iris

you’d booked his appointment at the store nearest to you the very next day. 

“stop being a baby!” you groan. “it’ll literally take ten seconds.”

“i don’t know, sweetie.” planting his heels further into the asphalt, he halfheartedly picks at his nails. “i could get used to the sound of you calling me ‘baby.’”

“what if you get sick because you didn't get the treatment?” you change tactics, putting your hands on your hips. “i’ll be so sad and lonely.”

“you can set up a lawn chair next to my grave. be sure to wear sunscreen.”

your hands leave your sides to fly up in the air. ugh. “you—” ugh. “you…” ugh!!

sylus blinks lazily. “can we go home now?”

“no.” you breathe slowly through your nose, a slight wheeze blowing through. “you leave me no choice.”

snatching his arm into a crushing bear hug, you feel the familiar rush of resonance flow through your body. once you’ve adopted his evol, red and black ropes coil around his wrists. 

mustering all your energy, you brace yourself and pull with all your might. in slow motion, your boyfriend torpedoes through the pharmacy doors. 

despite his protests, you don't look back until you’ve made it to the reception area. 

“there.” you stop resonating, and the ropes disappear. “now tell them you're here for your appointment.”

sylus only scowls at you, a slight growl rumbling in his throat. 

if you weren’t in public, you’d growl back. instead, you cross your arms. “i can do that part for you, too, if you're feeling shy.”

as seconds pass, his hackles drop, and his figurative ears lay flat on his head. warily, he stalks toward the check-in station. 

──────

the heat ripples off him in waves. 

after fifteen torturous minutes of waiting, the short brunette pharmacist finally calls sylus to the back. when he hears his name, his body tenses. then, slowly, he slinks out of his seat.

“good luck!” you call from the comfort of your chair, flipping absently through a lifestyle magazine.

when you make no move to follow him, he stares at you in unease. “you’re not coming?”

“do i need to?”

his jaw clenches. “it would be nice.”

at that, you suppress a laugh—he doesn't need to be any more agitated right now. shrugging, you flip the magazine closed and follow him to the side door, where the pharmacist ushers you in with a warm smile. at least this way, you can keep an eye on him.

──────

it’s funny how a man with so many battle scars winces at the sting of a tiny needle. he nearly crushes your hand when it pierces his skin, squeezing with the force of an embattled legion. you only reclaim the feeling in your fingers once the needle is removed, and sylus’s deep exhale fills the room. 

“alright, sir, you’re all done!” the pharmacist chirps. “we recommend you hang back here for around twenty minutes so we can monitor potential side effects, but after that, you're free to go.” 

minus his twitching eye, sylus looks like he's frozen in time. ever the caretaker, you step in for him with a smile. “thank you!” 

──────

the next morning, you attempt to roll out of bed and start your day, only to find that you can’t. 

sylus can get touchy in his sleep, but usually not to this extent. this morning, his entire right arm is draped over you, its bulk anchoring you to the bed. 

after several unsuccessful attempts to wriggle free, you trail your eyes up his topless body, all the way to his face. he’s gazing back at you, a slight smirk on his lips. because of course he is. 

“after yesterday, i can barely lift it. so i guess we’re stuck here, just like this. for hours, maybe. who knows?” he yawns exaggeratedly and nuzzles into the crook of your neck, nipping gently at the skin. “these are just the consequences of your actions, i suppose.” 

“oh, yes. it’s my fault for trying to keep you healthy.” grumbling, you try to lift his leaden arm, to no avail. 

with a low, victorious hum, he soothes the sting on your neck with a kiss. 

while his warmth is deliberate, none of it is an act. he lives for the little favors he does for you, and he genuinely wants to get to know you better

still, whenever you cross paths, you just seem to resent him. so when he gets the chance, he tries to glean information from people closer to you.

if your friend is around, he’ll make casual conversation, like, “hey, they’re kinda prickly sometimes, huh?” 

used to this by now, your friend holds in a snort. “no, they just look like that. people always think they’re mad, but it’s their natural face.”

