#some of these things are hidden like nothing else

[salemrph]

Salt on your Skin

Summary: You’ve lived your whole life in a sleepy coastal village where nothing ever changes until he arrives. A stranger with silver hair. He shouldn’t matter. He’s just another tourist, just another passing face. But the way he looks you, the way he listens… it makes you feel seen in a way that terrifies you. Between the salt air, the mango-sweet afternoons, and his voice whispering promises you’re not ready to believe, you start to wonder: what if this forgotten place isn’t where your story ends, but where it begins?

Character: Sylus x f!reader / you

Gender — ☆ AU, romantic, fluff, intimacy, slow burn, slice of life, summer romance, sexual content (nsfw), smut with feelings, light angst, Hurt & Comfort

Word count: 19.7k | Reading Time: 77 min | AO3 Sorry that this thing is so fucking long.

🎧 "Salt on your Skin" Spotify Playlist -> A/N: You’ve waited long enough, I won’t keep you. I’ll be hinting at songs I listened to while writing certain scenes. If you don’t feel like pausing to click on each one, no worries—just hit play and enjoy. Sorry that it got so fucking long. It was my intention to create such long fanfic. *In this story, the character referred as "Reader" or "You" is from an unnamed cost village, the specific location isn't relevant to the story. While Spanish is the character's native language, and they mainly will speak it in the story, most of the dialogue will be presented in English for ease of reading. I just display thing in Spanish with translation, for funny moments and relevant emotional dialogue. Also I tried my best to catch the grammatical errors. (＞﹏＜)

Taglist: @blessdunrest @xxsyluslittlecrowxx @voidsylus @thechaoticarchivist @leftpoetrymoon @madam8 @stxrrielle @terriblesoup @mansonofmadness @leftpoetrymoon @jadeloverxd @nutshellera @zaynessdarling @sylusgirlie7 @mothlillies @deathrye @mansonofmadness @peascribbles @pdacex @eolivy

Salt on your Skin

🎧 "Salt on your Skin" Spotify Playlist

You grow up in a small fisherman village, south, nothing spectacular, nothing loud. Sun kissing your skin, salt tangled in your hair, the smell of the ocean was your everyday. Palms swayed lazily in the wind. Cactus grew wild by the roadside. The earth was dry, cracked in places, but always warm. Sand found its way into everything: your shoes, your sheets, your soul. Nothing ever really happened here. Nothing special, at least. Not many people cross this place, just the occasional wanderer and backpacker, drawn in by the silence, the stillness, the illusion of escape.

And it is beautiful. To the outsider, it’s paradise. A hidden postcard painted in blues and golds, for all who pass by and leave, carrying the souvenirs, the sand, and probably a peeling sunburn back to wherever they came from. But you? You never left. Maybe for college and for short trips not far away. You picked a degree because someone said it was practical—but what’s practical in a place where everything moves slowly and nothing ever changes? So you came back with a diploma in hand, a broken heart from some idiot and little by little, you buried your dreams. Right there beside the notebooks you used to fill with sketches of faraway cities and impossible futures. Right beside the plans you whispered under your breath when you still believed your life could unfold somewhere else.

Now you help your parents at the store or your work at the beach bar. You tell yourself it’s not so bad because it isn’t. This place raised you and cradled you. But sometimes… When the sun dips low and the air turns heavy with memory… You wonder what else your life could’ve been. You try not to want too much. Having dreams, in a place like this, is the first way you start to go crazy if they're too big. It feels so difficult to find the right way to break free. 

Your days follow the rhythm of the tide. You wake with the sun, light slipping through the shutters in pale golden stripes, warming the terracotta tiles before your bare feet even touch the floor. Coffee first, always strong, slightly bitter, brewed in a tinny bialetti older than you. You sip it slowly in the kitchen where the radio was always on. The village is small enough that everyone knows your name, your business, and what you looked like in every awkward stage of growing up. You can’t walk five steps without a nod, a wave, or someone shouting: 

“¡Dile a tu mamá que tengo listo su pedido” (“Tell your mom I have her order ready.”)

You smile and keep walking. You help out at the family store during the hotter hours. Selling sunscreen, postcards, cold drinks, cheap towels for tourists who forgot theirs. Sometimes you sit in the doorway fanning yourself with an magazine while your father tries to fix the old A/C and your mother swears in the background. And then there was your second job, unofficial but necessary. Since you've returned, you've been saving, for that eventual emergency plan, if your heart finally found the courage to leave. So you stand in that beach bar almost every day during the high season. 

Plastic chairs half-buried in sand, a fridge that hums louder than the music, and drinks poured from memory. You know who likes extra lime. Who never tips. Who only comes to watch the sunset alone. It’s simple. Predictable. There’s comfort in that. But sometimes, when you’re rinsing out glasses or wiping sand off tables, you catch yourself watching the horizon. Something out there is calling you, something that still believes in the girl who once drew maps of cities she’s never seen. But then you shake it off. Because this is home. This is yours and if nothing ever changes…

Until that one afternoon. 

Is hot like always, so you are wearing shorts and your bikini under the top. Ready to cool off whenever you need. Preparing some drinks, getting ice cubes and cleaning tables. That’s when you notice him. A tall man with sunglasses sitting at one table with an umbrella. He’s definitely going to get roasted with that skin color, you think. You know how tourists are so, you sigh but still you approach with cold iced water and place it in front of him. “If you stay long, please don't forget to use sunscreen. We have some here if you need.”

He just lifts his head slowly behind the lenses. And somehow, you feel like you’re the one under the sun now. He lifts the glass slowly, takes a sip, and sets it down and keeps watching the ocean. A moment later, you hear a soft, almost too quiet “Thank you”. That’s it. 

Weird. You shrug it off. Tourists are strange sometimes. Some just want peace. Others… are well yeah just strange. You go back to refill the drinks fridge and emptying trash cans. Around this time of the year it can be a bit busy, but mostly on the weekends.

A breeze sweeps through, bringing the scent of seaweed and coconut sunscreen. You hum a little, a tune only half-formed, and focus on your tasks. Sometimes you dance behind the bar to some songs. Is a easy way to make the hours pass by and keep yourself busy. But today, a strange feeling doesn’t leave. That sensation that someone’s watching you. Not in a creepy way but more out of… curious. 

Later, you bring drinks to another table, and when you glance back toward him, he’s still there. A notebook sits on this lap in front of him, he’s sketching or writing. You can’t quite tell. Odd choice for this heat. You observe him a bit longer, taking in the silver hair, the shape of his nose, the sharp jawline. The defined muscles along his arms; clearly a sporty guy. In the heat of the day, he’s wearing a black linen button-down shirt and long white pants. The view of him sinks deeper into your mind. One of the fancy tourists, no doubt. But… What does he do here?

A small smile appears on his face. Did he write something funny? You pause mid-step, pretending to adjust the tray in your hands, but your eyes flick toward him again. The pen in his hand stills for a heartbeat. It stirs something in you. Curiosity takes over you with persistent. You wonder what kind of thoughts live in that notebook. You’re about to turn back when he lifts his eyes from the paper and shifts slightly toward you, propping one elbow on the table and resting his head against his hand.

“¿Creciste aquí?” (“You grew up here?”)

It catches you off guard. Did he just speak your language? 

“Sí” (“Yeah, I do,”) you reply, the words came out slow, drawn out by your confusion.

He closes the notebook, the pen slipping between the pages. His sunglasses stay on, but you can feel the weight of his gaze.

“Debe ser genial” (“Must be nice,”) he says, almost wistful. “Crecer con el océano como tu patio trasero.” (“To grow up with the ocean as your backyard.”)

The comment was harmless but… your eyes were still on him, searching for an accent you don’t hear. No, there wasn’t any. It was like he’d lived here his whole life, like he’d sat on these plastic chairs a hundred times, melting under the sun, playing cards with the elders, gossiping with the ladies, and running barefoot through the sand as a child. But you’ve never seen him before.

The air shifts. There’s something about him you can’t place. Maybe you should take a break and get some water. You cross your arms, standing your ground. “Are you just passing through?”

He smiles “Something like that.”

That wasn't an answer, definitely not a straight one. 

“Honestly, you look more like someone who belongs at a luxury resort than in a remote place like this.” Ups… That was a bit too direct. You tilt your head, trying to be a bit more polite this time. “Well, there is not much to see here. I hope you enjoy the quietness though.”

He laughed, and finally takes off his sunglasses. You get lost in his eyes: red, deep, impossible. Like twilight caught in glass. The world seems to slow. The wind rises slightly, brushing against your skin like a whisper, stirring the salt and sunlight around you. You got trapped for a moment that felt more like an eternity. The intensity of his eyes. You blink a few times. You decide to ignore whatever is fluttering in your chest. Your shift just got a hell of a lot more interesting.

“You got a name?” you ask with an arrogant tone, your chin tilted just enough to make it a challenge.

He smirks. “Depends who's asking.”

You roll your eyes. Of course he’s flirting. You know how this goes, always some smooth-talking tourist thinking the local girl is part of the experience: “Wild, free and exotic women.” You could throw up.

Not going to insist if he is that kind of guy…

You huff and turn away as the manager calls you, yelling for more napkins or limes or whatever crisis the little storage shed has today. By the time you come back, the man is gone. A bit irritated, you finished your shift. You wanted to know his name, because those eyes will be hard to forget. But in the end, it's another tourist that comes and goes, so who cares? 

Only… The next day, he’s there again. Same chair. Same sunglasses. Same notebook.

You try not to react. Just grab a tray of drinks and keep your head down. But you feel it, the burn of his attention. The strange, steady way he watches you without saying a word, like he’s reading a story only he can see written on your skin. You can’t exactly kick him out. To be fair, he’s not doing anything wrong. Just sitting there, quiet and scribbling in a worn leather-bound notebook. He never bothered you with more words than necessary, just with his simple order. 

He returns the day after, and the next one too. Day after day. 

You’d notice another group of girls, tourists with their bright bikinis and confident smiles, approach his table once more. Was it already the third time today? They'd lean in, their voices a little too loud, trying to flirt, trying to get his number.

Bored behind the bar, the clinking of glasses and the distant murmur of waves providing a dull backdrop, you'd watch the scene unfold. You'd find yourself absentmindedly munching on some salty peanuts, watching how the girls creatively or rather uncreatively tried to get from him some kind of reaction. But he never paid them much attention. He'd just offer a polite, almost distant smile, and then his gaze would drift past them, straight across the sunlit space, directly to you. It was as if he knew you were enjoying the theater.

This time, he finally gets up, placing the exact amount for his drinks on the counter. He could at least tip me… Asshole. With a casual wave, he said, “See you tomorrow,” before disappearing into the shimmering heat of the afternoon. You hate how that makes something flicker in your chest.

By the fifth day, it’s getting under your skin. You don't even know why it bothers you so much. More than one tourist has spent several days in a row at this bar, but he's different somehow. They can call you crazy, but you have the distinct feeling that he's coming to see you.

“Okay,” you mutter to yourself after drying off your arms behind the bar. “What’s your deal, big guy?” you turn around to him. He catches your eyes. Notebook in hand walking toward you.

“I'm just enjoying the sunshine. Is that a crime, sweetie? ” His voice is smooth, playful. He’s testing you.

You straighten your back. “Don’t call me that.”

He grins, tilting his head. “Then tell me your name.”

You don’t blink. “No.”

He chuckles and shrugs, like that settles it. “Sweetie, it stays.”

“Does that line usually work on all girls?”

He raises a brow, leaning one elbow casually on the bar. “Which girls?”

“Like the ones from yesterday,” you scoff. “Bet you tell all of them they’re special.”

His smile falters for half a second.

“I don’t like wasting my time,” he states, a hint of challenge in his tone. “Are you jealous?” 

You want to roll your eyes so hard they might get stuck. You want to mock his question. But the unexpected flutter in your gut throws you off. Instead, with a frustrated sigh, you toss a dish towel onto the counter and turn away. Organizing the glasses on the shelf. “Order something or move, I’ve stuff to do.”

“You always talk to your clients like that?” he asked casually.

You pause for a moment. Damn him. “Well, you don’t have to flirt with me to get your coffee.” You muttered, your tone as flat as you could manage. There’s a beat of silence. Then, you hear the faintest scoff, more breath than sound. You glance over your shoulder, just enough to catch the slow curve of his mouth. His eyes glint with amusement.

“Who said it was flirting?” He tilts his head. You were already regretting giving him a reaction.. “But…” His voice dips lower, velvet and sin. “...would you like to see the difference, sweetie?” 

Your heart stutters. You scoffed and you pretended not to hear the pet name. And marched off to clean a nonexistent stain on the espresso machine before he could see the flush climbing up your checks. For the rest of the day, you cursed him. And cursed yourself most of all for almost wanting to ask what the difference would feel like.

On your day off, you try not to think about him. Really. You swear you don’t care. You’re just… curious. That’s all. Wondering, maybe, if he showed up again. You imagine him sitting there, legs crossed, sunglasses on, notebook open like always. Maybe he’s gone. Maybe he finally got bored of this sleepy place and your uneven service. That would be good, right? Maybe that means your brain can shut up now. 

I shouldn't care.

You grab your towel, a bottle of cold water, and your favourite pair of flip-flops and head out. Not to the main beach where the kids yell and the old ladies gossip under their hats. No. You take the winding dirt trail, sun on your back, cactus needles lining the path like prickly guards. You duck under hanging branches and hop down the rocky slope, slipping once like always and catching yourself just in time. It's a longer walk, but getting there is...

...is, your little secret. The cove. Small, quiet, framed by cliffs and half-hidden by palms. It feels like a pool but big enough to swim. The ocean is glass today, turquoise and endless. You drop your towel on the warm rock, kick off your flip flops and remove your clothes. This… this is yours. No tourists. No bosses. No strange men with sharp smiles and too many secrets. You dive in, the water cold and perfect, wrapping around you like silk. You swim out until the world goes quiet. Just the splash of your limbs and the lull of the tide.

You turn toward the shore, slick hair clinging to your neck, water dripping down your back. You’re just about to wade out... You freeze. There he is. Sitting on the rocks, on your rocks. You grip the edge of a stone, still in the water. You can't be serious. Of all the places in this world, on this piece of earth, exactly at the same moment as you're here…

“How?” you demand, brows furrowed.

He barely moves, still perched like a damn king on your favourite spot, one leg stretched out, the other bent. White T-shirt and shorts this time, sea breeze tugging at the hem. Of course he looks good. Too good. Effortless.

“How what?” he asks, tilting his head just slightly so the sun hits the curve of his jaw. He doesn’t even take the sunglasses off.

“This place,” you snap. “How do you know about this place?”

“It’s easy when you can talk to people or…” He pulls out his phone and waves it lightly. “You know, you use social media.”

You click your tongue, annoyed. Probably some old tagged picture from a local, maybe even one of yours. Is it really just coincidence and bad luck?

“Fuck you,” you mutter, more at yourself than him. You can’t blame him. But gods, it stings. You embarrassed yourself yesterday, thinking he was flirting with you and now you have to see his face on your day-off. This is a punishment. 

He grins. “I could leave, if it bothers you but you’ll have to say please.”

“You’re such an asshole.” You say without hesitation.

He laughed lazily. “I have heard that a few times.”

You climb out of the water, dripping and fierce, and march right past him, snatching your towel. Drying off your face. “You’re ruining my sacred space,” you declare.

“Sacred, huh?” he murmurs, still watching you. “Didn’t mean to trespass on holy ground. Either way, since I’m here…” He flips open the notebook. “Mind that I stay a bit more? It was a long walk.”

You pause. Half wrapped in irritation and a very dangerous, very inconvenient curiosity. In all the years finding a tourist here, in your place was extremely rare. Some of your friends and people of the village used this place as well. But in the end, most of the time, you're alone here. 

“Do whatever you want,” you mutter, turning your back on him as you dig through your bag for your diver goggles. You don’t look at him again.

You slip the goggles over your head, adjust the strap, and wade back into the water. As soon as you dive, the world changes. The sun dims, the sea hums around you, and everything slows. Fish dart between rocks, flashes of silver and blue. You follow them deeper into the cove, letting the water strip away the heat of his gaze, the smugness of his voice. Down here, it’s just you. Every so often, you surface for air, and he’s still there. Legs stretched out, notebook resting on his knee, watching you like you’re some rare creature he stumbled across and hasn’t figured out if he should leave alone or chase.

The coral shimmered beneath you like a dream, sunbeams piercing the water in long, golden threads. Tiny silver fish darted between sea fans, and swaying anemones moved in slow, hypnotic rhythms. You floated there, suspended in the hush, arms outstretched, breath held tight in your lungs, letting the stillness soak into your bones. Being in the water makes you feel free. All these creatures can swim, leave, and be wherever they want. They migrate without fear, camouflaging themselves with the seabed. You are jealous of such a level of freedom.

Distracted by your own thoughts, you didn't notice the shadow approaching. You turned your head, and there, gliding just a few meters away, was a massive stingray. Its wings undulated as it passed, alarmingly close. You gasped for air. Big mistake.

Saltwater rushed in, burning your throat. You kicked upward, desperate for air, but your limbs felt slow, heavy, panic clawing at your chest. A strong hand wrapped around your arm. You broke the surface with a choking gasp, coughing hard as you ripped your goggles off. You barely noticed you were trembling, clinging to whoever had you, water spilling from your lips.

“Are you okay?” His voice was close.

You nodded through the coughing, breathing in hard, rough gulps. “Y-Yeah… yeah.”

When you finally look up, you don’t find the lazy smirk he always wears. Concern, drawn across his face like a shadow. His brows are furrowed, mouth slightly parted, as if he wants to say something but doesn’t know where to start. His gaze searched your face.

Your mouth parted, breath still shaky, and for a moment, you forgot how to form words. He tilted his head slightly, still holding your arm. You were too close. Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on your lips. Close enough to see the drop of seawater sliding down his neck, tracing the sharp line of his collarbone. You almost lean in, just a little. The impulse hits you fast and stupid, heat rising too quick. You squirm in his arms, suddenly aware of every inch between you. 

You clear your throat and pull away. He lets go without a word, and you swim back toward the rocky entrance with the energy left you had. You haul yourself out, grabbing your towel and slipping on your shorts. Your heart’s pounding, angry and confused. You want to leave. Double strike. Not only did you embarrass yourself, but he had also saved your life from drowning. If he hadn't showed up… You stopped. 

Fuck… I owe him my life.  

That makes you turn in the exact moment when the sun catches his skin as he walks out of the sea. He runs a hand through his wet hair, squeezing the water out with a slow drag of his fingers. In his other hand, he holds a pair of diving goggles. You were damn right, gods, were you right. Now that he’s standing there in nothing but swim shorts, there’s no doubt about it. His body is sculpted.

Shoulders broad, chest defined, muscles honed from more than just casual swimming. The drops trace delicate lines down his torso, catching the light, glinting like it’s showing off for you. You blink. Your eyes shamelessly are scanning him. He has such a big ass and if that's big, what about his...? You glaze dropped briefly over his crotch. Just a glimpse and then you drag your eyes back up to somewhere safe, somewhere less dangerous at least. 

“Thank you,” you say almost too low “For helping me...” You hesitate.

