guccialli

Not to mention that your mind has been rather preoccupied with the empty void that haunts you in the audience. Your thoughts always move back to him, wondering if he’s okay and has been keeping with his schedule. It pains you to still care for him when you damn well that he has most likely not even thought about you at all.

You miss him but he hasn’t even bothered to show up to any of your shows. He’s probably busy with work, anyways. He’s always busy with work. Maybe it was a good thing you left his home — a place you used to consider your own home — while his job kept him…occupied. At least the resentment that built up in your heart had the chance to dissipate, even if it was a minuscule amount.

It didn’t help either that Sylus hasn’t even bothered to call or text. Not even a whisper of his voice in your ear before you step out onto the stage. He was your biggest supporter, or so you thought. But in the days that followed your argument — the same one that left you a crying mess in your old apartment, knees hugged to your chest, wondering why your boyfriend couldn’t attend a single show — you felt indifference take control of your body, causing you to go numb. 

Your back straightens as soon as there is a knock on the door. Tremors overtake your hands. The familiar shake of anxiety and pre-show jitters. You have performed the show with flawless execution for its month long run. Eight shows a week with one day off — Monday, to be exact — and you are finally starting to feel the ache in your bones and head from the constant exposure of the stage lights and same demanding screeches of powerful dialogue that shakes the audience to their core.

Your character’s anguish masks your own. What was that saying again? That life imitates art? You tried to ignore that feeling, that the words on the page didn’t reflect the same torment that you feel towards your relationship with Sylus. That the married couple in the play are not indicative of your relationship with Sylus and that the two of you can somehow find a way out of the fog.

The door creaks open. Your gaze flits to the stage manger’s reflection, their black clothing and headset catching your attention. They don’t even have to say a word. You simply nod and watch as the door closes behind them, leaving you behind in the deafening silence. Your ears ring. The dull ache behind your eyes grows in size but you ignore the feeling, pushing through as you bring yourself back up to your feet.

A slow exhale leaves your mouth. You close your eyes, trying to settle your nerves.

Breathe in. Hold. Open your eyes. Exhale.

Dark bags hang under your eyes. The sunken in look from your lack of sleep and constant worry over a man who simply hasn’t bothered to support you. Sylus has claimed that Onychinus and his work has kept him away from seeing you on stage. Well, that’s what he told you when you first came home after opening night. After that, it’s been complete silence on his end. It’s not like you made an effort to reach out either, but you truly do not believe that it should be you to be the one to mend the bullet hole that ripped your heart in half.

You know that you are bound to face him sometime soon. At least it won’t have an effect on your ability to act like a tired and worn out wife who wishes to have a better life for herself. It’s not like he’ll be sitting in the seat you have reserved for him every showing. The empty seat pushes you towards desperation, towards a place of agony that only a woman in pain could feel. 

You breathe in one last time. Your lungs burn as you hold in the breath. You exhale. Slow and timid. Your nails dig into the palms of your hand, rough enough to draw blood. A quick turn on your heel, feet carrying you towards the door. You push through with tears brimming your eyes and a new found determination lit up in your heart to make this the best performance of the play’s run — even if it is the last show.

Excitement bubbles throughout your body. A smile has been etched into your face ever since you woke up that morning. Despite the bed being empty beside you, you are determined to make today a great day because, you guessed it: it’s your opening night!

The play that you have dedicated so many endless nights and weekends to is finally here. The play has been a blessing to you. While Sylus worked and dealt with business deals for Onychinus, you were ready to take that shot in the dark and audition for the show. Turns out, they loved the devastation that you brought to the character. The raw authenticity of heartbreak and resignation showed through the tremor in your voice, the way your hands shook on stage as if you were truly the one contemplating divorcing your husband.

You would never do that, though. You love Sylus with your entire being. There is no way in hell that you are letting him go.

Your phone vibrates on the side table. You reach for it without looking, fingers curling around the device as you bring it to your face. Sylus’s name graces the screen. There is a flutter in your heart at the sight. You quickly openly up the messages and toss your hair out of your eyes, the smile on your face faltering once you read his words.

Work has me busy today. I’ll see you later tonight.

That’s okay. You know that he’ll be at the Orpheum Theater when the doors open. If anything, your boyfriend will be the first one through the doors with an extravagant bouquet of flowers in his arms, subtly bragging to all of those with ears that his lovely partner is in the play — and as the lead no less!

I hope work goes well! I can’t wait to see you tonight! I saved you the best seat in the house! I love you!

Your fingers dance across the screen at lightning speeds, a small chuckle bubbling on the inside of your chest. The phone is tossed to the side and you spread yourself across the king sized bed, arms and legs spread out as far as you can reach. An excited squeal leaves your body. You kick and punch the air as your laughter fills the room. A surge of anticipation — the kind that leaves the tips of your fingers tingling from excitement and joy and happiness.

Sylus is finally going to be able to see you perform. He is finally going to watch you in something that isn’t humiliating, like that smoothie commercial you booked where you were dressed up like a pomegranate, and you can feel the anticipation blossom inside of your body.

The thought itself excites you! For Sylus to see you on stage. It has you smiling throughout dress rehearsal, all throughout an interview the theater scheduled with you and your co-star, and you even found yourself smiling right as the theater doors opened.

The familiar buzz of excitement fills the theater. The audience slowly pours into the theater. A low hum is heard in the air. Quiet and indistinct conversations heard as the nicely dressed people make their way towards their assigned seats, the red material of the chairs calling their names, beckoning for them to move forward and closer to the stage.

The ensemble cast giggles and talk amongst themselves as you and your co-lead take your place on stage behind the deep red curtain. The two of you sit on a couch, one that looks like it has seen better days. Your knee bounces up and down. The remnants of your anxiety showcased in the erratic movement trapped in your legs.

“Nervous?” The man beside you asks.

You stiffly nod, forcing a smile across your face while you play with the hem of your costume’s skirt. The rest of the ensemble cast remain tucked away in the wings, watching as the curtain trembles, ready to be lifted for the first show of the play’s runs — and your career. Just to the side, you notice as the house lights breathe. One moment it’s bright, the next it’s dark, signaling the beginning of the show.

You close your eyes one last time, slowly inhaling as much air as you possibly can. The slight tension in your muscles slowly vanishes. The quiet creak of the curtain being raised forces you to open your eyes, back straightening as you and your scene partner ready yourselves for the beginning of the play.

The director wants you to stare straight ahead, to peer into the spotlight that illuminates your bodies. You force your gaze away, though, and allow yourself to look in the direction of Sylus’ reserved seat.

The director was so excited when you came to her with the news of your boyfriend requesting the best seat in the house. You had talked him out of sitting in a box seat for your first performance, claiming that box seats are for the rich who do not truly care for art. If Sylus wants to be a true connoisseur, then he needs to sit in the center of the theater, to sit among other people and to allow himself to be fully immersed in the story’s plot.

You frequently spoke of Sylus to the rest of the crew of ensemble. Let’s be real: you told anyone who was willing to listen about your relationship with Sylus. Every single person who works on the play built an image of him inside of their minds, ready to meet the man who has their leading lady so deep in love that she can barely focus whenever he sends a message. Sylus had become someone that the cast and crew were looking forward to meet and invite into the life of the theater — even the owner of the theater wished to meet him to try and secure new funds for their next play.

The curtains raise and the sly smile is wiped off of your face. The character’s persona is draped across your body, your mind making that switch into taking on the character’s life. Your eyes remain fixed on the seat. The one place in the theater where the sound and view is the best.

Your body goes cold. The air in your lungs is yanked free from your body. It is as if you have just been body slammed into a cement wall. A quiet ring forms in your ears. The terrifying sound of disappointment and whiplash deafens you even as your co-star speaks out his opening lines.

The chair is empty.

Tears brim your eyes and your force your gaze away from the sight, blinking away the tears as you take your cue to stand and address the crowd. You’re stuck, though. The words remain trapped on your tongue, the bitter taste of being letdown and frustration spreading across your mouth. An iron ball forms in your throat. You’re unable to force it away, to swallow the weight that forms in your neck.

“I’ve been married to Dean for five years.” Your voice shakes as if you are the character herself, bearing your soul to the audience to see under the lights of the stage. “And in those five years, he has let me down five times.”

The rest of the show goes as smooth as the last few dress rehearsals. You push through the stabbing pain in your heart, ignoring the way your body feels like it is being ripped open from the inside out. The ache in your throat grows but you force it away whenever you have to speak, forcing the words out of your mouth. It is only when you exit off into the wings of the stage that you allow yourself to crumble, your face breaking as you try to hide your tears. The makeup artists desperately try to save your makeup, helping talk you through the warfare that has formed inside of your heart.

It was only a matter of minutes before you were pushed back onto the stage again, forcing a smile onto your face as you pretend to be happy in a loveless marriage. You ignored the empty space in the audience. The seat you had reserved for him. With every turn and flick of the head, you are always so tempted to stare at the space. You force your mind to stay on task, to proclaim the lines that have been bestowed upon you but all you want to do is go home — not to his — and cry into your pillow until your body gives out.

Where the hell is he? What excuse can Sylus give to you that can make up for the fact that he isn’t here in the audience. What could he possibly say that can dispel the tremor in your heart, the burning ache that has tightened around your throat. Is he truly preoccupied with work?

Or has he found a comfort in the hunter he met when Onychinus’ path crossed the Hunter Associations?

The play continues and you numb the feeling of sadness that formed in your heart. While your voice remains bright and vibrant, showcasing the character’s emotionality and the devastation that she feels, you remain calm and collected under the mask. You trick the audience into think that you, the actress, take your job so seriously. That you are a professional who isn’t on the verge of having a breakdown onto the stage.

You sit on stage right. Your eyes try not to stare at the empty seat but the temptation of pain and angst is just unbearable. Slowly but surely, your eyes move inch by inch — moving mere millimeters — towards the space. An older couple sits on the left side of the chair while on the right is a burly man who looks as if he is about to pop out of his tailored suit. You suck in a breath while your scene partner recites his lines with ease, walking across the stage while you remain isolated on the couch.

“All I wanted was for the party to go well,” you say in response, picking at the fabric of your skirt.