he’s relieved you don’t have some age-old vendetta against him, but he feels guilty for assuming. especially now that he’s gone behind your back to get the truth instead of asking you directly

tells himself he’ll stop sneaking around for information about you in the future

doesn’t

rafayel is on the fence. on the one hand, that could just be your neutral expression, and that's perfectly fine. on the other, every time you look at him like he’s no more than a barnacle, the walls start closing in. as does the doubt.

gradually, he begins orchestrating situations where you'll find him favorable so you associate him with positive things. then you’ll have to like him, right?

how dare that beluga splash you at the aquarium! don’t worry, he keeps a towel in his bag. you know, just in case stuff like this happens. 

no pictures allowed on your museum tour? why don’t you come to his studio instead? take home the piece of your choice.

at the beach and a crab pinches your ankle? don’t worry, he’ll tell it off! (and secretly slip it a sand dollar when you’re not looking)

eventually, after one too many coincidences, you ask what he's doing 

when he comes clean, you’re bewildered. where did he ever get the idea that you didn't like him? couldn’t he see how much you enjoyed spending time with him? how flustered you got every time he sidled up to you to save the day?

the realization makes you both sheepish, but overall, it’s a win-win. you can be yourself without worry, and he can stop bribing sea creatures to do his bidding.

xavier thinks it’s hot.

at first.

when a while passes and you’re still glaring daggers at him, then he’s genuinely concerned you don’t like him. and a bit frightened 

when you see animals, you smile. when you see flowers, you smile. but when you open up your front door and see him standing on the other side? you look at him like he's a trespasser.

he’s standoffish and sulky while he considers whether to ask you about it, but it’s a short debate.

after some confusion and slight mortification on your part—you truly did not realize you were trying to evaporate him with your eyes—you reassure him that you do like him and would like to keep seeing him. multiple times, ending in couch cuddles

whenever you mean mug him in the future, he reaches out two fingers to stretch your lips into a grin, a smile of his own shining back at you

after the first few attempts to bat his hand away, you give up

sylus isn’t too bothered. anyone who leads onychinus needs a good poker face, after all.

he's used to people judging him by his appearance. he doesn’t want to do the same to you.

one day, luke and kieran ask why you’re angry, but you feel perfectly fine. for the next 20 minutes, they recount how your resting face instills fear in the hearts of gods.

self-conscious, you go to sylus and ask for the truth. have you ever scared him or made him feel uncomfortable? 

“not at all,” he replies, a wry grin on his lips. “because i know what it’s like when people deem you ‘scary’ without giving you a chance to prove them wrong.” 

he sees through your mask, and he takes note of the subtlest changes in your expression. he can tell between your :|, your :/, your c:, and your :). to him, they’re distinctly different, each with their own special color

all your expressions, or lack thereof…you’re just another language he's fluent in.

now, he just has to start tutoring the twins 

sometimes, you and zayne just stare at each other. an outsider would find it nonsensical, but no. you’re communicating. 

albeit awkwardly.

it’s basically a stalemate, the way you analyze each other’s microexpressions: every eyebrow raise, every twitch of the lips, every nose scrunch. 

still, neither of you are stars at reading body language, and you come up short trying to figure out each other’s true feelings.

it’s best for you to be direct with each other. ask how the other is doing, if they're having fun or if they're tired. are they hungry, thirsty? is there somewhere else they’d like to go? 

it’s the only escape from the cycle of miscommunication.

rbf x rbf. as much as it’s an obstacle, it's also an asset. on your first date, you take a stroll through a street market. you both look so unapproachable, so unintentionally cold, that not even the bravest vendor hounds you to buy from them. in your own little bubble of extra-strict faces, you're free to explore at your own pace.

you nearly trip as you round the final corner that separates you. but when you finally reach the room where his meetings are held, the hulking figure looming outside gives you pause. 

“you need something?” 

he’s one of sylus’s men—bruce, if you remember right—but you haven’t spoken to him much. surely, though, he’s seen you around?

swallowing thickly, you wring your hands out in front of you. “i was looking for sylus. i was hoping i could talk to him.”

if he notices the tremor in your body, he doesn’t say anything. “boss is busy right now. you can come back when he’s done.” 

when he’s done? 

