۫ ͡ ︶mii ﺮ◟

It’s a soft command. His tone sounds like he knew you were there the moment you came closer to the doors. You bite your lip gently and hug the pillow to the front of you— mostly to hide your face somewhat—before pushing the doors open. 

Sylus’s eyes glance up at you quickly, his phone to his ear, his glasses hanging low on the bridge of his nose. He takes you in, standing there in your silk slip and overly luxurious fuzzy slippers; they were both gifts from him. Your hair’s mussed, probably from tossing and turning in bed. His face softens like he’s suddenly remembered a promise he made. But before he can say anything, his eyes follow as you move across the room. 

Next to the full wall of windows, a black velvet chaise takes up space. It didn’t used to, but you always wanted to be close by, even when he was working. Even if it meant lounging with a book while he talked business and managed important N109 happenings. There was a throw blanket neatly folded on the edge, also your addition. You lay your pillow down and crawl onto the plush cushion, pulling the throw blanket over you. Neon lights from outside cast a purplish glow over your features as you settle in, looking more at ease. A grin tugs at his lips and he sighs quietly.

“Change of plans,” he says into his phone. “We’ll talk later.”

It’s the only explanation he gives to whoever’s on the other end. He hangs up and both the phone and his glasses are placed carefully on the desk. You make no effort to move.

“I could’ve gone home, you know,” you remind him sheepishly, unable to meet his eyes. 

“Does that mean you’d like to go home now?” 

His voice is soft, gentle. Like he can guess the answer, but it’s more of a hope than a certainty that he’s correct. 

A long moment passes and he watches you pull your legs closer to your chest.

“...No.” 

Sylus huffs a laugh; to you it’s just a noise, but to him, it’s an admission of relief. He pulls in a steady breath and rises from his chair. Three long strides bring him to the edge of the chaise and in a few seconds, he’s scooping you up, pillow and all. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck while you hide your face against him.

“I’m sorry I got wrapped up. Some of our–let’s call them business partners–think they’re awfully bold lately. Growing too comfortable, I assume. They needed to be reminded of their place.”

“I wasn’t angry, really. Just lonely.”

“Mm, and yet, you didn’t come get me sooner.”

His heavy footsteps fill the hall as he carries you, his thumb rubbing circles along your arm. After arriving in the bedroom again, he locks the door behind you and kisses the top of your head. He lays you in the bed gently like you’re a treasure that should be handled with care. You expect him to move towards the bathroom–he always showers before joining you for the night–but he lingers over you. His eyes are intense, studying you. For some reason, his brow is furrowed. 

“If you’re lonely, don’t hesitate to drag me away. In fact, the greedier you are, the better.” 

He leans down and places a small kiss on your forehead. They trail down your temple, your cheek, and eventually to your lips. But they don’t stop there. His nose nuzzles under your jaw, kisses peppering your neck. A shiver travels your spine. 

“Someday, I’ll convince you of your status. Your importance.”

The small marks he begins to make leave you breathless. The strap of your slip falls off your shoulder as his nose traces your clavicle. 

“My queen.”

Kiss.

“My empress.”

The words and the worship make you flush. His teeth and his tongue leave one final mark on your shoulder before he rises slightly, pressing his forehead against yours. One of his hands rubs a soothing pattern up and down your side. 

“My life is empty without you. You don’t need permission to want me. To need me. I would burn the world for you. Do you understand, kitten?” 

You nod, finally meeting his molten eyes. 