“No need to thank me.” You started coughing again. He made you sit down and handed you your bottle of water. Having him so close, you realized he looked worried. So you hadn't imagined it before. You should worry about yourself, but your eyes couldn't stop scanning his features. Yes, his nose really was beautiful. The length of his eyelashes, the faint dark circles under his eyes. Was it because he didn't sleep well, or were they natural? What did he even do? Was he some kind of businessman? No, he looked more like a model. Thousands of questions crossed your mind…

It's not your business.

But still...

“How can I compensate you?” you asked, finally recovered.

He paused, then took his own towel, draping it around his neck. “Help me explore this place.”

“The village?” you asked surprised by such an absurd request. “There’s nothing to explore.”

“There is,” he replies, calm as ever.

You frowned. “What would that be? This place has like… three alleys and a very enthusiastic goat.”

“Sweetie, isn’t exploration what you do when you don’t know what you’re looking for?” There it was again, that smug little note in his voice. 

“You always talk like that?”

His smirk sharpened, eyes glinting with mischief. “Do you always look at someone’s crotch?”

Your mouth fell open, he noticed. You straightened, refusing to give him the satisfaction to admit that you did it. “Fine, I’ll be your guide.”

He smirked, unabashedly pleased. “Good. So, should I stick with Sweetie or start to calling you Miss Guide now?”

You shot him a dry look, already turning away. “Try it, and I’ll kick you off a cliff.”

He laughed, unbothered. A beat passed, your steps crunching against the sand. “How should I call you?”

“Sylus,” he said simply.

You nod, repeating it silently in your head. 

Sylus.

And for some reason, hearing it made something shift—this is like the opening page of a fresh new book. And you’ve never been great at turning down a good story.

Days pass like waves and a little too easy to get lost in.

At first, you meant to show him the typical tourist stops—the scenic overlook, the main plaza, that one beach every guidebook lists first. But after the second spot, he leaned close and said, “I’ve seen all of these before. Try harder, sweetie.” So you started to improvise.

You showed him the old boat wreck tucked behind the rocks, half-sunken, forgotten by time, but not by you. The kind of place only someone who’s grown up here would know. Then came the spot with the best grilled fish and amazing fresh fruit juice, and the owner who winked at you every time like she knew something you didn’t. You take him to the cliffs no one climbs but you, another one of your secret places to scream into the wind and feel free. He stands at the edge, hands in pockets, peering down like he’s measuring how far he’d fall. Asking if you were really going to kick off the cliff. “It’s still an option,” you muttered, but your lips betrayed you with a smile. 

Both walked down to the pier, where the old fishermen had already settled in for the morning, as they always were, lined up with their tattered hats and leathery skin, smoking, drinking cheap beer, swapping stories that blurred the line between memory and myth. It was also one of the best spots to jump into the water when the tide was right.

Sylus seemed genuinely interested in their fishing; leaning in, asking questions, even tossing out a few jokes that made one of the men laugh. You watched him exchange words with ease. If he was one of those rich types, shouldn’t he have more expensive hobbies? Golf, yachts, or something with polished marble and champagne? One of the old men turned toward you suddenly, his voice rough with years and sea air.

“Me agrada tu amigo” (I like your friend!) he shouted, grinning through missing teeth and raising his beer in salute.

Sylus, just slips into your days without ever asking to. It was stupid how easily he fit into the cracks of your life. He starts waiting until your shift ends, arms crossed, a lazy smile on his lips like this is normal. It's definitely making your days more entertaining, if it weren't for the fact that the neighborhood is starting to notice. Of course they do; someone always does. You ignore the comments as best you can.

“¿Quién es ese muchacho tan guapo con el que anda?” (Who is that handsome boy you are walking with?)”

“He’s paying me to be his guide.” You said to the people every now and then. It’s not a lie. It’s also not the truth. You don’t explain more. You don’t want to. This town is small and whatever this is between you and him, it’s yours. Reacting too much to the gossip spreading like gunpowder, would only lead to more of them. You really don't want to start a fire.

“Who said I'm paying you?” he leaned closer, an amused murmur in your ear as he caught your quiet deflection.

“Be quiet and let me handle the gossip,” you hissed back, not breaking your stride.

“I'm fine with that, but under one condition.” You stopped mid-stride, your heart giving a nervous jump. He smiled and tugged you a bit closer. “You can't lie to me.”

“Why would I do that?” You tried for nonchalance, but your voice felt thin.

“Well, if you lie…” He stopped, turning dramatically toward the group of old ladies playing cards. They were perfectly set up in the shade in front of one of their houses, colorful hand fans fluttering against the heat, their eyes already on you.

Oh no.

“¡Señoras, soy su nov—!” (Ladies, I'm his boyf—)

“Shut up!” You lunged, grabbing his shirt, the fabric bunching in your fist. Panic flared in your chest. You could see your entire calm world shatter, crackling into chaos, if he blurted out something like that. “Fine, fine! I won't lie to you.”

“Smart decision, sweetie.” His smile widened, all innocent charm, but his eyes held a glint of triumph.

You let go. “Asshole,” you murmured back. 

You pretended not to notice but it’s the little things. The flutter moments that sneak past your defenses and settle under your skin. The way he always calls you sweetie. He knows it annoys you, but says it anyway, just to watch that fire light in your eyes. How he's always too close. A finger under your chin, forcing your gaze when you try to escape his. You tell yourself it's annoying. You tell yourself you don't enjoy it.

You reminded yourself, every time he brushed against you “by accident,” every time he leaned just a little too close to whisper something entirely unnecessary. You reminded yourself of it especially when your heart started beating too fast in his presence, when your body began to crave that warmth. You were just enjoying the game while it lasted. A little spark. A little summer mischief. That was all this was. Because people like him… They didn’t stay. He was a tourist, and the charming ones always knew how to play his cards. They were all promises but vanished at the end of summer. And you? You wouldn’t be stupid about this. You weren’t going to fall. 

...Right?

One night, you're sitting on the sand, barefoot, toes buried, only a small flame between you, driftwood fire crackling soft, heat licking your knees. The stars are bright, the kind of sky you only get in places forgotten by noise. You tilt your head and catch him watching you. The shadows from the fire dance across his face, making it harder to read his expression.

“Do I have something on my face?” you ask.

His lips twitch. “Yeah. Starlight.”

“Sure...” You shift a bit. “Are you ever going to tell me what you’re doing here?”

He exhales, slow, like he’s been waiting for that question. But instead of answering, he says:

“What do you dream about?”

It doesn’t surprise you. He always does this, twisting the conversation back to you. You stare into the fire. You think about it and somehow he has this calm way to let you pour out your heart. Without judgement, he listens or asks how you feel about everything. About how you wanted to leave, once. How you almost did. About books you read and lifes you imagined. About how sometimes peace tastes like salt… And sometimes, it tastes like regret. 

You could talk with him for hours, discuss thousands of scenarios like you've never done with anyone before. It feels like the dirty gears of those buried dreams are being dusted off with each word he said. Sylus tells you some stories about what he has seen, eaten and experienced already. He points out the things you would like, places he would show you. The collection of vinyl he has, how he enjoys playing the piano. The familiarity he has with you is overwhelming. He teases you, makes you angry, he flickers his finger against your forehead when you say something stupid. He has been even helping you with everyday chores like the other day:

The market is buzzing. Colorful umbrellas flapping in the breeze, baskets full of delicious fruits and vegetables stacked in uneven towers, the scent of grilled spices and fish so rich it makes you hungry on the spot. You weave through it like you always do, with a tote bag swinging at your side. Sylus is less graceful, dodging kids with sticky fingers and getting bumped more than once by old ladies with strong elbows. He clearly doesn't like to be in the crowd. 

“You sure you know where you’re going?” he teases, glancing at your bag. “Or are we just wandering until you collect enough mangoes for a year?”

“I always know where I’m going,” you reply smugly. “And don’t judge my mango obsession. They're better than whatever bitter fruit you probably grew up with.”

“I prefer oranges.” He plucks one mango from a pile and holds it up, golden and soft. “This one’s bruised.”

“Don't be so picky. That means it’s perfect,” you snatch it from his hand. “Bruised fruits are sweeter. You know nothing.”

He laughed. “Teach me, then.” He buys one cup with fresh cut fruit at the same stall and spears a piece with a toothpick. He chews, then nods thoughtfully. “You’re right. They are perfect.” Your stomach growls, loud enough to make you wince. 

Sylus glances at you, then casually offers the cup, holding it out. “Do you want some?”

You hesitate for a second, somehow it feels more intimate than it should. But then you take the offered bite. Your fingers brush his and his gaze lingers, just a moment too long.

“You like it?” he asks, voice softer now.

You nod, chewing. You try not to smile as you pay for the mangoes. Before your hand even reaches your wallet, Sylus slips in, handing over the change to the vendor. You narrow your eyes, but he’s already walking. By the time you're heading back toward home, your tote is filled with groceries, the fruit cup now shared between you, and the sun is heavy over your shoulders. Sylus walks beside you, glancing at his phone for a moment, then back at you.

“I need a moment,” he says, stepping under the awning of a closed stall, voice already lowering as he answers a call. You nod and wait a few steps ahead, settling into the shade of a tree with a sigh, adjusting the straps on your bag. 

Minutes later a tourist approaches, clearly lost, holding a map and trying to look confident.

“Hi! Sorry… Em… do you know how to get to Playa Baja?”

“Yeah,” you say, automatically switching into your helpful voice. “Go back to the main road. Take the bus from there, near the bakery. Is a 20 minutes ride.”

He grins. “Thanks! You’re local, huh? Makes sense, only locals are this kind.”

You laugh politely. “Sure.”

But before he could say more, the tourist glanced over your shoulder, and he caught Sylus’s stare. He backed off quickly with a smile faltering, then cleared his throat and stepped back. “Enjoy your day.” And disappears as quickly as it appeared.

Sylus stands there, phone now tucked away. 

“Huh. That was fast,” you say.

He shrugs. “Wasn’t important.”

You finally reached your house and the family store below it, the familiar babble of domestic chaos greeted you before the front door even opened.

“Just buy another one, you stubborn old man!” your mother’s voice echoed from the back.

“No, this one’s fine!” your father snapped, followed by a loud Clank Clank, as he smacked the side of the ancient A/C unit again.

You sighed and pushed the door open. “Really? Still fighting over that thing?”

The store was warm, stuffy, and smelled faintly of dust and cleaning spray. You dropped the bags on the kitchen table with a loud thud before stepping into the shop. Sylus follows you silently, scanning the familiar chaos with calm eyes.

“¡No puedo más!” (“I can’t take it anymore!”) your mother snapped from behind the counter, wiping sweat from her forehead with a dish towel. “Tell your father to buy a new one before he sets the store on fire.”

You sighed. At the sound of another figure entering with you, both of your parents looked up. Your mother’s gaze immediately fixed on Sylus. She blinked, surprised, eyes traveling from his silver hair down to his clean, fancy clothes, pausing on his calm expression. A stranger in her home and he comes with you? Not common. But as always, she gathered herself fast. Her tone shifted. 

“Excuse us for the shouting,” she said quickly, brushing her hair back. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Her eyes met Sylus’s, just for a moment, and something changed in her face. A flicker of quiet recognition, curiosity… Then she turned to you, wandered over with a little smile playing on her lips. 

Oh no, she's already imagining things.

You rub your eyes. That mother smile. The one that knew too much and said nothing for now. Sylus very politely and kindly declined your mother's invitation, then he stepped closer to where your father stood grumbling beside the A/C unit.

“Mind if I take a look?” he offered casually, nodding toward the old machine.

Your father blinked at him, thrown off, giving space and the screwdriver. “¿De dónde sacaste a este muchacho?” (“Where did you get this boy?”) he whispered to you.

You smirked. “Me ha estado siguiendo como gato callejero. Creo que me ha cogido cariño.” (“He's been following me around like a stray cat. I think he likes me.”)

Your dad huffed a laugh, still eyeing Sylus like he wasn’t sure whether to be suspicious or impressed. He stays by your side, arms crossed, ready to judge every move Sylus made. The machine was old, rusted at the edges, and had a habit of rattling like it was possessed by a ghost. Most people wouldn’t dare touch it without at least cursing first. He knelt beside it, examined the wires and casing with quiet concentration, then reached into the toolbox without asking where anything was.

There was a soft click, a sharp spark, and then the hum. Not the loud, wheezing death-rattle it usually made. A smooth, low vibration and cool air drifted out. Everyone froze. Your father blinked and moved to press his hand to the front of the unit like he couldn’t believe it was real.

Sylus stood, brushing dust from his hands. “It’ll work for now,” he said casually, glancing at your dad. “But you should definitely buy a new one.”

Your father opened his mouth, probably to argue but stopped.

“¿Una cerveza, muchacho?” (“A beer, boy?”) he asked, already moving toward the fridge. “Por lo menos para agradecerte.” (“At least to thank you.”)

“And you’re staying for dinner,” your mother added before Sylus could respond, her voice final, already thinking about the menu she would display tonight. “Is there anything you don't like to eat?” 

“Mamá…” you said in a tired tone, shaking your head. 

“We need to thank him properly,” she chirped.

Sylus hesitated, looking between them, then over at you, as if silently pleading for a way out. But you just smiled, leaning against the counter with one eyebrow raised, thoroughly enjoying the moment. Your father was already asking for a detailed explanation of how the miracle worked. And if he also knew how to fix cars.

“Looks like you’ve been adopted,” you said sweetly. “Good luck.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, but there was a flicker of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You expected him to fumble—thought he’d slip up on the names, or get awkward answering your dad’s too-bold questions. You wanted him to flinch a little, if only for your own petty satisfaction. But somehow, he didn’t. He was smooth and polite. Your mother was enchanted in less than ten minutes, practically glowing every time he addressed her with a soft “señora.” And when he mentioned liking fishing? Your father lit up like it was Christmas morning.

You sat there in quiet horror as your dad leaned back in his chair, nodding thoughtfully. “Lo quiero como yerno.” (“I want him as a son-in-law.”) You nearly choked on your water. Your soul left your body. 

“Papá…!” 

Sylus set his glass down gently and said, perfectly composed, “We don’t have that kind of relationship” Then, with the faintest trace of dry amusement, he added, “She actually threatened to push me off a cliff earlier.”

Your dad let out a booming laugh. “That’s love!”

Your mother gasped and you slumped in your chair, face in hands, absolutely done.

Later, when the plates were cleared and your parents had gone off to debate which neighbour had the best tomatoes this year, you tugged Sylus out onto the back porch. The sky was a soft indigo now, stars starting to blink awake. Crickets chirped. The kind of summer night that made everything feel special. 

You leaned against the railing, arms crossed. “Don’t listen to anything my dad said.”

Sylus leaned next to you, hands in his pockets, lips twitching with amusement. “What, about wanting me as a son-in-law?”

“Yes, that.” You groaned. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was... funny” His voice softened. “And... nice. Being around that much love. The way he looks at you. The way your mom knew you were lying about not being hungry.” He smiled faintly. “It’s loud, chaotic—and kind of wonderful.”

You glanced up at him, and something in his eyes made your chest ache.

“They raised you well,” he added quietly.

You tried to brush it off, but your voice cracked slightly. “How was your childhood?”

“Different.” He looked out into the trees. “I struggled to survive.”

You nodded, unsure what to say. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

"Don’t be." He patted you head, his voice was strangely comforting. 

“Well, you can always come back,” you offered, suddenly nervous, removing his hand embarrassed. “They’ll be happy to see you again.”

He turned, eyes finding yours.

“And you?” he asked.

“Eh?” 

“If I leave… would you be sad?” Your stomach flipped. But instinct kicked in, and you played it off with a shrug. True... He will leave... 

“Not unless you start tipping me at the bar.”

He chuckled. “Is that so?”

“And also, you shouldn’t drink every day either. You’ll die young.”

He turned to fully face you now, clearly amused. “Oh? So now you’re worried about me?”

You tried to hide your smile. Sylus laughed softly, but you could still see the warmth in his eyes.

Under all that tension. Your feeling is accumulating points of reward each time he leans in too close. When he hands you over a bottle of cold water. When he pulls out the chair before you sit in the restaurant or when he lets you use his lap as pillows to sleep on the beach. And in those moments when you see his smile, like now, under the flicking bonfire and his features are so soft as clouds drifting over the sky. You wish you had never met him because one day, probably soon… he’ll be gone. You should’ve known better. 

The ache in your chest is already blooming. Not sure if you won’t be able to bury it after he leaves, you choose the only thing you can. Make the moment yours before it’s gone. You stand, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt, peeling off layers of doubt with every piece of clothing. The air is warm, soft against your exposed skin. The flame crackles behind you, but the sea calls louder.

“I’m going to swim,” you say, calm, even if your pulse isn’t. You glance back over your shoulder, half naked by now. “Coming?”

He blinks, just once, surprised. But that smirk; god, that infuriating smirk; returns quickly.

“You’re bold,” he says, shacking his head but his hand catches your arm gently, his glowing red eyes hold you in place. “Are you sure?”

You raise an eyebrow. “About swimming? Yeah.” You know he is not asking about that. 

The last piece of clothing drops to the sand. You walk into the water, until it's covert over your naked body and you submerge yourself entirely. He follows, doing the same. You can feel him behind you before you even turn. His fingers, tracing the curve of your back, a feather light touch that sends shivers up your spine.

“What is your deepest desire?” You hesitate. You could lie. You’ve lied before but somehow, with him, it feels… pointless. He sees through it already. “Sweetie,” he says, his breath hot against your neck. “Don’t lie to me.”

“…I want to leave this place,” you admit. His hand holds yours beneath the water, while his arm wraps around your waist. 

“Why haven’t you?” he asks.

You stare out at the horizon, the darkness of the night merge with the ocean, and the stars shimmer almost on the water. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m afraid.”

“What would you do?” His voice is closer now. Lips brushing your wet hair.

“I want to see the world,” you whisper, lifting your free hand toward the sky as if you could touch the stars. “I want to know what it feels like to really live.”

He presses his lips on your shoulder. “I can give you that.”

You huff, half a laugh, half a shield. “Yeah, sure. Is that a promise… or just another pick-up line?”

His fingers tilt your chin gently toward him. His lips graze your cheek, your ear. You close your eyes briefly enjoying the prickling sensations of him, of your feeling surfing over your skin. 

“Don’t lie to me,” you echo back.

“I’m not,” he whispers, his thumb brushing your cheek, lingering as it slides over your lower lip with the faintest pressure. Your mouth parts instinctively, you feel the urge to chase his thumb with your tongue, but you hold back. His gaze locks onto yours. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

His thumb rests there a heartbeat longer, then trails down, tracing your jaw, your neck. You turn toward him slowly, pulse climbing, not sure if you're bracing for something or hoping for it. Sylus just pulls you a touch closer, fingertips resting at your waist, holding you steady. He leaned in, slowly, giving you a few agonizing seconds to pull away. You could still stop this. He’s giving you the chance.

