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alhaith4ms · 7 days ago

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🐦‍⬛ OUT OF BOUNDS — you get isekai-d into the n109 zone [chapter four]

synopsis — the monotony of your university days is interrupted by a stroke of misfortune, one which lands you in the world of love and deepspace, the game you had been casually playing for the previous months. with no way to return home, sylus offers you the job of being his personal secretary. — a continuation of the one-shot “out of bounds”

pairing — sylus x non-mc! reader

tags — reader is not mc, isekai/transmigration, fluff, angst, mutual pining, slice of life, boss/employee relationship, slow burn, grief, mourning, loss

a/n — we have finally reached the long awaited reader crashout and are nearing the end… i hope you all enjoy! this chapter was fucking with me for so long and i wanted to take my time rather than under deliver. this story means a lot to me and i’m trying my best to make sure it pays off well<33 but still, 18k words was not easy to edit so please don't mind any slight errors 😓 also, caleb came home in 30 pulls so do expect a birthday fic coming soon ~ (whether it'll be on time for his birthday is the question...)

ao3 | masterlist | series masterlist | part three | part five [coming soon]

chapter four: inevitable — it’s hard to shine when you’re standing between the sun and the moon. wc: 18.6k

The hunter’s arrival is no more than a whisper within the N109 Zone.

Sylus has kept the truth of her existence under lock and key, hiding his weakness under steel and chainmail. As far as the world knows, his interest lies in the protocore attached to her heart — and he plans to keep it that way. Biding his time, preparing for the day he carefully steps into her life.

But, like the force of nature she was, the hunter manages to find her own way in.

He’s the image of cool confidence as he’s informed of her capture in enemy hands, draping a blazer atop his shoulders and instructing the twins to start the car. “Will you be able to hold the fort on your own?” He asks.

But you can see the barest tremor in his hands, the tension in his shoulders, the rising fear of losing her before he even gets to see her with his own two eyes.

“You can count on me.”

This is the only peace you can offer him in the midst of this chaos.

His eyes continue to linger, as if time wasn’t of the essence. Little words have been exchanged between the two of you since the hunter came into the picture. And for a moment, you think he might say something (please, say something). But all he does is grip your shoulder as if to ground himself, nodding in a silent ‘thank you’ before he leaves.

The door shuts behind him.

You know how this story goes. It was only a matter of time before he reunited with his lover in this life, before the story would continue along its tracks and catch you in the crossfire.

Your search for a way home had become painfully futile. You’d think a world altered by the discovery of the Deepspace Tunnel would have more answers to the truth of your presence here, but your search had dug up nothing. Wormholes, dimensional travel, transmigration; from the philosophical to the scientific, all paths led to dead ends.

You sit listless in your chair, fiddling with the necklace Sylus gave you as you wait for your life to be thrown into chaos.

Staring into the metropolitan abyss of the N109 Zone, you sometimes like to imagine what sylus sees. An ant-like web of crimes and deceit, of power-hungry folks looking to get ahead and eat each other alive in the process. But all you ever see is a world beyond your understanding. And here, you wonder where you fit in this ecosystem; what your presence has done to change the story.

You burst into terrible, broken laughter.

You shouldn’t get ahead of yourself.

You were but a drop of water in the ocean. There was nothing that you, with no worth or significance to your name, could do to make more than a solitary ripple.

And so, you keep your longings locked and your love as just thoughts, as you wait in bated breath for the story and their fated reunion to begin.

—————————————————————

“Where are you taking me?” Her voice is biting as the twins bring her to the room you’ve prepared. Ornate, spacious, and windowless, just as Sylus asked. A gilded cage with an open door. You don’t see her but her rage rings through the corridors, something that feels almost like a hallucination after having stepped in her shoes, reading the story you once adored.

Her arrival is a marker of the story catching up to you, of time catching up to you. A reminder that you do not belong in this world.

In the next few days, you become a quiet observer of this tale, watching their fractured reunion play out.

“What makes you think I'd ever be willing to help you?” She snapped at Sylus after their third failure at resonance, a sad attempt at a threat when she lay exhausted, slumped in the fancy chair in his study.

“You don’t exactly have a choice, sweetie. As you can see —” He gestures to the opulent surroundings, “— you’re in my territory.”

You roll your eyes. Trust Sylus to make a shit first impression, even to the supposed love of his life.

You keep to the sidelines, going about your typical routine. But your curiosity gets the better of you on the second day, when you offer to bring the hunter her food.

You can’t help but imagine being in her shoes right now; kidnapped by the man she believes to have destroyed her home and killed her family. To an extent, you think it might not be so different to how you felt, first arriving here.

So, you decide to reach out. Maybe gain her trust and coax her into eating and regaining her strength. Food is the way to the heart, after all. At dinner time, you bring a tray to her room, knocking on the door and calling her name.

“Who's there?” She asks from the other side of the door, wariness lacing her voice.

You introduce yourself, “It’s me, Sylus's secretary. Aren’t you hungry?” You soften your voice, treating her with the gentleness you would a cornered animal, but you’re met with silence. Concern gnaws at you, “You haven’t eaten in twenty four hours.”

She scoffs, the sound muffled by the barrier between you two. “What, isn’t that your plan? Starve me til’ I’m too weak to escape and resist Sylus's demands?”

You stop in your tracks, puzzled. “Escape? You know you can leave, right? No one’s going to stop you.” Even the door was unlocked. But you believed knocking was a basic form of respect, unwilling visitor or not.

She stays tight-lipped for the next few moments, so you continue, “Not that you’d get any further than a couple blocks, what with vultures hanging around the compound at all hours of the day—” Your spiel is cut off as she suddenly swings the door open, doing a double take at the sight of you.

It’s clear she sees the resemblance just as you had, her face contorting from defensiveness to stunned confusion. But for you, seeing her in the flesh only refuted any idea of similarity between the two of you.

Haggard and bruised, the hunter still manages to shine in the gritty underbelly of the N109 Zone.

When you first saw her face projected in the hologram, the likeness was unmistakable. The shape of your eyes, the slope of your nose, and the barely-there difference in the color of your hair and complexion. Anyone could have mistaken the two of you as cousins, maybe even siblings. But standing in front of her now, the difference has become clear as day.

You can’t help but understand how so many have fallen head over heels, enthralled by her and her character. In the shadow of her energy and vivacious presence, you could only look dim in comparison. Standing beside Sylus was no small feat — one that you’d failed to live up to, looking nondescript and ordinary at the side of the most powerful man in the N109 Zone.

