nearly crossed paths with you.

you halted, looked at him, and inclined your head in a brief, respectful bow, then you passed him.

you did not look back, and zayne stood there longer than necessary.

he did not follow. he told himself that what lingered afterward was irritation. that curiosity was harmless. that attention did not imply attachment.

and yet, each time he saw you again, the space you occupied seemed clearer than everything around it.

he did not call it interest, he certainly did not call it affection.

but something was shifting quietly, and zayne, for all his discipline, did not notice the moment observation became affection.

—

zayne did not know how it had come to this.

you were in his arms, your face pressed against his chest as your shoulders shook.

it had yet to sink in, that you were here, trusting him with something so unguarded.

it had been nothing more than a routine night patrol. he had not expected to find you in the darkest part of the city, alone, and crying. he hadn’t even finished calling your name.

the moment his hand brushed your shoulder, you turned and wrapped your arms around him, as if your body had decided before your mind could stop it.

and zayne froze at that. so carefully, he settled a hand against your arm. he did not speak. he only let you cry, a handkerchief already clenched in his other hand as he rubbed slow, grounding circles, as if afraid that any sudden movement might shatter you.

time passed, he wasn’t sure how long, and eventually, your breathing steadied. you pulled away at once, stepping back as if you had crossed a line.

“i’m sorry,” you said quietly. “that was.. improper.”

before he could respond, he was already holding the handkerchief out to you. his name was embroidered neatly along the corner.

you stared at it for a moment. then, without warning, he stepped closer again.

“would you take it,” he said, voice low, “or shall i wipe them myself?”

a soft, disbelieving laugh slipped past you before you accepted it, pressing the cloth to your face.

“what happened?” he asked.

the question made the night fall silent. even your breathing stilled.

what had happened? you searched for an answer and found none. you had been walking, you remembered that much, and then everything had simply become too heavy to carry.

“i don’t know,” you admitted, voice hoarse. “i think.. i think I’ve lost it.” you said, fingers tightened around the handkerchief.

and then the words began to spill, unplanned, as if zayne is just one of the ghosts you had spoke in your mind.

“i just—” you laughed softly, bitterly. “i keep wondering when i’ll finally be enough for someone. you know what i mean?” you said and looked at him, only to look away just as quickly.

of course he wouldn’t. he had grown up complete, and wanted.

"i suppose you wouldn’t,” you murmured and straightened, smoothing your cloak as if nothing had happened.

“i’ll have this returned by morning, your highness.”

“there’s no need to rush,” he replied.

“thank you,” you said, meeting his gaze with a small smile.

you? smiling at him? it caught him completely off guard.

“w—well, i—” he faltered, a hand lifting to the back of his neck as he looked away. “It’s dangerous to be out alone at this hour. allow me to escort you—”

“that won’t be necessary.” your tone shifted politely. “i won’t be going home just yet,” you added under your breath.

“then where are you headed at this time of the night?” he asked, and you avoided his eyes.

“i’m afraid that is none of your concern, your highness.”

because as much as you wanted someone beside you, just for a little longer, you had learned better than to ask. you had always handled things on your own.

you could do it again.

“please,” you said quietly, already stepping back, “excuse me.”

he remained where he stood long after you had disappeared into the dark.

the street was empty again, too empty.

only then did he lower his gaze to his hand, the one that had rested against your arm. his fingers curled slowly, feeling the absence where warmth had been moments ago.

it unsettled him.

he had offered comfort without thought, without reason. zayne exhaled. it meant nothing, he told himself.

and yet, his hand did not unclench for a long while.

.

.

.

“in matters of alliance, someone like princess aurelia would be far more suitable.”

the words surfaced without warning.

zayne’s gaze rested on the documents spread across his desk, though he had stopped reading them long ago.

then a knock came.

he blinked, the present snapping back into place as the door of his study opened.

“apologies, your highness,” louis said as the door opened. “i knocked several times. you did not answer.”

“it’s fine,” zayne replied. “what is it?”

“her grace has arrived,” louis said. “she is requesting your presence.”

-

the balcony was quiet when he arrived. his mother sat at the table, serene as ever. across from her sat princess aurelia’s mother, equally composed.

and across her is aurelia herself.

she looked up as he approached, hands steady around her teacup, her expression calm as ever.

“zayne,” his mother said, gesturing to the empty chair beside Aurelia. “come and sit.”

“it’s good to see you, mother,” he said, bowing before taking his seat.

“i called you here because our guests wished to see you,” she explained as zayne inclined his head toward aurelia and her mother.

“you’ve grown quite handsome,” aurelia’s mother said with a smile. “time has certainly been kind to you.”

his mother smiled as well, though there was something deliberate in it. “time does not wait,” she said. “yiur father is growing old, and soon, the responsibilities he carries will be passed down to you.”

“i’ll be brief,” she said, folding her hands together. zayne listened.

“much of the responsibility will soon fall to you,” she continued. “the estates. the council matters. everything your father has carried until now.” she said. “and with that,” she added, “it is time you begin considering a wife.” the words settled heavily as he shifted uncomfortably

beside him, aurelia remained silent.

“we have spoken at length,” his mother said, nodding toward aurelia’s mother. “and we believe it would be wise to formalize an arrangement between our families.”

an alliance, a continuation, something suitable.

zayne opened his mouth to respond, but then, unbidden, a different image surfaced.

a smile had appeared before his eyes, as if it had slipped out.

your smile.

the thought struck him so suddenly that he faltered, just for a moment.

“what do you think?” his mother asked.

—

“mother.”

zayne’s voice came out quieter than he intended, as if he were a child again, standing before her with scraped knees and unfinished lessons. yet, she did not turn to face him.

“i am disappointed, zayne,” his mother said calmly. “i hope you would reconsider.” she said as he lowered his gaze.

“the truth is—” he began, then stopped.

his fingers curled slowly at his side.

for a brief moment, doubt settled in his chest. he was not ready. not for vows. there were still things he did not know. still conversations left unspoken.

still you.

when his mother finally turned toward him, he lifted his head.

“there is someone i wish to marry,” zayne said at last, not with certainty, but with resolve, and her eyes widened.

she stepped closer at once, surprise quickly giving way to something almost relieved. “is that so?” she asked, a smile threatening to form. “tell me— who is she?”

zayne looked down at his hand his mother was holding. he hesitated for a bit before he finally looked at her.

“the youngest daughter of the (L/N) family.”

the change was immediate.

his mother took a step back, her expression shifting, not to anger, not to refusal, but to something he couldn't explain.

“son..” she murmured.

she reached for him, pulling him into an embrace that lingered longer than usual, as though she were holding onto something slipping through her fingers.

“not yet,” zayne added, his voice barely above a breath. “i am still trying to win her heart.” still trying to understand it himself.

she did not answer right away.

when she finally spoke, her voice was low and careful.

“zayne,” she said, almost regretfully, “i do not wish to say this.” her hands rested against his arms, steady but hesitant.

“but i am afraid that the youngest daughter.. would not be suitable for you.”

the words were gentle, but their meaning was not.

—

“can’t sleep?” zayne’s father murmured when he felt the mattress shift beside him.

his wife exhaled quietly.

“our son.”

he turned his head toward her. “what about him? did he refuse the succession?”

“no,” she said. “it’s.. it's worse.” there was a pause. “he wants to marry her.” and then silence.

“who?” he asked at last.

“the (L/N) family's youngest daughter.”

for a brief moment, zayne’s father looked genuinely surprised. then his shoulders eased as he sighed, staring up at the ceiling.

“our son can choose whoever he wishes to marry,” he said carefully. “that much is beyond our control now.”

“but she has no evol,” his wife whispered. "didn't we already declined the alliance years ago? how come, they still found each other?"

the words sat heavily between them.

"that's something we couldn't control. it's destined to happen." his father said.

she turned to him, searching his face.

“you truly think so?” he nodded slowly.

“i never wanted to force zayne into a marriage he does not want. i was only thinking of the future of our family.”

“and our son?” she asked quietly.

he smiled faintly. “i know him. with or without a wife, he will find his own way.”

you couldn’t quite place it, only that after your first encounter with him, something in you began to ache.

it didn’t demand to be named. it simply lingered, heavy and familiar, settling in your chest every time you saw him from afar.

you watched him often. not intentionally, not in a way that could be called longing. it just.. happened.

across corridors, through open balconies, at gatherings where you stood at the edges and he stood where everyone naturally gravitated toward.

zayne li was easy to notice. you told yourself it meant nothing. that admiration was harmless, especially when kept at a distance. especially when it was never acted upon.

yet every time your eyes found him, there was that same, quiet pull, as if you were remembering something you were never allowed to keep.

you never approached him. you learned early that wanting did not grant permission.

when he invited you to a small dinner, the brief, startled happiness that bloomed in your chest frightened you more than it should have. it was gone just as quickly, replaced by the familiar weight of reality.

standing beside him made you feel small. not because he made you feel that way, but because you remembered how little space you were allowed to take.

you told yourself that if not for the noble blood in your veins, he would have never noticed you at all. that whatever attention he gave you was temporary, circumstantial, easily redirected.

so you stayed where you belonged. at a distance, because watching was safer than hoping.

and that was how it ended with you in a dark alley, the night heavy around you, everything you had been holding in finally spilling over.

you didn’t know when it happened. only that at some point, standing still became too much.

when you felt a hand on your shoulder, you looked up without thinking. as if you had done it before.

you didn’t mean to step closer. you didn’t mean to reach for him. but the moment your eyes met his, restraint failed you. you embraced him.

it was brief. you knew how improper it was, and yet it felt terrifyingly right. his touch was careful, unsure, as if he didn’t want to frighten you away.

and for the first time, you allowed yourself to cry in someone’s presence. not because he asked, but because he stayed.

you felt seen in a way you hadn’t in years, and it scared you enough to pull back the moment you could breathe again.

the whispers returned immediately. you couldn’t stay. you couldn’t let him see too much. if he ever knew what you truly were, you were certain his gaze would change.

everyone did.

so you did what you had always done. you stepped away.

when you left him that night, you didn’t go far.

you hid, watching from the shadows as he stood there for a moment longer than necessary, as if unsure whether he should follow.

you pressed his handkerchief to your chest.

loving him, if that was what this was, had always meant watching from afar, and letting him walk away.

—

what’s wrong?” a voice asked, startling you, heart leaping into your throat. before you could think, you pushed yourself up and ran.

“h–hey!” the boy called, but you didn’t turn back.

you didn’t stop until you reached the garden of your residence. your legs finally gave in, and you sat on the grass, hugging one knee to your chest. the wound stung when you moved it.

you looked down. your knee was scraped, skin broken and red.

you leaned forward, blowing softly over it. it still hurts. maybe more than it should have as tears blurred your vision.

“don’t cry.” the voice was quieter this time.

you looked up, the boy from earlier was standing there, a little out of breath, eyes wide with worry.

before you could tell him to leave, he sat down in front of you, close enough that your knees almost touched.

he reached into his pocket and pulled out a neatly folded white handkerchief.

“don’t!” you shook your head quickly, pressing your palm over the wound. “it’ll get dirty.” you said as he frowned, as if that hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“that’s okay,” he said. “it’s just a handkerchief.” he said and you watched him. “my mother says you have to clean wounds,” he continued gently. “or they get worse.”

carefully— so carefully, he moved your hand aside and you flinched when the cloth touched your skin.

“sorry,” he said right away, panic flickering in his eyes. “did I hurt you?” you nodded, small and embarrassed.

he slowed even more then, wiping around the wound instead of directly over it, blowing softly when you winced, as if that might help.

his brows were furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, completely serious about it.

when he was done, he wrapped the handkerchief around your knee and tied it.

“there,” he said, relief clear in his voice. “it should feel better now.”

it did. not the wound, but your chest.

he stood and held his hand out to you without thinking twice.

“come on,” he said. “let’s find your nurse, okay?”

you stared at his hand for a moment before placing yours in it, and his hand was warm.

“and— um,” he added, glancing back at you with a shy smile, “i’m zayne, what’s your name?”

.

.

.

you woke up slowly, heart aching for reasons you couldn’t explain.

the feeling lingered as you sat up and crossed the room, opening a drawer you hadn’t touched in years. inside lay an old handkerchief.

you lifted it, fingers brushing over the familiar embroidery.

zayne.

your breath caught. your eyes drifted to the bedside table, where another handkerchief rested, his name stitched the same way.

you held both now.

one from when you were small enough to believe someone could care without reason. and one from last night.

your chest tightened. so he had always been like this.

you smiled, placing the handkerchief close to your chest. and somehow, maybe you were the only one who remembered.

—

"there you two are!" a maid’s cheerful voice broke through the quiet of the garden. she stepped between the two of you, her hands reaching out to catch yours and zayne’s, swinging them playfully.

"they’ve been looking for you both. it’s time for lunch."

as the three of you approached the dining area, the maid let go, bowing low as she retreated into the shadows of the hall.

you and zayne stood there for a moment, blinking at the bright light of the room, confused as you saw his mother gesturing to you with a gentle wave of her hand.

he nodded, a small smile playing on his lips as he took your hand in his, his grip firm and steady as he pulled you toward the table.

"where have you two been? didn’t i tell you not to run off, zayne?" his mother scolded him gently, though the look in her eyes was fond.

zayne simply scratched the back of his head, looking down at his boots.

"i apologize, mother."

"take your seat, the two of you," she said, smoothing the tablecloth.

it wasn't a rare occasion. if you counted correctly, the li family joined yours for a meal at least thrice a week.

back then, you were too young to understand the heavy conversations the adults had over wine and silver platters.

you only heard fragments of words like alliance and future. they were getting to know each other because of a plan, a plan that centered entirely on you and zayne.

in the future, when you both reached the right age, you were expected to step up together.

you didn't know what "stepping up" meant, but zayne seemed to understand.

every time his family visited, you were the first person he looked for. and being two years older, he had always been protective of you, standing a little taller whenever you were around, as if he were already practicing his role as your shield.

you had known him for nearly a year. your lives were woven together. and then, without warning, the visits stopped.

on a random day, the carriage with the li family crest simply didn't appear. and it never came back.

that was when the world turned cold. you never understood why your family started looking at you differently.

your mother, who used to spend every morning carefully tying your hair and humming to you, started dismissing you with a curt wave.

your father, who used to listen to your ramblings, began to ignore your requests, telling you that such things didn't matter anymore.

even your brother, who used to drag you away from zayne just to protect his only sister, changed.

he stopped playing. he stopped laughing. he focused entirely on his studies, looking past you as if you were a shadow on the wall.

it was only when you came of age that the crushing truth finally settled in your bones. you realized why zayne stopped coming. you realized why your family treated you like a guest they were waiting to leave.

you were nothing.

in a world that worshipped the evol, you were a useless child born with no power. you were discarded because you held no praise-worthy strength.

you were weak, and in the eyes of high-society families, the weak were invisible.

so you learned to know your place. you distanced yourself from the family that no longer wanted you, retreating into the estate’s library or your study room.

you stayed there for years, surrounded by dust and ink, teaching yourself everything the world refused to show you.

what else could you do when everyone had deprived you of a life?

and just as you felt you could finally handle the loneliness.. you saw him again.

zayne.

he was a man now, regal and powerful, carrying the weight of his family’s expectations with ease.

perhaps he didn't recognize you, and you told yourself that was fine. you were just kids back then, it was just a memory easily forgotten once you turn adult, once someone stopped caring about the past.

but you were the only one who remembered. you remembered that the alliance was supposed to be about the two of you.

you were supposed to be wedded to him.

but his family had found out you were powerless and decided you weren't the best option for their prodigy.

that is why you feel so small when he stands beside you. because compared to the man who was built to be powerful, you were the one who was built to be forgotten.

zayne stood before the head of the (L/N) household, posture straight, expression composed.

“i have come with a request,” he said.

your father regarded him. “if this concerns alliance or favor, it would be better discussed another time.”

“it does not,” zayne replied.

that alone drew a pause.

“i have heard,” he continued evenly, “that lady (name) is proficient in reading ancestral scripts, particularly those written in older dialects.”

your father’s lips thinned.

“that is hardly a skill worth troubling the li heir with,” he said. “and besides—” his gaze sharpened, “she has no evol.” the words were spoken plainly, casually, as if that settled everything.

but zayne did not react. “that is not what i asked,” he said and silence followed. “i am not requesting her strength,” zayne continued, voice calm, unyielding. “only her knowledge.”

your father scoffed lightly. “you have scholars for such matters.”

“i do,” zayne agreed. “none who have been able to read them.”

another pause, longer this time.

“she will only be assisting,” zayne added. “under supervision, and with your permission.”

your father studied him for a moment, something unreadable crossing his face, before he exhaled sharply.

“if you insist,” he said. “she has little else of use.”

zayne bowed.

“then i thank you,” he simply said and left without ever once denying what had been said.

—

you were summoned without explanation.

when your father finally spoke, it was with the same tone he used for matters that did not concern him personally.

“the li heir has requested your assistance,” he said. “you will accompany him when called.”

for a moment, you didn’t understand.

the words settled slowly, unreal at first. and then, something stirred in your chest, light enough that it startled you.

you hadn’t realized how long it had been since anyone had asked for you.

you felt it then, the faint lift at the corners of your mouth, the barely-there hope you hadn’t guarded fast enough.

and your father noticed as his gaze sharpened.

“do not misunderstand,” he said. “this is not an opportunity.”

the warmth in your chest stilled.

“you are being permitted,” he continued, “nothing more.” he said and you lowered your eyes. “and do not embarrass this family,” he added. “you are already enough of a disappointment as you are.”

the words landed without force. they didn’t need to.

“yes, father,” you responded respectfully.

when you left the room, whatever had sparked inside you was already gone.

—

the carriage was waiting in front of the residence.

zayne stood beside it, posture straight, expression unreadable. he turned when he saw you approach and gave a small nod.

“lady (name),” he greeted.

you returned the gesture and stepped inside without a word.

the ride passed in silence. the sound of the wheels against stone filled the space between you.

you kept your hands folded in your lap, gaze fixed ahead, afraid that if you looked at him, something would give you away.

zayne did not speak. neither did you.

when the carriage finally stopped and you stepped down onto unfamiliar ground, and drew in a quiet breath.

this was not a kindness, it was not a chance. but as you followed him inside, you made yourself a promise anyway.

you would do this properly. you would do this well. if nothing else, you would prove, to him, to them, or perhaps only to yourself, that you were not nothing.

.

.

.

you stayed, longer than you expected.

what was meant to be a temporary arrangement stretched into days, then weeks, until a month had passed.

the work continued steadily, and you learned the rhythm of the place. the hours when the halls were quiet.

and zayne, he never treated your presence as anything but necessary.

until one evening, he called for you.

you found him standing by the desk, an unfamiliar parchment laid open before him, its edges were worn, the ink uneven, as though written in haste.

“i was told you might be able to read this,” he said, stepping aside to let you see.

you leaned closer, and froze. the words were old, it was personal, handwritten, and intimate..

your breath caught.

“what does it say?” zayne asked.

you didn’t answer at once. your fingers hovered over the page, suddenly unsure.

“i—it’s…” your voice faltered. you cleared your throat, trying again. “it’s a love letter, your highness.”

“a love letter?” he echoed, surprised, but not amused. “would you read it for me?”

you hesitated and looked at him.

in the months you had stayed within the cold, silent walls of their estate, the distance between you felt like an ocean.

zayne never once spoke to you, but not entirely. his voice only ever reached you when he required your service, asking you to read through the ancient scripts he found.

and that was alright. you were summoned here for that job alone, and nothing else.

you began softly, carefully, translating the opening lines, how the writer first met their beloved, by chance, in passing. how they spoke briefly. how that briefness lingered longer than it should have.

your voice steadied as you continued.

the letter spoke of distance, of difference. of being told again and again that the beloved was less than others, and your chest tightened as you read on.

whatever you are, the words said, whatever the world insists you lack— know that none of it lessens you in my eyes. if you stand in shadow, then i will stand with you.

your vision blurred. you didn’t realize your voice had begun to shake until the next word broke entirely.

and zayne was beside you in an instant.

“lady (name)?” he said quietly. “are you—”

you shook your head quickly, lifting a hand to your face.

“i’m fine,” you said, though your eyes burned. “i—sorry. i was just.. moved by the letter.”

moved was an understatement. you had read histories of war, records of loss, promises made to nations. but never words like these.

words you had spent your life pretending you did not need.

zayne watched you for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

“it was my grandfather's letter to my grandmother. i did not expect it to be so..” he paused, searching for the word, “..honest.”

you folded the parchment carefully, handing it back to him with hands that trembled only slightly.

“it is,” you said softly.

and you did not say what you were really thinking.

that you had waited your entire life to hear words like those, that even now, you did not believe they could ever be meant for you.

zayne’s eyes lingered on you a moment longer than necessary.

and maybe, you should have stepped back. that was the sensible thing to do after the letter. yet somehow, you didn’t.

he was the first one to reach out, hesitantly, his thumb brushing the tears on your cheek. light and careful, enough to make your pulse stutter.

“are you truly all right?” he asked and you nodded, his breath shallow.

too close. he was too close.

the space between you shrank further, without anyone moving intentionally.

your hand pressed flat against his chest, and his other hand found your waist, firm and grounding, as though anchoring you there.

and everything happened too fast.

the hand at your cheek lingered. his thumb tracing a line you felt everywhere.

neither of you spoke. and then, before either of you realized it, he was leaning in.

your eyes widened, but then you swallowed and shut your lashes.

he felt it, the faintest brush, the ghost of your lips meeting his. just that, nothing more.

until the door burst open, ruining the moment, the sound shattered the moment completely.

you sprang back as if burned, your hand falling from his chest, his grasp loosening instantly.

zayne turned sharply toward the door, expression already composed, but his pulse had not slowed.

and neither of you spoke of how close it had been.

—

it was the same night and yet, you couldn’t sleep.

no matter how you turned, how tightly you shut your eyes, the memory followed, how close he had been, how his breath had brushed yours, how his lips had almost touched yours.

you remembered the way you had fled his study afterward, heat rushing to your face as you nearly collided with louis, who had apparently been knocking the entire time, unaware that neither of you had heard him at all.

even now, standing beneath the cold night breeze on the balcony, your body still feels warm.

only then did you realize you were smiling, and you lightly slapped your cheeks, as if snapping yourself back to reality.

that must have been a mistake, a momentary lapse. certainly not something you deserved.

maybe tomorrow, you would apologize for crossing a line you should never have stepped near.

but tomorrow never came.

because just as you turned to return to your room, a presence behind you made you freeze.

zayne stood at the entrance of the balcony.

your breath caught as he approached slowly, and without realizing it, you stepped back, until your hips met the stone railings.

in an instant, his hands were on you, one firm around your waist, the other catching your arm before you could fall down the balcony.

“look out,” he said, and the closeness stole the air from your lungs.

you pulled away at once, taking a careful step back to the side, lowering your head as you put distance between you, distance that felt necessary, even if it hurt.

“what are you doing?” he asked. then, more firmly, “lift your head at once.”

“i need to apologize,” you said quickly, voice small, and still, you didn’t look up. “for earlier. i— never meant to cross your boundaries, your highness. please forgive me.”

suddenly, it was silent, and it stretched long enough for your chest to tighten.

when you finally dared to look up, zayne wasn’t looking at you. his gaze was fixed on the floor, jaw tight, as if he were weighing something carefully.

“your highness?”

“zayne,” he said and your breath stuttered. “call me by my name.” his voice was low, almost hesitant, as if the words were meant only for you.

“but—”

“don’t you understand?” he cut in.

you shook your head faintly. “i.. i don’t.”

“i adore you.” the words sounded almost fragile as they left him, and it left you speechless. “did you think i asked for your help with those scripts simply because of your skill?” he said, and you stared at him, stunned.

“i couldn’t think of any other way to be close to you,” he continued, voice gaining urgency. “if not for this, you would have kept avoiding me.”

he said and took a step closer to you

“i'm still trying to understand it, but i know that i'm starting to want you, (name).” he said so casually that you didn't know what to say.

“i—” your voice trembled as reality pressed in all at once.

why you? how could it be you?

tears spilled before you could stop them, your hands flew to your face as your shoulders shook.

and zayne didn’t hesitate. he pulled you into his arms, holding you close, his hand rubbing slow circles into your back. he didn’t ask permission, he simply stayed.

and that terrified you.

because would he think if he found out? if he knew what you truly lacked?

you had never spoken of your evol. he had never asked whenever you're with him in his study, and you had been grateful for that silence.

but now— now that silence felt dangerous.

still..

just this once..

would it hurt to be selfish?

“zayne,” you whispered.

he stilled. you felt it, the way his body softened at the sound of his name in your voice.

he pulled back slightly, just enough to see you.

your cheeks were tearstained, your smile gentle, but unsteady.

“i..” you hesitated, fingers tightening around his hand as if grounding yourself. “i want to be with you, zayne.” you whispered, as if it was a secret between you and him.

“look at me,” he said softly, and you did.

“say it again,” he asked, almost pleading, turning his gaze away as if afraid to hope too much.

a quiet laugh escaped you, fragile and unsure.

“i.. want to be with you.”

the words were real, your choice was real, but somewhere beneath it all, fear still lingered.

and zayne, lost in the sound of your confession, never noticed the way your grip trembled in his hand.

you stayed in his arms a little longer than you intended.

the warmth, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your hand, it grounded you, yet stirred something deeper, something you had spent your whole life keeping at bay.

you wanted to say something— anything. but the words caught in your throat.

not about your feelings, they were out, but the truth about yourself. that secret you would guard, for now.

you pulled back just slightly, enough to meet his gaze, the faintest blush still brushed your cheeks.

“i..” your voice barely rose above a whisper.

he tilted his head, a question in his eyes.

but you only shook your head gently, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on your lips.

“it's nothing,” you murmured.

zayne didn’t press. he didn’t need to.

just being close, just feeling this, was enough for both of you.

and the world seemed to shrink until there was nothing but the space between your bodies.

your hands rested lightly on his chest, heart thrumming so loudly you were sure he could feel it.

his hands were tentative at first, one at your waist, the other cupping your cheek, warm and reassuring.

and then.. slowly, as if the universe itself had leaned in to pause the moment, he lowered his head.

your breath caught, your eyes widened, fluttering shut almost instinctively.

the first brush of his lips was soft, like he didn’t want to scare you away. but it was everything you had waited for.

you melted into it, letting go of the hesitation you had clung to all your life. for just this one moment, you were his, and he was yours.

he lingered, pressing his forehead to yours after, hands still holding you steady, and neither of you spoke or moved.

the silence was not awkward, it was sacred.

you felt the world outside the balcony fade away.

just the two of you remained.

and for the first time, maybe, you believed that it didn’t matter who you were or what the world said.

because here, in his arms, you were enough.

and he would never know, at least not yet, about the other truth you carried.

for now, you stayed there, caught between hesitation and hope, while zayne held you like he had already chosen you.

and didn’t intend to let go.

.

.

.

"zayne?" you called softly. he hummed in response, and almost instantly, his hand found yours in the dim light of the carriage. his grip was warm, a stark contrast to the wintry air outside.

"what is it?" he asked, his voice low and attentive.

you looked at your joined hands, then up at him. You felt a lump in your throat. "can i ask you a favor?"

"of course," he responded, and you took a deep breath.

"can we... can we keep this a secret? for now."

zayne raised his eyebrows, the silent question hanging between you. but, he didn't look angry, just curious.

"it’s not like i—" you struggled to find the words.

how could you tell him that you felt like a thief? that all your life, you had been taught that you didn't deserve to hold onto something precious?

you were afraid that if the world found out you were happy, they would realize their mistake and take it all back.

"if that’s what you want," zayne said. a small, tender smile painted his face, and his thumb reached up to caress your cheek.

he didn't push for reasons, he simply accepted your fear as his own.

"it’s just.. i don't know how to say it to everyone," you mumbled, looking down. "i mean, i am so delighted that you.." you looked back at him with pure, raw adoration, with your voice trembling. "someone as powerful as you.. would choose someone like me. i’m just scared." you let out a soft, nervous laugh. "i hope you’re not mad."

"why would i be?" he responded gently. "i want to make you feel as comfortable as you need to be. we don’t have to rush things, (name). if you want this to be just ours, then it is." he said before reaching into his coat and pulled out a small, box.

slowly, he opened it to reveal a ring, a delicate band with a stone that sparkled like a trapped star.

"zayne..?"

"this is a promise," he whispered, sliding the ring onto your finger. it felt heavy with a weight you weren't sure you could carry, but the warmth of his hand over yours kept you still. "for our future. whether it is a secret or not, it belongs to you."

"woah!" you let out a small gasp as the carriage wheels struck a large stone. the jolt sent your body tilting sideways, and you fell right against him.

zayne didn't let go. instead, he used the momentum to pull you closer, wrapping his arms around you to keep you steady.

"thank you, zayne," you whispered, finally letting out the breath you had been holding. he returned your smile,l.

the carriage eventually came to a halt. zayne stepped down first, his hand extended to help you out with the grace he always carried.

together, you walked into the estate and straight toward your father’s study.

the heavy oak door is opened, revealing your father sitting behind his desk, surrounded by piles of documents.

"we’ve returned, father," you said, stepping into the room.

zayne offered a respectful bow, his voice formal yet steady. "i appreciate you letting us borrow (name) for quite a while.”

your father looked up from his papers. his gaze was usually so sharp, so dismissive, but today, it was different.

"it’s nothing that big," he said, waving a hand. "borrow her as much as you want."

zayne bowed again and turned to leave. you stood there for a moment, waiting for the usual dismissal, but your eyes met your father’s.

you gulped, bowing your head to hide your nervousness, and turned to follow zayne out.

"did you enjoy your stay there?"

the question hit you like a physical weight. you froze, your eyes widening in complete shock. you turned back, searching his face. your father, the man who had ignored you since the day your lack of evol was discovered, was actually asking about you?

"y-yes, father," you responded, your heart hammering against your ribs.

"very well," he said.

it was short, but there was an unexplainable change in his tone that hadn't been there for years.

before you could say anything else, he was already back to his papers, his head bowed.

"thank you, father." you felt a genuine smile break across your face as you stepped out, closing the door gently.

zayne was waiting in the hallway, his presence a comforting weight.

"i’ll take you out," you said, your steps lighter than they had ever been.

at the gates, you stood with zayne one last time before his carriage left.

"i’ll see you again, zayne," you said, reluctant to let the evening end.

zayne remained silent, but he didn't move. he simply stared at you, his gaze so intense it made your skin tingle with nerves.

"what is it?" you asked.

zayne crossed his arms, and to your surprise, a small, playful pout decorated his face. he looked away, but he didn't budge.

you laughed in disbelief, a sound of pure joy. "what is it, zayne?" you repeated.

slowly, his hand came up and he pointed a finger at his own cheek.

you frowned, though your face started burning.

"what if someone sees us!" you whisper-yelled, looking around the empty gardens, but zayne stood there like a statue, unmoving, his expression telling you he wasn't going anywhere until he got his way.

taking a quick, nervous breath, you leaned in.

but before your lips could touch his cheek, he turned to face you. and there, your lips met his.

you were quick to pull away, your hand flying to cover half of your face.

“you—!” you exclaimed and he smiled teasingly.

"goodbye, my love," he said, his voice full of a warmth that made your knees weak.

he smiled one last time before entering the carriage.

my love..

you were sure you looked like a tomato as you bolted back into the house. and as you reached your room, you leaned against the door, your heart racing.

for the first time in your life, you felt like the stars had aligned just for you. it felt like everything was finally in your favor, as if, maybe, you were finally allowed to be happy.

weeks that followed felt like a dream you were afraid to wake up from. the heavy silence of the (L/N) estate was broken not by scolding, but by the quiet scratch of a quill and the rustle of parchment.

your father had started changing. it wasn't a sudden transformation into a doting parent, but it was something perhaps more significant.

he started to rely on you.

one afternoon, he had called you into his study. not to dismiss you, but to point at a stack of ledgers.

"your brother is busy with his martial training and political studies to become the next head," he said, his voice gruff. "but this house.. it needs an eye for detail. someone who can manage the internal affairs, the staff, and the accounts. i think you are capable of it."

it wasn't the role of an heir, but it was a purpose.

you weren't just a powerless daughter anymore, you were the gears that kept the mansion running.

you took the job with a fervor, finally feeling a sliver of the respect you had craved your entire life.

but with your new duties came a price, you could no longer steal away to the capital to see zayne.

letters became your lifeline. they were delivered in secret, tucked away in your apron or hidden beneath your pillow.

in person, zayne was described as a man of cold marble and few words, but in his letters, he was the opposite.

one evening, after a long day of settling disputes, a letter arrived with the li family seal.

you retreated to your room, your heart racing as you broke the wax.

inside, tucked into the folds of the parchment, was a snowflake pendant.

-

to (name) my love,

the capital feels colder without you. the air in my study remains still. i find myself looking toward the gates every hour, expecting to see your carriage cresting the hill, only to be met with the gray, silence of the sky. i miss you. it feels as though a part of my very soul is missing when we are not together.

i have been worried. you haven't been going out like usual, and the city feels empty without the hope of catching a glimpse of you. tell me, how are you? is the work at the estate taxing you too much? i know how diligent you are, but please, do not let your father’s demands drain the light from your eyes.

accept this pendant. wear it always and take it as a piece of me.

whenever the world feels too loud or you feel alone, remember that i am always standing beside you.

this snowflake was designed specifically for you. it is the only one in existence, just as you are the only one for me. i hope to see you soon, for my days are merely a countdown until i can hold you again.

yours always,

zayne li

-

you clutched the letter to your chest, a tear of pure joy escaping.

you sat down at your desk immediately, your own quill flying across the paper.

-

dearest zayne,

please do not worry. my father has asked for my help in managing the household. it is a heavy task, and i am learning everything as i go, which is why i haven't been able to visit.

i am wearing the pendant now. it feels like a piece of you is here with me. i love it more than i can say.

i will finish my work quickly so that i may see you soon. i miss you more than words allow me to write."

-

as you sealed the envelope, you looked at the ring on your finger and the pendant at your neck.

your father was finally seeing your value, and zayne, he made you feel loved.

right now, you felt invincible. you felt like, for once, the world was finally—finally, on your side.

you had no idea that the consequences were already at your door.

you wanted to surprise him. 

the work at the estate had finally eased, and the longing to see zayne was a physical ache in your chest. 

you wore the same cloak you had worn the first time you met him after all those years. the one that hid your identity and made you feel like you could move through the world unseen.

as you strolled through the bustling capital, your eyes searched every corner for that familiar, tall figure. 

you imagined the look on his face when you finally revealed yourself, you imagined the warmth of his embrace.

but as you walked, the air didn't smell like freedom. it smelled like treachery.

the whispers started at the market stalls and followed you like a plague. 

you stopped at a fruit stand, pretending to inspect the apples, your ears ringing as the voices of two noblewomen drifted over to you.

"have you heard? his highness has officially become the head of the li family," one whispered, her voice bubbling with excitement. 

"they say the preparations have already begun."

"the marriage?" the other asked. "who is the lucky lady? 

"i heard it’s princess aurelia. it only makes sense!"

"of course! two powerful people getting married? they would be undefeatable. no one would ever dare stand in their way."

your heart didn't just break, it felt like it was being crushed by an invisible hand. and every word you hear was a needle. 

powerful? undefeatable? none of those words described you.

the snowflake pendant around your neck, suddenly felt like a noose. it grew heavy, and suffocating. 

you tried to continue your stroll, hoping, and praying that you'll find him, to look for answers, but the capital had turned into a nightmare. 

everywhere you looked, people were celebrating a union that meant the end of your world.

zayne here, princess aurelia there. it was killing you.

in the end, you didn't find zayne. you didn't want to anymore. 

you fled back to the estate, the cloak that once offered you comfort now feeling like a shroud.

you burst into your room and slammed the door, and the silence of the walls mocking you. 

was it finally over? had your brief moment of happiness been nothing more than a cruel joke played by the stars?

you thought of the letter you had sent a week ago. the one he never replied to. was that why? 

"i hate this," you sobbed, the sound raw and ugly in the quiet room.

the pain in your chest was too much to bear. in a fit of agonizing despair, you reached for the snowflake necklace. 

you didn't unfasten it. you gripped the silver chain and pulled.

the metal bit into the skin of your neck, a sharp sting of pain, before the link finally snapped. the delicate snowflake, the custom design meant only for you, hit the floor with a clink. 

you collapsed to your knees, staring at the broken jewelry through a blur of tears. 

you knew deep down it wasn't zayne's fault, politics were a monster that consumed everything, but that didn't stop the bleeding. 

you just wished your relationship hadn't gone this far. you wished you had stayed in the library, so that losing him wouldn't feel like losing your very soul.

.

.

.

"your grace."

zayne didn't move at first. he sat in his study, the air around him unnaturally still, his fingers massaging his temples as if he could press away the headache that had been thrumming there for days.

"you’ve received a gift," louis said, standing at the threshold.

"just leave it—" zayne’s said, clearly not interested.

"from lady (name)."

zayne’s hand froze. "from (name)?"

he repeated the name as if it were a spell. 

louis walked in and placed a small, blue-lined box on the desk before bowing and exiting the room. 

zayne stared at the box for a long minute before his trembling fingers finally flipped the lid, and his breath hitched once he opened it.

inside lay a ring and the pendant, ones he gave you. but the pendant was broken. the silver chain was snapped, the snowflake lying lonesome at the bottom of the box.

why?

the question echoed in his mind, and then, like a sudden blizzard, realization hit him. the rumors, the whispers of a marriage to aurelia that had been circulating the capital. 

he had already spent his morning issuing a formal statement, a speech that made it clear the marriage was nothing but a fabrication by the court.

he had done the work, but it was too late. the damage was sitting in a box on his desk.

zayne tried to draw a breath, to calm the storm brewing in his chest, but his emotions were no longer under his control. 

frost began to bloom across the mahogany desk. the windowpanes cracked under the sudden, intense drop in temperature. 

the entire estate grew cold, a physical manifestation of a duke who had finally lost his patience.