The kiss it’s not like in the stories. It’s not gentle. It’s every unsaid thing burning behind your ribs. You melt into it before you even realize. Fingers gripping his shoulders, heart racing like it’s trying to escape your chest. You didn’t want this. You didn’t mean to want him. But his mouth fits too easily, and your resolve slips, undone by the sheer gravity of wanting. And your soul be damned, suddenly, all the rules you'd set for yourself over years: no feelings, no attachments, no hopes… Shatter with the fire inside your chest. Fuck. You don’t want him to leave and that terrifies you more than anything.

Sylus was hungry for you, that much was clear. He kissed you then with an intensity that doesn't match what you were expecting. You’ve met selfish lovers before. Men who touched you like a reward, a prize, like they earned your body just by showing up. Sylus let you lead. And when you kissed him deeper, testing limits, pressing your bare body against him in the water, feeling how hard he was. His grip tightened at your waist, drawing you closer until there’s no space left. Yet he still didn’t cross the line. He wanted to, you felt it. You reached out, your fingers brushing against his hard cock pressing on your belly, and your body burned with desire. Your hand wrapped around him, the impressive length and thickness of him filling your palm, even through the water. A soft gasp escaped your lips as you stroked him, pulling him further into the kiss. Your tongues met with a urgent dance as they swirled and tangled, exploring every curve of each other's mouths. His hand, now tangled in your wet hair, pulled your head back slightly, deepening the angle of the kiss even further.

Then, with a soft, ragged breath escaping him, he broke the kiss. His eyes were heavy with unspoken longing. “As much as I desire you. I want to give you more than just this…” His voice was low, aching with restraint, as he gently removed your hand from his length. Then he kissed you—deeply—like he needed you to know how much he wanted you, how much he was holding back. Yet, he still made you dress and walked you home in silence and left you at the door. He kissed your hands, then pressed another, lingering kiss on your temple, and whispered a soft “Good night”. 

The ceiling fan carved the silence in soft, slow turns. Outside, the ocean whispered secrets to the rocks. A dog barked once, far off, then silence settled again. The air carried the scent of sea and distant charcoal fires into his room.

Sylus sat on the edge of the bed in his rented apartment, your kiss still ghosting his lips. The notebook lay open in his lap, pages filled with observations only he would understand. His handwriting wound through sketches, your fingers curled around a drink, the curve of your smile when you weren’t watching, the weightless joy that flickered in your laugh. He stared for a while at the half-finished line, heart heavy with a feeling he hadn’t expected to grow so fast, so deep.

“You kissed me with your whole heart trembling in your chest, and I felt every piece of it trying to crawl into mine.”

Sylus hadn’t meant to kiss you tonight. His fingers dragged slowly across his lower lip. He closed his eyes, replaying the moment in silence. Your skin against his, the sound you made when his hand slid to your waist. The way you leaned in, offering more than kisses. You would’ve given him everything if he’d let you. But he stopped it. He breathed through the tightness in his throat. He wanted more than just the heat of a passionate night. More than a fleeting moment tangled in sheets and whispers. He wanted your yes in daylight. He wanted your smile with no hesitation behind it. 

The pen hovered. He turned to a fresh page.

“I wanted to give in. To drown in you, in that moment, in everything we both tried to silence. But if I touch you like that… if I let go… I want it to mean something neither of us can take back.”

His jaw clenched. His heartbeat had yet to settle.

“I don’t want to be a moment you regret. You deserve love that doesn’t ask you to run. So I’ll wait. Even if my hands ache from not holding you. I’ll wait, because I already know what I want. I want you.”

He set the pen down gently, running his thumb along the notebook’s inner spine. The ceiling fan is still slicing the dark above him. And though the bed was empty, every part of him was still holding you, still feeling the shape of your body against his. Sylus leaned back, letting the notebook rest against his chest. 

[Notebook]

“You called me arrogant today but your face was all red. Later, you walked closer. Closer than you usually do. You’re so cute.”

[pressed hard into the paper]

“If I ever could taste the salt of your skin on my lips…” 

[Margin note, stained with coffee]

“I tried not to watch your mouth when you called my name.”

[With a small cat sketch]

“Sometimes you act like a cat… Probably I can lure you with mangos and a feather. I should start to call you Kitten.”

He hadn’t planned to stay this long in your town. But his soul was already settled down to your side. He came here for a reason… Something he hasn't told you yet but he hopes to do soon. For now, you made the days longer in the best way. And the nights? They stretched on without you. His gaze drifted toward the dark window, where the reflection of his own silhouette blurred with the night beyond. How long could he stay here? Another week? Maybe two weeks? Could he pretend, just a little longer?

The phone buzzed softly against the table. Its glow carved a cold line through the room.

Kieran.

Work never stayed quiet for long. He looked down at the page again, absently tapping the pen against the margin. The light of the phone blinked again. He turned it face down. Let the darkness swallow it.

“Not tonight,” he murmured.

Tonight, Sylus wants to stay in the dream a little longer.

You didn’t sleep much that night. Your mind was racing, what a strange man. No, Sylus isn’t like other men. Since that night, not much has changed. He still shows up at the bar. He still ordered his usual, except that the amount of alcohol had decreased. He walks you to your home after your shift and takes you to some new corner of this forgotten coastline. Some days it’s a long lunch in a neighbouring village, sharing fried fish and watching old fishermen untangle their nets. Other days it’s a walk through ruins or abandoned train tracks where he tells you stories that feel like lies but you can’t quite call him out on them.

You'd spent afternoons together where he’d saved your life, snorkeling together in the cove. You'd watched fish drift by, swum alongside turtles. But beneath the surface of those moments, the intensity between you had grown, a horrible static electricity building, filled with desire and agonising restraint. Yet, you haven't kissed again or he hasn't tried it either. You really want to taste that fire once more on his lips, desperately, but the fear of getting hooked overwhelms you in those moments and yet, amidst all the tension, he keeps your close. 

A few days later, just after you’d flipped the last chair onto the table and wiped your hands on a dish towel, you found him leaning against the counter. “I need to head into the city tomorrow,” he said, voice casual, but something in his tone tugged at your attention. “Just some business. A couple of hours' drive. 

You look to the sides, confused. 

“Do you need my bless to leave?” you joke.

“No. You said last time you haven’t been there for a while.”

“Yes, I did...” you say still moving from side to side, cleaning up. He takes out his phone and pulls up an image of a poster he saved from who knows where. Then he slides his phone over to me. You stopped what you were doing, and you look at the picture even more confused than before. “Looks interesting. That kind of vintage bookshop really suits you. Would love to see it.”

Then, after a beat, his voice dropped a little, almost hesitant:

“I’d really like your company...” he stopped. He didn’t look at you right away. Just tapped his fingers lightly against the counter, like maybe he wasn’t sure what you’d say. And for a second, your heart stuttered, wondering why that small invitation suddenly felt so big. “I want to ask you out.” You stopped what you were doing, and you look at him even more confused than before. You opened your mouth, searching for words. Are he...?

“I— We’d stay the night,” he added quickly, almost stumbling over the words. “Would be a shame not to enjoy the city.”

You didn’t answer. Can that be a good idea? Going alone with him somewhere else? Spending a night... together? Wait... You're not sure about anything right now. Did he asked your for a date? 

“Can I think about it?” you ask, your voice softer than you intended. Your heart was beating a frantic thousand times per hour.

He nods once, a small smile tugging at his lips, as if he understands more than you’re saying. “I’ll be waiting for you here in the morning,” he replies.

You brought it up to your mother later that night, expecting a lecture, maybe a little Catholic guilt or dramatic sighing, or even a heartfelt monologue about reputation. Instead, she practically threw you out of the house. By morning, she’d stormed into your room, yanked the curtains and told you to get in the shower. Breakfast was already waiting, and by the time you were dressed. Your backpack was packed and waiting by the door. You stood there, speechless.

“Go,” she said, waving her hand like she was shooting a fly. “My beautiful and intelligent daughter… You’re a grown woman.” Then she gave you that nostalgic mom-look. The one that makes you feel like she’s seeing your five-year-old self and not the woman standing in front of her. “I’ve seen you around him. You light up.”

You gawked at her. She kissed your cheek and shoved two lunch boxes into your hands. “Just… be smart, okay? And use protection.”

“Mamá!” You laughed, heart pounding in that strange mix of nerves and excitement. 

She winked, shoved you toward the door, and muttered, “And if he hurts you, I will find him.”

He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the open window, sunglasses hiding his eyes, hair tousled from the coastal breeze. The warm air rolls through, that kind of afternoon that tasted like freedom. You tapped through his playlist, surprised to find a mix of old ballads and moody instrumentals, jazz and classic. An old soul. 

“This is tragic,” you exhale. “Do you only listen this kind of music? Who are you, the Godfather?”

He shrugged. “It helps me think,” he said smoothly, as if brooding jazz was a requirement for plotting international deals or crimes.

With a small grin, you scrolled until you found something upbeat—something from your childhood that made your shoulders instinctively roll. The rhythm of the village, the kind of song that dragged you out of your chair whether you wanted to dance or not.

♫ Bachata en Fukuoka ♫

“You know this one?” you asked, teasing.

He didn’t answer. He sang. Badly. You burst out laughing because his voice was deep, slightly offbeat, and he only knew every third word. But gods, he was trying. Your chest ached in the strangest way.

“Please stop,” you gasped between laughs.

“I’m giving it soul,” he argued. “And you’re not any better.” You stick out your tongue and turn the volume up, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. 

When he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, grinning, you caught it—that angle of his jaw in the sunlight, the muscles of his forearm flexed against the wheel, veins drawn like rivers under skin. The line of his throat as he tilted his head back slightly, mouth curved around the chorus. His lips… again you felt your breath catch. Shit. You turned toward the window quickly, letting the wind cool the heat rising up your core and mind.

The city rose out of the horizon hours later. You hadn’t been here in a long while. You shifted in your seat, suddenly hyper aware of everything. Sylus pulled up to the hotel. You stepped out of the car and instantly felt underdressed. Marble floors. Velvet armchairs. Staff in suits. And the chandeliers were huge, golden things that looked like they belonged in a ballroom, not in a lobby. You wrapped your arms around yourself slightly as Sylus handed over the keys to the valet. At the reception desk, the woman behind the counter lit up the second she saw him.

“Mr. Qin. Welcome back.”

Welcome back? You glanced at him, but his expression was unreadable. Then she turned to you with a professional smile. “And welcome to you as well, Missus Qin.”

Your breath hitched. Missus Qin? You opened your mouth to correct her, but Sylus just smiled, clearly amused about your flustered expression with silent satisfaction. He didn’t correct her. Instead, he took the room key, slid your bag over his shoulder, and placed a gentle hand on your back, guiding you toward the elevator.

“Why did she call me that?” you muttered, trying to sound nonchalant. You weren’t sure if it worked. He didn’t answer. “Sylus?”

“Must’ve been a mistake, sweetie,” he said, voice rich with mischief. You gave him a look. 

The suite was stunning. High ceilings, city view, modern decor with soft touches of luxury, everything immaculate. 

“We’re staying in the same room?” you asked, half amused, half testing him.

“Since you’re Missus Qin today,” he said with a smirk, pulling off his sunglasses and setting them neatly on the table, “it’s only logical you stay here with me.” He gestured to the sofa, far too expensive to actually be comfortable. “I can sleep there, if it makes you more comfortable.” Then, almost teasingly, “Or I could book another room… if you’d prefer distance.”

You rolled your eyes, but the way your pulse stuttered was entirely unfair. “I will survive one night. Also you’re paying for the room.” Then, to break the tension threatening to tighten your chest, you added with a smirk of your own, “If you snore, I swear I’ll kick you off the bed.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “I’d expect nothing less.”

You turned away before he could see your grin. He checked his watch as you lounged near the window, sipping from the complimentary bottle of water. The city shimmered below, heat caught in the glass.

“I need to head to a meeting soon,” he said, checking his phone. “It won’t take long…” You looked up at him. “Would you like to accompany me?

Your brows lifted. “Why? Isn’t it a business thing? Nop. I’m not dressed for that.”

“That shouldn't be a problem.” Then, with a glint in his eye. “We can go shopping.”

Your mouth opened slightly. “I… I don’t—”

He stepped closer. “I asked you to come with me. Let me spoil you a bit.”

You blinked. “This feels like Pretty Woman… The rice guy who—” you avoid finishing the sentence, while you blush… You’re reading too much into it. He laughed but still he flicked his finger gently against your forehead.

“Hey!” you protested, rubbing the spot with a scowl that didn’t reach your eyes. “For what was that?” 

“Don't overthink it.” He smirked. “Come on. Follow me.”

The hotel’s boutique was quiet and elegant, tucked just off the main lobby. Every item looked carefully chosen. Every mannequin poised. Every price tag… conspicuously absent. You picked a dress—fluid fabric, a cut that hugged you just right, something that made you feel both effortless and elegant. He plucked a pair of heels from a nearby display, held them up with a faint smile, and nodded once, like it was obvious they were yours. Even if you had insisted, even if your hand had reached for your wallet, you both knew it was pointless. The dress, the heels, probably cost more than your savings account held. At the counter, while the attendant folded the items with gloved hands, Sylus leaned in, the heat of his breath grazing your ear. 

“Being Missus Qin,” he murmured, voice velvet-smooth, “means being more greedy. Can you handle it, my love?” That last word just rolled off his lips, and your cheeks instantly flared. You had to practically twist away to try and mask the grin threatening to take over your face. He chuckled softly, clearly pleased by your reaction. He carried the bag himself as you walked out, your heart still trying to recover from that one line.

“Go change,” he said, gesturing toward the elevator. “I’ll be waiting.”

By the time you returned, dressed and flustered, Sylus was already deep in conversation with two well dressed young men. His sentence slowed mid-syllable the second you stepped into view.

“You look…” His voice dipped lower. “…beautiful.”

The two men turned to look at you with perfectly timed curiosity. They introduced themselves as Luke and Kieran—identical down to the sharpness of their suits and the easy confidence in their smiles. But it didn’t take long to notice the difference: Luke had a warmer gaze and Kieran was quick-witted, his charm more playful, layered beneath sarcasm and quick glances exchanged between them.

Despite your confusion about who they were or what kind of business was Sylus doing with them. They treated you with quiet respect, never once making you feel out of place. Their ease around Sylus said more than their words, they trusted him. Completely. Which made you wonder again: what kind of man was Sylus really?

You sat together in a private business lounge. You stayed silent, hands folded in your lap, unsure where exactly to place yourself in their conversation. But Sylus didn’t miss a beat. Even while talking about contracts and acquisitions; about someone needing to sign off on a property, timelines, numbers that blurred together. And still, his attention didn’t drift far from you.

Without glancing, he reached out and pulled your drink a little closer, as if sensing you hadn’t touched it. A minute later while still speaking, something about closing dates and a stubborn signature, his hand slid the menu toward you with a gentle nudge. You looked up but he was still mid-sentence. The way his pinky brushed yours briefly. How, when your posture tensed just slightly, he shifted his knee until it touched yours. You weren’t sure if it made you feel more comfortable or more exposed.

At some point, a set of blueprints and renderings were spread across the table; floor plans, materials, and elegant, dark-toned interior designs. You leaned forward, tilting your head. It was sleek, yes. Sophisticated, expensive. But also… cold.

“Too much black marble,” you said, nose scrunching slightly. “Is it an apartment or a villain’s lair? Who is going to live there?”

The conversation paused for a breath. Sylus blinked, lips parting faintly. A beat later, Luke chuckled. Kieran raised a brow in amusement. Sylus turned his head slowly to look at you and the faintest smile ghosted across his lips. 

He adjusted one of the pages, letting you see the whole layout again. “How would you distribute it?”

And after maybe other two hours, Luke and Kieran stood up, gathering their documents with ease and that lingering air of familiarity.

“When will you come back, boss—?” Luke started to ask, but was promptly elbowed by Kieran, who gave him a look.

“Dude! Don’t you check the situation?” Kieran hissed under his breath, nodding slightly in your direction with an exaggerated arch of his brow.

Luke blinked, then followed the gesture, finally catching on. “Oh. Oh. Ooooh…”

Sylus exhaled through his nose then replied with that measured calm that somehow still carried authority. “I still have a few things to take care of.”

Kieran bit back a smirk. Luke straightened, saluted poorly, and muttered, “Message received.”

The way they deferred to him made it obvious, they weren’t just associates. They were his employees. Loyal ones. And the way he held their respect without needing to raise his voice or assert control told you everything about the kind of leader he was.

And just like that, they were gone.

♫ Grecia ♫

You smile “I like them.”

Sylus laughed, already loosening his collar as he sank into the seat beside you, his shoulder brushing yours.

“That’s good” he said, with that familiar glint in his eye. He tilted his head, voice low and easy. “Now... what do you want to do?”

You didn’t have a plan, but Sylus seemed to know how to make the hours stretch. The city buzzed around you, alive but not rushed, soaked in golden light as the sun melted behind the towers. You’d already walked for hours, through markets full of spice and music, narrow alleys lined with vines and hidden bookstores, quiet plazas where street musicians played like they didn’t care if anyone listened. He bought you a tiny ring from a vendor who didn’t even take cards, “just to see if it fit”. 

At a corner café, he ordered two lemon sodas and claimed the tiny mosaic table beneath a jacaranda tree. The breeze carried soft music from someone’s open window, and for a moment, everything slowed down. He tapped his glass to yours, watching you over the rim with a look that made your skin feel warmer than the sun. You laughed at something he said—something dumb and half-flirty. He leaned back with a smug grin, the corner of his mouth tugged higher with every note of your laughter. His eyes sparkled.

“Are you flirting with me, Sylus?” you asked, aiming for teasing but missing the mark. 

His smile widened, then he tilted his head, one brow arched, a flicker of something triumphant in his gaze. “I told you you’d notice the difference,” he said softly.

Your heart jumped in your chest, as it had tripped over itself trying to catch up with the moment. You looked down, suddenly fascinated by the edge of your napkin. The heat in your cheeks gave you away, the quick breath you took, the smile tugging at the corner of your lips no matter how hard you tried to keep it in check. You felt embarrassed but also happy. So many emotions rushed through you at once it was hard to name them all. Something was clear as day, you wanted to hold onto this moment for a bit longer.

Sylus brought you to that small bookstore from the poster, and stepping inside, its quiet atmosphere and crooked rows of worn shelves immediately embraced you like a sanctuary. Dust floated in lazy golden stripes through the high windows, and the smell of old paper settled in your lungs. You wandered aimlessly, fingers brushing spines, pretending to read while your thoughts raced. You found Sylus in the poetry section. He hadn’t said a word, just stood there, back to you, his frame relaxed and strangely at home among the faded covers and soft silence. When he sensed your presence, he turned. His finger was pressed against the page, underlining a single verse in the middle of the poem.

“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,”

“in secret, between the shadow and the soul.*”

You swallowed, something catching in your throat. Sylus finally met your eyes, reading the short poem in calm voice.

“So close, that your hand on my chest is my hand…”

“So close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.*”

*(Pablo Neruda - 100 Love Sonnets) 

The book stayed open between you two, but everything else, the shelves, the world blurred around the edges. And then he added, softer still, “That’s what it feels like. With you.”

