misty

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. 

As a result, you’d never put much care into your clothes. Get something that fit enough to be able to comfortably move, try not to think about how your body looked different or sometimes just wrong, and move on with your life. Preferably it was on sale or at a thrift store so you weren’t breaking the bank for something that thinking too hard about made you feel… icky.

You’d gone years getting away with just not thinking about it. It worked pretty well, and if asked about your lackluster sense of style, you could always use the excuse of saving your wallet.

But now your wallet was 6’2” with gorgeous white hair and shimmering red eyes, and she could read you like a book.

So when you were walking through an indoor mall at the heart of Linkon, zoning out at window displays while listening to the quiet patter of rain on the roof, she noticed immediately.

“Is there something you like?” Sylus asked, shifting the bag in her hand from the jewelry shop you two had just visited.

Well, Sylus had visited. You had trailed next to her like a lost pet, too unsure in your own taste to look at anything Sylus didn’t point out first.

(The store was far below her usual price range, but she said she’d wanted some more “low-key” pieces for when she was out with you and could potentially run into people you know. The “budget” jewelry’s prices still had you seeing stars, though.)

“Hm?” you hummed, taking a moment to process what she’d asked. “Oh, no, it’s okay. I’m good.”

She raised an eyebrow and looked back at the window display. Mannequins displayed soft feminine styles, sundresses and long, flowing skirts and shoes that looked equal parts gorgeous and dangerous.

“Let’s look around,” she said decisively, turning toward the entrance, and you could rarely tell her no when she did this, moving with confidence and purpose you envied.

You followed her inside and looked around. It was one of the mall’s higher-end stores, and you suddenly felt self-conscious about the simple shorts and t-shirt you were wearing. You felt out of place.

But you wanted to try some of these styles. You wanted to feel flowy and pretty. It just… didn’t feel possible. You wouldn’t look right, you were certain, and the last thing you wanted was to look ridiculous in front of your girlfriend.

But then Sylus turned to you, a small smile on her face and eagerness in her eyes as she gestured forward.

“Well? Go on, kitten,” she said, in that way that made your heart stutter for a moment.

“Um, I’m not really sure what I’m looking for,” you admitted, looking around at the intimidating mannequins and racks. “I’m no good at this, you’re the one with the sense of style.”

You looked her up and down. She wore dark slacks and a red blazer over a black turtleneck. A silver necklace glittered around her neck, complimenting the silver rings on her hand. Her long, silvery white hair was draped over one shoulder. She was, in every sense, the embodiment of class and style.

Sylus’s smile ticked downward at your comment, and she opened her mouth to reply, but a saleswoman walked up with a bright smile.

“Hello! Can I help you with anything?" she asked. Before you could say anything, Sylus stepped forward.

“She’ll need a dressing room, please,” she said, nodding down at you. Your face pinkened, but the woman simply nodded and kept her bright smile.

Oh boy.

A short while (that felt like an eternity) later, you were in the dressing room. Sylus had opted to sit outside to let you change, tipping you off that she’d sensed some of your discomfort and wanted to let you have your own space.

You were glad for it, but it would have been nice to have her in there with you. You were just standing in front of the mirror, staring at yourself with a frown, before a gentle knock shook you from your thoughts.

“Everything alright, sweetie?”

“Yes!” you replied immediately, practically throwing your clothes off and grabbing the first dress from a hanger.

It was a beautiful shimmery pink dress, with thin straps and floral designs. It was beautiful. But when you shimmied into it and looked at yourself in the mirror, doubt gnawed at you. Was it too girly? Not girly enough? Did you do it justice?

“Are you dressed?” came Sylus’s voice again. You sighed and opened the dressing room door, stepping out into the secluded hall where Sylus waited.

You fiddled with the fabric for a moment before forcing yourself to look up at her, and were surprised to see her staring at you with wide red eyes, her lips slightly parted.

“Um. What do you think?” you asked meekly. Sylus blinked a few times before her expression settled, but the admiration never left her face.

“You look beautiful, kitten,” she said, as if it was a known fact, like the sky being blue or Mephisto loving gems. A simple and clean truth of reality.

Leaning back and forth, watching the fabric sway around your legs, you weren’t so sure.

“I don’t think I look right in it,” you said carefully. “I’m… not sure I’ll look right in any of these. Maybe we can just go?”

Sylus’s smile faded and her brows furrowed.

“I won’t make you try anything you don’t want to, sweetie, but why do you say that?” she asked. “When we were picking dresses out, you said this one was your favorite. I can always get it adjusted if there’s something about it you want to change.”

“The dress isn’t the problem,” you said quietly.

She hummed and thought for a moment, before ushering you back into the changing room. This time, she followed you in, closing the door behind you. Sylus reached forward, resting her hands on your bare shoulders and letting them trail down your arms before settling on your waist. You fought not to shiver under her touch.

“What’s this about?” she asked gently. You bit your lip, trying to think over your response, but before you knew it, words were spilling out and you couldn’t stop them.