-

on the other side of the capital, the (L/N) estate was a hive of activity. the gala, the one your family had arranged, was only a day away, and you had drowned yourself in the preparations. 

you checked the linens, the guest list, and the floral arrangements until your eyes burned.

and every time you returned to your room, the letter was there.

it sat on your vanity, the li family seal mocking you. you had received it a night after returning the box, but you dared not open it. you couldn't. 

your eyes were already puffy and raw from crying all night. you knew that reading his words would only break what little was left of your resolve.

it had been two days since you returned the gifts. 

you told yourself you had to do it. you couldn't keep his vows while the rest of the world was preparing his wedding to a princess.

as you watched the sunset from your window, you couldn't stop the comparisons. 

everyone in town was right. zayne and aurelia.. they were a perfect pair, a union that seemed carved by the gods themselves. 

and what about you?

if zayne was to marry you, what could you possibly offer him? 

aside from a love that had no power to protect him, you had nothing. you were a liability.

"maybe in another life," you whispered to the empty room, your voice cracking.

you forced yourself to believe that this was what was best for him. 

you tried to tell your heart that leaving him was the ultimate act of love, because that was the only way you could survive the thought of him being better off without you.

"why are you just sitting there, (name)? guests are already arriving in the hall." your brother’s voice was like a whip crack through the door.

he knocked once, not a request for entry, but a command to obey.

"i’m not feeling very well, brother. can i—"

"no, you cannot, (name)." he cut you off, his tone icy. "mother and father left this job to us. do not be a baby and get out. now."

you sighed, the sound catching in your throat as you stood up.

you smoothed the heavy silk of your skirt, checking the mirror one last time.

you opened the door to find your brother’s face twisted in irritation. he didn't ask if you were okay, he simply scoffed and turned toward the hall.

you followed him, every step feeling like you were walking towards your death.

it was true that you felt physically ill, but the source wasn't a fever, it was the knowledge that zayne was down there. and you didn't think you could survive seeing him.

the moment you stepped into the blinding light of the grand hall, your breath left you.

the universe was cruel. because out of all the people in that crowded, shimmering hall, the first eyes you met were his.

hazel-green eyes, piercing and intense, staring up at you from the ground floor. zayne stood there, looking as regal as a king, his gaze locking onto yours with a force that made your knees buckle.

you looked away instantly. you couldn't bear the weight of his stare, not when you were convinced he was already slipping through your fingers.

as you descended the stairs, a swarm of noblewomen already circled your brother, chirping like birds.

you moved to the front of the hall, painting a fake smile on your face. you greeted guests, accepted hollow compliments, and played the part of the perfect host, all while your heart was screaming.

as the gala officially began, your brother took the stage. his speech was practiced, announcing his future as the heir, but the moment that broke you was when he congratulated zayne on officially taking the lead of the li family.

suddenly, zayne was being ushered to the front.

he was forced to stand right beside you.

the air between you crackled. you could feel his hand twitching at his side, almost as if he were trying to reach for yours.

but the eyes of the entire kingdom were on you both. you took a subtle step to the side, widening the gap between you.

you didn't look at him, but you could feel his confusion radiating.

the celebration continued and zayne was pulled back into the crowd by elder lords and diplomats, as the choir began to sing.

to your ears, the music was nothing but a dull, discordant blur.

and then, the room went silent.

the doors opened, and she, princess aurelia entered.

she didn't just walk, she seemed to glow, her aura of power catching the light of every chandelier.

and you couldn't help it. you looked at zayne. and just like everyone else in the room, his eyes were already on her.

your heart felt like it had been turned to lead.

you watched her move through the crowd, a goddess among mortals, while you stood on the sidelines.

you closed your eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath, and when you opened them again, he was now looking at you.

his eyebrows were furrowed, his expression dark and searching. he then took a step toward you. then another.

he was cutting through the crowd, determined to reach you.

you stumbled back, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe. you didn't want to hear his excuses. you didn't want to hear him say her name.

but zayne was stopped. a group of noblewomen swarmed him, laughing and pulling him back.

at the same time, others were ushering aurelia toward the center of the floor. the crowd began to chant, a low rhythm that grew into a roar: "dance! dance!"

It was a tradition. the two highest-ranking guests were expected to share the first dance. they had to be professional, they had to oblige the crowd’s request.

zayne looked at you one last time, his eyes pleading for you to understand, but what you saw was the perfect pair finally coming together.

of all the expressions you could show him, you only smiled at him.

it wasn't a smile of joy. it was a tragic, beautiful mask, the kind of smile someone gives when they are saying goodbye forever.

he watched as you leaned over to your brother and whispered a few words of dismissal.

you turned and walked toward the small side door of the hall, the one that led into the dark, quiet corridors of the mansion.

hust as you reached the exit, you looked back.

zayne was still standing there, aurelia’s hand in his, but his gaze was still locked on you.

the fake smile vanished, and you let him see it.

the raw, bleeding betrayal in your eyes. you looked at him as if he had pulled the trigger himself.

then, without a word, you slipped into the shadows and left the music behind.

because seeing him hold her was enough to kill you.

.

.

.

the grand hall erupted in a sudden gasp. hundred eyes watched in stunned silence as zayne stood before princess aurelia, his posture rigid.

he offered a deep, formal bow, his voice carrying through the hushed room.

"i must offer my deepest apologies, princess aurelia," he said. "i cannot share this dance with you. for you see.. my heart already belongs to another."

the choir ceased its song mid-note as a storm of whispers took its place.

zayne turned his gaze toward the door where you had vanished, his eyes meeting your brother’s. there was a silent, burning plea in his expression, an unspoken request for passage to follow you.

your brother merely scoffed, averting his gaze as if to wash his hands of the scandal.

"everyone, please continue," your brother announced, clapping his hands to jumpstart the rhythm of the evening.

the guests slowly returned to their business, though their eyes followed zayne as he bowed once more and bolted toward the door.

the hallway was a tunnel of shadows, but as zayne followed the path, it led him to the crisp of the night air.

and there you were, standing upon the stone balcony, staring at the stars. you were silently demanding to know why the fates had chosen to play such a cruel game with your life.

“(name).”

your eyes widened.

you did not need to turn to know the owner of that voice. it was a melody etched into your very soul.

"please.. listen to me—" zayne began, his voice strained.

"what business brings you here?" you interrupted, finally turning to face him. "this wing is prohibited to guests, your grace. your place is in the hall."

as your eyes met his, you felt a sharp sting. your heart felt as if it were being squeezed.

"do not be so cold, my love—"

"please," you cut him off for the second time, your breath hitching. "refrain from calling me that."

zayne did not speak. instead, he closed the distance between you with slow steps.

to your shock, he lowered himself, placing one knee upon the cold stone. he took your hand in his, his touch like fire against your skin, and pressed a lingering kiss to your knuckles.

"please," he pleaded, the word echoing with a raw, desperate weight. "i beg of you.. listen to me."

the dam you had built around your heart finally broke. the tears you had fought so hard to contain began to fall freely.

"stand up," you mumbled, and he obeyed.

"i would have you know that whatever rumors have reached your ears.. they are not the truth, (name)," he said, searching your face for even a glimmer of belief. "it is you that i desire to be with. only you. there is no one else."

"and I am not good for you," you wept, the words tasting like ash. "everyone is right, zayne. a princess like aurelia would be a suitable match for a man of your stature. not me."

"that is not true."

"we both know it is!" you cried, forcing your hand away from his grip and hiding it behind your back. "I have nothing, zayne! mothing! i am powerless…” you exclaimed, voice faltering as you breath heavily. “i was born with no evol. i am nothing without the blood running through my veins, and compared to her, i am—"

"that is enough!" his sudden command startled you into silence. "who told you that k wanted you for your power?" he asked, his voice shaking with an intensity that pinned you in place. "i want you because i love you. can you not understand that? i have known for a long time that you do not possess an evol. and so what if you do not? a am strong enough to protect both of us."

you were speechless. the world seemed to stop spinning. "but.. how?" you whispered, hiding your face in your palms as the sobs racked your frame.

you felt the solid, familiar warmth of his arms as he pulled you into an embrace.

"alfred told me long ago," he mumbled against your hair, his hand caressing your head to soothe the storm. "before we had even truly spoken.. i already knew. and i did not care."

"you will regret this," you whispered into his chest, finally returning his embrace as if it were the last anchor in the world. "you will regret if you choose me. that is why you must make the right decision now, zayne. choose her... and let me go."

you meant those words with all your soul, yet a tiny, selfish part of you was screaming for him to stay.

silence stretched between you for a long, heavy minute before zayne gently pulled away.

he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs moving in slow circles to wipe away the salt of your tears.

"you are the only one i desire," he vowed, his eyes boring into yours. "if loving you is to be my regret, then i shall carry it with me forever. i will bear it gladly, so long as you are by my side."

you could only hide your face against his chest once more. the words hurt to hear, not because they were cruel, but because they were so beautiful they were agonizing.

"you do not need power to be with me," he murmured. he said, his expression shifting.

"look at me," he commanded, and you did. "no matter what you are, or what they claim you are missing... it does not make you less in my eyes. if you are cast into the dark, then i will simply stand there with you, for eternity if i must.” your breath hitched.

those words.. they were the same ones you had read in the letters of his grandfather. and maybe, it was a vow that ran in his blood.

"you do not understand," you whispered, your voice trembling. "they want a princess for you. i am just.. someone you know."

zayne stepped even closer, resting his forehead against yours. he let out a shaky breath, as if he were feeling every ounce of your pain as his own.

"who cares for what they want?" he mumbled softly. "no one will tell me who i desire, or whom i shall wed. for it is you, (name). It has always been you."

"i will give you more time.. to decide," you whispered.

"i have no need for decisions," he replied instantly. "i choose you. only you."

"will you ever regret it?" you asked, your voice trembling as you looked up at him. "when things get hard, and people start talking.. promise me you won't leave me. promise me you won't realize one day that you made a mistake by choosing me over someone who could give you more."

you couldn't stop the tears from falling, and you gripped his coat tightly, as if you were afraid he would disappear if you let go. you were so used to being the one people gave up on, and the fear of losing him was almost more than you could take.

zayne didn't pull away. instead, he took your hand and pressed it firmly against his chest, right where his heart was beating fast and steady. "i promise you, (name), my love. i promise i’m never going anywhere," he said, his voice soft but very sure. "i do not care about what people say, and i do not care about what you think you can't give me. you are enough for me just as you are. i’m not choosing you because of what you can do for my family, i’m choosing you because i love you. i’ll be right here by your side through everything, and nothing in this world is going to change that. my heart belongs to you, and it always will be."

you finally let out a breath you felt like you’d been holding for years, a small smile appearing through your tears.

zayne leaned down, his hands gently holding your face as he looked at you with so much warmth that it made your heart ache in the best way.

he waited a second, making sure you saw how much he meant it, before he finally leaned in. his lips met yours in a long, sweet kiss that felt like a new beginning.

it was a kiss that made all the pain of the past few days disappear, making you feel safe and loved. you were finally with him, and for that moment, everything felt perfect.

the world had tried to break you, but for a while, it failed.

the news of the marriage had hit the capital like a thunderclap. every noble house whispered about the duke who had chosen a wife without an evol.

they waited for zayne to realize his mistake, for him to grow cold or regretful. but it never happened.

instead, zayne became your protector.

you still remembered the day a high-ranking noble had dared to mock you during a banquet. zayne hadn't just stood up, he had walked to the center of the room.

"let me be very clear," zayne had said, his voice strict. "this woman is my wife, and she is the heart of the li family. if i hear so much as a whisper against her again, i will not hesitate to silence those tongues myself. i do not care for your politics, i only care for her. and i will destroy anyone who dares to make her feel small." he had said.

for a few years, you were happy. you managed the estate, he led with strength, and you finally knew what it felt like to be loved without conditions.

but the peace was temporary. the war came, and with it, a darkness that even zayne’s power couldn't withstand.

and the silence was the worst part.

you sat there in the middle of the ruined room, your dress soaked through with the blood of the only person who ever truly saw you.

you didn't scream anymore, you didn't even sob. you just sat there, cradling zayne’s head in your lap, staring blankly at him.

he was gone, and as you looked down at his pale, still face, you realized that you hadn't just lost a husband or a lover.

you had lost your own life, too.

you were breathing, your heart was beating, but you felt nothing. you were a hollow shell, sitting in a world that had suddenly lost its color.

it felt like you had died right there beside him, and the person left behind was just a ghost waiting for the wind to carry her away.

the sounds of the distant war seemed to fade into a dull, underwater hum.

nothing mattered anymore.

you closed your eyes, pressing your cheek against his cold forehead, wishing the ground would simply open up and take you both.

and then, through the heavy, suffocating silence, you heard it.

it wasn't a human voice. it was a sound that felt like it came from the shadows themselves, a low, rhythmic vibration that seemed to crawl up your spine. it was a whisper, yet it filled the entire room.

"would you like to make a wish?"

your eyes snapped open, but the room was empty.

there was only you, the cold body in your arms, and the darkness that was beginning to swallow the light of the dying candles.

and yet the question hung in the air, heavy with a price you couldn't yet imagine.

You can picture the way the elegist holds the pen, etching away and gradually crafting your star-crossed narrative: they’ve scrawled all the words with bloodied ink. Ripped the edges with laughter, left the paper to yellow with age. A Romanticist’s dark fantasy – a traditional ending that belonged in one of Shakespeare’s tragedies, a cruel fate subjected to you, a side character left to eventually rot away beneath the blinking moonlight. 

Unfortunately, you love Caleb. Fortunately, you love Caleb. You love him because he’s Caleb. You hate him because he’s Caleb. You love him the way Sydney Carton loved Lucie Manette, when he clawed out his own pulsating heart from his dying ribs and willingly served it to her on a silver platter. All without asking for a single thing in return, because she saved him from a life of disgrace. He was already withering, and she rekindled him from ashes into a blazing heap of fire, and that salvation was more than enough to grant her his beautiful devotion.

You think that if Caleb asked for your heart, you’d plate it within seconds – savoring whatever he chose to grow in its place. You’d let him plant asiatic apples – his favorite – inside your ribcage, and let him caramelize them and feed them to you without a second thought. If you struggled to breathe and cough up the bloodied seeds, you think that’s even better. Because it’s Caleb, and you hate him, but worst of all, you love him. And they go hand in hand, your love and hatred, so much so that it hurts. 

MC is a real sweetheart. A pretty thing who brought a noble reason for becoming a UNICORNS Hunter to the Association. You tried so hard to loathe her, you really did, but all your efforts came back futile. Because in reality, why would you hate MC? Because of Caleb? It’s not like she forces him to do anything – he willingly dotes on her. Sometimes she even gets upset because he gets a little too overbearing. Everything Caleb does for her is of his own accord. You are never the first person to be called when things go wrong. Never the first to be worried for. Not the first to be protected the second everything goes awry.

That place has always belonged to her, but Caleb granted her that place of his own free will. MC had never meant any malice towards you, because it was hardly her fault that Caleb chose her. Any hint of animosity was all but a carefully constructed illusion in your own head, because there was none. She had been nothing but kind to you. A real sweetheart.

The necklace around Caleb’s throat is proof of her place; a thin chain, dull silver, worn over by years of being grasped at without a second thought. The crystallized red apple and those dog tags that glint under the sunlight: a constant, unintentional reminder of her ownership and everything that you’re not. You’ve watched him reach for it whenever he’s anxious, fingers curled around it when orders from the Fleet are too heavy, and when his fear slips through the cracks of his carefully crafted composure.

Maybe that’s something you can hate her for, because that necklace serves as a painful admonition and a physical manifestation of all your hurt. You were there before that necklace. That damned necklace. Before any ranks. Before MC became your partner in the Association, another mocking reminder of where you stood within your twisted narrative. Before all your obligations grew teeth and knew how to bite, and sooner or later would swallow you whole.

You remember it now. The memory comes to you, unbidden and sharp and warm all at once, a wilted daffodil resting within the depths of your thoughts that refuses to leave.

It was summer that day, late summer. You remember the season because the apples were in full bloom and Caleb had been counting the days down until he could harvest the fruits that one of Josephine’s trees bore. He promised you that he’d make apple pie just like how she makes it, and you just giggled and told him not to set the fire alarm off again. He said that he never recalled doing such a thing.

The sky was blue, and the apples were a perfect shade of red, and you wished they would respectively stay blue and red forever. For those colors to never darken or fade, and hoping that one day, they would merge and settle under Caleb’s eyes. An almost impossible shade of ultraviolet that you constantly yearned for. 

MC wasn’t there. You don’t remember why, and frankly, you don’t care. All that mattered, for once, was that day belonged entirely to you. Out of all the afternoons that you spent as a trio, it had only been the two of you that day. Yes, this was a summer memory that was only yours and his to keep, for you to fondly keep in a locket deep within your ribcage for all eternity. 

That day, you were younger – too young to know how things would end – and sitting cross-legged on the dewy grass of his backyard, the blades damp against your palms. Caleb sits across from you, knees pulled up, and sleeves rolled to his elbows, eagerly waiting. The air smelled like sun-warmed leaves and fruits, like Caleb, and the poets were feeling creative, basking in the cooling wind the summer brought.

You had brought him a gift, you said, and he watched you with an expectant shade of curiosity as you reached into your pocket and pulled out two thin lengths of braided cord, a perfect mix of ivory and crimson. The bracelets were uneven, dyed by your shaky hands, and lightly fraying at the ends. You’d made them the night before, fingers clumsy and hands shaking as you followed the step-by-step tutorial playing on your phone. “Oh? What do you have for me here?”

“They’re matching bracelets. One for you, and one for me,” you mutter sheepishly, like explaining might’ve lessened the embarrassment tinting your cheeks. “I know they’re kind of stupid, but–”

Caleb leans forward at that. “Hey, they’re not stupid.”

You look up at him, surprised. “You promise?”

“Pinky promise,” he grins, and your throat tightens, his words like music to your ears, crescendoing into a harmonious choir the moment that Caleb willingly holds out his wrist for you. The way your heart thumped as your fingers brushed against his skin made you fear that he could hear its erratic beating, and the blood rushing in your eardrums. Maybe he didn’t. Or maybe he did, and chose not to say anything. He’s always been able to read you like an open book.

“There, done.” The bracelet rested just beneath the bone of his right wrist, the color vivid against his skin. When you finished, you leaned back to admire your work, pride blooming and heart full with his words, despite yourself. “Now, when you inevitably forget me in five years when you’re suuuper popular and cool at the DAA, you won’t be able to pretend like you didn’t know me.”

He laughs at that, bright and unguarded, and you wish that this day would never end. That Caleb and his bracelet and everything about him would just settle somewhere deep within your chest, finding shelter within the crevices of your ribcage. Or maybe you can find a home within his own body. You didn’t mind either outcome. “I don’t think that’s possible. Besides, you’re already way cooler than me.”

Then, without another word, he reaches for your hand. “Wait–”

Too late. He fumbles with the second bracelet, your matching half, and knots it around your wrist. It sits a little too tight, and you’re certain you’ll get rope burn once you begin to outgrow it, but you could hardly care less. He puts his palm against your own and intertwines your fingers against his, and your mind sings at the contact. “There. Now we’re even.”

You look down at your hand clasped against his own and mutter, “You’re never taking this off.” 

He smiles, saluting you with his free hand, and your eyes soften. You’ve marked each other with these bracelets. His hand is so, so warm, and Caleb is still so beautiful, like how everything should be. “Copy that.”

That day was an anomaly. 

You were matching bracelets with Caleb. Not him and MC. You and Caleb. He’d let you leave a permanent mark on him in a way that MC hadn’t, even though she ended up giving him that necklace years later. The sky shouldn’t have been such a beautiful shade of blue, and the apples shouldn’t have been so red, but they were. Caleb shouldn’t have been so boyishly pretty that day, looking over your visage so beautifully with those violet eyes, but he was. Everything was so perfectly aligned that day that you sometimes wondered if you had just imagined it all, as if he were but a mere phantasm in the breeze. A trick of the light to convince yourself that he was once yours.

Oh, but that moment was as real as it got. MC’s necklace may have come later, but those bracelets were yours first. Caleb was real, and that moment with him had been the one thing that you could call yours. Undeniably, indisputably yours.

But that was before the explosion. 

Like everything that you once could call your own, Caleb kept true to his word and never took the bracelet off, until it had been cruelly ripped from your grasp by the laughing elegist and the hands of fate. The facts were clearly written: Caleb survived the tragedy, Josephine did not. Caleb was now the Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, and his right arm had been reinforced with a metallic prosthetic. His veins became wires tangled red, green, and blue, and the bracelet was lost with the debris. 

His right arm was no longer yours. A part of Caleb’s heart was no longer yours.

The arm you had fastened the bracelet around could no longer feel. The hand you held that summer afternoon can no longer experience your warmth, now cold with the false promise of permanence. The arm that had worn your mark so easily until it hadn’t, under the blink of an eye. You never said it out loud, because acknowledging the thought felt monstrous, almost sacrilegious, but sometimes, you truly wondered if you cursed him. 

Like the marks you leave on the things you loved most were meant to waste away with time, and eventually vanish.

The sky isn’t blue anymore. It’s a dull shade of grey today, actually. That summer day no longer smells sweet but more like something decaying. The apples are long gone and rotten right to the core, but Caleb’s eyes are still that haunting shade of amethyst and still everything you love. 

Because some things, apparently, endure.

You’re partnered with MC on an Association mission today, but this particular mission has ties with Skyhaven. Skyhaven meant the Farspace Fleet. And of course, the Fleet meant seeing Caleb before the Association sent you to take care of the next bout of wanderers or whatever they were ready to throw at you today. It was rare for Linkon and Skyhaven’s affairs to intertwine, even though they ultimately shared similar end goals. At the end of the day, they were still interconnected pillars that wanted to get rid of wanderers. Hence why you were here.

You feel inside your pocket, making sure the box is intact. The mission briefing ran much longer than it should’ve, and people from the Fleet filed out in pairs and clusters, none of them sparing the members of the Hunters Association a second glance. Boots echo across the floors, and you linger inside the room, looking for the familiar set of violet eyes, a ghost of a smile forming on your face once they meet yours.

Caleb. 

“Hey,” he says, and you know that if you were MC, that greeting would’ve been followed with his endearing nickname for her, ‘pips’. Unfortunately, you weren’t MC, and you weren’t his pipsqueak. What exactly were you to him? You didn’t know. You were just… you. 

Was that enough for him?

“It’s rare seeing you in the Fleet. I wish you weren’t here at all, though. It gets real crazy here sometimes,” He ruffles your hair, and you couldn’t even return the action because of his big, stupid Colonel hat. “D’ya need something before the mission? My good luck charm, maybe?”

“Hmm, I dunno. Is your charm really all that good?” You smile up at him, his pretty eyes gazing into yours, and suddenly, the banter almost makes everything flicker with normalcy. Caleb was here again. You were here with him, and the stars are almost aligning, because the world, inexplicably, hasn’t taken everything from you yet. “I have a gift for you, actually.”

“A gift? What’s the occasion?” He asks as you slowly reach into your pocket, fingers brushing the fabric and metal. It makes you hesitate, like you were sixteen all over again that summer day and were afraid of Caleb’s reaction towards your handmade, woven bracelets. The soft beam on his face this time around made it easier on your nerves, though. “My birthday’s stiiill pretty far away, you know.” 

You exhale slowly, pulling out the box under his watchful gaze. “Something I made,” you murmur, “Again.”

The box opens, and your gift is finally on full display beneath the blinking fluorescent lights of the Fleet. There are two bracelets inside, woven crimson and ivory, just like before. Anyone could still tell that it’s handmade, but the handiwork is neater, and the thread is no longer fraying. You got rid of your matching half after the explosion, vowing to only wear it if Caleb had his part of the pair. The expression on his face is unreadable, and it makes your heart thump with apprehension all over again. 

“I thought–” you continue, staring at the box instead of at him, “that maybe we don’t get to keep things forever, but we can try to, anyway.”

“You made another set, after I lost mine when…” He trails off, and you nod. It’s the closest thing you’ve gotten to talking about the explosion, and Caleb’s jaw tightens. You knew he was no longer sixteen, and you don’t even know if he’s still entirely Caleb, the same one who held your hand that late summer afternoon, but that mark you left on him was still yours. Even as the dog tags beneath his uniform serve as a painful reminder that he will never be truly yours entirely. “Put it on me, again. Just like old times.”

He wordlessly holds out his wrist for you – the left one this time – and he doesn’t miss your painful gaze towards his bionic arm. You fasten it around his left wrist, the only arm that can feel anything anymore, and the mark is seared once again, even though the sky is still gray and the apples are long spoiled.

Despite all that time, Caleb is still beautiful, and that has never changed.

Then, he reaches for you, taking your wrist and gently tying the second bracelet there. If you squint, you could probably still see the marks left behind by the previous one. His fingers brush against your skin in a way that makes your breath hitch, and his tongue is pressed lightly to his teeth, like he’s afraid of making the knot too tight like before. “Do you remember what you said that day? How you predicted that I’d forget you in five years when I’m ‘super popular and cool’ once I was at the DAA?”

You meekly nod as he finishes the knot. It’s a perfect one this time. Not too tight to give you any rope burns, and not too loose that it would fall off. “Well, I think my words still stand. I most certainly never forgot you, you’re still way cooler than me, and definitely way cooler than anyone there.”

With that, his eyes softly whisper against your own. You look at each other – really look at each other this time – and his damned violet eyes catch the light, familiar and unbearable and intoxicating, all at once. You think of all those blue summer skies and Josephine’s red apples and all the ways those colors can merge into something sadder, yet far more alluring. A mixture that rests under Caleb’s eyes.

Your foreheads are nearly touching, and his breath stutters as you take his mechanical hand into your own, caressing the metal that took away your mark and a part of Caleb’s humanity. He pulls you closer with his free hand – the one with your newly made mark – almost like he was luring you in with his Gravity EVOL. But Caleb didn’t need to utilize his EVOL to pull you in; he did it all naturally. Him and his stupid good luck charm.

“You come back to me,” he quietly whispers, his breath hot against your own. If you listened closely enough, you could hear his erratically beating heart. You weren’t Caleb’s pipsqueak, but you could do all of this to him. You had this effect on him. This moment was yours, and you were going to selfishly savor it. Replay this scene until it one day swallows you whole. “You promise.”

For a single moment, the world finally narrows to just the two of you. The Fleet and the Hunter’s Association were just background noise. His gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes. You could feel the heat of your words just before you speak, just before he leans in and finally closes the gap. “I–”

“Caleb!”

MC’s voice cuts through the tension like a carefully positioned blade, and you immediately step back. Caleb withdraws his hand from the back of your neck like it stung, as if it never belonged there in the first place. The bracelet resting against your wrist feels hot to the touch. You wonder if it feels the same for Caleb, or if he’d eventually take it off sooner or later. MC’s looking at you expectantly, eyes bright and unaware of what just happened. “They’re calling us in. Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” you declare weakly, breath still stuck in your throat, something you’re unable to swallow. “I’m coming.”

The realization dawns on you faster than anything when MC offers you a big smile. You were right – from the very beginning, you didn’t hate MC. You never did. She’s kind, sweet, and constantly has your back during missions. No, you were angry at her presence. How it was practically impossible to hang out with just Caleb. It was always you, Caleb, and her. How the duo could never stay as a duo, no matter what. How your moments with Caleb can be so easily ripped from your grasp by MC because she was here first. Of course, it was always her first. 

Caleb needs to keep her safe first. To protect her first. She was his priority first. This was the status quo, and you had no say in changing the rules that were already set in stone a long time ago. Still, as you catch a glimpse of Caleb’s wrist before you leave, you make a silent vow to yourself, to the crimson and ivory resting on your own wrist. 

If you cursed Caleb with your first present, you silently pray that this time around, it will curse you instead of him.

The mission turned into a shitshow faster than you had initially anticipated.

You were so outnumbered from the very beginning that you wondered what the hell the Association was thinking when sending you two on this mission. Was this a fucking death trap specifically designed for you and MC? For everyone else dispatched here? There’s so much blood on the floor you could hardly distinguish your own from any wanderer that you had defeated.

Another wanderer goes down, collapsing onto the debris with a sound that rattles your bones and shoots directly to your ringing eardrums. Your sword is immediately knocked away from your hands by the next target, and it falls onto the ground with a deafening clatter. You need backup, and you need it now. You think about who to call – you would have called Xavier, but your Hunter’s watch is long broken, and he’s probably just as preoccupied as you two. 

The entire situation was so pitiful that you could have laughed if it weren’t for how fucked over you both were.

You look towards MC, and your eyes widen as she stumbles, her breath staggering and legs shaking. You’re already moving, just before she hits the ground. “MC!”

“Hey, hey, stay with me–” you scream out, dropping to your knees beside her. You use all your strength and bring the two of you to a nearby tree, praying that all the shrubs and bushes cover you from the wanderer’s sight. She’s breathing, shallow but steady, eyes unfocused as she tries her hardest to meet your gaze. You prop her against the trunk and cup her face, trying to keep her awake. “Please, fuck–”

She’s injured, but she’s alive. Good. That’s good. You just need to keep her alive long enough to get to a safe zone, or until help comes. Something warm spreads beneath your hunter’s uniform when you shift your weight, but you ignore the excruciating agony in your abdomen and focus on MC. A stab wound in your core. You don’t even know where it came from, and the adrenaline had masked the pain until now. Still, you’ve felt worse. Way worse than this. Right now, you just need to keep her alive, because–

Because of Caleb. Because Caleb needs her alive.

“You come back to me,” His words briefly echo in your ears, and it makes your eyes sting with tears. You don’t know if you can. “You promise.”

You’ve never broken any promises when it comes to Caleb, and he’s never broken any, either. But, technically, this time around, you didn’t promise him anything because MC had interrupted you before you could utter any words out. So, you didn’t exactly owe him anything. Your life was second to hers right now.

Sorry, Caleb.

“We need to move,” you say, hauling her arm over your shoulder. This spot was not going to be safe for long, and you didn’t have your sword. If any wanderer spots you, that’d be the end of your narrative. And you can’t have it end yet, not when MC isn’t safe. “Can you stand?”

She groans, teetering between a fine line of consciousness and unconsciousness. “You’re – you’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” you say automatically, even though you’re surprised that she noticed the wet blood staining the abdomen of your uniform. MC is a real sweetheart. Always thinking about other people when she’s equally as fucked over as you. That’s why you never truly hated her. How could you have the heart to do so?

She blinks up at you, trying to focus. “No, you’re not. I can see right through you.”

“We don’t have time for this,” you grit your teeth and force yourself upright despite your core screaming out in a horrid bout of pain. You bite your lip so hard that it draws blood, bringing MC up with you and ignoring her protests. You remember during the mission briefing that a safe zone was about… half a mile up north. Every staggering step sends a sharp reminder throughout your body, but you stubbornly don’t slow. “Caleb needs you out.”

MC shakes her head weakly. “What about you?”

You don’t answer, and she continues, a huff of air almost sounding like a laugh. “He loves you, you know.”

Her words make you freeze, and you turn to look at her. “Cares about you… a lot. Don’t just think about me.”

It’s hard not to, you want to say, but the words never leave your tongue. If Caleb had to choose, in a life-or-death situation, whether to save me or you, I think we all know the answer to that a little too well.

You make it to a clearing in the forest, and her grip on you suddenly tightens, enough to make you stop in your tracks, despite yourself. “Stop,” she says, practically pleading, panic creeping into her voice. “You can’t keep going like this.”

“Oh,” she looks down, really takes a second to see your condition, and her expression crumples, muttering out your name in concern. “You’re hurt. You’re really hurt.”

“I said I’m fine,” you repeat, but your voice cracks, and your composure is breaking. 

She tries to pull away from you. “Put me down, this isn’t worth it–”

“No,” you say sharply. “If we wait–”

“You could pass out,” she says, tears welling in her eyes and fingers digging into your sleeve. “You’re not okay, please, you don’t have to do this–”

You don’t say what you’re thinking, but your answer is already written all over your face. You do have to do this, actually. This was never a question. The bracelet on your wrist feels even warmer than before. MC reaches for you, fumbling with her gear with her remaining strength. Her Hunter’s watch and her gun. The watch’s screen was still lit, and her gun had a few rounds inside.

“Here, use my watch. I can’t… hold on for much longer,” her eyes are glazing over, on the brink of passing out, and you place her gun in your holster and the watch around your wrist, trying to keep the both of you upright. “Call for help, but promise that you… think about yourself, too.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat and meekly nod, taking her watch. Don’t say I promise to her, because you’re certain that you’ll break it. And you don’t make promises that you can’t keep. “Yeah. Sure.”

She smiles at that and goes limp in your arms. You suck in a breath, eyes flitting all over the screen as you thought about who to call. You try Xavier’s line and give up after a few rings. You just hope that he’s alright. Finally, your finger hovers over Caleb’s line. You know damn well that he’d respond, especially since this was MC’s watch, and not yours. The speaker rings once before the line opens. “Caleb, I need evac. Now.”

“Status.” His voice comes back sharp and controlled, and you realize that this wasn’t Caleb right now, but Colonel Caleb. 

“MC’s down, and–” I took a hit, and I’m bleeding out too. You’re unable to force those words out in between your labored breaths. “–she took a hit from a wanderer, and… I’m trying to take us to the nearby safe zone. I’m five minutes out.”

The world tilts as you haul MC’s weight higher against your shoulder. Your vision blurs at the edges, but you lock your jaw and keep moving. “What the hell happened?”

“It’s a shitshow out here, Caleb. I don’t have my sword, and she took a hit when I wasn’t looking–”

“When you weren’t looking?” His voice cuts through the line, tone hardening. You can hear him moving, probably running to his plane. “You’re supposed to cover for her.”

“I was,” you snap, the words tearing out of you like the flesh from your abdomen when the wanderer had stabbed you. “I was there, Caleb, I tried–”

“Then why the hell is she bleeding out?”

This was exactly what you expected. Maybe you shouldn’t have called him at all. His words hit harder than any wound you’ve sustained, and you stagger, barely managing to keep your footing – barely managing to keep MC upright with you. The pain is blooming, sharp and practically blinding, white-hot and so fucking unforgiving, and for a moment, you nearly cry out.

But you don’t. You tighten your grip on her instead.

“Damn it. The safe zone near you – I’m about ten minutes away from it. Can you make it there?”

You can hear it even through the static. The fear in his voice was raw, frantic, and all-consuming. The fear of losing MC eclipses everything else, swallowing whole whatever concern might have been meant for you. If MC was right – and Caleb really did love you – then his love was not enough to overcome the instinct carved into him long before you ever even entered his life.

Because she was here first. And you were not. And that’s just the way things were.

The thought makes something hysterical bubble in your chest. You laugh, or at least try to, but it breaks apart into an ugly cough, and more crimson stains your uniform.

“Yeah,” you manage out. “I think.”

You don’t know how you conjured up the strength to make it to the evac zone, but you do. The world narrows after your call began with Caleb, and the lights blur together into a pale white smear. Her weight grows heavier in your arms as she stirs, like she knew something was wrong with your staggering footsteps.

“You come back to me,”

“Promise that you… think about yourself, too.”

I’m sorry. To both of you.

Everyone finally notices you and MC, and your senses finally dull as your fingers slip from MC’s sleeve, letting someone else take her. Throughout all the clamor, someone begins assisting you, but you can’t feel anything. Trembling, your hand falls against your wrist, and the bracelet is still there. You think of Caleb’s left wrist and how it matched your own, and how that was the greatest salvation you could’ve asked for. You think about his right arm and how he never got to wear that first bracelet again after it got destroyed in the explosion. You wonder, briefly, if he’ll notice that this time, he’s going to be the one without the matching pair.

Caleb never once asks if you were alright.

His voice is still coming through MC’s watch – urgent and relieved that your location says that you’ve made it to the evac zone. Even though someone took her away already, you hear him telling her to hold on, and that he’s just a few minutes away with his plane. You smile faintly at that. Of course he is. He always makes it in time for her.

The poets and elegists from every era are calling out to you as they draft the final line of your narrative, and their hymns and elegies are beautiful. Your vision finally gives in, and the sky above is still a flat, unremarkable gray, nothing like that impossibly blue summer afternoon all those years ago. You suppose that’s fitting. Things were never meant to stay beautiful forever. The apples are no longer red. They’ve rotted a long time ago. Maybe Caleb’s eyes are no longer that same shade of ultraviolet, too. You wish you looked a little longer into his eyes, one last time, just to make sure.

The poet writing out your life taught you very early on that you were never first when it comes to Caleb. Maybe, in another life, Caleb would have chosen you over her. But this was not that life.

And even then, you think, loving him – loving him in the way you did – was still worth it.

Even now.

Especially now.

I FEEL TOO YOUNG TO HOLD ON / AND MUCH TOO OLD TO BREAK FREE AND RUN / TOO DEAF, DUMB AND BLIND TO SEE THE DAMAGE I’VE DONE / SWEET LOVER, YOU SHOULD’VE COME OVER.

end note: i’ve seen a lot of caleb x non!mc reader fics that try and vilify mc or caleb and i just wanna emphasize how that was NEVER my intention with this fic! i tried my best to portray caleb’s turmoil over his entire existence revolving around protecting mc and the way he tries to make room for the reader, too — even though in the end, his innate instinct to save mc was what got the reader killed. his irrational fear of losing mc after years of protecting her was the reason why he overlooked the reader’s condition, but i promiseee that he mostly didn’t do it on purpose (even tho ik he was a bit of a dick in the ending its ok the reader’s ghost haunts him after she dies). his love for non!mc IS requited, but unfortunately was overshadowed by his devotion to mc, which was what ultimately doomed her in the end. so plz lmk ur thoughts on this!! 😵‍💫😵‍💫

Being roommates with your best friend had its perks. You were together almost all the time, sharing both the big and small moments of life in ways that felt natural, inevitable even. You’d lend each other a hand with mundane tasks, or offer guidance when one of you was feeling lost or stuck. Your tall best friend effortlessly reached the top shelves you could only dream of touching—a constant reminder of how much bigger wolf hybrids were compared to cat hybrids like you—and you both spent countless nights dissolved in laughter during movie marathons, shoulders pressed together on the couch, your tail occasionally draping over his leg in those comfortable moments when you forgot to be self-conscious. Sharing responsibilities became something more than just practical—splitting chores like cooking and laundry felt easy and natural, domestic in a way that made your heart ache with how right it felt. There was a profound comfort in knowing your best friend was always dependable, always there, ready to support you whenever you needed it. And whenever you were desperate for warmth, for contact, for reassurance, Sylus was probably already reaching for you, attuned to your needs in that uncanny way wolf hybrids had with those they cared about, ready to envelop you in his arms—that embrace that felt like home and made your ears fold back in contentment.

