Curious Wanderer

You remembered being younger, pestering Gran for any scrap of news after Zayne moved away. Always asking — was he eating well, was he still reading as much as he used to, was he happy? The ache of his absence had never dulled; it had simply nestled deep inside, an ember that flared whenever you thought of him. 

When fate had led you back to him — not as the boy you trailed after with wide-eyed admiration, but as the doctor who became yours to trust again — it had felt like being handed a second chance you hadn’t dared to hope for.

Your heart tugged warmly at the memories that followed. The rare spark in his eyes when he tasted a dessert he pretended not to care for. The sharp, scolding edge of his voice when patching you up after some scrape, his hands steady even when his words betrayed worry. The silence he offered you, never empty, but full — a place where your heart could rest without performance. All of it made your chest flutter the same way it had back then, only deeper now, sharper. You knew with startling certainty that you loved him.

You were so lost in that realization that you almost didn’t notice him looking down at you.

“Are you cold?” His voice was low, almost blending with the rustle of water beneath the bridge.

You blinked, startled out of your thoughts, and shook your head. “No, I’m fine.”

Zayne’s eyes narrowed faintly — not unkind, but assessing. He hummed, as if weighing your answer against the slight tremor of your shoulders. “I think you’re lying.”

Before you could protest, he shifted closer, his large hand finding yours with ease. He didn’t lace your fingers immediately; instead, he slid both of your hands into the warmth of his coat pocket, enclosing them there in one deliberate motion. His palm settled over your knuckles, steady and firm, and the heat of his skin sank into yours until the chill of the night was gone.

Your breath caught, your chest tightening.

The world seemed to shrink to the span of that pocket, the way his body leaned subtly toward yours, his warmth wrapping around you like a shield. The steady rhythm of his stride never faltered, but you felt the smallest squeeze of his fingers around yours — an unconscious gesture, or maybe something he hadn’t meant for you to notice.

Your heart hammered. You could hear the faint rasp of the lake’s waves beneath the bridge, the distant hum of the city ahead of you, but all of it seemed distant. What was close, painfully close, was Zayne — his scent of clean linen and faint jasmine, the measured cadence of his breath, the silent vow carried in the way he held you against the cold without hesitation.

You wanted to tell him then. How much you loved him. How much you always had. How the boy you once chased with adoration had grown into the man who made your world feel steady and aflame all at once. But the words snagged in your throat, tangled in the overwhelming tenderness of the moment.

Your fingers flexed inside his pocket, curled around his hand as if holding on too tightly might anchor the rush of thoughts racing through your mind. The warmth of his palm was steady, but your chest felt anything but.

You wanted to tell him. The words pressed against your tongue, restless, demanding release. I love you. It burned at the back of your throat. But then the doubt crept in, as sharp and cold as the night air against your skin.

What if it was too soon? What if he didn’t feel the same?

Zayne had known you when you were a child, had watched you stumble through scraped knees and mischief and all the fragile stages of growing up. Now he was your doctor, tasked with your well-being in every sense. Did he see you as anything more than someone to take care of? Was his presence at your side born of choice — or obligation?

Gran’s voice echoed faintly in your mind, her fond insistence that Zayne always look after you. She had worried, she had asked it of him. Was he here because of her? Carrying out her wishes as though they were duty, and nothing more?

The thought gnawed at you, bitter and relentless. Would you embarrass yourself if you said it aloud? Confessed love to a man whose expression so rarely cracked, whose heart you could never quite read?

Your grip on his hand unconsciously tightened, the nervousness coiling too tight to contain.

Zayne’s voice cut through, low and calm, as though he had felt the exact moment your thoughts began to spiral. “You’re squeezing my hand.”

Your head jerked up, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Sorry,” you blurted, pulling against his hold, but his fingers only flexed, keeping you tethered in his pocket.

He slowed, then stopped walking altogether, turning just enough to study your face. The moonlight fell across his features, sculpting his cheekbones into sharp relief, the green of his eyes catching glints of silver from the lake. Concern softened the usually impassive lines of his expression.

“Is everything alright?” His tone carried the weight of a doctor’s instinct, but also something quieter, gentler. “Are you feeling okay?”

Your face flamed hotter under his gaze. You shook your head quickly, looking down at your boots. “I’m fine. It’s just… the cold.”

The lie felt flimsy in the air between you.

Zayne said nothing. The silence stretched, filled only by the faint lapping of the lake beneath and the beating of your own heart in your ears. Then, without warning, he shifted. You felt the brush of movement before you understood it — his hands leaving yours only for a moment, the sudden chill biting your skin — and then the heavy warmth of his scarf was wrapping around your neck.

The fabric was still warm from where it had rested against him, faintly carrying his scent. He adjusted it carefully, his long fingers brushing against your jaw, grazing the line of your throat with clinical precision and something more.

When you looked up, startled, his eyes were already on you. His voice dropped lower, almost intimate in its quiet.

“Better?”

The simple word undid you.

The scarf was snug around your throat, his warmth still clinging to the weave, but it was the intensity of his gaze that made you forget the cold altogether. His green eyes, always sharp and composed, now seemed softer in the silver wash of moonlight. For a moment you simply stared, struck by how unbearably handsome he was like this — unguarded, standing close enough that you could see the faint scar gracing his upper lip, the curve of his lashes catching light.

Zayne’s brow arched slightly. “What is it?” he asked, his voice even, though there was a note of curiosity beneath it.

Your chest constricted. The words you had been swallowing all night surged forward with no warning, no thought.

You didn’t think. Couldn’t.

“I love you.”

The confession burst from you in a rush, breathless, trembling, suspended in the frosty air between you.

The moment after was silent, impossibly so. The bridge, the lake, the winter night — it all seemed to hold its breath, waiting on him.

Zayne’s eyes widened at your words, the practiced composure on his face cracking in an instant. A faint flush spread over his cheeks, climbing up the edges of his ears until they glowed against the pale sweep of moonlight. His lips parted, caught on a single syllable.

“I…”

He broke off, glancing away toward the dark water below, his lashes lowering like a shutter drawn too quickly.

Your stomach lurched. Panic surged in a hot wave through your chest. “I’m sorry,” you rushed out, your voice uneven. “That was—I shouldn’t have—it was so sudden—”

“Don’t apologize.”

The interruption was soft, but firm enough to stop the tumble of your words. Zayne turned back to you, his eyes steady now, though a thread of vulnerability flickered in their depths. He reached for your hands, finding them easily and drawing them up between you. His fingers laced with yours deliberately, as though binding you to the truth of what he said next.

“I love you too.”

The words left him quieter than yours had, but no less certain.

Before you could breathe in the shock of it, his hand lifted, cupping your cheek. His palm was warm even in the night air, calloused fingertips brushing over your skin with reverence that made your heart pound harder. 

“Forgive me if I…” He leaned in closer, the tip of his nose brushing against your temple as his voice rumbled low, halting only once as though he was still piecing together a language unfamiliar. “...am still a bit unsure how to show it.”

Then his lips pressed to yours.

The kiss was soft, measured — like everything he did — yet it carried weight, years of restrained emotion pouring through the gentle press of his mouth against yours. His thumb stroked once against your cheekbone before he broke away, though he didn’t retreat far. Instead, he leaned his forehead to yours, nuzzling there, his breath mingling with yours in the narrow space. For a long, still moment he simply rested, as if anchoring himself to the shape of you.

When he finally pulled back, his gaze caught yours, holding you fast. The world around you blurred — the bridge, the cold, the ripple of the lake — everything narrowed to the green depths of his eyes fixed so intently on you.

“What is it?” you whispered, unsettled by the intensity of his stare.

“Nothing.” His lips twitched into the faintest curve, though his voice was softer, almost reverent. “It’s just… the moon is beautiful tonight.”

You turned instinctively, the moon hung full and luminous above, spilling silver light across the surface of the lake until it glittered like broken glass. The cold breeze stirred the reeds, carrying the quiet song of water against earth. For a moment you let yourself admire it, the glow so striking it nearly stole your breath.

When you turned back to him, Zayne was still watching you. His expression was unreadable, though the tenderness in his eyes was unmistakable.

“We should watch the moon together from now on,” he said, voice low, deliberate. A pause, then the faintest smile curved at his lips as he added, “My love.”

