#sywin

you feel as if you have seen this before. once, perhaps even twice. something gnaws at your being, and something carries an ache, but even you cannot identify the feeling.

"i'm missing something." you murmur the words without thinking, then in an instant, wonder if you should have kept such thoughts to yourself.

if sylus hears you, he doesn't react. not initially. you look at him, see his steady gaze focus on something before him. you're not sure what he sees, and even when he turns to look at you, you find that you cannot understand. you do and you don't, and that's what confuses you. because there is something so warm in those crimsons, something so lonely but not. something so immensely heavy and light all at once, and in the meeting of your eyes, you feel that familiar longing for something that is both present and absent.

you look away. you don't know why. your mind feels foggy, feels like it's on the verge of discovery and even closer to peace.

"eyes right here, sweetie." a gentle hand that cradles your cheek, forces you to meet his gaze once more. a familiar smile and the softening of deep reds. "right where i can see you."

you swallow hard. something hurts. it's a good kind of pain, this grief. you want to understand, but you know he won't tell you. only time will.

"we've been here before, you and i. in another life."

"we have. you're observant." a thoughtful hum, a musing. a contemplation. "well done, kitten. you're getting better at this."

"...that's all you'll tell me?"

he smirks, amused, yet there's a tenderness somewhere. you find that it comforts you, makes your heart beat a little softer, a little slower.

he doesn't answer for a long while, notices the way your fingers drum against the wooden floor, once, twice, three times, four times -- a nervous habit you've picked up in each and every lifetime. so he does just as he has always done -- laces his fingers with yours, lips ghosting against your knuckles in silent reassurance.

"where would the fun be in telling?" another teasing lilt, though his expression is subtle in the way it grows somber, almost reminiscent, and you know you are so terribly close in finding your way out of this fog and escaping the maze.

you're missing something. you are. you know this.

the ache remains, quiet and abating in the presence of him. you don't speak. you find yourself unable to, brows furrowed ever so slightly, and ah-- you're biting your cheek again, he notices. always the worrier.

so he presses another kiss to the back of your hand, then your palm -- a gentle bite, one you do not pull away from.