“Good girl.”

zayne :

will go quiet, his voice goes deeper and colder. borderline giving you the silent treatment, but still answers you (unless it's a comment / question that is meant to tease him)

will roll his eyes, pinch the bridge of his nose, shake his head and give an exaggerated if you try to tease him about how he is obviously sulking like a kid (and he is constantly denying it, says that he is too mature to be angry over such meaningless issues)

the way to get his forgiveness is through sweets, physical touch and sincerity. zayne won't openly express his frustrations and inner thoughts easily, but if you are the one acknowledging it out loud, validating his feelings (even if he denies them) and an apology, he'll melt immediately in your touches and words.

he'll blush and avoid your gaze for a little bit, feeling overwhelmed at just how open and vulnerable you both were just now, feeling safe, secure and loved. you'll also notice how his grip tightens just a bit while he listens to you, his heart blooming with even more reverence for you.

caleb :

caleb actively tries to avoid any conflicts possible between you two : he'll fold like a lawn chair the moment he sees you angry, but obviously his endless patience still has its limits. and that limit is if you reject his help and gets yourself in the way of harm without telling him.

when caleb is upset, you'll see it in his eyes first, the way it twitches ever so slightly, his eyes glaring at you (his self-control fraying the thin line), and how his irises almost seems to drown in a deeper shade of violet. you can see how caleb is still trying to remain unbothered, unphased, in control and pleasant -- to manipulate get you to agree with him.

the way to get through his walls is with physical touches. he melts in your embrace and kisses. although he would like to discuss and solve the issue asap, i think caleb would initially need some time to cool off as he can get quite stuck in his own thoughts. just stay grounded with him, he'll eventually get out of his overthinking.

sylus :

doesn't really get mad or frustrated at you that easily. like caleb, it would be quite difficult to drain his patience for you. the only way to really test sylus' patience is (like caleb) if you injure yourself, hides anything from him, and refuses to work as a team with him. sylus sees you as his equal, so why would you ever want to hide certain parts of you from him ?

instead of getting mad, i think sylus would feel more rejected and disappointed. he is quite similar to zayne, in the sense that he won't express as openly, and might not even make his emotions as obvious. you will, however, feel like a wall has surrounded him, as if you can no longer feel his warmth.

sylus is someone that likes to take the lead, be in control. he manipulates and takes charge of his surroundings, ensuring that things work out in his way. he'll certainly try to manipulate elements around you so that it goes in his way, without telling you. he isn't doing it purposely, but more as a way to cope with his stress and his need to feel in control.

if you want him to communicate and get him out of his simmering and suppressed anxiety, catch him when he is alone with his thoughts. you'll notice how his gaze seems drift off in his own thoughts, how sylus no longer wants to do anything except isolate himself and becomes snappy towards others. sit on his lap and express yourself ; sylus is like your own reflection in the mirror, if you open up, he'll do so too. if you hide, he'll do the same. if you are distant, he'll do so too.

xavier :

not that hard to annoy him : just talk to another man or fangirl over lumiere again.

gets a bit pouty, will sulk and grow quiet. will turn his back to you but he is never too far. ensures that his silence gets your attention. you will need to lure him in some way before xavier states what bothered him. might not go much in details, but he will ensure you know why he is upset.

get on his good side to gain his forgiveness : just do whatever he asks, promptly. he is, after all, the crown prince of Philos, so he'll certainly have this side of wanting to dominate, control and get what he wants now (and what he wants is you under him, begging for his forgiveness / mercy).

rafayel :

like xavier, will get pouty, will sulk and will ignore you ... for a little while. until he gets fed up by the silent treatment and becomes sassy and sarcastic. he'll get your attention, one way or another.

will not accept simple apologies, needs a full on 'treatment' to get on his good side again : hugging him, chasing him, apologizing, leaving pecks all over his face, kissing his pouty soft lips, says how you can't live without him, tell rafayel that you can't endure this silence and distance any longer and sit on his lap.

to be honest, i don't think rafayel would hang on the frustration / anger long : he is just using this as an excuse to get your full attention on him excessively and to procrastinate his paintings.

rafayel's emotions are like waves : they never stay stuck for too long.

Rafayel's lips

Does Rafayel genuinely enjoy the sound of his own voice? Perhaps. After all, while his reliability is debatable in several regards, one thing you can always count on from him is a snide remark, his clever quips and his pension for argument. Rafayel is always quick to pout, sneer, and prod at your patience with his words. Banter comes naturally to him, and something about that gets under your skin sometimes. However, there is one thing that quells the sting...