The words wrapped around you warmer than his scarf, lingering even as the night wind bit at your cheeks. And in that moment, standing on the bridge with Zayne’s hands still tangled with yours, you knew there was no need for doubt.

xavier. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

The clock ticked far too loudly in the silence of your apartment. Each second seemed to scrape against your nerves, pulling them thinner and thinner, until your skin buzzed with restless energy. You couldn’t sit. Couldn’t lie down. Couldn’t do anything but pace the length of your living room with your arms folded tight across your chest as if that could contain the twisting, gnawing pit in your stomach.

Two days. Two entire days of silence. Xavier had left three nights ago with little more than a vague “I’ll be gone a while, star. We’ll meet up when I’m back.” You had pressed, of course — you always pressed. Where? Why? Was he safe? Could he at least promise to check in? But he’d only given you that soft half-smile, the one that hid far more than it revealed, before slipping away into the night.

You’d gone to Jeremiah in desperation yesterday, hoping he might throw you a bone, even a scrap of reassurance. But even he had only shaken his head, lips pressed in that implacable line that told you whatever Xavier was doing, it was not something you were meant to know. That knowledge had landed in your stomach like ice.

And so the silence stretched. Longer. Colder. Louder.

It wasn’t his absence that unraveled you — it was the thought of what that absence might mean. Your mind painted endless, vicious scenarios: Xavier’s body crumpled somewhere in an alley, his blood soaking into the pavement, his eyes already glazed. Or trapped, wounded, captured by someone who hated him more than they feared him. You imagined his voice fading away mid-sentence, the last time you’d ever hear it. Imagined never again feeling the dry warmth of his fingers tracing along your arm, never again hearing him laugh at your teasing, never having the chance to tell him—

The thought stopped you mid-step, breath catching like a hook in your throat.

You loved him.

Not in the vague, fluttery way you’d once thought of the word, but in a way that sat heavy in your bones, aching, undeniable. You loved him so deeply that the thought of a world without him in it hollowed you out from the inside. And you had never told him. Not once.

The realization made your knees weaken, dread pooling at the base of your spine until your whole body trembled with it. If he was gone — if he never walked back through that door — you would never get the chance. You would carry those words unsaid for the rest of your life.

Your pacing grew frantic. Nails dug crescents into your palms. The room seemed to close in, air thinning with the pressure of your spiraling thoughts.

Then — the sharp creak of hinges.

You froze. The front door shuddered open, slow, deliberate. For a heartbeat you thought it might be your imagination conjuring him back to you, but then you heard the scrape of boots against your floor. The faint metallic rasp of a weapon shifting in its holster.

And there he was.

Xavier filled the doorway like a shadow, shoulders bowed with fatigue, eyes rimmed with the dark exhaustion of sleepless nights. His uniform was travel-worn, scuffed with dirt and faint traces of dried blood, but he was standing. Breathing. Alive.

Relief slammed into you so hard it was almost painful. But the relief twisted immediately into something sharper — anger, heartbreak, the crackling current of every emotion you’d stewed in for the past two days rising to the surface at once.

You didn’t think. Couldn’t. The moment his shape filled the doorway you launched forward, the storm inside you breaking all at once. Your arms wrapped tight around him, crushing, desperate, your cheek pressing against the rough fabric of his coat. His familiar scent — lavender, cotton, and that faint clean spice of his skin — hit you like a wave. He stiffened at first, then let out a low breath and returned the embrace, strong arms encircling you, one hand curling against the small of your back.

Alive. He was alive.

But when you pulled back, relief curdled at once into something sharper. You caught sight of him properly — his silver hair was mussed and damp with sweat, his sharp blue eyes shadowed with exhaustion. The collar of his uniform was smudged with dirt, and there were thin cuts lining his jaw, disappearing beneath his clothes. Worse, patches of dark, dried blood stained the sleeve of his coat and streaked along the edge of his gloves.

Your stomach dropped.

“What happened to you?” The words came out hoarse, your fingers already tugging at his sleeve, pushing fabric back to examine what you could. “Where were you?”

“It’s nothing,” he said softly, almost too softly, as though he could soothe the panic right out of your bones. “Just a few scratches. Minor mission.”

“Minor—?” You broke off with a sharp laugh, more disbelief than humor, your eyes burning hot. “Then why couldn’t I know about it, Xavier? Why did you disappear for two days and leave me here not knowing if you were even breathing?”

His gaze flicked down, lashes pale against the hollow beneath his eyes. “Because if I told you, you’d want to come.” His voice was calm, maddeningly calm. “And you’d risk getting hurt. It’s better this way.”

“Better?” Your voice cracked, climbing. “It is not better, Xavier. You don’t get to decide that for me. You don’t get to just vanish, bleed out god-knows-where, and then walk back in here acting like it’s fine!”

He lifted a hand, palm out as though to steady you. “Starlight…” The pet name slipped from his lips like a balm, but it only made your chest ache harder. “I’m okay. I’m sorry I worried you, truly. But there’s no reason to be this upset over it.”

The words stung like a slap.

Your head snapped up, meeting his gaze. His silver hair had fallen loose across his brow, damp strands catching the dim light. His blue eyes were steady, unreadable, but the calm in them only made your heart burn hotter.

“Yes, there is,” you shot back, voice trembling, thick with everything you’d been choking down for days. “There is every reason, Xavier.”

He tilted his head, brows pulling faintly. “What do you mean?”

And then it ripped out of you, raw and unstoppable, before you could think better of it.

“I love you.” Your chest heaved as the words hung in the space between you, heavy as lead. “I have every reason to be upset because I spent the last two days terrified you’d never walk through that door again. That I’d never see your face. That I’d never get to tell you—” You broke off, swallowing hard. “I love you, Xavier.”

Silence fell.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. His blue eyes widened just faintly, as if the words had frozen him where he stood. You could hear the faint drip of rain against the window, the hollow tick of the clock on the wall. Every beat of your heart pounded like a drum, and still he said nothing.

Then, at last, he stepped closer. One hand lifted, roughened by leather and steel, and then the other, cupping your face between his palms with an almost reverent slowness. His touch was warm, calloused thumbs brushing at the dampness that had gathered at the corner of your lashes. He leaned down just enough that his hair fell forward, silver strands veiling the sharp angles of his face, blue eyes fixed entirely on you.

“Say it again.”

Your breath caught. “What?”

His lips curved, not quite a smile, more a command whispered low. “Tell me you love me again.”

Your lips parted, breath trembling as you tried again. “Xavier… I love—”

The words were swallowed before they could finish. His mouth crashed into yours, urgent, consuming, every ounce of the restraint he usually wore stripped away. His kiss was desperate, passionate, his grip firm on your face as if he needed to hold you there, needed proof you were real. His lips moved against yours hungrily, unsteady, as though he had been starving for this without admitting it to himself.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathless. His forehead rested against yours, his silver hair brushing your cheeks, and he whispered, voice hoarse, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you worry.”

You blinked up at him, eyes gleaming with unshed tears. His thumb brushed over your cheek, slow and reverent, catching the wetness there and smoothing it away. The tenderness in the gesture only made your throat tighten more.

“I keep you in the dark because I love you,” he admitted, voice low, strained. “Because the thought of you getting hurt—of me not being able to stop it—” He broke off, jaw tight, his blue eyes burning with quiet anguish. After a moment, softer, he added, “I guess I’ve been making you carry my fears for me. I’ve been an idiot.”

A shaky laugh broke through you, some of your tears finally slipping free. “Yes,” you whispered, smiling wetly. “You have.”

For the first time in days, a real laugh passed his lips too, quiet and rough. Then he kissed you again, gentler this time, the kind of kiss that felt like a vow. When he pulled back, he didn’t stop — his lips brushed across your jaw, your temple, your nose, featherlight kisses peppering your skin as he murmured between them, “I love you. I love you. I love you…”

You squirmed beneath the affection, laughing breathlessly, pushing at his chest until you finally managed to put a little space between you. Heat flared in your cheeks. “You’re not off the hook yet,” you scolded, voice soft but unsteady from your grin.

He only smiled, that faint, roguish curve of his lips that made your stomach flip. “Do your worst, star,” he teased, voice low and fond. “You’re pretty when you’re angry.”

Your gasp was half a laugh, half indignant as you smacked his shoulder lightly. He didn’t even flinch, just chuckled, letting you tug him by the hand toward the couch.