“Nobody cares about the damn party,” he exhales loudly. You glance at the actor, replacing his face with Sylus’. You watch as he moves around the fake kitchen, slamming the cabinets shut and tossing the silverware across the countertop. He turns around and you swear you see the red shade of your partner’s eyes in him. A sharp inhale has you clutching your chest, turning away from the man. “Nobody cares about you, quite frankly. Always trying too hard but it will never be enough.”

“Dean, please,” you choke back the tears.

“When will it be enough for you?” The actor’s eyes meet your glossy ones. His fingers curl around the edge of the fake countertop, knuckles white.

Your bottom lip trembles. You slowly push yourself up to your feet, a sudden lightness overtaking your body as the lights begin to dim on the other sections of the stage. You face the audience. A single tear runs down your cheek, the ticking time bomb of your own cache of despair ready to explode.

“I don’t love you anymore.”

The words make your ears ring. Although they fell from your lips, it feels so surreal to even speak them aloud. To even say the damned phrase when your heart is in shambles. The feeling of falling out love is overwhelming. While you still hold onto the hope that your worst fears won’t come true, they still scratch at the back of your mind. Slowly countering the defenses that you have established to protect yourself.

That’s when the tears begin to fall. You allow yourself to breakdown and sob for all to see. You try to fight when away, furiously wiping your eyes and capturing the tears on your fingers. The once perfect and thick makeup begins to streak. The black mascara runs down your face, your fingers now black.

It was supposed to be an emotionless speech. One about your character finding peace and solace in her husband’s disinterest. That she has finally broken free from the spell that the man had placed on her. His final words being the straw that breaks the camel’s back. The accumulation of your stress and frustration have into fruition, taking the form of salty tears that land at your feet.

You can feel the character’s pain. When you first read the script, you were curious as to how horrible a man could be to the woman he claims to love. You wondered why he would step out on his wife, to find comfort in a younger and prettier woman. Why he would berate the woman who has remained so loyal and faithful then turn around and convince her that it was her fault for not keeping him interested.

You’ve seen her before. Just in passing, a fleeting moment in Sylus’ garage where their loud laughter suddenly faded as soon as you entered the room, tired from that day of rehearsals. Sylus introduced you. His ruby eyes remained on her, though, his lips curling up into a ghost of a smile. It made your body go cold. You remembered her smile, how it was so infectious it made you want to grin despite her closeness with your partner.

She’s younger too. Of course, she is. Just a couple years but still…her youthful spirit has yet to be crushed like yours. She wore pretty clothes and her perfume was intoxicating; spiced vanilla with an underlying scent of everything that you are not.

Is that the case with Sylus? Is he not interested in you anymore? Has that hunter from the Association finally turn his head away from you?

You collapse to the ground, legs unstable and feeling like jelly. Sobs take over your body. The familiar sharpness returns to your heart. It turns rotten.

You listen to the audience’s cries from the stage as you remained hunched over, your tears soaking into the floor beneath you. The crowd remains quiet as you cry and choked out the words. You covered your face and muttered quiet apologies to yourself, continuing with the speech. You sniffle and wipe the snot away from your nose while you speak on the devastating nature about loving a man who simply doesn’t care.

Silence falls over the auditorium. No one dares to move while you slowly recover, your arms and hands shielding your face from the blinding lights. The silence causes you to shiver. Slowly, you look up from your hands, staring into the darkness of the auditorium. In the front row, you can see the glossy sheen to the audience’s eyes.

The stage lights go black. You feel your tears stop. The lights no longer warm your skin. The audience’s applause fade and you are left alone as the stage crew and ensemble gather around you. They lift you to your feet and praise your performance. Even the director is astonished with your work, commenting that the tears added a hefty gravity to the scene that they never could have imagined.

You smile at them but quickly excuse yourself to your dressing room. The door closes with a quiet click of the turning lock. The lights remain off, the light from the outside world spread across the floor. Your back remains pressed against the door. Deep and heavy breaths cause your head to go dizzy. You push away from the door and rip the costume off of your body, tossing the fabric to the side as you gather your belongings and post-show clothes. Quickly putting them on, you sneak out of the dressing room and slip free from the back stage door, just barely missing the crowd that rushes to see you.

His face is not among those in the crowd. Another knife to the heart. Another notch in the grievances that you are about to file against your partner.

You tear your gaze away, tears streaking down your cheeks as the shrieks and cheers from the audience pierce your ears. You don’t look back, though, and instead push forward as fast as you can, finding your nearby car.

The drive to the N109 Zone is silent. You focus on the road, barely paying attention to the turning street lights and stop signs. You recklessly brake at the last second and swerve in and out of the lanes, just barely missing cars that you are about to collide with.

Danger and fury runs through your veins. Instead of the familiar heat of frustration, your anger is ice cold. Indifferent. Intolerant of how Sylus has fallen away from your grip these last few months.

Maybe you should have seen this coming. All of the signs are there, right?

While you were off parading as a different person, your boyfriend became acquainted with his new connection at the Hunter’s Association. She was the one who took your place by his side when rehearsals ran late. She was the one who took your spot on the back of his motorcycle. She was the one who took his attention away from you.

You shove away your emotions, forcing your feet to carry you inside of Sylus’ skyscraper. The elevator quietly dings with every passing floor, the nausea inside of your stomach becoming overwhelming. The doors slide open and you step out, looking around.

The lights are turned off. The click of your shoes is faintly heard as you move deeper into the main living space. The sound of a woman’s laughter causes you to stumble. You hold onto the wall for support, placing your bag onto the floor.

A chill overtakes your body. Goosebumps form on your skin. The hair on your arms and back of your neck stand up. You sulk closer towards the sound, listening to Sylus as he chuckles at a joke she said.

You peer at the two of them from the corner, remaining as hidden as you can. They sit beside each other on the living room couch, a feast of takeout food laid out before them. The smell causes you to drool. The lights are off, the only light source coming from lit candles — which are yours, by the way — that are scattered throughout the room. They sit close to one another, their arms brushing against each other as they laugh and share food, leaning in to whisper something into their ear as if they aren’t the only ones inside of the Onychinus skyscraper. Sylus faces you while she faces away. You stare at her back, the long and black hair that cascades down her back. She wears stealth clothes, ones that you recognize from the Hunter’s Association’s ads that play all over Linkon City. You go still, unable to move as you sneakily watch.

“Are you sure that it’s okay that I’m here?” she asks. Her voice is as sweet as honey. 

“Of course,” his voice is as husky as you remembered it to be, “there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

A tender smile is spread across Sylus’ face. You want to slap it off and scream in his face. You want to yell and scream, to hit him and make him feel the same exact emotional torment that he has put you through.

You slowly draw in a breath. The heat from the anger you once felt is gone. Ice takes over your body, freezing your heart. You can’t even feel the beats. The air is drawn out from your lungs. They burn, the only hint you have to let you know that you are still alive.

Is this how your character felt? Is this what complete and utter betrayal look like? Is this how it feels to watch as the love of your life slips free from your fingers, dropping into the palm of a woman who probably doesn’t even know who the true Sylus is. Would it be ignorant of you to think that nobody will know him like you did? Would it be ignorant to think that this new reality you find yourself in is one that you do not wish to be a part of anymore?

This is how your relationship dies. With the smell of spiced vanilla and two bodies close together under the dim candlelight.

Tears run down your cheeks. You don’t have the energy to stop them from falling. Turning on your heel, you walk away, heading in the direction of your shared bedroom with Sylus. Your footsteps are no longer quiet or sneaky. You walk with the confidence of a determined woman. The determination to leave this place — and the man you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with — behind.

You shove the door open with more force than you intended. The wood slams into the wall, the sound echoing across the floor. You swear you can hear Sylus and her’s laughter die as soon as you step foot into the bedroom. You don’t really care, though, and head towards the closet. Your fingers curl around the handle of a suitcase. You toss it onto the bed, the case splitting open, empty and ready to be used.

Shirts. Pants. Dresses. Tights. Socks. Bras. Underwear. Pajamas.

Whatever you come across, you toss it into the suitcase. You don’t even bother to fold the clothes, allowing them to knot together as the pile grows higher and higher. White noise fills your head. There’s ringing in your ear. You don’t even hear Sylus when he walks into the bedroom, too tunnel visioned to notice him. You turn around, a pair of slippers in your hands. You collide with Sylus’ hard chest, the man resting his hands on his hips as you barely look up at him.

“I asked you what you’re doing.” There’s annoyance in his voice. Irritation, even.

You don’t even look up at him, stepping around his frame as you toss the slippers into the suitcase. There’s movement in the doorway. The figure is gone before you can catch it. Eh. Whatever. You’re leaving anyways. It simply is not your problem anymore.

“I’m talking to you,” Sylus says. He groans and watches as you brush past him again. He snatches your wrist in his hand, his fingers hot against your skin. You try not to wince or flinch. The single look he gets of your face makes him pause. The streaked and ruined makeup. The way your fingers are covered in the remnants of red lip stick and black mascara from your efforts to wipe your face clean. It makes his heart ache at the sight, the man wanting to reach for you and bring you into his embrace just like he has always done when you needed him to be there. Oh, the irony. “What’s wrong? Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving,” you breathe the words out, “I don’t belong here anymore.”

“Leaving?” He’s baffled, a light scoff leaving his mouth. He waits for you to show him  a sign — any sign — that this is some kind of overreaction. That you are waiting for him to stop you before you can step foot out of the base’s doors.

You keep moving, though. Your movements are robotic at best. There is no emotion on your face as you continue to shove your belongings into the suitcase. He watches, as still as the period after a brutal and deadly battle. You continue to move, packing away the life that you had built together, purposefully leaving behind the items and clothes that he happily bought for you.

“What’s going on?” Sylus asks, bewildered. “Did I miss something?”

“No,” you shake your head, venom prominent in your voice. “You wanted to be here, remember? There’s no other place you would rather be.”

The way you throw his words — words that were never meant for you, by the way — right back into his face make Sylus pause. His red eyes scan your face, trying to silently peel back the layers of your mind to see what it is that he has done wrong. His lips pucker, eyes narrowing. So you know that his Hunter friend is here. Did you misinterpret the situation? Did you think that there were traces of romance and affection in his actions?

“Talk to me,” Sylus says, his eyes fixating on you. “Tell me what happened.”

“You didn’t show up,” you say.