But living with him also had its disadvantages.

Especially considering that Sylus Qin, your best friend and the man you were hopelessly in love with, was quite the menace.

Sylus had always possessed this striking, almost unfair handsomeness that effortlessly made people swoon wherever he went. It genuinely wasn’t fair how beautiful he was—all sharp features and lazy confidence, those ruby eyes that seemed to see right through you, silver-white hair that caught the light, and that damnable smirk that made your stomach flip every single time. His wolf ears, pale and perfectly shaped, were expressive in ways that made him even more attractive, and his tail—god, his tail—had a way of swaying that drew eyes wherever he went. He had always been lucky when it came to finding partners—or rather, when it came to finding people to warm his bed. Wolf hybrids were already considered among the most desirable hybrid types, powerful and protective, and Sylus wielded that advantage with devastating effectiveness. He’d often bring those one-night stands back to your shared apartment—other wolves, foxes, the occasional panther, all gorgeous predator hybrids who matched his energy—and you’d lie awake in your room, pillow pressed over your ears, trying desperately to block out the sounds with your sensitive feline hearing. It never worked. You’d hear everything—the sounds that reminded you that someone else was touching him, that someone else got to know what his skin felt like, what sounds he made when—

You’d learned to pretend it didn’t bother you. Learned to keep your ears upright and your tail still the next morning when some stranger emerged from his bedroom, disheveled and satisfied, often sporting marks on their neck that made your claws itch to extend.

Sylus had never been the type to stick with one person, always preferring casual flings over long-term relationships. Or so you’d told yourself, because believing he was incapable of commitment hurt less than wondering if he simply didn’t want commitment with you. Maybe it was a wolf thing—they were known for being either fiercely monogamous or completely untethered. Sylus seemed to have chosen the latter.

You, on the other hand, had always craved something real, something lasting. Cat hybrids were naturally selective, notoriously picky about who they let into their space and their hearts, and you were no exception. You dreamed of finding your true love—someone to share adventures with, to laugh with until your sides hurt, someone to dive into deep, meaningful conversations with at three in the morning. You loved the idea of being with someone who let you be your complete, unfiltered self, where you could spend hours talking about everything and nothing—discussing your favorite TV shows one minute, then passionately criticizing capitalism and dissecting the broken state of the world the next. You were a romantic at heart, longing for affection in all its forms: sweet kisses and being held close, but also the chance to be the one doing the holding, to make someone feel cherished and safe and loved, just as much as you wanted to feel those things in return. You wanted what cat hybrids were meant to have—that one person they chose completely, that bond that was supposed to be unshakeable.

Unfortunately, you had never had the chance to experience anything like that.

It wasn’t as though opportunities hadn’t presented themselves. You’ve had chances to explore connections, potential relationships with people who’d expressed interest—a few cat hybrids, a sweet rabbit hybrid from your literature class, even a fox hybrid who’d been persistent in their pursuit. But you’d never been able to make yourself care enough to try, never felt that spark of genuine interest in creating something meaningful with a stranger. Your instincts, usually so good at telling you who was safe and who wasn’t, remained stubbornly silent with everyone except—

How could you even consider anyone else when you’d already given your heart away years ago?

But the devastating truth was that Sylus had stopped being just your best friend years ago—if he’d ever been just that at all. You had been in love with him for god knows how long, and that love had wrapped itself around your heart so completely that no one else even stood a chance. Your cat hybrid instincts had chosen him, decided he was yours, even though he’d never chosen you back. It went against everything that made sense—prey didn’t fall for predator, cat hybrids didn’t bond with wolf hybrids, you were supposed to be naturally wary of him. But your heart and your instincts had conspired against logic.

You still remembered the day you both became friends, though you had never quite understood why he’d chosen you, given how different you were from each other. You were blunt, sometimes too honest for your own good, while Sylus, though perfectly capable of being direct, tended to move through the world with more calculated grace, choosing his words carefully like the strategic predator he was. He was passionate, tender in ways that made your chest ache, and devastatingly intelligent. Sylus was, most of the time, a confident and mysterious man who seemed to know exactly who he was and what he wanted. You, on the other hand, weren’t necessarily insecure, but you wouldn’t exactly call yourself confident either—you existed somewhere in the uncertain middle, always questioning, always wondering. Typical cat hybrid behavior, some would say, but it felt more personal than that. You were deeply in tune with your emotions, feeling everything perhaps too intensely, but translating those feelings into words felt like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. Your tail and ears gave you away constantly, betraying every feeling you tried to hide. Sylus, though, had always been straightforward with his emotions, expressing himself with an ease you both envied and admired, his wolf hybrid directness something you’d always found both intimidating and attractive. You were an overthinker, your mind always spinning with spiraling thoughts and worst-case scenarios, and he would often step in to quiet the chaos, grounding you with that steady, reassuring presence of his whenever your thoughts threatened to consume you. He had a way of placing his hand on your head, right between your ears, that never failed to calm you down—a gesture that should have felt patronizing but instead felt safe.

You could say that opposites attract, though that phrase felt too simple for what you two had. Wolf and cat. It should have never worked.

Over time, your friendship deepened into something profound, something that felt necessary for survival. So when he asked one day if you’d like to move in with him—into one of his new penthouses, spacious and modern and so very him—you’d barely hesitated. He’d told you he craved a bit more peace in his life and genuinely enjoyed your company, said it so casually like he wasn’t offering you everything you’d ever wanted. It seemed like a good idea, you’d thought. A practical one, even. Your parents had warned you that living with a wolf hybrid might trigger your prey instincts, might make you anxious, but you’d dismissed their concerns.

What a beautiful mistake that had been.

You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment you fell in love with your roommate, and that uncertainty haunted you. All you knew was that one day, you were suddenly drowning in an emotion so intense, so consuming, it was unlike anything you’d ever felt before. It hit you all at once—or at least, that’s when you finally stopped being able to deny it. Before Sylus, you’d never really had a serious crush, never experienced feelings this powerful, this devastating, for anyone. Cat hybrids were supposed to know, supposed to feel that instinctive pull toward their person, but you’d never felt it with anyone. You often told yourself it must have started shortly after you moved in with him, that living in such close quarters had simply made you confused, made you mistake intimacy for something more. But deep down, in that honest part of yourself you tried so hard to ignore, you knew that wasn’t the truth. This feeling had been quietly growing from the very first moment you met him, taking root in your heart like something inevitable, slowly building until it became impossible to ignore, impossible to uproot. Your instincts had chosen him that day in the library, and cat hybrids didn’t un-choose. That was the curse of it.

It was funny, you thought during those late nights when sleep wouldn’t come and you could hear his steady breathing from his room with your too-sharp hearing, how life had a way of bringing you things—and people—you never realized you needed. People like Sylus, who became so essential to your existence that you couldn’t help but wonder how you had ever lived without them. People like Sylus Qin, who had become both your salvation and your undoing, your safe haven and your deepest ache—the person who could soothe your soul and set it ablaze in the same breath, while remaining everything you needed and everything you couldn’t have.

The wolf who’d become your home, even when your instincts whispered that wolves and cats were never meant to mix like this.

✩₊˚ .⋆☾⋆ ⁺₊✧

You were curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath you as you absently groomed your tail—a self-soothing habit you’d never quite broken, especially when your thoughts were spinning out of control.

It had been three days since the last one-night stand. Three days of relative peace, though you hated that you were counting.

Your fingers worked through the fur of your tail methodically, smoothing down the same spot over and over. It was a distinctly feline habit, one that most cat hybrids developed as a comfort mechanism. The repetitive motion usually helped quiet your racing thoughts, but tonight it wasn’t working. Nothing worked when it came to Sylus.

The soft pad of footsteps made your ears swivel backward before you could stop them—wolf hybrids moved with an almost predatory silence that had unnerved you once, long ago. Now it was just painfully familiar.

“You’re going to wear a bald spot into your tail if you keep that up,” Sylus’s voice came from behind the couch, warm with amusement.

You startled slightly, your hands stilling as heat crept up your neck. Of course he’d noticed. He noticed everything about you, always had. “I’m fine,” you mumbled, though your flattened ears probably betrayed the lie.

The couch dipped as he settled beside you—not too close, never too close, but near enough that his scent washed over you. Pine and something darker, earthier, distinctly wolf. It had terrified you once. Now it felt like home, and that was so much worse.

[Flashback - Seven Years Ago]

The university library had been packed with students cramming for midterms, but you’d managed to find a corner table tucked away near the back. As a cat hybrid, you’d always preferred small, enclosed spaces—they felt safer, more secure. Especially in a school where predator hybrids made up a significant portion of the student body.

You’d been so focused on your literary theory textbook, trying to make sense of post-structuralism for your midterm, that you hadn’t noticed the group approaching until a shadow fell across your table.

“This seat taken, kitten?”

Your ears had flattened instinctively against your head as you looked up at the lion hybrid looming over you, his two friends—a tiger and another lion—flanking him with matching smirks. Predator hybrids. Of course.

“I—I’m studying,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. Your tail had curled tight around your leg beneath the table, a defensive posture you couldn’t control.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” the tiger hybrid purred, leaning against your table. “We just want to get to know you better. You’re in our sociology class, right? Cute little thing sitting in the back, always so quiet.”

Your heart had hammered against your ribs. You’d dealt with this kind of attention before—more vulnerable hybrids often did, especially from the more “desirable” predator types who thought their status meant they could do whatever they wanted. Your instincts screamed at you to run, but you were cornered, trapped between the table and the wall.

“She said she’s studying.”

The voice had come from behind the group, deep and carrying an edge that made your fur stand on end. The three predator hybrids had turned, and you’d finally seen him—a wolf hybrid with striking silver-white hair and the most intense ruby-red eyes you’d ever seen. His pale skin almost seemed to glow under the library’s fluorescent lights, making him look almost otherworldly. He was tall, broader than the others, and there was something in his posture that screamed danger in a way that made even the lion hybrids take a step back.

Wolf hybrids were rare, especially in universities. They were known for being territorial, protective, and powerful. Most ended up in military or security positions, not sitting in sociology lectures.

“We were just talking to her, wolf,” the lion had said, though his cocky tone had wavered slightly. “No need to get territorial.”

“Funny,” Sylus had replied, his ruby eyes fixed on them with an intensity that was unmistakably predatory. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re making her uncomfortable. And I don’t tolerate that.”

The tension had been thick enough to cut. Your ears had been flat against your head, your whole body tense as you’d watched the standoff. The wolf hybrid’s scent had filled the air—assertive, dominant, unmistakably alpha. It should have terrified you more than the others had.

Instead, some instinct you didn’t understand told you that you were safe.

The lion hybrid had glanced at you, then back at Sylus, and something in his expression had shifted. “Whatever, man. She’s not worth the trouble anyway.” He’d jerked his head at his friends, and they’d left, though not without shooting dark looks over their shoulders.

You’d sat frozen, staring at this stranger who’d just defended you without even knowing your name. Your heart was still racing, but for an entirely different reason now.

Sylus had turned to you then, and his expression had softened in a way that seemed almost impossible given the dominance he’d just displayed. Those ruby eyes, which had been so sharp and threatening moments before, now looked at you with something gentler. “You okay?”

You’d nodded mutely, not trusting your voice. Up close, he was even more striking—all sharp features and powerful presence, his silver hair catching the light as his wolf ears, pale and alert atop his head, focused entirely on you. You’d noticed his tail hanging relaxed behind him despite the confrontation that had just occurred.

“I’m Sylus,” he’d said, pulling out the chair across from you. “Mind if I sit? I promise I’m better company than those three.”

You should have been terrified. Every instinct should have been screaming at you to run from the predator sitting across from you. But instead, you’d found yourself nodding, your ears slowly lifting from their flattened position.

“I’m…” you started, your voice shaky. You’d given him your name, and when he’d smiled—really smiled, not that predatory smirk the others had worn—something in your chest had felt warm for the first time since the encounter started.

“Pretty name for a pretty kitten,” he’d said, and then, as if sensing your nervousness, he’d gestured to your textbook. “Literary theory? That looks like torture.” He’d tilted his head, a small smirk playing on his lips. “I’m in engineering, but we had to take that intro to humanities course last semester. Nearly killed me.”

You’d managed a small, surprised laugh despite your still-racing heart. “It’s… a lot,” you’d admitted quietly.

“Tell you what,” he’d said, leaning back in his chair with an easy confidence that should have intimidated you but somehow didn’t. “I’ve got some time before my next class. You look like you could use the company, and I make a pretty decent study partner. Even if I don’t know the first thing about post-structuralism or whatever that is.”

And just like that, Sylus Qin had entered your life—unexpected, protective, and impossibly kind. What had started as a chance encounter in a crowded library would become the most important friendship you’d ever have. He’d stayed with you that entire afternoon, helping you study despite knowing nothing about literary theory, making you laugh when moments before you’d been on the verge of tears.

[Present Day]

“You’re thinking too loud,” Sylus said, pulling you from the memory. His hand reached out slowly—always slowly with you, like you were something fragile that might bolt—and gently tugged your tail from your grip. “Seriously, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

Your breath caught as his fingers carefully smoothed down the fur you’d been obsessively grooming, his touch gentle in a way that contradicted everything his hybrid type was supposed to be. Wolf hybrids weren’t known for gentleness. They were dominant, possessive and territorial.

But Sylus had always been gentle with you.

“Sorry,” you murmured, very aware of how close he was, how his scent surrounded you. “Just… thinking.”

“About?” His hand lingered perhaps a moment too long on your tail before he pulled away, and you tried not to mourn the loss of contact.

About you, you thought. Always about you.

“Nothing important,” you lied, tucking your tail closer to your body and away from temptation—both his and yours. Your ears swiveled toward him on their own accord, betraying your attention even as you tried to appear casual.

Sylus hummed, a low sound in his chest that you felt more than heard. Wolf hybrids did that—made sounds that resonated, that were meant to soothe pack members. You’d learned over the years to recognize when he did it, usually when he sensed you were anxious or upset.

He was doing it now, probably without even realizing it.

“You know,” he said after a moment, leaning back against the couch, “sometimes I think about that day in the library. When we first met.”

Your heart stuttered. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His eyes were distant, reminiscent. “You looked so scared. These tiny flattened ears, tail wrapped so tight around your leg. Those assholes cornering you like you were just some toy for them to play with.” His jaw clenched, and you saw his ears tilt back slightly—a sign of irritation. “I wanted to rip them apart.”

You’d never heard him admit that before. “You didn’t, though.”

“No,” he agreed, his eyes finding yours. “Because you were already terrified enough without me going full wolf on them. And because…” He paused, something flickering across his expression. “Because the last thing I wanted was for you to be afraid of me too.”

Your chest tightened. “I was never afraid of you.”

That was a lie. You had been, at first. He was a wolf hybrid, a predator, and you were a cat hybrid. Every instinct had told you to run.

But you hadn’t. And somewhere between that first day in the library and now, your fear had transformed into something so much more dangerous.

Sylus’s expression softened, a small smile playing at his lips. “You were absolutely terrified, kitten. Don’t even try to deny it.” He reached over and gently flicked one of your ears—a familiar, teasing gesture. “These things give you away every time.”

You wanted to argue, to protest, but he was right. Your ears had always betrayed you, constantly swiveling and flattening and perking up with every emotion you tried to hide. It was a cat hybrid thing, being so expressive without meaning to be.

“You still notice everything,” you muttered, feeling heat creep into your cheeks.

“Only when it comes to you,” he said, so quietly you almost missed it.

Your heart nearly stopped. You turned to look at him fully, searching his face for meaning, but he was already standing, stretching in a way that made his shirt ride up slightly. Your eyes caught on his tail swaying behind him before you forced yourself to look away.

“I’m thinking of ordering takeout,” he said, his tone casual again, as if he hadn’t just said something that made your entire world tilt. “Thai sounds good?”

You managed a nod, not trusting your voice.

As he walked toward the kitchen to grab his phone, you caught yourself watching him—the confident way he moved, the silver-white of his hair catching the light, so different from your own cautious, light-footed steps. Wolf hybrid and cat hybrid. Predator and prey.

Seven years ago, he’d saved you from predators who’d wanted to harass you.

Now, you were living with a predator who didn’t even realize he’d already caught you.

Your tail curled around your waist protectively as you forced yourself to look away, back at your phone, at anything other than Sylus Qin and the impossible situation your heart had created.

Some prey, you thought bitterly, were foolish enough to walk straight into the wolf’s den.

You just wished you knew if he’d ever want to keep you there.

✩₊˚ .⋆☾⋆ ⁺₊✧

A few months into your roommate arrangement, you still couldn’t get used to Sylus constantly bringing one-night stands to your shared apartment. It was pure torment—made worse by your heightened feline senses that picked up on everything you desperately wished you could ignore.

As you ate cereal at the kitchen island, your ears flicked toward the sound of Sylus’s bedroom door opening. One of his many conquests—a sleek panther hybrid—quietly slipped out, and you focused intently on your bowl, willing your tail not to lash in irritation. You couldn’t help but watch from the corner of your eye as Sylus walked them to the door, their face adorned with that satisfied, sly smile as they batted their eyelashes at him. Your ears flattened slightly against your head as you watched their fingers play with the collar of his shirt, lingering there while he made no move to pull away, that damn smirk on his face. A knot of anger twisted in your belly. You’d never felt such intense rage before—it made your claws itch to extend, a very catlike aggressive response. He leaned into their touch as they gave him a casual goodbye kiss, and you had to grip your spoon tighter to keep your composure.

You hated experiencing feelings like these. It was a gross emotion, a heavy sensation that felt thick and tar-like, clinging to your chest and making you ache with its oppressive weight. Your tail curled tight around the base of the stool, another tell you couldn’t control.

Anxiety? Sure, you were often more anxious than most hybrids, but that wasn’t the feeling you had at this moment. Maybe it was jealousy? You disliked how that emotion fit so easily on your tongue, leaving a bitter taste.

Each time you witnessed these scenes unfold—the touching, the lingering looks, the casual intimacy—jealousy and frustration would crash over you in waves. It was worse when your sensitive hearing picked up on things you wished you could unhear. Your ears would fold back automatically, and you’d bury your head under your pillow, but it never quite blocked out the sounds from his room. Those nights, you’d catch his scent mixed with someone else’s the next morning, and it made your stomach turn. Wolf hybrids were naturally territorial, their scent marking everything, and knowing he was sharing that with others felt like claws raking across your heart.

As Sylus reentered the apartment and closed the door behind him, you couldn’t stop the bitter words from escaping, your ears still slightly flattened. “So, what number are we up to now?”

He paused, his red eyes finding yours, and you watched his wolf ears swivel toward you with interest before he chuckled and shook his head with that insufferable smirk. “Not sure. Lost count.” He shrugged with casual ease, grabbed an apple from the fruit basket on the kitchen island, and took a bite.

“What was their name?” you asked, staring daggers at your bowl of cereal, your tail now twitching with barely suppressed agitation.

Another shrug, his tail swaying lazily behind him—relaxed, unbothered, so completely unaffected. “I don’t know, and honestly, I don’t care,” he replied nonchalantly before walking away.

You couldn’t understand how he could be so cavalier about it all. Your ears tracked his movement even as you kept your eyes down, hating how attuned you were to his every move.

But it wasn’t just jealousy poisoning your system—it was the longing, the desperate ache for any kind of affection or love from Sylus that went beyond friendship. You were grateful to be his best friend, truly, and you knew it was foolish to hope for more, to wish he’d look at you the way he looked at… well, anyone else he brought home. But you couldn’t help yourself. Deep down, you feared you’d always feel this lonely, this isolated in your feelings. As a cat hybrid, you were already naturally more selective about who you let close, but with Sylus, it was different. You could never fall for anyone but him—your instincts had decided that long ago, whether you wanted them to or not. He was everything you craved and needed in life, and that awareness was its own special torture.

You felt foolish, your ears burning with constant embarrassment even when you were alone. More than anything, you felt hurt, knowing you were the only one to blame. It were your own feelings, your own stupid heart that had caused all this pain.

The thought of him eventually falling in love with someone else—really falling, not just these meaningless nights—made your stomach drop like a stone. You could picture it too easily: some gorgeous wolf hybrid, or maybe an elegant fox, someone who matched his predator energy, someone who made sense by his side. Not a skittish cat hybrid who still sometimes had the urge to run when he moved too quickly. But you forced yourself to push that devastation down, to lock it away with all the other feelings you couldn’t afford to examine. It didn’t matter what you wanted. Sylus was free to date whoever he wanted, to love whoever he wanted. He was your best friend, and that’s all he’d ever be.

One day, you’d have to make peace with the fact that Sylus would always be just your best friend, nothing more.

You just desperately hoped that one day, your tail would stop drooping at the thought, that your ears would stop flattening in distress. That one day, loving him wouldn’t make you feel like you were going against every prey instinct you had—because loving a wolf had never been safe, and your heart had done it anyway.

✩₊˚ .⋆☾⋆ ⁺₊✧

You were cuddled up on the couch, staring blankly at your phone screen without really seeing it. Your ears kept swiveling toward the hallway, tracking Sylus’s movements in his room even though you were trying—and failing—to focus on anything else. The soft music playing from your phone did little to calm your frayed nerves.

Your tail was wrapped tight around your waist, a self-protective posture you couldn’t seem to break out of. It had been like this all day—coiled and tense, betraying the anxiety that had been eating at you since this morning. You’d barely been able to focus on your writing assignment, had given up on reading after rereading the same page five times without absorbing a single word.

The soft pad of footsteps made your ears swivel backward before you could stop them—wolf hybrids moved with an almost predatory silence that had unnerved you once, long ago. Now it was just painfully familiar, and worse, it made your heart race for entirely different reasons.

“You’re wound tighter than a spring,” Sylus’s voice came from behind the couch, warm with amusement and something softer you didn’t dare name. “I can practically feel the anxiety radiating off you from here.”

You startled slightly, your tail constricting even tighter around your waist as heat crept up your neck. Of course he’d noticed. He noticed everything about you, always had. “I’m fine,” you mumbled, though your flattened ears and the visible tension in your shoulders probably betrayed the lie. They always did.

The couch dipped as he settled beside you—close, closer than usual, near enough that his scent washed over you in a wave that made your breath catch. Pine and something darker, earthier, distinctly wolf and distinctly Sylus. It had terrified you once. Now it felt like home, and that was so much worse. That was dangerous.

You kept your eyes on your phone, acutely aware of the warmth radiating from where his thigh was almost touching yours, where his arm rested along the back of the couch. Not quite touching you, never quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat of him, close enough that if you shifted even slightly, you’d be pressed against his side.

You wanted to. God, you wanted to so badly it physically hurt.

“You’ve been like this all day,” he observed, his voice dropping to that low, gentle tone he used when it was just the two of you. When he thought you needed comfort. “What’s going on in that head of yours, kitten?”

The petname made your ears twitch traitorously, flicking up for just a moment before flattening again, and you saw his eyes track the movement. Of course he noticed. He always noticed.

Everything, you wanted to say. You. Always you. The way you smell like safety and heartbreak. The way I can’t stop wanting things I’ll never have.

Instead, you managed a small shrug, still refusing to look at him because you knew—you knew—that if you met those ruby eyes right now, he’d see everything. Your fingers tightened around your phone. “Just tired, I guess.”

“Liar.” But there was no heat in it, just a tenderness that made your chest constrict. “Look at you. Your tail’s been wrapped around yourself like armor since this morning, and your ears haven’t been up once. That’s not tired. That’s stressed.”

“I’m not—” you started, but your voice came out shaky, unconvincing even to your own ears.

“Hey.” His hand lifted—slowly, always so slowly with you, like you were something precious that might bolt—and his fingers brushed against one of your flattened ears with devastating gentleness. “Talk to me. Please?”

Your breath stuttered. You should pull away. You should make some excuse and retreat to your room where it was safe, where you couldn’t do something stupid like lean into his touch like the touch-starved cat hybrid you were.

But you didn’t move. You couldn’t.

His fingers traced the edge of your ear with a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine, gently coaxing it upward, and you watched his eyes darken as your ear instinctively responded to his touch, slowly lifting from its flattened position. Betrayed by your own body, as always.

“There,” he murmured, that rumbling quality entering his voice—the one that wolf hybrids used to soothe, to comfort. “That’s better. Now tell me what’s wrong.”

You can’t help with this, you thought desperately. You’re the problem. You’re the reason I’m anxious and aching and so desperately in love I can barely breathe.

But what came out was: “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” He cut you off gently, and his hand moved from your ear to cup your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed across your cheek, and you wondered if he could feel how hot your skin had become, could hear how your heart was racing. With his wolf hearing, he probably could. “I always want to. You know that, right?”

Did you? Did you know that? Or was this just what he did—taking care of people, being protective, his wolf instincts making him watch out for those he considered pack? It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything.

“Sylus…” you breathed, and you heard how it came out—too soft, too wanting, too much.

Something flickered across his expression, there and gone so quickly you might have imagined it. His eyes dropped to your lips for just a fraction of a second before meeting your gaze again, and you felt your tail tighten even more around your waist, your claws flexing nervously against your phone case.

“You do this thing,” he said quietly, his thumb still tracing idle patterns on your cheek that were making it very hard to think, “where you curl up into yourself when something’s bothering you. Make yourself small. And I hate it.”

“I don’t—” you started to protest, but he shook his head.

“You do. Your tail wraps around you like a shield, your ears go flat, and you won’t look at anyone. Won’t ask for help even when you need it.” His other hand reached down, gently taking your phone from your death grip and setting it aside. Then his fingers found your tail where it was wrapped protectively around your waist. “And this… kitten, you’re going to hurt yourself if you keep coiling this tight.”

His touch on your tail made you gasp softly—tails were sensitive, personal, and the way his fingers carefully worked to loosen the tension there felt intimate in a way that made your heart pound. This wasn’t casual touching. This was—

“Let me help you relax,” he murmured, and there was something in his voice that made your skin feel too warm. “Please? I can’t… I can’t just sit here and watch you tie yourself in knots.”

You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. Because his hand was still on your jaw, tilting your face toward his, and his other hand was gently coaxing your tail to unwind, and he was so close you could count his eyelashes, could see the exact moment his pupils dilated slightly as he looked at you.

The air between you felt charged, heavy with something unspoken. Your ears were slowly perking up now despite your best efforts, focused entirely on him, and you saw his gaze flick to them, a small smile tugging at his lips, then back to your eyes, then—briefly, so briefly—to your lips again.

“Better,” he said softly as your tail finally loosened, though it immediately tried to curl around his wrist instead—another betrayal by your traitorous body. “See? You don’t always have to hold everything in by yourself.”

“You’re staring,” you whispered, because you had to say something, had to break this tension before you did something catastrophic like close the distance between you and press your lips to his.

“So are you.” His thumb traced your cheekbone, and his voice had gone rough around the edges. “Your eyes are doing that thing.”

“What thing?” Your own voice was barely audible, and your fingers had somehow found their way to his shirt, gripping the fabric without your permission.

“That thing where they go all soft and wide and I can’t…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening like he was stopping himself from saying something. His hand tightened around your tail, making you shiver.

“Can’t what?” You shouldn’t push. You should let this go. But you’d been so starved for him, for any hint that maybe he felt even a fraction of what you felt, and you were so tired of pretending. Your claws had extended slightly, pricking through his shirt, and you couldn’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed.

For a long moment, he just looked at you. Really looked at you, like he was seeing something he’d never allowed himself to see before. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers tangling gently in the hair there, just below your ears, and the touch made you shiver visibly.

“Can’t stop thinking about how much I—” He stopped himself, closing his eyes briefly, his ears flicking back in what looked like frustration—with himself or the situation, you couldn’t tell. When he opened them again, there was something raw there, something vulnerable that you’d never seen before. “You have no idea, do you?”

“No idea about what?” Your heart was going to beat out of your chest, and you knew he could hear it, could probably smell the spike of adrenaline and hope and fear coursing through you. This felt important, monumental, like standing on the edge of something that would either save you or destroy you completely.

His thumb brushed the sensitive spot just behind your ear, making you melt against him unconsciously, and his expression softened into something that looked almost pained. “How hard it is to—”

But then his phone buzzed on the coffee table, shattering the moment like glass. You both jerked slightly, and his hands fell away from you as he grabbed the phone with what looked like frustration, his tail lashing once behind him—a rare show of his own agitation.

He glanced at the screen, and something shuttered in his expression. “Sorry, I need to—” He stood abruptly, running a hand through his silver hair, his wolf ears flicking back in what you’d learned to recognize as irritation. “Work thing.”

You watched him walk toward his room, your tail immediately coiling back around your waist protectively, your whole body aching with the loss of his warmth. Your ears had flattened again, and you felt the anxiety come rushing back twice as strong, your claws still extended and digging into your palms now that they had nothing else to hold onto.

He paused in the doorway to his room, looking back at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read—something conflicted, almost tortured. “Get some rest, kitten. And stop…” He gestured vaguely at you, at your defensive posture. “Stop making yourself so small. You don’t have to do that. Not with me. Never with me.”

Then he was gone, door closing softly behind him, leaving you alone on the couch with your racing heart and the ghost of his touch still burning on your skin.

You buried your face in your hands, ears flat against your head, tail so tight around your waist it was almost painful.

“You have no idea, do you?”

What had he meant? What had he been about to say?

And why did it feel like you’d just missed something crucial, something that might have changed everything?

Your claws dug into your scalp slightly as you tried to calm your breathing, tried to slow your racing heart. Part of you wondered if he was grateful for the interruption. If he’d realized how close he’d come to… to what? Saying something he’d regret? Doing something that would ruin your friendship?

You pulled a blanket over yourself, knowing you wouldn’t sleep, knowing you’d spend the rest of the night replaying every second of that interaction, analyzing every word, every look, every touch. Your tail remained coiled tight, your body still thrumming with unspent anxiety and longing.

“You have no idea, do you?”

The worst part was, you didn’t. You had no idea what he’d been about to say, and the not-knowing was its own special kind of torture.

Just another night of loving Sylus Qin and wondering if maybe, just maybe, there was a chance he could love you back.

Your ears perked slightly at the sound of his door opening again, footsteps padding back toward the living room. You kept your eyes closed, pretending to be drowsy, but your treacherous ears swiveled toward him automatically, and you felt your tail tighten even more.

You felt him drape another blanket over you, tucking it gently around your shoulders. His hand lingered for just a moment on your head, right between your ears—that gesture that never failed to make you feel safe—and you felt your ears relax slightly under his touch, your tail loosening just a fraction.

“Sleep well, kitten,” he murmured, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. His fingers stroked once, twice between your ears, and you felt some of the anxiety finally start to drain from your body. And then, even softer, like he didn’t mean for you to hear it at all: “God, you’re killing me.”

Then his footsteps retreated, his door clicked shut again, and you were left alone with your pounding heart and the devastating realization that maybe—maybe—you weren’t the only one suffering.

But that couldn’t be right.

Could it?

✩₊˚ .⋆☾⋆ ⁺₊✧

You’d been avoiding Sylus.

Not obviously—you weren’t that transparent. But ever since that night on the couch, since his hand on your face and those words ‘you have no idea’ and the way he’d looked at you like you were something precious, you’d been… careful. Kept conversations light. Made excuses to stay in your room. Tried desperately not to think about what had almost happened, what he’d almost said.

It was easier than facing the possibility that you’d imagined the whole thing, that you’d read too much into a moment of kindness from your best friend.

So when you’d woken up yesterday with a scratchy throat and a headache, you’d almost been grateful. A legitimate reason to stay in your room, to avoid those knowing ruby eyes that seemed to see right through you.

By this morning, though, “a little under the weather” had evolved into “definitely sick.” Your head pounded, your body ached, and every time you moved, the room spun unpleasantly. Your cat ears felt hot and heavy against your head, and your tail was too tired to do anything but lie limply beside you.

You’d texted Sylus that you weren’t feeling well, asked him not to worry, and then buried yourself under your blankets to sleep it off.

That had been your first mistake.

The sound of your bedroom door opening made your ears twitch weakly.

“Kitten.” Sylus’s voice was soft but firm, and you heard him cross the room to your bed. “Why didn’t you tell me you were this sick?”

“’M fine,” you mumbled into your pillow, not bothering to open your eyes. “Just need sleep.”

“You’re burning up.” The back of his hand pressed against your forehead, and even through your fever, you registered how cool his skin felt. How good it felt. “Jesus. How long have you been like this?”

“Not that long.” You tried to pull away from his touch, but your body wouldn’t cooperate. “I said I’m fine. Don’t need… hovering.”

“Tough.” The mattress dipped as he sat beside you, and you finally cracked your eyes open to find him looking down at you with concern etched across his features. His wolf ears were alert and focused entirely on you, and there was something in his expression that made your feverish heart skip. “I’m hovering. Deal with it.”

You wanted to argue, but another wave of dizziness hit and you just closed your eyes again with a small whimper.

“That’s what I thought.” His fingers brushed gently against your overheated cheek, and you heard him sigh. “Stay here. I’m getting medicine and water.”

“Can’t really go anywhere,” you muttered, which earned you a soft huff of amusement before his weight lifted from the bed.

You must have dozed off because the next thing you knew, he was back, coaxing you to sit up enough to take medicine and drink water. His arm supported your back, steady and warm, and you were too sick to care about how you leaned into him, how your cheek pressed against his shoulder.

“Good girl,” he murmured when you’d finished the water, and the praise did something funny to your fever-addled brain. “Now rest. I’ll be right here.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to.” He was already adjusting your pillows, pulling your blankets up higher. “I want to.”

You wanted to ask why. Wanted to ask what that night on the couch had meant, wanted to ask if he’d been about to say what you thought he’d been about to say. But your head was too heavy and your thoughts too fuzzy, so you just let yourself drift, comforted by the sound of him moving around your room, the scent of him nearby.

✩₊˚ .⋆☾⋆ ⁺₊✧

The fever dreams were the worst part.

You kept waking up disoriented, not sure what was real and what wasn’t. But every time you surfaced, Sylus was there. Pressing a cool cloth to your forehead. Helping you drink water. Murmuring reassurances in that low, soothing voice that made your wolf-sensitive cat instincts relax despite everything.

At some point, you felt his fingers gently combing through your hair, careful not to disturb your sensitive ears, and you made a sound that was probably too close to a purr. You felt rather than saw him smile.

“Sleep, kitten,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

And because you were too sick to maintain your usual walls, too feverish to remember why you’d been avoiding him, you whispered back: “Don’t leave?”

His hand stilled in your hair for just a moment. Then: “I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”

You believed him. And with his scent surrounding you, his presence solid and real beside you, you finally fell into a deeper, more restful sleep.

✩₊˚ .⋆☾⋆ ⁺₊✧

[Several Hours Later]

You woke to the smell of soup.

Not just any soup—the kind Sylus made from scratch, the recipe he’d learned from his grandmother that he only made for special occasions. Rich and savory and exactly what your body was craving.

Your fever had broken sometime while you slept. You still felt weak and achy, but the worst of it had passed. Carefully, you sat up, your ears perking slightly as you registered that the smell was coming from the kitchen.

He was cooking. For you.

Your tail curled around your waist as you slowly stood, pulling on a hoodie over your sleep shirt because you were still chilled. Your legs felt shaky, but you managed to make it to your bedroom door and down the hallway.

The sight that greeted you in the kitchen made your heart clench painfully in your chest.

Sylus stood at the stove, his back to you, hair slightly mussed like he’d been running his hands through it. He’d changed into a simple black t-shirt and sweatpants, casual and domestic in a way that shouldn’t have been as devastating as it was. His tail swayed slowly behind him as he stirred the pot, and you could see the concentration in the set of his shoulders.

He was cooking for you. Taking care of you. Had probably been worried about you all day.

“You should be in bed, kitten.”

You startled—you hadn’t made a sound, but of course his wolf hearing had picked up on your presence anyway. He turned to look at you over his shoulder, and the gentle reproach in his expression was undermined by the obvious relief in his eyes at seeing you up and moving.

“I smelled food,” you said weakly, leaning against the doorframe because your legs were already protesting. “Wanted to see what you were making.”

“Soup.” He turned fully now, and you saw he was holding a wooden spoon, looking unfairly attractive for someone who’d probably spent the last several hours playing nurse. “And you should be resting, not wandering around the apartment.”

“I’ve been in bed all day.” You took a tentative step into the kitchen. “Needed to move.”

His eyes tracked your unsteady movement, and something flickered across his face. “You’re still weak.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re sick.” But even as he said it, he was setting down the spoon and closing the distance between you. His hands found your waist, steadying you, and the warmth of his touch seeped through your hoodie. “Stubborn kitten. Come on.”

Before you could protest, he was guiding you to one of the bar stools at the kitchen island, his hands firm but gentle. You let him, mostly because your legs were grateful for the excuse to stop supporting your weight.

“Stay,” he ordered, pointing at you with mock sternness that was ruined by the fondness in his eyes. “I’m almost done.”

You watched him move around the kitchen with practiced ease, ladling soup into a bowl, cutting fresh bread, pouring water. The whole scene was so devastatingly domestic that it made your chest ache. This is what it would be like, some traitorous part of your brain whispered. If you were his. If he was yours. This easy intimacy, this care, every day.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Sylus said without turning around, but you could hear the smile in his voice.

Your ears flattened in embarrassment. “Like what?”

“Like I’m doing something extraordinary.” He set the bowl of soup in front of you, along with the bread and water. “It’s just soup, kitten.”

But it wasn’t just soup. It was him spending hours making something from scratch because you were sick. It was him staying by your side all day, taking care of you, worrying about you. It was him looking at you now like you were something precious, something worth taking care of.

“Thank you,” you said softly, and you meant for so much more than just the soup.

Something in his expression softened. “Always.”

He leaned against the counter across from you, arms crossed over his chest, watching as you took your first spoonful. The soup was perfect—of course it was—and you couldn’t stop the small sound of appreciation that escaped you.

His eyes darkened slightly at the sound, and you watched his jaw tighten. “Good?”

“Really good.” You took another spoonful, then paused. “Have you eaten?”

“I’m fine.”

“Sylus.”