“Come on,” you said, your tone firm in a way that tried — and failed — to hide your tenderness. “I’m patching you up. And you owe me cuddles. A full night of them. And hotpot, every night, for a week.”

His blue eyes softened, that rare warmth flickering there as he let you lead him, his silver hair catching the light like spun moonlight. “Deal,” he said simply, no hesitation at all.

And for the first time since the door had creaked open, the storm inside you began to ease, replaced with something steadier — warmth, love, and the quiet certainty that he wasn’t going anywhere.

sylus. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

Steam curled soft ribbons into the air, clinging to your skin and dampening your hair until it stuck to your temples. The bathwater lapped lazily against porcelain and against him, each ripple brushing warmth between you where you sat cradled in Sylus’s lap. His chest was a broad, steady anchor at your back, the rise and fall of his breathing syncing to the quiet rhythm of the water.

He had been taking care of you all day — a fact that, even now, you couldn’t quite believe. Gentle hands when he washed you, a tenderness no one would expect from someone so feared. Now, one of those hands moved slowly over your shoulder, fingertips kneading into muscle as if coaxing tension from you bit by bit. The other rested low on your thigh, steady, possessive but not heavy. His touch was careful, practiced in strength and restraint.

It should have relaxed you completely. And yet, your mind was a restless storm.

You could feel it — the truth you’d been carrying inside you for weeks, months, perhaps longer. The way your heart stuttered whenever he smiled, the way your body seemed to find its ease only when pressed to his. You loved him. You knew it in a way that went deeper than words, deeper than logic. It lived in your bones.

But love was simple to feel, and treacherous to speak.

He had never said it first. Never given you that word. And though every gesture, every small act of tenderness told you he cared, that silence gnawed at the back of your mind. Why had he never said it? Did he not believe in it? Did the word itself frighten him? Or worse — what if he thought it was meaningless?

The rational part of you whispered that Sylus would never mock you, never punish your heart for daring. He’d shown you more patience, more reverence than anyone ever had. Still, a colder voice inside coiled sharp doubts: What if it’s too much? What if I scare him away? What if this word, this truth, destroys what I have?

You shifted slightly, tilting your head against his collarbone, and his hand followed the movement with thoughtless devotion, sliding up to cup the side of your neck. His thumb stroked once, slow, like a promise. The touch made your throat ache.

Tell him, your heart urged. Don’t let it stay locked inside you.

But your mind, that ever-cautious voice, balked. If you say it, there’s no taking it back. He might not be ready. He might never be ready. He might—

The water sloshed softly as Sylus adjusted you in his lap, pulling you closer, almost enveloping you. His lips brushed the curve of your temple, a kiss so light you might have imagined it. The air smelled faintly of the soap he’d used to wash your hair, something sweet and clean that clung to his skin too. You closed your eyes, breathing him in, letting the ache in your chest swell to the edge of breaking.

Here, in the hush of steam and candlelight, his arms strong around you, you felt it again — that sharp, desperate certainty.

You love him.

And if you didn’t tell him soon, you thought you might drown on the word before it ever touched the air.

The rhythm of his touch lulled you halfway between thought and surrender, your mind still tangled in its own storm. You were so consumed by it that you almost missed the low murmur against your ear, velvet and edged with playfulness.

“I can almost hear the thoughts racing through your head, kitten.”

The tease jolted you, heat rushing to your cheeks. He said it so casually, as if he truly could pluck the threads of your worry right from your skull. You didn’t dare answer, only pressed your lips together and let the water’s surface ripple softly as you shifted in his arms.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked after a beat, tone gentler now, though no less probing.

“Nothing…” you said too quickly, too brittle. The word floated between you, a paper-thin shield that crumpled the moment it left your mouth.

He hummed, the sound low in his chest where your back rested. It vibrated through you like a purr of amusement, but not unkind. His arms tightened, pulling you closer until your body fit flush against his. The steam wrapped around both of you like a cocoon as he lowered his chin, resting the weight of his head atop yours.

“You can tell me anything, sweetie,” he murmured. The endearment was hushed, his voice softened as though it might soothe away the knots inside you. And then — almost unconsciously — he began to rock you gently, the faintest sway in the warm water, like you were something precious to cradle rather than hold.

Your throat closed. The ache in your chest clawed higher. His words — anything — pressed against the barricade you’d built, and before you could brace yourself, the truth slipped out, bare and trembling.

“I love you.”

Silence.

The candles flickered in the haze, droplets of condensation sliding down the porcelain of the bath. All you could hear was the faint lap of water and his steady breathing behind you. Too steady. He didn’t answer, didn’t shift, didn’t laugh — nothing.

The silence wrapped tighter, crushing. Panic prickled in your stomach, your thoughts scattering into a hundred sharp edges. Too much. Too soon. He doesn’t feel it. He doesn’t know how to answer. He doesn’t—

You began to turn your head toward him, desperate to read his face, to see if he looked upset, or distant, or—

But his arms cinched tighter around you, holding you still. His grip wasn’t suffocating, but firm, grounding, as though he couldn’t bear to let you slip even an inch away.

Your breath caught.

And then, a different warmth reached you — the warmth of his skin tinged with heat, a faint flush creeping against your temple where it brushed his chest. 

When he moved, it was slow, deliberate, his lips ghosting closer to your ear until his breath tickled damp against your skin. His voice, when it came, was softer than you’d ever heard it.

“Do you mean it?”

The question was not teasing now. It carried a tremor — the barest edge of vulnerability hidden beneath his velvet tone. And in that fragile moment, you realized: he wasn’t asking because he doubted you. He was asking because he could hardly believe it was possible at all.

For a moment, you could only sit still in his arms, his question echoing against the damp curve of your ear. Do you mean it? The tremor beneath those words cut deeper than any blade, and it steadied you. Whatever fear still clung to your ribs, you couldn’t let him linger there — not in that fragile doubt.

“Sylus…” His name slipped from your lips on a whisper, softer than the steam rising around you.

You pressed against his hold, not to escape, but to turn, to see him. At first, his arms resisted — instinct tightening to keep you bound to him. But then, slowly, he loosened, letting you shift just enough to face him.

What you found made your breath falter.

Sylus, always so composed, so teasing, so devastatingly sure of himself — was not. His crimson eyes, usually sharp and unflinching, flickered with something raw and unguarded. Vulnerability carved its lines across his face, and beneath it, fear. Not of you, but of what you’d just offered him, as if he half-expected it to vanish if he looked too closely.

Your hand lifted on its own, trembling slightly, and cupped his cheek. His skin was hot beneath your palm, flushed from the bath and from something deeper. His lashes lowered, and for a heartbeat, he leaned into your touch like a man starved.

“Of course I mean it,” you whispered. The truth poured out of you with the certainty you’d been choking down all evening. “I love you, Sylus.”

The silence broke — not with words, but with the sound of his breath catching. Shaky, uneven, almost painful in how hard he tried to control it. His gaze wavered, as though your eyes were too much for him to meet, but finally — finally — he forced himself to look at you.

“I love you too,” he said, voice rougher than you’d ever heard it. His hand rose, fingers trembling faintly as they cradled the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads nearly touched. “More than anything.”

The confession hung between you like a living thing, fragile and enormous. The steam curled around it, the faint flicker of candlelight gilding the water in gold. He pulled you into him again, his arms winding tight, as if he could fuse you to his very bones.

“It’s not a secret,” he murmured, his mouth brushing your damp hair. “This is all new to me. No one’s ever said those words to me before. I’ve never said them before.” He swallowed hard, the movement pressed against your temple. “But I hope… even though I haven’t spoken it… I hope I’ve shown it. That you’ve felt it.” His voice dipped, almost breaking. “I hope you never doubt it.”

Your throat closed, the weight of his words leaving you utterly speechless. All you could do was cling to him, fingers curling against his chest as though anchoring yourself in the reality of him, the reality of this moment.

He drew a long, uneven breath, then tilted his head, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Thank you… for loving me.”

The words landed like a vow, like reverence. As though your love was not just accepted, but treasured.

You closed your eyes, letting the warmth of him, the tight circle of his arms, and the glow of candlelight wrap around you. Whatever fear you had carried into this moment dissolved, leaving only the truth you had both finally spoken aloud.

caleb. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

The room was hushed, steeped in the kind of silence that only came after hours of talking, laughing, existing together until words fell away and only breath remained. The sheets were warm around you, the faint glow of the bedside lamp casting gold across the angles of his face. Caleb lay beside you, eyes closed, the even rise and fall of his chest a steady rhythm you’d known your whole life.