You casually shrug as if this is common information, as if Sylus abandoning you is now a common occurrence. Wasn’t it you who decided to act? To give yourself away for months for an audience of people who don’t even know who you are? He follows you as you walk to the bathroom. The cabinets are opened up and you pluck your hair care products and skincare regimen into your hands, walking back out just to dump them into your bag.

“What didn’t I show up for?” He asks, truly confused as to why you are suddenly holding this grudge against him.

“My play, Sylus,” the words are as bitter as your voice, “you missed my play. Not like you would care anyways since you’d rather be here with her instead of supporting your fucking girlfriend—”

“So you’re jealous,” Sylus comments, “that’s what this is about?”

“Jealous?” you turn around and stare at him as if you were just struck by a bolt of lightning. Your body feels as if it was. A tingling sensation spreads across your skin and you are sure that if you were to touch him, he would explode from the electricity of your fury. “You think I’m leaving over jealousy?”

“Isn’t that what this is about?” he shakes his head, already ready to dismiss this whole argument.

“You missed opening night, Sylus.”

“No,” the white haired man shakes his head, taking a step closer to you, “I didn’t. That’s next week.”

“It was tonight.”

His body goes cold. He opens his mouth to say something, red eyes piercing into yours. You swear you can see the vibrancy and color fade when he finally realizes. You wait a couple more seconds for him to speak but he says nothing. You scoff.

“I got a standing ovation, by the way,” you comment as you step towards the bag. You zip it up, using as much effort as you can to close the stuffed bag. “The director called me a visionary. Said my performance of a wife scorned felt real.”

“Babe…”

“Who knew that my boyfriend ditching me for some woman he met a few months ago would be the perfect motivation to have a breakdown on stage? Not me,” you laugh. Actually laugh. It’s both bitter and angry, the sound ready to snap like your emotions. The bag is zipped shut and you push it onto the ground, lifting the handle.

“I didn’t ditch you,” Sylus tries to reason. It only makes you laugh.

“Didn’t you?” you are quick to counter, an expert on keeping him accountable. “I thought you were dead at some point. Your empty seat made me think that one of your business deals went wrong. So I rushed home as fast as I could to come see you but you,” you let out a bitter laugh. One that is filled with anger and resentment. “You just had to be with her. So yes, Sylus. You fucking ditched me.”

You turn and stare at him, your gaze sharp enough to kill. Sylus easily meets your gaze, allowing the blade of your fury to rest along his neck. His expression softens, the weight of his guilt finally resting upon his shoulders. He only wishes that you would gift him the weight of your anger so that he may hold it for you, even if it means giving you just one minute of peace where the sins of his actions don’t poison your blood.

“I…” you begin but fall quiet. Your fists ball at your sides, nails digging into your palm. The pain grounds you, the stinting feeling of torn flesh rooting you into the earth. “I needed you tonight, Sylus, and you weren’t there. Ever since I was cast, you drifted away. You found comfort in another—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” His red eyes burn into yours, his own anger and passion coming into play. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. I have not found comfort in another woman.”

“Do you really believe that?” you whisper. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that you paid more attention to her than me?”

“Yes! Because it’s the truth!” Sylus raises his voice, his emotions getting the best of him.

The man has fought so hard to remain in control. Control of his life, the world around him, his emotions. Sylus has always managed his own expectations — and disappointments — by controlling those around him. He used people and tossed them to the side when he no longer needed them. He would never do such a thing to you. He can’t even fathom how you can believe that when he has done everything in his power to keep you happy.

It’s his fault, though. Sylus’ wishful thinking of you being happy, of living your life on the stage, was not in vain. He wanted to try and clean up Onychinus’ problems before your show’s time came. Sure, he got distracted by an interesting woman, but he never would have dreamed of tossing you to the side in favor of her. At least, that’s what he thinks. The poor man doesn’t even realize that the woman he has replaced you with has already gotten a hold of his heart. The one thing he swore that nobody else — other than you — would touch.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, rolling your eyes.

“I’m not the one who made up an elaborate plot in her head about something that isn’t true!” Sylus says, waving his hands around.

“Isn’t it?” you ask, trying to keep your voice and body as steady as possible. “You were here. With her. I was there where you weren’t. You claim that you feel nothing for her but when I came home…you looked at her like you once looked at me.”

Your words are like a knife in his heart. It causes him to exhale, the air being knocked free from his chest. His eyes gloss over, your accusations growing more and more true as you build your case against him.

“When I first got the role, you were excited for me. You even said that you couldn’t wait to see me on stage,” you laugh again but this time it’s softer. Sadder. The acceptance of your crucified relationship finally settling in your stomach. “I believed you when you said that I was going to be great. That I was going to fulfill my dreams and that you were happy to watch. I want to believe you now but all I can see is a man I used to love. All I see is an honest man who has turned into a liar right in front of my eyes.”

Silence hangs between you. Your breathing is slow, controlled. Sylus’ is erratic. He takes a step forward but you draw back, placing more distance between the two of you. You look him up and down once, taking in his appearance.

He wears a nice button down dress shirt. It’s white, a color that he rarely ever wears but you noticed that he puts on a whole lot more when she’s around. His pants are the fancy tailored ones and his shoes are shined so well that you swear you can see your reflection in. Your gaze flickers to his hands. He isn’t wearing the ring you got him, the one you bought to match the one he slid on your finger. A promise that the two of you will be together forever…it has vanished from his fingers. It makes you want to cry all over again. How could he have not seen the signs?

“Why didn’t you show up?” you ask.

“What?” Sylus breathes out.

“Why didn’t you show up?” you ask him again, doubling down.

“I didn’t think that it was today,” he begins but he quickly shuts up when you shake your head.

“No,” your eyes darken. “What was the reason for not being here tonight like you said?”

“Did I say that?”

“Sylus!” you yell his name, the word echoing across the top floor of his skyscraper. “Stop! Why weren’t you there?!”

“She needed me.” The answer leaves him before he can stop it. He whispers the short sentence. Oh, how he regrets even saying it in the first place. “She needed someone.”

“I needed someone too,” your voice cracks under the pressure. The tears begin to fall from your eyes, rolling down your cheeks in hot and salty streams. “I needed my boyfriend to share this night with me. To celebrate my accomplishment.”

“It’s not like that,” Sylus dares to step forward, swallowing the lump in his throat, “she needed help with a job—”

“Does nobody else work at that damn fucking Association?! Why does she need my boyfriend to help her?!” you yell, silencing him. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath to try and steady your nerves. “I’m done, Sylus. I’m leaving, okay? Don’t even bother trying to talk to me again.”

You grab the handle of your suitcase, tearing your gaze off of him. The more you look at him, the angrier you get, and that is the last thing you need. You take a step towards the door. His voice stops you.

“Don’t go,” Sylus says, resting his hand on your shoulder, “please don’t leave me.”

“You already left me, Sylus,” you say with a resigned sigh. “And take your damn hand off of me. You don’t get to touch me anymore.”

“Let’s talk it through,” he says, “please?”

Sylus reaches out for you again. He grabs your wrist, drawing you back towards him. What he didn’t anticipate, though, is the way you swing your hand towards him, your palm connecting with his cheek. A stinging sensation spreads across his face. A red imprint begins to form on his face, the lines of your fingers etched into his skin. You don’t even feel guilty about it.

“You haven’t even said sorry,” your voice cracks, the palm of your hand stinging. Tears flow from your eyes. The drops fall to the ground after they roll off your cheeks. You don’t bother to catch them or to wipe them away. You let them fall. “No apology for missing my opening night. No apology for choosing her over me…it’s cruel, Sylus. You’re cruel. We’re done. Don’t come near me.”

The couch is uncomfortable. It has been since last week when your co-star broke it during rehearsal. He thought that jumping on it would be a good idea — as if it ever is — and now here you are, sitting on a spring that pokes directly into the place where the sun doesn’t shine.

You crack your neck and knuckles, exhaling all of the air that’s in your lungs. You don’t even pay attention to your fellow actor. There’s too much on the line, especially since it’s the last show of the play’s run in Linkon. After this…you have no idea what you’re going to do. What you do know, though, is that you’re finally going to find the happiness that you deserve.

Especially since the stage is now forever stained from your one-sided breakup with Sylus.

The creak of the curtains forces you to look up. The blinding lights are familiar now. The stinging sensation makes itself at home behind your eyes while you blink, waiting for your cue. You slowly stand. Your eyes adjust to the bright lights, the people in the crowd now coming into view. Sylus’ empty seat — one that you asked to remain reserved for him, for what reason, you’ll never know — is just to the side. You stare at it whenever you need the emotional push, to throw yourself into your sorrows for the crowd to watch. Your soul laid bare on the stage while your tears burn down your cheeks, hands outstretched towards the crowd as if they can save you from drowning in your depression.

The seat isn’t empty though. You blink a couple of times, wondering if it was just the trick of the light or if someone actually dared to sit in the spot.

It’s Sylus.

His red eyes meet yours through the darkness and just for a moment — a second so brief you barely catch it — it feels as if it is just the two of you inside of the theater. It feels as if there is no crowd, no audience watching as you freeze on stage. It is just you and him. Nobody else.

You swallow the iron lump that has formed in your throat. The pressure is immeasurable, the mass dragging along your esophagus. It makes you want to throw up, to cry and throw yourself on the ground. To let the wooden stage swallow you whole so you can disappear from life without even having to say a word or lift a finger.

“I’ve been married to Dean for five years.” Your voice is stronger this time. More resolute. There is no shake in it just the emotionless motivations of a she-devil, of a woman scorned…of an emotionally battered woman who is too tired to show how she is truly feeling. “And in those five years, he has let me down five times. This is the story of how Dean and I fell in and out of love.”

You force your gaze away from Sylus, turning around as the play continues as if this isn’t happening. You settle yourself as you cross the stage, linking your arm with your co-star’s, forcing a smile onto your face.

Admittedly, you are distracted. Sylus’ white hair and red eyes always catch your attention. Hell, it’s how you noticed him in the first place when you showed up to some random auction. You were bored out of your mind and was just ditched — ironic, right? — by your date who left you to pay the bill at the restaurant. You wandered around the N109 Zone, finding your way into a fancy art exhibit where a silent auction was taking place. The auction was dimly lit but Sylus still managed to stand out like the devil in the night, his appearance subconsciously luring you closer and closer until you stood beside him in front of a painting that depicted a war torn field. Dragon bones were laid out in the middle of the painting and hanging in the sky is a bright star, one that burns as brightly as he once said you did.