“um…are you sure?” you protest weakly. “he usually doesn’t care if—”

“i’m sure, alright?” for some reason, he sounds exasperated. “look, this deal is important to us, and he doesn’t need any distractions. just wait for him to finish.”  

the words bounce in your brain. they feel wrong. you feel wrong. but if your presence ever sabotaged his work, you’d blame yourself for weeks. 

biting your lip, you nod once and turn on your heel, dragging your feet back to your shared bedroom. 

you’ve been hugging your knees for what feels like hours when the door creaks open. almost immediately, the scent of home fills the room, wrapping around you like the hug you needed earlier. 

“sylus?” you croak, pushing yourself up on the mattress. “are…are you free now?”

he pauses for a moment, then flicks the nearest lamp on its lowest setting. in the warm, reddish light, you see his elevated eyebrow. “what do you mean?”

“i know you were in a meeting. i almost went to see you, but the guard said i shouldn't disturb you. so i’ve been waiting here.” 

“disturb,” he repeats, like the word is foreign on his tongue. “you…disturb…me?” 

his head is angled to the side, like a puppy’s during its first encounter with the bathtub. you decide against telling him this, only nodding instead. 

as soon as you do, the shadows of snarl creep onto his face. “why were you coming to see me?”

“i was just anxious, i guess. it wasn’t that much worse than usual.” the back of your neck warms, and you scratch it nervously. “since you usually help me, i thought maybe you could this time, too. but it’s okay,” you rush. “i feel better now.”

he shuts his eyes, letting out a three-second sigh. then, he comes to the bed, sits down beside you, and tucks you into his side. “he’s fired.”

startled, you raise your head as much as his bear paw of a hand allows. “what?”

“the guard you ran into. he’ll be gone by morning,” he says simply. 

your heart hammers in your chest again—this time, out of guilt. “but—i’m sure it was a misunderstanding. he was only trying to make sure your meeting went well, and i could have come in at a bad time, and—”

the wry curve of his lips tells you he’s not convinced. “alright, sweetie. let’s say i keep him on. this first time, you’re upset, and he thinks it’s not worth telling me. what happens next, then? you’re hurt, and i don’t find out until it’s too late?”

he takes your silence as a sign to continue. 

“if you were in danger and someone kept you from coming to me,” he begins, voice dipping in with conviction, “i’d do much, much worse than fire them. consider this a blessing, sweetie. you’re doing the man a favor.”

you chew your lip and fiddle with your hands, unable to fully believe him. “i guess.” 

gently, he takes your chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting your head until your eyes meet. “i want you to see me anytime, no matter the reason. even if you don't have one. your problems are my problems, and my time is yours.”

you can’t hold his gaze for very long—you never can. but when you wrap your arms around his torso, he knows he’s gotten through to you. 

“good. now, why don’t you tell me what you were so anxious about?”

you stiffen against him, but only momentarily. “i don’t really want to.” 

he lets out a bewildered scoff. “hmm?”

“you’re here now, and i’m happy. i want to focus on that instead,” you say, shoving your face into his chest. 

he lets his body buckle slightly from the force, his rich chuckle setting your mind at ease. “alright, then. how was the rest of your day?”

a week later, a taller, bigger, much nicer guard knocks on the dark oak door. nodding your head in thanks, you enter after a moment’s preparation, and the mix of deep voices falls to a hush. 

the meeting is over. you know that as soon as sylus’s eyes find yours, softening from warmth and relief. “thank you, morgan,” he calls to the new guard. then, he cuts his eyes across the sleek round table. “i’ll have the room now. follow up in three days.” 

scraping their chairs against the hardwood floors, the other men nod their heads and clear out. once the door shuts behind them, sylus turns his chair toward you and pats his thigh. you rush into his open arms without a second thought. 

“hi, sweetie,” he murmurs into your hair. “what is it?”

heat rushes to your cheeks. you bite the inside of your left one. “i…”

humming inquisitively, he gives an encouraging squeeze to the side of your waist. “you…?”