You found yourself watching him, your gaze tracing familiar lines as if rediscovering them. The slope of his nose, the strong cut of his brows, the faint freckles that dusted his skin — details you’d memorized long ago, yet they still managed to strike you with a quiet awe. He looked calmer in sleep, or near sleep, as though the weight he carried eased just enough to let you glimpse the boy you’d grown up with.

I love him. The thought came so suddenly, so fiercely, it almost stole your breath.

You had always loved him. Through every stage of your life, he’d been there — a constant at your side, a shield when the world grew too sharp. Before you even knew what love was, you had felt it for Caleb. Back then, when you said I love you, it was casual, easy. The words fell from your lips like second nature, woven into the fabric of childhood, into the bond that had never needed explaining.

But thinking back now, you realized those words had always carried an undercurrent you couldn’t name at the time. Every I love you had been more than friendship, more than comfort. It had been I love you, stay by my side forever. I love you, my life has no point without you.

And then the explosion. His absence. The shattering silence where he should have been.

The memory made your chest ache. You hadn’t realized until now just how wrong it felt that, since his return, you hadn’t said it once. Not in passing, not in jest, not at all. For so many years, it had been the refrain of your days, and now, nothing. The absence of those words was louder than the silence of the room.

You turned your head slightly on the pillow, your eyes catching on the way the lamplight skimmed the edge of his jaw, softened the curl of his lashes. Even now, after everything, after the lies and the fractures and the wounds between you, you could not imagine leaving him. No matter what you’d had to work through, not once had the thought of walking away crossed your mind.

The realization pressed hot against your ribs, bubbling up until it became impossible to hold back.

“I love you, Caleb.”

The words slipped out unguarded, quiet in the dim room, but heavy with all the years behind them.

Caleb’s breath caught. His eyes opened slowly, violet irises gleaming faint in the low light. He blinked, and for a moment, he only looked at you — as if he was seeing you not for the first time, but for the first time like this.

Caleb’s eyes lingered on you, unreadable for a breath too long. Then, just as the silence threatened to cave in on you, his mouth curved into a crooked grin — that boyish, familiar expression that belonged to your childhood as much as your present.

“What scheme are you cookin’ up, pips?” he murmured, his voice low, teasing. “Dropping that on me while I’m half asleep… sounds suspicious.”

You blinked at him, stunned by the way he so easily turned it into play. A laugh broke from you — startled, exasperated — and you reached out to swat his arm. “I’m not scheming!”

“Mm.” His grin deepened, lazy and mischievous. “Are you sure? Not tryin’ to butter me up?” He tilted his head slightly on the pillow, eyes glinting. “Not tryin’ to slip somethin’ past me while I’m vulnerable?”

A groan escaped you, and you buried your face into the pillow beside him, muffling both your embarrassment and the sudden swell of affection in your chest. He chuckled softly, the sound low and fond, and you felt the mattress shift as he turned toward you.

You peeked up at him again, only to find him watching you — that grin still tugging at his mouth, though something quieter lingered behind his eyes. You pushed yourself closer, bracing an arm against the bed as you leaned over him until your faces were only inches apart.

“I meant it, Caleb,” you said, your voice steadier now, though your heart raced. “I love you.”

The grin faltered. For the briefest moment, something flickered in his gaze — a crack in his composure, an old vulnerability rising through the playful mask. His eyes softened, darkened, and his lips parted as though words had lodged in his throat.

He reached up, his fingers brushing lightly through your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear. The touch lingered, his knuckles grazing your temple before trailing down your cheek with a tenderness that made you ache.

“Do you mean it like before?” he asked quietly, his usual confidence slipping into hesitation. “Or… is it different now?”

You caught his hand against your face, pressing into his palm, grounding him. “It’s different now,” you whispered. “But also the same. I’ve always loved you, more than I knew how to say.”

His breath left him in a quiet rush, as though your words had knocked something loose inside him. He pulled you down then, closing the space between you, and his lips met yours in the gentlest of kisses — not rushed, not desperate, but laden with the weight of years, of all the things you’d both left unspoken until now.

When he drew back just enough to speak, his forehead pressed against yours, his voice was hushed, almost reverent.

“I love you too. Always.”

Caleb didn’t let go right away. His hand lingered in your hair, his breath fanning warm across your temple, and for a moment you thought he’d gone quiet again. But then his chest rose in a heavier inhale, and when he spoke, his voice was low, unsteady in a way you rarely heard.

“You don’t know how many times I almost ruined it,” he murmured. “How many times I wanted to say it, just blurt it out. But I kept thinking…” He trailed off, thumb brushing over your cheek as though the contact steadied him. “What if I’ve been holding on too tight? What if one day you looked at me and realized you wanted out, and all I did was crush you closer ‘til you broke?”

Your heart twisted, sharp and tender at once. “Caleb…”

He gave a crooked, humorless smile, eyes flicking away for half a second before finding you again. “I tell myself I’d survive it if you left, but—” His jaw worked, his voice rasping now. “The truth is, I wouldn’t. I’d rather cut my own heart out than let it go on beatin’ without you.”

You caught his face between your palms before the thought could spiral darker, forcing him to look at you. “Listen to me,” you said firmly, your thumbs stroking over the strong lines of his jaw. “I’m not leaving. I’ve never once thought about leaving. Not when you disappeared, not when you came back different, not when things were hardest. You’re it for me, Caleb. Always have been.”

For a beat, silence stretched between you, heavy with the weight of what you’d laid bare. Then his lips quirked — small, uncertain, but real. “Always, huh? Guess that means you’re stuck with me smotherin’ you for the rest of your life.”

You laughed, watery but sincere. “Smothering, huh? You make it sound so appealing.”

His grin sharpened, boyish despite the rawness still glimmering in his eyes. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it. You’d miss me hoverin’ if I ever stopped.”

“Maybe a little,” you admitted, nudging his shoulder with yours.

“A little?” He scoffed, feigning offense. “That’s all the credit I get?”

You smirked, leaning close until your lips hovered over his. “Fine. A lot.”

His breath hitched, and the next moment his mouth was on yours again — hotter this time, edged with relief, with the desperate need of a man who’d just been given permission to hold as tightly as he wanted.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed to yours, his voice was a low growl wrapped in warmth. “Good. Because I’m never lettin’ go.”

The words sank deep, steady and unshakable, and you knew he meant them with every piece of himself. His arms slid around you, pulling you fully against him, and you let yourself melt into his warmth, into the familiar cadence of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

The room was quiet again, but this time, the silence wasn’t heavy. It was whole. Full. The kind of silence that wrapped around two people who never needed to speak to be understood.

And for the first time since his return, since everything broke and had to be rebuilt, you felt that old rhythm click back into place — not as it had been before, but as something new, deeper, unshakably yours.

rafayel. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ . ݁

The night air tasted of salt and starlight. The sea stretched vast and endless beside you, moonlight pooling across its surface until it glittered like liquid silver. Each step you took sank softly into the cool sand, the grains shifting beneath your feet before the tide came to erase your footprints. You should have been looking at the ocean — at its power, its quiet grandeur, the way it seemed alive with secrets — but your eyes found him instead. They always did.

Rafayel walked just ahead, hands tucked loosely in his pockets, dark hair tugged playfully by the wind. He glanced back now and then, that usual teasing smirk tugging at his lips as though to ask if you were still keeping up, though you knew he’d slow instantly if you fell behind.

It had been his idea to come here. He’d noticed the way you’d been straining lately, chasing inspiration and falling short, your frustration pressing against your ribs like a too-tight cage. “You’re burning yourself out, cutie.” he’d said, voice soft but firm. “The sea will breathe life back into you. Trust me.”

And of course, you had. You always did.

You should have been drinking in the beauty surrounding you, but all you could think of was him. How he’d let you in, farther than you ever thought he would. Behind the wit, the smirk, the casually flirty remarks, he’d given you the truth of himself — his Lemurian nature, his fears, the quiet weight of guilt and the ache of being forgotten. That wasn’t something he would have shared lightly. Not with just anyone.