While you sometimes hate to listen to him talk, you can't help but watch his mouth move. It's easy to drone out Rafayel's long-winded rants, ones that follow familiar cadences of "where were you? How cruel of you to keep me waiting, Miss Bodyguard." You've learned to let it slide right off of you, and it helps that he thinks your listening with the way you stare. You're not; you're only staring, staring at a perfect pair of soft, plush lips that talk too much and kiss you not enough (they don't kiss you at all, in fact). You always mentally kick yourself when you catch it, you're eyes wandering down his facial features and resting just a little too obviously below eye level.

Eventually, Rafayel's rant begins to slow as he notices your eyes have drifted, his words becoming more languid as he shifts slightly, expecting to dodge whatever's caught your attention, just to watch your eyes track back to him instinctively. For a moment he hangs there, before it dawns on him what you're staring at.

You can see it on those pouty lips, the way his whole face contorts in realization. A sly smile creeps onto his chin, and your eyes jerk away about a second too late.

"Something caught your eye, cutie?" he teases, taking a step toward you as you try and dodge his gaze.

You shake your head. "N- no, I just zoned out!"

He hums an "mhm" at you, laced with skepticism. "Right, right," Rafayel murmurs under his breath, hovering over you with a red-tipped ears but a cocky tilt in his head. "You weren't staring at my lips, Miss Bodyguard. You just 'zoned out'. Of course."

You roll your eyes, his sarcasm evading him like a second language. (He speaks 3: human, lemurian, and sass.) "I wasn't staring at anything!" you double down defensively. "I'm telling you! I zoned out because you just talk and talk... you're so annoying, Raf."

"Please," he scoffs. "You know you could've stopped me from talking at any time."

"That's crap! Rafayel, you literally never shut up," you chastise him, your feeble attempt to recover yourself from embarassment by throwing the critcism back to him. You always get this way, lashing out when he gets flirty, hoping his pride will overcome his lust and he'll get back to arguing with you instead of trying to read you like a book.

It doesn't work. Rafayel's hand swipes across your jawline, tilting your gaze back to him, and you meet coral and sea-colored eyes carving into you, and when you try and escape that piercing gaze, you betray yourself as you snake right back down to those smiling lips, their perfect pink tone and smooth surface, and he lets out a sing-songy laugh when he catches it. "Cutie," he coos. "If you want me to shut up so badly, then make me."

Xavier's eyes

Practically every colleague you had in the hunter's association knew you had developed a bit of an infatuation for Xavier. From the moment you saw him on that very first mission, it struck you how alluring his features were. He was asleep the first time you saw him, peaceful in a place of chaos, but when his eyes fluttered open, you were mesmerized, that deep blue remiscent of a night sky. A whole universe existed in those eyes.

When you were assigned to his team and eventually became his partner, it didn't take long for coworkers like Tara and Nero to notice the way you hung before his gaze like you were paralyzed. It didn't help that Xavier was so elusive to everyone else. Everyone noticed how long he would talk to you, and how you'd cling to his every second of attention, the new hotshot hunter, reduced to a hopeless girl with a crush on her superior. Even Captain Jenna would catch it and tease you about it from time to time.

There you are, in the middle of the briefing room, listening (or trying) to Xavier summarize your last mission, what went right, and what went wrong, and you couldn't be bothered by his critiques of your sword technique, because you can hardly think straight as those midnight-shaded eyes pierce into yours until you practically drown in them. It doesn't take him long to notice either, though he holds off on pointing it out as long as he can, but eventually his gaze narrows.

"Is... something wrong. You seem dazed today. Did our mission wear you out that much?" he asks, all innocence and concern.

You shake your head like you've been snapped out of a trance. "Uhh, ya. I guess I'm a little tired."

He nods agreeably. "That's okay," he says with a shrug. "Honestly, we really don't need these meetings anymore. Haven't for a while."