But of course, she fits like the missing piece to his puzzle. The dragon and the sorceress, now the criminal and the hunter. You try not to feel inferior, tamping down the jealousy and pettiness festering within you, but it’s hard to shine when you’re standing between the sun and the moon.

The initial surprise dissipates, and she eyes you with the mistrust expected of a kidnapee twice-over. You extend the tray towards her as a sign of good will, “Eat it while it’s still hot.”

“...How do I know it’s not poisoned?”

You huff, taking a quick bite. “Happy now?”

She snatches the tray and slams the door behind her in one quick motion. You click your tongue; so much for gaining her trust.

—————————————————————

Time had dulled your memory of how awful their first meeting truly was.

Really, what was Sylus thinking? You wonder as he treats his treasured soulmate so… menacingly.

You’ve become a bystander to the motions of the story you’re familiar with; the failed resonance, her disdain for him, and his absolute lack of tact in interacting with her. With his every word coated in menace and veiled threats, you’re wondering if Sylus was even thinking at all. Was he like this when you two first met? You try to recall as you get the ick from his unexpected hostility.

You want to know what’s running through his mind, what possessed him to think this was the appropriate way to go about this. But since the hunter’s arrival, your time with him had become even more scarce, any moment together cut off by his work or your urgency to leave.

Guilt washes over you each time you see his face drop, when you make another hasty escape from facing him. But you cling on to the belief that this was necessary, to give you both space to adjust to the hunter’s presence, and for you to learn to live with the fact that he was not yours.

The two return from the workshop, and you stride into the office to give your daily secretarial report — only to find him hunched at his desk with a glass of wine, staring vacantly into the skyline of the N109 Zone.

In the dimly lit office, his eyes, shrouded by the shadows, give away nothing. But you catch the way his shoulders tense, his fingers clenching the stem of the glass.

“Sylus?” You call out gently, announcing your presence with audible footsteps as you approach him, breaking your internal promise to keep your distance. But you could only hold out this one-sided silence for so long, weak in the face of his vulnerability.

He calls your name with a weary tone, “Do me a favor and tell the informant I won't be meeting him today.”

“Are you okay? What happened?” You take slow steps in approaching him.

He fiddles with the stem of his wine glass as he releases a low, bitter laugh, “Well… it seems that our dearest hunter fears me. It was not any bodily dysfunction or injury that was preventing us from resonating, but rather her disgust.”

She captured his heart, bound his soul to hers, and now has no recollection of any of it. Detests him to the point her evol rejects his.

You feign ignorance to the story beats you remember, “Well, it’s only been so long since you’ve met her again… If she’s still the same person, her memories of you are still there, deep down.”

“As if the world hasn’t made me wait long enough.”

You don’t know what to say to that — heart torn between feeling bruised and feeling sadness for him.

“I'd like to be alone.” He takes a deep breath, a subtle command as returns his gaze to the skyline, guarding his vulnerability, unwilling to bare more of his weaknesses than he already has.

The world sees Sylus as an unstoppable force, as the supreme authority in the criminal underworld. But though the dragon may be fierce and capable, the human underneath was just that — a human. One that got frustrated, whose skin bruised, who had weaknesses that he guarded with veiled ferocity. But somehow, somewhere along the way, he’d chosen to strip the curtains of that vulnerability to you.

Maybe in another world, you would have taken him into your arms, refused to leave him as he quietly fell apart. But in this reality, it was no longer your place to do so. As it was, he had promised his heart to another, leaving yours too tender to comfort his.

The only peace you could offer him now was the privacy to crumble in solitude.

Still, you couldn’t bear to leave him so quietly. “You’re not a hard person to love. You know that, right?” You whisper, a quiet admission of your feelings. For all his gruff and intimidating nature, it was not his power, money, or looks that earned him your affection. But rather, all the softness he guards from the harsh world he lives in.

You shut the door before he can acknowledge you, trying to wipe the mental image of his conflicted expression. You mute his email for the next hour, redirecting it to your inbox, offering him a brief moment of peace to ruminate in his thoughts.

You laugh silently, bitterly to yourself, for giving so much of yourself for a man who was devoted to another. Despite having been set aside, you still can’t help but show your love for him in the only way you know how. (In the only way you can).

And you wonder to yourself: could you ever touch the part of him that hurts? One of the most powerful men in this world, having his world shaken by the hunter’s disdain. If it were your spite, your hurt that he faced, would it even feel close to the gravity he feels now?

You shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.

You had found yourself in the deep end, and it was high time to swim back to shore, to back out of this one-sided race. Because you may have received his affection, but you will never receive the depth of his devotion.

—————————————————————

Hostility melts into mischievous affection as the hunter’s dynamic with Sylus takes a sudden pivot into unfamiliar territory. The visit to the shopkeeper marked a turning point in their relationship as Sylus came to his senses, and their relationship evolved for the better. The truth to their tied souls, you think, as you bear witness to the connection quickly blossoming between them.

You’re fine. Really, you are.

(At least, that’s what you tell yourself each time you see the soft smile on his face, melting in adoration for the hunter.)

You stop avoiding him, after catching a glimpse of the vulnerability he attempts to hide. His face lights up whenever you approach him, breaking the silence you kept for so long. And not for the first time, you feel guilt wash over you for how you added to his existing turmoil.

But still, you’re left wondering about your place in his life now that the hunter has arrived.

The pages turn one after another as the two of you fall back into old routines, nurturing the friendship and camaraderie you built over the past year. But not everything stays the same.

You maintain your boundaries, keeping your nightmares and worries to yourself — settling for long, lonely nights, when the alternative is setting yourself up for a painful road.

One night, you find a rare moment of peace in the recent chaos. The two of you battle over this world’s version of Monopoly in a high-stakes, cutthroat bet to determine who will have the first taste of Luke and Kieran’s slightly… dubious creation in the kitchen.

They had taken up a class in baking after catching you one too many times in the dead of the night, making midnight snacks. A fact which warmed your heart, at first, until you realized that neither twin has ever touched a stove in their lives. The clanging of pots and shouts coming from the kitchen only serve to fill you with dread.

You try your best, but eventually resign yourself to your fate. You know a lost cause when you see it. You didn’t exactly expect death by food poisoning, but when you think about it, it wasn’t a bad way to go.

“Can’t you let this poor salaryman pass through? Just this once?” You pout on the second hour of playing this stupid board game, putting on your best puppy eyes as you implore him to pity your little player.