And there were the little things. The nightly calls when sleep eluded you, his voice weaving through the static of your phone line until your breathing evened out. The texts throughout the day, sometimes thoughtful, sometimes ridiculous, but always proof that you were in his thoughts. The way he indulged you, time and again, never once making you feel like a burden. The way he noticed — always noticed — when something was wrong, even when you thought you were hiding it well.

You thought of how he hated to be made to wait, how impatience flickered across his face in the smallest of gestures when things dragged on too long. And you realized that’s exactly what you’d been doing — making him wait. Not for your affection; he knew he had that. But for your words. For the truth you’d been keeping pressed behind your teeth out of fear.

Fear of heartbreak. Fear that maybe, despite everything, he didn’t mean it the way you did. That maybe all of this was just who he was — charming, magnetic, too much of him to ever belong only to you.

But no. That wasn’t fair. Not to him, not to yourself. He deserved to hear it.

Your chest tightened, breath catching on the salt-laced wind. The tide rushed in close, foaming around your ankles, then retreated again, carrying your hesitation with it. You looked at him — really looked — at the soft glow of his skin moonlight, at the laughter that always seemed ready in his eyes, at the way the ocean breeze caught his hair like it had known him for centuries.

You loved him. You had for longer than you wanted to admit. And maybe you’d made him wait long enough.

“Rafayel,” you called, stopping in your tracks.

He turned at once, silvered moonlight catching the dusky sweep of his hair, his eyes glinting like seawater under starlight. His smile curved easy, teasing, like always. “What is it, cutie?”

Suddenly, your throat felt dry, your pulse a frantic flutter against your ribs. The words you had been carrying weighed heavier now that you had invited his attention. Heat flooded your cheeks, and your gaze faltered, slipping down to where your toes curled into the cool sand.

“Close your eyes,” you blurted.

His brows flicked up, surprise flashing quick before amusement settled in. A soft laugh carried on the wind. “What is this, a trust exercise? If you’re about to push me into the tide, I should at least have fair warning.”

Despite the joke, he obeyed, lashes lowering as he clasped his hands behind his back with exaggerated patience. The ocean hushed and rolled at your side, filling the silence.

You stepped close, heart hammering, and leaned in. The brush of your lips against his cheek was feather-light, but it made your skin spark as though you’d just stepped off the edge of a cliff. You pulled back only enough to whisper, voice trembling but sure:

“I love you.”

His eyes flew open, a flush rising so fast you could see it bloom across his cheekbones, staining the tips of his ears. He looked utterly caught off guard — the great Rafayel, always so smooth, suddenly shy beneath your gaze.

“You can’t just—” he stammered, then huffed, his voice breaking into a half-laugh, half-whine as he swept you into his arms. He buried his face in your hair, his words muffled against you. “You can’t just spring things on me like that. Do you know what you’ve done? You stole the most romantic opportunity right out from under me. What am I supposed to do now?”

Your laugh bubbled out, soft and unsteady, arms circling his waist. “Do you want me to take it back, then? So you can say it first?”

He jerked back instantly, eyes wide, the ocean’s reflection shimmering in their depths. “No,” he said firmly, voice low, as though even the sea shouldn’t misunderstand him. His hands cradled your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks, reverent and certain. “Never take it back.”

His smile softened then, losing its edges, becoming something vulnerable, something only for you. He leaned in and pressed his mouth to yours — not one of his usual sweeping, showman kisses, but something gentler, slower, like a vow sealed beneath the stars. When he drew away, his breath ghosted warm across your lips.

“I love you too,” he murmured, and the sincerity in his tone settled into your bones like the tide filling the shore. “More than I’d ever manage to put into words,”

Your chest ached with relief and tenderness. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.”

“Don’t apologize,” he cut in softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I would’ve waited forever if I had to.”

“But you hate waiting,” you whispered, smiling through your blush.

His grin curved, sly but fragile at the edges. “It’s not so bad when I’m waiting for you.”

The words stole your breath, your blush deepening. You reached up on instinct, pinching his cheek with mock severity. “Always trying to out-romance me…”

Rafayel chuckled, catching your wrist before you could retreat. Instead of another quip, though, he pressed a lingering kiss to your palm, his lips soft and warm against your skin. When he looked back at you, the laughter had dimmed from his expression, replaced by something rawer, heavier.

“Cutie…” His voice softened, almost unsteady, like a tide pulling back to reveal something fragile beneath. His thumb traced over the lines of your fingers before lacing them with his own. “You say you love me now, and I believe you. But will you still—” He hesitated, swallowing, the word catching in his throat. “Will you still love me no matter what I become?”

The question landed like a stone in your chest. His eyes — so often glinting with mischief — were wide open now, luminous with vulnerability. The night wrapped around you both, the ocean whispering as though it, too, was waiting for your answer.

You tightened your grip on his hand, stepping closer until you could feel the warmth of his body through the cool brush of sea air. “Rafayel,” you said firmly, searching his gaze. “I’m not going anywhere. Not if you’re angry, not if you’re lost, not if you’re hurting. Not if the whole world tries to pull you under. I’ll love you no matter what.”

His breath hitched, a tremor passing through him. He bowed his head, pressing his forehead to yours, lashes brushing your skin as his eyes slid shut. “You say that now,” he whispered. “But I’ve seen people turn away before. I’ve seen how easy it is to forget me,”

“Silly fish,” you whispered back, cupping his face in both hands. “I couldn’t forget you if I tried. You’re carved into me, Rafayel. You’re not going to lose me.”

For a long moment, he only breathed against you, his chest rising and falling as though he were trying to steady himself against the tide of your words. Then, with a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, he tilted his head to kiss you again. This time the kiss wasn’t soft or tentative — it was fierce, reverent, like he was drinking in your promise and sealing it into his soul.

When he finally drew back, he rested his hands at your waist, fingers splayed like he was anchoring himself. His smile returned, gentler now, though his eyes still shone with unspoken emotion. “You’ve doomed yourself, cutie,” he murmured, his tone laced with fondness. “You’ve gone and promised eternity to a man who refuses to let go.”

You laughed quietly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “Then I guess I’m doomed. But if it’s with you… I don’t mind.”

Rafayel’s expression softened to something so tender it made your heart ache. He kissed you once more, slow and deliberate, and when he pulled away, the ocean seemed to sigh with you, carrying your vow out into the endless night.

caleb wants you to kiss him first—or at least ask him to kiss you—but what if you won’t? he needs to know that you want him—that you’ll willingly give him the privilege of kissing you—so he gives you a few pushes in the right direction. he teases you with heated glances and not-so-accidental touches until you walk up to him, dumb with desire. when you stare up at him helplessly, he settles a large hand on your waist and hovers over your mouth, giving you the chance to push him away. when you don’t, he leans in slowly, tantalizingly, as if wanting to drive home the fact that you’re letting this happen to you—letting him claim your mouth in a slow, consuming kiss. this way, maybe, just maybe, you’ll find the courage to take what you want from him next time—if you let him taste you, there’s no need to be shy anymore, right?

you know rafayel, so you know he would be upset if you expected him to initiate everything—would it kill you to show a little interest in him? that said, you also know that initiating things isn’t really your thing. so, you find a trick that works like a charm: you goad him into kissing you. you’re comfortable enough with kisses to other places—anywhere but the lips—so you adorn his cheeks and neck with soft, chaste kisses until he’s riled up and flushed, his breath coming out in soft pants from the pleasure of feeling wanted. when you pull away, he chases your touch, and all it takes is an innocent giggle from you before he’s pinning you down and stealing your breath away, his tongue tangling with yours in passion and power.

xavier is confused and a bit discouraged when he realizes you never initiate—he thinks you just don’t want to kiss him. one afternoon, you find him sulking in bed, huddled under his comforter with the lights off. worried he’s sick or hurt, you ask what’s wrong, and he gives you 4 pouty non-answers before finally giving in. you can feel your face heat and gut tangle in guilt when he questions if you ever want to kiss him, and with one hand stroking his hair, you confess that you’re simply too shy to kiss him first. he responds with a blink and a whispered “so you do like me, then?”, and when you nod, he tackles you at the speed of light, pressing kisses all over your face before finally claiming your lips

“I don't mind to spend the whole night with you,” he’d whisper in your ear seductively at nights, deft and veiny hands roaming your body all over. He often made you ride on top of him, dark burgundy eyes hazed with lust, knowing full well that you desired the very same goal he did.

And you’d respond his hunger with the same fervor, crashing your lips into his, your tongues intertwining, your hips moving vigorously against him.