"Wha- why?" you ask.

He looks at you like the answer is obvious. "Because you're one of the top hunters in the association, and I have little left to teach you."

You tilt your head at him, becoming as genuinely lost as you look. "Then why do we keep having these post-mission debriefing meetings?"

Xavier, uncharacteristically, shrivels a little, a sheepish hand sliding against the nape of his neck with an awkward laugh. "Honestly?" he rasps, eyes dodging to his sides before he leans over, hovering by your ear. "I just like having your undivided attention. It's kind of cute how you look at me all doe-eyed like that."

Your eyes shoot up as he retreats from you with a quiet but cheeky laugh when he sees your face erupt in red. "Xavier," you whine.

"Careful," he teases, tilting his head to the side in a slight jerk, alluding to watchful eyes, and you briefly peer over to Tara and Nero, snickering at his desk. "Don't give our coworkers the wrong idea."

"Is it the wrong idea?" you mutter.

He shrugs. "Good point," he concedes to a comment that was supposed to be inaudible. Curse his excellent hearing!

Zayne's hands

Zayne has the careful, sturdy hands of a top surgeon, and that wasn't a matter of question, but to you, they were more than just skilled. They were something you could practically salivate over: long, dexterous fingers that were always precise, dressed in scars you knew he hated, and even you somewhat hated them in the sense of knowing their cause, knowing those scars represented what separated the two of you to begin with, but in a more twisted thought, they were kind of... hot. They made a clean-cut guy like Zayne seem grittier and impossibly more attractive somehow, and when those roughened hands have grazed your bare skin for any sort of check-up, whether it be taking your heartbeat or bandaging your wounds, it's been hard not to note how firm but comforting they are as well.

You had an array of thoughts about those hands, some more unsavory than others, but one thing you knew is you'd come up with just about any reason to get Zayne to touch you, so it wasn't uncommon to walk into his office unannounced on something bordering on ridiculous.

You got a splinter in your palm at a cafe only a couple blocks from Akso, and before you could even debate on it, your feet were moving until you were knocking on Zayne's office door with your healthy hand, and when he called to you to just come on in, you walked in with a guilty look on your face, and he meets your gaze with a glare, but it's laced with sympathy. "What is it this time?" he dares to ask, knowing your reasons have grown increasingly superfluous.

You hold out your palm like a whole toddler. "Splinter," you mumble.

He sighs, before his eyes pan over to the little stool next to his desk, the one he normally uses to prop his feet between appointments, but after several visits, it's practically your reserved chair. You pad over to it and settle in, watching as Zayne pulls a pair of tweezers from his drawer, then takes your wrist and leads your palm under his desk lamp.

The scene is oddly reminiscent, vaguely reminding you of the quiet kid who'd often bandage your scraped knees and freeze your melted popsicles. Except this kid is grown, and he's pressing into your palm to try and work that splinter out and into his tweezers, and though you wince in discomfort, your eyes trace over prominent veins on his wrists that bulge as he does. It doesn't last long though. He removes the darned needle in record time, dropping the tweezers and letting them clang against the desk. "There," he says, his hand lingering on yours as he carefully checks his work, twisting your wrist with the turn of his.

You're astonished at his skills. "That's it?" you ask, hardly able to even process the absence of the tiny spike between his speed and the feel of his fingers pressing into your palm.

"Yes?" he answers, equally confused. "What? Do you want me to kiss your boo-boo better as well, since you keep coming to me with your playground injuries?"

Your hand jerks out of his protectively when you see him pull your hand toward his smirked lips, wholly bewildered at the notion. "I- are you making fun of me?"

"A little," he admits with a coy smile. "Your excuses have become more and more blatant with every visit."