A few stray cats lounged on stone benches, and small paper lanterns had already begun to glow in anticipation of evening. You walked along the edge of a garden square after that. He slowed his steps to match yours. His fingers brushed yours once… then again… until, without ceremony, he reached down and took your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. Your heart feels relieved when you feel his warmth.

A loud, unmistakable growl echoed between you, making you freeze. Your stomach betrayed you. “Dinner’s on me.” he said, thumb stroking across your knuckles in a quiet rhythm.

The restaurant he chose was tucked away, elegant without trying. Dim lights, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city’s slow descent into night. The staff greeted him with too much familiarity, calling him Mr. Qin with polite bows and smiles that told you this wasn’t his first time here. You looked around. Velvet booths. Every guest was a portrait of tailored wealth. But across the table, Sylus didn’t blink at the opulence. The waiter poured wine, announcing its origin with elegance. Sylus barely acknowledged him. 

You didn’t know how to hold yourself here. How to sip the wine without second-guessing the angle of your wrist, how to sit without wondering if you were taking up too much space. What am I doing here? The thought came uninvited. This wasn’t your world. You never imagined sharing a table with someone who ordered without glancing at the prices. 

“Do you want to leave?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Umm?”

He leaned in slightly, elbows resting against the tablecloth, eyes still locked on yours. “You’ve gone quiet,” he said. “You always get quiet when you’re overthinking.”

You hesitated, then offered a small, breathy laugh. “Is that so obvious?”

“To me? Yeah.”

“No, it’s fine,” you said, lifting your glass. “It’s just new. That’s all.” You took a sip, then smiled, a little crooked but warming. “And you did said you were going to spoil me… so I’m taking advantage. I plan on eating a lot of dessert.”

That finally made him smile. 

The food was exquisite. The wine had begun to soften the edges of your nerves. He made you laugh and in that moment, you let your guard down. You reached for your glass, felt the soft weight of his gaze settle over you, and let yourself believe it was okay. If you can stay in this fantasy a little longer, so be it. You've spent too much time avoiding long-term love affairs. Only short encounters with those who weren't going to call you when they left. After college, that jerk broke you into a thousand pieces, and since then, your heart has become an icy shell. Yet, Sylus had found a way to chip at it, digging into the ice and creating a space within the cracks where he'd slipped through.

Yes, maybe it was time to let down all the defenses, and let someone like him... really in.

And then she walked in. A woman who looked like she belonged on a billboard: long hair, perfect lashes, crimson lips, and the kind of curves sculpted by some cruel god. She paused near the bar, eyes scanning, and landed too long on Sylus. Your heart twisted, a sharp, unwelcome knot of something you refused to name. She didn’t glance at you once. Why would she? You could still feel the ocean in your hair, the faint scent of sunscreen still on your skin from earlier. You felt small. Ordinary. Like a summer girl dragged into a winter party.

Sylus was… He was someone in this world. You were someone who worked at a beach bar. Who folded towels. Who knew every corner of a sleepy coastline but had never walked in shoes like hers. You knew it was stupid to feel that way. You knew it. But that didn’t stop the doubts from crawling into your mind. Or the whisper in your ear that said: You don’t belong in this story. You’re not special.

If he wanted to be with someone else, you knew he'd just do it. He was too honest, too direct for anything less. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t made a mistake with you. Even if he had asked you to come with him. Planned this trip. Bought you a dress. Treated you like you were someone important to him.

You forced a smile and took a slow sip of wine. Pretended like nothing inside you was shifting and unraveling. Keep it together, you told yourself. Don’t let him see it. But deep down, the quiet part of your heart was already breaking off into questions you didn’t want the answers to.

What if I’m just temporary? What if I’m not enough?

And across the table, Sylus’s gaze lingered on you. That scared you even more. Because if he saw all that insecurity in your eyes and chose to walk away… You weren’t sure you could blame him.

Sylus noticed it the moment your smile shifted. The way your shoulders dipped just slightly, the flicker behind your eyes as you reached for your glass. He followed your gaze and found her. The woman at the bar.

When you stood and excused yourself, your smile polite but paper-thin, he waited only a moment before rising too and walked over. The woman blinked up at him as he approached, lips already parting in a smile. She clearly thought she’d won. After all, a man like him didn’t just glance at someone like her and do nothing. In her mind, men like Sylus always fall for her.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said smoothly, the corner of his mouth lifting just enough to be polite. She offered her name like a gift, tilting her chin, lashes fluttering with well-practiced charm. Sylus was already typing with one hand in his pocket. A quick search. That’s all it took. Her name wasn’t just a pretty label wrapped in lipstick and entitlement. It came with strings. Connections. Family ties woven through business and media. An old-money name known for its reach, and also its scandals.

He nodded once. “Let me get straight to the point,” he said, his tone smooth but sharpened at the edges, “I find it hard to enjoy my dinner when someone is making my wife very uncomfortable.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed and with a scoff masked as a laugh, she tilted her head toward your empty seat. “That little thing is—”

“I’ll say this once,” he said, still polite but his eyes were already burning with a cold fury. “Don’t ever look at me… or my wife, again. If you want to keep your status intact.”

She adjusted her hair so that it fell over her back, and grimaced in disgust. “Who do you think you are?”

Sylus stepped in slightly, just enough to tower, casting a shadow that wasn’t there before. The soft light caught in his eyes, turning them darker. Crimson heat cooled into something unholy. His stare sharpened, he changed to a wolf, ready to kill. “I’m someone you don’t want to challenge,” he said quietly.

And in that silence, she took a step back. Sylus walked away and sat back down, sending a quick message to Luke. He replied with a thumbs-up emoji and an Already on it, boss.  

But when you returned, something in you was still pulled taut. And so the rest of the evening unraveled almost in silence. Now, walking through the winding streets back to the hotel, the heat of the day had faded into a softer warmth. The city hushed beneath golden streetlights. A tinny vendor’s radio spilled music into the night.

♫ Qué se siente que me gustes tanto? ♫

The lyrics landed first in the air, then in your chest. Sylus didn't wait long to bring up the subject. He couldn't leave it like that.

“You really think I’d look at other women when you’re across from me?” His voice was low. 

You stiffened. You kept your gaze fixed forward, on the uneven cobblestones, refusing to meet his eyes. “Don’t know what you mean.”

Silence stretched, and it made you squirm. You didn’t want to admit it, that spark of fear, the ache of never being enough. You were proud. You’d never ask to be chosen. 

His voice dropped even lower, “My beloved…” he called you, the words were softer than the fading music and gentler than the evening breeze that just barely stirred your hair. The sound wrapped around you, and made your heart be even more confused. You stopped walking, rooted to the spot. This was bad. Really, really bad. If you let yourself fall for him now, truly fall, there’d be no way for you to untangle yourself from his beautiful, complicated world.

And yet, when he reached for your hand, you didn’t resist. He pulled you into his arms, and pressed your face into his shirt, soft cotton that smelled like a special mix of wood, spices and leather. Is the first time you really noticed it. Is intoxicating. The music still played behind you. Your eyes stung. Sylus felt your breath against his chest, the tension running through your spine, so he pulled back just enough to look at you. 

“Dance with me,” he said, not really asking.

“Now?”

“Why not?” he murmured. His hands found your waist, pulling you close as you swayed in place gently with the rhythm. The world around you blurred. 

Warmth settled between your rips, your hands finding his with ease. For a moment, there was no one else. Just the hush between lyrics and the quiet longing. His thumb moved in lazy circles against your lower back. He could feel the tremble in your body and he held you tighter. You didn't know where to pour all the overflowing feelings. You wanted to lean in, to taste the comfort of his lips again. His gaze dropped to your mouth, then shot back to yours, holding you captive. In that moment, you wondered if, behind those intense crimson eyes, he also carried his own silent insecurities. And if he, like you, knew the fear of giving his heart away.

Sylus leaned in, hummed low with the melody, his mouth brushing near your ear. The verse slid back in, whispering as he echoed the lyric:

“¿Y si te doy mi vida?” (What if I give you my life?)

The words melted into your skin, and with them, the fear grew bigger. What if, for a moment, you put your fear aside? What if, for a moment, you dared to give in to all your emotions?

Please...

What would it feel like if your feelings were reciprocated? Your heart were hammering in your ears, beating so fast you hadn't felt like this in years.

Don't hurt me...

The moment stretched. You stepped a breath closer, and his hand pressed you more firmly against him. You had stopped dancing. Your eyes darted all over his face, searching for an opening.

Kiss me...

His phone buzzed loudly in his jacket pocket, shattering the moment. He didn’t move at first, his forehead nearly touching yours, but then he sighed and stepped back with a quiet, frustrated sound. The sudden space between you felt colder than it should have.

“Give me a moment,” he murmured. 

You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly chilled despite the warmth of the night. Your mind is a mess. Even with the overwhelming urge to kiss him, your mind, predictably, had already strayed, lost in its own labyrinth of thoughts. Tonight was beautiful, but what did it mean tomorrow? And what if—what if this was just how he made any girl feel special? That thought struck harder than you expected.

By the time you reached the hotel, your mood had changed. The heat between you had been replaced with the chill of doubt, creeping in from all sides. You stand in the middle of the room. Barefoot, feeling small. You look over to the bedroom, then to him. You see your reflection and notice how the joy you felt this morning just disappeared with the day. You feel pathetic. 

“Are you upset?” You shake your head. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t lie to me.” he said softly, removing his watch, and placing down his phone on the table then opening a few buttons of his shirt. “Say whatever's on your mind.”

Your heartbeat echoed in your ears, louder than the silence between you. The distance wasn’t physical space; it was the weight of all the words that still hung, unspoken, in your chest.

“¿Y si te doy mi vida?”

His hand brushes yours. Your fingers twitched, desperate to reach for him. Your throat feels tight, as if you were suffocating. You're actually terrified. Because you want him, desperately. Not just the heat of his kisses, not just the easy laughter or the wild, thrilling mystery that he is. You want to actually love someone for once, truly. And it’s him. Fucking God, it’s him. But if he leaves… If he goes back to wherever he came from, with his smirk, his rich laugh and silver hair… Your heart will shatter and go straight back to that frozen, numb place. And you’ve only just started to thaw. You flinch. You meet his gaze in the low light. His expression is serious, no, even worse…  Disappointment, sadness or something in between. 

“I’m not… lying.” You lie.

He watches you a second longer, then slowly moves even closer to you. His movements are careful. His fingers wrap gently around your wrist, and he guides your hand to his chest, on his warm skin. A fast, steady rhythm beneath. His parted lips hover just above yours. The same lips you kissed a few nights ago, when you told yourself not to care. When you whispered: Let’s just have fun. It doesn’t have to mean anything.

But now…

Now, your thoughts are overflowing with him. Mornings, nights, in the quiet moments between customers, between dreams, you think of him. In his presence, somehow, you found the courage to admit out loud that you want to leave your home. The paradise with its palms and sleepy routines. That you want more. To go somewhere, do something, be someone. And still… even if he’s offered you all that, you’re terrified. Terrified he could simply use you. Terrified that things won't work out between you, and you'll be back to square one, heartbroken again. 

“What do you really want?” he murmurs. His gaze is piercing you, you want to avoid him. If you let him… if you let yourself. The knot in your chest seems to struggle your heart to death. It hurts so much. You blink fast, trying to clear the sudden blur in your vision. Your throat tightens, making it impossible to swallow. “Why aren't you saying anything?”

“I—” You take a deep breath, trying to reduce the growing anxiety in your chest. “We should sleep,” you whisper, you’re one breath away from breaking. 

“Don’t—” he starts, his voice rough, as if he’s about to say something that might shatter the last bit of distance between you but he stops. He swallows whatever it was, a visible effort, and just hugs you for a long time. 

The silence settles again, but this time it’s louder, pressing in on you. And for a long while, neither of you sleeps. You want to cry out all the pain, and ironically, let him comfort you, wipe the tears from your face, and promise you that everything will be okay. The bed feels too big and far too small at the same time. You close your eyes, trying to ignore how closer Sylus was. 

After that, every passing day carves the question deeper into your mind: What happens when he finally leaves? It gnaws at you more with each sunset. You keep telling yourself not to get attached. You’ve had flings before. Summer heat, wandering hands, promises made in the dark that vanish with the morning sun. You’re not new to that rhythm. 

However, Sylus remembers the way you like your coffee. That you hate papaya. That your first kiss wasn’t anything magical, just wet and awkward behind a middle school building. That you used to get bullied for being too loud, too intense, too weird. He knows that you chew your straw when you're nervous. That you hold your breath during horror movies. He knows you have a birthmark between your shoulder blades you pretend to hate but secretly hope someone finds beautiful. That you’ve never told anyone the exact moment you stopped believing love was safe. 

By now, it’s been fifteen days since you met him and in that time he knows more than you ever told anyone. Tonight, he’s sitting on his usual spot, sleeves rolled to his elbows as he skims a finger across the rim of his whiskey glass, he hasn't touched. You’re closing the bar tonight. There isn't anyone left on the beach. You join him wordlessly, sinking into the chair in front of him. You glance over. His eyes are fixed on the ocean, jaw tight. Something’s off. 

“…Sylus?” you ask softly.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just exhales through his nose. 

“I’m leaving…” he finally says. There it is. Your stomach knots. You knew this was coming, didn’t you? You swallow hard. 

“When?”

He looks at you then, and his eyes, those burning red eyes, look tired. No, they look unexpectedly sad. “Tomorrow afternoon.”

The silence that follows carries the heavy weight of all the unsaid things. You nod, pretending it’s fine. You’re fine. This is how it should be, how it always ends. You swallowed the bitterness of the coming farewell, the pain that had flooded your entire body, and the crushing sadness of never seeing him again. Maybe you'd screwed up. 

“At least I have one less customer to serve,” you quip, a thin attempt at humor.

He huffs a breath, a sound that's a tired mix of amusement and resignation. “I… didn't expect to stay so long.”

You nod again. He reaches for your hand, his fingers wrap around yours. 

“I told you I’d give you everything,” he says, and his voice is serious.

“What does that even mean, Sylus?”

Why me? Who are you really? What happens after this?

He lifts your hand, presses a kiss to your knuckles. 

“It means,” he says slowly, his eyes holding yours, “if you want to leave this place. If you want to see the world, say it.”

You stare, breath caught in your throat. “You’re asking me to just… go with you?”

“I’m offering you a way out.” He smiles then, soft and utterly unreadable. “Your choice.”

The smell of herbs and something baking fills the air. You hear the soft clatter of your mother’s steps as she moves from counter to stove. You sit there in the dim light of the kitchen, elbows resting on the table, the ghost of Sylus’s offer still echoing in your chest. You want to ask her, but you can’t put your words together.

She passes behind you, then stops. Set something down gently on the table. You glance at it. A photograph. Slightly bent at the corners, colors a little faded with time. You are in a yellow swimsuit with flowers, front tooth missing, two uneven braids. One hand gripping a tiny shovel, the other clutching the hand of a boy, frowning, clearly not thrilled to be holding yours.

“Do you remember that summer?” your mother says, her voice light, amused. You don’t answer. Just stare at the photo like it might rearrange itself if you look long enough.

“You met that boy,” she continues, “and I remember you told everyone you were going to travel the world with him.” She chuckles under her breath. “You always wanted to go beyond the horizon. I don’t know what happened to that dream but…” she pauses, and her voice softens. “You know... Your father and I—we can live alone.”

You look up. She’s already turned her back again, kneading something, hands working like they always do. You huff. You even haven’t said anything but she already knows what is oppressing your heart.

“I just thought it was cute, how serious you were,” she adds. Then, quieter—like she’s saying it to the dough. “Who knew he’d grow up to be so handsome…”

Your breath catches. You look down at the photo again. At the boy. You hadn’t made the connection. Same frown. Same eyes. That stubborn, restless energy in his bones. 

Sylus. 

No wonder he could speak your language so well. You stare at the picture, fingers tracing the edges. Was that why he was here? If you have forgotten about that, has he too? Could it be...?  

You lay on your bed, eyes wide open, ceiling fan spinning slowly above you, offering no peace. How did you forget him? How did he slip through the cracks of your memory? You remember the summer, vaguely. You remember falling, scraping your knee, building sandcastles. But him? Not really. Maybe your brain, like your heart, had tucked it away for safekeeping.

You throw off the sheet when the first rays of sunlight appear behind your curtain. You take the photo and slip it into your pocket and walk out. The path is still etched into your bones, even after all these years. Past the old mango tree, down the narrow stretch of dirt between fences, and through the tall grass that tickles your legs until the world opens up. 

The beach. You find the spot. The place where your little hand held his. You sit down in the sand, cool grains sticking to your legs. The sky is bruised with the first light of morning, deep pinks and soft golds stretching across the horizon. The ocean glitters just for you. You pull the photo out, staring at it again. 

You don’t hear his footsteps at first. 

“I wondered if you’d remember.” You look over your shoulder. “You kept the picture,” he says, sitting beside you.

You hold it up. “Why didn’t you tell me?” The ocean murmurs beside you, waves licking the rocks with that slow, lazy rhythm that feels almost too intimate for this moment.

“Would you have looked at me the same way, if I’d said it on day one?” His gaze lingers on the horizon. His thumb brushes over his knee, slow and distracted. “You didn't seem to remember me at all.” He paused. “I thought… if I added more weight to all of this, you'd pull away.”

You stare at him, lips parted, heartbeat louder than the sea.

“I didn’t want to overwhelm you,” he finishes, finally turning to face you. “But I think I might have, anyway.”

You look down at the photo in your hand then at the man beside you. Maybe you stayed because some part of you was waiting. Hoping. Hoping he'd come back. And then it clicks. Like a lock turning after all these years. You did make a promise. You both did. You remember the salty wind in your hair, the scraped knees, the laughter. The little boy frowning at the sun, then reaching for your hand and whispering something like:

“When we’re older, let’s explore the world. You and me. I’ll came back.”

You huff. Then laugh, low and disbelieving.

“So you came here to find me?” you ask, glancing at him.

“No,” he says, eyes still fixed on the horizon.

You squint at him. “Then what was it?”

He’s silent for a moment. 

“I’ll tell you. But first… I want to here your decision.”

“Does my choice change your secret?”

“No,” he repeats.

You press your lips into a fine line. A choice. Yours. The word echoes through your chest. Panic rises in your throat, a quiet flutter of fear. You’re not sure what you’re waiting for, some sign or burst of clarity, but maybe the truth has been there all along. Leaving because of some old promise would be stupid, but... you had waited for an excuse, for something that would finally pull you out of your comfort zone. You’ve been scared. Of leaving, of staying. Of wanting something too much. But this… him. It hasn’t felt temporary in a long time. You exhale. The nerves are still there, fluttering like butterflies wings under your skin. But somewhere deeper inside of you, already knows the answer. 

“I want to leave and see the world,” you squeeze his hand. “But also... I want to be with you.”

His head turns slowly, and he looks at you with tenderness. His hand closes over yours. With the sun rising and the sea singing low beside you, you realize you’re choosing something that feels like destiny.

“I'm glad to hear that.”