“That wouldn’t be fair to you, sweetie.” He smiles as you begrudgingly hand over the play money for landing on his property.

His attention is focused solely on you, a rarity since the hunter’s arrival. But even with the scarce time you’ve spent together, you can’t pretend not to have noticed the growing bags under his eyes, the constant furrow in his brow. He’s handled the chaos in the N109 Zone with the stride of a man who knows his word is law; but at the expense of his own health and rest.

In perfect timing, the game ends just as the twins exit the kitchen, dressed in matching aprons and holding a plate of mini strawberry shortcakes. You end up losing, as expected, but Sylus is a good sport — taking a bite right alongside you.

It’s… not bad at all, especially for a beginner. A little wonky and undercooked in the middle, the edges slightly burnt. But it’s edible. “Not bad,” You say — and immediately correct yourself, “Not that I thought it would be! But it’s good. Better than my first go at it, at least.” You leave out the age you were when you first touched an oven — all worth it to see their eyes shining from your praise.

”Awe, thanks, Miss Secretary! It was all in a day’s work,” Luke grins as he fixes his crooked apron.

Of course, Sylus is Sylus. Eliciting his praise is like pulling out teeth. “It’s… acceptable, I’ll admit,” He says with a satisfied hum.

Still, it’s enough for the twins to celebrate with a high five, “Hell yeah!”

The four of you clear half the tray, before bidding the twins good night, the two suddenly tired from the sugar crash. “Amateurs,” You tease. They probably kept taste-testing the ingredients.

“I hadn't expected baking to become such an… outlet of energy for them.” Sylus comments, stealing a strawberry from your piece. You retaliate by getting a scoop of his whipped cream.

“Well, most people I know started baking as some sort of distraction or stress relief,” You eat a forkful of cake and nod in approval. Every storm in your life has been followed by the creation of more pastries than you could possibly eat. “If it distracts them from the pranks, then I wholeheartedly approve!” You cheerily stake your fork into the air.

“Knowing the twins, they’ll just find a way to incorporate it,” He eyes the kitchen doors skeptically, not wanting their mischief to bleed into the food they eat.

With all the sugar you just consumed, it was clear you wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon. “Wanna clear this batch with me? Before they go and stock the fridge with the rest of their projects.”

“I'm afraid I'll have to take a rain check on that,” He says as he puts on his blazer again, standing up from the dining table.

“Hm? But there wasn’t anything on the calendar, last I checked. Did I miss —”

You’ve already brought out your phone to view the shared calendar when he explains, “I’ll be meeting with the hunter regarding a little… deal, that she’s brokered.” He leans down to match your height and ruffles your hair. “Don’t worry, Miss Secretary. Your schedule’s still intact.”

You roll your eyes, trying to muster a smile as you remind him, “Be nice.”

He raises an eyebrow, “When am I not?” Tch. When is he ever?

Soon, you settle in the silence of an empty kitchen — and the thought of more cake doesn’t sound so appealing anymore. It’s never easy hearing of the two spending time together, much less seeing them in the penthouse everyday. But you’d rather have a friendship with Sylus than nothing at all. And you can only hope that with time, one day, it won’t hurt at all anymore.

For a brief period of time, you have hope of that possibility. You think if you hold these boundaries in place and protect your friendship, things might just return to normal. Even if it means the end to anything more.

That is, until the arrival of the auction.

The Solon Hotel celebrates its 15th annual auction, a Myriad of Nights. The crinkled invitation has been pinned to your corkboard for months, a dreaded reminder of all the preparations you needed to make.

The event has kept you on your toes; dutifully studying the list of guests, keeping an eye on keen bidders and Onychinus rivals. This auction is one of the N109 Zone’s most important events of the year, with the grossly rich and the violently powerful alike having a stake in this auction.

One week before the auction, Sylus strolls into the office, a sly smile plastered on his face, “I come bearing good news.”

You roll out your chair to face him. Without missing a beat, you ask, “A raise? World peace? Luke and Kieran outgrowing their terrible twos?”

“I'm not a miracle worker,” He smirks at that last one. “No, I've come to tell you that you’ve been granted a night off on the 17th.”

“The 17th?” You question — and he amusedly spins your chair before striding over to his desk, ready to start the work day. But you’re left dazed, stopping the wheel as you pull up the shared digital calendar, confirming your suspicions. “But that’s the night of the auction.”

“Miss Hunter will be covering for you.”

“Oh?” Your face falls in an obvious dismay you can’t hide.

The auction. Like many things from the story that have become hazy over time, the auction had slipped your mind. With how far back preparations had started, you completely overlooked its connection with the hunter’s arrival.

“She has her own agenda for the night,” He continues, “One that promises bloodshed. So, I want you to rest easy for the night. Take a well deserved break.”

By all accounts, you should be glad. You can’t blame him for making this decision, as you vocally detest going to these events. It’s easily the least enjoyable part of your job. But even with the foreknowledge you had, the thought of her taking your place weighs like a heavy brick in your stomach.

He realizes you’re not exactly pleased. “You can still come if you’d like to, of course,” He’s quick to assure you. “I thought you might enjoy the night off since you despise dealing with these affairs. I didn’t take you for being such a workaholic,” He chuckles affectionately, motioning to ruffle your hair — but you pull away, a little too abruptly.

You see his face fall, and you quickly brush it off and pretend to be unaffected, “Ah, ah, ah — no can do, slave driver!” You dramatically make a letter X with your arms. “You can’t take away a day off once you’ve given it.”

He rolls his eyes, but the concern doesn’t leave his face as he tries to coax you into opening up, eyes filled with a quiet honesty, “There’s no need to pretend like you’re not bothered by this. I know you’ve worked hard for this event.”

“Sylus, you don’t need to worry about me. You have bigger fish to fry. Besides, why would I be bothered by a day off?” You try to play it off.

He sighs, accepting that you’re not going to talk about this any further. “Well, you know that there’s no one who can do your job better, right?” He places a hand on your shoulder, “I just don’t want you getting caught in the trouble that’s bound to ensue.”

You muster a smile, “Of course. After all, what would you do without your dearest secretary?”

He smirks, mind flashing to a night that now feels further than the sun. “Descend into chaos, no doubt.”

As though you were a scorned lover, you watch them from the mezzanine of the penthouse, dressed in your frilly pajamas and sipping a hot mug of tea as they leave dressed to the nines. The criminal and the hunter, two souls cut from the same cloth.

As much as it hurts you to stay behind, there was no way you would be able to stomach the picture perfect image of them together.