“I wanted to make sure you ate first.” But at your look—you might be sick, but you could still give him the eyebrow raise that meant ‘I’m not buying it’—he sighed. “I’ll eat after.”

“Eat with me,” you said, and it came out smaller than you’d intended. More vulnerable. “Please?”

For a moment, he just looked at you, something unreadable in his expression. Then he nodded, moved to get his own bowl, and settled onto the stool beside you.

You ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, and you were acutely aware of how close he was. Close enough that your tails could touch if either of you moved slightly. Close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him.

“You scared me,” he said suddenly, quietly.

You looked up to find him staring at his soup, his jaw tight. “What?”

“When I came in and you were that feverish. Not responding properly. Your scent was all wrong—” He stopped, shook his head. “I know it’s just a cold or flu or whatever. I know you’re fine. But for a second, I…” He trailed off, his hands gripping his spoon too tightly.

Your heart clenched. “Sylus—”

“I don’t like seeing you hurt. Or sick. Or in pain.” He finally looked at you, and the raw honesty in his eyes stole your breath. “I know I don’t have any right to feel that protective of you. I know we’re just friends. But I can’t—” He stopped again, seeming to struggle with the words. “I can’t stand it. The thought of something happening to you.”

“You have every right,” you said before you could think better of it, your fever-weakened filters failing you completely. “You’re my best friend. Of course you’re allowed to worry.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you saw it—the tiny flinch, so quick you almost missed it. His jaw tightened, and something shuttered in his expression. His shoulders tensed, then deliberately relaxed, like he was forcing himself to compose. His ears flicked back for just a second before returning to their neutral position.

He turned back to his soup, his movements careful and controlled. “Right. Your best friend.”

The words were even, toneless, and somehow that made them worse. Made the sudden distance between you feel like a chasm even though he was sitting right there.

You didn’t understand what you’d said wrong. Didn’t understand why the air had suddenly gone cold, why he wouldn’t look at you anymore, why his tail had gone completely still behind him—a sign of a wolf hybrid keeping tight control over their reactions.

“Sylus?” you tried, your voice small.

He was quiet for a long moment, and you watched him take a slow breath. Then another. When he finally looked at you again, something had shifted—not back to how it was before, but to something softer. Resigned, maybe. But gentle.

“Sorry,” he said, and his voice was warmer now, even if there was something sad underneath it. “Just… worried about you. That’s all.”

That wasn't all. You knew it wasn’t. But you were too tired and confused to push, and he was clearly trying to smooth over whatever moment had just happened.

“Finish your soup,” he said, and this time there was a hint of his usual teasing. “Can’t have you getting worse on my watch.”

The tension eased slightly, and you found yourself relaxing despite the confusion still swirling in your fever-fogged brain. You both finished eating in a more comfortable silence, and gradually the warmth between you began to return. Not quite the same as before—there was something bittersweet in the air now—but better than that awful coldness.

“I should get you back to bed,” he said finally, standing and offering his hand with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You need rest.”

“I’m not that tired—”

“Liar. Your ears are drooping.”

You hadn’t even noticed, but he was right. Your traitorous ears were folded with fatigue, giving you away. “Maybe a little tired.”

“Come on.” Before you could stand yourself, he swept you up into his arms, carrying you like you weighed nothing. You should have been embarrassed, should have insisted you could walk. Instead, you let yourself curl into his chest, your face tucked against his neck, breathing in his scent.

His arms tightened around you almost imperceptibly, and you felt him press his face briefly into your hair, right between your ears. “Stubborn kitten,” he murmured, and there was so much fondness in his voice it made your chest ache. “Always trying to be strong even when you don’t have to be.”

“I can walk,” you protested weakly, but you made no move to leave his arms.

“I know you can.” He carried you down the hall with ease. “Doesn’t mean you should.”

He shouldered open your bedroom door and carried you to your bed, laying you down with a gentleness that seemed at odds with his size and strength. His hands lingered as he tucked the blankets around you, smoothing them down with unnecessary care.

“There,” he said softly, and when you looked up at him, his expression had gone tender again. Unguarded. Like whatever wall he’d put up earlier had crumbled. “Comfortable?”

You nodded, suddenly unable to speak around the lump in your throat. He was being so careful with you, so gentle, and you didn’t understand how he could look at you like that—like you were something precious—while accepting that he’d only ever be your friend.

His hand came up to brush against your cheek, his thumb tracing a feather-light path across your skin. “Your fever’s down,” he observed. “That’s good.”

“Sylus,” you whispered, not even sure what you wanted to say.

“Shh.” His hand moved to your hair, fingers carefully combing through the strands, mindful of your sensitive ears. “Just rest now. You can overthink everything later when you’re feeling better.”

A weak laugh escaped you. “You know me too well.”

“Yeah.” Something flickered in his eyes—fond and sad and resigned all at once. “I do.”

His hand continued its soothing path through your hair, and you felt your eyes growing heavy despite yourself. The fever, the emotional exhaustion, the warmth of his touch—it was all pulling you under.

“Stay?” The word slipped out before you could stop it.

You felt him hesitate, felt the war happening in him. Then the mattress dipped as he sat beside you, his back against your headboard, his hand never leaving your hair.

“Until you fall asleep,” he said quietly. “Then I need to clean up the kitchen.”

His hand found yours under the blankets, fingers intertwining, and that small point of contact felt more intimate than anything you’d ever experienced.

“Sylus?” you mumbled, already feeling sleep pulling at you.

“Yeah, kitten?”

You wanted to ask what had happened earlier. Wanted to ask why he’d looked so hurt, why calling him your best friend had felt like the wrong thing to say. Wanted to understand the resignation in his eyes.

But your thoughts were getting fuzzy, and the words wouldn’t come. So instead you just squeezed his hand weakly and whispered, “Thank you. For everything.”

His hand tightened around yours, and you felt him lean down, his lips pressing gently to your forehead in a kiss that felt like goodbye and forever all at once.

“Always,” he murmured against your skin. “I’ll always take care of you. That’s… that’s what I’m here for.”

There was something in his voice—something that sounded like acceptance of a role he didn’t want but would take anyway. Like he was making peace with being your friend when he wanted to be something more.

But you were too far gone to process it, sleep dragging you down into darkness.

The last thing you registered was his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand, and his quiet voice, so soft you might have imagined it:

“Even if it’s all I ever get to be.”

✩₊˚ .⋆☾⋆ ⁺₊✧

You woke to sunlight streaming through your curtains and the realization that you felt significantly better. The fever had broken completely, the ache in your body reduced to a dull soreness, and your head was finally clear.

Clear enough to remember everything from yesterday.

The soup. The conversation in the kitchen. The way he’d tensed when you called him your best friend. The way he’d composed himself and been gentle with you anyway. The forehead kiss. The way he’d held your hand until you fell asleep.

That last thing he’d said—had you dreamed that? Even if it’s all I ever get to be.

Your heart raced as the memories solidified, as you tried to make sense of his reactions. Why had calling him your friend upset him? Unless…

Unless he wanted to be something more.

The thought made your breath catch, made hope flutter dangerously in your chest. But no—that couldn’t be right. He brought people home all the time. He’d never shown any sign of wanting you that way.

Except… except for the way he looked at you sometimes. The way he touched you. The careful way he took care of you. The hurt in his eyes when you called him your friend.

Even if it’s all I ever get to be.

✩₊˚ .⋆☾⋆ ⁺₊✧

You stood in the kitchen, phone clutched in your trembling hand, staring at the little red dot on your tracking app like it might disappear if you glared at it hard enough.

Ovulation tomorrow. Heat cycle begins in approximately 24 hours.

Your ears flattened against your head as dread pooled in your stomach. It wasn’t the heat itself that had your tail bristling with anxiety—you’d been through plenty of cycles before, knew how to manage them, stock up on supplies, lock yourself in your room with enough water and snacks to last the three or four days until it passed.

No, what made your hands shake was the shared calendar glowing on the tablet mounted to the kitchen wall.

You’d pulled it up with some vague idea of marking off the dates you’d need to yourself, maybe giving Sylus a heads up that you’d be unavailable for a few days. A courtesy, since you lived together. Nothing unusual about that.

Except when you’d opened the calendar, you’d seen it.

Sylus - Rut Cycle

Starting tomorrow. The exact same day as your heat.

“No,” you whispered to the empty kitchen, your tail puffing up in distress. “No, no, no, this can’t—”

But it was right there in his careful handwriting from when he’d logged it weeks ago. Wolf hybrids were meticulous about tracking their ruts, especially ones like Sylus who prided themselves on control. He would have marked it the moment he felt the pre-rut symptoms starting.

And it aligned perfectly—horrifically—with your heat.

Your claws extended involuntarily, pricking into your palms as you tried to steady your breathing. This was fine. This was… manageable. You’d just have to tell him. Simple. You’d walk to his room right now, knock on his door, and calmly explain that you’d both need to make arrangements. Maybe one of you could stay somewhere else for a few days. Maybe you could—

The thought of telling him made your stomach twist into knots.

Because how exactly were you supposed to have that conversation?

“Hey Sylus, funny story, but we’re both going into heat and rut tomorrow, so maybe one of us should leave because I absolutely cannot be around you while my body is screaming for a mate and you smell like everything I’ve ever wanted”?

You pressed your hands to your heated face, ears flat against your skull.

No. Absolutely not. You couldn’t tell him.

You glanced down the hallway toward his closed bedroom door. Light still seeped out from underneath—he was working late again, had mentioned something about a project deadline when you’d seen him briefly at dinner. He’d barely looked up from his laptop, too focused to notice the way your scent had already started changing, that pre-heat sweetness that cat hybrids gave off.

Or maybe he had noticed and was too polite to mention it.

Your tail lashed anxiously behind you as you looked back at the calendar, at those two overlapping markers that felt like a countdown to disaster.

The thing was, heats were already hard enough to deal with on their own. The fever, the desperate ache, the way your body craved touch and comfort and things you absolutely should not be thinking about. You’d spent every heat cycle since moving in with Sylus locked in your room, music turned up high, trying desperately not to think about the fact that he was just down the hall. Trying not to imagine what it would feel like if he—

No. You couldn’t go there.

But this? This was so much worse.

Because Sylus going through his rut at the same time meant the entire apartment would reek of alpha wolf pheromones. Dominant, possessive, claiming pheromones specifically designed to call to omegas and send compatible mates into a frenzy.

And you, going through heat, would be so sensitive to his scent you’d probably lose your mind.

Cat hybrids were already more susceptible to wolf pheromones than other species—something about the predator-prey dynamic made the biological response even stronger. You’d read about it once, in a textbook you’d immediately regretted opening. How prey hybrids in heat could become almost… fixated on nearby predator hybrids in rut. Especially ones they were already close to.

Especially ones they were already in love with.

“This is bad,” you muttered, setting your phone down on the counter with shaking hands. “This is really, really bad.”

You should tell him. You knew you should. This was important, something roommates needed to coordinate. He deserved to know so he could make his own arrangements, maybe stay at a friend’s place or book a hotel room for a few days.

Your fingers hovered over your phone, pulling up your messages with him.

We need to talk about something important

You typed it out, stared at it, then deleted it.

Hey, so about tomorrow…

Delete.

I just checked the calendar and I think we have a problem

Delete.

“God, why is this so hard?” you whispered, your tail wrapping around your waist in that self-protective gesture you’d been doing all day.

Because you knew why. Because telling him meant acknowledging it. Meant sitting across from him and discussing heats and ruts and biological needs while pretending you weren’t desperately in love with him. Meant watching his expression shutter with professionalism while he matter-of-factly discussed sleeping arrangements, like the thought of you in heat didn’t affect him at all.

And you weren’t sure you could handle that. Couldn’t handle seeing confirmation that while your body would be screaming for him specifically, he’d just be dealing with a rut—a biological inconvenience that any willing partner could help with. It wouldn’t mean anything to him.

Your ears swiveled toward his room at the sound of his chair scraping, footsteps moving around. Working, like he’d said. Oblivious to the crisis you were currently having in the kitchen.

Maybe… maybe you didn’t need to tell him.

The thought crept in treacherously, and you immediately felt guilty for even considering it. But—

But you’d handled heats before on your own. You had supplies, you knew the drill. You’d just lock yourself in your room, ride it out like always. Sure, it would be worse with him in rut down the hall, his scent probably seeping under your door and driving you absolutely insane, but you could handle it.

You were strong. You had self-control.

And telling him would just make everything awkward. Would create this ‘thing’ between you that you’d have to navigate afterward. He’d probably insist on leaving, on being a gentleman about it, and then you’d feel guilty for driving him out of his own home. Or worse, he’d stay and treat you with kid gloves for weeks afterward, carefully avoiding you like you were something fragile.

No. Better to just… not say anything.

You’d deal with your heat quietly, behind your locked bedroom door. He’d deal with his rut the way he always did—probably by calling one of his regular hookups, inviting them over to help him through it. The thought made your claws extend painfully, jealousy and hurt lancing through your chest, but that was fine. You were used to that pain.

At least this way, he’d never know. Never know that you’d spent three or four days in heat just down the hall, your body aching for him specifically while he was with someone else.

God, this was going to be torture.

Your phone buzzed with a text, and you nearly jumped out of your skin.

Sylus: You still up?

Your heart hammered as you stared at the message. He never texted when he was working unless—

Sylus: Thought I heard you in the kitchen. Everything okay?

Of course. Wolf hearing. He’d probably heard you muttering to yourself, heard the distress in your voice even through his closed door.

Your fingers trembled as you typed back:

You: Yeah, all good! Just getting some water. Don’t let me distract you from work ☺️

The emoji felt forced, but you needed him to think everything was normal.

Three dots appeared, then disappeared. Then it appeared again.

Sylus: Your scent just spiked with anxiety. What’s wrong?

You closed your eyes, cursing his too-perceptive wolf senses. Of course he could smell your emotional state from his room. Of course.

You: Nothing! Just remembered I have a deadline coming up for a writing assignment at work. Already stressing about it lol

You: Go back to work! I’m heading to bed soon anyway

Please believe it. Please just let it go.

Sylus: Okay. But if you need anything, I’m here. You know that.

Your chest constricted painfully.

You: I know. Thank you 💕

You stared at the heart emoji you’d added without thinking, then quickly locked your phone before you could spiral into analyzing whether that was too much.

Moving quickly, you erased your name from the calendar for the next four days, leaving the space blank. If Sylus looked—which he probably wouldn’t, too buried in work—he wouldn’t see anything unusual. Wouldn’t know.

Then you grabbed your phone and retreated to your room, closing the door firmly behind you and leaning against it.

Tomorrow. Heat started tomorrow.

And Sylus would be in rut.

In the same apartment.

Your tail lashed anxiously as you looked around your room, mentally cataloging what you’d need. Water bottles—you’d need to stock up. Snacks that didn’t require leaving your room. Maybe some ice packs for the fever. Definitely your noise-canceling headphones for when he inevitably brought someone home to help him through his rut, because you absolutely could not handle hearing that while you were in heat.

Your phone buzzed with another message:

Sylus: Get some sleep, kitten. And stop overthinking whatever’s got you stressed. It’ll be okay.

If only he knew.

You typed back a quick good night, then flopped onto your bed, staring at the ceiling as your mind raced.

Twenty-four hours. That’s all you had to prepare.

Twenty-four hours until you’d be locked in your room, burning with heat, while the man you loved was down the hall going through his rut.

You buried your face in your pillow, letting out a muffled sound of frustration.

This was going to be the longest four days of your life.

Your phone lit up one more time with a final text from Sylus:

Sylus: Sweet dreams.

You stared at those two words until they blurred, your heart aching.

“Yeah,” you whispered to your empty room, your tail curling protectively around yourself. “Sweet dreams.”

Like you’d be getting any sleep tonight.

Not when tomorrow would turn your apartment into your own personal hell, and Sylus would go through his rut without ever knowing what it was doing to you.

✩₊˚ .⋆☾⋆ ⁺₊✧

The next day, you left the apartment before dawn, slipping out while Sylus was still asleep. You couldn’t risk running into him, couldn’t trust yourself to act normal when you could already feel the first warning signs of your heat beginning to stir beneath your skin—a restless energy, a sensitivity that made your clothes feel too rough, a warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature.

You spent the early morning hours methodically gathering everything you’d need for the next few days. The essentials came first: your favorite comfort foods, drinks, and enough water to stock a small convenience store. You didn’t leave anything out, moving through your mental checklist with single-minded focus because focusing on the task kept you from thinking about what was coming, about who was waiting at home.

Your last stop was the one that made heat crawl up your neck despite the early hour. The sex shop on the corner of Fifth and Main was blessedly empty, and you kept your ears tucked low as you quickly selected another vibrator—a backup for when your other toys inevitably needed to recharge. The knowing look the clerk gave you made your tail bristle with embarrassment, but you forced yourself to maintain eye contact as you paid. You weren’t ashamed. You shouldn’t be ashamed.

Yes, you were a virgin cat hybrid, but that didn’t mean you were clueless about your own body, about what you enjoyed or needed. Just because you were inexperienced with partners didn’t mean you couldn’t indulge in your own sexuality, couldn’t take care of yourself during your heats. You’d learned years ago what worked, what helped ease the ache even if it never fully satisfied the way your instincts insisted a mate would.

A mate like—

No. You couldn’t think about that.

By the time you’d finished your errands, the sun had fully risen and you could feel your heat beginning in earnest. It started subtly—a slight fever warming your skin, a heightened awareness of every scent and sound around you, a restless ache low in your belly that you knew would only get worse. Your body was preparing, responding to the hormonal surge that came with ovulation, and you needed to get home. Needed to lock yourself away before it became obvious, before your scent grew too sweet and telling.

Home. You had to go home.

Home to Sylus.

The thought sent a spike of longing through you so intense it nearly stole your breath, and you had to grip your shopping bags tighter to ground yourself. This was exactly why you needed to get back, needed to barricade yourself in your room before your heat-addled brain did something catastrophic like seek him out.

But with each step closer to the apartment, anxiety bubbled up inside you, rising like a tide you couldn’t hold back. Your ears kept swiveling anxiously, your tail couldn’t stay still, and your hands trembled slightly as you climbed the stairs to your floor. What if he was there? What if he could already smell the change in you, the pre-heat sweetness that was undoubtedly growing stronger by the minute? What if he looked at you with pity, or worse—with clinical concern, like you were a problem to be managed?

Your key fumbled against the lock twice before you finally managed to open the door.

The apartment was silent.

Empty.

You stood in the doorway, bags clutched in your hands, ears perked and straining for any sound of movement. Nothing. Just the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic from the street below.

Relief flooded through you first—thank god, you wouldn’t have to face him, wouldn’t have to pretend everything was normal while your body burned and your instincts screamed.

But then the relief curdled into something heavier, something that settled in your chest like a stone.

What if he’d left? What if he’d packed a bag and gone somewhere else to ride out his rut—a hotel, maybe, or a friend’s place? What if he’d called one of his regular partners, arranged to spend the next few days with them somewhere far away from you?

The thought made your claws extend involuntarily, jealousy and hurt lancing through you even though you had no right to either emotion. This was what you’d wanted, wasn’t it? For him to be gone, to not have to deal with him being in rut just down the hall?

Except now the apartment felt too empty, too quiet, and the thought of him wrapped around someone else, helping them through their heat while he worked through his rut, made you feel physically ill.

Your tail drooped as you carried your bags to your room, ears flat against your head. This was fine. This was better, actually. Easier.

It didn’t feel easier.

You kept your door open as you methodically unpacked everything, needing to finish before your heat progressed further. Comfort foods went on your nightstand within easy reach. Water bottles lined up on your desk. The new vibrator, still in its package, got tucked into your bedside drawer along with your other supplies—the ones you’d collected over the years, the ones that helped but never quite enough.

Your mini fridge, a recent purchase you’d justified as necessary for late-night writing sessions, was now packed with drinks and anything perishable. You’d thought of everything. You were prepared.

You were fine.

The heat was building steadily now, making your skin feel too tight, too sensitive. Your clothes were becoming unbearable—every seam and tag felt like it was scraping against your skin. You stripped down to just a thin pink tank top and sleep shorts, the least amount of fabric you could get away with, and finally collapsed onto your bed.

The sheets were cool against your feverish skin, and you pressed your face into your pillow with a shuddering breath. You could do this. You’d done it before. Just a few days and it would be over.

That’s when you heard it—the sound of the front door opening.

Your entire body went rigid, ears shooting up and swiveling toward the sound. Footsteps in the entryway, familiar and achingly known. Your bedroom door was still open—you’d been about to get up and lock it when—

His scent hit you like a physical blow.

Pine and earth and something darker, muskier, unmistakably wolf and unmistakably Sylus—but stronger now. Heavier. Richer. The scent seemed to fill the entire apartment, seeping into your room and wrapping around you like a living thing.

Rut. He was in rut.

And he was here.

Your heat-primed body responded instantly, devastatingly. The ache low in your belly intensified into something almost painful, your skin flushing hotter, and you felt your body start producing that telltale slickness that came with arousal. A soft, needy sound escaped your throat before you could stop it—somewhere between a whimper and a purr—and you immediately bit down on your pillow to muffle any further sounds.

No. No, no, no. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to be here.

You forced yourself to move despite how much your body protested, stumbling to your door on shaky legs. Your hands trembled as you reached for the handle, trying to be quiet, trying not to draw his attention to the fact that you were home.

But it was too late.

“Kitten?” His voice drifted down the hallway, rougher than usual, with that gravelly quality that rut brought to wolf hybrids. “That you?”

You froze, hand on your door handle, every muscle in your body locked up with tension. He could probably already smell you—your heat scent mixing with his rut pheromones in the air between you. There was no hiding it now.

“Y-yeah,” you managed, hating how breathless you sounded. “Just… just got back.”

Silence. Then footsteps, coming closer, and your heart launched into your throat.

“You okay? You sound—” He stopped, and you could pinpoint the exact moment he scented you properly, when the reality of the situation clicked into place. “…Fuck.”

The single word, rough and low and edged with something that might have been hunger, sent a shiver down your spine straight to your core.

You should close the door. Lock it. Put a barrier between you and the wolf hybrid in rut whose scent was making you dizzy with want.

Instead, you stood frozen, fingers gripping the door frame, as his footsteps brought him closer to your room.

This was bad.

This was so, so bad.

And some traitorous part of you—the part ruled by heat and instinct and years of suppressed longing—thought it might be exactly what you’d been waiting for.

You should close the door. Lock it. Put a barrier between you and the wolf hybrid in rut whose scent was making you dizzy with want.

Instead, you stood frozen, fingers gripping the door frame, as his footsteps brought him closer to your room.

And then he was there.

Sylus appeared in your doorway, and the sight of him nearly brought you to your knees.

His silver hair was disheveled like he’d been running his hands through it, his ruby eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them—pupils blown wide with heat. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, and you could see the tension in every line of his body, the way his muscles were coiled tight like he was physically restraining himself. His wolf ears were pinned back, and his tail was rigid behind him—signs of a predator barely holding onto control.

He looked wrecked. Devastating. Dangerous.

And he was staring at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“You’re in heat,” he said, his voice even rougher than before, gravelly in a way that did absolutely nothing to help your situation. It wasn’t a question.

You nodded mutely, not trusting your voice, your fingers digging into the doorframe hard enough that your claws left small marks in the wood.

His eyes tracked the movement, then traveled over you—taking in your flushed skin, your thin clothing, the way you were trembling slightly. His nostrils flared, scenting you, and a low sound rumbled from his chest that went straight through you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” There was something raw in his voice, almost hurt. “I would have—I could have made arrangements, I—” He stopped, his jaw clenching. “Fuck, kitten, I wouldn’t have come back here if I’d known. This is—”

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “I thought you’d left. Thought you’d go somewhere else for your rut.”

Something flashed across his expression—surprise, maybe, or confusion. “Why would I leave?”

*Because that’s what you always do,* you thought. *Because you’d rather be anywhere else than deal with this kind of intimacy with me.*

But you couldn’t say that. Couldn’t reveal how much you’d thought about it, how much the idea of him with someone else during his rut had shredded you.

“Sylus,” you breathed, and even you could hear the desperation creeping into your voice. “You need to go. Please. This is—it’s too much, I can’t—”

“I know.” He took a step back, and you saw how much it cost him, saw the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll go to my room, I’ll stay there, I won’t—” His eyes squeezed shut briefly. “You won’t even know I’m here. I promise.”

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? You would know. Would feel him down the hall, would smell him, would lie in your bed aching and burning and knowing he was so close, knowing he was going through his rut alone just like you were suffering through your heat alone.

“You should leave,” you said, even though the words felt like they were being torn from your chest. “The apartment. You should go somewhere else. A hotel or—or call someone who could—” You couldn’t finish that sentence, couldn’t voice the image of him with someone else even though it was killing you.

His eyes snapped open, and there was something fierce in them now, something possessive that made your breath catch. “No.”

“Sylus—”

“I’m not leaving you alone during your heat,” he said, his voice dropping into something that was almost a growl. “And I’m sure as hell not calling anyone else. I don’t—” He cut himself off, shaking his head like he was trying to clear it. “Just… stay in your room. I’ll stay in mine. We can do this.”

Could you? Could you really survive the next few days knowing he was so close, knowing all you had to do was walk down the hall and—

No. You couldn’t think like that.

“Okay,” you whispered, your tail wrapping tight around your waist. “Okay.”

He stared at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then he took another step back, putting more distance between you, and you hated how much you wanted to close that distance, wanted to—

“Lock your door,” he said roughly. “Please. Because if you don’t, if I smell you like this all night, I won’t—” His voice cracked slightly. “I won’t be able to stay away. And you deserve better than—than me losing control because of biology.”

Your heart clenched. Even now, even in rut, he was trying to protect you. Trying to be good, to be respectful, to give you the choice.

If only he knew that you’d choose him. Would always choose him. That there was no one else you wanted, rut or no rut, heat or no heat.

But you just nodded, watched him retreat down the hallway to his room, heard his door close with a finality that echoed through the apartment.

And then you were alone.

You closed your door. Locked it like he’d asked. Then collapsed against it, sliding down to sit on the floor as your whole body trembled.

This was going to be impossible.

✩₊˚ .⋆☾⋆ ⁺₊✧

[Later that night]

You’d tried everything.

The vibrator helped for maybe ten minutes before the ache came roaring back twice as strong. The cold shower had been a mistake—your skin was too sensitive, every drop of water feeling like too much. You’d attempted to sleep but gave up after an hour of tossing and turning, your sheets soaked with sweat and twisted around your legs.

Nothing worked. Nothing helped.

Because your body knew what it wanted, and it wasn’t any of your usual coping mechanisms.

It wanted him.

Sylus. Just down the hall. Going through his rut while you burned through your heat, and the cruel irony of it was almost too much to bear.

You could smell him even through your locked door—his scent had permeated the entire apartment, rich and heavy and making your head spin. Could hear him too, your sensitive cat hearing picking up every sound from his room. The creak of his bed. His footsteps pacing. Once, a low groan that had sent heat flooding through you so intensely you’d nearly blacked out.

He was suffering too. You knew he was. And knowing that you were both suffering separately, alone, when you could be—

No. You couldn’t think like that.

But your heat-fogged brain wouldn’t let it go. Kept circling back to the same thoughts: *He’s right there. He needs help. You need help. This is biology. It doesn’t have to mean anything. You could help each other and then pretend it never happened and—*

Except it would mean something. To you, it would mean everything. And when it was over, when the heat and rut faded and reality came crashing back, you’d have to live with the fact that you’d had him once and would never have him again.

That might actually destroy you.

A sound from his room made your ears perk up—something between a growl and a groan, frustrated and pained. Then footsteps, heavy and deliberate.

You froze, every muscle in your body going tense as you heard his door open.

Footsteps in the hallway. Coming closer.

Your heart hammered against your ribs as you heard him stop outside your door. There was a long moment of silence, and you could picture him standing there, fist raised to knock, fighting with himself.

“Kitten.” His voice was wrecked, strained. “Are you… are you okay?”

The concern in his voice, even now, even when he was clearly barely holding it together, made your chest constrict painfully.

“I’m fine,” you lied, your voice coming out shakier than you’d intended.

“Liar.” A soft thump against your door—his forehead, maybe, or his fist. “I can hear you. Smell you. You’re not fine.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your hands over your face. “Neither are you.”

A rough laugh, completely devoid of humor. “No. I’m really not.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy with everything unsaid. You were both on opposite sides of the same door, suffering, wanting, unable to cross that final barrier.

“I should have left,” he said finally, quietly. “Should have gone to a hotel like you said. This is… fuck, this is torture.”

“Why didn’t you?” The question slipped out before you could stop it. “Why did you stay?”

Another long silence. Then: “Because I couldn’t. Couldn’t stand the thought of you here alone, in heat, vulnerable. What if something happened? What if you needed something and I wasn’t here?” His voice dropped even lower. “And I… I couldn’t go to anyone else. Not when—”

He stopped abruptly, like he’d caught himself about to say too much.

“Not when what?” Your hand was on the door handle now, trembling.

“Nothing. Forget it. I should—I should go back to my room.”

But he didn’t move. You could feel him there, could sense his presence on the other side of the door like a physical thing.

Your heat-addled brain was screaming at you to open the door. Your heart was screaming something else entirely—something that sounded dangerously like tell him tell him tell him.

“Sylus.” Your voice cracked on his name. “I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll go—”

“No.” Your hand turned the lock before you could second-guess yourself. “That’s not what I mean.”

The door swung open, and suddenly there he was, so close you could see the war happening behind his eyes. His rut pheromones washed over you in full force now, unfiltered by the door, and it took every ounce of self-control not to simply throw yourself at him.

He looked as wrecked as you felt—hair a mess, skin flushed, eyes wild and desperate. His chest was bare, just sleep pants slung low on his hips, and you could see how tense every muscle was, how hard he was fighting his instincts.

“Kitten,” he breathed, and it sounded like a warning and a plea all at once. “Don’t. Please. If you… if you’re too close, I won’t be able to—”

“I’m in love with you.”

The words tumbled out in a rush, propelled by heat and desperation and years of keeping them locked inside. And once they started, you couldn’t stop them.

“I’ve been in love with you for years. Since the library. Since that first day when you saved me and smiled at me and made me feel safe for the first time in my life.” Your voice was shaking, tears already gathering in your eyes because this was it, you were ruining everything, but you couldn’t stop. “And I know—I know you don’t feel the same way. I know I’m not—I’m not what you want. Not experienced enough, not confident enough, just… not enough.”

The tears spilled over, tracking hot down your cheeks, and you saw his expression crack, saw something like anguish flash across his face.

“Every time you brought someone home, it killed me,” you continued, your voice breaking. “Every time I heard you with someone else, I wanted to die because it wasn’t me. It was never me. And I tried—I tried so hard not to feel this way, tried to be happy just being your friend, but I can’t anymore. I can’t keep pretending that this doesn’t hurt, that watching you with other people doesn’t destroy me.”

You were full-on crying now, your shoulders shaking with sobs, your ears flat against your head. “And I know this is the worst possible time to tell you this. I know it’s just the heat talking and you probably think I’m pathetic and I’ve ruined everything, but I couldn’t—I can’t keep lying. Not when you’re right here and I want you so badly it physically hurts and I know I can’t have you because I’m not—I’m not—”

“Stop.”

His hands were on your face suddenly, cupping your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. And what you saw there stole your breath—not pity, not discomfort, but something raw and desperate and achingly tender.

“Stop saying you’re not enough,” he said, his voice fierce despite how gentle his touch was. “Stop saying I don’t want you. You have no idea—” His thumb brushed away your tears, and his own eyes looked suspiciously bright. “God, kitten, you have no idea how wrong you are.”

Your breath hitched, your heart stuttering in your chest. “What?”

“Those people I brought home? I was trying to forget you.” His voice cracked slightly, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. “Trying to convince myself that if I just found the right person, if I just tried hard enough, these feelings would go away. That I could stop wanting my best friend, stop dreaming about someone who deserved so much better than me.”

“Sylus—” you whispered, but he shook his head.

“You think you’re not experienced enough? Not confident enough? Kitten, you’re everything.” His hands trembled slightly against your face. “You’re brilliant and kind and so fucking beautiful it hurts to look at you sometimes. And every time you smiled at someone else, every time I thought about you finding someone who could give you the relationship you deserved, someone who wasn’t fucked up and broken and—” He stopped, taking a shuddering breath. “I’ve been in love with you since that day in the library too. Maybe before. And I thought—I thought I was protecting you by staying away. Thought you’d be better off with someone who wasn’t a wolf hybrid with too much baggage and a rut that made him dangerous.”

“You’re not dangerous,” you said fiercely, your own hands coming up to grip his wrists. “Not to me. Never to me.”

“I wanted to be good enough for you,” he continued, like he needed to get all of it out. “Wanted to be the kind of person who deserved someone like you. But I’m not. I’m selfish and possessive and the thought of anyone else touching you makes me want to—” He cut himself off, his jaw clenching. “And now you’re here, in heat, telling me you love me, and I can barely think straight because all I want is to—”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. You could see it in his eyes, feel it in the way his hands tightened on your face.

“Then do it,” you whispered. “Please. I don’t want to spend another second pretending. I don’t want perfection or whatever impossible standard you’ve set for yourself. I just want you. Just this. Just us.”

For one breathless moment, he just stared at you, his eyes searching yours like he was looking for any sign of doubt, any hint that you didn’t mean it. His thumbs continued their gentle path across your cheeks, wiping away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling.

“You’re crying,” he said softly, and there was so much tenderness in his voice it made your chest ache. Even now, even when you could see how much he wanted this, wanted you, he was being careful. Being gentle. “Kitten, you’re shaking.”

“Because I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice breaking on the words. “I’m scared this is a dream. I’m scared I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone and this will have never happened and I’ll have to go back to pretending and I can’t—” A sob cut off your words, and you pressed your palms against his bare chest, feeling his heart thundering beneath your touch. “I can’t go back to before. Not now. Not after finally telling you.”

Something in his expression crumbled, and he pulled you closer, one hand sliding to the back of your neck while the other wrapped around your waist. “This isn’t a dream,” he murmured, his forehead pressing against yours again. “I’m here. I’m real. And I’m not going anywhere. Not anymore.”

“Promise?” It came out so small, so vulnerable, and you hated how desperate you sounded but you needed to hear it.

“I promise.” He tilted your face up, making sure you could see the truth in his eyes. “I’ve been an idiot. Been running from this, from you, because I was terrified. Terrified of not being good enough, of ruining our friendship, of you realizing you deserved better and leaving. But I’m done running.” His voice dropped to something fierce, possessive. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. And I’ve been yours since that day in the library when you looked up at me with those wide, scared eyes and I knew—I knew I’d do anything to keep you safe.”

Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks, but these felt different. Felt like relief, like release, like seven years of aching finally being soothed.

“I’m yours,” you whispered back, and saying it out loud felt like shedding a weight you’d been carrying forever. “I’ve always been yours.”

His pupils dilated at your words, and you felt the low rumble start in his chest again—that wolf sound that meant contentment, possessiveness, mine. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” you repeated, your hands sliding up his chest to wrap around his neck. “Only yours. I don’t want anyone else. I’ve never wanted anyone else.”

“Fuck,” he breathed, and you could see him visibly fighting for control, his whole body trembling with the effort. “You can’t—you can’t say things like that to me right now. Not when I’m in rut and you’re in heat and I’m barely holding on as it is.”

“Then don’t hold on,” you said, and you watched his eyes darken impossibly further. “I don’t want you to hold back. Not anymore. I want all of you, Sylus. Everything you’ve been keeping from me.”

“Kitten.” It came out strained, almost pained. “If we do this—if we cross this line—there’s no going back. You understand that? I won’t be able to pretend anymore. Won’t be able to watch you walk around this apartment and not touch you, not kiss you, not—” He cut himself off with a harsh breath. “Wolf hybrids, when we bond, when we claim someone as ours, it’s… it’s permanent. Especially during our ruts. The instinct to mark you, to make sure everyone knows you’re mine—”

“Good,” you interrupted, and his eyes snapped to yours in surprise. “I want that. Want everyone to know. Want you to stop bringing other people home because you’ll have me. Want to stop pretending we’re just friends when we both know it’s always been more than that.”

He made a sound that was half-groan, half-growl, and you felt it reverberate through your entire body where you were pressed against him. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I do.” You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes fully, needing him to see how serious you were. “I know exactly what I’m asking for. I’m asking for you. All of you. Your rut, your instincts, your possessiveness—I want all of it. Because I love you. Not in spite of what you are, but because of it.”

Something shifted in his expression then—the last wall crumbling, the final thread of his control snapping. You saw the exact moment he stopped fighting himself, stopped fighting this, and surrendered to what you both wanted.

“Tell me one more time,” he demanded, his voice gone rough and commanding in a way that sent shivers down your spine. “Tell me you love me. That you want this. That you’re choosing me.”

“I love you,” you said, pouring every ounce of feeling into the words. “I want this. I want you. I’m choosing you, Sylus. Today, tomorrow, always. I’m yours, and I want you to be mine.”

“Always have been,” he said, and there was something that looked almost like wonder in his eyes. “God, kitten, I’ve been yours since the beginning. You just didn’t know it.”

Then something in him broke.

He surged forward, closing the distance between you, and kissed you like he was dying and you were oxygen, like he’d been drowning for seven years and you were his first breath of air.

It wasn’t gentle. Wasn’t careful or tentative or any of the things a first kiss probably should be. It was desperate and hungry and raw—years of suppressed longing, years of wanting and denying and pretending finally breaking free all at once. His lips crashed against yours with bruising intensity, claiming you, devouring you, and you gasped into his mouth at the sheer force of it, at the way it felt like everything you’d ever wanted and more.

Your hands flew up to tangle in his silver hair, fingers threading through the soft strands as you pulled him closer, closer, never close enough. You felt his wolf ears flatten slightly under your touch—sensitive and responsive—and the small reaction made heat pool low in your belly.

He groaned against your lips, the sound vibrating through your entire body and straight to your core, and his hands slid from your tear-stained face to your waist, gripping you with a possessiveness that made you whimper. Then he was pulling you flush against him, eliminating every inch of space between your bodies, and the full-body contact made your knees weak.