“Now…” you whisper, “your—”

Sylus laughs under his breath, then draws you in. His mouth meets yours with a softness that steals the air from your lungs. You feel the tremble in his exhale, the way his fingers tighten slightly. Your hands find his chest. The world narrows to the taste of him, familiar, new and everything at once. He barely parts from you, his forehead brushing yours, his nose nudging yours.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours. “All these years. I wanted to find you.” A pause. “Coming here wasn’t planned, I almost gave up,” he admits. “I was just taking a few days off. And then… I found you.”

There’s a softness in his expression, an openness that makes your soul leave your body. For you, he’s not just a visitor anymore. Not just a beautiful man passing through. He’s the ache in your chest that finally has a name. He’s the silence that felt full instead of empty. You grip his shirt, holding onto him like he might vanish if you let go.

The sun crowns him in gold, dawn spilling across his skin, catching in his lashes, turning him into something you could never explain to anyone else. You kiss him again, this time with everything you’ve been holding back. He answers with equal fervor, hands cradling your face. The world tilts, and for a moment it’s just breath and warmth and the ache of something too big for words. The kind of kiss that means yes. He breaks the kiss with a soft, disbelieving laugh, eyes impossibly bright as if he can’t quite believe this was happening. Without warning, he rises, sweeping you into his arms effortlessly. Your laughter bubbles up, wild and breathless, muffled against the curve of his neck as he spins you around. 

The door barely clicks shut before you’re on him again, tangled in each other. Clothes fall in a trail behind you. His fingers slide under your shirt, tugging it over your head as his lips find your neck, dragging a sigh from your lips. The trail of clothes grows behind you, scattered and forgotten, urgency pulsing beneath every touch.

The relentless desire for the feel of your bare skin against his, already warm and damp with your rising heat, was getting both of you into an intoxicating high. A thirst as overwhelming as hours without water in the desert.

You kiss him slowly. First his lips, a deep, soft sigh shared between you, then lower, down the sharp line of his jaw. Your mouth drifts to the curve of his neck, tasting the warmth there. His breath hitches,when your tongue traces the hollow of his throat. You can feel the tension building, a taut wire humming through his body, every muscle pulled tight…

Sylus tilt your head, eyes burning in desire. You just smiled, making him sit on the bed. You knelt before him. He exhaled sharply. You kept going, placing soft, wet kisses down his chest, over each ridge of muscle, pausing to press your mouth against the places that made him twitch, and made him whisper your name. 

“You don’t need to…” he started, his voice thick with unspent lust, but your lips had already closed around his leaking cock. His head fell back with a low groan. Your mouth moved with intention. You wanted to savor this—him. You hollowed your cheeks just enough, letting your tongue glide along his length, feeling every small shudder ripple through him. His hand drifted to your hair only holding, enough to ground him as he unraveled.

“S-sweetie…” he murmured, his voice roughened, broken open by pleasure.

You didn’t stop. You owned this moment, every agonizing, beautiful second. The taste of him was rich, musky, utterly intoxicating, a flavor that filled your mouth and settled deep in your throat. The way he fought to keep control and still offered it to you completely, without reservation. He was yours like this—silent except for the sounds you pulled from him, the way his hips shifted with restraint beneath your hands.

Your lips wrap around his thick cock, feeling the slick heat. You split over him, taking him deeper in. Tears pricked at your eyes, because of the sheer effort and the overwhelming sensation. Yet you enjoyed it so much, you wanted more. 

Sylus can barely breathe, every nerve ending screaming. He feels his control fraying, a thin thread about to snap. His hips twitch, wanting to thrust into your mouth, but he holds himself rigid, a strangled sound catching in his throat as the pleasure threatens to overwhelm him entirely. You pull back, and a thin line of breathless laughter escapes him, as if he can’t believe what you were doing to him.

You wiped your mouth delicately, lingering for a moment to lick away his taste still on your lips. Then you kissed your way back up his body, over his taut stomach, up his chest, hovering just above his lips.

“Still think I’m not greedy enough?” you whispered, your voice husky. He looked like he wanted to worship you and surrender at the same time. His answer was a kiss that made the whole room spin.

He didn't give you time to continue. Sylus made you lay down on the bed, his knee nudging between your legs, creating a space just for him. His eyes, dark with fervent hunger, scorched your flushed skin as he leaned in. He kissed your collarbone, then the hollow of your throat, his lips playing with your breath, before his mouth drifted lower. He took your nipple between his lips sucking on them, making your back arch and a gasp in response to that. You felt the sudden gush of your own wetness, a hot, insistent tide rising, your whole body with a pulsing need to have him. 

“Let me... return the favor,” he murmured and then he disappeared between your legs. 

Your eyes rolled back in your head. His hot tongue danced over your swollen, damp pussy. The taste of you, sweet and musky, filled his mouth, a heady rush he craved more than air. It felt so terribly, impossibly good. “So wet...” he purred, the words vibrating against your sensitive skin. Your whole body tensed, an electric current shooting through you. He gorged himself on your wetness, every lick, every suck deepening his own hunger.

He kept you firmly in place, his hands on your thighs, devouring you with an intensity that stole your breath. Your moans grew louder, and uncontrollable sounds ripping from you. You grabbed fistfuls of his hair while your other hand clenched the sheets, twisting the fabric. “Sy— Fuck...!” Your breath was a mess, short-circuited, ragged gasps. You were going crazy, right on the edge, especially when he pressed his tongue deep inside you.

“Sy— I'm… aahh… mm…” Your words were broken sounds, lost in pleasure.

The vibration of his own moan against your dripping pussy was the cherry on top. You were about to cum on his face when he pulled back. You let out a small, frustrated whine.

“What…” he murmured, his tongue flicking hard against your clit. “...Do you…” again, a deeper, swirling lick that made your hips arch instinctively. “...Need..?” You couldn't form coherent thoughts; how could one man be so impossibly good at this? “Tell me.” He pressed a hot, claiming kiss to your inner thigh, sending a shockwave through your entire body. You couldn't even articulate if you wanted him inside you, or if you simply needed more of his impossibly talented tongue.

“Be honest,” he whispered, the words punctuated by tiny, insistent bites on your inner thigh. His nose then brushed against your clit, drawing a sharp gasp from your throat. "You smell so good," he purred.

He kept you on the edge, pushing you further with every lick, every suck. You writhed beneath him, your fingers twisting in the sheets, desperate to articulate the overwhelming need. Sylus continued to feast, drawing out your pleasure until your pussy screamed for something more, for him.

“I... want.. you…” The admission ripped through you.

“As you wish” he breathed, and the certainty in his tone was an aphrodisiac, sealing your fate.

Every breath, every motion feels etched in starlight. When he finally thrusts into you, the wet, full slide of him ignites a deeper fire, driving even further, lost in the vast extent of your desire. A whimper tears from your throat, your nails drag burning trails down his back, and then, without quite thinking, you sink your teeth gently into his shoulder, desperate, loving bites that pull a gasp from him. You murmur something incoherent against his damp skin, something silly that dies on your tongue. He chuckles, breathless. 

His entire body is on fire with the profound pleasure of being inside you, feeling you stretch around him, so wet, so impossibly tight. Sylus pressed harder, deeper inside you, with the urge to bury himself completely, never wanting to let go. His warmth floods you, mingling with your own burgeoning sweat, dissolving the last threads of hesitation. “Fuck,” he rasps, a rough, breathless sound against your ear, his voice full with his own spiralling pleasure, "you feel so incredible.” 

You feel every inch of him: solid muscle, steady breath, the faint shiver that betrays his own restraint. Letting out a long breath, you fully surrender to his embrace. Your legs wrap around him almost instinctively, drawing him in tighter. His mouth devoured yours, tongues tangling, wet and insistent, mixing tastes of hunger and the lingering salt from his skin, a flavour of absolut, undeniable devotion. You move together, slow at first, building a rhythm that pulls you both under.

He moans your name against your ear. The world narrows as the heat of his skin grows. The sound of your breathing tangled together is getting louder, and the steady rhythm he finds between your hips makes your vision blur. He feels you clenching around him, demanding more. His thrusts are smooth, sensual, purposeful. He’s trying to memorize the shape of your body from the inside out, imprinting himself onto you. 

Each movement sends sparks up your body, makes your chest arch, your breath catch, your thoughts dissolve into nothing more than him. “Sylus…” you whimper against his neck. Sweat glistened and rolled over the planes of his chest, catching in the silver hair that trailed down his lower stomach to the base of his cock.

The wet slap of skin echoed the deep, rhythmic thwack of his hips meeting yours, and the raw longing burning in his eyes is almost too much to bear. You cling to him, your hair sticky against your own body, as well as the weight of all your feelings: your fear, your yearning, your surrender, everything coiling tighter into every powerful roll of his hips.

His mouth brushes your ear as he promises you things you can’t quite hold yet, but desperately want to believe. “Please…” you gasp, the word lost in the rising tide of climax. “Sylus…”

“If… you keep saying my name like that...” he moaned, so shaky and broken it barely sounded like him. “I’m not… ah… going to last long.”

The desire rised between your bodies like a storm about to break. You couldn't hold back; the dam of all your emotions was seconds from bursting. And with a few more relentless movements, you came, shuddering violently over his cock, gasping for breath as if you’d been drowning. You cried out with a wild, untamed sound you'd never made before, a full-body surrender that spilled into a rush of shared liquid.

Your body trembled beneath him, and still he didn’t let go, maintaining the rhythm, anchoring you both in the eye of the storm. He presses his forehead to yours, breathing hard, his fingers brushing your cheek with tenderness. He could feel every tremor in your frame, hear the racing beat of your heart, echoing his own.

Sylus pulled back slightly, only to thrust in harder. His cock, already thick, hardened further, pulsing with a fierce demand inside you. He needed more. His own climax, so close just moments ago, was now a conscious chase. Each powerful plunge was a desperate claim, a primal need to consume and be consumed. 

He felt the nails of your fingers digging into his back and it only drove him further. The way your face twisting in pleasure, of your body arching in that first, explosive climax coursed through him, intensifying his own need. He hadn't expected to go so fierce with you the first time. But your tongue, your hands, your raw surrender had provoked him beyond anything he’d anticipated. He sighed. He needed to come. You were pushing him past every limit. 

You felt him hit your sweet spot, driving you wild again. Your body arched up to meet his every brutal, perfect demand, instinctively answering the raw desire in his every thrust.

“Sylus...” You cried out, and the sound of his name on your lips was a direct path to his soul.

“Relax. You can handle it,” he choked out, his hips driving relentlessly. The wet, furious slap of skin against skin became the only sound in the universe. Your legs clamping again around his waist. His muscles bunched and flexed beneath your fingers, shimmering with sweat, as he hammered into you, faster, harder...

Just as his body tensed for release, he pulled back a fraction, you hear his choked question against your ear: “Can I come inside you?”

“Mmm-hmm... yes!” you whimpered, your body arching. “ ’m taking... the pill...”

His body tensed with renewed power, and he slammed into you, picking up a new tempo with a desperate urgency. He was rock-hard inside you, pushing you toward a second climax even as your head spun with the intensity.

Until a desperate moan tearing from his chest as he poured himself into you, filling your core. You let out a load moan, your own climax exploding through you, pulling you violently with him into the sweet oblivion. He collapsed against you, heavy and spent, his breath ragged against your neck, his fingers digging into your hips, still clutching you. 

After, your bodies remained impossibly tangled, bathed in the hush of the room, slick with shared heat. You felt weightless and pinned at the same time, his leg tangled with yours, Your heart still raced a frantic rhythm barely believing what just happened. The sheets are a mess, but neither of you moves. His arm is heavy across your waist. His breath fans gently against your temple. You stare at the ceiling, too full of feeling to speak.

Then, his fingers found your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek with feather-light care, he turned you toward him. You looked at him and found no trace of the usual smugness in his face but rather a profound softness you hadn't seen.

“I hope you know…” he said, his eyes flickering side to side, almost vulnerable. “…this wasn’t just for fun.”

You stared at him, the unexpected softness in his gaze disarmed you. The overwhelming tide of emotion swelled within you, a chaotic mix of the shattering intimacy you'd just shared, the fierce longing that had coiled inside you since that trip to the city, and the startling realisation that Sylus had been holding back too. You felt it now, in every inch of your body, lingering on your lips…

“Yes, I know, but—” you blurt, your thoughts instantly slipping out in a rush. “But I’m also a disaster! I overthink everything, and I say stupid things. I’m going to ruin this, I know it, even though I don’t want to. I’ll probably just cry and then analyse every breath we’ve shared because I can’t stop myself—and I won't be enough!”

Sylus blinks once, then twice, clearly caught off guard by the sudden rush of words.

“And maybe I’ll run or say something stupid because that’s what always happens when something actually matters and this...  You... You matter so much I can’t even breathe right and I— I love you so much…” Sylus’s eyes widened, freezing on your face. You haven't realised what you just said. “...and it’s terrifying because if you leave I won’t know how to be okay again. And I don’t think I’ll even know how to want anything else after this... after you... and, and...”

Then, his hand finds yours beneath the sheets, firm but gentle. He laces your fingers together and pulls you slightly closer, grounding you with his gaze.

“Leaving me is not an option,” he says, eyes steady. “I won’t accept that.” The intensity in his gaze sends your heart stumbling all over again. You feel your face heat up so fast it’s like someone struck a match across your skin. “After all,” he murmurs, and there’s the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips, “you love me…”

You froze. Did you say that…? The words echoed, loud and clear in your mind, burning with the fresh memory of the confession torn from you just moments before. Mortified, you yanked the covers up and over your head like a kid hiding from a nightmare. “God, why am I like this?” you mutter from underneath.

He laughs softly, leaning over the mound you’ve become. “Don’t hide under the blanket, Kitten,” he murmurs, leaning over the mess of linen you’ve become. “I remember everything you said.”

“I’m not hiding,” you protest, voice muffled and absolutely unconvincing.

“Oh?” His tone tilts into that familiar, playfully smug edge. “You’re not hiding. Enlightened me then…” his fingers pinch a corner of the blanket. “What exactly are you doing?” He gives the covers a tug, but you cling to them tighter.

“And why are you calling me Kitten, now?” you protest, struggling with him.

“It suit you” he laughed. 

A brief, silly struggle ensues and before you know it, he’s won. He slips beneath the blanket with you, pinning you down, his bare chest warm against yours. You yelp as his mouth finds yours again in the dark, laughter caught between kisses.

“Don’t be so fussy, Kitten,” he murmurs against your lips, smug and soft all at once. “You already said it.” You turn into his chest, breathing in his scent, your hand clutching the fabric of the sheets between you. He wraps his arms around you tighter. “Now let me show you what that means to me.” He murmurs, and before you can respond, his lips find yours.

A kiss that speaks in quiet declarations: I heard you. I see you. I’m not going anywhere. His mouth brushes over yours once, then again, softer, slower. His hand cradles your jaw, thumb tracing your cheek, and you melt into him, the warmth of his chest, the strength of his arms, the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your palm. The moment stretches between heartbeats, soft and suspended. Then you sigh, the weight of reality pressing lightly on your chest.

“It’s a shame we can’t stay like this too long.”

“We have plenty of time” he said, pressing his again hard cock against you. 

“You’re not leaving today?” You lift an eyebrow, already suspicious. He keeps kissing your neck. “Sylus…” you warn, your tone dropping.

He pulled back, hovering over you. “I guess you can say I lied.”

“What?”

“Leaving today was… an option.”

Your mouth falls open in disbelief, you push him from you, scandalized. “Liar!”

“But,” he drawls, he caught your wrist effortlessly, tugging you back against the bed with ease. “I still need to get on a plane this week. Which means, my beloved…” he kisses your knuckles with infuriating calm, “we have the whole day to ourselves. And enough time to pack your things.”

Your heart skips, a flustered mess between outrage and joy. “You’re assho—”

“I know,” he smirks, utterly shameless, pulling you into a kiss that tastes like victory and sweet devotion. 

The days after, the sun rose just like it always did—but everything felt different. You packed quietly, folding memories between cotton shirts and worn-out sandals, tucking away pieces of your old life with a strange sense of calm. Your mother hugged Sylus tightly at the door, laughing as she told him, “You always were handsome, even back then as a boy.” He smiled, a little shy for once. Your father gave him a few heavy pats on the shoulder, nodding solemnly. Take care of her.”

And just like that, you left. With nothing more than a suitcase, enough to pack everything important to you. You had always known this place wouldn’t hold you forever. Your heart had been beating against its walls for years, aching for something just out of reach. But it was also a cage, painted in soft colours and built from everything you loved and yet couldn’t stay for.

Sylus didn’t rescue you. He gave you a reason, an option to leave. Before your courage could shrink back into doubt, before the weight of comfort could drag you into settling. He was a spark, and you were dry wood pretending not to be waiting for the flame.

You found out later, that the blueprint you once saw, the one that made you wrinkle your nose and tease him over his terrible taste in dark interiors… was a real apartment. A place he had already bought. For both of you. Just in case you said yes. He had designed it with the quiet precision only he possessed. Room for you to make it yours. 

You slowly began to accept every piece of him. His shadows. His impossible expectations. His infuriating smirk. His softest silences. And he, in turn, accepted yours. Your doubts. Your fear. Your stubborn heart that had always longed to run.

Months passed. Then years. And with each one, your love with Sylus deepened. He never tried to clip your wings, instead, he helped you build them stronger. He stood by you, through every new city, every strange adventure, every late-night doubt. He pushed you when you forgot how powerful you were. With him, you became the woman you were always meant to be: strong, radiant, free.

One day, when you were ready—truly ready—he knelt before you, eyes bright with unshed tears. You said yes, the word trembling from your lips like a vow the universe had always been waiting to hear.

The bell of the church rang across your small village, echoing through palm trees and sun. Rice flew through the air, laughter danced on the breeze, and petals rained down on two people irrevocably in love. You stepped out in white, hand in hand, heart in heart. When he kissed you under the sun, tears mixed with sweat and ocean memory, and he whispered against your lips: “I love you.”

A/N: If you’ve reached this part — congrats! I hope you enjoyed the story. I did my best to portray Sylus as true to character as possible in this scenario. It’s quite a challenge to take him out of the whole LADS universe.

Depending on how The Taste of Apple and Pomegranate evolves, I’d love to write an epilogue. I honestly feel like this story could easily have two parts.

But, well… work and life exist, so we’ll see.

Still — I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comment section, and I hope to see you in future stories!

What If "Salt on your skin" were a movie?

Want more Sylus in your life >> MASTERLIST

[vasito-de-leche]

B-Baby Saja dating hcs, please and thank you. I have no money, but I have my love and support!! 🥹👉👈

;KPOP DEMON HUNTERS BABY - Relationship Headcanons

Compilation of headcanons about Baby (Baby Saja) in a romantic relationship.

no problem anon, all we ask is for your heart and soul, nothing too big!

Okay, hear me out. I know it's common to portray maknaes as sweethearts, the cute ones that make you squeal with their adorable antics, but I really like the idea that the roles given to each of the Saja Boys are somewhat ironic--Jinu being the leader, the figure of someone you can rely on and that keeps things stable being actually a liar and selfish person only looking out for himself, Romance being all about love but being unable to truly accept nor commit to a relationship, etc etc. So when it comes to Baby, I like the idea that his cute antics are mostly an act.

He and Mystery are the most difficult members to approach in a romantic context, simply because they have no interest in anyone outside of the band.