You shake your head, forcing the memory out of your head as soon as it even formed. The world of the story moves all around you while you remain stagnant on the stage unable to move as the character of Dean makes a move on another woman right in front of you. The actors on stage stop mid-movement. A spotlight is turned on, the light directed at you. You stare directly at it, gaze slipping to your ex-partner.

“This was the first time Dean betrayed me. It was five years ago. He took me to some party on his campus. Told me that he needed to talk to his friends and that I should wait for him out front. Little did I know, he had his tongue shoved down another woman’s throat. His friend felt bad for me. He texted me a picture of it. It didn’t make the pain hurt any less. That was the alcohol’s job.”

The crowd laughs. Sylus doesn’t. His gaze remains on you and you alone. He follows your shadowy figure as you cross the stage, walking off as this so called Dean and his first affair have their time to shine. A look of detestment flashes across his face at the sight. Dean and his temporary lover, if you could even call it that, fall onto the couch, their movements exaggerated.

Is this what you thought he was doing with her? Could you really think of him as a man who would ever betray you like that?

Dean and the woman kiss. Sylus shudders. He closes his eyes, just for a brief moment, before he hears your voice again. His eyes open immediately after, watching as you stand in the middle of the stage while the set is changed behind you.

“I broke up with him. I was the fool, though, for thinking that he could change. I took him back not even a month later. The bed was cold without him…I missed his warmth and the way he held me in his arms.” Your eyes move back to Sylus. He sucks in a breath, hanging onto every word. “I missed the security he gave me. The sweet kisses as he vowed to me that he would never be swayed again. I was just a kid in love, could you blame me?”

His heart lurches inside of his chest. As the play continues to unfold in front of his eyes, the more and more Sylus sees himself in Dean, the villain of the story. He can’t even begin to imagine why your character would put herself through all of that pain and suffering, of watching the man you dedicated your life to slip free from your grasp. To sit and stare as he plays mind games right in front of you, claiming that what she said is ludacris and that he would never do such a thing.

And to think that he said the same to you.

Sylus sinks into his seat. Roses sit at his feet, a bouquet made special just for you. He labored over it for hours, wondering if you would even accept the roses — or any flower for that matter! Would you accept him? Let him apologize and say sorry for the things he didn’t even say. His heart feels like it is about to fly out of his chest, ready to crumble under the pressure of you and your judgment. Whatever you decide to give him, whatever you decide to yell or scream at him…he knows that he deserves it. He deserves it all.

The play goes on. Sylus is completely enamored by your acting, the way you are able to show a bright smile to the new “friends” Dean introduces to you all while looking like you are ready to fall apart at a moment’s notice. He is infatuated with the way you lay your soul onto the stage for all to see. The way you treat him and everyone else with a casualness an old friend would have. It makes him feel welcome despite feeling an immense amount of dread overtake his body the more and more he sees how the men in your character’s life continue to let her down over and over again.

Sylus can’t believe that he allowed himself to treat you this way. He can’t believe how easy it was to lie about work, to offer his time to some measley Hunter that could barely remember what his favorite wine is or if he prefers a rifle to a pistol. He can’t believe that he allowed himself to create distance between the two of you, that he didn’t pick up on the silent cues you gave him when you tried to bring him back into bed for five more minutes of cuddles, the way you tried your best to stay up for him after a long day of rehearsal knowing that those ten minutes of conversation were enough to keep you invested in your relationship.

Sylus is mad at himslf for being the maker of his own destruction. That he is the only person responsible for pushing you away.

“Love is like a drop into the misty depths where either a bed of clouds or rocks wait for you at the bottom,” you begin, capturing his attention all over again. “It is a leap of faith. A shot in the dark that the person you have let into your life is the one who is supposed to make you happy.”

You take your time in walking across the stage. The play has reached it’s ending. Dean’s relationship with your character has evolved into a loveless marriage. Three years together. Three years of time wasted. You can’t help but relate to it, the feeling of your own time being robbed from you. It angers you more than it should.

“I wish there was a warning sign,” you look down at your feet, the tears already forming in your eyes, “because when I hit the bottom, it felt worse than what I imagined death to feel like.”

You raise your head. Your eyes meet Sylus’ in the crowd. His lips are parted ever so slightly, the man sitting on the edge of his seat. You just wished he looked like this a month ago and not now. It counts as something, you suppose.

“I used to think that Dean loved me. I used to think that there was a piece inside of me who always saw the good in him…that he wasn’t a man who used people at his disposal just because he felt like it. You know, I have stayed up so many nights wondering why he would do this to me. So many nights lost when I could have been asleep and on the nights I did sleep, the dreams were filled of a life without him. I berated myself for dreaming of such things…that only a horrible person could ever dream of a life away from the one who made them the happiest. Does that make me horrible?”

Sylus wants to answer. He wants to be the one to reach out and bring you into his arms, to keep you in his life for as long as he can. He wants to be the one to dry your tears, to be the man you deserve to have in your life. He can’t help but wonder if you, too, had dreams about leaving him while you laid in bed beside him…in his arms.

“Honey!” your co-star cries out. You remain stagnant in the middle of the stage, unable to look away from Sylus. “Clean this up! If I have to do damage control over your outburst at the party, then I refuse to be the one to clean.”

“I just wanted the party to go well.” Tears begin to roll down your cheeks, the lines forever burned on your tongue.

“Nobody cares about the damn party,” the actor slams the cabient.

The wood rattles. You close your eyes, the audience feeling the same fear as your character. The actor quickly rushes to your side, grabbing your jaw with his hand. He yanks it towards him, his face dangerously close to yours. Sylus quietly gasps with other audience members.

“Nobody cares about you, quite frankly. Always trying too hard but it will never be enough.”

“Dean, please!” you recite the lines with desperation in your voice.

“When will it be enough for you?”

“I don’t love you anymore!”

The words echo throughout the theater. The actor who plays Dean slowly exits the stage. The lights begin to dim, a single spotlight focused on you. The characters from the show line up behind you, their bodies barely visible as cries begin to overtake your body. Your hands clutch the area over your heart, the sounds of your sobs and cries filling the theater. The people in the audience begin to cry with you, gently patting away the tears with a pocketed handkerchief.

“I just wanted to be loved!” you cry out, your voice both pained and desperate. “I just wanted to be someone worthy of love! To be someone worthy of being treated like a first choice, not the second. I let him consume me. I let his desire and lust control my life and scrutinized myself for being the reason he didn’t love me anymore. I don’t even know who I am anymore!” 

Your cries grow louder and louder. Sylus tears up himself, unable to bring himself to look away as you crumble to your knees.

“Why me?! Why did you have to choose me?” You yell, looking up to the audience. Sylus sits in the wake of your gaze, trapped. “Why did you have to be the one who ripped my heart to shreds? I don’t understand! Please! Why am I not worthy of your love? Why am I the one who has to suffer for your mistakes? It’s not fair! It’s not fair!”

Your voice cracks, the scream of your anguish chilling Sylus to his core. He sits back into his seat, all of the air drained from his body, breathless as you slowly rise to your feet, the tears never ending. Your eyes find his again, the tremor in your body easing.

“I hate myself because of you.” The sentence slices through Sylus’ chest. “I hate myself for loving you…for making up excuses time and time again on why you are so cruel to me. I hate myself for allowing you to hurt me. I hate myself for not leaving earlier. I wish…I wish that I could bring myself to hate you, but I can’t. I don’t think I ever will.” You pause. You take a shuddered breath and close your eyes, allowing the warmth of the spotlight to envelop you like a hug. “Maybe we are right for each other. We are the only people I know who are miserable…who love to live in misery and wallow in our sorrows. Is it bad to say that I want more? That I need more?”

You laugh. It’s bitter. A reflection of how you feel on the inside. Unfortunate, but true.

“Maybe I’m not one of those people. Maybe I’m not built to live a happy life. Is it ironic that I now realize that I don’t want to be the third person in our marriage? That I want to be treated better than you have ever treated me. Is it bad to admit that I wish the old you would come back to me? The same one that held me when my dog died. The same one that was there for me when I graduated from college…” you go quiet, staring into the distance. “My aunt used to tell me that hindsight is a privlege to have. She used to tell me that in the real world, not many people are able to get a second chance like I have. She held my hands the night your affair was exposed.”

You hold your hands out in front of you, staring at the palms. Makeup and tears stain your skin. A reminder of the true storm that destroys your mind. A frown overtakes your face.

“She held me close,” your voice lowers but the microphone picks it up, loudening your whispers, “and told me that the next time I have the chance to run, I should take it. That I will regret not rushing towards happiness that I deserve and that the road will only get tougher and tougher the longer I put it off…Hey Dean? Do you remember that joke you always said? The one that used to make me laugh till I was breathless? You said it recently and…I found myself unwilling to play along anymore. I don’t love you anymore, Dean…I don’t know if I will ever again.”

Sylus has never known what it felt like to be nervous. Ever since he was born, he has never felt what people describe to be “erratic butterflies” that flutter in your stomach. He has heard many accounts from people — especially those who was succumbed to bullets from his guns — about fear and anxiety. The emotions are so foreign to him. Even when the two of you began to date, Sylus knew that you were the one for him. That it was going to be you and him against the world. He never felt those fluttering butterflies in his stomach until now.

He waits outside of the backstage door. People from the audience stand outside alongside fans. He keeps his distance, wanting you to have your moment before he eventually destroys it. The man glances down at the roses. Nausea begins to overtake his senses. He tries to steel his nerves, to make the sensation go away and leave him alone. It doesn’t, though. He deserves it.

The metal doors swing open and people cheer and yell out your name. You exit with a bright smile on your face, waving to them as flashes of lights pop off. He sighs, shaking his head as he turns on his heel, ready to walk away. Sylus isn’t even sure if he is ready to face you yet. How could he? You poked a hole into his lies, exposing him. He wasn’t even aware of what he was doing to you…the way his words and indifference slowly killed you while you were making something for yourself.

“Sylus.”

A shock of life flashes in his stomach. The butterflies are dead, the man turning around to look down at you. You stand in front of him with crossed arms and a scowl, annoyance written all over your face. You raise an eyebrow, glancing down at the flowers.