“Ready?” He offers his arm with the mannerisms of a perfect escort.

“It's showtime.”

“You lovebirds leaving without me?” You can’t help but be a little dramatic and interrupt their moment — though, Sylus definitely sensed your presence long before they entered. “Could’ve saved me a dance, at least.”

The hunter’s face scrunches in disdain at the mention of lovebirds, but she quickly recovers. “Oh, I think there’ll be more than just dancing, Miss Secretary,” She cheekily lifts the slit of her dress, showing a peek of the pistol strapped to her thigh.

Despite already knowing they’ll have a safe return, your brows knit in worry, “Stay safe out there, you two.”

“You know we can’t promise that — but we’ll make a good effort,” Sylus smirks at you, a hint of concern in his eyes at the idea of leaving you behind.

You nod, a silent way of saying you’ll be okay. You wave goodbye and the hunter returns it eagerly, having warmed up to you in the past week. But the concerned, knowing look never leaves Sylus's face until they depart.

The elevator doors slide shut, and it feels like a coffin closing over your heart.

You laugh at how dramatic you’re being as you hold back a slight tear. It’s just an auction, you keep telling yourself. But it’s not the auction, isn’t it? It was seeing her take your place, and knowing this won’t be the last time.

You pick yourself back up, resolving to make the most of your night off. You make yourself comfortable in the living room, blanket and couch all to yourself, a movie running as background noise as you try to distract yourself with all sorts of hobbies. But you find yourself listless, unable to keep your mind focused on one thing.

The movie ends, and it becomes quiet.

With Sylus gone and the twins on a mission, the silence becomes all consuming. You leave a light on for when they return, trekking through opulent hallways until you reach your room, where once again, you stare into the city skyline stretching out into the distance.

There’s rarely ever an opportunity to be alone in the Onychinus base. But when you are, it never ends well. You used to be able to appreciate solitude in your old world, but maybe you’ve become a little spoiled here, in receiving the constant companionship you had once lived without as a student living away from home.

Here, solitude is when the lines between your dreams and reality begin to blur. Hours dazed in the possibilities of the past, the possibilities of a world where you had stayed. Graduated, diploma in hand as your family stands proudly at your side. Starting your career, devoting your passion to the field you love.

In comparison, this place feels like a lovely yet imprisoning dream. You’re fascinated by the wonders of the world you live in now, but each day that passes is a reminder of your place — or rather, lack thereof — in this world. A reminder of losses beyond comprehension. The loss of chance. The loss of possibility. No opportunity for you to grow, no winding path to change and evolve. And you ask yourself: are you even living?

This world feels like dreaming in a far-too-long nap. And not for the first time, you want to wake up from it.

It's currently March, the last of the winter chill before the snow melts, marking more than a year since your arrival. You feel like a broken record, looping back to the same hurts in an endless loop of grief; your doomed love, severed home, rootless soul. You can no longer fool yourself into thinking you can continue like this. You can no longer pretend to have a reason to stay.

You need to spare yourself from this grief, before it consumes you.

—————————————————————

The auction reaches a chaotic conclusion, one that is whispered about through the N109 Zone for weeks after. You feel the ripples of their actions even from the safety of your office. Luke and Kieran are sent to clean house at The Nest. Meanwhile, you’re swamped with associates from Onychinus’s complex web of loyalties, scrambling to reclaim their spot in Sylus's good graces in light of the recent power struggle.

Eventually, the dust settles. The pages of the calendar turn as the snow melts and warmth pours into the Onychinus base. And alongside the sunshine is Miss Hunter, whose presence becomes a permanent fixture in the penthouse.

It has only been a year since your arrival in this world, but your life has been completely upended, you think. From being a broke, burned out college student, to a tired secretary and mother of three.

Who were those three children, one may ask?

“Miss Secretary!” You poke your head out to see what the fuss was all about, hearing the twins snickering not too far away. The hunter stomps her way to your room, face cringed and seething in disgust. “Luke and Kieran gave me a cookie filled with toothpaste!”

“Ah — see, your first mistake there was trusting anything they gave you.”

Luke and Kieran warmed up extremely quickly to the hunter, as they did in the story. They enjoyed her presence around the base, but you couldn’t tell if it was more for her personality or the fact they had a new target for their trickery. A part of you was relieved; it meant you were no longer on their roster of victims (not that they particularly like pranking you, as you stare them down in disappointment each time). But their determination to mess with the hunter was going to send you into an early grave.

“I didn't even know they could feed themselves, let alone bake,” She pouted, crossing her arms. “In fact, they told me you made them!”

Ah. “Well… there may be some truth to that…” Your voice descends in volume to hide your guilt, but the hunter manages to hear quite clearly.

“You knew about it, and you didn’t tell me?” She gasps, face contorting into mock betrayal. “I can't believe you had it in you to be this… deceitful!”

In your defense, they had only asked you for baking lessons on how to make a cookie sandwich. You had no part in the actual crime. (Though, you may have turned a blind eye at them squeezing toothpaste in the frosting bag. Your patience can only go so far.)

As penance and apology, you promise to bake her actual, edible cookies in return for the monstrosity she just ingested, when you suddenly have a stroke of genius. “I wonder if they have any left.” Your face contorts into a shit-eating grin, “Don’t you think Sylus would appreciate a sweet treat right about now?”

The two of you cackle and rope the twins into it, sending Miss Hunter as the messenger. (He sees right through your ploy, but still takes a bite because she’s the one offering.)

So maybe you’re not as mature as you preach to be. However, your headaches aren’t exclusive to the humans in the penthouse.

Mephisto's permanent return to the base was a spark of joy in the bleak few months you’ve had, as he’s released from the duty of monitoring the hunter 24/7. It surprised you how much you missed the crow, realizing you’d taken his presence as one of your constant companions for granted.

The first week after his return, he sticks to your side like glue. Displeased at the hunter’s continued presence, continuing to report about her to you. Each time he catches her with Sylus he goes to show you the footage — almost like a son tattling on his father’s misdeeds. It’s a sweet gesture; clearly he’s smarter than given credit for, enough to decipher why you’ve been so downtrodden in the recent weeks. But as much as you appreciate his concern, you’re also not a masochist.

“What is it, Mephie?” You groan, abruptly woken after three grueling hours of trying to fall asleep. You would have thrown hands had you not discovered Mephisto, flapping his wings urgently.

He pecks at your cheek, showing you a hologram of Sylus and the hunter in his room, shoulders pressed together in a close proximity you were not prepared to see. “What, you want me to do something about it?” He flaps his wings in earnest, and you promptly turn around to bury your head in the pillow.