You shudder into yourself slightly, embarrassment overtaking you. Of course, he read right through you. Just before you can stand yourself up to leave, you see his hand reach for yours, you own both pressed into your lap. One gives way as he tugs it into his grasp, the one he pulls the splinter from, and he guides it right up to his lips and places a quick kiss to the palm, pulling away with a puckered smack that has you absolutely short-circuiting. "If you want to see me that badly, you should just text me instead of coming up with convoluted excuses. I'd much rather see you outside of work, you know."

Caleb's body

Growing up, you used to make fun of girls who would ogle Caleb, who would gush about how hot he was. Though you weren’t blind, and you knew he was attractive, to you, he was just Caleb, ever-present, constant, familiar. Yet, his miraculous return flipped everything you knew on its head. You knew Caleb wasn’t invincible and that you couldn’t afford to overlook him like you did in your youth, and when you took the time to really look at him, it finally clicked. You saw exactly what all those girls saw in him for all those years: soul-filled violet eyes with an amber glow, deep brown hair that was somehow perfectly ragged, and a dopey but undeniably charming smile. However, you also saw something those girls didn’t get to see: Colonel Caleb had the most perfectly sculpted body you’d ever damn seen.

Caleb returned to his Skyhaven abode on foot as he always does, going the extra mile quite literally by running home after his gym session, white tank clinging to his skin with sweat. You waited for him, casually sprawled across the couch, flipping through TV channels like the real show you were waiting on didn’t just enter through the front door.

"Did I keep you waiting, pipsqueak?" he asks after he catches his breath, eyes filled with tiredness, but his face draped in that smile that makes your heart turn to puddy.

You turn your gaze to him as casually as you can muster. "No, no, not at all," you reassure him (he totally did). "I was just channel surfing. How'd training go?"

He shrugs, pulling at his shirt collar. "Fine, but- am I crazy, or is it hotter in here than usual? Did you mess with the thermostat while I was out?"

"Nope," you answer him. "I feel fine, personally."

Caleb tugs at the clingy fabric of his shirt, suffocating against his skin, and grumbles something inaudible. Before he can second-guess himself, he crosses his arms over his abdomen, looping his fingers under the hem, and drags the fabric off his body, the muscles in his arms and shoulders flexing, abs crunching and all, and for the brief moment he spends pulling it over his head, you gawk shamelessly. Every instinct to yell at him for tossing the shirt on the floor melts away as he reaches for his shorts too, and you could just keel over from the thought of him stripping those off too, but he doesn't. He bunches up the leg fabric and pulls it up his thighs, his beefy, muscular thighs...

"Pips, are you sure? It feels like the AC's busted or something-" he jeers before his eyes drift back up to you, and the moment they lock on, he can see the way your mouth falls agape, the guilty look of need in your eyes, and the moment hangs in the air for an awkward second before you both jerk out of one another's gaze. His eyes fall on the thermostat on the wall.

Off.

He peers back up at you, head cocked to the side in that overconfidence that tells you he has you all figured out as you try to look at him and not the beads of sweat running through the ridges of his abs.

"Pipsqueak," he coos in this warning but coaxing tone. "Why is the thermostat off? In the middle of summer. Are you not burning up?"

He gets close enough to you to hover, large enough in frame to cast a shadow from the TV's LEDs. "I... didn't even notice."

He hums unconvincingly. "Could've fooled me. You should see how red your face is right now," he taunts, his voice almost a quiet whisper as your eyes can't help but trail down.

Your head was caught in an uncomfortable lean, furthered by his domineering gaze and stature, and your head falls slack, and suddenly there's no mistaking your eyes trailing down his abdomen, and he's close enough to reach, to see that Adonis belt and prominent vein that runs below his waistband. Your head turns away from him, morbid embarrassment flooding your face with redness. "You should go take a shower. You're sweating."

"And you should refrain from tampering with my AC, you goober," he teases, fingers reaching to you to flick your forehead, making you jut back, before swiveling around on his hips toward the bathroom with newfound stride. "If you ask nicely, I'll let you feel at em' next time."

You scoff. "You wish," you mutter.

"That I do," he answers as he walks off.