“These are for you,” Sylus extends the flowers in your direction, hoping to whatever god is out there that you’ll take them. You don’t. You just stare at the red petals, the white baby’s breath scattered into the mix. “You…you were phenomenal tonight. Truly…you made me cry. I didn’t think it was possible for me to.”

“Why are you here?” you ask, cutting straight to the point. It takes Sylus aback. The butterflies come back.

“I wanted to…” his voice trails off. He clears his throat, trying to dispel some of the awkwardness that remains in his body. “We need to talk.”

“Do we?” you counter.

“Yes,” Sylus’ lips press into a thin line, amused. “There are things I have to say to you.”

“What if I don’t want to hear it?”

“Then I’ll leave,” he says. He means it, too. “I will leave you alone for the rest of your life if you want me to. I know that I have been an asshole and you have every right to be angry with me…at least let me drive you home. It’s snowing. You shouldn’t be walking out on your own.”

“Fine.”

Sylus’ eyes widen ever so slightly, his surprise on full display for you to see. Your roll your eyes at the sight, taking the flowers from him. Your gaze drops down to his ring finger. The black ring you got him sits there, the spot no longer vacant like it was before. And yet…you feel nothing.

You follow Sylus as he walks you towards his car. He stands close to you, shielding you from the harsh wind as snow flakes fall onto your flowers. You barely have a grip on them. The flowers are ready to fly away with the wind at any given moment, to be lost in the city of Linkon. Sylus wouldn’t blame you for letting them go. He knows that the flowers are a shot in the dark, a poor attempt to see that smile on your face because, well, you always smiled whenever he brought you flowers after a long day of work. Seeing your grin was like a shot of espresso that revitalized him after business deals gone wrong.

Oh, how he misses that smile.

He opens up the passenger side door. You let out an exasperated huff. He assumes that you rolled your eyes at him, too. You smack the flowers into his chest, slowly lowering yourself into the seat. Once your foot is inside, Sylus places the roses — which you immediately toss into the basckseat — and closes the door behind you, jogging to the other side of the car and gets inside. The car comes to life and heat from the vents help melt some of the icy tension in your body.

“Feel okay?” Sylus asks. You hum in response.

The man drives the car away from the theater, putting as much distance between the two of you and the damned place as possible. The drive is quiet, a song about heartbreak plays over the radio. You don’t pay attention. Instead, you stare outside of the car window, watching as Sylus drives through the empty streets. Snowflakes hit the foggy window. You tap your finger against them, letting the heat from your body melt the icy designs.

Sylus watches you from the corner of his eye. The butterflies have returned to his stomach. He ignores the feeling and clears his throat, the car coming to a slow stop at the red light.

“Can I take you somewhere?” Sylus asks. It’s another shot in the dark. One that he hopes you’ll take.

“Fine,” you mutter under your breath, keeping your gaze fixed out of the window.

Sylus nods once and turns left, heading away from the city and towards the river. You barely pay attention, opting to stare out at the snowy landscape. The lights of the city slowly disappear, the car taking you up the side of the city where there’s a lookout of the city. Minutes pass and the car finds itself in a parking spot, the tall man slipping free from the car. He moves to your side and opens up the door, offering you his hand. You ignore it and shove your hands into your jacket pockets, stepping away from him and towards a bench that overlooks Linkon City.

You sit down and Sylus takes his spot beside you. The silence from the car is replaced with the quiet sound of the wind, snowflakes flying past your face. You hug your arms close to your body, slightly shivering. Sylus is quick to wrap a scarf around your neck, the warmth from his hands lingering in the fabric. You contain an eye roll, quietly thanking him before the silence takes over once again.

“Sylus,” you exhale his name, steam from your breath evaportating in front of your eyes, “now is the time to talk.”

“I miss you.” He stares straight ahead, just barely seeing the look of shock — or is it disgust — on your face. “I also want to say…I’m sorry.”

“Is that all?” you ask.

“No,” he shakes his head, finally turning to look at you. “I want you to know that I heard you loud and clear. I heard you a month ago when you left and…I heard you during the play. I’m sorry for pushing you away. I…I don’t know what else to say or how to make things better between us but I miss you. I missed you the moment I let you step through that door. I never should have.”

The silence is less ugly now. At least you can breathe again, the cold air keeping you wide awake and alert. It even helped alleviate the strain behind your eyes. Dark gray clouds hang low in the sky. If you were to ask Sylus, he would bring one down to earth for you.

“I told her to never contact me again. I gave her information to someone else in Onychinus that she can turn to when she needs help,” he continues, answering the questions that pop into your mind. “I want you. Not her. I should have made that very clear and prioritized you.”

“No shit,” you mutter, looking down at your bare hands.

“Do you hate me?” he asks. You hesitate to respond.

A piece of skin pokes up beside your nail. You glare at it, a scowl overtaking your face. With the tips of your nails, you slowly peel it back. Your finger stings but the ice cold air numbs the pain almost instantly. Sylus sighs and places a hand on top of yours, stopping you from doing it any further. You turn to look up at him, to yell at him to let go and to not touch you, but as soon as your eyes meet his red ones: you’re a goner.

“You hurt me,” you whisper, voice cracking.

“I know,” he nods. He swallows the lump that formed in his throat. “And I know that there is nothing I can do or say to erase that pain. You have every right to be mad at me. Hell, I’m angry at myself for not seeing it any sooner.”

“Okay.” You nod, unsure of what else to say.

“I want you back in my life,” he quietly pleads. Sylus’ voice feels small. You have never seen him like this before. It’s…confusing. “I…I haven’t been sleeping well. Not since you left. Is it selfish of me to ask you to come back?”

“Yes,” you immediately respond.

Sylus bites back a frown, tearing his gaze away from you and towards the snowy Linkon skyline. Your eyes move to the line of his nose. The way the corner of his lips tug downward into a frown no matter how hard he tries to keep it away. You finally notice the bags under his eyes, the way his posture is slouched instead of its perfect state. You divert your gaze, gnawing at the inside of your cheek.

“I haven’t been sleeping well either,” you reply. Sylus’ head snaps to look back at you.

“Really?” he asks. You nod.

“It’s more of a…how can I sleep knowing that the man I was in love with chose everyone else over me kind of thing,” you say. You ignore the way Sylus’ expression breaks, the way his guily presents itself across his face. “I miss you, Sylus, but…”

“I know,” he finishes your sentence for you. He reaches out and gently moves your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. You tilt your face to look at him. He lowers his voice, “I promise to be better. Just…give me another chance. Please.”

“I don’t know,” you shake your head, holding back the tears. “Can I trust you?”

“Yes,” he gushes.

“How will I know that you’re mine and not…theirs?” The question barely comes out as a whisper and yet it is all Sylus can hear. “I don’t know if I can go through that heartbreak again.”

“You won’t have to,” he takes your hands in his and pull them to his chest. Right where his heart sits, to be exact.

Your eyes meet his and you can see the gloss over them, the way he is holding back every urge to cry and show his vulnerability. You know that this is hard for him. To show his emotions in a way that is not anger or through death. You finally take off the final mask that Sylus wears. His soul is on a silver platter for you to take. For you to keep and protect until the end of time.

“I love you. There is nothing else that I know to be more true than the fact that I am in love with you and thet I have been so fucking blind to just how happy you make me,” Sylus says. You hang onto every word, subconsciously leaning towards him. “I regret every single choice I have made in the last months. If I could go back and do it all over it again: I would. It’s what you said in the play…hindsight is a privlege. It is a privlege that we have. That we can take for ourselves.”

“Sylus…”

“You can trust me,” he continues, “you know you can. It’ll be just the two of us. I promise.”

The wind whips around your bodies. One of Sylus’ hands leave yours, finding its way to your cheek. You lean into the warmth, closing your eyes as the memories flood back to you.

Everything went sour in a matter of months. Before that, the two of you were rock solid. You were happy. The two of you share memories that nobody else will have access to. You remember all of the countless nights you stayed up waiting for him, sleep ready to take you over just as he walked through the bedroom door. You remember all of the times he brought you flowers and kissed your cheek, claiming that you are the most beautiful woman in the world. You remember all of the times Sylus held you when you cried. He has been there for you through thick and thin…is that something you’re willing to give up?

“I’ll come back,” you open your eyes. A smile begins to form on his face. It fades when you begin to speak again, “but we need to take things slow, okay? One day at a time.”

“One day at a time,” Sylus repeats. His eyes drop down to your lips, his eye glowing at the sight. Your hands flatten against his chest, feeling his unsteady heartbeat before they slip up and around his neck. The man pulls you closer, his touch light and gentle. “May I kiss you? Please?”

He asks as if he’s been starving for years. You nod, fingers slipping into his white hair, his lips connecting with yours in a slow and tender kiss. You sigh into his lips, hungry for more. The man gives it to you but he gently takes your left hand away from his neck, bringing it down to your laps.

“Sy,” you whine, earning a smile from him.

A cold sensation slips up your ring finger. You gasp, surprised by its presence. You look down and see a dark silver band wrapped around your finger with a black rock sitting in the middle. It looks similar to the ring you bought Sylus. The same one that he’s wearing right now.

“What…”

“This is my vow to you,” Sylus gently places his finger under your chin, tilting it back up so that you look at him. “My vow that my heart belongs to you and you alone. I know things will take time between us but…I need you to know that this,” he taps the top of the ring, sending chills down your spine, “is what my future looks like with you.”

“Do you mean it?” you ask, mouth suddenly dry. He nods.

“I meant every single word. I’m yours. Completely and utterly yours.”

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆꒷꒦꒷⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

“Here are your passes, enjoy your day!”, the ticket lady said as she smiled at you and sylus. You thank the lady with a smile. You place Sylus’s wristband pass on his wrist and he helped you put yours on as well.

“Are you excited? I got the fast passes so we can skip the lines and go straight to the rides”, you smile and he nods. He silently gulps just thinking about it.

“You know kitten, you should have let me pay. I know these fast passes must have been pricey, you could have gotten the normal ones”, he smirks and you grab his hand. You look up at him with a teasing grin.

“I’m not going to let the birthday boy pay for his present. Now hush about money and follow me.”, he snickers and follows along with you. He curses in his head, why did you have to get the fast passes??