“It's none of my business!” You stubbornly burrow yourself under the blanket as he continues to squawk, “I don't want to know about the time they spend together, okay? It’s just rubbing salt into the wound.” You groggily explain, voice muffled by the pillow.

You didn’t need Mephisto to report on them — you already knew Sylus spent all his free time with her. As recalling her memories was a long shot, he turned his efforts to slowly build up their relationship again. What were once free slots in his calendar are suddenly blocked with the simple notes of ‘Miss Hunter.’ Your work dynamic has never been more out of sync, with his adjustments to the hunter’s daytime schedule after you had originally adjusted to his nights. Gone are the nights you could find him downstairs, spending the night chatting away your fears. Now, all you find are the lights turned off and a motorcycle gone from the garage.

Your voice must have taken a sad turn as the crow whimpers, nuzzling his beak into your neck to comfort you, almost like an apology. “It's okay, I know you just wanted to help.”

You let him roost on your bedside drawers, watching as he mechanically shuts down to rest. Mephisto's presence usually helps you fall asleep but tonight, you sigh as you resign yourself to a night of overthinking.

For a while, you thought that Mephie’s grudge against the hunter was one-sided. A rebellious phase, like a son’s poor reaction to his father’s new partner. So imagine your surprise when you realized she returned the sentiment.

You’re knitting on the couch, nodding along and reacting accordingly to Mephie’s squawks and accusatory pointing of his wings to the disgruntled hunter across the room.

“She said that? Oh, I’m so sorry you had to hear that…” You dramatically cater to the crow’s concerns, “I'll talk to her for you, don’t you worry.”

“Sylus should’ve fed him to the wolves,” The hunter pokes her tongue out at the crow, who squawks in horror. “Of all the adorable, fluffy, non-feathered pets he could’ve had —”

“Ah, ah, he’s not a pet,” You correct her to appease the bird who looks as if steam is about to leave his butt. “He’s the best reconnaissance agent we have at Onychinus. Aren’t you, Mephie?” You coo at him and he flaps his wings in agreement.

But of all the changes the hunter’s arrival brought to your life, the most unexpected development was your friendship with her.

In hindsight, it was no surprise. She may be a hunter — cutthroat and fearless, storming into the N109 Zone, wreaking havoc in the city’s most powerful crime syndicate — but you find there’s a certain bond between all freshly graduated college students. A little burned out, a little lost in life. Your similarities run deeper than your appearances, finding common ground in interests and life experiences despite having come from two different worlds.

She turns to you as a refuge within Onychinus, and in the process, she becomes yours.

Although you loved your newfound family, a year spent with only them had perhaps led you to become a little stir crazy. You almost forgot how it was to interact with normal people your age, as your current situation and job didn’t leave you with a lot of room to feel carefree. But the hunter steps in as a breath of fresh air, taking you along on her various escapades.

“What, leaving without me?” Sylus asks with a touch of playful offense, when the hunter arrives at the Onychinus headquarters — not for him, but for you, to his comical surprise. You can see the silent question in his eyes as they flit between the two of you, and you shrug.

“Yes, now go shoo,” The hunter flicks her wrist, motioning for him to leave as she grins and slings an arm over your shoulder. “It's just me and Miss Secretary today.”

This had all began when the hunter had been rambling about Kitty Cards, and you had stupidly made the off-hand comment, “Oh yeah, I’ve never played that before.”

It wasn’t a lie; the real life edition of the game would be a vastly different experience to the virtual one. But the appalled look on her face sent waves of regret coursing through you, as she immediately booked a session at her favorite cat cafe.

Of course, Sylus still manages to pull one on you as you’re promptly greeted by two bodyguards from the pool of new initiates.

Your jaw drops as you turn to him, “Excuse me, do you not trust me to go out on my own?”

“It's not you that I don't trust,” His gaze drifts over to the hunter, who glares at him in offense. “Our dear hunter, on the other hand, has a talent for finding trouble.”

The hunter in question scoffs, “Well, why else do you think I keep you around?” She tilts her head cheekily at him, as he rolls his eyes, breathing an affectionate sigh.

Like always, it’s a casual punch to the gut.

His gaze travels to you (almost knowing, you think) but you brush it aside and keep the neutral expression on your face. “Let’s wrap it up, you two.” You walk forward, lightly shoving your shoulder against Sylus’s, interrupting their moment. A rare moment of pettiness from you, but you think you’re entitled to it every now and then. “Shall we go? I’d like to see the Linkon sun before nightfall.”

You spend the day in Linkon where she crushes your ass repeatedly, and you’re not even offended. You were only here to see the cats, after all. It’s the perfect duo; she’s way too competitive and you don’t care about winning at all — the best of both worlds as you share the winnings, anyway, at the badge counter.

In your small world consisting of your newfound family at Onychinus, you appreciate the new friend you’ve made. An appreciation that surpasses any of the petty jealousy you may have. Time spent with the hunter means the opportunity to be a little less mature, to be silly in a way you haven’t been in a long time. You appreciate the brief reprieve, as this world has forced you to remain at 100% — keeping you at constant guard in the wake of your transmigration.

Alongside kitty cards, she introduces you to the pop culture in this world, something you were never given a glimpse of in the game. One afternoon, you two decide to steal a set of speakers from Sylus’s study, putting on a playlist she made after learning how little you knew of mainstream music.

You’re sitting on the floor of your room, surrounded by papers as she switches the song to a soft acoustic track. “I like this one,” you comment, making a mental note to add the artist to your own playlist.

“You don’t know them? Huh, I guess I shouldn't be surprised since you didn’t know any of the fifteen others before this…” You laugh awkwardly as she sends you the link, murmuring a soft thanks. “Did you grow up under a rock?”

“Something like that. I grew up really far from Linkon, it’s like an entirely different world there.” It wasn’t a lie.

She never questions you further than that, to your relief. “You know, three months ago I wouldn't have dared to step into sylus’s study unless my life was at stake,” The hunter reminisces, sprawled out on your bed. “But here we are, committing casual theft.”

“You’ll learn over time he’s not as scary as he thinks he is. Especially when it comes to you. You could — I don’t know, spill your coffee on his desk, or stage a revolt against him in Onychinus, and he wouldn’t even bat an eye.”