His bare chest pressed against your thin tank top—you could feel every defined plane of muscle, every rapid beat of his heart, the overwhelming heat of him seeping through the fabric and into your skin. His scent enveloped you completely, that pine and earth and pure wolf musk intensified by his rut, and it was so much stronger now, so overwhelming that all you could breathe was him, all you could feel was him.

Your heat-primed body responded instantly, desperately. Slickness pooled between your thighs, your skin flushed hotter, and a needy sound escaped your throat—somewhere between a whimper and a purr—that made him growl in response.

“Fuck,” he gasped, breaking the kiss only to trail his lips along your jaw with open-mouthed kisses that made you shudder. His tongue traced the line of your jaw before his teeth scraped gently against your skin—not quite biting, but the promise of it—and you moaned. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. Wanted you.”

He moved lower, finding the sensitive spot just below your ear, and when his lips closed over it, sucking gently, your claws extended involuntarily, pricking through his hair to his scalp. The small sting only seemed to encourage him, another growl rumbling from his chest.

“Same,” you managed breathlessly, tilting your head back to give him better access, your body arching into his of its own accord. Your tail wrapped around his leg possessively, and you felt his own tail brush against your hip. “God, Sylus, I’ve wanted you for so long—”

His mouth moved to your throat, lips and teeth and tongue tracing patterns that made you tremble, and you could feel him breathing you in, scenting you. “You smell so fucking good,” he murmured against your skin, his voice gone rough and gravelly with rut. “Always smell good, but now—fuck, kitten, you’re in heat and you smell like mine and I can’t—”

He kissed you again, swallowing whatever you were about to say, and this time it was somehow even more intense. Slower, deeper, but no less desperate. His tongue swept into your mouth and you met him eagerly, tasting him—something dark and rich and addictive—learning the shape of him, the texture, the way he kissed like he was trying to consume you whole.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, seven years of yearning finally finding an outlet, and when your tongue slid against his, when you sucked gently on his bottom lip, the sound he made was absolutely sinful.

Your back hit the doorframe suddenly and he pressed against you, caging you in with his larger body, and the feeling of being surrounded by him—his scent, his warmth, his overwhelming presence—made you dizzy with want. Made your heat-addled brain short-circuit with how right it felt to be trapped between him and the wall, how safe and claimed and desired you felt.

His hands roamed your sides with a reverence that contradicted the hunger in his kiss, sliding under the hem of your tank top to finally, finally touch bare skin. His palms were rough and warm, and everywhere he touched felt like it was on fire, nerve endings lighting up in his wake. He traced the curve of your waist, your ribs, his thumbs brushing just below your breasts—teasing, testing—and you arched into his touch with a whimper.

“So soft,” he murmured against your lips, his hands continuing their exploration, mapping your body like he was memorizing every curve, every dip. “So fucking perfect. Been dreaming about touching you like this. About what you’d feel like.”

His words made you bold. Your own hands left his hair to explore, sliding down his neck, over his shoulders, feeling the powerful muscles bunch and flex under your touch. Down his chest, your fingers tracing the defined lines of his abs, feeling them tense as you touched him. His skin was fever-hot, and you could feel his heart pounding beneath your palms.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed against your lips, even as his hands continued their exploration, even as he ground his hips against yours and you felt exactly how much he wanted you. The hard length of him pressed against your stomach made you gasp, made more slickness flood between your thighs. “Tell me this is just the heat, just the rut, and I’ll—I’ll go back to my room, I’ll—”

“Don’t you dare,” you said fiercely, fisting your hands in his hair and pulling him back down to you, crushing your lips against his with all the desperation you felt. “Don’t you dare stop. This isn’t just heat. This isn’t just biology. This is me choosing you. Choosing this.” You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, to make sure he understood. “I love you, Sylus. Heat or no heat, rut or no rut, I love you. I’ve loved you for seven years and I’ll love you for seven more and an eternity more after that.”

His eyes blazed with something that looked almost like reverence, like worship, and his hands came up to cup your face with a tenderness that made your chest ache. “I love you too,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “So fucking much. For so long.” His thumb brushed across your cheekbone, catching a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “You’re everything, kitten. Everything I’ve ever wanted. Everything I thought I’d never deserve.”

“You deserve this,” you whispered fiercely. “You deserve to be loved. You deserve me just as much as I deserve you.”

Something in his expression cracked, and when he kissed you again, there was a tenderness beneath the hunger that made your heart feel like it might burst. He kissed you like you were precious, like you were his, like he was trying to pour seven years of love into this one moment.

You kissed him back with everything you had, your hands sliding up to cup the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the hair there, one hand reaching up to gently scratch behind his wolf ear. He shuddered against you, a whine escaping his throat, and you felt a surge of feminine power at the reaction.

“Sensitive,” you murmured against his lips, and did it again, your fingers gently stroking his ear.

“Fuck—” His hips jerked against yours involuntarily, and his grip on you tightened. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Good,” you breathed, and then you were kissing again, lost in each other, in the taste and feel and scent of finally, finally having what you’d both wanted for so long.

His hands slid down your back, over your hips, and then he was gripping your thighs and lifting you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively, gasping at the new position, at the way his cock pressed against you even more intimately. Your covered pussy, already aching and soaked, pressing against him. Your tail wrapped around his waist too, clinging to him, and his own tail curved around to brush against your leg.

“Bedroom,” he growled against your mouth. “Need—fuck, kitten, I need you so bad. I can’t hold back anymore.”

“Yes,” you gasped, and then he was carrying you, his lips never leaving yours, stumbling slightly as he navigated down the hallway, too consumed with kissing you to pay proper attention to where he was going.

He shouldered open his bedroom door—not yours, his—and the significance wasn’t lost on you. His space. His scent everywhere. His den.

He laid you on his bed with a gentleness that contradicted the hunger in his eyes, following you down, covering your body with his. The weight of him, the heat, the feeling of being surrounded and covered and claimed made you moan, your back arching up into him.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you—sprawled on his bed, your hair a mess, your lips swollen from his kisses, your chest heaving with rapid breaths. His eyes tracked over every inch of you like he was memorizing the sight. “So fucking beautiful. And mine. Finally mine.”

“Yours,” you agreed breathlessly, reaching up to pull him back down to you. “Always yours. Just like you’re mine.”

“Always have been,” he said, and then he was kissing you again, and you were kissing him back, and nothing else mattered except this—

Finally, finally having what you’d both been denying yourselves for years.

Finally coming home.

He kissed you with a heat that stole every breath from your lungs, his lips devouring yours with desperate need, raw passion, and something deeper—a promise of exactly what was to come, of how thoroughly he was about to claim you, mark you, make you his in every way that mattered.

The soft whine that escaped your throat—high and breathy and so distinctly cat-like—only spurred Sylus on further, feeding a fire in him that had been burning for seven years. That sound was addictive, intoxicating, the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard fall from your lips, and it made every wolf instinct in him roar with possessive satisfaction. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, desperate and needy, pulling him closer like you couldn’t bear even an inch of space between you. Your hips shifted instinctively against his, seeking friction, seeking relief from the heat burning through you, and the moment your body pressed firmly into his groin—where you could feel exactly how hard and massive he was, how much he wanted you—a low, rough groan rumbled from deep in his chest, vibrating against your lips and making you shudder.

He pulled back slightly, lips parted and swollen, his pupils blown so wide his red eyes looked almost black. He looked like he was about to say something important—but you immediately chased his mouth, a needy mewl escaping you, your cat hybrid instincts refusing to let him go, refusing to lose that connection for even a second. His breath hitched sharply at your eagerness, at your complete inability to let him leave, and with a soft curse muttered against your skin, he brought his large hands up to cradle your face tenderly, his thumbs stroking your flushed cheeks.

He tried once, maybe twice, to pull away again—clearly intent on speaking, on saying whatever thought had crossed his lust-fogged mind—but every single time he attempted it, he melted right back into you helplessly, like his lips weren’t meant to be anywhere else but claiming yours. Like the rut coursing through him wouldn’t allow him to stop touching you, tasting you, consuming you.

Eventually, he tore himself away with several lingering, reluctant kisses, finally managing to draw a full breath. His lips were thoroughly swollen, slick and glistening with your shared saliva, and his gaze—dark, glazed over completely with rut-driven desire—held yours like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. You stared back at him, your chest rising and falling rapidly in perfect sync with his, both of you breathless and utterly consumed by each other. Your pupils were dilated too, your heat making you hypersensitive to every touch, every scent, every minute shift of his body against yours.

As your lips parted for another shaky inhale, you tasted nothing but him—the intoxicating pine and musk scent of him invading your senses, the overwhelming feel of his body covering yours, the scorching heat radiating between you. And then, just as you began to steady yourself slightly, his tongue slid across your bottom lip, teasing, tasting, demanding entry with a dominance that made your toes curl. Your breath caught sharply in your throat before escaping in a needy, completely uninhibited mewl as his tongue slid against yours—hot, slick, utterly possessive. The kiss deepened until it felt like he was tasting your very soul, claiming every part of you, and you surrendered to it completely.

You had absolutely no doubt—he was the best kisser you’d ever known, the best you’d ever have. Every single kiss from him was sensual, passionate, and absolutely drenched in love and longing and raw, primal need. He didn’t just kiss you—he devoured you, worshipped you, made you feel like you were the center of his entire universe. Like you were the only thing that mattered in this moment, in this life.

“Fuck, I need you so bad, kitten,” he groaned roughly against your mouth, his voice gone gravelly and deep with rut, the sound so raw and desperate it sent a violent shudder tearing through your entire body. The sensation pulsed hot and insistent between your thighs, and you knew—without any question—that your panties were completely ruined. You were soaked, throbbing, absolutely undone by him. The slickness from your heat was making a mess, and you could tell by the way his nostrils flared that he could smell it, that he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“M-more… please, please,” you whimpered pathetically, clinging to him like you’d physically fall apart without his touch to hold you together. Your claws pricked into his shoulders, and your tail wrapped tighter around his waist, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

His nose traced along your jaw, down to your throat, and you felt him inhale deeply against your skin, breathing you in like you were oxygen and he’d been suffocating. “Fuck, your scent,” he growled, the words vibrating against your throat as he wrapped himself around you completely, his larger body pressing you into the mattress. “Smells so fucking good. So sweet. So ready.”

You shuddered violently as his teeth grazed your neck—not quite biting yet, but the promise of it made liquid heat pool in your core. His wolf instincts were showing now, the rut making him more aggressive, more possessive, and every prey instinct in you should have been screaming danger. Instead, you tilted your head back, baring your throat to him in complete submission, in complete trust.

“Can smell you,” he continued, his voice rough and strained like he was barely holding onto control. “Can smell how wet you are for me. How ready your body is. Your heat—” He groaned, pressing the hard, thick length between his hips against you, grinding into your core through too many layers of clothing. “You’re ready for breeding. Ready for me to claim you. Ready for my pups.”

You moaned and whimpered at his words, your body arched up into his, as more slickness flooded between your thighs because yes, yes, that’s exactly what your heat-drunk mind wanted.

“I can smell it,” he continued, his hips grinding against yours in a rhythm that had you gasping, that had you trying to spread your legs wider even with your little sleeping shorts still on. “It’s so strong. So fucking intoxicating. And believe me when I say it’s all I can think about whenever you’re close like this—have been thinking about it for years. The rut just makes it a billion times more pronounced, makes it harder to hold back, makes every instinct in me scream to mount you, to breed you, to fill you up until you’re dripping with me.”

“Sylus,” you whimpered, and you weren’t even sure what you were asking for. Everything. Anything. More.

His teeth scraped against your throat again, harder this time, and you felt your cat hybrid instincts war between the urge to submit and the urge to bite back, to mark him just as thoroughly as he was about to mark you.

“Tell me you want this,” he demanded, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his own blazing with barely controlled hunger. “Tell me you want me to claim you. Make you mine. Because once I start, kitten, I’m not going to be able to stop. The rut—” His voice broke slightly. “I’m going to want to bite you. Mark you. Knot you. Breed you. And I need to know that’s what you want too, that this isn’t just the heat talking.”

“It’s not just the heat,” you said fiercely, your hands coming up to frame his face, making him look at you, making him see the truth in your eyes. “I want all of it. Want you to claim me, mark me, make everyone know I’m yours. Want your bite on my throat. Want you to knot me. Want—” Your voice dropped to something almost shy despite the explicit nature of what you were saying. “Want you to breed me. Fill me up. Give me everything.”

The sound he made was inhuman—a growl and a groan and something desperate all mixed together. “Fuck, you can’t say things like that to me. Not when I’m already barely holding on.”

“Then don’t hold on,” you whispered, reaching up to scratch gently behind his wolf ear, knowing exactly how sensitive they were, knowing it would drive him crazy. “I don’t want you to hold back. Not anymore. I want all of you, Sylus. The wolf, the rut, the claiming—all of it. Because I love all of you, my dear Alfa."

At your words, his control finally snapped.

Moments later his mouth claimed yours again, and this time there was no hesitation, no holding back. The kiss grew hotter, deeper, more consuming, each pass of your lips stoking the fire between you until it felt like you might combust. His hands moved down your body once more while yours slid to the back of his head, your fingers tangling desperately in his silver hair, careful of his sensitive wolf ears. When you gave a soft, experimental tug, he moaned into your mouth—a deep, rumbling sound that you felt in your chest—and his hips jerked against yours involuntarily.

One of his hands trailed slowly up your stomach, callused fingertips dragging against your overheated skin, while the other held firmly at your hip, gripping possessively, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. His touch made you weak, made heat pool between your thighs in waves, slickness soaking through your already-ruined panties as you kissed and touched each other with unrestrained hunger. Your tail thrashed against the bed, completely out of your control, betraying just how affected you were.

His fingers brushed delicately along the sides of your ribs, moving up and down in slow, reverent sweeps, his fingertips tracing every dip and curve as if memorizing your body, as if he’d been dreaming of this moment for years and wanted to savor every second.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered against your lips, his voice gone rough with want. “So fucking soft. Been wanting to touch you like this for so long.”

A moment later, his hands slipped away from your ribs only to settle at the hem of your tiny, flimsy tank top. His fingers played with the fabric, his knuckles brushing against the underside of your breasts and making you gasp.

“Can I undress you, little kitten?” His ruby eyes searched yours, dark with desire but still careful, still making sure you wanted this as much as he did.

You bit your lip and nodded frantically, unable to find your voice in that moment, too overwhelmed by need and heat and the feeling of his hands on you. Your ears were perked forward, focused entirely on him, and your pupils were so dilated your eyes looked almost black.

His smile deepened—predatory and loving all at once—as his hands slipped beneath your top for just a second, his palms hot against your skin, before he hooked his fingers into the fabric and slowly drew it upward. You raised your arms to help him remove it, whimpering slightly as the air brushed your newly exposed skin, your nipples pebbling instantly in the cool air and under his heated gaze.

Heat bloomed across your body under the way his eyes roamed over you, drinking in every detail like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. The way Sylus looked at you—eyes filled with nothing but love, awe, adoration, and raw, desperate hunger—made you feel so alive, so wanted, so utterly his.

You didn’t know what to do with your hands. They trembled helplessly at your sides, your claws extending and retracting nervously, and your core trembled just as much while he tossed the discarded clothing aside carelessly. His eyes never left you as he lowered his mouth to your collarbone, and his lips moved there with such affection, such reverence, that it sent a sweet shiver down your spine all the way to the tip of your tail.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your skin, letting his mouth wander over every inch of newly exposed flesh, pressing kisses like prayers. “So divine… ethereal. Perfect. Mine.”

Your bare chests pressed together, skin against skin, and the contact made you both groan. Every point of contact sets you ablaze—his fever-hot skin against yours, the solid muscle of his chest, the way you could feel his heart racing just as fast as yours. You stared up at him with wide, overwhelmed eyes as he continued kissing his way across your body, your ears twitching with every soft sound he made.

His large hands slid to the curve of your waist where it met your hips, gripping you firmly, his fingers spanning almost the entire width of your waist. He scattered damp kisses and gentle nips—careful not to break skin yet, but the promise was there—over your shoulders and down the path to your breasts. You whimpered softly when he traced the tip of his nose over the swell of your breast, breathing in your scent deeply, savoring the moment before his lips followed the same path.

“Smell so good here too,” he murmured against your skin. “Everywhere. Every inch of you smells like heaven. Like mine.”

He leaned down and pressed the softest, sweetest kiss to the side of your breast before lifting his gaze to yours, his ruby eyes molten with desire. “Are you okay?” he murmured, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining control. His forearms rested on either side of your body, caging you in gently, his larger frame completely covering yours. When you nodded, he brought one hand up to stroke your cheek, his thumb warm and tender against your flushed skin, careful of your sensitive whiskers. “Kitten… if we’re gonna go any further, I need you to talk to me. I need verbal communication. Think you can do that?”

You stared at him for a moment, breath catching, completely overwhelmed by the tenderness in his eyes despite the rut clearly driving him mad with need. Then you nodded again before catching yourself. He raised a brow and gave you that knowing look that sent warmth spreading through your chest.

“Sorry,” you whispered, your voice coming out breathier than intended. “Y-yes, Sy. Yes… I think I can do that.”

“Good girl,” he praised softly, and the words sent a spike of pleasure straight to your core. A gentle smile curved his lips even as his eyes blazed. “Good kitty.”

The purr that escaped your throat was completely involuntary, your cat hybrid instincts responding to the praise before you could stop them. His eyes darkened impossibly further at the sound, and you felt his cock twitch against your thigh.

“And if you want me to stop—” His mouth pressed back to your heated skin, trailing barely-there kisses down the valley between your breasts, his wolf ears tilted forward to catch every sound you made. Your eyes fluttered shut as your fingers twisted in the sheets, claws puncturing the fabric. “—you tell me right away. Okay?” he muttered, his voice raw and strained with want.

“Y-yes, Sylus… I understand,” you whimpered, another involuntary purr vibrating in your chest.

“Good.”

He breathed in through his nose, inhaling your scent deeply, and you shivered when he exhaled warm breath directly over your nipple. “Fuck, angel… you’re so beautiful. So perfect. Can’t believe I get to have you like this. Can’t believe you’re finally mine.”

Then he wrapped his lips around your nipple, teeth skimming lightly over the sensitive peak as he sucked and licked with slow, hungry passion. His tongue was hot and wet, circling and flicking in ways that made your back arch off the bed.

“Sy…” you mewled, the sound high and needy and so distinctly feline. Your hips lifted helplessly as your cunt sought any kind of friction, your tail thrashing against the sheets.

Sylus looked up at you, his mouth still wrapped around your nipple, and his eyes were absolutely wicked. Heat crawled up your skin under his gaze. He could see everything on your face—want, need, desperation—and he welcomed it, reveled in it. His lips returned to their work, long, slow, lavish licks from the flat of his tongue over your pebbled nipple while his other hand rose to squeeze your other breast, kneading gently, rolling your nipple between his fingers.

The dual sensation made you cry out, your hands flying to his hair, threading through the silver strands. When your fingers accidentally brushed his wolf ear, he groaned around your nipple, his hips grinding down against you involuntarily.

Impatient, trembling, desperate for more, you guided the hand on your breast downward—down your stomach, down to the heat between your thighs where you needed him most. His breath hitched sharply, his mouth releasing your nipple with a wet pop as he stared at you.

“Please,” you whimpered. “Need you to touch me. Need—”

Your words cut off in a loud, helpless moan as his fingers slipped beneath the band of your little sleeping shorts and down to where you needed him most. His mouth fell open with a loud, helpless groan right against your breast when his fingers met your soaked folds.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his fingers sliding through your slickness, exploring, teasing. “Fuck, kitten, you’re drenched. So wet for me. Is this all from your heat or—”

“You,” you gasped out as his fingers traced your pussy softly, learning every fold, every sensitive spot. “It’s you. Always you.”

He groaned again, the sound vibrating against your skin, and you felt his cock throb against your thigh, hard and hot even through his underwear. His fingers continued their exploration, one finger circling your entrance teasingly before sliding up to circle your clit with maddening lightness.

He worshipped you there for a moment—just his fingers teasing, learning every response, cataloging what made you gasp and what made you moan—before he suddenly pulled back. Completely away from you.

You whimpered at the loss, your hands reaching for him desperately, a distressed mewl escaping your throat that made his ears flatten apologetically. But he was already sitting up, watching through half-lidded eyes as he took his time removing the rest of his clothes. Every movement felt agonizingly slow—the flex of his muscles, the reveal of more pale skin, the thick trail of hair leading down from his navel.

When he finally pushed his underwear down, his cock sprang free, thick, massive, hard and flushed dark with need. Your eyes widened at the size of him, at the sheer girth and length, at the prominent veins running along his shaft, at the bead of precum already leaking from the tip. You felt another gush of slickness between your thighs, your body preparing itself instinctively, but your mind was suddenly racing with doubt.

He was big. Bigger than you’d imagined, and you were a virgin. How was that supposed to fit inside you? Your eyes traced down his length to where you could see the thick bulge at the base—his knot, still not fully swollen but already intimidating. The thought of taking all of that, of being stretched around him, knotted by him…

Panic fluttered in your chest even as arousal pooled hot and heavy in your belly. Your heat-addled brain was at war with itself—half of it screaming ‘want, need him, need to be filled, bred, knotted’ while the other half whispered anxiously ‘too big, won’t fit, it’s going to hurt—‘

You shut your eyes briefly, the conflicting emotions making you whine and mewl like the kitten you were. The sounds were desperate, needy—desperate to feel him again, desperate for his heat on your skin, desperate to be filled despite your fears. But underneath it all was that thread of nervousness, of uncertainty about whether your body could actually take what it was begging for.

When he was finally naked, you felt the bed dip as he moved back over you. He leaned down, his lips immediately finding your neck, licking and sucking softly, careful of where he’d eventually place his mating bite. His hands cupped your sensitive breasts and massaged them with tender, reverent fingers, his palms rough against your soft skin. Heat flooded your body as Sylus kissed down your shoulders, then your chest, his mouth leaving warm, fluttering trails that made your tail curl.

Your trembling hands slid into his silver hair, threading through the strands, gently scratching at the base of his ears in the way that made him shudder. He continued to kiss and taste every inch of exposed skin, his tongue occasionally flicking out to taste, to scent-mark, to claim.

Sylus’s lips moved slowly down your body, worshipping you with unhurried kisses, while his hands traced the lines of your shaking form—mapping every curve, every soft place, every breath you took beneath him. Lower and lower he went, until he was settled between your thighs, his broad shoulders forcing your legs wider.

He leaned forward, breathing in the heat of your core as he ran his nose slowly along the patch of dampness clinging to your shorts. You tugged at his hair when he inhaled your scent deeply, his eyes rolling back slightly, a rumbling groan emanating from his chest.

“Fuck, kitten,” he hummed, looking up at you with an intense, hungry gaze that was pure predator. His wolf instincts were fully on display now, and every instinct in you should have been screaming. Instead, you spread your legs wider in invitation. His hands left your skin to curl into the waistband of your tiny shorts. “You smell so good… so fucking ready. I can’t wait to taste you. Been dreaming about having my mouth on your pretty pussy for years.”

A shuddering breath slipped past your lips as you lifted your hips instinctively, silently begging him to take them off. He slid the fabric down your legs torturously slowly, and you watched his eyes track the string of slickness that connected your pussy to the soaked fabric before it broke.

“No panties,” he observed, his voice gone even rougher. “Were you expecting this, kitten? Or do you just walk around the apartment with nothing under these tiny shorts, driving me fucking insane?”

“I—I was too hot,” you stammered, your face heating up. “The heat, I couldn’t—”

“Shh, I know.” He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, soothing. “I’m not complaining. Fuck, I’m not complaining.”

Once he pushed your thighs open wider for him, you whimpered as the cool air kissed your wet slit, as you were completely exposed to his ravenous gaze. Sylus stilled for a moment, his eyes devouring the sight of you—your glistening center clenching around nothing as he watched your pussy pulse with need and so swollen, your slickness coating your inner thighs.

“Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Perfect. All mine.”

He licked his lips slowly, deliberately, before leaning down and placing lingering kisses along your inner thighs. His tongue dragged warm, teasing strokes over your soft skin, sucking gently, leaving marks, worshipping. His mouth was so close to where you needed him most, but each kiss felt like sweet torture, keeping him just out of reach.

“Please,” you whimpered, your tail lashing in frustration. “Sylus, please—”

“So pretty when you beg,” he murmured as he guided your legs up and over his shoulders, settling you perfectly beneath him, his hot breath ghosting over your aching core. “Again.”

“Please,” you repeated, more desperate this time. “Please touch me, taste me, anything—”

You were about to beg more—about to plead for him—when his lips left your thigh… only for him to nuzzle directly against your pussy a moment later. The contact made you cry out, your back arching off the bed. He smeared your slick across his lips with a groan of satisfaction, savoring your taste as he opened you with his tongue, dragging it flat from your entrance to your clit in one long, devastating lick.

“Fuck,” he groaned against you, the vibration making you whimper. “Taste even better than you smell. Could eat this sweet little pussy for hours. Might have to, just to prepare you for my cock.”

You gasped, your body arching as his wet tongue finally met your throbbing heat again, this time circling your clit with purpose. He licked and sucked with the dedication of a man starving, like your pleasure was the only thing that mattered in the world.

He pulled back again briefly, only long enough for his fingers to slide in and spread your outer lips for him, exposing your swollen clit and clenching entrance fully to his gaze. Sylus smirked as he eased a single finger inside you, watching your body react—the way your hips twitched, the way your walls fluttered and clenched around the intrusion, how greedily your wet hole swallowed his digit. You moaned into the pillow beside you, trying to muffle the desperate sounds, your ears flat against your head with overwhelming sensation.

Those little whines—soft, needy, helpless, so feline—only drove Sylus to chase more of those heavenly noises from your lips. His mouth returned to your clit, sucking the swollen bud between his lips while his finger worked inside you.

“Fuck… such a tight little pussy,” he moaned against you as your cunt clenched repeatedly around his finger. “So fucking tight. Virgin tight.” The word made you clench harder, and he groaned. “I’m going to have to prepare your tiny pussy for my cock, kitten. Have to stretch you out nice and slow so you can take me. So you can take my knot. So I can breed you all night long.”

Your whines grew louder at the mention of his knot and the thought of him breeding you, your heat-driven instincts screaming yes, need that, want to be knotted, bred, filled. The pleasure washed over you in waves as his finger curled inside you, finding that spot that made you see stars.

His fingers were so much bigger than yours—just one of his was more overwhelming, more delicious, reaching deeper than anything you’d ever done to yourself. And when he added a second finger, stretching you carefully while his tongue worked your clit, you thought you might die from how good it felt.

“That’s it,” he praised, his voice muffled against you. “Get used to being stretched. You’re doing so good for me. Such a good little kitty.”

The praise combined with the physical sensation made you purr loudly, your body going pliant and eager for him, desperate to please, desperate to be good for your alfa, your mate.

Your mate.

The realization should have overwhelmed you. Instead, it felt like coming home.

Your breath hitched as your body responded to him, your core fluttering and clenching around his fingers like it recognized him on instinct alone. A soft whimper slipped past your lips, tail curling against the sheets as your ears twitched, betraying just how sensitive you were to every careful movement he made. Sylus’s fingers moved slowly inside you, unhurried, reverent—like he was memorizing the way your body opened for him.

Without thinking, your hips began to sway into his touch, chasing the closeness, the intimacy of it. A low sound rumbled from his chest, warm and deep, his gaze softening even as it burned with want. He watched you like you were something precious—your trembling thighs, the way your hands fisted the sheets, the small, helpless movements of your tail when pleasure crept higher.

You panted softly as he added another finger, his touch patient, coaxing. He gave your body time, easing you open with gentle insistence until the stretch stopped being overwhelming and turned into something lush and intoxicating. Your whimpers grew quieter, needier, each one melting into the next as his fingers curled inside you with deliberate care.

When he kissed you, it wasn’t rushed. His lips lingered, tender and consuming all at once, as if he was afraid of leaving even for a second. Your claws threaded into his hair, tugging him closer, your body responding to him as naturally as breathing. His thumb brushed your clit, and the kiss deepened—slow, intimate, devastating.

You gasped when his tongue slipped into your mouth, kissing you with desperate devotion. “That feels good, doesn’t it, baby girl? You like it when I touch you like this?” Sylus groaned—right as his thumb found your clit. You bucked into him, nodding frantically.

“Use your words, kitten,” he teased darkly.

“Yes—please, Sy, please… feels so good,” you whimpered, voice breaking. “Please...”

He kissed his way down your body again, making you whine and beg in soft, breathless sounds—even as his fingers kept thrusting inside you.

Sylus inhaled your scent as soon as he settled between your thighs, but he didn’t keep you waiting. He wet his lips, then dipped his head to drag his tongue in a slow stripe from your dripping folds to your clit.

“Fuck, Sylus!” you shrieked, hips lifting off the mattress.

Senseless, needy noises poured from your throat. Your hips stuttered against him, and he simply sighed—like there was nothing in this world he wanted more than to eat you out right here, right now.

He savored you, his mouth moving with unhurried devotion, his fingers still inside you, grounding you even as pleasure began to blur the edges of everything else. His free hand rested on your hip—not to hold you down, but to keep you close, to remind you he was right there.

Your name spilled from his mouth like a promise, and his from yours like a prayer. Tears stung your eyes as the feeling built, overwhelming in the sweetest way. His tongue moved with quiet confidence, his fingers curling just right, drawing soft, needy sounds from deep in your chest.

“It’s okay,” he murmured when your body tensed, sensing it instantly. “I’ve got you. Breathe kitten.”

You buried your face into the pillow, nodding weakly, trusting him completely.

When he returned to you, slower this time, more intentional, the pleasure bloomed again—gentler but deeper. You sighed at the same moment he did—yours high and breathy, his deep and dreamy. He lapped at you with clear intention, fucking you with slow, careful strokes of his fingers this time, keeping you just where you needed to be. Your hands found his hair, holding him there as if you might float apart otherwise.

“Oh—my god,” you whimpered, trembling hands gripping his silver hair with one hand while the other clamped over your mouth to silence yourself. “F-Fuck… Sy, f-fuck…”

He moaned into your pussy, lips sealing around your clit. You jerked at the sensation. “Fucking hell— you taste so good. You feel so good. You’re everything,” he groaned against you.

“Fuck, baby—oh my fucking god,” you cried out. He sucked lazily on your clit while curling his fingers inside you, then sucked harder as he circled your little bud with his tongue. His fingers moved faster, deeper, hitting your sweet spot over and over. You moaned his name between breathless mewls, now gripping his hair with both hands. “Feels so good Alfa…”

Your whole body trembled violently, heat spreading everywhere, your hips grinding helplessly into his face and hand.

“A-Ah! I’m coming—please, please—”

“Cum for me, kitten,” he murmured before sucking your clit again.

Your body snapped tight as your orgasm tore through you. Your mind exploded into blinding stars, pleasure crashing through your nerves so sharply you cried out his name. You trembled uncontrollably as you came against his mouth, your soul unwinding in his hands.

“You’re doing so well for me, kitty,” he whispered proudly as his fingers slowed, sliding out to softly rub your swollen slit while he kept licking your clit—guiding you gently through every last wave.

You were a sputtering, helpless mess, trembling as he pushed you right to the edge of overstimulation. As your senses returned in shaky pieces, you felt his fingers slip away from your heat. Your pussy clenched around nothing, desperate and empty. You felt like a fevered storm, soaked from the waist down, dripping onto the sheets, whimpering helplessly.

You needed him. Badly. Your pussy pulsed insistently—begging to be filled again. Begging for his cock.

You rolled onto your stomach with a breathless, needy mewl, burying your face into his pillow as it still held his scent. Your tail curled tight against the sheets, flicking weakly as your body trembled with lingering sensation. Your ears twitched at every sound behind you. You kept your eyes closed when you felt his hands on you again—large, warm, unmistakably steady as he lifted your hips and spread your legs wider, guiding you with quiet certainty.

A soft, startled sound slipped from you when Sylus leaned in and pressed his face between your thighs. He inhaled deeply as he spread your cheeks apart—slow, deliberate—his wolf committing your scent to memory. The reaction was immediate. Your body shuddered, slick gathering between your folds as your arousal bloomed again, stronger this time, your scent thickening and turning sweet. The low sound he made in response vibrated through the mattress, deep and instinctive, and the bed shifted beneath the force of it.

Then his mouth was on you.

Messy, hungry, unrestrained—his tongue dragged over every inch of sensitive skin between your thighs, saliva warm and unashamed. His hands locked firmly on your hips, holding you tilted just right, keeping you open and offered. His focus narrowed completely to your heat, to the way wetness welled and spilled freely now, mixing with his saliva and trailing down to soak the sheets beneath you. Your clit throbbed desperately, aching as each flick of his tongue passed just beside it, teasing your frayed nerves.

The vibrations of his quiet growls traveled straight through you, doubling every sensation. When his tongue finally circled your clit, a loud, broken cry tore from your throat, ears flattening as your back arched off the bed. He licked a slow, possessive stripe up through your folds, teasingly dipping his tongue into your needy entrance—just enough to make you gasp—before gliding back up. His tongue spread you open with wet warmth as his lips closed around your clit, sucking with reverent hunger.

You nearly sobbed at the feeling. Your whole body trembled, overwhelmed and desperate, instincts screaming. You needed more—needed him. Without thinking, you tried to grind yourself against his mouth, chasing friction like a needy little thing, but his arms slid around your thighs. His biceps caged your hips in place, holding you still with effortless strength.

Not cruel. Not rushed. Controlled.

“Taste so good, kitten… could eat this pussy all day,” he growled against you.

The man you loved more than anything was between your legs, tongue gliding slowly up and down your soaked slit, savoring you like prey he had no intention of letting go of. Every soft mewl, every helpless sound you made only urged him on. His mouth returned to your clit, sucking gently but deliberately, lips warm and persistent as though he wanted you to feel every second of it.

When he leaned in deeper and slipped his tongue into your entrance, your breath caught sharply. He curled it upward, brushing your inner walls with careful precision. Your fingers bunched the sheets in a tight, trembling grip, claws threatening to tear through the fabric—and he felt it. He repeated the motion, slower, firmer, intent sharpening.

You were undone beneath him. A needy, whimpering mess, hips betraying you as they strained uselessly against his hold. Soft, breathless cries spilled from your lips as he licked upward again, pressing his tongue against that sensitive spot inside you. Your vision blurred. Your hips bucked hard against his mouth, thighs clamping around his head as another orgasm crept frighteningly close.

Greed and desperation overtook you. Your hips pushed against his face to force his tongue deeper into your aching cunt.

“Sylus…” you moaned, voice breaking, raw and needy. You were so close—aching, trembling.

You moved your hips against him helplessly, fucking yourself on his tongue as he pressed firmly into that sensitive spot inside you. His thumb circled your clit in slow, perfect circles that made stars dance behind your eyes.

“Be a good girl and come for me,” he murmured, voice low and commanding, devotion wrapped tight around the words—before plunging his tongue back inside you.

That was all it took.

Your body gave in with a shattered cry, pleasure ripping through you as your vision went white and your ears rang. Your movements turned sloppy and uncoordinated as you came against his mouth, hips stuttering through the final waves. He stayed with you through it all, tongue soothing, lapping gently until the overstimulation made you twitch and whine. Only then did he ease back.

“You did so well, princess… so good to me. So beautiful. And you taste so good. So sweet,” he murmured against your inner thigh, voice thick with praise.

You whimpered softly at his praise, still oversensitive and aching, your body trembling in small aftershocks from the force of your climax. Your tail twitched weakly against the sheets, ears flicking as if every sound and touch reached you twice as strongly now. Before you could fully gather yourself, Sylus shifted above you, moving up your back with slow intention. He pressed soft, lingering kisses along your spine, each one warm and grounding, then across your shoulders, and finally to the curve of your neck.

Your breath hitched with every kiss. Your whimpers and broken little moans never quite stopped as he spoiled you—touching you like you were precious, worshipping you with a devotion that made your chest ache. His presence was steady and sure, his body a solid warmth over yours, anchoring you as much as he aroused you.

“I love you so much, sweet girl,” Sylus murmured, voice low and sincere as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. His nose brushed your skin, breathing you in like instinct demanded. “So responsive to me.”

The room felt heavy with anticipation, the air thick with scent—your arousal sweet and unmistakable, his deeper and warmer beneath it. You lay beneath him, every inch of you flushed and sensitive, nerves still singing from where he had touched you. His words settled deep inside you, soft and reverent, and you melted into the mattress, your usual hesitations crumbling under the weight of his affection.

“I love you too,” you breathed back, the confession barely louder than a whisper, as though saying it out loud might undo you.

His lips returned to your neck, open-mouthed kisses trailing along your skin in a slow, unhurried line. Each press lingered, deliberate, almost possessive without being rough. He moved from your neck to your shoulders, then along your jaw, his breath warm against your ear. You whimpered again, your body arching instinctively, hips pressing back against him without conscious thought. It felt natural—necessary—your feline instincts urging you closer, seeking friction, seeking him.

His skin was slick and hot against yours, his body radiating heat so intense it chased away the chill entirely. When you turned your head slightly to look at him, you caught the scent of yourself on his breath and lips, your arousal clinging to him. His eyes were dark and heavy-lidded as they met yours, pupils blown wide. Moments later, you felt the warm drip of his own arousal spill into the small dip of your back, making you shiver.

Sylus lined himself up slowly, carefully, and glided his cock through the slick cleft of your ass. Your breath caught as his tip dragged along your slit, spreading wetness everywhere. Your body trembled as precum leaked freely from him, smearing over your clit and folds, the sensation making your inner walls clench and flutter in response.

You squirmed helplessly beneath him, your body a writhing mess of need, tail curling tight as anticipation coiled low in your belly. Every slow roll of his hips made your breath hitch, made your muscles tense like you were bracing for something inevitable.

“Let’s move you around,” he murmured softly, hands sliding to your hips as he tried to guide you onto your back.

A needy mewl slipped from you before you could stop it, your body resisting the movement instinctively.

“Kitten?” he prompted gently, pausing.

You swallowed, voice trembling as the words spilled out. “Sy… I want you to take me from behind. Please. I need you to fuck me like this. I want my first time to be like this—with you. Please.”

A low growl rumbled from his chest, restrained but unmistakably wolfish. “That’s your heat talking,” he murmured, though his hands tightened slightly on your hips.