The difference between them is that Mystery believes any connection he makes cannot be genuine for many, many reasons, while Baby just doesn't think anyone is interesting enough to let them stick around. He likes the superficial attention and compliments that he can get just by rapping and making cute faces, those are easily accessible! He dislikes the idea of anyone expecting something out of him, the pressure of living up to someone else's idea of him--the vibe I want to portray with Baby is that of someone who is too childish to realize that relationships are a two-way thing, who struggles to understand that some people are worth the effort.

I mentioned in my previous Saja Boys posts that the only way for most of them to be in a relationship right away is through a publicity stunt--being in a fake relationship with Baby takes a lot of patience, due to him going hot and cold, back and forth constantly. Sometimes he has fun pretending to be your boyfriend, sometimes he gets fed up with keeping up with the cutesy nicknames and ignores you for days on end. Sometimes he's blowing up your DMs, asking if he's done anything wrong, why are you ignoring him? Don't you want to hang out anymore? By the way, you still owe him money for that lunch date the other day.

Ideally, for Baby to start considering a relationship, he would first need to consider the idea of opening up to someone as a friend; I think that anyone looking to be close with Baby needs to be someone full of surprises, who can keep up with his moodiness and all of his whims.

There are a million fans who would love to spoil him rotten after all, he can get those any day. But someone who can keep him on his toes? Bite back with comebacks that leave him speechless? That's rare. That's new and fun. I do think that Baby gravitates towards people who are most similar to him, hence why he had no problem following Jinu--game recognizes game, both are people who live for themselves.

And once you have Baby's attention, it becomes easy to earn his approval. He likes you, so obviously you should get the same privileges as him!

He teaches you how to pull the perfect pouty face to get away with anything, how to cry on command and where the hottest hidden spots in town are, always making sure you get the best VIP treatment. Even if you're not into the life of luxury that idols live, he still insists that you keep him company, it's fine if you don't want to buy designer clothes or fun novelty trinkets for yourself, but you have to be there when he shows off his new outfits or this new drone he's bought.

And trust me, he WILL show off in front of all of your friends and family, Baby is the type of person who would LOVE to show up unprompted to a family dinner just so everyone at the table can gawk at the two of you because holy shit you're dating THE Baby Saja?

Movig on to their demon aspects, dating Abby involves slowly coming to see more of his animalistic and demonic impulses, all of the sides he cannot keep hidden because of how excited he is to be in a relationship--but with Baby, it's more like you're finally privy to all the things that happen behind the scenes, like you're in on the joke. His attitude doesn't change a lot, but it's like you're able to see him in a brand new light either way, understanding all the little details because he finally allowed you into his world.

I like to think that Baby's struggle as a demon, or the reason he became one in the first place, is related to how guarded and childish he seems to be--someone who was raised to be great, couldn't live up to those expectations and yet demanded the rewards either way because this is what he was raised for, this was what was promised to him. Why deny him everything now? Why force him on a path with no escape, only to toss him aside like that?

This is why it's harder for Baby to let anyone in, why he struggles with expectations and responsibility of any kind and why he becomes so fiercely overprotective and territorial of anyone that manages to slip into his heart.

When Baby falls in love, he unconsciously becomes extremely clingy with you; sometimes it's his casual cute maknae antics, sometimes it's giving the nastiest looks to anyone who distracts you from paying attention to him, sometimes it's whining into your arms about how you're leaving him alone too often, he wants your opinion on his next rap! Do you wanna hear it? It's a diss track on this guy you both hate! He genuinely doesn't notice he does this, more focused on finding ways and excuses to be with you.

Following his instincts as a demon but lacking the actual drive to get himself physically involved, Baby would have no issue pulling a few strings to somehow push anyone he deems annoying or a threat to your friendship and relationship with him out of the picture--in fact, I can see him fully believing he's doing you a favor by weeding out those who might be a bad influence on you. These people? They want to change you, to force you to do things you don't want! What the fuck is a 9 to 5 job, that sounds awful!

Whereas Abby becomes drunk in the positive feelings you inflict on him, focusing on how to make you happy because you make him happy, Baby focuses more on how to ensure you don't leave him, nor experience any of the things he's lived through. Depending on how close Jinu is with all the members, I can see Baby somewhat adapting the mentality that all demons deserve is to swallow in their own misery for all eternity, but it doesn't extend to you.

Moving on to less intense topics, it's pretty easy for fans to spot when he gets serious about you; he simply stops posting about you as often on his social media. All the cute pictures he takes of you or the two of you together are for his eyes only.

Once you two settle into the relationship, you can pretty much figure out what he wants or is going to say with just a single text. He sends "Hiiii ❤️✨" and you already know he's going to say that if he was a worm, you'd obviously love him but that he'd want you to also be a worm with him.

Another fun headcanon I have about Baby is that he's pretty much a brat and all, but he's not immune to you and basically folds super easily without even realizing--not when it comes to things he likes and dislikes, mind you, there's no one on this planet who can make him do anything he hates, but if you happen to mention your favorite color, then Baby will find himself wearing more of it without noticing. If you mention you like sweets, he just happens to bring up your favorite snack during interviews, as if that had been his favorite brand all along.

[saltnsugarbear]

I'm gonna stay faithful (to the devil I know) (18+)

summary: After you don't respond how Carmy wants to a compliment, he gets a bit,,,, authoritative

title from: "The Devil I Know" by Suki Waterhouse

word count: 3.9k

content warnings: smut MDNI!!! Carmy's mean (like,,,, like mean), use of derogatory words during sex (bitch, brat,), Claire again :/, what i suppose could classify as subspace, brat tamer Carm :), reader wears a skirt (important for plot), afab reader genitalia, unprotected sex, i lean so heavily into being horny and pathetic, ✨️pull out method✨️, I cant think of anything else?

side note: hey hi everyone say thanks Olive again for helping with dialogue and just,,,,, everything ever. everyone say thank you olive because I should be paying her

series masterlist!

You've been bugging Carmy all day since his morning text. The sunrise from the L tracks.

Carmy had started sending them early in the month, sometimes just the sunrise, sometimes with an added message. This morning, the photo is tagged with a short, "Looks like you."

The text made you scoff, rolling your eyes while you tap out a short, "You're annoying"

For an hour, Carmy leaves you on read. At first, you think he's tied up with the kitchen until Sugar sends you a brief, "Carmen's being annoying again."

Her complaint garners your sympathy and a brief, "Isn't he always annoying?" which gets a heart reaction from her. You switch chats between the Berzattos, going back to Carmy where he's still left you on read.

You: Carmen...

You: I'm messing you, Carmy.

Carmy reads your messages but doesn't respond. You let him keep you on read for another twenty minutes before you message him again.

You: are you pouting rn? really?

Bubbles appear a couple of times before he responds.

C: No.

You: Nat says you're being particularly annoying today

C: She's being annoying today..

You can hear the grumble of his voice, an attempt to redirect your attention.

You: Carmy...

You can practically hear the sigh fall from his lips as you watch the bubbles go. And they stop again. You've seen this pattern with Carmy enough times to cut it short.

You: Need me to make it up to you later?

You: Maybe during lunch?

You: ;)

The last message is a tease, enough to clarify what you could mean. And enough that he stops typing for a minute. Then he starts up again.

C: Can't get away for that long.

You huff, knowing there's an obvious option here.

You: Or....

You: I could come there..

The response is instant.

C: No.

Then.

C: Can you wait til after?

You groan, burying your head in your arms on top of the counter. You're hiding long enough that he messages two more times.

C: You can, can't you?

C: Then I can come take care of you.

The words on the screen make your face flush and it's embarrassing because he's not even there. You keep your face hidden like there's some way he can see you from the restaurant.

You: You're evil, btw

You: I guess I can wait... But I'm not happy about it.

C: Yeah, yeah..

Unfortunately for Carmen, when you want something, you're persistent.

Which, for him, translates into his phone pinging in his pocket. You send him a few things each time he's away, just to tease him and to gift him with a surprise when he comes back to his phone.

It starts as idle chatter, comments as you go about your day. Telling him about the errand you have to go run, mentioning the woman with her cat in a stroller when you get there, telling him about the lingerie set you saw at the store and how you think he'd like the color.

After noon is when he starts getting frustrated. Not at your messages, but rather that he can't just leave.

The tipping point is the picture you sent him. Nothing graphic or noteworthy would make him squirm until he could get his hands on you. Instead, you've attached a selfie, taken at an angle, so it's like he's towering over you. In the photo, you're wearing a sweater over a collared shirt and a plaid-patterned skirt that pools onto the bench you're sitting on.

The picture is bumped up when you send another text.

You: Company lunch :P

You: You know how I feel about free food

Something inside Carmy twinges. His gaze flicks back up to your skirt before he types a response.

C: I thought you had the day off?

You: Apparently they couldn't schedule the lunch for another day

You: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

You: They're arriving! See you later ;)

"It's open!" You call over your shoulder and then turn back to your phone. Carmy enters your apartment easily, and you can already hear him grumbling about leaving the door unlocked while he toes off his shoes.

"I don't know why I knock anymore." He tells you, and you brush him off.

"No one is going to come into my apartment, Carmy." You sigh, turning onto your back. "Other than you."

Your reason makes Carmy shake his head as he walks over. You tuck your legs in to make room for him on the couch, sitting up straight.

"How was your lunch?" Carmy lets his head fall back against the couch when he looks at you. You give him a short shrug, laying your head against the cushion as well.

"Lame, but they paid for me, so that's a win." You give him a bright grin. He nods, bringing a hand to fidget with the edge of your skirt. "Just like.. Getting everyone out of the office, talk about something other than emails and deadlines. How's the restaurant?"

Carmy lets out a ragged sigh, turning to face the ceiling. You listen as intently as you can, course correcting when you find yourself getting distracted. At some point, you forget and start tracing his features with your eyes. Then it's easy to remember why you invited him over.

As he continues to tell you about how Richie thinks they should decorate for Halloween, you silently sling one of your legs over his thighs. Carmen pauses briefly, watching while you push yourself onto his lap.

"Are y'serious right now.?" Carmy grumbles, hands raised as you get settled. You give him an exasperated huff, adjusting how you're sat.

"I was being serious all day.." You complain, rocking your hips into his for affect.

"Can't go five fuckin' minutes without it, can ya?" He scoffs, resting his hands on your thighs when you stop moving. He's smirking up at you, blue eyes bright while he teases.

"You said you'd take care of me, Carm.." You whine, rolling your hips again.

"And y'can't wait a little longer?" He taunts, squeezing your thighs.

"I've been waiting all day," You emphasize this by shifting your hips. You try and make it look like you're adjusting how you're sat, like you can't get comfortable. Carmy shakes his head with a huff, watching as you squirm.

"Thought I was annoying.." He says, holding you in place, and you let out a frustrated whine. As if you can't believe he's bringing it up now of all times.

"Told you, I was messing with you," you tell him, hands resting on top of his. He hums at that, tilting his head to one side as he studies you.

"I want an apology," He says, and it catches you off guard.

"What?" Your brow furrows in confusion. Is he serious right now? You're sitting on his lap, and he's thinking about an apology?

"I want an apology." Carmy reiterates, a sternness finding its way into his voice. It makes something in you seize for a moment, and then you can breathe again.

"What are you, twelve?" You scoff, rolling your eyes. He stays quiet, content to squeeze at your thighs while he waits.

"No. I told you I was joking." You sit up straighter, chest puffed with some sort of defiance. Carmy raises an eyebrow at your antics, clearly unamused. When you don't say anything else, a small sigh escapes him.

"Apologize," He lets it sit in the air for a moment. "Or I won't fuck you."

Your stomach twists. There's something in his eyes that almost makes you believe him. But you're not going to give him the satisfaction of folding first.

"Who said I invited you over to fuck?" You're bluffing. He can tell even without the tone in your voice but he thinks it's cute how you're trying to play it off.

"You're kidding me.." Carmy scoffs, hands sliding further up your thighs.

"You lounge around dressed like this? Huh? Even the lace?" He brushes over your clothed clit, making you inhale sharply.

"You're bein' mean," You whine, lifting your hips slightly. You watch as Carmy rolls his eyes, pouting when he pushes you back down onto his lap.

"Oh, don't pout, you started it. Being a brat while I was being nice."

You huff pathetically on top of him. You look down at where your hands rest on his stomach, pinching at his shirt fabric quietly.

"No, stop, look at me-" Carmy grabs your face with both hands, making you look at him. "- Quit it. You did this."

You whine from low in your throat, the sound muddled by the way he's holding your face. You blink at him a few times, trying to ignore the pressure behind your eyes. He sighs heavily, hands leaving your face to find your hips. Carmy moves you easily, pushing you off his lap and back onto the couch.

"Hey!" You squeak, watching wide-eyed as he stands up. You watch him adjust his jeans silently before he starts to head to the door. Your stomach dips watching helplessly as he starts to slip on his boots.

"Wait, wait, wait.." You stumble off the couch quickly. Carmy doesn't get very far before you're standing in front of him, a poor attempt in stopping him from leaving. He stops as you press yourself against him, clinging onto his t-shirt.

"I told you I was joking." You whine, blinking away the pressure of tears.

"I didn't laugh. An apology. Or I leave." He says it firmly, and you know he means it. The huff you let out is pathetic and it makes him raise a brow. He forces you back two steps, bullying his way to the door. It's embarrassing how quickly you're falling to your knees to keep him in place.

You're slightly frantic in your movements, hands flying to his belt. Carmy watches you as you struggle with the buckle, tugging at it impatiently. You have to keep him from leaving.

"No. Hey-" Carmy grabs your chin again, making you look up at him. You sigh miserably, blinking up at him as you feel tears starting to well up.

"I said an apology. You can hear me, can't you?" His tone is condescending as he looks down at you. You whine softly, looking anywhere but him. Carmy lets go of your chin, letting you pout in front of him.

"You really want me to leave, hm?" He hums, shifting just slightly. You're quick to shake your head, moving your hips a little. "Doesn't seem that way. That's too bad. Think I'll go-"

"'M sorry!!" You cry out, shifting on your knees, resting some of your weight on his foot. Your hands clutch at his thigh as you rock softly against his boot.

"Yeah?" He asks you, pressing harder against your core. You whine miserably, grinding against the toe of his boot. "Repeat it for me, baby.."

"Carmyy-" You whine. He hums, taking a step back and watching you scramble at his leg to keep him from leaving. Something about it makes his stomach dip, and makes his head hazy.

"I'm sorry," you get out. "Please, Carm, please-"

"Finally..." He grumbles, taking a step back from you. You're able to glance the tent in his pants before his movements block your view.

You squeal softly as Carmy grabs you under your arms, moving you to the couch. He drapes you over the armrest, a throw pillow nestled against your stomach.

Carmy 'tsks' softly behind you, lifting your skirt and exposing the backs of your thighs to him and the air. He watches as you squeeze your legs together, squirming under his gaze.

"All that beggin' and whinin' got you this worked up?" He asks, pressing his thumb against your underwear, dragging it down to where he knows your clit is. His hands gone as quick as it came before they're gripping the sides of your underwear.

You gasp when you hear the tearing of seams, Carmy moving to the other side and ripping it too. The air's cold on the skin of your ass and cunt, pressing your thighs against the side of the couch like it'll do anything.

"Look at that mess," Carmy grunts before the remnants of your underwear land on the center cushion. "All that cryin' and you still ruined 'em."

The center of your underwear is darker than the rest. It's embarrassing, and it makes your face flush. You tuck your face against the cushion, as if you can find from the blood rushing to your face.

"No," Carmy says from behind you, a hand coming under your face, lifting you away from the cushion. "Look at it."

He grips your jaw and turns you back to the direction of your ruined underwear, making sure you look at it.

"See the mess you were makin', humping my leg?" You whine at his words, clenching around nothing. You inhale sharply as he presses his erection against your ass, rocking his hips slowly.

The feeling of denim against your core makes you moan softly, pressing your hips back into him. He brings a hand to your waist and gives you a firm squeeze.

"Quit that," Carmy shoves his hips against you, pressing you back up against the couch. Once you stop squirming, Carmy lets go of your face and shifts behind you. The sound of him undoing his belt makes your thighs clench. It clinks as he shoves his jeans and boxers off, letting his cock rest against your ass.

You inhale softly as he pulls his hips back, brushing the head over your entrance. You're glad you took in a breath because when he pushes in it feels like the winds been knocked out of you.

"Fuck- Carm-" You groan, clawing at the armrest under you. The stretch still feels like you're being split open even after a few days without him.

He doesn't give you long to adapt before he's starting a steady rhythm. You lose any train of thought you could have had, effectively lost as Carmy picks up the pace. Moans tumble out of your mouth, rocking your hips back to meet Carmy's movements.

Your head is hazy, reeling from the way Carmy's fucking you. In the past, Carmy's been firm and attentive. Nothing like how he is today. Today, Carmy is like you've never seen him, rough thrusts and rougher hands. He presses your hips down against the armrest, you already know there's going to be finger-shaped bruises there.

"So good, Carm-" You groan, panting against the couch cushion. He scoffs behind you, rolling his hips into you.

"Such a fuckin'-" Carmy starts, but cuts himself short. His breathing is ragged behind you and you can't help the whine that escapes you when he gives you a particularly sharp thrust.

"Such a fuckin' bitch.." He grunts out, hand sliding up to hold the back of your neck. "Cryin' t'get fucked."

"Carm-" You choke out, reaching back for him. "Carmen-"

You squeal softly as Carmy grinds his hips against your ass, fingers brushing the side of his thigh. He takes your wrist in a firm grip and presses it against your back. You press your calf against his, rolling your hips back into his. You breathe out heavily against the cushion, an awful attempt to fill your lungs.

"Please-" You choke out, feeling how he twitches inside of you. "Carm- please- give-"

You sob into the cushion as he slams his hips into you again, effectively cutting off your pleading. You don't have time to think before Carmy pulls all the way out, making you sob again.

His hands are heavy on your hips, pulling you back and off the couch. You're panting as he turns you over, picking you up easily. Your mind is foggy as he carries you before setting you down on a mattress. His hands feel like they're everywhere, as he tugs off your skirt and you try to take off your shirt. Carmy tsks softly and lifts the shirt over your head before laying you back down. You watch quietly as he tugs off his own shirt.

"Carm, please," You whine, grabbing for any part you can reach. Your chest heaves as he lines back up against your entrance. The slow stretch of him makes your jaw drop, eyes fluttering shut as you grab at Carmy's shoulders.

Carmy places a hand above you on the bed as he pushes his hips flush against you, making sure you feel everything. Having him over you makes it easier for you to grab at him, digging your fingers into his back as he grinds into you.

"Look at you.." He breathes softly, giving you a shallow thrust. "Just needed my cock and you start behavin', huh?"

Your words are slurred when you whine out and the look on Carmy's face makes you flush. His eyes are dark as they meet yours and you watch as his jaw tightens, breathing out heavily.

"Didn't come over here to hear y'whining.." Carmy grumbles, grabbing at your chin and shutting your mouth. That doesn't stop a noise from escaping your lips, stifled as he tries to keep you quiet.

It's almost natural.