She rolls her eyes, but you can see the faint blush coating her cheeks. “You’re exaggerating. Honestly, I was scared shitless when I first met him. Don’t tell him that,” She stares you down, and you motion to zip your mouth closed. “But I guess he’s not that bad, the more I get to know him…”

You smile, partly out of affection and partly out of bitterness. The hunter is so obviously smitten, and you know it’s only a matter of time before she opens her heart to him.

By all means, you should be happy for them. You should be happy that your dearest friend in this world is finally getting the love and happiness he desires, that he deserves. You promised to back out of this unspoken race and let the story continue as intended — but here and now, fiddling with the beautiful necklace given to you many moons ago, you realize you have a habit of clutching onto things for far too long.

Long after the hunter leaves, you shuffle papers and calendars around to an unnecessary degree of perfection, lingering on these thoughts. Your friends, your family, your dreams, had made up the beautiful, imperfect mess that was your life. But here, beyond the walls of this place, the sad reality was there was little reason for you to stay. Little reason for you to live.

And you wonder, when she finally takes the place you hold in Sylus’s life, in Onychinus — what will be left for you in this world?

—————————————————————

Early April showers take over the dark skies of the N109 Zone, a soft drizzle pattering against the windows of Sylus’s main office. It's a slow day, spring taking its course as Onychinus returns to a new normal with the hunter.

Stoic and focused he may seem, but Sylus’s mind is anywhere but work, drifting to the hunter and their blossoming relationship. He’s taken any and all opportunities to spend time with her. His schedule — once filled with free nights and weekends spent cozily in the penthouse — are booked back to back in any free moment he and the hunter can spare. His text messages, typically relegated to his work, become full of silly little moments as she continues to take a larger place in his life.

It’s what he wanted, isn’t it?

So why does he feel his heart fall every time he sees the distance that’s grown between you two?

It's the 17th of April, and despite the little time you’ve spent together, he knows you already have something planned for his birthday. You haven’t breathed a word about it, but he knows that you would refuse to let it go uncelebrated, if the twins’ hushed scheming around him isn’t enough to go by.

He rests his chin on his hand, scrutinizing you, as if he could read your mind if he tried hard enough. You type away on your computer like a machine, so focused that it takes an awfully time before your eyes drift over to him, a bit alarmed at the intensity of his staring. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason at all,” He barely holds back the smirk threatening to curl at his lips.

He can practically see the thoughts running through your head. Is he mad? Is he planning something? Can he read my mind? Until you finally look away with a resigned sigh.

He chuckles under his breath, thinking he’s ready for whatever you have planned, when the door swings open, revealing the hunter — who was supposedly busy with work today — on a surprise visit.

“Knock knock!” She raps her knuckles against the open door, “Good evening, Miss Secretary! Or — good morning, I guess, for the both of you?”

“Did I say you could come in?” Sylus asks with his typical drawled snark.

She scoffs, throwing a smile at you before occupying his visitor’s chair, crossing her legs and making herself comfortable. “Is that any way to greet your favorite hunter, who’s so kindly come to you since you’ve been busy all week?”

He narrows his eyes, “You want something from me.” A statement, not a question.

She sticks her tongue out at him, having clocked her immediately before she even got a word in. “A little birdie may have told me that you own an RX–116 —”

“You’re not riding it.” The answer comes automatically, eyes mechanically returning to the paperwork he’d been previously neglecting.

“You haven’t even let me explain why…!”

“Alright, tell me. Why should I let you take Treasure — my most cherished motorcycle — out on a reckless joyride into the N109 Zone?” He crosses his arms, patiently waiting for her answer.

“Because you’re a fun–loving soul at heart, who values the happiness of his friends?” Her tone is light, fingers crossed, only to receive his deadpan stare. She huffs, “Oh, come on. I promise I'll be careful. What if you drive? If Miss Secretary can survive it, I definitely could!”

His eyes drift over to you, and you barely glance up from your screen, deigning him with a shrug. “Sorry, she asked.” He continues to stare intently at you, a silent plea he hopes you’d understand if only you’d just look up. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“…No meetings? Deadlines? Overdue paperwork? Tell me what’s on my schedule today.”

You grant him an almost knowing smile, rolling your eyes. “Since when have you cared about paperwork?” Still, you flick through the digital calendar, lazily pretending to indulge his request. “No, there’s nothing keeping you. You’re free from the clutches of work. For today,” You emphasize that last part as a subtle threat.

Still, he continues to look at you skeptically — it’s almost like he wants you to hand him more work. “I mean it, go have fun. Take a break. Since when did you care so much about skipping work?” He can almost hear you muttering, “The privileges of being a rich bastard…” as you breathe a tired sigh.

It's true that Sylus's position affords him the privilege of passing up on the workday for his whims. Whether it be upgrading Mephisto, waiting on online auctions for vintage records, or in this case, a day out with the hunter.

It unnerves him, this side of you. Despite the stark gap in power between you, you’ve never failed to scold and banter with him, thumping him on the head more than a few times after he’d neglected the calendar. But lately, you’ve been almost… complacent with him, as if you’ve accepted something inevitable.

It's a jarring realization when he thinks about how little time he’s spent with you since the hunter’s return. Especially considering how close you had grown, how you’d spent almost every free moment with him before. A part of him knows that for one reason or another, you’ve kept your distance, and he hates it — but at the same time, the hunter was slowly opening her heart to him.

But were you really going to let him go this easily, on the eve of his birthday, when you clearly had something planned already? It was moments like these that made him wish for things to return to normal. (That made him wish to see the side of you that cared.)

“Fine,” He gives into the pleading eyes of the hunter, who cheers as he tosses her the keys. “Meet me in the garage. Careful not to go too wild, kitten.”

He shakes his head as she skips out of the room, catching one last look at you before muttering, “You two will be the death of me…” He leaves the office without looking back.

The evening is spent racing through the outskirts of the N109 Zone, wind and rain rushing past them as Sylus takes the opportunity to show off the motor’s maximum speed. She screams, and it echoes through the empty roads. Joyously carefree, still carrying the same fire and spirit she once held in their previous lives.

But, not everything was the same. The hunter’s life was by no means easy, but she grew up in a much kinder world than the sorceress, untouched by the horrors that he and her previous iteration were irrevocably changed by. Does he even want her to remember? Would it still be love if he forced her to relive those horrors?

His devotion to the sorceress has always been overwhelming, all-consuming. But in this life, he does not feel the same intense love, but more so a quiet affection, a desire to protect. And so, he’d rather the hunter live in peace. Never knowing the horrors of their past, even if it means that he’ll be forgotten, as well.