You enter the amusement park and you are astounded by the crowd today, it's busier than normal. You make your way through the crowds of people and pull Sylus to the side. You both take shelter under a table with an umbrella placed in the center, giving you both shade from the beating sun. You take a seat next to him and look up at his face, your expression serious.

“Okay here is the game plan”, you grab Sylus by the back of the neck and tug his face closer to you so he can hear you.

“So I was thinking, let's do some small rides first, then we can take a break and eat lunch. After that, we can do the bigger rides and then on the way out we can do the small carnival games”, you set your game plan but Sylus is too busy staring at your lips to notice what you are saying. He finds your serious tone adorable and can’t help but admire your dedication to his birthday plans.

“Sylus!”, you wave your hand in front of his face to get his attention and his eyes flicker back up to meet your eyes.

“Sorry sweetie, I got distracted”, he says deeply and you give him a blank stare. He smiles and kisses your forehead before leaning away. He grabs your hand again, standing up from the table. He starts walking with you as you head towards some of the small and slow rides.

“Alright small rides first”, he says and you smile knowing he was actually listening to you. You both walk towards the small rides and there is alot to choose from.

“Which one should we do first?”, you ask him and he looks at you with a small grin.

“Whatever you’d like, kitten”, he says softly but in reality he is panicking. Don’t get him wrong, Sylus can handle anything but roller coasters? Not his thing, he hates them. He likes getting adrenaline from other sources, not being thrown around in the air like a rag doll. His motorcycle is enough for him, anything other than that he doesn’t want it. However, he is willing to hide his fear for you. You were excited to plan out his birthday and he didn’t want to disappoint you with this absurd little fear. What is one day? What are a couple roller coasters? He refuses to let this eat at him, he can conquer it.

“What about the tea cups? Or is that too kiddish for the leader of Onichynus?”, you ask teasingly and he chuckles deeply.

“Sweetie, you really think some spinning cups can make me look less intimidating? If anything you should be scared for the tea cups, they may break as soon as I sit in them.”, he says and you hide your laugh. He has a point, how was he going to fit in those small cups? You skip right to the front of the line with your handy dandy passes and the ride operator guides you to a pink teacup. You smile imagining seeing Sylus in a pink teacup from a 3rd person point of view.

You watch as he struggles to get in with his broad body, he has to man spread to be able to sit down. You can’t help but chuckle when he lets out a big sigh after getting situated.

“Having fun?”, he scoffs and smirks at you.

“So much fun”, you try to hide your giggle.

“4 to a tea cup please, 4 to a teacup”, you hear the operator state and you immediately look at sylus. How are two more people going to fit in this tea cup?

“Here is an open one”, two guys slide into the tea cup right next to you, they have to sit pretty close to you due to the lack of space.

“Sorry”, the young man says and you shake your head.

“No worries, it's a bit cramped in here”, you lightly laugh and you can hear sylus scoff.

“I’m Michael by the way”, he says but before you can say anything the teacups start to move. You grab the small wheel in front of you and start to spin it. Sylus has his elbow propped up on the side of the teacup and his chin resting between his index finger and thumb. He leans back slightly to enjoy watching you spin the teacup. This way okay, he thought. This ride wasn’t too fast and it wasn’t making him dizzy, maybe this amusement park thing wasn't bad after all. He smiles watching you but it quickly fades as he sees “Michael” glancing at you and trying to reach his arm over your shoulder.

Sylus quickly wrapped his free index finger around one of your shorts belt loops and slid you toward him, he grabs your hips and sits you on his lap.

“Sylus!”, you exclaim, cheeks burning red as you look around at the people watching. He looks over to Michael as he gives him a glare that he will never want to see again. Michael quickly turns his gaze back to the wheel and keeps spinning.

You also just continue spinning the wheel and sylus reaches from behind you and places his hand atop of yours, helping you spin it. You smile at his gesture but after a few minutes the ride comes to an end. Michael and his friend quickly leave the teacup first making Sylus chuckle under his breath. You have to help Sylus get out of the teacup because his legs felt like they were going to give out.

“Did you enjoy the teacups?”, you ask, walking away from the ride.

“I…didn’t hate it”, he says, making you frown. He pats your head and you look up at him.

“But I may enjoy that more”, he smirks and points to the bumper cars. You look back up at him with doe like eyes and nod your head. He laughs and you both make your way to the bumper cars.

You get individual cars and avoid all the people around you and just focus on each other. You both hit each other's cars from different angles, each hit making you both laugh. Sylus was starting to actually smile which made butterflies erupt in your tummy. You both do a few more smaller rides such as the water boat ride and go karts.

“Do you want to take a break and get some lunch? There is a really good pizza place here”, you smile and he nods immediately, not even thinking about your offer.

“Grab us a table kitten, I’ll order our food”, he squeezes your hand and makes his way to the line to order food. You find a nice picnic style table with an umbrella shading the area. You sit down and grab the small box in your pocket that you have been hiding from sylus all day. You are nervous to give him a gift since it's the first one you have ever given him but you hope he likes it.

You see sylus’ shadow tower behind you before he moves to sit down next to you at the picnic table. He sits a water bottle down in front of you along with a slice of cheese pizza.

“This is nice, if you want more just tell me and I’ll go get it for you.” , he smiles and opens the bottle of water for you. He does the same with his own and takes a drink before biting into his pizza. He is so considerate it makes your heart melt. You fiddle with your fingers and sylus notices you haven’t started eating yet.

“What's wrong? Do you want something different?”, he asks and you shake your head.

“No it's not that…”, you trail off and take the small box you were hiding and slide it over the table top towards him.

“What's this?”, he chuckles as he wipes his hands on a napkin then picks up the small box.

“It's your birthday gift”, you nod at him and he looks confused but slightly smiles.

“I thought this was my birthday gift”, he says gesturing to the amusement park.

“This is just us spending time together for your birthday, I wanted to actually gift you something”, you say with a slight blush on your face. His gaze on you is so strong you can’t help but blush.

“You’re a sly one aren’t you kitten?”, he says, making your face burn even more. He smirks at your reaction and then slowly opens the box.

The box contains a silver chain connecting a small circular locket at the end. He pulls it out and opens it, the locket is empty and he turns to look at you.

“I-It’s empty”, his voice softens like his gaze when he looks over to you.

“Yeah I thought I would let you choose what goes in it”, you say and Sylus smiles then looks back at the locket.

“I love it, thank you”, he says and places the locket back in the box, he places it securely in his pocket. He leans over to give you a kiss on the cheek and you can’t help but blush again. You both sit in silence as you eat your pizza and enjoy the gentle breeze of the wind. Once you both finish Sylus takes your trash and throws it in the nearest bin.

“Alright what’s next on the birthday agenda?”, he asks and your smile widens.

“It’s time for the big guns, let's ride the eagle. You are literally hanging in the air the whole time, I heard it even goes backwards!”, you say with excitement as you grab his hand and make your way over to the line for the ride. Sylus’ heart starts to pound, his anxiety starts to kick in.

“Oh man, I guess alot of people bought fast passes this time, looks like we will have to wait a bit”, you say looking up at Sylus, who doesn’t seem annoyed.

“That’s okay, we can just wait”, he says with a small smile and you raise an eyebrow at him. He has a tight grip on your hand the whole time and you feel him squeeze it each time the line starts to move.

As you both were next in line Sylus finally speaks for the first time.

“Hey sweetie, uh I need to use the restroom”, he says frantically.

“We are next, you can’t hold it?”, you ask him and he shakes his head quickly.

“Its emergent, we can get back in line after”, he says already pulling you out of the line and heading towards the nearest restrooms. He lets go of your hand and practically runs into the mens restroom.

Once sylus enters he goes to the sink and runs cool water over his face multiple times. Bystanders give him a strange look and proceed to walk out of the bathroom.

“It’s practically like your evol, you can do this. You aren’t afraid of anything. This is nothing, you are not weak”, he says to himself in the mirror. He takes a deep breath and grabs a paper towel to wipe the water off his face. He gives himself a motivated nod in the mirror before he exits the restroom.

“Sorry kitten, let’s get back in line”, he says and you slightly laugh.

“No worries, it happens”, you smile up at him, his heart melts everytime you flash him that adorable smile. You get back in line and Sylus’ hand remains in yours. The line wasn’t as long this time so you quickly make your way back to your previous spot. His hand grips yours as the ride operator gestures you both to step onto the ride.

You both are still standing as the operator helps hook you and sylus both into the ride. Your chest is the only thing secured as your feet will dangle during the ride. While the operator was helping others get secured you look over at sylus. He is staring at the ground and his hands are gripping the handle bars for dear life. His forehead is sweaty and his skin is a bit paler than normal.

“Sylus are you okay?” you ask him and his head quickly turns towards you.

“I-I’m fine kitten”, he says, his breathing shaky and his hands trembling.

“Sylus, are you sure? We can get off if you want, we don’t have to ride this”, you say grabbing his hand. His hand is clammy and cold.

“I can do this, I’m not scared.”, he says but refusing to look at you. He looks at the ground and tries to focus on calming himself down.

“It’s okay to be scared, seriously Sylus we can do something else”, you say, squeezing his hand tightly.

“Okay”, he says and you turn to ask the operator to let you both off the ride but it's too late. You get interrupted by an announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen please hang on tight as you soar through the sky”, the operator announces and the ride starts to lift and you feel your feet start to dangle. You look over at sylus who is looking at his feet dangling with wide eyes.

“Sylus look at me”, you say and he meets your gaze.

“I’m right here, it’s going to be okay. It will be over soon, I’m right here”, you grab his hand and squeeze it. He squeezes it back and nods at your words. He closes his eyes as the ride starts and it takes off at full speed. His grip on your hand got tighter and he scrunched his face up as the ride started at full blast. You held onto him as tightly as possible.

The ride starts to slow down as you are going up, building up for a big drop.

“Sylus you okay?”, you yell and he looks over at you and nods briefly. Thankfully the ride slowed down a bit to give him a break.

“Listen, there is going to be a big drop once we get to the top, just hold onto me okay?”, you yell and he grips your palm again. His other hand grips the hand rail and he closes his eyes again, bracing for impact. The ride eventually gets to the top, all the passengers erupting into a scream. Sylus opens his eyes from the noise and sees the drop, his eyes widen. Within seconds you are falling with the drop and you hear sylus scream from beside you.