“Please,” you whimpered again, desperation bleeding through every word. “I can’t do this anymore. I need you. I need you so bad.” Your hips ground back against him, slick heat coating his length, the friction driving you nearly frantic. The tip of his cock brushed your entrance, teasing, while your clit throbbed with every small movement. Your mind felt hazy, overwhelmed by want.

“I don’t think your tiny virgin pussy can handle my cock,” he said quietly, voice husky, teasing—but there was hesitation there too. His grip tightened, steadying rather than forcing. “Especially not like this.”

You felt him breathing harder behind you, his control slipping inch by inch. His body was tense, like he was holding himself back with everything he had. You could feel the conflict in him—the way he wanted you, the way he was fighting to make this right.

“I can handle it,” you insisted, voice shaking but sincere. “Let me be your good kitten.”

Sylus stilled. His hand guided himself to your entrance, fingers firm and grounding as he rubbed the tip of his cock over your swollen clit. Your mind spiraled, the sensation overwhelming. Your breath broke into a soft cry, your back arching off the bed as sensation flooded you.

“Fuck, Sy, please,” you pleaded, your voice breaking. “I can’t do this anymore. I jus’ need you so bad. My pussy needs you. It needs to be filled with your cock and cum. Please, Daddy. Let me be your good kitten. Fill this little hole up, breed this pussy. My Alfa, please—”

Your words were a catalyst, sending Sylus over the edge. A deep growl tore from him as his hands gripped your hips, tilting them and spreading your legs wider. His rough, wide hands caressed your ass, his touch both gentle and commanding. He circled his tip around your entrance, the motion slow and deliberate, pulling desperate whines from your lips. You squirmed, your hips wiggling, trying to push back against him, but his hold was firm, his dominance undeniable.

“You’re so warm. Taste and smell so nice and ripe.” he murmured, breath ragged. “So ready for my cubs, kitten.”

You whimpered beneath him as his hips ground forward, his voice darker than you’d ever heard it, rough with instinct. The head of his cock brushed lower, grazing your entrance before he drew back slightly, watching the way your tight, little virgin pussy clenched, desperate and begging to be filled. His teeth clicked softly near your ear, sending goosebumps racing over your skin and making your hips jerk beneath his.

This time, when his tip pressed against your soaked centre, he hissed sharply. The instant his dewy tip pressed against your entrance, you mewled, your body tensing with anticipation. The fat head of his cock was a promise, a prelude to the fullness you craved. Your stomach seized, the wait torturous, your clit throbbing in time with your racing heart.

“Gonna take care of you, breed you so good.” He murmured, circling his hips again, the tip winding around your entrance, dipping between your folds. You lifted your hips instinctively to meet him, back arching under his chest as your body begged for what was coming.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he whispered, voice thick with longing. “Mine.”

“P-please, Daddy—” you croaked, the word tearing out of you in a thin, broken whisper. Your ears flattened instinctively as Sylus's heavy breathing filled the space behind you, each husky exhale brushing your skin and making your tail curl tight. His presence was overwhelming—solid and powerful, all wolfish heat and restrained hunger. His flushed cockhead pressed more firmly at your entrance, making it ache, while your clit pulsed painfully beneath him.

You trembled beneath his weight, every inch of you too sensitive, too aware. His body covered yours completely, warm and grounding, his heat wrapping around you like a protective cage. You writhed softly, helplessly, yearning to be filled—yearning to feel him inside you so deeply that thought dissolved into nothing but sensation.

You trembled beneath him, every inch of you alive with need. Your tail curled tight against the sheets and then loosened again, betraying how restless you were. He covered you completely, his heat bleeding into you, chasing every last trace of cold from your skin until there was nothing left but warmth and want. You writhed softly, helplessly, yearning for him to fill you—yearning to be so full of him that the world blurred into white and there was only Sylus.

His nose brushed along the side of your neck for a brief second, an instinctive nuzzle that made your breath catch. Like he had to breathe you in, like he had to ground himself before he moved.

“Ah… such a pretty, tiny pussy,” he heaved, voice thick with desire and something darker beneath it—something wolfish and barely leashed. “Can’t wait to breed this tight little pussy all night long.”

The words went straight through you, a hot shiver tearing down your spine. You whimpered, and your body clenched around nothing, begging.

A broken gasp burst from your lips when he finally slipped the tip of his cock inside. It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t careless. It was slow and heavy, the kind of pressure that demanded your entire body’s attention. You felt him shift behind you, sitting up just enough to look down, his eyes locked on the place where your body tried to accommodate him.

“Ohhh—” the sound that left you wasn’t even fully a moan, more like something pulled from deep in your chest. Relief and ache tangled together as you relished the feeling of him, the pressure turning into bliss as the head of his length spread you open. It felt like he was parting you slowly, shaping you with patience, like he refused to hurt you even while his need raged.

Your walls stretched in a slow, aching attempt to wrap around him, but it was clear from the start it wouldn’t be easy. He was overwhelming—thick and wide even at the tip, the stretch made sharper by how desperate and worked-up you already were. A harsh hiss slipped through his teeth when he had to pull back slightly, easing you open with controlled restraint, cock throbbing inside your center in time with the fluttering convulsions of your walls.

A shaky whine spilled from you as he pushed forward again, the stretch searing through you. His veins dragged along your walls in a way that felt intimate and claiming, like he was molding you to him, pressing himself into every place your body could offer. Your claws flexed against the sheets, leaving faint marks in the fabric as you tried to steady yourself.

He went deeper. And deeper.

A long, fragile sound broke from your throat as you shuddered, overwhelmed by how much of him there was. He was so big. So impossibly thick. You felt split open around him in the most helpless way, your body trembling as it struggled and then clung, like your instincts didn’t know whether to fight or surrender.

“Sy, I can’t—” you mewled, voice cracking into a needy, feline sound that made his breath hitch. “S-so big… t-too b-big…”

He didn’t answer immediately.

His hands slid down to your ass, spreading you open carefully—just to see you, to understand exactly how your body was taking him. His gaze was intense, pupils blown wide, the wolf in him watching the way your dripping cunt fought to accept him. His jaw flexed, a quiet tremor of restraint rolling through him as if he was holding back everything he wanted to do.

“Poor kitty,” he sighed, voice rough with a mix of amusement and aching tenderness. “So tiny…” His thumb brushed your hip, a gentle stroke that softened the words. “My pretty kitten can barely take me.”

Slowly—carefully—he pushed just a little further, inch by inch, his pace controlled like he’d rather break himself than break you. His breath ghosted over your cheek as he leaned down, voice lowering into something intimate.

“You can take it,” he murmured. “You’re doing so, so good for me.” Another slow push. “Such a good little kitten.”

And then he kissed your cheek—soft and sweet, a tender mark of love right in the middle of all that heat.

“It’s so big,” you mewled again, hips stuttering helplessly beneath him. Your tail flicked once in frantic need, your ears flattening as your body tried to adjust around his size. “Ah… Daddy…”

His grip tightened slightly—not harsh, but firm enough to hold you steady, to keep you from slipping away from the pressure you were begging for. The wolf in him rumbled low, but the man you loved stayed careful, coaxing your body instead of forcing it.

“You can do it, kitty,” Sylus insisted, voice a low growl right by your ear, warm breath washing over your skin. “You’ll take daddy’s cock… like the good little kitten you are.”

The stretch burned, sharp and intense… but it was intoxicating, too. Your eyes fluttered shut, lips parting on helpless sounds as he worked himself deeper, your pussy fluttering around him in a desperate attempt to adjust. Your whimpers turned breathless and pathetic, sweet and needy, the kind of sounds that felt too honest to stop.

He paused again, just long enough for your walls to soften around him, just long enough for your body to stop resisting and start learning him.

“Such a good girl,” he breathed.

Your body clenched hard at the praise, slick gathering faster as if your cunt had decided to reward him for being gentle.

You took a deep, shaky breath—and when he pressed forward again, it was different. He slid inside far enough for the swelling near the base of his cock to begin spreading you wider, and your exhale shattered into a cry when you felt your core strain around his knot. Your thighs shook violently, claws scraping at the sheets as your body tried to process the fullness.

Sylus’ breathing came faster and hotter, panting against your back. You felt drops of sweat fall from his chin as he hovered over you, shaking with restraint. His hands stayed on your hips—steady, grounding—while the tip of his cock nudged deep, brushing that sensitive bundle of nerves inside you that made your vision blur.

“Alfa,” you mewled, voice trembling, small and desperate. “T-too big…”

A broken sound tore from him, animalistic and raw, like the wolf was slipping through the cracks of his control. He shuddered over you, hips trembling as he fought himself, jaw clenched so tight you could hear his teeth grind.

He held himself there—still, strained—breathing hard, like he was forcing patience into his bones.

Then his voice softened, roughened by devotion. “Look at me,” he whispered, breath hot against your ear. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Your throat tightened painfully at the tenderness in it. It didn’t make the need smaller. It made it worse—because it reminded you this wasn’t just lust. This was Sylus. Your Sylus.

And then his restraint snapped, not into cruelty, but into aching surrender.

He thrust forward harder, hips snapping with a force that drove him all the way in. Filling you to the brim.

You cried out, body arching off the bed as the fullness stole your breath. Your toes curled, eyes squeezing shut, and your pussy convulsed around him like it couldn’t decide whether to clamp down or melt. You felt his precum mix with your slick, hot and deep, and tears spilled freely down your cheeks—overwhelmed by the stretch, the relief, the trust, the love tangled into it all.

For a moment, you were suspended in pure sensation—shaking, full, completely his.

You felt stretched perfectly around him, filled so deeply your entire body buzzed. And as your walls slowly softened, adjusting around his thickness, the overwhelming fullness began to bloom into something sweeter. Deeper.

You clenched around him without meaning to.

Sylus groaned low, the sound vibrating through your spine. His face tightened with restraint as he leaned over you, his hands sliding down your waist and then kneading your ass cheeks, touch possessive but gentle.

“Fuck,” he hissed, voice strained. “So fucking tight…” He dragged a shaky breath in. “You look so beautiful like this—taking me all the way… my good kitten.”

“Please… I need you,” you whimpered, voice breaking as your pussy pulsed around him, needy and greedy, refusing to let him go. Your tail curled tighter, trembling with every beat of your heart. “Please Sy…”

He pulled out slowly—so slowly it felt cruel. The empty ache hit you instantly, making you whine, your hips chasing him without permission. “Such a needy pussy,” Sylus groaned, and then he thrust back in again, hips snapping forward hard enough to make your whole body slump into the mattress.

The first thrusts were deliberate—strong enough to make your breasts bounce, deep enough to knock breath from your lungs. Each snap of his hips drew something new out of you: a breathless mewl, a whine, a broken plea you couldn’t hold back. Your ears flattened and your tail flicked in frantic rhythm, your body reacting like instinct had stolen every last ounce of pride. The sounds filled the room quickly—soft, frantic, embarrassingly sweet.

Sylus groaned, the wolf in him practically purring at the way you responded. But his hands stayed careful on you, holding you steady, guiding the pace so it didn’t steal too much from you too fast.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice low and thick with approval as he pressed his mouth to the back of your shoulder, kissing you like he couldn’t help it. “Sing for me, kitten…”

And with every thrust that followed, you did—your body trembling, heart open, love and heat crashing together until there was nothing left in you but him.

“Ah—ah, fuck, daddy… oh my god—” you hiccuped, your voice breaking into breathless little sounds as Sylus moved his hips slowly but firmly behind you. Each thrust sent hot, lightning-sharp jolts through your body, pleasure blooming and spreading until it made your limbs feel weightless. Your pussy pulsed greedily around him, still struggling to adjust to his girth, but the stretch became more bearable with every careful push—turning from sharp overwhelm into something lush, intoxicating, almost addictive as your body began to surrender.

You didn’t just take him—you learned him. Like your instincts were wrapping around his, yielding not out of weakness, but because it was him. Because it was love. Because your body trusted him even when it trembled.

His pace quickened, hips snapping against yours with growing urgency, rough enough to make the bedframe rock beneath you. The slap of skin against skin echoed through the room, obscene and steady. Each deep thrust dragged a helpless sound from your throat as he drove into you again and again, filling you so thoroughly it stole your breath every single time. His palm slid down to your ass, spreading you open as he pushed in fully, claiming every inch with a possessive kind of care that made your chest tighten.

You cried out when your body clenched around him, instinctively welcoming him deeper, the pressure making your eyes squeeze shut as if you could feel him everywhere.

Your tail flicked erratically behind you, betraying how close you were to losing yourself. Your ears twitched at every low sound he made—every ragged breath, every restrained growl that vibrated through his chest and into your spine. He held you firmly in place, his cock stretching you open until it left you dizzy and breathless, your thighs trembling with the effort of keeping up. His hands tightened on your hips, guiding you back onto him with slow, deliberate thrusts—still controlled, still watching you, feeling you, reading every shiver as if your body spoke a language only he understood.

Even now, even like this, Sylus took his time in the moments that mattered, pausing just enough for you to breathe, to soften, to take him fully, his restraint trembling at the edge of snapping.

“That’s it,” he groaned, forehead pressing briefly to your back. “My good girl. My kitten.”

The praise hit you like a kiss to the soul. Your walls fluttered around him, greedy and tight, and you whimpered helplessly.

His voice softened just enough to make it ache. “All for me.”

He kept you pinned with one broad hand at your lower back, forcing your hips up while pressing your chest firmly into the mattress, holding you exactly where he wanted you. There was no escape from him—only sensation. You were a mess beneath his weight, tears sliding down your cheeks, drool collecting at the corner of your mouth, broken little mewls spilling freely as his rhythm became more demanding, more relentless… but never careless.

His breathing came faster and faster, hot pants washing over your back. Drops of sweat slid from his chin, landing warm against your skin. You could feel yourself burning just as hot, your entire body glowing with it—especially when his tip nudged deep, brushing that sensitive bundle of nerves inside you that made your vision blur.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmured, voice thick, almost wrecked, as he rolled his hips deeper into you—slow for one thrust, almost reverent… and then firm again.

“Y—yes,” you gasped, barely holding yourself together. “‘S too much—Sy—feels s’good,” you mewled, voice breaking as your hands clawed the sheets, nails catching and scraping. Your back arched instinctively, pushing you closer, begging without restraint. Your tail curled tight and then flicked again, like your body couldn’t decide whether it wanted to hide or be claimed harder.

He chuckled softly—low, intimate—before leaning down until his breath brushed your ear and his nose grazed your neck in something instinctive and wolfish, a brief nuzzle that made you shiver all over.

“Good,” he whispered. “Let it consume you, kitten.”

His pace quickened. Thrusts grew rougher, deeper—driven by something hungry and unyielding that made the wolf in him bleed through the cracks. The wet sounds of your body filled the room, obscene and overwhelming, every slick drag and blunt press pushing you closer to the edge. His grip tightened, grounding you, keeping you right where he wanted you, refusing to let you drift anywhere but into him.

“Sy—Sylus…” you mewled breathlessly, voice dissolving into something small and desperate. “Feels so good…”

His thrusts turned relentless—punishing in the best way, stealing your breath, pulling your sounds from your throat until they became high, helpless cries. Your body trembled, completely at his mercy, every nerve alight. Your pussy fluttered around him like it couldn’t stop reacting, clenching greedily every time he bottomed out.

“That’s it,” he murmured, and this time his voice was almost gentle, thick with approval and want, like he was trying to soothe you even as he ruined you. “Come for daddy.”

The coil then snapped violently. You came undone around him with a sob, your mewls breaking into a raw, desperate wail as pleasure tore through you. Your whole body convulsed, thighs shaking, walls clenching hard around his cock. Sylus cursed low—guttural, wrecked—slamming deep once, twice, before he held you there, buried fully inside you as he spilled hot, his grip ironclad on your hips.

For a moment, there was nothing but ragged breathing. Your body trembled beneath his, overstimulated and shaking apart, your tail going taut and then twitching weakly as you tried to recover.

His thumb traced slow, grounding lines up your spine—firm and reassuring, a gentle reminder that you were safe. That he had you.

“That’s my good girl,” Sylus murmured against your shoulder, voice possessive and warm. “My kitten sounded so beautiful when she came for me.”

Then, Sylus shifted back just enough to draw his knot from your entrance a fraction. The movement made you whine, your walls clenching instinctively as if to keep him there. You felt a warm, generous mouthful of saliva slip from his lips and coat your slick, swollen entrance—his breath shuddering as he watched it, as if the sight alone tightened his control into something thin and trembling. His next push slipped his thickness back into you with sinful ease, and when his hips finally pressed flush against yours, he collapsed over you again with a groan. One elbow sank into the pillow beside your head while the other held your hips tilted just right, keeping you offered as he emptied himself deep—so deep it felt like it kissed the very center of you.

“So tight,” he rasped, voice shaking. “So good… mine.”

“Daddy—ah!” you cried, breathing matching his as his knot throbbed inside your walls. The stretch bordered on uncomfortable, but your body still pulsed with pleasure, your clit throbbing between your thighs like a desperate plea for relief. Your nipples pressed hard against the bed beneath you, sensitivity spiking with every shallow breath.

It took him a minute—he stayed buried, panting, trembling, fighting to stay gentle even as his instincts urged him to claim you harder. But soon Sylus shifted again, cock and knot pushing and pulling inside you with slow insistence, and your breath caught sharply when the heavy grind pressed into your g-spot like mortar and pestle, crushing pleasure into you until you felt faint.

“F-fuck…” you choked, voice barely there.

You hadn’t even realized his knot had receded enough for him to move properly again until he drew back and pushed right back into you with a slick sound loud enough to make heat crawl up your cheeks. Your ears flicked in embarrassed sensitivity, tail twitching weakly as if the sound alone made you feel exposed.

His hand came up to cradle your head, fingers threading gently through your hair—soothing you, grounding you—while his cock pulsed deep inside you, still hard, still claiming. He pressed a kiss to your temple, slow and warm, as if he couldn’t help himself.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he moved again, hips snapping forward, driving into you with renewed force.

Soon the only sounds filling the room were the slap of his hips each time they met your ass, the wet squelch of him sinking deep, and the occasional broken crack of your mewls—soft, choked, sweet. Sylus’ growls threaded between them, low and vibrating, a wolf’s satisfaction wrapped in human restraint.

You whimpered helplessly, mind fogged, body trembling… but it wasn’t enough. Not when it was him. Not when you wanted to be claimed over and over again until the ache turned into something permanent, something that lived under your skin.

Every thrust, every sharp slap of his hips against your ass, sent sensation ricocheting through you. Your thighs shook, your body tightening around him as another coil started to form—unbidden and overwhelming. Your heat pooled low and heavy in your belly, thick and demanding, your clit throbbing with every drag of his cock against that aching place inside you.

You could barely breathe. Barely think.

Your entire world narrowed down to the weight of him pressed tight to your back, his hand in your hair, his warmth surrounding you like a shield. Even his scent—wild and comforting—wrapped around your senses until there was nothing left of you that wasn’t tuned to him.

And when his fingers slipped down to your clit again, rubbing rough, careless circles, the pleasure hit sharp and blinding. Your moans broke apart into desperate, choked sounds, your body trembling uncontrollably as another orgasm surged up without warning.

When it hit, it tore through you completely. Your body convulsed, a fresh wave spilling out as you cried out, overwhelmed, tears sliding down your cheeks. Your pussy clamped and fluttered, milking him greedily as if it couldn’t stop.

“Fuck,” Sylus groaned, his rhythm faltering as he felt you fall apart again beneath him—his breath breaking, his control slipping into a low, shaking sound that rumbled like a growl against the back of your neck.

And still, even as he wrecked you, his hand tightened gently in your hair—steadying, soothing—because no matter how wild the wolf became, he never stopped holding you like you were his heart.

You could barely think. Your whole body trembled beneath him, thighs quivering uncontrollably, head spinning from the dizzying mix of overstimulation and pleasure— from the way he had filled you so completely it felt like your body didn’t know what to do with the fullness. Your sounds came out wrecked and broken, reduced to breathless cries that cracked in your throat. Tears kept sliding down your cheeks, warm and helpless, as if your body couldn’t hold anything back anymore—not sensation, not emotion.

And then Sylus slid out of you completely. The sudden emptiness made you whimper instantly, your walls clenching around nothing, your tail giving a weak, frantic twitch against the sheets. Your legs trembled, trying to close on instinct, but there was nothing there to hold onto anymore—nothing except the aching need he had carved into you.

It didn’t last long. Sylus’ hands gripped your hips and he manhandled you gently, shifting you with that careful strength of his—wolfish power wrapped in devotion—as he flipped you onto your back. Your ears flicked, oversensitive to the sound of the sheets rustling, to the heavy way he breathed above you, to the low growl that lingered in his chest like he couldn’t bear the distance.

“I need to see you,” he groaned breathlessly, eyes dark and hungry as they locked onto yours. “Need to kiss you.”

His arms circled around your back and he claimed your mouth in a heated kiss that stole what little air you had left. It wasn’t just lust—it felt like he was trying to touch your soul, trying to say everything he didn’t have the courage to confess with words. His mouth moved against yours like he couldn’t get enough, like kissing you was the only thing that made him feel grounded. And just as fast as he had left you, he entered you again.

You gasped sharply into his mouth as he pushed back into your tight, soaked heat, the stretch blooming into something deep and dizzying. Your claws curled reflexively against his shoulders, holding onto him like you were afraid you’d float apart otherwise. He sank all the way inside with a slow, steady push, and the sound you made was halfway between a sob and a moan, your body instantly pulsing around him in greedy, helpless recognition.

Sylus shuddered, a low rumble vibrating through his chest as if the wolf in him had settled the moment he was back where he belonged.

Once he was fully inside again, he rolled his hips forward in one slow, deep stroke. You cried out, back arching off the bed as the motion dragged through you inch by inch, intimate and consuming. His thrusts stayed careful—controlled—slow enough that you felt every ridge and vein, every deep press that made your vision blur.

He didn’t pull out far. Only enough to rock inside you, gentle and achingly deep, as if he wanted the closeness more than anything. Like he didn’t want to be separated from you even for a second.

He kissed your lips again—then your cheek, your jaw, his nose brushing your skin in little, instinctive nuzzles that made your stomach twist. His breath was warm and damp, his scent thick around you—wolf, desire, and something softer beneath it that felt like home.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered against your mouth. “So warm… so tight… so good for me.”

Your ears flicked and your tail curled weakly as the praise sank into you, settling somewhere deep in your chest. You whimpered, eyes glossy as you stared up at him, your heart pounding too hard to feel real.

And he kept moving—slow, deep, worshipful—like he was savoring every second of being inside you. The angle was perfect. So deep, so consuming, that Sylus gradually picked up his pace, leaving you a breathless, whimpering mess beneath him. His strokes lengthened, hips rolling forward in long, languid thrusts that made the bed creak softly. The room filled with the wet, desperate sound of slick skin meeting slick skin again and again, every noise making your cheeks burn and your body clench tighter.

Every time he sank into you, his pelvic bone dragged against your throbbing clit, and you cried out his name in pure, helpless ecstasy—louder than you meant to, more needy than you could stop. “Sylus—!”

“You’re taking me so well, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice warm and adoring as he leaned down, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. His lips brushed your skin, his breath shuddering like he couldn’t stop himself from breathing you in. “Doing so… so good for me.”

Soft grunts fell from him whenever he hit that specific deep spot inside you, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment as pleasure tore through him. You whimpered when his mouth returned to yours, capturing your lips in a heated, dizzying kiss that made your head spin harder.

One of his hands slipped down between your bodies, finding your clit with practiced ease. He rubbed two slow, deliberate circles over your sensitive nub—testing, coaxing.

You jerked against him with a sharp gasp. Sylus’ eyes darkened even more, his breath hitching as he watched you react.

When he slid into a hidden pressure point deep in your core—paired with the relentless way his fingers circled your clit—you clenched around him like a vise. Your eyes rolled back as pleasure surged violently through you, overwhelming and new, almost frightening in how fast it built. Your whimpers climbed higher, turning into breathless, broken cries as he picked up his pace, fucking you deeper, the sound of his breathing growing ragged.

“I love you, kitten,” Sylus moaned, lips curling into a soft, tender smile as he watched your face contort—so overwhelmed, so beautifully undone just for him. The words sounded like truth, like devotion spilling out without permission. Filth and praise slipped from his mouth like honey, messy and reverent all at once. “This pussy was made for me.”

You shuddered, eyes stinging again, heart clenching painfully at how sweet and possessive it felt coming from him.

His mouth covered yours again, swallowing every little noise you made, smothering your trembling breaths. Your body trembled under him, tail flicking weakly as the tightness in your belly returned, coiling and pulling tighter with every thrust, every touch, every kiss he gave you.

Your whimpers and gasps grew louder as ecstasy flooded your senses. Sylus’ hands couldn’t get enough of you—sliding over your hips, your waist, your back—touching you like he wanted to memorize you, like he was terrified this wasn’t real. His palms lingered, his thumbs stroking soothing lines that contradicted the hungry way his hips drove into you.

You whimpered at the speed of his thrusts, feeling another orgasm build rapidly. Your legs locked around his hips, clinging to him, pulling him closer. Sylus felt it too—the way you squeezed around him with every stroke—so he drove harder into your heat, shifting his hips with careful precision, searching for the exact spot he knew would shatter you.

Your arms trembled as they wrapped around him, nails digging into his back. It earned a deep, helpless groan from him—half pleasure, half restraint snapping. The coil in your belly tightened, tingling down your legs, trembling on the edge of breaking.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, voice strained as though the words physically hurt him. He cursed softly when you tightened around him on purpose, your body greedily clenching as if to keep him trapped inside you forever.

“Please…” you moaned, mind hazy with want, eyes glossy as you looked up at him. Your ears flicked forward, your body practically pleading without even moving.

“You want to cum, sweetheart?” he asked, voice thick, tender, wrecked.

You nodded frantically, biting your lip as your body trembled beneath him. You bucked up instinctively, chasing him, nails sinking into his skin. His hand moved back to your clit, pressure firm and perfect, while his other hand found yours. He intertwined your fingers, squeezing once—an anchor—before pinning them gently to the bed like he didn’t want you to get lost in it.

He rubbed your clit with slow insistence, just enough to drag the pleasure higher and higher until you couldn’t breathe properly.

“Cum for me, kitten,” Sylus demanded softly, voice warm against your cheek, more devotion than command.

And when he nudged that one perfect spot inside you—paired with his deep voice and the way his eyes never left your face—you exploded. You shattered, coming undone so violently it ripped a cry of his name from your throat. Blood rushed in your ears, drowning out the sound of your own sobbing breaths. Sylus crashed his lips onto yours, swallowing every broken noise as if he didn’t want anyone else to hear them, as if he wanted them all for himself.

Your head fell back, back arching sharply, your tail going rigid for a second as your body twisted under the force of release. Pleasure rolled through you in heavy waves, leaving you trembling and helpless.

Sylus groaned into your ear as your walls spasmed around him, clenching desperately, begging—needing him to stay, to fill you, to never let you go.

“Fuck…” he moaned, pushing himself up as he thrust harder, deeper, the head of his cock hitting your spot repeatedly. His voice cracked with need. “I need to fill you up again, kitten.”

You were dazed, trembling, but you still nodded vigorously, whining as overstimulation mixed with want. Your pussy squeezed around him in greedy pulses, like it was answering him. “Please…”

His hips stuttered, thrusts turning sloppy as the pleasure overtook him, his control finally slipping through his fingers. Then—with a raw, broken moan—he spilled inside you again.

As he came, his mouth moved to the junction between your neck and shoulder. His canines sank into your skin in a marking bite, instinctive and claiming. His teeth stayed embedded for a moment, and somehow you barely felt pain—only a hot rush of oversensitivity and the dizzying intimacy of being chosen. Being kept.

A soft, shocked sound left you—half moan, half whine—as he held you through it, encouraging your hips to grind against him even as his knot kept you plugged, sealing him inside while he emptied against your cervix again.

You mewled at the sensation, warmth flooding your core and spreading thickly through your walls as he stayed buried deep. Your ears fluttered with every sound he made, and when your hearing finally cleared—when the blood rushing through your ears calmed—you could hear him.

Soft, happy growls. Content, satisfied noises that vibrated against your skin while his tongue soothed the indents of his teeth. His canines still nipped you now and then, more like affectionate little reminders than anything else, and you found yourself smiling through the haze, relaxing completely against him.

Sylus licked the sweat from your skin, nuzzling you happily, his nose brushing your cheek and temple like a wolf who couldn’t stop checking that you were still there—still his.

Everything stayed blurred and soft when you came back to yourself fully. Your body ached, but in the sweetest way—completely relaxed, thoroughly ruined, glowing with an exhaustion that felt like bliss. Your tail lay limp against the sheets now, finally still, and your ears only twitched faintly when Sylus shifted above you.

Once you’d both caught your breath, Sylus leaned his forehead against yours, eyes softening into blissful awe. He kissed you tenderly—slow and careful, like he was savoring the simple fact that he could.

“That was…” he breathed, smiling down at you like he couldn’t believe you were real—your hair tousled, skin flushed, lips swollen from his kisses. His thumb brushed gently under your eye, wiping away the last trace of tears.

“So good,” you rasped, voice hoarse and hazy with pleasure. “Perfect.” You cleared your throat softly, smiling up at him even as you still trembled.

Your skin was sweaty and sticky, but he didn’t care. He looked at you like you were beautiful in a way that hurt. You felt his knot soften slightly, his cock still half-hard inside you, and he pulled you closer, hands roaming lovingly over every inch of skin he could reach. He was still dazed too—still caught on how breathtaking you looked when you came apart for him… because of him.

Overwhelmed with affection, you cupped his cheeks in both hands, thumbs stroking softly over his flushed skin, and pulled him down into another kiss. This one was slow, tender, deep—full of emotion. Full of everything the two of you had been too afraid to say.

And that was how the rest of the night went. Tangled limbs, soft kisses, quiet nuzzles, Sylus’ warm hands tracing you like he never wanted to stop. Your purr-like little sighs when he holds you close, his low, satisfied rumbles when you melted into him. Intimate touches that weren’t rushed, weren’t desperate—just yours.

You felt loved. Safe. Claimed in the gentlest way. At home in his embrace.

He’s the image of cool confidence as he’s informed of her capture in enemy hands, draping a blazer atop his shoulders and instructing the twins to start the car. “Will you be able to hold the fort on your own?” He asks.

But you can see the barest tremor in his hands, the tension in his shoulders, the rising fear of losing her before he even gets to see her with his own two eyes.

“You can count on me.”

This is the only peace you can offer him in the midst of this chaos. 

His eyes continue to linger, as if time wasn’t of the essence. Little words have been exchanged between the two of you since the hunter came into the picture. And for a moment, you think he might say something (please, say something). But all he does is grip your shoulder as if to ground himself, nodding in a silent ‘thank you’ before he leaves. 

The door shuts behind him. 

You know how this story goes. It was only a matter of time before he reunited with his lover in this life, before the story would continue along its tracks and catch you in the crossfire. 

Your search for a way home had become painfully futile. You’d think a world altered by the discovery of the Deepspace Tunnel would have more answers to the truth of your presence here, but your search had dug up nothing. Wormholes, dimensional travel, transmigration; from the philosophical to the scientific, all paths led to dead ends. 

You sit listless in your chair, fiddling with the necklace Sylus gave you as you wait for your life to be thrown into chaos. 

Staring into the metropolitan abyss of the N109 Zone, you sometimes like to imagine what sylus sees. An ant-like web of crimes and deceit, of power-hungry folks looking to get ahead and eat each other alive in the process. But all you ever see is a world beyond your understanding. And here, you wonder where you fit in this ecosystem; what your presence has done to change the story. 

You burst into terrible, broken laughter.

You shouldn’t get ahead of yourself. 

You were but a drop of water in the ocean. There was nothing that you, with no worth or significance to your name, could do to make more than a solitary ripple.

And so, you keep your longings locked and your love as just thoughts, as you wait in bated breath for the story and their fated reunion to begin.

—————————————————————

“Where are you taking me?” Her voice is biting as the twins bring her to the room you’ve prepared. Ornate, spacious, and windowless, just as Sylus asked. A gilded cage with an open door. You don’t see her but her rage rings through the corridors, something that feels almost like a hallucination after having stepped in her shoes, reading the story you once adored.

Her arrival is a marker of the story catching up to you, of time catching up to you. A reminder that you do not belong in this world. 

In the next few days, you become a quiet observer of this tale, watching their fractured reunion play out.

“What makes you think I'd ever be willing to help you?” She snapped at Sylus after their third failure at resonance, a sad attempt at a threat when she lay exhausted, slumped in the fancy chair in his study.

“You don’t exactly have a choice, sweetie. As you can see —” He gestures to the opulent surroundings, “— you’re in my territory.”

You roll your eyes. Trust Sylus to make a shit first impression, even to the supposed love of his life.

You keep to the sidelines, going about your typical routine. But your curiosity gets the better of you on the second day, when you offer to bring the hunter her food. 

You can’t help but imagine being in her shoes right now; kidnapped by the man she believes to have destroyed her home and killed her family. To an extent, you think it might not be so different to how you felt, first arriving here.

So, you decide to reach out. Maybe gain her trust and coax her into eating and regaining her strength. Food is the way to the heart, after all. At dinner time, you bring a tray to her room, knocking on the door and calling her name.

“Who's there?” She asks from the other side of the door, wariness lacing her voice. 

You introduce yourself, “It’s me, Sylus's secretary. Aren’t you hungry?” You soften your voice, treating her with the gentleness you would a cornered animal, but you’re met with silence. Concern gnaws at you, “You haven’t eaten in twenty four hours.”

She scoffs, the sound muffled by the barrier between you two. “What, isn’t that your plan? Starve me til’ I’m too weak to escape and resist Sylus's demands?”

You stop in your tracks, puzzled. “Escape? You know you can leave, right? No one’s going to stop you.” Even the door was unlocked. But you believed knocking was a basic form of respect, unwilling visitor or not.

She stays tight-lipped for the next few moments, so you continue, “Not that you’d get any further than a couple blocks, what with vultures hanging around the compound at all hours of the day—” Your spiel is cut off as she suddenly swings the door open, doing a double take at the sight of you.

It’s clear she sees the resemblance just as you had, her face contorting from defensiveness to stunned confusion. But for you, seeing her in the flesh only refuted any idea of similarity between the two of you.

Haggard and bruised, the hunter still manages to shine in the gritty underbelly of the N109 Zone.

When you first saw her face projected in the hologram, the likeness was unmistakable. The shape of your eyes, the slope of your nose, and the barely-there difference in the color of your hair and complexion. Anyone could have mistaken the two of you as cousins, maybe even siblings. But standing in front of her now, the difference has become clear as day.

You can’t help but understand how so many have fallen head over heels, enthralled by her and her character. In the shadow of her energy and vivacious presence, you could only look dim in comparison. Standing beside Sylus was no small feat — one that you’d failed to live up to, looking nondescript and ordinary at the side of the most powerful man in the N109 Zone. 

But of course, she fits like the missing piece to his puzzle. The dragon and the sorceress, now the criminal and the hunter. You try not to feel inferior, tamping down the jealousy and pettiness festering within you, but it’s hard to shine when you’re standing between the sun and the moon.

The initial surprise dissipates, and she eyes you with the mistrust expected of a kidnapee twice-over. You extend the tray towards her as a sign of good will, “Eat it while it’s still hot.”

“...How do I know it’s not poisoned?”

You huff, taking a quick bite. “Happy now?” 

She snatches the tray and slams the door behind her in one quick motion. You click your tongue; so much for gaining her trust. 

—————————————————————

Time had dulled your memory of how awful their first meeting truly was. 

Really, what was Sylus thinking? You wonder as he treats his treasured soulmate so… menacingly. 

You’ve become a bystander to the motions of the story you’re familiar with; the failed resonance, her disdain for him, and his absolute lack of tact in interacting with her. With his every word coated in menace and veiled threats, you’re wondering if Sylus was even thinking at all. Was he like this when you two first met? You try to recall as you get the ick from his unexpected hostility.

You want to know what’s running through his mind, what possessed him to think this was the appropriate way to go about this. But since the hunter’s arrival, your time with him had become even more scarce, any moment together cut off by his work or your urgency to leave. 

Guilt washes over you each time you see his face drop, when you make another hasty escape from facing him. But you cling on to the belief that this was necessary, to give you both space to adjust to the hunter’s presence, and for you to learn to live with the fact that he was not yours.

The two return from the workshop, and you stride into the office to give your daily secretarial report — only to find him hunched at his desk with a glass of wine, staring vacantly into the skyline of the N109 Zone.

In the dimly lit office, his eyes, shrouded by the shadows, give away nothing. But you catch the way his shoulders tense, his fingers clenching the stem of the glass. 

“Sylus?” You call out gently, announcing your presence with audible footsteps as you approach him, breaking your internal promise to keep your distance. But you could only hold out this one-sided silence for so long, weak in the face of his vulnerability. 

He calls your name with a weary tone, “Do me a favor and tell the informant I won't be meeting him today.”

“Are you okay? What happened?” You take slow steps in approaching him.

He fiddles with the stem of his wine glass as he releases a low, bitter laugh, “Well… it seems that our dearest hunter fears me. It was not any bodily dysfunction or injury that was preventing us from resonating, but rather her disgust.”

She captured his heart, bound his soul to hers, and now has no recollection of any of it. Detests him to the point her evol rejects his. 

You feign ignorance to the story beats you remember, “Well, it’s only been so long since you’ve met her again… If she’s still the same person, her memories of you are still there, deep down.”

“As if the world hasn’t made me wait long enough.” 

You don’t know what to say to that — heart torn between feeling bruised and feeling sadness for him.

“I'd like to be alone.” He takes a deep breath, a subtle command as returns his gaze to the skyline, guarding his vulnerability, unwilling to bare more of his weaknesses than he already has.

The world sees Sylus as an unstoppable force, as the supreme authority in the criminal underworld. But though the dragon may be fierce and capable, the human underneath was just that — a human. One that got frustrated, whose skin bruised, who had weaknesses that he guarded with veiled ferocity. But somehow, somewhere along the way, he’d chosen to strip the curtains of that vulnerability to you.