She urges him, “Go faster!” and he obliges with a smirk, revving up the engine to go at maximum speed. She cackles, letting go of his waist and letting her arms caress the midnight breeze. He can’t help but breathe an affectionate sigh — her dauntless, the opposite to your wariness on this very motorcycle.

Miss Secretary. His thoughts have once again spiralled back to you, a habit that’s slipped out of his control. He's always been unwavering in his desires, but your arrival had upended his world and the foundations of what he knew about himself. And now, he no longer knows where his heart lies.

He knows it’s not fair to either of you. He feels guilty for the hunter’s oblivious nature — clueless to what almost was (what could still be) between you and him. And for you, you have done your utmost best to keep the boundaries he wasn’t strong enough to.

He's a shameless man who’s never been afraid to take and take. But every time he sees the pain that his indecision — his choice — has caused you, he can’t help but tread carefully, wary of hurting you any more than he already has.

The clock strikes twelve, marking the beginning of April 18th. They return to a base shrouded in darkness, where they stumble around for the lights, only to be greeted by a garishly decorated living room and the twins dressed in red and black.

“Happy birthday, boss!” The twins blow party poppers as he walks into the living room, “Didn’t expect this, did ‘ya?”

He’d been so conflicted at leaving before his birthday, when little did he know, it was all an elaborate ruse to distract him while you and the twins decorated.

“…It seems I've been deceived.” This is the first time you have ever left him truly dumbfounded.

“Surprise!” The hunter slaps him on the back, a satisfied smirk on her face. “Did you really think I was bugging you for a ride out for nothing?”

“Well, not nothing, considering you commandeered the vehicle halfway through.” She swats at him playfully in response.

His eyes search for you, and just in time, you carefully step out of the kitchen, holding a two-tiered cake with a candle lit atop. What ensues is an off-tune rendition of happy birthday, as you step closer, careful not to extinguish the flames, “Make a wish, Sylus.” You smile.

Since the tragic end to his life as a dragon, he’s only ever had one wish. But this year, he hesitates.

For the first time, he wishes for something else. Something new and precious.

The flames dance in the wind before being snuffed with a single breath, smoke trailing with the promises of what’s to come.

Once again, you‘ve planned an elaborate celebration, just as you did the previous year. Something simple here at the base, but still catering to his preferences. From the tasteful red, black, and gold decorations, his favorite meals laid out on the dining table, and a pile of presents wrapped in a mishmash of patterns and ribbons.

When he takes the first bite of the cake, he lets out a hum of satisfaction, immediately noticing the gleam in the twins’ eyes.

“What, did you like it?” You smile at him cheekily, chewing through your own bite. “Luke and Kieran baked it, red velvet cheesecake with a bourbon coating.”

The hunter scowls, still not over their previous attack on her taste buds. “Oh, so Sylus gets a fancy, artisanal cake and I get toothpaste cookies?”

Kieran grins, lightly punching her shoulder, “Don’t worry, Miss Hunter. Just wait til’ it’s your birthday.”

”Yeah! We’re more than ready to top the last one," Luke chimes in, a sinister promise no one wants to hear.

Sylus's gaze follows the hunter throughout the night. It’s the closest he’ll ever get to closure, he thinks, seeing her slot into his close circle (family) like a perfect puzzle piece, celebrating a day that never mattered to him until they made it matter. In their previous life, they had never been afforded the time or peace to celebrate these mundane milestones.

But despite the jovial atmosphere, his eyes can’t stray from your strange mood. You do a good job of pretending that everything is alright, going about the motions and matching the merry of the occasion. But though you may be able to fool others, you can’t fool him. After the party has come to an end, he doesn’t leave your side — determined to know what’s been bothering you.

“Hey, no cleaning for the birthday celebrant!” You lightly shoo him away with the broom as he tries to take over cleaning the living room.

“Oh? I say the birthday celebrant gets to decide that for himself,” He easily swipes the broom from your hands, and you huff, relegated to picking up the wrapping paper strewn about the floor.

“Stubborn bastard,” You mutter under your breath.

“A little louder, dear. I couldn't hear you.” You scowl at him and he laughs, “I can't let you do all the work, no? What kind of boss would I be, then? Tsk, if only you had just left it to the cleaners like I told you to.”

Still, you resolve to finish cleaning. It’s a bit comical seeing him with a broom and dustpan, and on his birthday, of all days. Still, you assert that it would be too rude to leave all this work for the cleaners’ shift come morning. With the two of you working at it, by the time the hour’s up you wouldn’t have been able to tell a celebration occurred.

“Let's go to the rooftop,” Sylus suggests, after taking out the trash. “I feel like taking a breath of fresh air.”

The two of you walk up the familiar staircase to the rooftop, the highest point in the N109 Zone, where you’ve spent many nights deprived of sleep and spilling your deepest fears and nightmares.

“Watch your head.”

“What are you— ow!” You bump your head on a new exit sign that hadn’t been there the last time you came.

He laughs breathily, rubbing your forehead with his thumb after he perfectly ducks under the sign. “I did warn you.”

“It feels like forever since we’ve been up here.”

“It's also been quite a while since I’ve seen you.”

You laugh shakily, “What are you talking about? We’re in the office every day…”

“Don’t act like you don’t understand, it’s unbecoming of your intelligence,” He brushes a stray hair from your face.

“Well, what can I say? We’ve all been so busy lately… But you seem happy, though.” He remains silent, so you continue, “You’ve waited so long to reunite with her. I've never believed in soulmates or anything like that, but for you two, I just might. I’m happy for you,” A timid smile paints your face, and he can’t tell if it’s out of bitterness or soft appreciation.

He doesn’t know how to feel, receiving your approval — feigned as it may be. “If that's so, do you believe it for yourself?” You look at him strangely. “Do you think you could have a soulmate?”

The question seems to weigh heavily on your mind as you look away, dangling your feet aimlessly, “Maybe so… But I like to think that love is a choice. Something that’s earned, built up over time. That's the kind of love that I want, at least.”

His heart has been conflicted for so long — but all of a sudden, you feel unreachable, slipping from his grasp into a territory uncharted. (All of a sudden, he wants to give you everything you wish for.)

“It's been a while since we’ve talked like this. It’s nice being able to spend time with you again.” You stand up, brushing non-existent dirt off your thighs. “But I better head to bed.”

