𐙚 𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 ꒱

But he doesn't speak a word of complaint. He cradles the shards that are left of you, uncaring of the scratches and cuts he collects on his palms in the process. He studies their jagged edges, slowly discerning how they all fit together with unending patience and care. Delicately piecing you together, one fragment at a time.

Of course, he notices when you relapse. You've never been good at hiding things, not across any of the lifetimes he's known you. He can see it from a mile away; your vacant, pained expression shines like a beacon, especially when he's already looking for signs of your mental health taking a turn for the worse.

He doesn't push, doesn't pry. He doesn't shame you or express disappointment. He just asks to see the wounds so he can know they're patched up to his satisfaction. He assures you that he's always there to help you when you feel the urge again, that he would be honored if you chose his shoulder to cry on when something bad happens that nearly pushes you over the edge of relapse again.

He notices when you begin losing weight. The way your face starts to look more drawn, your arm wrapped around your abdomen when you think he isn't looking. He asks his chef to make your favorites in order to entice you into sharing a meal with him.

He always makes sure to send you home with plenty of leftovers and premade meals in Tupperware, knowing that taking away the stress of choosing what to cook and cooking it would make eating much easier for you. And when you come back to see him again with fuller cheeks and easier smiles, he knows his instincts were correct.

He makes sure to be by your side in whatever way he can when you're isolated and curled up in bed. His preferred method is to stop by for a visit, sneak beneath your covers, and pull you into his embrace, where he knows you're safest. If you reject his proposition to join you in person, he offers a call instead. Neither of you needs to speak, gaining the warm comfort of each other's company without the need for travel.

And if you happen to decline this option as well, he sends Mephisto over to cheer you up. You can't bear to leave the poor bird out in the cold when he pecks at your window; he probably needs a break from his duties anyway. It's easy to relax and put your troubles aside with his soft feathers beneath your fingers, watching him doze off on your comforter beside you.

Sylus knows how to care for cats, after all. He knows how to coax a panicked one out from under the furniture into his arms, to get it purring for him and eating the tins of food he brought for it. He doesn't mind a few scratches along the way, just taking them as a sign that the cat needs a little more time to trust him.