Sylus' voice

You tried. You tried so hard to hide from him and his perceptive eye, but it was inevitable that Sylus would learn of your infatuation, which might not have been a big deal for anyone else, but for him, it was your weakness and his leverage. You tried desperately to quell the chills that rushed down your spine when he said the right combination of things in the right tone, effortless authority laced with an arcane timbre. The aether core in his eye should've logically been your undoing, but no. It was his voice that made you truly vulnerable.

Past the initial rough first impressions, you developed a relative amity with Sylus, increasing your visits to the N-109 zone to trade intel, a strict business arrangement, but in truth, it was hard to deny something was swelling in your chest when you saw him, or more accurately, when you heard him. Sylus had a way with words, a way of making everything sound so much more sensual than it needed to be, that is, and it did unspeakable things to you.

On one of your frequent visits to his mansion, you approach Sylus about the whereabouts of a high-priority criminal that recently fled to the N-109 zone, according to intel you received from the Hunter's Association. His connections almost ensure he would be made aware of any new arrivals into his territory, and sure enough, the second you knock on his mansion door, flash him a picture of who you're looking for, he's ushering you in with a casual shrug, leading you to the first empty room with a lock he can find. After all, he doesn't share his knowledge with just anyone.

"In the spirit of transparency and efficiency, yes. I was made aware that this... squirrelly fellow slipped into the N-109 zone, nearly right under my nose, and I have on good authority the general direction he went after, but I must know. What does the Hunter's Association want with him, and why should I give you that information for free?" He probes with the calculated propensity you would be foolish not to expect of him at this point.

"Sylus," you warn him. "You should know by now I'm not at liberty-"

"Not at liberty to reveal the Association's classified information. I know, sweetie. You've told me many times," he intervenes, repeating the words you've echoed in the past with sing-songy mockery. "Yet, it hardly seems fair how often you come to me for answers while offering nothing in return."

"Because you don't ask for anything in return, Sy'. How is that my fault?"

Sylus rolls his eyes in a way, a half-hearted laugh escaping your lips. "Perhaps, I simply don't want our relationship to be nothing more than transactions of intel. Can't I offer you what you seek out of the kindness of my heart?"

"Oh, spare me. You have an ulterior motive. You always do," you chastise him.

He scoffs and places a dramatic hand to his heart. "Sweetie, your accusations wound me greatly. You think so little of me, but I'm not heartless. Do you truly think I'd ever turn away a wounded kitten limping at my doorstep?"

You groan out in response. The kitten analogies, ugh. Your eyes squint as you suppress your frustrations, before a heavy sigh evades you. "Just tell me where he is, Sylus, and I'll get out of your hair."

His face drops. "You're no fun today," he grumbles. "He entered the N-109 Zone and proceeded to head southbound down the highway before my surveillance lost sight of him. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," you drone, face blank in sarcasm, before you immediately turn back toward the door. "Until next time."

"Perhaps then you'll find it within yourself to repay my generosity with something of your own," he calls out to you, and you shift to a halt before you reach the door, hearing something lacing his tone so subtly, you fear you only imagine it. Your chest tightens when your mind goes where it shouldn't. You vigorously shake your head, a motion you did not intend to act out, but you do so to exile whatever baseless thoughts threaten your mind. Your pause, of course, does not go unnoticed, and before you can continue onward, you can feel his presence domineering behind you.

"What's this?" he pries. "Cat got your tongue?"

You swallow dryly at the notion, back still faced away from him. "Goodbye, Sylus-" you attempt to say firmly, but as you reach for the door handle, he's already guarding it with his large frame.

"I can't help but notice you've been freezing up like this at our last couple of... rendezvous," he notes, eyes bearing into you as you attempt to dodge his crimson gaze. "Is there something I should know, sweetie?"