“i…am bored.”

pulling back a bit, sylus examines you carefully, checking to see if you’re serious. when all you do is stare back at him, fighting the urge to cover your face, a snort builds to a wheeze, then to a bark of laughter. “and we can't have that, can we?” he teases, eyes twinkling like roses in starlight. 

sheepish, you shake your head and try to double down. “we can’t. my problems are your problems.” 

“they are. you’re a quick learner,” he rumbles, gently bringing your foreheads together. “how lucky is it that i’m bored, too? had that meeting gone any longer, i would’ve had to remove our honored guests from the base.” 

shifting on his lap, you squint down at him. “by kindly asking them to leave, right?” 

“something like that,” he replies, and you try to suppress the image of fifteen bodies being flown out the front door. “in any case, what should we do instead?”

“well, there’s this rainforest documentary i want to watch. or we could keep watching that vampire drama, or we could play that game i beat you at last time—”

“i have no memory of that.” 

“I do.” you steamroll over him. “or you could walk me through the armory again, or…”

as you spew out options, you’re almost oblivious to the way he maneuvers you in his hold. soon enough, though, you’re intensely aware of the kisses he scatters over your cheeks, stealing your focus until your lips tug into a frown. “you’re not listening, are you?”

“of course i am,” he whispers, hands roaming over your skin. “your ideas are great, kitten. it’s just…there’s no need to rush. why don't we start going down the list, say, an hour from now?”

you can barely nod before he pulls you into a searing kiss, any and all boredom going up in smoke. you don’t know how long you stay there with him, touching until your bodies blur together. an hour, two—you’re not sure, you don’t care. 

dragging your hips forward and back, you lay one hand on shoulder, the other on his cheek. 

on instinct, he nuzzles into your palm. when his eyelids flutter closed, you lean in and kiss him breathless. but as soon as he links your tongues together, you pull back and bounce in his lap two times fast, giggling at the pained moan that floats through the air.

“please,” he begs. 

you press your lips to the corner of his eye, trailing a crescent down his cheek. when you reach his mouth again, you roll your hips so deep that you can feel what it does to him—the way he chokes on air, the way his heart stutters in his chest. still, he refuses to break from you, relishing any contact you'll allow him.

again, you pull away first, to his dejection.

“what do you want me to say? already said sorry,” he slurs, leaning close just for his lips to brush the bottom of your chin. caleb frowns at the lack of contact. you tap his nose, and his frown deepens further. 

“take it back,” you order. 

confusion and want clash on his face. “huh?” 

“i affect you more. say it.”

he swallows. sparks of rebellion light in his violet eyes, but ultimately fizzle out. 

he sobers up some as he holds your gaze, and you welcome the quickening pulse in your center. “everything you do makes me like this,” he admits. “your voice, your scent—even when i just think of you, i almost…”

his reluctance spoils your excitement. huffing, you thread your fingers in his hair and tug, pulling a low groan from his throat. 

“you almost what? keep going.”

“i—” his eyes rove over you, frantic, troubled. when you tug his hair again, harder this time, his face falls in a mix of shame and agitation. “please,” he grumbles in defeat. 

you take in his flushed face, sweat-slick skin, and the rapid rise and fall of his firm chest. the quivers of the muscles that could so easily dominate you.

cooing softly, you pinch his cheek. “caleb?” 

“yes?” he rasps. 

“don’t tease me like that again. it makes me feel needy, and then i have to prove you wrong.”

despite himself, he chuckles. “yeah. yeah, okay,” he answers shakily. “i’m the needy one.” 

nodding in acceptance, you lean in to kiss him, giving him all that he wants this time. when he pushes his tongue past your lips, you soothe his desperate one with your own, rewarded by a soft sequence of moans. 

humming, you break away and tap his grey boxers. “these stay on. i’m still mad.”

“you know i’ll take anything,” he breathes.

“won’t you?”

granting him the gift of friction, you swivel your hips with abandon, grinding your core against his ever-hardening length. in a matter of moments, he screws his eyes shut tight, abdomen flexing into stone beneath you. as warmth flows through your clothes, he throws his head back in relief, consumed by the release he's been aching for. 

while he steadies his breathing, you kiss his brow and roll off to the side. your eyes catch on the wet patch spreading in his lap. “good?” you ask.

“good.”