You hold onto his hand and throw them both in the air and scream excitedly. He looks over to you and sees that you are enjoying the ride. After the drop the coaster goes at a fast speed like it did before. He loosens his grip on the other handle and puts his hand in the air, trying to enjoy the ride.

He looks over to you screaming at the top of your lungs with the wind blowing your hair as far back as it can go. Your face is plastered with a smile and he can’t help but admire you. Suddenly he isn’t scared anymore because having you right by his side, there is nothing to fear.

Within minutes the ride is over, you both look at each other and laugh. You are still holding onto his hand until the operator helps you both out of the roller coaster. You grab his hand once again and you both exit the ride and back into the park. His hand still trembling, you rub his arm to calm him and lead him to the nearest bench so you both can sit down. He takes a few deep breaths and you speak once he has calmed down a bit.

“You didn’t tell me you had a fear of roller coasters”, you say looking up at his now calm expression. He clears his throat and meets your gaze.

“I didn’t want to seem fearful and I wanted to overcome it without you noticing, I’m sorry”, he says and you pull him down to where he is eye level with you. You trace your thumb over his cheek and look into his eyes.

“Sylus I don’t want you to hide your fears from me, I want you to express your emotions. I would never judge you for being scared of something, that’s not who I am”, you say to him and he smiles as he relaxes under your touch. He was silly to think you would have thought less of him if you knew his fear.

“I know sweetie, thank you, and I’n sorry for ruining the fun”, he says, grabbing your hand and placing a gentle kiss on your palm.

“Stop apologizing, you didn’t ruin anything! I have been having fun all day with you!”, you smile and he pats your head and runs his fingers through your hair, all the way to the end.

“Is there something else you would like to do? There are a ton of carnival style games we could play too”, you suggest.

Sylus noticed the sun was starting to set as the day had passed by quickly, his gaze met a small photo booth. He smiled and pointed to the booth.

“There, let's get a momento”, he says and you return his smile. He grabs your hand once again and leads you toward the photo booth.

Sylus gets in first and his figure takes up the entire seat, leaving you to have to sit on his lap for the second time today. You giggle as you enter and take a seat on one of his thighs. You both pick out a theme together, getting 4 pictures in total so you both think of poses.

The first pose you both hold up finger guns in an intense pose. You both laugh at the photo and for the second pose decide to go with giving each other bunny ears. You can’t help but smile wider seeing sylus smile into the camera as well. The third pose he takes your face in his hand and squishes your cheeks making your cheeks puff out. Before you can protest the picture is taken and he laughs.

“Sylus!”, you lightly smack his chest and he rubs it acting like you actually hurt him. You roll your eyes and the countdown for the next photo is already at 3 seconds. You look at him hurriedly and grab his face. He closes his eyes and you place a sweet kiss to his cheek and you hear the snap of the camera.

His eyes flutter open and he meets your gaze. He closes his eyes again and leans down to properly kiss you. He places his hand gently on your cheek as you close your eyes, feeling his lips meeting yours. He moves slowly, making sure to savor the moment. He pulls away and smiles against your lips.

“Happy Birthday Sylus”, you whisper to him and he whispers a small “thank you” back and kisses the top of your forehead.

Like it was perfect timing, the photos printed but 3 copies were printed by accident.

“Look Sylus, we have three copies, I thought we were only supposed to get two”, you say looking at all 3 copies of the prints.

“It must be birthday luck, can I have two copies then kitten?”, he asks, teasing you by taking two copies from your hand without hesitation.

“I guess that's a yes”, you chuckle as he holds the pictures and looks at them, admiring your cute face.

“What else would you like to do? The park closes soon I think”, you ask and he shakes his head.

“Let’s go home, I am a bit tired from all the walking”, he says and you laugh, grabbing his hand to hold.

“Are you already getting old on me, Sylus?”, you laugh as you both walk toward the park exit. He chuckles and looks down at you.

“No matter how old I get, I will still use all of my strength to walk alongside you and hold your hand”, he says, intertwining your fingers together. His sweet statement makes your cheeks burn from heat and your heart flutter.

When you both get home you surprise Sylus with a birthday cake that you had luke & kieran pick up while you both were at the park. You ended the day eating cake and watching a movie in bed, cuddled up of course. Once Sylus notices you are asleep he quietly sneaks out of bed and to his study. He brings the locket chain you got him and places it gently on his desk. He takes the extra copy of printed photos and a pair of scissors, he then cuts the picture of your squished cheeks out to fit into his locket.

He places a tiny piece of doubled sided tape and presses it into the locket, it's surprisingly a perfect fit. He smiles while tracing the edge of the locket with his index finger. He places the locket next to his infamous brooch and goes back to bed. He tugs you closer to him, his chest meeting your back. He kisses your temple and whispers, “goodnight kitten”.

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆꒷꒦꒷⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

a/n: I’m sorry this was

1. Trash

2. Super late

and 3. that I feel off the planet for almost a month

BUT IM BACK, I loved this at first then hated it so sorry to my Sylus girlies but Happy Late Birthday Sylus!!

“I know,” you said absent-mindedly, flexing your fingers against the starch-stiff sheets. Your body felt foreign, stitched back together by hands that didn’t care if the seams held.

Kieran snorted. “He’ll be back angrier. You should’ve seen him when he found Marcus. Looked like he wanted to melt the city block.” His voice softened. “He’s… not good at losing things he cares about.”

Things. You bit your tongue. You knew you weren’t a thing, but the word needled you anyway. Sylus had secrets coiled tighter than the scars on his knuckles, and you’d let him kiss you without thinking too much about the consequences.

Luke grinned, oblivious. “Remember when he dragged that Hunter—what’s her name, MC?—back to base last month? Thought she’d pissed him off, but nah. He helped her. Even let her use the private comms line. Real cozy, if you ask me.”

Your stomach churned, a sharp twinge of pain. MC. Your colleague’s face flashed in your mind—flawless, efficient, the Association’s golden girl. The same MC who’d clung to Sylus like a lover at the retreat, their heads bent too close.

Kieran shot Luke a glare sharp enough to draw blood. “It wasn’t like that. She needed to acquire an Aether Core. Business.”

“Business with benefits,” Luke singsonged, twirling the knife. “Kieran here tried to play wingman. Kept offering her drinks from the boss’s stash—single-malt betrayal, aged 20 years.”

The machines monitoring your vitals beeped louder, and your barely-healed scar burned. Stupid. You’d let Sylus cradle your broken body like it mattered, while he’d been playing savior to MC all along. You wanted to believe the sincerity in his eyes when he spoke to you, wanted to let the warmth of his embrace soothe your aching heart—except you’d been in this position before, with boys that strung you along while waiting on the true object of their desire, and you should have known better.

“He’s been single forever,” Luke added, kicking his boots onto the bed rail. “We figured he’d die alone, muttering about ‘legacies’ or whatever. But you—” He pointed the knife at you, grinning. “You’ve got him sprung. He’ll raze the city for you. It’s kinda sweet.”

Your laugh came out brittle. “Sweet.” The word curdled. You wanted to give Sylus the benefit of a doubt,  but already your mind was painting a vivid picture of him and MC in some shadow-drenched armory, trading favors and flattery. How many times had he ‘helped’ MC? How many times had he lied?

Kieran stiffened, reading your silence. “It’s not what you think. Sylus doesn’t—he doesn’t connect with people. Not since…” He trailed off, guilt flickering in his eyes.

Not since whoever broke him first, you filled in. You weren’t a stranger to this kind of story—you'd played a supporting role in them, contorting yourself to fit inside a mould of someone’s fancy. Knew the way loneliness fossilized into spite. But it didn’t matter. You were just another soul orbiting Sylus’s supernova, burning yourself up for glimpses of light.

“I need air,” you lied, swinging your legs over the bed. The movement tore a gasp from your throat, but you welcomed the pain—more palatable than humiliation.

“Whoa, bad idea—” Luke reached for you, but you shook your head.

“I’m fine,” you repeated the same phrase you’d given to co-workers after a horrendous mission. Your reflection in the window was enough to call your bluff: pallid, hollow-eyed, like a ghost clinging to borrowed time. Beyond the glass, Linkon’s towers speared the clouds, indifferent to the girl who’d survived a bullet but couldn’t survive a half-revealed truth.

Kieran hovered, tense. “He’s not with MC. He’s just… bad at letting go of the past.”

You toddled over to the window and pressed your forehead to the cold glass. “I don’t know what to think anymore,” you said quietly.

Luke whistled. “Yeah, no. Don’t think—stab. It won’t hurt him anyways.”

You almost chuckled, almost let it go. Your breath fogged the glass, and you closed your eyes. You’re not a second choice, you told yourself, trying to be the level-handed adult that you usually were. Yet the words rang hollow as your phone buzzed—a notification from the Hunter’s database. Your ID flashed alongside a case file: Internal Investigation Ongoing.

The bodega reeked of stale grease and spilt beer. Sylus sat in the upstairs dining room—a grimy, cluttered cubbyhole with cracked vinyl booths and a flickering hologlass menu advertising “Authentic New Mumbai Curry.” Below, gang enforcers in leather jackets slurped noodles alongside low-ranking Hunters. No one spoke, merely signalled: a tapped cigarette pack, a half-finished beer left at a specific angle, three fingers wrapped around a phone. Sylus watched it all through the smudged lens of a folded newspaper, its pages littered with pinprick holes—a low-tech surveillance aid he’d perfected over the years.

A gangster at Table 3 scratched his neck twice. A Hunter at the counter adjusted his belt. Seconds later, a data chip slid into the condiment tray. Sylus memorized the exchange, his mind cross-referencing faces with the Onychinus payroll. Third precinct. Bribed. Reliable. He sipped his tepid coffee, the bitterness grounding him. Dragons hoarded secrets as fiercely as gold, and this rot—this quiet, transactional rot—was his kingdom.

His earpiece crackled to life. 

Kieran’s voice emerged through the static: “Boss, Marcus got out. No trail yet, but we’re working on it.”

Sylus’s thumb dented the paper. Impossible. He’d sealed Marcus in at the cannery, welded the locks himself. Only three people knew the location. Traitor? His pupils slithered into dagger-thin crescents before he forced them human again.