The way his hand slides down to your neck.

The feeling of Carmy's hand around your throat makes your eyes roll back, jaw dropping as he grinds his hips into you. A groan tears from your throat as your back arches off the bed, hands grabbing for Carmy's arm to ground yourself.

You watch as he lowers himself to rest with his forearm against the bed, punctuating the movement with another shallow thrust. Carmy starts a steady rhythm, looking down at where he fucks into you. It's not long before the tensions building low in your stomach again, squeezing your thighs against his hips.

"C- Carmy- gonna- please let me-" You struggle to finish a sentence, fight to find the words past the feeling of Carmy fucking you the way he is. You don't get a response from him, just a few more rough thrusts. That's enough to send you over the edge, back arching off the mattress as your orgasm washes over you.

"Shit," Carmy grunts, pressing his forehead to yours as he feels your walls clamp around him. "Let go, sweetheart. Let me feel ya.."

He sighs against your lips, closing the small distance as he grinds into you. Your hips rut against him without rhythm, making Carmy groan into your mouth. It's a mess of tongue and spit as he moves his kisses to your jaw, nipping at the juncture under your ear.

The sound as Carmy continues to fuck into you is sinful, filling the room along with your heavy breathing.

"Carm- Carmen, need to feel-" You choke on a sigh, being shut up by a soft nip against your collarbone. Carmy picks up his pace, the sound of skin against skin being chased by his heavy breathing. He trails kisses and bites back up your neck, timing his bites with each thrust.

It makes you whimper into Carmy's hair, grabbing at his back and shoulders as you teeter along overstimulation. He makes it to your mouth, tugging on your lower lip gently with his teeth. You whine quietly, "Bear..."

"Fuck-" Is all you get from him before he's smothering the words against your lips. His pace gets sloppy and frantic as he kisses you. You think you might be able to live like this the rest of your life.

Carmy groans into your mouth, hips rutting into you erratically. He's swears quickly before he pulls out, making you whine before you feel his release on your stomach. You sigh when he pushes his hips into the back of your thighs, feeling his cock twitch against your skin.

You wait as he reaches for a kleenex from your nightstand, wiping off your stomach and stepping it on the surface. With your skin mostly clean, Carmy slips an arm around your middle and presses himself against your side. You hum as he presses soft kisses to the side of your face, whispering sweet things against your cheek and hair.

Once he's done holding you, Carmy falls into his aftercare routine. Pressing kisses to your skin while he cleans you up, helps you dress, and tucks you back into bed.

You grumble at him softly when he gives you a parting kiss, leaving the room for longer than you'd like. You can hear him shuffling around the apartment, the sound of cabinets opening and closing and water occasionally running.

Soon, Carmy is back with water and something else in hand. You lift your head to catch a glimpse of whatever he's got and blink slowly.

"Y'didn't have to.." You mumble, eyeing the plate he sets on your nightstand. Carmy makes a noise before he leans over you, grabbing an extra pillow for support.

He waits silently as you sit up, eyes catching how your nose scrunches in discomfort. Carmy quiets you with a quick kiss before you can make a comment at him. Instead, you hum quietly and take the plate when he sets it in your lap, making a noise of complaint when he parts.

Once you're settled, Carmen crawls over your legs before he lays next to you on top of the comforter. He grabs the extra fork from the plate as you collect a bite, eyeing him while he pokes the food.

"That was hot," You say through a mouthful of food. "By the way.."

Your words surprise a laugh from Carmy and make his face flush while he continues to pick over the plate.

"You'd say that about whatever I did.." He mutters, collecting a bite while he avoids looking at you. His words make you huff, nudging him softly.

"Shut up..." You tell him, letting Carmy steal from your plate quietly.

You eat in silence, taking in Carmy's sex-mused appearance. There's angry red lines slopping along his shoulders and the curls around his neck are messy. You quietly admire the fading hickeys along his chest, left by you a few nights ago. He taps your thigh softly, motioning towards the plate when you've been staring for awhile.

"Eat." He tells you. Carmy watches as you take a few more bites before he starts to collect another.

When you're both done, Carmy collects the plate before taking it to the kitchen. He takes awhile to come back to the room but you wait for him contently. Carmy pauses when he sees you waiting for him and you can see the brief surprise in his eyes.

You wriggle deeper into the blankets while Carmy crosses to turn off the lamp before he joins you. He slips under the covers easily, resting to face you when he's settled.

"Look like I got mauled by an animal.." Carmy grumbles beside you. You make a noise of protest, hitting him softly as you gape at him. You know he's giving you shit, but it hits a nerve.

"Just you wait..." You warn him, knowing that tomorrow you'll look worse than he does. He shushes you softly, tugging your hips closer and tangling your legs together. He placates you with kisses when you start to argue, pressing you into the mattress. You make a noise of contentment, letting him smother you until he's pressing kisses to your jaw and your neck.

You're more than happy to let him kiss you to sleep.

Carmy's gone in the morning.

The bed is made on his side.

The only proof he was there at all is the text when you check your phone.

C: Claire came back while we were asleep. Snuck out.

Underneath is a message from Claire after she would have gotten off from work.

Claire: Did you move the couch?

Claire: Missed it putting my bag down, sorry if I woke you

[hope-to-hell]

Electric (when you’re near) part ten: a weight lifted. Agent Stone x Ivo Robotnik. They say confession is good for the soul. So are kisses. Story masterlist here.

—————

When people talk about getting something off your chest, they talk about it like it’s some great weight that’s been removed, like the very act renders the confessor completely free. There’s something of truth to that: with that weight lifted, it’s possible to breathe again. Crushed bones can begin to mend; blood spilled inside the body can be reabsorbed. But what they don’t talk about are the hooks that catch at your flesh, attached to that weight; they don’t talk about the way you hang there, bound to your confession.

They don’t talk about the listener who sits atop that weight, or their judgement with its ability to either cut the lines or pull them tighter. But these things are felt instinctively even if they aren’t consciously understood; they make the act of confession a frightening thing. And so the act of keeping secrets becomes an art, developed over long years of rejections great and small until it’s automatic, reflexive. Better to be crushed than to be hung in the light, nakedly exposed.

Agent Stone has been taught to bear the weight of secrets, and to carry it well. Emerging from college, despairing of a future without debt— or, really, of any meaningful future at all, having learned something of the world and its horrors— he found himself across a table from dark-suited strangers who promised absolution of all his debts if he would only work with them for a certain span of years. With us, they’d said. Not for us, or beneath us.

That was a lie. There is always a hierarchy. Those with their lives on the line— scrapping and scrabbling to stay alive, serving some great Plan of which they can only glimpse the smallest sliver— well. Soon enough, their work becomes their only purpose. Better to die in the trenches than to balk and be crushed by something so hopelessly monolithic.

Somewhere along the line, Stone got his wires crossed. Maybe it happened after Walters took pity and gave him something useful to do instead of benching him after that last disastrous mission. After all, it wasn’t long after repairs were completed on his body that he was assigned as Ivo Robotnik’s minder. Now he’s found a purpose of his own.

Ivo sits on the sofa, rotating a three-dimensional display in the air before him; he magnifies a power coupling, prodding at the virtual model, but he’s not really paying attention. There’s something else consuming his thoughts; his hands seem to move on their own in automatic subroutines. You know, something’s been bugging me. Why not go back to the field? I’ve seen some of your dossier. Top of your class. Agency darling and all that. You were killing it out there. Why stay? You know this job goes nowhere.

I don’t want promotions, or honors, or anything. My place is here. That mission— the one before I met you— it wasn’t the possibility of dying that bothered me. I know I’m expendable. It was just that it seemed so pointless. But being here, with you, I feel— meaningful. Nothing else matters. The job itself is just a paycheck.

So you’d have no problem leaving? Turn in your badge and go rogue? Throw your whole life away? Bullshit. Ivo doesn’t ask what the mission was, and for that Stone is grateful.

There’s nothing I would miss. Except— well. This is the hard part. I’d miss you. This is Stone threading the hook through his own heart and handing Ivo the end of the line.

You’d miss me. Ivo pinches the bridge of his nose. Me. He looks up, eyes half hidden by his knuckles. Why?

Do you remember our first day together?

…what about it?

You grabbed me like— may I touch you?— like this. He cups Ivo’s jaw, fingertips stroking over the bone. It’s a gentle touch, careful; it’s not the bruising grip he felt, but his hand slots into the same place. You were the first person in months who touched me like I wasn’t going to break. Ivo’s hand drifts down from in front of his eyes, settling over Stone’s wrist.

That’s a terrible reason to get involved with someone. But Ivo speaks softly, and he leans into Stone’s hand. It's impractical. Unsustainable. Who is he trying to dissuade?

Maybe. But I’ve been happy here. With you. And I would very much like to kiss you now.

So he does.

There are no fireworks, no birds singing, no angels trumpeting. But when Stone leans down, Ivo rises to meet him. They’re tentative at first, overly gentle, searching out how they fit together. But when they do— when Ivo takes a breath and Stone licks into his mouth, when Ivo reaches to splay a hand across the back of Stone’s skull— it’s perfect. Sure, they knock their teeth together and now Stone’s lip is bleeding, but it’s okay. It’s more than okay. He kisses Ivo fucking Robotnik, and Ivo kisses him back. What else could be better?

Stone pauses, close enough that his breath ghosts into Ivo’s lungs. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.

I think I might have an inkling. Now do it again. So he does.

[thefloatingstone]

"And Then There was Silence" by Blind Guardian is a 14 minute song that documents the events of the Iliad poem by Homer.

Although the song shifts POVs multiple times throughout it, it's meant to represent the Prophet Cassandra's premonition of the fall of Troy.

Somebody actually combined the song with lyrics on screen with the movie "TROY" which is NOT a good movie (if only because it completely leaves out a lot of the gay relationships of the original) but it helps explains the lyrics within context of the Iliad itself.

The OP says: "The lyrics also mention some scenes from the Trojan cycle which did not make it into the movie. Most notably, these are the sacrifice of Iphigenia (1:21) and the Judgment of Paris (5:16). I considered using classical paintings and mosaics to illustrate these scenes, but in the end I decided to keep a more consistent imagery by only using scenes from the movie."

Lyrics in text below the cut because it's FOURTEEN MINUTES LONG

Turn your head and see the fields of flame

He carries along From a distant place, he's on his way He'll bring decay (Don't move along cause things they will go wrong The end is getting closer day by day) In shades of grey We're doomed to face the night Light's out of sight

Since we've reached the point of no return We pray for starlight, we wait for the moon The sky is empty, alone in the unknown We're getting nowhere

We have been betrayed by the wind and the rain The sacred halls empty and cold The sacrifice made should not be done in vain Revenge will be taken by Rome

We live a lie Under the dying moon Pale faced laughs doom Indulges in delight It's getting out of hand The final curtain will fall Hear my voice There is no choice There's no way out You'll find out

We don't regret it So many men have failed, but now he's gone Go out and get it The madman's head, it shall be thine We don't regret it That someone else dies hidden in disguise Go out and get it Orion's hound shines bright

Don't you think it's time to stop the chase Around the ring Just stop running, running Round the ring Don't you know that fate has been decided By the gods Feel the distance, distance Out of reach

Welcome to the end Watch your step, Cassandra, you might fall As I've stumbled on the field Sister mine Find myself in darkest places Find myself drifting away (Death's a certain thing) And the otherworld, the otherworld appears

Find myself, she dies in vain Cannot be freed, I'm falling down As time runs faster, moves towards disaster The ferryman will wait for you, my dear

And then there was silence Just a voice from the otherworld Like a leaf in an icy world Memories will fade

Misty tales and poems lost All the bliss and beauty will be gone May my weary soul find release for a while At the moment of death I will smile It's the triumph of shame and disease In the end (Iliad)

Raise my hands and praise the day Break the spell, show me the way In decay The flame of Troy will shine bright

The newborn child would carry ruin to the hall The newborn's death will be a blessing to us all

Good choice, bad choice? Out of three you've choosen misery Power and wisdom you deny Bad choice, bad choice War is the only answer When love will conquer fear

So the judgment's been made To the fairest, the graceful says Badly he fails

(Warning) Fear the heat of passion, father king Don't let him in, don't let her in Desire, lust, obssession, death they'll bring We can't get out once they are in

She's like the sunrise Outshines the moon at night Precious like starlight She'll bring in a murderous price

In darkness grows the seed of man's defeat Jealousy I can clearly see the end now I can clearly see the end now I can clearly see the end now

The thread of life is spun The coin's been placed below my tongue Never give up, never give in Be on our side so we can win Never give up, never give in Be on our side

Old moon's time is soon to come

Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide Nothing to lose, like one we'll stand We'll face the storm created by man

Roar, Roar, Roar, Roar

(Troy, Troy, Troy, Troy) And as the lion slaughters man I am the wolf and you're the lamb

Hallowed Troy shall fall Round the wall Faith is shattered, bodies fall

Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide Nothing to lose, like one we'll stand It's all for one and one for all All we live for will be wiped out

I feel that something's wrong Surprise, surprise they're gone Full moon, your time goes by A new moon's still kept out of sight

(We live) Misty tales and poems lost (We die) All the bliss and beauty will be gone May my weary soul find release for a while At the moment of death I will smile It's the triumph of shame and disease In the end (Iliad)

Raise my hands and praise the day Break the spell, show me the way In decay The flame of Troy will shine bright

Roam in darkness Spread the vision We will be lost if you truly believe

Troy in darkness There's a cold emptiness in our hearts That they've gone away And won't come back

They'll tear down the wall to bring it in They'll truly believe in the lie Lie, lie With blossoms they'll welcome the old foe

The vision's so clear When day and dream unite The end is near You'd better be prepared

The nightmare shall be over now There's nothing more to fear Come join in our singing and dance with us now The nightmare shall be over now There's nothing more to fear The war, it is over, forevermore

No hope, the blind leads the blind Carry on, though future's denied Mare or stallion, there's far more inside We're in at the kill We'll cheerfully die

Misty tales and poems lost All the bliss and beauty will be gone May my weary soul find release for a while At the moment of death I will smile It's the triumph of shame and disease In the end (Iliad)

Raise my hands and praise the day Break the spell, show me the way In decay The flame of Troy will shine bright

Holy light shines on

So the judgement's been made We're condemned though the trial's far ahead The crack of doom Father, your handsome son is heading home

Still the wind blows Calm and silent Carries news from a distant shore (Heading home) (repeat 2x)

Out of mind Can't get it Can't get it out of my head Sorrow and defeat Sorrow and defeat

[stupendousfoxthing]

Okay but genuine question : why is it that whenever tkk travel together, we deadass never hear about it like RADIO SILENCE NADA 🔕 till they break the news to us one way or another. That private trip they did when jk cropped himself from the picture for tae's birthday (mom & dad dresses) or the luxury hotel after World Cup or even Hawaii like....etc etc...how come nobody stalks them or leak their locations / photos...??? Either stalkers cease to exist from the world or tkk take extra ultra mega precautions to not be seen not even once and if its the case why on earth they go to these extra lengths to hide if there's nothing to hide ?? Like why be soooo adamant about keeping the secrecy to this degree.

On the other hand, whenever jkjm travel, everybody and their mama suddenly know about it. The whole earth recognizes them and leaks their locations lmao this has to be intentional in some way. Either the marketing is doing its work to keep ppl on their toes to expect content, or they are just that careless cuz there is just nothing to hide or both.

If you really think about it, it really does make the most sense that if there is a couple hidden in bts, the odds of it being tkk are higher, waaaaay higher than any of the other pairs, jkjm included. The privacy and secrecy of it all are suspicious. It just makes more sense that if they are real couple, then they ought to go extra just to hide it and keep their trips to themselves.

I'm not going to complain about no one stalking Taekook and taking pics and video of them. I'm thrilled that they can travel and spend time together without that happening. I'm a Taekooker who gets annoyed when people post the Namsan pics because those were 100% taken without their consent first.

I have no doubts about Taekook being it and no other ship is even a possible concern for me. But I also want to make it clear I don't believe based on vibes or the privacy/secrecy surrounding them. That plays only a very minor role in my beliefs about them, in that it isn't a reason I started believing as much as it just made sense (like every other dot that has connected) that a queer couple would be way more cautious and protective of their privacy in general.

I believe because of the things my brain can't find a platonic explanation for. Like the intentionally hidden from official cams/big screen nape kiss, the matching Sweetheart shirts on the same day, or "To Find You" or "Oh No Oh Yes". The amount of time they spent together in solo era which was all outside of work obligations. The fact that even with spending all of that time together immediately before and after the Hawaii trip they still missed each other so much when Tae went to shoot his photobook Jungkook flew to Hawaii to be with him, that shows me how much they mean to each other.

I don't expect anything from the company where Taekook is concerned. I don't even want it. I want that to be theirs and theirs alone. I truly do not need anything else from them other than what they choose to share.

[callsigndreadfrost]

Loke (Fallout): This was not an easy situation for him. Look, he loves his brother more than anything else in the world, he has zero regrets about taking in his little brother and raising him. He just regrets that both lost their parents in such a sudden way at the same time.

It was so hard trying to suppress his grief and trying really hard to "get over it" especially since Loke himself was just a kid when their parents died. All he wanted to do was lay in bed and forget about the world for a long time, he was obviously grieving for his parents but he was also scared to death because he was just a kid himself. How was he supposed to survive the Wastes by himself? Nevermind the fact that his brother was barely even 2 years old. Sanaa and Ingvarr left a considerable amount of caps hidden away for emergencies but by Loke's calculations, even if he was careful, it would all be gone by the end of the year.

It was too much for a 17-year-old kid to be hit with all at once. Honestly having suppressed his grieving really did a number on him, he instantly set everything aside to take care of his brother. It was admirable of him and showed not just the fact that he loved his brother and a maturity beyond his years but it effected him in ways that would manifest later on.

I'd say he took a while to get into the role of guardian, his personality really changed a lot because he wasn't just his brother anymore he was guardian, he'd be both mom and dad for him from that point on. He got some help from some close family friends until they tragically passed and it was just yet another blow to Loke's psyche and delicate mental state.

Jelani as a kid was rather easy, he always listened, was eager to learn all Loke was trying to teach him and they got along great.

However, their relationship got rocky when Jelani hit those "dreaded" teenage years. He wasn't acting out, disobeying, doing stupid dangerous things or being outright antagonistic. Nothing of that sort. As time went on Loke grew more and more paranoid and constantly worried, to an unhealthy and honestly deranged degree, about Jelani's safety. By this time they were in New Vegas and Loke saw how eager Jelani was to explore and just live life to the fullest and that scared the shit out of him. He became overbearing, overwhelming, paranoid, gave Jelani virtually no privacy or room to breathe, was constantly running training drills on him and even if Jelani proved time and time again that even at 14 he was far more capable than even the best NCR ranger Loke constantly moved the goal post further ahead claiming he could do better than that.

Loke wasn't doing that to be antagonistic or to belittle him. On the contrary, he admired his prowess and knowledge that had surpassed even his own and far more than their parents. He knew what Jelani was capable of and he couldn't have been more proud of him but the closer Jelani got to 17 the more he worried about his own death and how that would affect Jelani so he had to make sure that he was prepared to survive no matter what. He was basically projecting his own traumas onto him. Both of them fought a lot and argued making it a less than ideal situation for both of them though Uthorim was able to keep the boys calm and offered a different perspective.