“Ahh... ah!” Before you knew it, his cock—thick and long in size—slid inside you in such a snug fit, making you throw your head back and dig your sharp nails into his skin.

“Keep me going with your voice, kitten.” Sylus growled, eyeing your wobbling lips and tightly-pressed eyes as he sank even deeper inside you. “Yeah, just like that...”

Sylus always began roughly, seemingly not minding your breathless moans and wishes, and you liked him that way too—

“Is this... all you've got?” you panted in a hoarse voice, sweat lining your neck and forehead, the coil in your belly tightened so deliciously each time he thrusted into you. “Surely... y-you can do better...”

“Ha,” he gave a low snort, his red eyes blazing as he grabbed your bum and squeezed it, making you gasp. “Careful what you wish for... sweetie.”

And then your vision literally tilted upside down—Sylus gladly flipped your position so he could see you even better. This way, he also had even better access to you, intertwining your hand with his, spreading your legs wide so he could rut into you.

“—!” Breath was knocked out of your lungs as immeasurable pleasure washed over you, crashing and receding in an instant. You almost screamed as your back arched.

He broke into a satisfied smirk. “Let it out,” he murmured against your neck, biting gently into your skin, voice muffled. “You never hold back with me, do you, hmm? So, don’t start now.”

“You b-bastard...” you looked up at him with a breathless smile, knowing how close you were to losing your wits.

He simply made your nights worth remember. His allure was undeniable, with a voice that was naturally sultry. And his hands... fuck, they did heaven's work.

It didn't take you long to finally reach your climax, and once you did, your moans were the nastiest all night as you continuously lined his back with scratches.

You could feel how he was chasing his own orgasm all the while, before pulling out right at the last minute and made a mess on your belly, falling beside you.

“Tired?” Sylus’ chest rumbled with laughter as you laid sprawled there in a haze. His eyes narrowed at the sight of your burning cheeks. “I really like this look on your face right now.”

You rolled your eyes, catching your breath and shivered. “I bet you tell that to all other women you manage to lure to your bed.”

“How presumptuous.” He sent you a sour scowl. “I have a high standard— you should consider yourself lucky.”

Well, you do. Holding back a smile, you changed the topic. “I’m cold. Clean me up already.”

“Now, now… what a spoiled little thing you are…” Sylus chuckled, his voice deep and low, yet wrapping his arms around you nonetheless, hoisting you up.

Nights of passion. Mutually beneficial relationship. Nothing more and less.

No strings attached.

This is thrilling. Intimacy without commitment is more than enough to spice your checkered life. After all, what could be better and more rewarding than fucking the hottest man in N109 Zone and getting away with it?

At least, you thought so.

. . .

“Damn, you’re going to make me sore…” you grumbled, letting out a deep sigh as you sank into the sheets after he had cleaned you up, still basking in the afterglow and ready to drift off to sleep. “Ahh...”

Sylus’ lips curved into a wry smile as he watched you make yourself comfortable on his bed, slipping on his black shirt. “Well, I’m just that good, and you did ask for it.”

“Are you going out?” you asked in a small voice, teetering between sleep and wakefulness as you noticed him taking out his favorite gun. “It’s midnight.”

“Luke and Kieran said she has arrived.” Sylus said in low voice, not even sparing you a look. “After all, she has gone through all that trouble to come here, it is only right that I greet her myself.”

The woman. Sylus had told you several times, how a woman with Aether Core and powerful Resonance Evol would eventually come to N109 Zone. And that when the time came, he would make her resonate with him.

A part of you didn’t really know what to feel about this vague plan of his. “Will you bring her here too?”

“I’ll have her stay here until we have reached resonance,” he responded casually while shrugging on his coat.

Sylus valued others depending on their worth. He said it so himself—he isn't a philanthropist. He saw potential in your evol—the Speech Manipulation—which is why he rescued you three years ago, even after you had swung a blade to his throat.

This time must be the same. You played with the edges of your hair. “Well, consider me jealous then. Seems like I’ll have a rival soon.”

Your quip finally caught his attention, as he finally turned to you, one side of his mouth upturned.

“Ha.” Sylus strolled over to where you lay on the bed and placed a hand under your chin, letting out a throaty chuckle. “Is there even anyone brave enough to go against you?”

You shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “We shall see about that.”

Little did you know, the coming of this new girl would be the start of the undoing of your mutually beneficial relationship.

You would've expected the woman bearing Aether Core inside her to be way more interesting than that clueless, weak and easily spooked hunter from Linkon City.

But your and Sylus' definitions of interesting clearly differed though, as you caught him smiling after he pulled the most outrageous stunt on himself— having her shoot him right in the heart.

“She is funny,” he said to himself, almost snickering even as you wiped the blood off his toned body. “She was shaking so much the moment I pulled the trigger.”

“Is that your only finding—” you snapped as you wrapped the bandage around his bare chest, fuming. “—after shooting yourself just to mess with her?”

Luke and Kieran told you how he had used his Evol to pull the hunter girl onto his lap, then handed her a gun and made her shoot him. You couldn't believe it at first, until the sight of Sylus staggering to his bedroom, his shirt bloodied and clutching his chest made you almost scream in horror.

“Is that really necessary?” you scowled, tightening the bandage with more force than needed. “Or are you just trying to get her attention?”

Sylus’ sharp gaze settled on you then, seemingly not taking your comment well.

“What’s got you so worked up about this, hmm?” he asked, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he observed your cross expression. “Last I checked, we agreed not to get involved in each other’s personal affairs.”

Personal affairs, he said? Everything you two had done had long breached all personal boundaries.

But the fact remains that you two are nothing more than—

“Fine.” You tied the bandage abruptly and about to storm off, making no effort to conceal your ire. You couldn’t say you were worried or that you hated seeing blood smeared across him. That was never in the agreement.

Until you felt a hard tug on your arm—

“And where does the angry kitty think she is going, hmm?”

Before you could discern it, your back was pressed against the wall—your left arm pinned beside your head, with Sylus filling your view.

His sculpted abs were right in front of you for the taking, his scent permeated the air, and his unsettling swirls of crimson eyes had you completely captivated.

“Have I ever told you that you look beautiful when you’re angry?” Sylus laughed as he leaned in, gripping your chin with his other hand. “If I didn’t know you were more than capable of slitting my throat in my sleep, I’d want you to look at me like this every day.”

It struck you how your heart raced wildly under his intense gaze. With his perfect face so close, the only sound that seemed to be most prominent was the pounding of your own heartbeat.

“What’s wrong? We’ve been closer than this,” Sylus taunted with a wide grin, his breath warm against your ear as he pressed his body against yours. “What’s making you so nervous?”

If you knew anything about Sylus, it was that he took pleasure in seeing you squirm in his hold. You glared daggers at him. “I hate you.”

“How lovely.”

“You’re infuriating,” you spat, devoid of any amusement.

He barked a satisfied bout of laugh once again, before releasing your chin. However, to your surprise, that very same hand groped your chest roughly—

“Then perhaps...” he hummed, a wicked glint in his red eyes, whispering to you with sultry voice right before he pulled you into him and devour your lips in heat: “You can help to fix me, sweetie.”

His kisses were hot as his tongue and hands made his mark on your body. Pressed against his bare skin, you gripped his strong, broad shoulders as he lifted your legs to his waist.

As always, he managed to dissolve all your lingering thoughts with lust. You just never knew one day you would finally reach the last straw though.

. . .

"Are you going out again tonight?" you muttered, tracing your fingers along his abs as you lay in his arms, still a bit giddy after your passionate session.

"No, I'm sleepy," he replied quickly, his voice low as he pulled you closer and closed his eyes. "Go to sleep already, kitten."

"I can't sleep."

"Poor you. I can though."

You quirked a frown at him. "You're so annoying these days."

"Oh?" Sylus cracked his eyes open, a smirk on his lips. "If you find me so disagreeable, you can always make me obey you, no?"

Your speech manipulation could make people do your bidding and it was a pretty useful talent. Apart from the first day you met Sylus three years ago in the wasteland of N109 Zone, you had never tried using it on him again.

"I won't, you idiot." You sighed and turned away, your back facing him. The idea of bending him to your will somehow didn't sit right with you. It was against your conscience now.