“I just don’t know what I like when it comes to fashion. I never explored it because nothing ever felt right, and it always felt like there was some expectation on how I should dress because of- just, whatever. Like, because of how my body looks, or because I like women,” you explained, wringing your fingers. “I want to express myself more, but I don’t know how, and whenever I try, I just feel ridiculous. And it’s hard because I look like a background character and you look like… you.”

“I look like… me,” Sylus repeated, raising an eyebrow. You sighed and gestured to her.

“You know, you always look so amazing. It doesn’t matter what you wear. Suit and tie, dress and heels, hair up, hair down, you make it look effortless,” you explained. “And I love it, a lot, but I just don’t think I could ever match up to that.”

Your face heated up as your rant came to an end. You’d really just said all of that in some dressing room, responding to a simple question. Embarrassment crept at your throat, but Sylus just shook her head fondly.

“First of all, thank you for the compliments,” she began, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But don’t ever call yourself a ‘background character.’”

With a small sigh, you leaned forward, resting your head against her shoulder.

“Supporting cast?” you suggested with a shaky laugh. Her chest rumbled with a small laugh and one of her hands came up to rest in your hair.

“The main character, in any feature,” she corrected. “And I seem the way I am because I feel comfortable, sweetie, not because of some fashion superpower. You just need to find what makes you happy. If that’s jean shorts and a t-shirt, fine. If that’s dresses and heels, there you go. But you have to give yourself the chance to experiment, or you’ll never find what you love.”

You pulled away, looking up at her.

“What if I never find out, and I’m just always doing something different?” you asked. You pointed to the pink dress you wore, then a black lace one that was on a hanger to be tried on later. “What if one day I’m all pink and one day it’s black? And then I don’t like either of them and I go back to my jean shorts?”

“Then I’ll buy you all the jean shorts in the world,” Sylus replied with a shrug. “Are you implying I’m broke, sweetie?”

“No, never,” you laughed, reaching up and tucking some of her hair behind her ear. “But I’m implying that you might be stuck dealing with an indecisive mess that can never figure out how to express herself.”

This time, Sylus’s kiss landed right on your lips, gentle but fleeting.

“Every day ‘dealing with’ you is a blessing,” she said quietly. “Experiment all you want. Be indecisive. As long as it’s you, and you feel like you have the freedom to be yourself around me, I’ll be happy.”

The words settled in your chest and left you even more head-over-heels for her, if such a thing was possible. With a nod and a quick wipe at your eyes, which you hadn’t even realized were watering, you confronted your stack of clothes with renewed determination.

This time, Sylus stayed in the dressing room, watching you try on each dress and gently getting information out of you about what you liked and didn’t like, making sure to compliment you with each comment and suggestion.

“…You won’t melt in the few minutes I’ll be away,” he says, voice calm, almost teasing.

You look up at him with full seriousness. “It's worse. I’ll boil.”

That earns a quiet exhale of amusement from him, the corner of his mouth lifting as he studies you like you’re a particularly dramatic patient. “Mm,” he murmurs. “Then I suppose I’ll have to properly diagnose you.”

You blink. “Diagnose me with what?”

Zayne shifts his grip under your arms before you can protest further, lifting you with effortless ease against his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Acute separation sensitivity,” he says simply. Your protest dies immediately into a small, satisfied noise as he adjusts you against him, one arm securely around your back while the other gathers what he needs from the nearby table.

“Is that even real?” you mumble, already relaxing again.

“No,” he replies softly. “But your symptoms are consistent.”

You huff a laugh, looping your arms properly around his shoulders as he starts walking. Your lashes quickly flutter shut as you listen to the steady sound of his heartbeat beneath his shirt, the coolness around him easing the heat that had been clinging to your skin all afternoon.

It’s unfair, really.

How easy it is to melt like this in his arms.

The way his steps stay steady even while carrying you like you weigh nothing at all. The way the faint chill of his evol lingers just enough to keep you comfortable without ever becoming too much. The way his presence alone feels like relief.

You shift slightly, tucking your face closer into his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

“Then you’d agree with twenty-four hour care?” you murmur sleepily, voice muffled as you nuzzle into him. “Since my condition is so severe.”

There’s a pause.

“…Severe, hm?”

You nod against him, completely unbothered, already half-drifting.

His hold tightens just slightly, instinctive and careful as he adjusts you more securely against his chest. When he speaks again, his voice is sweeter than before. “I suppose I wouldn’t have much of a choice,” he says, a faint smile in his tone.

“If it’s that serious.” Warmth blooms in your chest at that, even through the cool air around him. You relax fully then, letting your weight settle completely into him, your breathing slowing as the rhythm of his heartbeat lulls you further under.

“…Good,” you mumble, eyes finally slipping shut for good this time. “Because I like you as my doctor.”

That earns a low chuckle from him.

And a moment later, you feel it—his lips pressing gently to your cheek, lingering just long enough to make your heart stir even as sleep pulls at you.

“I know,” he murmurs. “And I’m afraid I’m already committed to your case.”