Loke always meant well though sometimes he overdid it and as I've stated before his own traumas got in the way a lot. He did make mistakes that ended up in Jelani paying the price for it but in the end Loke was just trying to do his best for his little brother. He has no regrets at all about taking on the role as guardian to his brother and wouldn't change it.

As for what does Jelani think of Loke as a guardian/parent? If he was to be very honest he'd say he's the best dad in the world. He's fully aware that Loke is his older brother, Loke was very honest about what happened, but Jelani doesn't have the attachment to his parents like Loke does. To him Loke's been his parental figure and in a way he'll always see him that way. Sure, they've had their differences, what family hasn't gone through that? But in the end he loves him very much and overall thinks he did a pretty good job.

For OCs that had unplanned kids or became guardians: how did this affect them? Did they take to it quickly or did it take them a while to adjust? Did they end up regretting it? How are those OCs as parents/guardians?

What about the kids? What do they think of their parents/guardians?

✉️

[moonsinkfoxgirl]

got all the spells!

this is like a really neat feature:

in the middle of the city you find this confusing looking wall at first, and it will have a few lights around the symbols lit and you're like, okay maybe this is a puzzle for later...

but then you come back because this is the same room one of your key 'does not open from this side'-door corridors is in, and now it seems like more of the lights are lit, strange...

and later you find out that the 4 middle symbols are wind, water, fire and earth because you solve a puzzle with them elsewhere and you come past this again and count the lights and suddenly it clicks that the number of them corresponds to how many spells you have in each element, so the left symbol must be light and the right one must be dark -- it's so clever

[yeonban]

Tobias is always wearing the latest fashion & using the allegedly latest gadgets (<-most of which don't actually exist on the market bc they're made at Wammy's or specifically created for him alone) but his house only has the minimum technology required to function & even That is placed strategically in rooms he rarely goes into and typically no guests can access. NEVER in his bedroom or hangout rooms where he typically speaks in (<-except the gaming/TV room, for obvious reasons). He too knows how to hack systems, so he's more than aware of how easy it can be for sb who works in the field to grab a hold of his stuff and use it to their advantage if they wanted to.

Blud doesn't even have CCTV cameras installed anywhere because he doesn't want them to be hacked into & used to spy on him instead, so whenever he wants to find/retrieve footage of anything, he either hacks into the city's surveillance cameras, looks at the cameras his various friends have installed around their houses/headquarters/territories/etc or finds someone who can access relevant visuals from the inside (i.e police/fbi/cia agents etc) 😭 the only cases in which he'd install cameras is if he'd know sb is after him & he wanted to misdirect them with fake info about his life/schedule/routine/etc, but they'd be promptly taken down afterwards anyway.

[kellystar321]

.

[untitledgoosegay]

i'll strangle you or i'll kiss you on the mouth

[beanthebugboi]

Canon/Headcanon likelihood chart

So I've been thinking about @macdenlover 's "levels of headcanon" chart (about how heavily a HC is influenced by canon), so I decided to make my own scale about how likely a HC is to be true (including different levels of canon) using queer cartoon characters as examples :)

I just spent an hour making this because I was bored. Enjoy. Image description under the cut.

Inspiration:

ID courtesy of @hatreds-og-imagedescriptions (thank you!!)

[ID: a chart going from 10 to 1, with explanations of the ratings on the left and images of characters with queer flags and descriptions of said characters on the right.

10: "Explicit canon. Clearly stated in the original media." Trans Barney from Dead end Paranormal Park. "Barney says "I'm transgender"".

9: "Implicit canon. Never explicitly stated, but 100% canon in the original media". Nonbinary Raine from The Owl House. "Raine never says "I'm nonbinary," but uses they/them and is never referred to as a man/woman (also, confirmed by Dana)".

8: "Creator confirmation. Never stated in the original media, but confirmed canon by the media's creator". Aroace Lilith from The Owl House. "While never mentioned/implied in TOH, Dana has confirmed that Lilith is aroace".

7: "Heavily implied. Never confirmed, but likely true (either by canon evidence or creator implication)". Genderfluid Nimona from Nimona. ""Aaand now you're a boy" "I am today" (anyway, the whole movie has trans/GNC themes)".

6: "Possibly implied. Hinted at in the original media, but could be explained as something else". Trans Doofenschmirtz from Phineas and Ferb. "Doof COULD be transmasc, or the whole "raised as a girl" thing could just be for the bit".

5: "Fanon. Never confirmed, but generally accepted by the fandom". Aromantic Alastor from Hazbin Hotel. "While only confirmed to be ace, most of the fandom also sees Alastor as aromantic".

4: "HC with evidence. Headcanons supported by a dedicated fan's detective work". Bisexual Mabel from Gravity Falls. "People have noticed bi flag stickers hidden on Mabel's scrapbooks".

3: "Canon neutrality. Could be true, could be false, but overall makes sense and doesn't contradict the original media". Genderqueer Pleakley from Lilo and Stitch. "Maybe Pleakley is genderqueer, maybe he just wanted to crossdress for the mission, who knows? That's why it's a headcanon."

2: "I made it the fuck up. Based on vibes, has absolutely nothing to do with canon". Bisexual Megamind from Megamind. "No evidence, no explanation, he just has Disaster Bi™ vibes".

1: "Um? No? But go off. Directly contradicts canon (but who cares, that's why it's fun)". Trans Stanley Pines from Gravity Falls. "Even though flashback scenes prove Stan is AMAB, some people HC him as transmasc." End of ID.]

[holeforzenin]

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ UNCLE KENTO.

Tw - a bit dubcon, vibrator usage, age gap. Idk what this is. Not proofread

Dad’s best friend Kento pressing the pink vibrator that he found hidden inside your drawer flushed against your swollen clit while you’re sitting on his stiff cock. He’s buried all the way inside of your cramped cunt— filling up every existing space to the brim.

You can feel his plump, mushroom-shaped tip expertly pressing and rubbing against your sensitive g-spot as he places gentle kisses on your temple, urging you to stay quiet or else your parents will hear from the other room.

“Nanami… it feels weird—“ you whimpered softly, You stared down at the buzzing wand that’s assaulting your poor clit— the vibrating sensation making your legs tingled because of how overwhelming it felt along with his cock molding your insides at the same time. It was nothing that you’ve felt before.

It was quite embarrassing to have your dad’s best friend seeing you all exposed like this, considering how close and familiar Kento has always been with you and your parents. He’s practically like family so It made you rather, shy.

You slightly squirmed on his big lap, feeling his hard muscles tense in response, causing him to let out a low guttural groan before he quickly cleared his throat because of the sudden movement of your velvet walls contracting around his sensitive cock.

“Nanami? I’m sure your father raised you better than to call your elders by their name like that” he uttered sternly, almost sounding disappointed as he increased the vibrator’s intensity. “It’s Uncle to you, Darlin’.. Uncle Kento”.

Your head unwittingly collided with his firm chest, jolting you with the overwhelming scent of his minty, expensive cologne that clouded your senses. “S-sorry uncle!” You stammered as you sheepishly apologized to your uncle, prompting a fond chuckle from him because of how adoringly cute you are. So respectful and sweet.

He never intended to disrespect your father in this manner, having his needy cock cockwarmed by his daughter's tight, warm pussy and completely stretching and ruining it for any other man but what he’s doing isn’t entirely wrong… at least he’s someone your dad trusted and knows, that’s poking deep inside your cunny and not some young, stupid dude that would take advantage of a sweet girl like you.

He always thought you were a pretty little thing, always so nice and respectful— offering him his favorite green tea and the delicious cookies you baked every time he visited your home. Your thoughtfulness towards him never went unnoticed; You’re so precious to him so it’s only safe if your first time is with someone as mature and experienced as him. Someone who will be gentle and handle you like a fragile rose petal.

He never intended to accidentally stumble across the vibrator while he was searching for your charger in your drawer. You were in the shower, and he was staying over at your place for the night, so he required a charger and your dad told him that he could burrow yours. But he just couldn't ignore the pink wand poking from between your clothes. It caught his eye.

To his horror, you weren’t as innocent and pure as he once thought you were but that’s okay because it’s all for him. Uncle Kento will take good care of you.

He’s planning on teaching you about a lot of things, first starting with how to properly use the vibrator and taking his fat cock, both at the same time.

[blaithnne]

I cannot stop thinking about Episode 5 of TADC because Ragatha is, however unintentionally, one of the best examples of how isolating and difficult it is to interact with the world as an autistic person I have ever seen. To the point it genuinely makes me sad to think about her. I need to make a post expanding on this at some point but rn just. The way everyone assumes there’s some sinister hidden meaning to everything she does and says but she’s literally just trying to be nice and she doesn’t understand why it’s not working. The way she tries so hard to make connections but it constantly falls flat, she says things that hurt without realising how or why. She follows the rules she’s been taught will make her friends — she’s kind, she’s forgiving, she’s accepting and apologetic when she messes up, but for some reason it’s just not working. She tries to mimic other people, she tries to laugh at past experiences, tries to open up about her past like everyone else is doing, but now everyone’s uncomfortable and looking at her like she’s crazy and she doesn’t get it!! She doesn’t get it!!! Jax is a jerk and he’s mean to everyone but for some reason Pomni likes him and she doesn’t get it, she doesn’t understand! Pomni tells her it’s okay to be a jerk sometimes but Ragatha doesn’t like being mean, she wants to be nice to people, but she does it anyway, she gets mean like Jax and Zooble do but now Pomni’s looking at her like she’s done something wrong but she just did what she asked her to!! She doesn’t get it!! At the end of the episode everyone goes off into their groups and Ragatha is left alone, after having tried so hard to make friends and fit in and make people like her, she’s still alone, and everyone thinks she’s weird and unapproachable and she just has to give up and accept that she is inherently unloveable. Her evil alter ego tells her she’s going to die alone and nobody loves her and the only thing she corrects her on is the fact that they can’t die here. The few that might like her when she’s around don’t miss her when she’s gone, because there’s nothing to miss. Ragatha has spent her whole life systematically stripping away everything that makes her different and unlikeable in order to make herself more palatable to others, and in the process she has made herself a personalitiless blank slate with no unique identity for others to latch onto and appreciate. She has nothing to add to any conversation because she’s too afraid of being disliked to have a memorable personality beyond being generally polite and nice. And just. God. Someone get this girl some noise cancelling headphones and a therapist on speed dial, being this good of a representation of what it’s like to be autistic, especially to be an autistic person with trauma, is not good for the soul. That final shot just destroys me right in the heart. My poor girl.

[tanadrin]

And God said, "Behold! I have created the fourth primordial force: the weak interaction!"

And the angels all clapped and nodded politely, and there was a long silence; and finally Verchiel, the Angel of Grace, spoke up and asked, "Er, what exactly does it do, O Fashioner?"

And God said, "What do you mean, 'what does it do?' It's the fourth fundamental force of the universe."

And Verchiel said, "You mentioned that. Um. But it's just that the other three sort of have a brand, you know? Gravity helps build large-scale structures, acts over vast cosmic distances, shapes time and space. The strong force is secret, hidden, binding together quarks and all that. Electromagnetism, very cool stuff, somewhere in between. We're all big fans of the whole magnetic monopole double bluff, very clever. But, er. What does this 'weak interaction' do?"

And God said, "It mediates radioactive decay. Sort of."

And Verchiel said, "Radioactive decay? All radioactive decay?"

And God said, "No. Just some kinds."

And Zephaniel, the Chief of the Ishim spoke, and he said, "A whole independent force just to mediate some kinds of radioactive decay?"

And God said, "Well. Not totally independent. Technically it's related to electromagnetism."

And Zephaniel said, "Wait, it's not even a real force?"

And God said, "It's totally a real force. It's just that it's one aspect of a combined electromagnetic and weak force. An electro-weak force, if you will."

And Metatron, the Celestial Scribe, scratched his head at this, but said nothing.

And Cambiel, the Angel of Transformation, said, "Maybe you can walk us through it from the top."

And God Sighed an immense Sigh, and said, "All right, fine.

"So the way it works is that all of space and time is permeated by a field that has imaginary mass."

And Cambiel said, "Imaginary mass, O Generous Provider?"

And God said, "Yes, imaginary mass. It's tachyonic, d'you see?"

And Sarathiel, the Angel of Discipline, said, "Wait a minute, I thought we agreed nothing was going to travel faster than light? All that 'c' business and the whole Lorentz transformation thing. What's happening with that?"

And God said, "Let me finish. The field is tachyonic. The particles in the field all move slower than light."

And Sarathiel had to think about this for a second.

And God said, "The point is, a field with imaginary mass has a non-zero vacuum expectation value."

And this really gave Sarathiel trouble, since he had never been very good at math.

And God, seeing this, went back to explain. "Most fields, like the electromagnetic field, have no effect when they are at their lowest energy state. It's like they're not there at all. If you give a field imaginary mass, then it vanishes only when it's at a very high energy state, and at a low energy state, it has a nonzero value everywhere."

And Sarathiel nodded, but he was confused, because he didn't understand why God would create such a thing.

But Verchiel thought he saw where God was going with this, and he was amazed.

"Truly, you are cunning beyond measure, O Only One Certainly Sound and Genuine in Truth! Only now do I understand your design! For in order to make the universe homogenous and isotropic, it is necessary that all large-scale fluctuations in temperature and mass must be evened out early in the history of the cosmos; and therefore, you have designed a field which will rapidly expand space after the Big Bang, many orders of magnitude in brief moments, and then swiftly and spontaneously decay as it gives up the energy it began with, giving rise to radiation and particles of all kinds as it does, which will condense into the material universe! It is a wonder to behold."

And God said, "What? No. I mean I did, but this isn't the inflaton field I'm talking about. This is something else."

And Verchiel said, "Wait, it's not?"

And God said, "No, I'm going to use a different field to drive cosmic inflation. The properties of this field are totally different."

And now Verchiel was also confused, and lapsed into silence.

And God said, "Like I was saying, this field is a scalar field with imaginary mass, and it does spontaneously decay to a ground state with a non-zero value. But it's not the inflaton field. Instead it combines with the W1, W2, W3, and B bosons."

And Metatron began to flip back through the pages of the Heavenly Record trying to figure out where he'd lost the thread.

And Zephaniel said, "The what bosons?"

And God said, "The W1, W2, W3, and B bosons. I'm sure I mentioned them. You know, the massless bosons?"

And Zephaniel said, "I'm pretty sure we only talked about the W+, W-, and Z0 bosons. All of which you said were going to have mass, O Owner of All Sovereignty."

And God said, "Yes, but this is how they get them, you see. Once this field acquires a nonzero value everywhere, the massless bosons interact with it and get mass. Well, some of them do. They turn into the W+, W-, and Z0 boson. And the photon."

And Zephaniel said, "…and the photon, O Accepter of Invocation?"

And God said, "Well, I did say I was going to unify the electromagnetic force and the weak interaction, didn't I? This is how. Above the critical temperature--right now I'm thinking 10^15 K, but I'm open to feedback on that one--electromagnetism and the weak force act as a single unifying force. Below that temperature, the field gets a nonzero value, you get three massive bosons to mediate the weak interaction, and the photon pops out seperately."

And Zephaniel said, "That seems… a bit overly complicated, doesn't it, O Reinstater Who Brings Back All?"

And God said, "No, it's exactly what we need. Look, that way the W and Z bosons have something to do, but the weak interaction still only travels short distances. Gravity is still the star of the show on cosmic scales, as it were. But now quarks and leptons can swap their flavor!"

And Zephaniel said, rather weakly, "Their… flavor, O Source of Good?"

And God said, "It's this new quantum number I'm trying out, to give the three generations of matter more unique identities."

And Cambiel said, "Three generations of matter? Now I'm really confused."

And God said, "I'm sure I mentioned this. You've got the lightest quarks and leptons, and then two heavier versions of each that can decay into the lighter versions."

And Cambiel said, "What do they do? New kinds of chemistry, is it?"

And God said, "Well, no. Mostly they just decay in a couple microseconds. Or even faster."

And Zephaniel began to rub his temples, and Cambiel sniffed.

And Cambiel said, "This all seems a bit ad hoc to me. Not really the stuff of an elegant and obviously ordered Creation. Why not have four generations of matter? Why not a trillion?"

And God began to grow irritable, and said, "Well, that's not really up to you, now is it? We're going to have three generations of matter, and the electroweak force, and that's that!"

And Zephaniel said, "As long as we are unifying fundamental forces, perhaps we could somehow also unify the electroweak interaction with the strong interaction, or even gravity."

And God hesitated saying, "Well, I haven't decided about that yet. I'm not sure I want gravity to be quantized, you know? Seems to take some of the geometric elegance out of general relativity."

And now it was Zephaniel's turn to sigh, and he bowed his head. "As you wish, O Possessor of Authority of Decisions and Judgement."

[azzie-tangerine]

Okay while I'm absolutely getting my ass kicked on the Roaring Knight boss trying to actually beat it, I noticed something and I decided to talk about it.

So, in this fight, Kris does the least amount of damage to the Roaring Knight when attacking.

Despite Ralsei, supposedly, having a lower attack stat than Kris, even he's doing more than Kris. But Chapter 4 proves that in some way, they are involved with the Knight in a way. So it's obvious what's going on. They're holding back their punches. And, in a way, so is the Knight. When KO'd, Kris is more often than not set to -80 hp, while Ralsei and Susie are often set to -999. The Knight- whatever it is and how it's related to the Holidays- sees Kris as an ally and someone to not seriously hurt. And vice versa.

Well, except for once condition.

When both Susie and Ralsei are KO'd, and Kris is left standing.

Suddenly, it seems that Kris' attack significantly spikes. Now doing more damage than Susie typically does, who is the strongest one of the trio. Doing more than double the damage they were originally doing to their supposed ally.

The ONLY condition of this damage spike, at least from what I've seen, is when Kris is the only one of the group still able to fight. nothing else.

This tells me a few things. One: that Kris genuinely does care for Ralsei and Susie. Both of these are already proven both before and after this fight, but for Ralsei in particular the evidence was rather limited. It's only Chapter 3 onward (debatable) that they show care for Ralsei, when pre-Chapter 3 there was hesitance. Gesturing to the Ralsei tea. Kris caring for Susie, in comparison, is a lot more obvious thanks to their more frequent moments alone together.

What's more important to me is the second thing this says: That when put in the situation to choose, Kris will prioritize RALSEI and SUSIE'S sake rather than the Knight.

I've been a "Kris is not evil" believer since the start, and I feel like this is evidence for that. While we as the SOUL don't fully know what's going on with Kris, what we do see is Carol and/or the Knight having some type of hold on them. Something about a "promise". They know more than we do, possibly as much as Ralsei knows, and will fight to prevent us from knowing more. And yet, when put in a fight that already shows them holding back, they suddenly stop when they're the last ones protecting their friends.

They may claim otherwise in the future. But actions speak louder than hidden dialogue. If they had to choose between the Knight, someone that you could argue they have a history with, or their new friends?

It's Ralsei and Susie they'd choose.