"Why are you facing away? It's freezing," he grumbled almost in a petulant voice. You nearly rolled your eyes, until you felt his strong arms wrap around your middle from behind.

"Why are you hugging me? We’re not usually this touchy after sex."

"I'm telling you, I'm cold, and you're my heat pillow."

"You're so damn insufferable..."

Despite your sharp retort, a smile found its way to your face. Moments like this were rare, and when he was the one seeking you, you couldn't help these butterflies in your stomach. Still...

You two are not in love, dammit. Sometimes it confused you a great deal. What is love anyway?

“Caw, caw, caw!”

“Mephisto, shush.”

Sylus’ robotic pet crow had surprisingly taken a liking to you shortly after you began living in the base. He obeyed your commands just as he did with his owner. The same couldn’t be said for Miss Hunter though, as Mephisto seemed to have a strong dislike for her.

You were idling at the living room with the crow when you realized how close it was to dawn.

“Luke, Kieran,” you called to the twins, who were bickering over a crate of oranges, frowning. “Where did Sylus go?”

Both stopped and looked at you, and Kieran blurted out, “Boss? Oh, he went out with Miss Hunter!”

You supposed you shouldn’t be surprised, but you were nonetheless. “And he still hasn’t come back?”

“Ah, yeah... but I think they just went on a short errand. He’s probably back or already on his way?” Luke mused, and you clicked your tongue.

It irritated you, it gnawed at you—how Sylus had been spending so much time with that hunter these days. He was trying to make her resonate with him, but still, the way you saw it, he was going through his playbook—

Just as he had done when he pursued you.

Calling her “kitten”, “sweetie”... everything he did with her seemed like a replay of the first year you spent in this place.

Deep down, perhaps you had hoped that, in some way, Sylus would see you as you saw him. Love might be out of reach in your bleak existences, but you at least wished he would consider you an irreplaceable presence.

You were petty, and you knew it.

“Mephisto,” you whispered to the cooing crow as it turned to you pliantly. “Go find and bother her, okay? Don’t let her out of your sight,” you added, letting the bird fly away on your command.

Deciding to rest in his room, you left the living room with a sense of exhaustion. You had stayed up for Sylus on a whim, as he had promised to share his plans for the upcoming auction soon. However, sleeping at dawn was giving you frequent headaches, and the habit was wearing on you.

You took a bath and then headed to his bedroom, and you would have never guessed what scene you'd walk into—

Sylus, in his bathrobe, and that girl… nestled against his chest on his bed. The very same bed where you two made out just the other night.

“Y/N?” Sylus looked at you over the girl’s shoulder, and you were frozen on the spot, feeling an indescribable rush of emotions washing over you.

In the next moment, the hunter girl scrambled away from him in panic, her face flushed with shame. “I-it’s not what it looks like! I swear! Sylus— I was just trying to find his brooch and—!”

In that instant, something inside you turned ice-cold. Her frantic explanations—none of it registered to you. The fact that he let her into his bed was enough for you.

You weren’t sure if Sylus noticed, but your eyes darkened, your fists clenched, and a storm raged within your chest.

“Sorry for intruding,” you said frostily, cutting her off and casting a contemptuous glance at both of them before turning on your heel and slamming the door shut.

It was no use, you finally realized. In this twisted relationship you two shared, there could never be anything more than hot sex and flirtations.

Somehow it hurt more deeply than you expected, as though your heart were being scorched. Yet, you couldn’t even find the tears to cry—as you weren't allowed to do so.

Sylus noticed the change in you immediately.

You vanished from the base and returned in the evening, not sparing him even a look and he could tell then that you had come back a different woman.

And it was the part he hated the most. These days, he couldn't read you at all.

"Luke and Kieran, keep an eye on her tonight," he instructed his two underlings as the two of them were getting ready.

"Who? Miss Hunter?" Luke questioned.

"Or the missus?" Kieran supplied.

Both of them liked you as well. Unlike him, you’d spend your free time indulging their nonsense, and over time, they even gave you that friendly moniker.

They didn't really know the nature of your physical relationship though. Or at least, didn't really know fully.

"The latter," Sylus gruffly replied, and then he went to the hunter girl to prepare her as well.

He had a justified explanation. If you had asked him, he would tell you nothing had happened. Your ire was better than silence, definitely a hundred times better than this.

But why didn't you come to him?

And why does he want you to come and demand him for an explanation?

However, tonight was the auction for the Aether Core. He had to finish this first before he could get a word with you later.

At least that was what Sylus had thought... until he saw you at the auction venue.

You were stunning in that black cocktail dress. He didn’t know when you had your hair done, but you looked as if you had spent the entire day preparing for this occasion despite having barely two hours after coming back. You were definitely a head-turner, drawing the attention of many vermin as you navigated the ballroom with grace and everlasting smile.

And it grated at him. Severely. Sylus's eyes were locked on each lowlife hell-bent on taking his life and desperate to get into your pants, knowing he would end them all tonight.

...and as if it wasn't enough, he then saw you entertaining one of them with that sort of smile you used to reserve for him.

. . .

"Mm-hm, really?"

"Yes, I've heard they are inside the safe number 209."

You coyly smirked, looking the man with mask in front of you, whom you had led to a deserted hallway, who had been complying and smiling at each and every question of yours.

"Thank you then." You flashed him your best smile, about to go back to the main hall.

"And uh, miss," he suddenly turned to you in a flurry. "I believe I haven't gotten your name—"

You chuckled, facing him again. "Oh, you want to know my name?"

"Very much so!"

This was like bread and butter to you. You effortlessly wrapped an arm around the man's neck, standing on your tiptoes, and whispered in his ear:

"Halt."

He went rigid the moment the command left your lips, and you could feel his panic rising as you pulled away.

"W-what happened—!?" he thrashed against the invisible hold manifested by your Evol in pure panic, to no avail, whereas you regarded at him with a cold smile.

"What a shame. I planned to let you be, but then you gave me the perfect opportunity." You maintained your eerie smile as you pulled out a thin, needle-like blade from the hem of your dress. "You have been a great help. Thank you."

With that, you slit his throat, and blood splattered onto the ground in a continuous pool as he jerked, collapsing like a broken statue.

You felt nothing at the sight, but you knew you weren't alone as you felt his presence.

"You started the party without me?" Sylus' deep voice resonated through the hall. "Didn't know you have that much of bloodlust this early, sweetie."

The clench of your heart was still there, even when you had decided to discard all your lingering feelings for this man. Still, you put on the perfect poker face when you met his eyes.

"I want this to be over and done with quick. I'm exhausted already."

Sylus eyed you calmly, yet somehow it felt as if the depths of those red eyes were trying to assess your soul. "Your actions said otherwise. Is flirting with him necessary?"

"You're one to talk, Boss," you scoffed at the last word. "As long as it entertains me, why isn't it?"

Sylus didn't deign you with an answer, and you decided to pour more oil into it.

"Strictly professional, no?" You lifted your chin defiantly. "Last I checked, we were not supposed to meddle in personal affairs—"

You didn't realize it until he did, because the next thing you knew, his right eye suddenly glowed with that terrifying shade of crimson. "You—!"

He has seen it all. In the three years since he took you in, Sylus had never used his Aether Core-infused right eye on you to peek into your mind. The first and only time it had happened was when he restrained you from attacking him on the day you first met.

This was the second time. And now, he knows. Of your petty feelings, of your deepest, truest desire.

At first, Sylus remained silent, but then his eyes narrowed at you, low voice booming through the hall.

"Jealousy is unbecoming on you, Y/N."

And after all that he knew, that was the only thing he could come up with?

You felt shame wash over you. You wanted to run from him. This was too much because he most definitely didn’t reciprocate your feelings, did he?

"I don't want to hear it," you resolved, the space around you felt constricting all of a sudden. You walked past him, about to break into a sprint—

Sylus immediately caught a hold of your arm though, sending a glare at you. "You—"

"It ends here," you blurted in heat. "I don't want it anymore. We're through, Sylus."

"Listen to me!"

He snarled at you, and it was the very first time he did so. However, you paid him no mind and pulled out your ace card, staring hard into his eyes. You could feel the start of his black and red mist, but your Evol was faster—

"Move."

His hold on you loosened, and he jerked back several foot away from the impact. You kept your manipulation on him, avoiding his fury-blazed eyes, bolting away before he could catch you.

. . .