Maybe in another world, you would have taken him into your arms, refused to leave him as he quietly fell apart. But in this reality, it was no longer your place to do so. As it was, he had promised his heart to another, leaving yours too tender to comfort his.

The only peace you could offer him now was the privacy to crumble in solitude.

Still, you couldn’t bear to leave him so quietly. “You’re not a hard person to love. You know that, right?” You whisper, a quiet admission of your feelings. For all his gruff and intimidating nature, it was not his power, money, or looks that earned him your affection. But rather, all the softness he guards from the harsh world he lives in.

You shut the door before he can acknowledge you, trying to wipe the mental image of his conflicted expression. You mute his email for the next hour, redirecting it to your inbox, offering him a brief moment of peace to ruminate in his thoughts.

You laugh silently, bitterly to yourself, for giving so much of yourself for a man who was devoted to another. Despite having been set aside, you still can’t help but show your love for him in the only way you know how. (In the only way you can).

And you wonder to yourself: could you ever touch the part of him that hurts? One of the most powerful men in this world, having his world shaken by the hunter’s disdain. If it were your spite, your hurt that he faced, would it even feel close to the gravity he feels now? 

You shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to. 

You had found yourself in the deep end, and it was high time to swim back to shore, to back out of this one-sided race. Because you may have received his affection, but you will never receive the depth of his devotion.

—————————————————————

Hostility melts into mischievous affection as the hunter’s dynamic with Sylus takes a sudden pivot into unfamiliar territory. The visit to the shopkeeper marked a turning point in their relationship as Sylus came to his senses, and their relationship evolved for the better. The truth to their tied souls, you think, as you bear witness to the connection quickly blossoming between them.

You’re fine. Really, you are. 

(At least, that’s what you tell yourself each time you see the soft smile on his face, melting in adoration for the hunter.)

You stop avoiding him, after catching a glimpse of the vulnerability he attempts to hide. His face lights up whenever you approach him, breaking the silence you kept for so long. And not for the first time, you feel guilt wash over you for how you added to his existing turmoil.

But still, you’re left wondering about your place in his life now that the hunter has arrived. 

The pages turn one after another as the two of you fall back into old routines, nurturing the friendship and camaraderie you built over the past year. But not everything stays the same.

You maintain your boundaries, keeping your nightmares and worries to yourself — settling for long, lonely nights, when the alternative is setting yourself up for a painful road. 

One night, you find a rare moment of peace in the recent chaos. The two of you battle over this world’s version of Monopoly in a high-stakes, cutthroat bet to determine who will have the first taste of Luke and Kieran’s slightly… dubious creation in the kitchen.  

They had taken up a class in baking after catching you one too many times in the dead of the night, making midnight snacks. A fact which warmed your heart, at first, until you realized that neither twin has ever touched a stove in their lives. The clanging of pots and shouts coming from the kitchen only serve to fill you with dread. 

You try your best, but eventually resign yourself to your fate. You know a lost cause when you see it. You didn’t exactly expect death by food poisoning, but when you think about it, it wasn’t a bad way to go.

“Can’t you let this poor salaryman pass through? Just this once?” You pout on the second hour of playing this stupid board game, putting on your best puppy eyes as you implore him to pity your little player.

“That wouldn’t be fair to you, sweetie.” He smiles as you begrudgingly hand over the play money for landing on his property.

His attention is focused solely on you, a rarity since the hunter’s arrival. But even with the scarce time you’ve spent together, you can’t pretend not to have noticed the growing bags under his eyes, the constant furrow in his brow. He’s handled the chaos in the N109 Zone with the stride of a man who knows his word is law; but at the expense of his own health and rest.

In perfect timing, the game ends just as the twins exit the kitchen, dressed in matching aprons and holding a plate of mini strawberry shortcakes. You end up losing, as expected, but Sylus is a good sport — taking a bite right alongside you. 

It’s… not bad at all, especially for a beginner. A little wonky and undercooked in the middle, the edges slightly burnt. But it’s edible. “Not bad,” You say — and immediately correct yourself, “Not that I thought it would be! But it’s good. Better than my first go at it, at least.” You leave out the age you were when you first touched an oven — all worth it to see their eyes shining from your praise.

”Awe, thanks, Miss Secretary! It was all in a day’s work,” Luke grins as he fixes his crooked apron. 

Of course, Sylus is Sylus. Eliciting his praise is like pulling out teeth. “It’s… acceptable, I’ll admit,” He says with a satisfied hum. 

Still, it’s enough for the twins to celebrate with a high five, “Hell yeah!”

The four of you clear half the tray, before bidding the twins good night, the two  suddenly tired from the sugar crash. “Amateurs,” You tease. They probably kept taste-testing the ingredients.

“I hadn't expected baking to become such an… outlet of energy for them.” Sylus comments, stealing a strawberry from your piece. You retaliate by getting a scoop of his whipped cream. 

“Well, most people I know started baking as some sort of distraction or stress relief,” You eat a forkful of cake and nod in approval. Every storm in your life has been followed by the creation of more pastries than you could possibly eat. “If it distracts them from the pranks, then I wholeheartedly approve!” You cheerily stake your fork into the air.

“Knowing the twins, they’ll just find a way to incorporate it,” He eyes the kitchen doors skeptically, not wanting their mischief to bleed into the food they eat.

With all the sugar you just consumed, it was clear you wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon. “Wanna clear this batch with me? Before they go and stock the fridge with the rest of their projects.”

“I'm afraid I'll have to take a rain check on that,” He says as he puts on his blazer again, standing up from the dining table.

“Hm? But there wasn’t anything on the calendar, last I checked. Did I miss —”

You’ve already brought out your phone to view the shared calendar when he explains, “I’ll be meeting with the hunter regarding a little… deal, that she’s brokered.” He leans down to match your height and ruffles your hair. “Don’t worry, Miss Secretary. Your schedule’s still intact.”

You roll your eyes, trying to muster a smile as you remind him, “Be nice.”

He raises an eyebrow, “When am I not?” Tch. When is he ever? 

Soon, you settle in the silence of an empty kitchen — and the thought of more cake doesn’t sound so appealing anymore. It’s never easy hearing of the two spending time together, much less seeing them in the penthouse everyday. But you’d rather have a friendship with Sylus than nothing at all. And you can only hope that with time, one day, it won’t hurt at all anymore. 

For a brief period of time, you have hope of that possibility. You think if you hold these boundaries in place and protect your friendship, things might just return to normal. Even if it means the end to anything more.  

That is, until the arrival of the auction.

The Solon Hotel celebrates its 15th annual auction, a Myriad of Nights. The crinkled invitation has been pinned to your corkboard for months, a dreaded reminder of all the preparations you needed to make.

The event has kept you on your toes; dutifully studying the list of guests, keeping an eye on keen bidders and Onychinus rivals. This auction is one of the N109 Zone’s most important events of the year, with the grossly rich and the violently powerful alike having a stake in this auction.

One week before the auction, Sylus strolls into the office, a sly smile plastered on his face, “I come bearing good news.”

You roll out your chair to face him. Without missing a beat, you ask, “A raise? World peace? Luke and Kieran outgrowing their terrible twos?”

“I'm not a miracle worker,” He smirks at that last one. “No, I've come to tell you that you’ve been granted a night off on the 17th.” 

“The 17th?” You question — and he amusedly spins your chair before striding over to his desk, ready to start the work day. But you’re left dazed, stopping the wheel as you pull up the shared digital calendar, confirming your suspicions. “But that’s the night of the auction.”

“Miss Hunter will be covering for you.”

“Oh?” Your face falls in an obvious dismay you can’t hide. 

The auction. Like many things from the story that have become hazy over time, the auction had slipped your mind. With how far back preparations had started, you completely overlooked its connection with the hunter’s arrival.

“She has her own agenda for the night,” He continues, “One that promises bloodshed. So, I want you to rest easy for the night. Take a well deserved break.”

By all accounts, you should be glad. You can’t blame him for making this decision, as you vocally detest going to these events. It’s easily the least enjoyable part of your job. But even with the foreknowledge you had, the thought of her taking your place weighs like a heavy brick in your stomach.

He realizes you’re not exactly pleased. “You can still come if you’d like to, of course,” He’s quick to assure you. “I thought you might enjoy the night off since you despise dealing with these affairs. I didn’t take you for being such a workaholic,” He chuckles affectionately, motioning to ruffle your hair — but you pull away, a little too abruptly.

You see his face fall, and you quickly brush it off and pretend to be unaffected, “Ah, ah, ah — no can do, slave driver!” You dramatically make a letter X with your arms. “You can’t take away a day off once you’ve given it.”

He rolls his eyes, but the concern doesn’t leave his face as he tries to coax you into opening up, eyes filled with a quiet honesty, “There’s no need to pretend like you’re not bothered by this. I know you’ve worked hard for this event.”

“Sylus, you don’t need to worry about me. You have bigger fish to fry. Besides, why would I be bothered by a day off?” You try to play it off. 

He sighs, accepting that you’re not going to talk about this any further. “Well, you know that there’s no one who can do your job better, right?” He places a hand on your shoulder, “I just don’t want you getting caught in the trouble that’s bound to ensue.”

You muster a smile, “Of course. After all, what would you do without your dearest secretary?”

He smirks, mind flashing to a night that now feels further than the sun. “Descend into chaos, no doubt.”

As though you were a scorned lover, you watch them from the mezzanine of the penthouse, dressed in your frilly pajamas and sipping a hot mug of tea as they leave dressed to the nines. The criminal and the hunter, two souls cut from the same cloth.

As much as it hurts you to stay behind, there was no way you would be able to stomach the picture perfect image of them together.

“Ready?” He offers his arm with the mannerisms of a perfect escort.

“It's showtime.”

“You lovebirds leaving without me?” You can’t help but be a little dramatic and interrupt their moment — though, Sylus definitely sensed your presence long before they entered. “Could’ve saved me a dance, at least.”

The hunter’s face scrunches in disdain at the mention of lovebirds, but she quickly recovers. “Oh, I think there’ll be more than just dancing, Miss Secretary,” She cheekily lifts the slit of her dress, showing a peek of the pistol strapped to her thigh. 

Despite already knowing they’ll have a safe return, your brows knit in worry, “Stay safe out there, you two.”

“You know we can’t promise that — but we’ll make a good effort,” Sylus smirks at you, a hint of concern in his eyes at the idea of leaving you behind.

You nod, a silent way of saying you’ll be okay. You wave goodbye and the hunter returns it eagerly, having warmed up to you in the past week. But the concerned, knowing look never leaves Sylus's face until they depart. 

The elevator doors slide shut, and it feels like a coffin closing over your heart. 

You laugh at how dramatic you’re being as you hold back a slight tear. It’s just an auction, you keep telling yourself. But it’s not the auction, isn’t it? It was seeing her take your place, and knowing this won’t be the last time.

You pick yourself back up, resolving to make the most of your night off. You make yourself comfortable in the living room, blanket and couch all to yourself, a movie running as background noise as you try to distract yourself with all sorts of hobbies. But you find yourself listless, unable to keep your mind focused on one thing.

The movie ends, and it becomes quiet.

With Sylus gone and the twins on a mission, the silence becomes all consuming. You leave a light on for when they return, trekking through opulent hallways until you reach your room, where once again, you stare into the city skyline stretching out into the distance. 

There’s rarely ever an opportunity to be alone in the Onychinus base. But when you are, it never ends well. You used to be able to appreciate solitude in your old world, but maybe you’ve become a little spoiled here, in receiving the constant companionship you had once lived without as a student living away from home. 

Here, solitude is when the lines between your dreams and reality begin to blur. Hours dazed in the possibilities of the past, the possibilities of a world where you had stayed. Graduated, diploma in hand as your family stands proudly at your side. Starting your career, devoting your passion to the field you love.

In comparison, this place feels like a lovely yet imprisoning dream. You’re fascinated by the wonders of the world you live in now, but each day that passes is a reminder of your place — or rather, lack thereof — in this world. A reminder of losses beyond comprehension. The loss of chance. The loss of possibility. No opportunity for you to grow, no winding path to change and evolve. And you ask yourself: are you even living?

This world feels like dreaming in a far-too-long nap. And not for the first time, you want to wake up from it.

It's currently March, the last of the winter chill before the snow melts, marking more than a year since your arrival. You feel like a broken record, looping back to the same hurts in an endless loop of grief; your doomed love, severed home, rootless soul. You can no longer fool yourself into thinking you can continue like this. You can no longer pretend to have a reason to stay.

You need to spare yourself from this grief, before it consumes you. 

—————————————————————

The auction reaches a chaotic conclusion, one that is whispered about through the N109 Zone for weeks after. You feel the ripples of their actions even from the safety of your office. Luke and Kieran are sent to clean house at The Nest. Meanwhile, you’re swamped with associates from Onychinus’s complex web of loyalties, scrambling to reclaim their spot in Sylus's good graces in light of the recent power struggle. 

Eventually, the dust settles. The pages of the calendar turn as the snow melts and warmth pours into the Onychinus base. And alongside the sunshine is Miss Hunter, whose presence becomes a permanent fixture in the penthouse.

It has only been a year since your arrival in this world, but your life has been completely upended, you think. From being a broke, burned out college student, to a tired secretary and mother of three. 

Who were those three children, one may ask?

“Miss Secretary!” You poke your head out to see what the fuss was all about, hearing the twins snickering not too far away. The hunter stomps her way to your room, face cringed and seething in disgust. “Luke and Kieran gave me a cookie filled with toothpaste!”

“Ah — see, your first mistake there was trusting anything they gave you.”

Luke and Kieran warmed up extremely quickly to the hunter, as they did in the story. They enjoyed her presence around the base, but you couldn’t tell if it was more for her personality or the fact they had a new target for their trickery. A part of you was relieved; it meant you were no longer on their roster of victims (not that they particularly like pranking you, as you stare them down in disappointment each time). But their determination to mess with the hunter was going to send you into an early grave. 

“I didn't even know they could feed themselves, let alone bake,” She pouted, crossing her arms. “In fact, they told me you made them!”

Ah. “Well… there may be some truth to that…” Your voice descends in volume to hide your guilt, but the hunter manages to hear quite clearly. 

“You knew about it, and you didn’t tell me?” She gasps, face contorting into mock betrayal. “I can't believe you had it in you to be this… deceitful!”

In your defense, they had only asked you for baking lessons on how to make a cookie sandwich. You had no part in the actual crime. (Though, you may have turned a blind eye at them squeezing toothpaste in the frosting bag. Your patience can only go so far.)

As penance and apology, you promise to bake her actual, edible cookies in return for the monstrosity she just ingested, when you suddenly have a stroke of genius. “I wonder if they have any left.” Your face contorts into a shit-eating grin, “Don’t you think Sylus would appreciate a sweet treat right about now?”

The two of you cackle and rope the twins into it, sending Miss Hunter as the messenger. (He sees right through your ploy, but still takes a bite because she’s the one offering.)

So maybe you’re not as mature as you preach to be. However, your headaches aren’t exclusive to the humans in the penthouse. 

Mephisto's permanent return to the base was a spark of joy in the bleak few months you’ve had, as he’s released from the duty of monitoring the hunter 24/7. It surprised you how much you missed the crow, realizing you’d taken his presence as one of your constant companions for granted.

The first week after his return, he sticks to your side like glue. Displeased at the hunter’s continued presence, continuing to report about her to you. Each time he catches her with Sylus he goes to show you the footage — almost like a son tattling on his father’s misdeeds. It’s a sweet gesture; clearly he’s smarter than given credit for, enough to decipher why you’ve been so downtrodden in the recent weeks. But as much as you appreciate his concern, you’re also not a masochist.

“What is it, Mephie?” You groan, abruptly woken after three grueling hours of trying to fall asleep. You would have thrown hands had you not discovered Mephisto, flapping his wings urgently.

He pecks at your cheek, showing you a hologram of Sylus and the hunter in his room, shoulders pressed together in a close proximity you were not prepared to see. “What, you want me to do something about it?” He flaps his wings in earnest, and you promptly turn around to bury your head in the pillow.

“It's none of my business!” You stubbornly burrow yourself under the blanket as he continues to squawk, “I don't want to know about the time they spend together, okay? It’s just rubbing salt into the wound.” You groggily explain, voice muffled by the pillow.

You didn’t need Mephisto to report on them — you already knew Sylus spent all his free time with her. As recalling her memories was a long shot, he turned his efforts to slowly build up their relationship again. What were once free slots in his calendar are suddenly blocked with the simple notes of ‘Miss Hunter.’ Your work dynamic has never been more out of sync, with his adjustments to the hunter’s daytime schedule after you had originally adjusted to his nights. Gone are the nights you could find him downstairs, spending the night chatting away your fears. Now, all you find are the lights turned off and a motorcycle gone from the garage.

Your voice must have taken a sad turn as the crow whimpers, nuzzling his beak into your neck to comfort you, almost like an apology. “It's okay, I know you just wanted to help.”

You let him roost on your bedside drawers, watching as he mechanically shuts down to rest. Mephisto's presence usually helps you fall asleep but tonight, you sigh as you resign yourself to a night of overthinking.

For a while, you thought that Mephie’s grudge against the hunter was one-sided. A rebellious phase, like a son’s poor reaction to his father’s new partner. So imagine your surprise when you realized she returned the sentiment.

You’re knitting on the couch, nodding along and reacting accordingly to Mephie’s squawks and accusatory pointing of his wings to the disgruntled hunter across the room.  

“She said that? Oh, I’m so sorry you had to hear that…” You dramatically cater to the crow’s concerns, “I'll talk to her for you, don’t you worry.”

“Sylus should’ve fed him to the wolves,” The hunter pokes her tongue out at the crow, who squawks in horror. “Of all the adorable, fluffy, non-feathered pets he could’ve had —”

“Ah, ah, he’s not a pet,” You correct her to appease the bird who looks as if steam is about to leave his butt. “He’s the best reconnaissance agent we have at Onychinus. Aren’t you, Mephie?” You coo at him and he flaps his wings in agreement. 

But of all the changes the hunter’s arrival brought to your life, the most unexpected development was your friendship with her.

In hindsight, it was no surprise. She may be a hunter — cutthroat and fearless, storming into the N109 Zone, wreaking havoc in the city’s most powerful crime syndicate — but you find there’s a certain bond between all freshly graduated college students. A little burned out, a little lost in life. Your similarities run deeper than your appearances, finding common ground in interests and life experiences despite having come from two different worlds.

She turns to you as a refuge within Onychinus, and in the process, she becomes yours. 

Although you loved your newfound family, a year spent with only them had perhaps led you to become a little stir crazy. You almost forgot how it was to interact with normal people your age, as your current situation and job didn’t leave you with a lot of room to feel carefree. But the hunter steps in as a breath of fresh air, taking you along on her various escapades.

“What, leaving without me?” Sylus asks with a touch of playful offense, when the hunter arrives at the Onychinus headquarters — not for him, but for you, to his comical surprise. You can see the silent question in his eyes as they flit between the two of you, and you shrug.

“Yes, now go shoo,” The hunter flicks her wrist, motioning for him to leave as she grins and slings an arm over your shoulder. “It's just me and Miss Secretary today.” 

This had all began when the hunter had been rambling about Kitty Cards, and you had stupidly made the off-hand comment, “Oh yeah, I’ve never played that before.” 

It wasn’t a lie; the real life edition of the game would be a vastly different experience to the virtual one. But the appalled look on her face sent waves of regret coursing through you, as she immediately booked a session at her favorite cat cafe.

Of course, Sylus still manages to pull one on you as you’re promptly greeted by two bodyguards from the pool of new initiates.

Your jaw drops as you turn to him, “Excuse me, do you not trust me to go out on my own?” 

“It's not you that I don't trust,” His gaze drifts over to the hunter, who glares at him in offense. “Our dear hunter, on the other hand, has a talent for finding trouble.” 

The hunter in question scoffs, “Well, why else do you think I keep you around?” She tilts her head cheekily at him, as he rolls his eyes, breathing an affectionate sigh.

Like always, it’s a casual punch to the gut. 

His gaze travels to you (almost knowing, you think) but you brush it aside and keep the neutral expression on your face. “Let’s wrap it up, you two.” You walk forward, lightly shoving your shoulder against Sylus’s, interrupting their moment. A rare moment of pettiness from you, but you think you’re entitled to it every now and then. “Shall we go? I’d like to see the Linkon sun before nightfall.”

You spend the day in Linkon where she crushes your ass repeatedly, and you’re not even offended. You were only here to see the cats, after all. It’s the perfect duo; she’s way too competitive and you don’t care about winning at all — the best of both worlds as you share the winnings, anyway, at the badge counter.

In your small world consisting of your newfound family at Onychinus, you appreciate the new friend you’ve made. An appreciation that surpasses any of the petty jealousy you may have. Time spent with the hunter means the opportunity to be a little less mature, to be silly in a way you haven’t been in a long time. You appreciate the brief reprieve, as this world has forced you to remain at 100% — keeping you at constant guard in the wake of your transmigration. 

Alongside kitty cards, she introduces you to the pop culture in this world, something you were never given a glimpse of in the game. One afternoon, you two decide to steal a set of speakers from Sylus’s study, putting on a playlist she made after learning how little you knew of mainstream music.

You’re sitting on the floor of your room, surrounded by papers as she switches the song to a soft acoustic track. “I like this one,” you comment, making a mental note to add the artist to your own playlist. 

“You don’t know them? Huh, I guess I shouldn't be surprised since you didn’t know any of the fifteen others before this…” You laugh awkwardly as she sends you the link, murmuring a soft thanks. “Did you grow up under a rock?”

“Something like that. I grew up really far from Linkon, it’s like an entirely different world there.” It wasn’t a lie. 

She never questions you further than that, to your relief. “You know, three months ago I wouldn't have dared to step into sylus’s study unless my life was at stake,” The hunter reminisces, sprawled out on your bed. “But here we are, committing casual theft.”

“You’ll learn over time he’s not as scary as he thinks he is. Especially when it comes to you. You could — I don’t know, spill your coffee on his desk, or stage a revolt against him in Onychinus, and he wouldn’t even bat an eye.”

She rolls her eyes, but you can see the faint blush coating her cheeks. “You’re exaggerating. Honestly, I was scared shitless when I first met him. Don’t tell him that,” She stares you down, and you motion to zip your mouth closed. “But I guess he’s not that bad, the more I get to know him…” 

You smile, partly out of affection and partly out of bitterness. The hunter is so obviously smitten, and you know it’s only a matter of time before she opens her heart to him.

By all means, you should be happy for them. You should be happy that your dearest friend in this world is finally getting the love and happiness he desires, that he deserves. You promised to back out of this unspoken race and let the story continue as intended — but here and now, fiddling with the beautiful necklace given to you many moons ago, you realize you have a habit of clutching onto things for far too long.

Long after the hunter leaves, you shuffle papers and calendars around to an unnecessary degree of perfection, lingering on these thoughts. Your friends, your family, your dreams, had made up the beautiful, imperfect mess that was your life. But here, beyond the walls of this place, the sad reality was there was little reason for you to stay. Little reason for you to live.

And you wonder, when she finally takes the place you hold in Sylus’s life, in Onychinus — what will be left for you in this world? 

—————————————————————

Early April showers take over the dark skies of the N109 Zone, a soft drizzle pattering against the windows of Sylus’s main office. It's a slow day, spring taking its course as Onychinus returns to a new normal with the hunter.

Stoic and focused he may seem, but Sylus’s mind is anywhere but work, drifting to the hunter and their blossoming relationship. He’s taken any and all opportunities to spend time with her. His schedule — once filled with free nights and weekends spent cozily in the penthouse — are booked back to back in any free moment he and the hunter can spare. His text messages, typically relegated to his work, become full of silly little moments as she continues to take a larger place in his life.

It’s what he wanted, isn’t it? 

So why does he feel his heart fall every time he sees the distance that’s grown between you two?

It's the 17th of April, and despite the little time you’ve spent together, he knows you already have something planned for his birthday. You haven’t breathed a word about it, but he knows that you would refuse to let it go uncelebrated, if the twins’ hushed scheming around him isn’t enough to go by.

He rests his chin on his hand, scrutinizing you, as if he could read your mind if he tried hard enough. You type away on your computer like a machine, so focused that it takes an awfully time before your eyes drift over to him, a bit alarmed at the intensity of his staring. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason at all,” He barely holds back the smirk threatening to curl at his lips. 

He can practically see the thoughts running through your head. Is he mad? Is he planning something? Can he read my mind? Until you finally look away with a resigned sigh. 

He chuckles under his breath, thinking he’s ready for whatever you have planned, when the door swings open, revealing the hunter — who was supposedly busy with work today — on a surprise visit.

“Knock knock!” She raps her knuckles against the open door, “Good evening, Miss Secretary! Or — good morning, I guess, for the both of you?”

“Did I say you could come in?” Sylus asks with his typical drawled snark.

She scoffs, throwing a smile at you before occupying his visitor’s chair, crossing her legs and making herself comfortable. “Is that any way to greet your favorite hunter, who’s so kindly come to you since you’ve been busy all week?”

He narrows his eyes, “You want something from me.” A statement, not a question. 

She sticks her tongue out at him, having clocked her immediately before she even got a word in. “A little birdie may have told me that you own an RX–116 —”

“You’re not riding it.” The answer comes automatically, eyes mechanically returning to the paperwork he’d been previously neglecting. 

“You haven’t even let me explain why…!”

“Alright, tell me. Why should I let you take Treasure — my most cherished motorcycle — out on a reckless joyride into the N109 Zone?” He crosses his arms, patiently waiting for her answer.

“Because you’re a fun–loving soul at heart, who values the happiness of his friends?” Her tone is light, fingers crossed, only to receive his deadpan stare. She huffs, “Oh, come on. I promise I'll be careful. What if you drive? If Miss Secretary can survive it, I definitely could!”

His eyes drift over to you, and you barely glance up from your screen, deigning him with a shrug. “Sorry, she asked.” He continues to stare intently at you, a silent plea he hopes you’d understand if only you’d just look up. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“…No meetings? Deadlines? Overdue paperwork? Tell me what’s on my schedule today.”

You grant him an almost knowing smile, rolling your eyes. “Since when have you cared about paperwork?” Still, you flick through the digital calendar, lazily pretending to indulge his request. “No, there’s nothing keeping you. You’re free from the clutches of work. For today,” You emphasize that last part as a subtle threat.

Still, he continues to look at you skeptically — it’s almost like he wants you to hand him more work. “I mean it, go have fun. Take a break. Since when did you care so much about skipping work?” He can almost hear you muttering, “The privileges of being a rich bastard…” as you breathe a tired sigh. 

It's true that Sylus's position affords him the privilege of passing up on the workday for his whims. Whether it be upgrading Mephisto, waiting on online auctions for vintage records, or in this case, a day out with the hunter.

It unnerves him, this side of you. Despite the stark gap in power between you, you’ve never failed to scold and banter with him, thumping him on the head more than a few times after he’d neglected the calendar. But lately, you’ve been almost… complacent with him, as if you’ve accepted something inevitable.

It's a jarring realization when he thinks about how little time he’s spent with you since the hunter’s return. Especially considering how close you had grown, how you’d spent almost every free moment with him before. A part of him knows that for one reason or another, you’ve kept your distance, and he hates it — but at the same time, the hunter was slowly opening her heart to him.

But were you really going to let him go this easily, on the eve of his birthday, when you clearly had something planned already? It was moments like these that made him wish for things to return to normal. (That made him wish to see the side of you that cared.)

“Fine,” He gives into the pleading eyes of the hunter, who cheers as he tosses her the keys. “Meet me in the garage. Careful not to go too wild, kitten.”

He shakes his head as she skips out of the room, catching one last look at you before muttering, “You two will be the death of me…” He leaves the office without looking back. 

The evening is spent racing through the outskirts of the N109 Zone, wind and rain rushing past them as Sylus takes the opportunity to show off the motor’s maximum speed. She screams, and it echoes through the empty roads. Joyously carefree, still carrying the same fire and spirit she once held in their previous lives.

But, not everything was the same. The hunter’s life was by no means easy, but she grew up in a much kinder world than the sorceress, untouched by the horrors that he and her previous iteration were irrevocably changed by. Does he even want her to remember? Would it still be love if he forced her to relive those horrors? 

His devotion to the sorceress has always been overwhelming, all-consuming. But in this life, he does not feel the same intense love, but more so a quiet affection, a desire to protect. And so, he’d rather the hunter live in peace. Never knowing the horrors of their past, even if it means that he’ll be forgotten, as well.

She urges him, “Go faster!” and he obliges with a smirk, revving up the engine to go at maximum speed. She cackles, letting go of his waist and letting her arms caress the midnight breeze. He can’t help but breathe an affectionate sigh — her dauntless, the opposite to your wariness on this very motorcycle. 

Miss Secretary. His thoughts have once again spiralled back to you, a habit that’s slipped out of his control. He's always been unwavering in his desires, but your arrival had upended his world and the foundations of what he knew about himself. And now, he no longer knows where his heart lies.

He knows it’s not fair to either of you. He feels guilty for the hunter’s oblivious nature — clueless to what almost was (what could still be) between you and him. And for you, you have done your utmost best to keep the boundaries he wasn’t strong enough to. 

He's a shameless man who’s never been afraid to take and take. But every time he sees the pain that his indecision — his choice — has caused you, he can’t help but tread carefully, wary of hurting you any more than he already has.

The clock strikes twelve, marking the beginning of April 18th. They return to a base shrouded in darkness, where they stumble around for the lights, only to be greeted by a garishly decorated living room and the twins dressed in red and black. 

“Happy birthday, boss!” The twins blow party poppers as he walks into the living room, “Didn’t expect this, did ‘ya?”

He’d been so conflicted at leaving before his birthday, when little did he know, it was all an elaborate ruse to distract him while you and the twins decorated.

“…It seems I've been deceived.” This is the first time you have ever left him truly dumbfounded.

“Surprise!” The hunter slaps him on the back, a satisfied smirk on her face. “Did you really think I was bugging you for a ride out for nothing?”

“Well, not nothing, considering you commandeered the vehicle halfway through.” She swats at him playfully in response. 

His eyes search for you, and just in time, you carefully step out of the kitchen, holding a two-tiered cake with a candle lit atop. What ensues is an off-tune rendition of happy birthday, as you step closer, careful not to extinguish the flames, “Make a wish, Sylus.” You smile. 

Since the tragic end to his life as a dragon, he’s only ever had one wish. But this year, he hesitates.

For the first time, he wishes for something else. Something new and precious. 

The flames dance in the wind before being snuffed with a single breath, smoke trailing with the promises of what’s to come.

Once again, you‘ve planned an elaborate celebration, just as you did the previous year. Something simple here at the base, but still catering to his preferences. From the tasteful red, black, and gold decorations, his favorite meals laid out on the dining table, and a pile of presents wrapped in a mishmash of patterns and ribbons.

When he takes the first bite of the cake, he lets out a hum of satisfaction, immediately noticing the gleam in the twins’ eyes.

“What, did you like it?” You smile at him cheekily, chewing through your own bite. “Luke and Kieran baked it, red velvet cheesecake with a bourbon coating.” 

The hunter scowls, still not over their previous attack on her taste buds. “Oh, so Sylus gets a fancy, artisanal cake and I get toothpaste cookies?”

Kieran grins, lightly punching her shoulder, “Don’t worry, Miss Hunter. Just wait til’ it’s your birthday.”

”Yeah! We’re more than ready to top the last one," Luke chimes in, a sinister promise no one wants to hear.

Sylus's gaze follows the hunter throughout the night. It’s the closest he’ll ever get to closure, he thinks, seeing her slot into his close circle (family) like a perfect puzzle piece, celebrating a day that never mattered to him until they made it matter. In their previous life, they had never been afforded the time or peace to celebrate these mundane milestones.

But despite the jovial atmosphere, his eyes can’t stray from your strange mood. You do a good job of pretending that everything is alright, going about the motions and matching the merry of the occasion. But though you may be able to fool others, you can’t fool him. After the party has come to an end, he doesn’t leave your side — determined to know what’s been bothering you. 

“Hey, no cleaning for the birthday celebrant!” You lightly shoo him away with the broom as he tries to take over cleaning the living room.

“Oh? I say the birthday celebrant gets to decide that for himself,” He easily swipes the broom from your hands, and you huff, relegated to picking up the wrapping paper strewn about the floor.

“Stubborn bastard,” You mutter under your breath. 

“A little louder, dear. I couldn't hear you.” You scowl at him and he laughs, “I can't let you do all the work, no? What kind of boss would I be, then? Tsk, if only you had just left it to the cleaners like I told you to.”

Still, you resolve to finish cleaning. It’s a bit comical seeing him with a broom and dustpan, and on his birthday, of all days. Still, you assert that it would be too rude to leave all this work for the cleaners’ shift come morning. With the two of you working at it, by the time the hour’s up you wouldn’t have been able to tell a celebration occurred.

“Let's go to the rooftop,” Sylus suggests, after taking out the trash. “I feel like taking a breath of fresh air.”

The two of you walk up the familiar staircase to the rooftop, the highest point in the N109 Zone, where you’ve spent many nights deprived of sleep and spilling your deepest fears and nightmares. 

“Watch your head.”

“What are you— ow!” You bump your head on a new exit sign that hadn’t been there the last time you came.

He laughs breathily, rubbing your forehead with his thumb after he perfectly ducks under the sign. “I did warn you.” 

“It feels like forever since we’ve been up here.”

“It's also been quite a while since I’ve seen you.”

You laugh shakily, “What are you talking about? We’re in the office every day…”

“Don’t act like you don’t understand, it’s unbecoming of your intelligence,” He brushes a stray hair from your face.

“Well, what can I say? We’ve all been so busy lately… But you seem happy, though.” He remains silent, so you continue, “You’ve waited so long to reunite with her. I've never believed in soulmates or anything like that, but for you two, I just might. I’m happy for you,” A timid smile paints your face, and he can’t tell if it’s out of bitterness or soft appreciation. 

He doesn’t know how to feel, receiving your approval — feigned as it may be. “If that's so, do you believe it for yourself?” You look at him strangely. “Do you think you could have a soulmate?”

The question seems to weigh heavily on your mind as you look away, dangling your feet aimlessly, “Maybe so… But I like to think that love is a choice. Something that’s earned, built up over time. That's the kind of love that I want, at least.”

His heart has been conflicted for so long — but all of a sudden, you feel unreachable, slipping from his grasp into a territory uncharted. (All of a sudden, he wants to give you everything you wish for.)

“It's been a while since we’ve talked like this. It’s nice being able to spend time with you again.” You stand up, brushing non-existent dirt off your thighs. “But I better head to bed.” 

It’s a lie, you both know you’ll spend the night tossing and turning into the hours of the night; so he tries to push at the walls you’ve put up. “Come on, dear. It's my birthday. Just grace me with your presence for a few more minutes…”

He tries not to sound desperate, but all he wants to do is reverse time, to return to a period where you weren’t wary of spending time with him. He'd been spoiled by the affection and friendship you once offered so freely, and now he couldn’t bear this distance you stubbornly held in place. 

He reaches to grab your hand, but you pull yours away. 

You hesitate before turning around, “I'm sorry, Sylus. But maybe another night.” Your voice is soft as you say good night, his eyes stuck on the image of you walking further away until you disappear from sight. 

He wants so badly to pull you back, yearns to grab your hand once again, to feel the warmth of your palm against his. But he knows he has no right to. The presence of the hunter a few doors over says it all, says his choice. He can’t bear to hurt you any more than he already has. But at the same time, he can’t bear to lose you.

So instead, he watches you walk away, knowing that he’s chosen the hunter, his soulmate. But a part of his heart continues to yell at him, telling him he’s making a grave mistake. 

—————————————————————

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the overstimulating atmosphere of the underground ring. The flashing lights, the all-consuming noise in the hours before a match starts. It's been months since you’ve been here, but it’s clear that anticipation runs high in the crowds, with this being Sylus's first game since last year’s loss. 

You sniffle, holding back a sneeze as you approach the ring with a bouquet of flowers, waiting patiently for Sylus to break from his pre-game focus as the coach gives him a last minute pep talk.

His eyes eventually drift over to you as he takes a sip of water, “Oh? Look who showed up." He smirks at you, arms leaning against the barrier, “And here I thought you’d be a no-show after last year’s disappointment.”

“What can I say? It’s a crime to pass up on an easy bet.” 

“I'm touched by your faith in me,” Unlike his words, his tone is deadpan.  

You mockingly scoff, “Who said I placed my bets on you?” You say this, but both of you know who you’re rooting for. “I just thought I might as well wish you good luck, considering I used my PTO on this.”

“Trust me, dear.” His smirk is one of confidence, as he leans past the barrier, face inching towards yours. “By the end of the night, there’ll be a new champion reigning this ring.”

A sudden screech comes from behind — some sort of ongoing venue prep — and your face scrunches up, another headache coursing through you. 

“Are you okay?” His brows furrow as he calls your name, concerned at the deep circles under your eyes, the pale sheen to your face. “Maybe you should sit down. You don’t look well.”

“I'll be fine,” You wave him off, “It’s just a headache. I can champ through it.” 

“But is it wise for you to stand in these crowds?” He removes his glove, pressing a hand against your forehead. “Go sit down in the locker room, they’ll be airing the match inside. I don't need you in the stands to know you’re supporting me.” 

The increasing dizziness you feel is the only reason why you nod, picking up your things and doing as told without so much as a fight. His eyes follow your sluggish form until you make it past his sight, settling inside the rundown locker room to watch alongside other competitors and coaches.

Even though you’ve been continuously sneezing and feel like knocking out, you’re on your toes the entire match, even from the low quality screen delegated to the locker room. The crowd is just as enthusiastic, roaring for his revenge match. You know nothing about boxing, but even you can tell from the first few minutes alone that he’s doing well, performing better than he ever was as the cheers of the crowd pound through to the walls of this secluded room. The camera shifts as he overtakes his opponent — and that’s when you see it, a glimpse of the hunter cheering at the front row. 

You already expected her presence, was anticipating to sit by her side as the both of you cheered Sylus on. But a part of you feels sick, lightheaded, progressively dizzier as the match continues. Not just because of the hunter’s arrival, or the anxiety of seeing Sylus getting socked in the face — you realize as you feel the bile rising up your throat. 