Another voice came through on the comms channel. This time, it was Luke, infinitely more sheepish than his twin: “Uh… Boss, don’tkillmeplease but Y/N just checked out of the hospital… Couldn’t stop her because it’s her deci—”

Sylus stood abruptly, chair screeching. The Hunter at the counter flinched, hand drifting to his sidearm. Sylus tossed a crumpled bill on the table—exact change, untraceable—and descended the stairs. Outside, light rain misted the streets, melting holographic ads for Voss’s reelection campaign into neon sludge. He pulled down his cap, becoming another shadow in Linkon’s stream of pedestrians.

Half a block away, a bar’s wall-screen blared an obnoxious jingle before cutting to a press conference. Councilman Voss materialized, his smile a scalpel’s edge. The crowd inside the bar paused, noodles dangling mid-slurp. Sylus lingered in the doorway, rain dripping down his neck.

“—and let me be clear,” Voss said, steepling manicured fingers, “the Hunter’s Association has been compromised by corrupt individuals willing to sell their dignity for the highest bid.” The bar erupted in jeers. A bespectacled lady shook her head in disapproval. “Effective immediately, we will arrest those who’ve exploited their power for personal gain. Starting with Y/N.”

Your face flashed on-screen: badge photo, fresh-faced and bright-eyed. Sylus’s claws unsheathed, shredding his gloves. He flexed them under his coat, scales rippling up his wrists.

Voss leaned closer to the camera, his eyes glinting with curated outrage. “This woman conspired with Onychinus, the most dangerous syndicate in the N109 Zone, to sabotage our city’s security. Evidence will be released—”

The broadcast died, replaced by a toothpaste ad. The bar groaned, resuming its symphony of clattering bowls and gossip. Sylus parsed the room: a Hunter at the back table texting rapidly; a street vendor outside packing up, fear in the twitch of her hands. Panic spreads faster than fire, he thought. And Voss had just lit a match.

He strode into an alley, pulling up an encrypted map on his phone. Red dots marked Marcus’s known contacts—arms dealers, black-market surgeons, a disgraced lab tech—all clustered near the N109 docks. But Marcus wouldn’t run to them. He’d run to whoever freed him. Sylus zoomed in on the cannery’s blueprints, searching for weaknesses.

A rat, he realized.

Security footage from the cannery’s exterior showed a thermal blur the size of a small dog slipping through a vent an hour before Marcus escaped. Sylus enhanced the image: a rodent, its cybernetic spine glinting, something clamped in its teeth. Voss’s pet, most likely—the councilman had a known fondness for bio-augmented pests.

Two problems now braided together: Voss moving publicly against you, and Marcus armed with whatever lies Voss fed him. A perfect shit storm.

Steeling his expression into one of indifference, he texted the twins: Scrub her apartment. Burn anything tying her to me. Then find Marcus—he’ll head for the sewage tunnels under Grid 7.

Luke responded in an instant: You sure?

Sylus loved the boys like his own brothers, but there were days when he wanted to wring their necks. Yes, he typed back.

A beat. Then:

A notification from Kieran: And you?

Sylus weighed his options, staring at your face still glowing on the bar’s dormant screen. I will do anything for her, he thought, pocketing his phone before melting back into the crowd.

The rain fell in sheets, sharp and metallic, as if Linkon itself were weeping rust. Your boots clicked on the cracked asphalt, your breath coming up short beneath the weight of Sylus’s oversized jacket. The fabric swallowed your frame, its sleeves hanging past your fingertips, but it smelled like him—sandalwood and amber, a scent that made you feel safe despite your conflicted feelings towards its owner. Neon signs blared overhead, their fractured light staining the puddles with garish hues of cyan and magenta. Councilman Voss’s face loomed on every screen, his voice a honeyed taunt. “Justice is not negotiable,” he declared, pixels glitching around his too-perfect smile.

Your phone vibrated non-stop:

Mom: You’ve ruined us. Turn yourself in. Captain Jenna: HQ now. Don’t make this worse. Unknown: How much did those thugs pay you, traitor?

You silenced it. The Association’s spire gleamed three blocks away, its glass façade like a beacon in the dark. Just get to somebody—MC, Tara, Simone, Andrew, even Xavier. Explain. Make them listen.

A delivery drone buzzed too close, its camera lens whirring as it zoomed in on your face. You snatched a brick from a pile of rubble—discarded remnants of a demolished tenement—and hurled it. The drone shattered, sparks fizzling in the rain.

The effort alone drained you, and you leaned against the alley’s graffiti-tagged wall, breathing through the ache in your side. It seemed that Sylus’s jacket would have to go—you needed your arms free in case another threat surfaced—and you made a mental note to buy him a replacement as you shrugged it off, leaving it folded on the ground.

A flicker of movement.

Two men stepped into the alley’s mouth, their postures coiled. The taller one held a police-issue taser baton, its prongs crackling faintly. The shorter one adjusted his brass knuckles. Bounty hunters. Not Voss’s elite. Desperate freelancers chasing the reward that Voss had no doubt put on your head.

You summoned a shimmering, translucent dagger with your Evol. It wavered, its edges dissolving like mist. But it was the best you could do given how fresh blood was seeping through your shirt.

The man with the taser charged. You sidestepped, slashing at his wrist. The blade grazed skin, drawing a hiss, but dissolved before it could bite deeper. The second man swung at you with his fist, and you ducked, pushing through the soreness in your limbs. You returned the favor with a jab, your knuckles connected with his jaw. He staggered, swearing.

A third figure appeared—a woman in a rain-slicked motorcycle jacket.  “Don’t make this messy,” she said, her voice flat. “Voss wants you alive.”

You backed up, your heel slipping on wet concrete. The dagger flickered back into existence, smaller now, could hardly be called a shiv. The woman tried to grab you by the collar—you cried out, driving the blade into her shoulder. She jerked back, letting loose a string of colorful expletives.

One of the other assailants pounced, taser crackling. You pivoted again, but the prongs caught your hip, the electricity locking your muscles. You collapsed, seeing stars, and he swung a steel-capped boot at your ribs. In desperation, you blocked with a half-formed force field, the impact driving you into the wall.

Pathetic, you felt shame rise like bile up your throat. All these years of training, can’t even shake off a few common thugs.

The self-loathing hurt worse than the taser and the boot combined, and you squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to calm down and work out your next moves.

Then the air around you warped.

Crimson-black mist coiled around your wrist, subtle as a pulse yet strong enough to bolster your Evol like wind filling the sails of a ship. A weapon materialized within your grasp, responding to your unbending will—a claymore, its golden core threaded with veins of black and red. Stable. Lethal.

The brute moved to strike again. This time, you parried, the blade shearing through his calf. Blood splattered across your face, and you watched him stumble backwards, screaming his head off.

Seeing their comrade permanently maimed, the other two rushed into action, only to be caught by tendrils of mist. Sylus dropped from the fire escape above, silver hair plastered to his forehead thanks to the rain, eyes burning like smelted iron. His Evol lashed around him, alive and feral. It crushed the taser baton to scrap and coiled around the woman’s throat, lifting her off the ground.

“Run,” warned Sylus through bared teeth, the word vibrating with something not entirely human. Nodding their heads furiously, the bounty-hunters slunk back into whatever hellhole they had crawled out of.

Sylus didn’t give chase. He knelt beside you, the mist dissolving into the night. His hands hovered over your wound, with a barely perceptible tremor. Blood soaked through your bandages, staining his fingertips. In the semi-darkness, you thought you saw a scowl mar his handsome face. He gently wiped your face clean of your attacker’s blood and confirmed what you already knew, “You’re bleeding.”

Your face burned—you’d come to the conclusion that he simply had that unfortunate effect on you—and you feebly pushed his hand away. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” He stated plainly, voice edged with barely contained wrath.

You shoved herself upright, expending the last of your strength just to look him in the eye. “What am I to you?” You bit out—if you were to cry now, at least the rain would conceal your tears. You weren’t skating on the edge of unconsciousness this time—not yet, anyways—and you were all the more confused. All I am is a burden. That familiar feeling of shame still hadn’t subsided. If anything, having him save your life twice over the span of a week was quite a blow to your ego as a Hunter.

Only the rarest day when Sylus isn't being a menace is when he took himself to the skies to observe the lands below, especially towards a certain flower field that gave him even just the tiniest taste of tranquility.

His large wings flutter behind his back, his eyes gazing down at the field of red daturas coming into view. The sight of the flower field that brought solace to his empty heart.

Until he saw something that made him freeze mid-air.

He saw you.

You were crouching down slightly amidst the vast field, picking the flowers into your arms to make a lovely bouquet, your dress fluttering as you moved around, your light blue tail swaying calmly behind you, your moonlight horns shone slightly by the evening sunset - completely oblivious to the dumbfounded dragon watching you from above the sky.

Sylus thought he might have lost it. That the centuries of isolation and loneliness finally caught up to him that he hallucinated the existence of another dragon like himself.

A trick of the light. An illusion. It can't be rea-

But the moment you stood up with an armful of daturas, your eyes flickered up towards the sky, locking gaze with Sylus - he felt time stilled around him.

The confused tilt in your head, the wondering gaze in your eyes and the slightest of movement as you took a step back while still maintaining eye contact with him.

His eyes widened at the sight of you, his heart raced both in anticipation and trepidation, his fist clenched so hard that his claws stung his palm.

You looked alive.

You weren't an illusion.

You are real.

You -

His body reacted in an instant, his wings flapped strongly behind him and before Sylus knew it, he was flying fast towards the alarmed humanoid female dragon.

He didn't even think, subconsciously causing the speed of his flight to increase. In his mind, he'd already be thinking of landing calmly and gracefully in front of you.

Unfortunately for him, his lost control of his own speed caused him to crash unceremoniously into you, sending both of you tumbling across the flower field until he ended up hovering above you.

His breath hitched as stared down at you sprawled on the ground, jaw slightly agape as he took in your similar draconic scales like his, only yours shone in light blue unlike his dark red ones.

Sylus opened his mouth to speak but no words came out, too stunned at the prospect of finding another dragon like him in this lonesome world.

But he should say something, anything, just speak damnit-

Sylus snapped out of his reverie when he felt a strong smack of the flowers against his cheek, causing him to freeze up for the umpteenth time that day. His gaze flickered between your bewildered eyes to the flowers in your hand - he could only continue to stare at you in utter silence, flabbergasted.

You had just slapped him with the daturas.