The night escalated so much worse than you had imagined. Explosions and a sudden appearance of an Arbiterwings threw the whole auction into chaos.

You were fighting off the sudden wave of wanderers alone, relying solely on your blade since your voice was too hoarse to use your Evol. When one of them struck you and sent you crashing into a wall, you just sat there in a daze.

It was exhausting. Usually, Sylus would be by your side, covering your back at the very least. He wouldn't let a single scratch get to you. His black and red mist of doom would dominate the battlefield, offering you protection while at it.

You loved that bastard. It was so beyond stupid. Why did you have to ruin everything by having these feelings? If your heart was gone, would these feelings go with it too?

You got your answer sooner than you thought.

White-hot pain engulfed you when something impaled you right in the chest. The searing agony was mind-blinding, the only thing you could discern was your own wails.

No, the feelings didn’t go. Even as you teetered on the brink of death, that damned love only evolved into many regrets.

And in your final moments, you could've sworn you felt the exact moment your heart stopped beating.

"Oh my god! Luke! She is here!"

"Kieran...! Is she alive?!"

"So much blood—! Luke, call Boss! Call Boss here!"

"Boss! We found her!"

"What do we do?! Shit! It's right... in her heart..."

"What!? Boss! S-she is...! Oh lord..."

You had a dream, and it was of your first meeting with Sylus.

Three years ago, in the wasteland of N109 Zone, you were a mere scavenger until he found you. You had thought he was a threat much like others in this lawless city, so you unwittingly showcased your Evol before him in defense, until he pinned you down on the hard ground, crimson eyes holding you in place.

"I'm giving you two options: go with me and live, or die here in vain," he had told you then, a smug smile on his face. "I assure you, so long as you're still useful to me, you won't have to worry about food or roof above your head ever again."

What kind of homeless person would refuse that tempting offer?

Since you followed him, Sylus had never been untrue to his word. He made good of his words, idly engaged you in his circle, showered you with gifts, and at one point—

"You're... trying to tempt me, aren't you?" he growled amidst kisses, pinning you on his desk. Apparently, seeing you up close and personal every day in his home had worn down his patience. He was just a man, after all.

You wickedly giggled, even breathless, cradling both sides of his face and admiring those ruby eyes of his. "What if... I am?"

"Then consider me tempted, little kitten," he chuckled, his baritone voice casting a spell over you. "Remember though, curiosity can kill most cats."

Thus began your thrilling relationship, and you knew you would gladly stay with him just to have a taste of that heaven. And you knew too, he wouldn't cast you easily this way.

And of course, so long as you are useful to him, that is.

When you came to, you felt warm, and your position was so comfortable that you were almost lulled back to sleep.

At first, it didn't register to you where you were. The scene before you was so familiar, but you were so lethargic that you were late to recognize it.

"Awake?"

Sylus' bedroom. The realization dawned on you as that deep, low voice questioned you flatly. You jerked instinctively, looking up at him as he came into view, holding a glass of wine.

He was still the same. Even with you out of commission, he would still indulge himself with his wine. Somehow you couldn't really pinpoint what you should feel about it.

However, Sylus then did the thing you didn't expect him to. He went back to his pantry to get a glass of water, and then he came to your side to prop you up.

"Drink," he commanded, positioning the glass on your chapped lips. You complied and did so, feeling relief for your throat. Once you were finished, he gently laid you back on the bed and tucked you in, never once taking his eyes off you.

"How are you feeling?"

"Have been better," you quipped dryly. Then it dawned on you that he had never been this gentle with you before. He was showing care, which confirmed one theory you had about him: Sylus could be considerate when he chose to be.

The very fact that you ended back here didn't really faze you much, because in the end, you belonged to him out of all people. Just one thing that still didn't make sense in your mind: "What did you do?"

His burgundy eyes squared at you. "What?"

"There’s no way I could've survived that," you mumbled, trying to gauge his reaction. "You must’ve done something."

“Ha, when it comes to these things, you’re sharp,” Sylus said with a light scoff, and you frowned.

"Answer me."

"Aether Core," he supplied. "It was now in you, repairing your coronary system."

"You..." you were rendered speechless. "You—what? You infused my heart with a Protocore...?"

Just like the one in his eye, he had implanted you with that dangerous fragment that was from something as horrific as a Wanderer. The very thought made your breath hitch.

"Stay calm," he commanded, his hand found yours when he noticed your horrified expression, squeezing it as if to provide some sort of reassurance. "You'll be fine."

"H-how... why..."

"That was your only chance, or you would’ve been dead." Sylus' tone was harsher now, his jaw set firmly. "I keep telling you not to rush in carelessly, and yet you did. Did you even know how bad your state was when I found you? No, you didn't."

The way he spoke made you feel as though you were being blamed, and overwhelmed with your frustration, you retorted sharply, "No one asked you to save me."

Awkward silence lingered for a good one minute after your jab. You turned away from him, feeling conflicted, because you knew you should be grateful that he did so, because it meant the Aether Core inside you now was the one he had been looking for in that auction.

He gave it up to save you.

Still, it confused you.

“If I died...” you began, bitterness creeping into your voice. “Then it just means I’m no longer useful to you. You always discard things that no longer serve your purpose.”

You turned back to him, meeting his impassive gaze. “So why? Did you pity me after discovering my feelings? Is that why?”

There are many labels in your relationship. Master and servant. Onychinus leader and his right-hand woman. But you were also his lover, even unsaid. Was that fact that did it? Or a mere charity for the weak, you?

Suddenly, Sylus placed his palm over your chest, right where your heartbeat pulsed. You stiffened, bracing for some sort of impact.

But no, it wasn’t anything sensual like he usually did. His hand—large and warm—was a comforting presence, resting on your chest and feeling the steady rhythm of your heartbeat.

"Haven't I told you that I never act out of pity?" Sylus' voice was strained but softer than usual, his deep burgundy eyes holding yours. "Do you really need me to spell it out?"

You didn't dare to look away, for the moment of truth was right in front of you.

"My only regret is not being able to pull you back," he said quietly, his tone somber. "I shouldn't have let you get hurt."

Oh. You blinked, taking in his sincere words, something inside you softening and warming at his words.

You had noticed it too. Despite his roguish exterior, he had always looked after you during your time together. It was just that you hadn’t dared to hope for more.

“The naughty little kitten has managed to worm her way into me, it seems,” he chuckled then, flashing you that cocky smile. “So now, she has to be held responsible for her actions.”

His red gaze narrowed as he added. “Moreover, since I have saved your life— you owe it to me not to throw it away so easily. So you can’t rush into danger carelessly again, you hear?”

Those playful remarks were enough to dispel your doubts and insecurities. They answered everything you had been questioning, and knowing it, finally you let out a relieved sigh and exasperated snort. “You shameless bastard...”

And when he leaned in to place a fleeting, innocent kiss on your forehead, you realized that, in his own way, he saw you just as you saw him, even if only a little.

Sylus settled into the bed beside you, wrapping his arms around you and letting your head rest on his arm. Tonight, there were no passionate kisses, no steamy foreplay, or dirty talks— just you being alive and well in his embrace.

“How long have I been out?”

“Three weeks, woman. Luke and Kieran keep mourning you everyday.”

“Three weeks?! How did you manage without me for that long?”

Sylus glanced at you, a contented smile on his face as he held you close. “It’s been horrid.”

Also, whoever did the work on his hands knows what it means to have a hand kink for real 😭 his bloodied hand is something extra special; it really scratches a very specific itch I never knew I had. Something about it just looks so...feral? It's like he dug his hand into someone's chest or something 😩 the way it looks on his nails, just. Fuck.

Also, arm. I wanna be the vampire and bite my teeth into it. This part in particular drives me mad 😭 the specks of blood 🤤 the elbow 🤤 Sylus, you are so hot.

Got nothing to say about this one. BUT. That blood on the fabric is so gorgeous looking. Other than that, my teeth should be all over this skin, man. What am I doing here?

Also, he looks very...princely, with this hair. It makes his outfit look kinda boyish? There's something about this hair with this outfit that makes him feel younger.

Once again, bloodied hand 🤤

Other than that, I find it fascinating that his staff has a feather and a dragonish wing on either side of it. I guess his next myth should finally be feathered, then, right?

Oh, and the dragon claw. The details on the claw are so gorgeous, it's so satisfying to look at. I feel like touching it, feeling the grooves and all.