The match ends as you walk out of the bathroom, contents of your stomach flushed down the toilet. You missed the final blow, the crowning moment, the television having switched to an interview. His voice fills the room, the audio muffled and crackly, “Someone came all the way here to watch me. Said she didn’t want to see me lose.” 

You recognize that look of adoration, reserved only for the hunter. And once again, you feel your stomach lurch. 

It's a weak moment for you — you want to stay, to cheer him on as his friend and supporter (the only things you were and would ever be to him). But it was too much for you, seeing her take the place that maybe, in another life, could have been yours.

You guiltily leave the bouquet in the locker rooms, slipping away easily into the swarm of crowds leaving the venue. You pass by the ring as you make your way to the exit, seeing him at the edge of the barricade, swarmed by reporters.

In the ring, he shines like a star far out of your reach.

Was this penance for your pride? For believing you could take the spot of someone who was long destined to be by his side? The last image you see is of his arm wrapped around her waist, lips pressed to her forehead — his attention, his gravity, tethered to her. 

You leave the underground stadium guilt-free, feeling a little silly for having doubts about your departure affecting him. You realize that no matter what you do, he’ll be fine.

He has the hunter now.

—————————————————————

The moment he steps out of the ring, lights flashing and reporters crowding to get his interview — the first thing he sees is the hunter, standing front row in the bleachers, cheering him on with her fist in the air. His arm stays around her waist as they celebrate his win, answering nosy interviewers and being crowned with the champion’s ring.

He should be filled with nothing but happiness, satisfaction. But right now, all he could think of was finding you.

He fiddles with the champion’s ring, a nervous tic he’d never dare show to the naked eye as he makes his way to the locker room, where he finds an intricate bouquet of flowers and a congratulatory note, written in your familiar penmanship. 

It seems his greed had become far too overwhelming. 

Faced with all his wishes coming true, he still yearns for more. Everything he ever wanted was coming together, but none of it felt right — not with your absence creating a gaping void in a picture perfect image. 

Disheartened by your absence, the dim mood follows him as he returns to a quiet home. He carefully steps inside, your snores filling the space as he finds you sprawled on the living room couch, still dressed in your outside clothes, skin dull and face tightened in discomfort. 

He lifts you up, beginning the trek to your bedroom to let you sleep away the rest of the night, only for you to stir awake in his arms. “Sylus?” You peek at him through bleary eyes, “You’re home…”

He places the back of his hand against your forehead, “You’re burning up. Did you take any medicine before falling asleep?” 

“I'm sorry I couldn’t stay for the match…” In your drowsy state, you don’t hear his question, instead nuzzling your head into his chest. He savors the feeling of your warmth. “Did you get my flowers?”

“I did. They were a beautiful choice.”

“That's good. You deserve only the best, after all.” Your voice is a little breathy, soft and tender in ways you never reveal to him anymore — and he couldn’t help but be a little lovestruck. 

“You know just how to flatter me, don’t you?” He lays you down gently, tucking the covers over your form, as he musters the courage to follow through with his thoughts. “But since you brought me flowers, I should give something in thanks.” 

He slides the champion’s ring off his finger, delicately placing it in your palm, closing your fingers over it. “I believe this should be yours.”

“Sylus, what is this?” Your face is still unnaturally pale, but you seem more lucid now, staring at the ring with an unreadable expression on your face.

“There's only one reason I left as a champion today, and she’s standing right in front of me.” His eyes are glued intently to yours, water still streaking from his hair after the quick shower he took before leaving. “Last year’s match was a blow to my pride, I'll admit. But how could I ever stay down with you by my side?”

It’s rare for him to display his fondness on a silver platter — not painted in wit or banter, but with the clarity of an open window into his heart. But something about you wills him to take steps he never has before.

You stay silent for an unnerving amount of time, turning away from him, overwhelmed by the depth of his gaze. Your face contorts into a fractured smile, “I think we both know who you should really give this to.

He stares at the ring, refusing to take it from your outstretched hand. a strained laugh leaves his lips. He gently grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him once again, “You won’t even accept gifts from me, now? How much will you pull away from me before you’re satisfied?” 

“I can't accept this, and you know why.”

He knows. Just like he knows why you stray from his touch, why you avoid his gaze. He knows, but he refuses to accept it. 

“I went into this match for you. I won it for you, not the hunter.” A frantic sort of grief fills his features, imploring you to open your heart to him. “So why is it that you keep telling me to run to her? What makes you believe you’re undeserving?” 

“Because it shouldn’t be me. I just—” The words fail to form on your tongue, twisting and turning until the intention is lost. “Please, sylus. I can't do this right now.” 

“I didn't think your cowardice was stronger than our friendship.” 

You come to an abrupt still, your eyes glazing over in stifled shock. “Well, I'm sorry to have disappointed you.” 

Regret immediately courses through him as he realizes the harshness of his words, and the guardedness of your tone. He hates causing you hurt or pain, but he can no longer bear to ignore the distance that's grown between you. (But does he even have the right to confront you about it? When he knows his actions are the root cause.) 

“We can't hide from this forever, so why won’t you just talk to me?” He's just about ready to beg for you to look at him again, to talk to him again, without the inhibitions that separate you now. 

You take a deep breath, a hundred thoughts running through your mind before you settle on simple words, “Because things can’t go back to normal, and I don't know if they ever will.” You turn around, effectively ending the conversation and drawing that dreaded line. “I'd like to be alone now, please.” 

It’s not irreparable; at least, you don’t think so. But regardless of the place the hunter now holds in your life, you had crossed a turning point in your relationship, one that made it impossible to turn back. This was the price of his choice; he couldn’t have his cake and eat it, too.

Despite how much he wants to confront you, more than anything he wants to respect the boundaries you’ve set in place. And so, Sylus is left to stew in his thoughts in the living room, fiddling with the ring and wondering why he wouldn’t just give the ring to the hunter. Why he caused all of this mess. (He knows exactly why.)

The bond he had with the hunter transcended lifetimes, giving his soul a first taste of human connection and love. He grasped at the seams of that bond, holding on for dear life and desperately seeking the peace they were never afforded. But your arrival broke the monotony of his days, and in the process, treated him to that connection, that genuine acceptance and care so freely. You easily slotted into his life, and now that you were trying to walk away — he couldn’t just bear to let you go.

He may have fallen in love with the sorceress in their previous life, but now, it was time to face his current reality. 

In this world, his heart had chosen you. 

—————————————————————

You feel like you're being replaced, being pushed out of the picture you were never meant to be captured in.

For the longest time, you’ve felt the petty urge to hate the hunter. To pick out her flaws and shortcomings to make yourself feel better. But that wouldn’t be fair to her, who’s done nothing but unknowingly capture Sylus's heart. And it would only fan the flames of bitterness and hurt that were already burning inside you.

You stomp at the petty jealousy taking root in your heart — because what right do you have to feel that way? What right do you have to mourn a love that was never yours to begin with? 

You feel rather foolish. You thought you knew what his affection felt like, but it was nothing compared to seeing his devotion. You never believed in soulmates — but how could you deny the cosmic connection before your very eyes? Like a planet and its moon, they orbit each other — his harsh edges softening in her presence.

Sylus gave you hope for a future in this world. But to him, you must be just one of many, a buffer while he waits for his lover to finally come along in this life. He was someone who had never known peace, never known the warmth of love before he met her. In the grand scheme of things, what was your rust to her gold? 

These fantasies have become fatal, cutting open old wounds and deeply hidden thoughts. Never have you felt so untethered. No place where you belonged, no place to call home, no connection that was meant to be truly yours. Your world had been shrouded in static in the wake of losing your loved ones, life becoming grainy and distant in your grief. The loneliness had been dampened by new connections, by a blossoming love, but was now coming back in full force as you watch the image of how it should be, without you.

You were never meant to be here. 

(Thus, it was only right to return things to how they should be.)

—————————————————————

Thunder rolls in, casting gloomy skies over the N109 Zone. it’s one of those days where you can’t muster up the energy to do anything but curl up on the couch with a blanket, paperwork left forgotten on the coffee table, watching raindrops dart against the tall windows overlooking the city. 

The twins are similarly sprawled across the living room floor. With Sylus and Mephisto out on a mission, it’s just the three of you in the penthouse, spending the last of the spring showers working by the warmth of the fireplace, before humid summer storms take over. 

The dreary atmosphere did nothing to quell the persistent grief that weighed heavily in your chest. Not even the comforting presence of Luke and Kieran could muster a smile on your face, these days. 

Your eyelids start to flutter, the movie and the twins’ chatter becoming hazy as you drift into slumber, where once again, you dream of home.

You find yourself thinking about home much more, nowadays. You miss the sun, you miss the food, the warmth of company (the lack of doubt of your belongingness). But as always, you wake up to the cars and gunshots typical of the N109 Zone, the rain having slowed to a soft drizzle, pattering against the window. 

You spend a little while with your eyes closed, savoring the taste of home only a dream can capture, a feeling that slips through your fingers before you can truly grasp it. And once again, you wish for a clue, a hint, an answer to a way back home. 

Little did you know how soon this wish would be granted.

You stretch your arms out, coming to a slow rise from the couch, remembering the pile of paperwork that awaited you on the coffee table. You sigh as you see the other half; it seems the twins hadn’t gotten much done either, their papers getting mixed up with yours during your short nap. you take quick, mindless glances at the papers — your events and supply documentation, the twins’ mission reports — as you sort through them. 

One in particular slides out from the pile, and you pick it up, intending to place it on their side of the table — only to stop in your tracks, catching a single phrase. Dimensional travel. 

You shouldn’t be snooping. As Sylus's secretary, you’re already privy to most of the ongoings in Onychinus. You know that if something’s been kept from you, it’s for a reason. But as your mind flits over all the dead ends you’ve run into in your search to go home, you think — what’s the harm in taking a look?

Your blood stills. 

What greets you is the twins’ hasty scrawl, recounting their findings as they led a reconnaissance mission at an EVER lab on the outskirts of the N109 Zone. Test subjects who were found in public, on the brink of death. Who spoke of “other worlds.” Unfortunate individuals who were found somewhere more public, deemed a nutcase, and left vulnerable to the hands of EVER. In Kieran’s more formal penmanship are the words, “These findings are supported by the classified dimensional travel studies at Prestara University…”

And when you see the date of the mission — it’s from the previous year.

Why did no one tell you about this? 

All of you were smart enough to connect the dots. Near-death experiences, tales of other worlds. Here you were, searching on what seemed to be a fool’s errand, when the people you slept under the same roof with held the very answers you’d been so desperately seeking.

An eerie feeling settles over you (you don’t want to name it as betrayal) as you look over the papers, reading them over and over, thinking there’s no way this had been just out of reach, all these months.

On the dot, the twins return to the living room with bags of snacks in their arms, Luke with his typical cheer as Kieran stills, seeing the papers in your hand. “Miss Secretary, you’re finally awake. Do you want a snack —” 

“What is this?” You cut him off, uncharacteristically stoic as you raise up the stapled reports, still reeling from shock at the words you’ve just read. “Your mission reports… These are from a year ago. Why didn’t I know about this? 

The two worriedly look at each other in silent communication, before you ask again, fed up with the lies and secrecy. “What aren’t you telling me?” 

“Luke, she read the reports. She knows.”

“But the boss said — Fine. But don’t blame me when this ends badly.” He sighs before giving in, turning to look you in the eye. “I think it’s better if we show you. But… Please don’t be mad at the boss.” 

“No  more than you already are,” Kieran adds, and you look at him skeptically. “We know you two are fighting. It’s been torture seeing you guys mope! The boss has been burying everyone in work and you… You’ve been a shell of yourself.”

You open your mouth, ready to spout excuses, but he interrupts you. “Don’t deny it, we can see it for ourselves. Especially with the way the boss has been grovelling.” 

“Sylus has not been grovelling. He has better things to do with his time.” You roll your eyes, but they continue to stare at you in doubt, until you sigh and let up.

“Alright. so we may have had a… slight disagreement. But really, I've just been in a funk. A little homesick, and a little actually sick. That's all. But you know what will help me?” You raise up the reports once again, flipping to the research page. “Show me these case studies. Show me everything there is to know about this.” 

“Well, we tried.” Kieran lets out a tired exhale, “If knowing this will help you, then we’ll do it.”

The twins lead you into their wing of the penthouse, a territory you never dared to venture unless it was dire circumstances— which it very well feels like it is now.

“Welcome to our little abode!” Luke cheers as he swings the doors open. 

“Oh, how… charming.” 

You tiptoe around the communal living area, unable to distinguish what is a weapon for Onychinus and a personal invention they’ve made for an elaborate prank. Frankly, it’s a mess. Apparently teenage boys are the same type of disgusting in any universe, you cringe as you find a smelly article of clothing on his desk that's definitely overdue for a wash. Only the promise of answers holds back your urge to hand these kids a broom and force them to clean.

“Over here’s my desk. Go wild, I guess. I'll be in the other room if you need anything.” 

Your heart races as you’re left to your own devices, inputting the related mission code — and there it is. A wealth of information answering the questions you’ve had. 

You skim over the articles, all from the same research team, studying the phenomenon of dimensional travelers, as they’ve so aptly put it, and their possible connection to the Deepspace Tunnel.

But the most damning implication of them all, was that there was a way for you to return home. The researchers are positive they’re close to a breakthrough, they write, as they cite the commonalities between these travelers. If a close encounter with death is what brought them all here, then it only makes sense it can bring them back. 

But this is where the trail ends. The last article ends with the researchers discussing potential experimentation — the risks of being lost in the unknown boundary between worlds, ripped to shreds by the force of gravity, or better yet — just dying. With it, your hope dims. 

But it’s something. Nothing concrete, but enough to prove you weren’t crazy. Enough to have hope. Enough to try.

But the question remains… how could this have possibly slipped past you? You’ve researched every corner of info available to you in the Onychinus database. 

As Sylus's secretary, you’re granted the privileges to access almost everything in Onychinus, including the information databases which contain a wealth of information from various sources (legally and illegally obtained, many inaccessible to the public yet). And when you check the status of the articles — you see that your access has been blacklisted.

As it was, there was only one person in Onychinus with the power to do this. 

“Sylus put you up to this, didn’t he?” When your eyes turn to Luke in question, he only nods grimly in confirmation. 

“The boss asked us to keep it from you,” He almost looks like a sad puppy wagging his tail, trying to appease your increasingly irate mood. “He was only worried about what you might do if you found out about this.” 

“He should’ve worried about what I’d do if you kept this from me.” You spat bitterly, and immediately, guilt coils through you for misplacing this anger on Luke. The twins might have been in on it, but despite all their mischief, they would never have had the heart to lie to you. No, this was all Sylus's doing.

You walk away, as overwhelming waves of betrayal course through you. You don’t want to make assumptions, but there is no other possible truth. It’s almost uncharacteristic of him, you think. He's always supported whatever you wanted to do. So why would he do this now? 

Why hide the answers that would lead you back home? 

And if he hid this from you, what else could he be hiding? 

These thoughts continue to plague you into the late hours of the night. Hours of tossing and turning in the sheets, before giving up on slumber entirely. Before, you would tiptoe in the marbled halls in search of laughter and company. But things were no longer the same. Now, you lock yourself in silence, refusing to bare any more of your heart.

But there still comes some nights such as now, when you can’t stifle the dark creeping in. Like a sheep heading into the wolves’ den, you tiptoe out of your bedroom, making your way to the kitchen where you cope as you always have: by baking. 

As you pull out the ingredients, Sylus eventually comes strolling in, as if he had a sixth sense to your presence. 

“Can’t sleep again?” He asks groggily. Hair mussed and robe crumpled, it was clear he had already been in bed. His tone is careful, still tiptoeing around you after the mess of a conversation you last had after the match.

You nod tiredly, “Too much to think about.” You’re being uncharacteristically cold to him, not even turning around or looking at him in acknowledgement. But if he notices, he doesn’t show it. 

All you want is a moment alone. But already, he’s coming far too close to you — invading your space like he’s entitled to it, when all you want is to be as far away from him as possible. 

“Let me help you.” He says, grabbing the bowl from behind you and rolling a whisk in his other hand. “It'll just be like old times, don’t you think? Miss Baker, with her apprentice running the ovens.” 

You can’t help the anger simmering beneath you as you slam the cupboards closed, alarming him. Can you not get one moment of peace in this fucking household? “You know what? I think I'll just go to bed, actually.”

He lets out a breath of frustration. "Alright, it’s clear that there’s a problem here.” He grabs your hand to stop you from leaving, only for you to rip it from his grasp. He steps back, “I admit that I said some hurtful things before, and I'd like to apologize properly. But can we sit down and talk about this like civilized people?”

You know it’s wrong to lash out like this, but this betrayal had you reeling and acting out impulsively. A crash-out long in the works, tipped over by your recent revelation. “Always one to ask forgiveness rather than permission, aren’t you?”

“What?” He pinches the bridge of his nose, utterly confused. “I don't know why you continually insist on shutting me out — but I assure you, nothing productive will come out of this.” 

A bitter laugh escapes you, “Well, I don’t know why you insist on lying to me. But I'm not the one asking questions here.”

“What are you talking about?” His blood runs cold, gaze steely as he begins to tread carefully through this volley of words. 

“Did you think I'd never find out about the information you hid from me? That you ordered Luke and Kieran to lie to me about? How much have you hidden from me?” You seethe, the words spilling out of you like an overflowing kettle. 

His silence says it all. 

“Gosh, I guess it figures.” You don’t know whether to laugh in irony or cry in defeat. “The one person I trusted the most turned out to be a lying bastard… I don't know why I expected any better from you.” 

Sometimes you forget the person Sylus truly is, beyond the softness he’s shown to you in confidence. He may be flowing with unspoken affection for those he cares for, but in the end, he was still a criminal. The leader of the world’s most notorious crime syndicate, gifted in the art of deceit.  

But despite this, Sylus was still the person who took you in when you had nowhere else to go. The one person you trusted more than anyone in this world. Although his blossoming relationship with the hunter sprouted thorns over your friendship, you thought that you’d at least have total honesty. 

But your expectations crumble into disappointment. 

Sylus treats this exchange flippantly, at first, trying to stave off a fight he doesn’t want to have. But you’re so frustrated, you can’t even look him in the eye. Though his face gives away nothing, a storm was brewing inside as the consequences of his actions dawned on him.

And so, he decides to tell you the truth. 

He whispers your name carefully, like an apology in itself. “I'm sorry I lied to you. It was never my intention to deceive you, or to hold you back from finding answers — but I know I've hurt you nonetheless. But please, let’s not fight about this. Let me explain myself, first.”

You turn to him, waiting for an answer that will resolve the hurt in your heart. 

He doesn't know where to begin, so he starts with an explanation. 

When you first arrived, Sylus had done the research. Tried to find a way to send you — this anomaly who’d landed in his backyard — back to where she belonged. But all he could find were dead ends. As far as he knew, there was no way to send you back. You, this stranger, who he wanted out of his life. (Oh, how the thought hurts him now.)

Almost a year later, when the dimensional travel research came in — he immediately marked it as classified. A spur of the moment decision, where he blocked off your access to these files in fear of you discovering them. He excuses it as the danger, the potential recklessness that might possess you in the face of this revelation.

But the truth was: you were no longer just a stranger, you were Miss Secretary. A core part of his life, regardless of the short time you’d been here. Maybe if he was less in-deep, if the reality of you slipping from his grasp wasn’t so tangible, he wouldn’t have resorted to deceit.  But as it was, there was no way he was letting you go now. 

After all, the fear of lying to you was nothing compared to the fear of losing you forever. (But now, he may just lose you because of it.)

His explanations ring through your head, but all you hear are excuses. You fire back, words slow and tense like a string stretched thin. “You think you’re always right, but you’re not. That's not an excuse to withhold this from me. Living in the N109 Zone is a danger in itself, so what’s so different about this?” 

He scoffs, “The difference is that here, you are by my side. Do you think I can't protect you?”

“It's not your responsibility to protect me. In fact, I've long overstayed my welcome here.”

“Says who?” His eyes stare intently into yours, as he opens his arms, “Look around, dear. The only person who wants you to leave is you.”

He shakes his head, frustrated, “Do you even understand what could happen to you if you pursue this path? This not only blurs the boundary between our worlds, but the boundary between life and death. You could die before ever seeing a glimpse of your old world,” A frantic panic shadows his eyes as he moves forward, shaking you by the shoulders, almost begging you not to do this.

“At least I'd finally have some peace!” You spat out like a bullet that’s been lodged in your chest, a truth so hard to bear. Every day in this world has been an uphill battle, and no connection — whether familial or romantic — could make up for everything you had lost, or the closure you had seeked.

“You don’t mean that.” He murmurs in disbelief, the broken look on his face enough to have your shoulders slumped in guilt.

He tries — you know he does — to close the distance that you have placed. But a sadistic part of you likes to see him hurt, likes to see him struggle to repair what he unintentionally broke. But the other part of you just wants to spare yourself from any more hurt. 

You’ve never been the type to cling to your pride, but not even you can acquiesce to this when you feel so wronged.

“Do you even understand what this information means to me?” Your voice trembles in desperation, “You don’t know what it’s like to lose everything. I cared about my life. I had dreams, I had plans! My family and friends, they all probably think I’m missing or dead — when I'm just here, trying to get back to them. Yet you have the audacity to pretend like you did this for my sake?”

To him, your arrival was a miracle. Another surprise fate had thrown his way, something he was determined not to let slip from his grasp this time around.

But to you, your arrival in this world was your greatest tragedy.

In spite of it all, he puts his foot down, refusing to put your life on the line. “No, this is where I draw the line. You will not be pursuing this — this death wish, and that’s final.” He doesn’t realize how tightly he’s gripped your shoulders until he steps back from the sheer betrayal in your eyes. 

For the first time, you look at him as if he were no more than a stranger. Like you didn’t know him, hadn’t held him in your arms in his lowest moments. He could handle the hunter’s anger and distrust, your distance and aloofness. But your fear? It breaks him. 

Still, he swallows this heartbreak in favor of your safety. “Ignore me, hate me — I'm willing to put up with all of it so long as you don’t hurt yourself.” 

“Well, what fucking choice do I have when you control everything in this goddamned place?” You close your eyes and laugh bitterly, whispering, “I guess I never knew you as well as I thought I did.”

You walk away, and he knows better than to chase you. 

All this time, you had felt guilty for hurting him with your distance, for being an obstacle in the space that was meant for the hunter. Meanwhile, he had been the one barricading you from going back. But why? You cannot comprehend as to why he would be selfish enough to try and keep you here, not when he has everything he’s ever wanted.

Your thoughts continue to spiral as you return to your room– and for the first time, you feel more peace in the silence than in his company.

—————————————————————

He sits in the kitchen until early noon, stewing in disappointment and anger towards himself. 

Sylus is hailed for his ability to read people. His target’s desires, his enemy’s weaknesses, his loved ones’ needs. Yet when it comes to you, he finds himself lost at sea, in conflict with himself in a way he hasn’t been since he was unused to the world and its dangers. 

For the past millennia, he’d had a clear focus, a clear goal — until you strolled in and completely upended his world and everything he thought he knew. 

And what’s worse? He would let you do it as many times as you wanted. 

He knows this won’t be resolved so easily. Both of you are the type whose true feelings cannot be encapsulated by mere words. And when the storm inevitably rolls in, he’s afraid of what might be lost in the collateral. Because now, he was far too gone. 

Losing the sorceress had nearly broken him once, sent him on a search that had clouded his realization of the place you’d taken in his heart. The realization that he couldn’t bear to live without those mundane moments with you.

He knows, here and now, that he needs to fix this. Right his wrongs, clear things with the hunter, and maybe beg at your feet for you to look at him kindly again, after all he’s done to push you away. Before it's too late and he lets love slip from his grasp once again. 

—————————————————————

The ballroom is lit under the warm glow of the numerous chandeliers, casting light over your stone cold face. The opulent celebration — a business partner’s 40th wedding anniversary — was a complete juxtaposition to the storm raging inside you, uncaring to be approachable as you swirl your wine. 

In a twist of cruel irony, another event had delegated Sylus to bring a partner for the evening.

“We'll be leaving at 8 o’clock. Use my card for the dress — and treat yourself, while you’re at it.” He informed you, placing one of his cards on your desk along with the invitation. You raised an eyebrow in skepticism, he never spared time for frivolous events such as anniversaries, especially for people he barely knew.

“What, the hunter wasn’t free this time around?” You can’t help but ask, the snark evident in your tone.

He sighs and walks away, not even deigning that with a response. “Don’t be late.”

You shove the invite into a drawer, fully intent on ditching him. But alas — he added it to the calendar himself.

You were expecting him to hand you another half-hearted apology, to add to the growing pile that was already accumulating. Apology flowers left at your desk, paperwork submitted on time, deliveries of chocolates and your favorite food at the office, as his eyes suspiciously don’t meet yours. 

“If you think you can bribe me with material things, then you don’t know me very well,” You bitterly threw these words at him then, before clocking out for the day. But Sylus was never one to give up easily. 

Throughout the night, you feel the constant prickle of eyes on your back. At first, you assume it’s because of past events, people’s curiosity towards the secretary Sylus was so quick to defend. Your insecurity has you turning around each time — only to meet your employer’s gaze across the room, his eyes lingering on you even with the conversation in front of him. You scoff and look away.

Eventually, he approaches you with your coat in hand, “I believe it’s time to take our leave.”

“So early?” You reply, your words short and cutting when it's necessary to speak. 

“This night has already proven to be a disappointment. No reason to waste any more of our time.”

“I'll call for the driver then,” You’re about to dial when he plucks your phone out of your hand. 

“No need, I've already given him the night off. I'll be the one driving us home.” You squawk in indignance. Once again, this man has managed to corner you into a situation where you can’t escape him. “But, dinner first, shall we?” He extends a hand, which you resolutely walk past.

This seething ignorance follows him the whole way to the restaurant, into the dimly lit private room where the two of you are seated. Had it been any other occasion, you would’ve taken the time to appreciate the florals adorning the tables, the band playing jazz in the corner, and the delicious food. But your anger clouds your enjoyment, as you channel your frustrations into blindly ordering the most expensive items on the menu. 

It isn’t until you’re about halfway through the meal and down one bottle of wine when he finally gets you to speak up, “You can’t stay mad at me forever, darling.”

You take a heavy breath through your nose, “Maybe not, but I can certainly try.” You take another sip of your wine, burying your hurt and sorrow into another bottle. 

“You should realize that I'll do whatever it takes to earn your forgiveness.” 

“You broke my trust. You lied by omission, letting me continue on a wild goose chase when you were withholding the answers. Pretty words and extravagant gifts aren’t enough to earn my trust again.”

He gently reaches for your hand, threading his fingers through yours. “I know that, and I'm willing to do it all to earn your forgiveness. Not only for my deception, but all your hurts that have gone unnoticed.”

It’s too much, your chest feels too heavy with all that’s bearing down on you. Your voice takes a shaky note, “Sylus, all I want is to go home. That’s it.”

You put up the boundaries he never had the heart to, kept your heart at bay for both of your sakes. But now, he wants to pry open your walls, to reveal the fears that plague you at night.  

“I know, dear. I know. And if that’s what you truly want, then I promise to do everything in my power to help you —- so long as it doesn’t result in you getting hurt.” He looks into your eyes, grasping your hand tightly, “All I want is for you to feel safe in confiding in me again — to share your worries, your fears, as you once did. Allow me to carry the weight of your grief with you.”

He knows how much your arrival in this world hurt you, and he carries the guilt of being selfish enough to keep you here despite that.

“I can't anymore. It hurts too much to confide in you, to have a taste of what I know I'll never have. What we’ll never be.” You don’t know what possesses you to admit this yearning. Maybe the intoxication from the wine. Maybe his pleading eyes, or his sweet talk, saying all the right words you’ve wanted to hear for the longest time. But you don’t have any fight left in you to keep your distance. 

“What you can’t have? Darling, I would lay the world at your feet, if that was your wish,” He strokes your cheek with an intimacy surpassing friendship — but you haven’t been just friends in a while, have you? 

Maybe you both drank a little too much, scooted a little too close in the booth, got too caught up in each other's presence (something you've both been starved of for a while). You don’t know who moved first — but one of you ends up breaking. 

You share a starved kiss, hidden under the privacy of dim lights. All at once, the chatter of the restaurant and the rushing of cars dissipate, and all that's left in this universe is you and him and cosmic dust, orbiting around each other.

He explores your mouth, brows furrowed, hands gripping your waist and pulling you to his lap — as if he could meld the two of you by the flesh. It’s like a taste of heaven on your lips, tasting what you had yearned for, denied yourself for so long.

And for a moment you think: what was stopping you from being together? What was so wrong with this connection — so powerful that it wracked your body with shivers and tethered your soul to his presence? 

And then you remember: the hunter.

The reality of what's happening dawns on you, your eyes widening mid-kiss as you abruptly push him away, leaving him stunned; his tie crooked, lipstick staining the corner of his lips. 

Your hands tremble, still hazy from that searing kiss as you try to hold back the tears welling at your eyes, “Sylus —” You choke on your tears, unable to form the words. 

He grasps your face, breathing your name, trying to make sense of what just happened. 

“Sylus, oh god, what did we just do? I — fuck, what about the hunter?”

You run outside the private room, the voices of the restaurant and servers fading in the distance as you hastily escape from the implications of what you’ve just done. You try to hail a taxi when he catches up to you, calling your name.

He may be in front of you but all you see is the hunter, her face riddled with betrayal and hurt. Unlabeled as their relationship may be, she’s just spent the past few weeks opening her heart to someone only for it to be betrayed. By a new friend, at that.

You don’t know what possessed you to kiss him back, to deepen it and lose yourself in his lips. Love struck your head, ridding you of logic. Made you give in to the sin of yearning for something that isn’t yours. And now, you were facing the guilty consequences. 

“Sylus, we’ve done enough. Please, let’s just forget that any of this ever happened —-”

You’re cut off by his hollow laugh, his chin tilting down for his eyes to stare directly into yours. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

“This is gonna ruin everything you’ve wished for, don’t you see?” You’re desperate for him to see the wrongdoing in your actions. 

“No, it’s you who doesn’t see what’s in front of you.” He grasps your wrist, pressing it to his chest, gentle in a way that doesn’t match the fire in his eyes. “Do you feel this heart? It races in your presence, melts at your touch — and if you disappeared? Well, it would simply stop beating.”

His other hand rests on your clavicle, fiddling with the necklace that has remained on your neck since the night of your birthday. He's a man who never says please, but for you he’ll get on his knees and plead.

His words, such heartfelt words that want to make you give in to all of his wishes are one thing. But his actions are another. You’ve witnessed firsthand the way he looks at her, melts in her presence. And you’re not ignorant to how she feels for him now, once heated frustration turning into the adoration she feels now. 

“How could I ever believe what you’re saying?” You feel almost hysterical, with the weight of your emotions crashing down on you. “You’re telling me that you’ve waited hundreds of years for the love of your life, the person bonded to your soul, and you’re going to push it all away for some fleeting connection?”

“Don’t reduce it to something as frivolous as that,” His face darkens, and he grips your hand tighter. “You know that what we have runs deeper than both of us can describe.”

”But what is it to a soulmate?” Your voice is despondent, resigned, “What is this compared to a bond transcending time and space? I know that regardless of what happens here, you’ll choose her. I know that very well, Sylus.” Your voice breaks as you reach your tipping point. 

His heart stills, because he himself doesn’t know what he can say to prove himself.

“Please don’t cry,” His voice softens at the sight of tears welling in your eyes, becoming all but putty in your hands. As of this moment, he knows there’s no convincing you, no making you believe that his words ring sincere and true. But he still can’t help but motion to wipe your tears, until you harshly block his hand.

The sorceress and the traveler, Miss Hunter and Miss Secretary. The dragon resting inside of him couldn’t bear to let go of his mate — after all, what was a centuries-old love compared to a new, fleeting connection? But the threads of fate had woven together to bring you to him, and the man he was now couldn’t bear to cut those ties.

You swallow the hurt, trying to put into words the burden that’s been weighing on you for so long, “I don't want to live in her shadow. I don't want to see this through when I know that one day, you’ll regret what you’ve lost.”

His face falls, and you feel a bit of satisfaction in seeing him carry even a smidgen of the hurt you’ve felt. But for the most part, it just hurts you to see him in pain. 

”You think so lowly of me, as if I don't have the autonomy to make my own decisions. But you need to face the facts, dear —- the only one holding back is you.” He’s laid his heart on a silver platter. The only obstacle here was your own doubts, your own insecurities.

You reel back as he steps closer, “So tell me, why do you prevent us from having what we both want?” He brushes his hand gently against your cheek.

You take a deep breath to say the words you know will end this for good. “Because I deserve better than to settle for second place in your heart.” You give him no time to refute before you turn around, heart bruised and battered. “Please, just leave. Don’t follow me. I don't wanna speak to you anymore, not tonight.”

“I’m not leaving you alone in this city —”

“I'll call someone.”

And that’s how it ends. 

You walk away, deciding to call Kieran to pick you up. You can’t bring yourself to be in close proximity with Sylus right now. You know he hasn’t actually left, hearing the conspicuous whirring of his motorcycle in the distance, engine alerting you to his presence from a mile away. In the corner of your eye, you can see Mephisto's red, beady eyes from the pedestrian light across the road, watching you. 

Still, you continue to walk aimlessly in this false notion of solitude, carrying your heels as you wait for Kieran to arrive. Now that the haze of alcohol has cleared, and you’ve let out all that was building up since the hunter’s arrival, you can’t help but feel hollow. Completely drained of all the anger and sorrow that you’d been carrying in the past few weeks. 

The streetlights cast these roads in an artificial light, the moonless sky and desolate streets feeling emptier under its warm glow. Midsummer was fast approaching, a period once marked by sunshine and cicadas. The N109 Zone was the antithesis to everything you’d ever known and cherished — and for a while, you thought that maybe it could be enough. 

But now, you yearn for the sun to rise after the long night you’ve endured. 

A familiar car eventually pulls up, the window rolled down for you to see the concern on Kieran’s face. But he says nothing as you enter, haggard and spent, with no energy to hide your woes or muster up small conversation. The lights of the city dissipate as you head into the outskirts of the N109 Zone, and you can only hope the darkness is enough to shroud the silent tears streaming down your face.

Kieran says nothing as you silently cry in the backseat, offering you the grace of asking no questions. 

—————————————————————

Sylus watches painfully as you walk away, ashamed by this seemingly forbidden act — when all he wants to do is pull you in for more. 

For the longest time, he'd been in this foolish delusion that things could be the same between him and the hunter. If he got her to remember, if he got her to open up. But the truth was, it’ll never be the same. Both of them were two entirely different people in this life, and now… now there was you. 

He had been desperately latching on to the love that was robbed from him centuries ago, and blinded himself to the way you’d fully taken root in his heart. 

Now, he needed to cut off these loose ends and find a way to make up for his mistakes, his indecision — and only then, could he even try to give you the love that you deserve. 

But the next few days prove to be a trial as the world seems keen on keeping the two of you apart. You have a talent for avoiding him, finding increasingly elaborate ways not to cross paths with him. And when an important mission arises, requiring him to go into the field himself, it felt like fate conspiring against him.

He finishes the mission in record time, completing it in detached efficiency as he ponders how to go about speaking with you — something he plans to do as soon as he returns home. But as he nears the entrance to the Onychinus headquarters, he can immediately sense that something is wrong.

A flash of light strikes through the heart of the N109 Zone — devoid of the accompanying rumble of thunder to be lightning — when dread fills his bones. He realizes he's seen this before. 

On the day that you arrived.

He rushes into the building, immediately approached by his lackeys reporting of traitors lurking in Onychinus, who thought it wise to attack the base in his absence. But all he can think about is finding you. 

He rushes to his office, finding the twins equally distressed, after they’d cleared the floor for traitors. “Boss, she’s gone.” 

“Explain it to me clearly. Who's gone?” His heart is racing — struck by horror at the blood pooling at your desk. He knows the answer, but he doesn’t want to confront the devastation about to tip over. 

“Miss Secretary. We apprehended the traitor, but there was a stray bullet and then — she just vanished.” 

Rage blinds him. Suddenly he wants vengeance, retribution, ordering his men to apprehend the shooter. All he can do is imprison and torture the man who dared shoot at the woman he loves, making him suffer for what he’s taken from you. 

But it's not nearly enough. Not when your absence is so palpable, not when you’ve left his life as easily as you entered it. 

In the end, your departure is but a whisper in the N109 Zone, leaving behind nothing but a pool of blood and a mark on his heart.

—————————————————————

are we gonna talk about the way it took me a whole car crash, the national elections, and a loved one's terminal illness to finally finish this chapter? maybe another day. but for now i'm going to play death and rebirth (i didn't let myself until i finished this LOL) i'll see you all on the next chapter where we pick up where this chapter left off and (maybe) see things from sylus’s perspective!

some things i’d like to share since i took off for a month

i've started a new term with new professors — and one of them is literally named GOJO??? my class calls him “professor gojo uwu~” behind his back its hilarious

hot chocolate does not mix well with vodka (don’t ask me how i know)

filipino lads artists are goated and i spend more money on their merch than on the actual game

i fear i’ve become too delusional because why does my dad’s doctor look like ZAYNE —

p.s. if any of you are interested, i've linked the playlist i made for this fic in the series masterlist :>

taglist — @mangooes @mentaltrouble2201 @animegamerfox @crazy-ink-artist @phisen @jeondyy @t4naiis @wifunozomi @munimunni @blessdunrest @rafayelridesfisheatsfish @paintedperidot @mansonofmadness @pillarofsnow @sylususeyourevolonmepls @angelichiaro @mephisto-with-a-knife @crimsonmarabou @hikaru-sama @flamedancer13 @tati-the-fangirl @ameili @poptrim @caramelizedpopcirn @cupid-gene @vvonunie @lunia-likes-pomegranet @iamawkwardandshy @tinyweebsstuff @astolary @vyntheria @theloveofnagiseishiroslife @velourmobius @beaconsxd @hon3yydew @kira-loves0905 @codedove @that-lost-one @colonelcalebs-pipsqueak @kaiii07 @bohoooitsme @everythingistaken00 @rmjace @red-raf-sy @goddexxluv @seris-the-amious @stellisangelicus-world @alhaith4ms @young-adult-summer @junrui