Before you can even say no, the sheer proximity, the way his voice carries in your ear with its low, gritted rasp, has your breath quaking before him, only worsened by the illustrious laugh that follows when he witnesses you falter. You fall to silence in a way that infuriates you to no end, and before you can deny or recover, you feel a gentle hand slide against your cheek, and a scarlet glow invades your vision from his aether core, flooding your mind with the exact thoughts you tried to suppress. "Sylus, that's- this isn't fair-"

"If you want to talk about fair, then the least you can do is not keep secrets from me in my own home, kitten," he quips, tilting your chin up to him, carmine gaze burning through you as he reads through those thoughts at the forefront. "You can only hide from me for so long."

Those thoughts flooding your mind, thoughts of how Sylus voice is pure lust and manages to say the things that make your knees want to buckle as he stares into you, make you feel exposed before him, naked in a sense. Your face reddens as you watch him read your features, his eyes softening and brows contorting as he listens to every thought that rushes through your mind involuntarily, and it only gets worse the longer he holds it. It starts innocently. His voice is nice, makes you feel all warm and tingly, but then it gets shameful. You recall that voice some nights, sometimes when you're particularly lonely. You recall the way it rings in your ears with its deep, almost animalistic growl, and sometimes you even imagine what he'd sound like when he moans-

"Oh?" he annunciates when he finally breaks away from you, his hand dropping to his side and his eye dimming to its normal state. "And to think how many times you've told me I should talk less. You betray yourself, kitten."

You grumble in exasperation, face heated in embarrassment. "Alright, you had your fun. I'm leaving now-"

"Oh, on the contrary. My fun has just begun," he teases. "How I wonder to what extent I affect you so greatly. Want to find out?"

You crumble beneath him for the second time when his voice grows to a quiet whisper, your chin drooping down toward your collarbone in an attempt to dodge his eyes, those rubies of ruination. It leaves your ear wide open for him, though, an opportunity he does not miss.

Sylus leans in slightly, hands folded in his pockets, and yet his breath tickles the sensitive skin beneath your jaw. "You showed me your vulnerability, even if I had to coax it out of you. Let me offer you a bit of mine," he whispers, and its delivery is more overt than before, your eyes trailing back up to him guiltily. "I'm flattered to know you harbor such thoughts, vulgar as some of them may be. You should know, I too am particularly fascinated by a feisty kitten who loves to hiss and bare her teeth at me, and on occasion... I wonder if this kitten knows how to purr as well. I only hope one day she'll give me the opportunity to learn for myself."

You breathe in a sharp inhale, too pierced and tense, your whole body radiating heat and anticipation you hope his ever-perceptive self misses. "You're too much for me, sometimes, Sylus."

"And yet somehow simultaneously... It's also not enough," he adds.

You seethe beneath him. "Ugh, I thought you stopped using your stupid eye!"

Sylus responds to you with a hearty laugh, the kind that nearly makes you melt. "I did, sweetie. That was conjecture, but thank you for confirming for me."

Your hands bury into your face, dragging down the pudge of your cheeks as you groan, feeling trapped and vulnerable.

As if he sees your defenses form right in front of him, Sylus's hand reaches for the door handle, opening the door and holding it out to you like an offering. The sly smile across his face dissipates to something you can't quite place, but it's gentle and unexpected. "Until next time," he reiterates your words from earlier.

You nod meekly, the kind of shyness that almost disgusts yourself to display for him, the enemy you still somewhat can't let your guard down around, before you head out the doorway.

Sylus sighs as you walk past him. "I hope one day, you will entrust me with the secrets you hold close to your heart without me having to tempt them out of you, because if you do... I will fulfill your every heart's desire and more."

"And how am I to know that what you're saying is not just deceit?" you question him, head turning back to spot him in the corner of your eye.

"You tell me, kitten. Do you truly think I am saying that just to deceive you?" He asks back.

You sigh. "I don't know, Sylus," you tell him. "I suppose one day I might find out, though. Goodbye, Sylus."

You turn toward the door before you can hesitate further, finding no sly remarks to answer you, just uncharacteristic silence.

Truthfully, you, too, hope you can trust him like that one day as well.