It’s a lie, you both know you’ll spend the night tossing and turning into the hours of the night; so he tries to push at the walls you’ve put up. “Come on, dear. It's my birthday. Just grace me with your presence for a few more minutes…”

He tries not to sound desperate, but all he wants to do is reverse time, to return to a period where you weren’t wary of spending time with him. He'd been spoiled by the affection and friendship you once offered so freely, and now he couldn’t bear this distance you stubbornly held in place.

He reaches to grab your hand, but you pull yours away.

You hesitate before turning around, “I'm sorry, Sylus. But maybe another night.” Your voice is soft as you say good night, his eyes stuck on the image of you walking further away until you disappear from sight.

He wants so badly to pull you back, yearns to grab your hand once again, to feel the warmth of your palm against his. But he knows he has no right to. The presence of the hunter a few doors over says it all, says his choice. He can’t bear to hurt you any more than he already has. But at the same time, he can’t bear to lose you.

So instead, he watches you walk away, knowing that he’s chosen the hunter, his soulmate. But a part of his heart continues to yell at him, telling him he’s making a grave mistake.

—————————————————————

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the overstimulating atmosphere of the underground ring. The flashing lights, the all-consuming noise in the hours before a match starts. It's been months since you’ve been here, but it’s clear that anticipation runs high in the crowds, with this being Sylus's first game since last year’s loss.

You sniffle, holding back a sneeze as you approach the ring with a bouquet of flowers, waiting patiently for Sylus to break from his pre-game focus as the coach gives him a last minute pep talk.

His eyes eventually drift over to you as he takes a sip of water, “Oh? Look who showed up." He smirks at you, arms leaning against the barrier, “And here I thought you’d be a no-show after last year’s disappointment.”

“What can I say? It’s a crime to pass up on an easy bet.”

“I'm touched by your faith in me,” Unlike his words, his tone is deadpan.

You mockingly scoff, “Who said I placed my bets on you?” You say this, but both of you know who you’re rooting for. “I just thought I might as well wish you good luck, considering I used my PTO on this.”

“Trust me, dear.” His smirk is one of confidence, as he leans past the barrier, face inching towards yours. “By the end of the night, there’ll be a new champion reigning this ring.”

A sudden screech comes from behind — some sort of ongoing venue prep — and your face scrunches up, another headache coursing through you.

“Are you okay?” His brows furrow as he calls your name, concerned at the deep circles under your eyes, the pale sheen to your face. “Maybe you should sit down. You don’t look well.”

“I'll be fine,” You wave him off, “It’s just a headache. I can champ through it.”

“But is it wise for you to stand in these crowds?” He removes his glove, pressing a hand against your forehead. “Go sit down in the locker room, they’ll be airing the match inside. I don't need you in the stands to know you’re supporting me.”

The increasing dizziness you feel is the only reason why you nod, picking up your things and doing as told without so much as a fight. His eyes follow your sluggish form until you make it past his sight, settling inside the rundown locker room to watch alongside other competitors and coaches.

Even though you’ve been continuously sneezing and feel like knocking out, you’re on your toes the entire match, even from the low quality screen delegated to the locker room. The crowd is just as enthusiastic, roaring for his revenge match. You know nothing about boxing, but even you can tell from the first few minutes alone that he’s doing well, performing better than he ever was as the cheers of the crowd pound through to the walls of this secluded room. The camera shifts as he overtakes his opponent — and that’s when you see it, a glimpse of the hunter cheering at the front row.

You already expected her presence, was anticipating to sit by her side as the both of you cheered Sylus on. But a part of you feels sick, lightheaded, progressively dizzier as the match continues. Not just because of the hunter’s arrival, or the anxiety of seeing Sylus getting socked in the face — you realize as you feel the bile rising up your throat.

The match ends as you walk out of the bathroom, contents of your stomach flushed down the toilet. You missed the final blow, the crowning moment, the television having switched to an interview. His voice fills the room, the audio muffled and crackly, “Someone came all the way here to watch me. Said she didn’t want to see me lose.”

You recognize that look of adoration, reserved only for the hunter. And once again, you feel your stomach lurch.

It's a weak moment for you — you want to stay, to cheer him on as his friend and supporter (the only things you were and would ever be to him). But it was too much for you, seeing her take the place that maybe, in another life, could have been yours.

You guiltily leave the bouquet in the locker rooms, slipping away easily into the swarm of crowds leaving the venue. You pass by the ring as you make your way to the exit, seeing him at the edge of the barricade, swarmed by reporters.

In the ring, he shines like a star far out of your reach.

Was this penance for your pride? For believing you could take the spot of someone who was long destined to be by his side? The last image you see is of his arm wrapped around her waist, lips pressed to her forehead — his attention, his gravity, tethered to her.

You leave the underground stadium guilt-free, feeling a little silly for having doubts about your departure affecting him. You realize that no matter what you do, he’ll be fine.

He has the hunter now.

—————————————————————

The moment he steps out of the ring, lights flashing and reporters crowding to get his interview — the first thing he sees is the hunter, standing front row in the bleachers, cheering him on with her fist in the air. His arm stays around her waist as they celebrate his win, answering nosy interviewers and being crowned with the champion’s ring.

He should be filled with nothing but happiness, satisfaction. But right now, all he could think of was finding you.

He fiddles with the champion’s ring, a nervous tic he’d never dare show to the naked eye as he makes his way to the locker room, where he finds an intricate bouquet of flowers and a congratulatory note, written in your familiar penmanship.

It seems his greed had become far too overwhelming.

Faced with all his wishes coming true, he still yearns for more. Everything he ever wanted was coming together, but none of it felt right — not with your absence creating a gaping void in a picture perfect image.

Disheartened by your absence, the dim mood follows him as he returns to a quiet home. He carefully steps inside, your snores filling the space as he finds you sprawled on the living room couch, still dressed in your outside clothes, skin dull and face tightened in discomfort.

He lifts you up, beginning the trek to your bedroom to let you sleep away the rest of the night, only for you to stir awake in his arms. “Sylus?” You peek at him through bleary eyes, “You’re home…”

He places the back of his hand against your forehead, “You’re burning up. Did you take any medicine before falling asleep?”

“I'm sorry I couldn’t stay for the match…” In your drowsy state, you don’t hear his question, instead nuzzling your head into his chest. He savors the feeling of your warmth. “Did you get my flowers?”

“I did. They were a beautiful choice.”

“That's good. You deserve only the best, after all.” Your voice is a little breathy, soft and tender in ways you never reveal to him anymore — and he couldn’t help but be a little lovestruck.

“You know just how to flatter me, don’t you?” He lays you down gently, tucking the covers over your form, as he musters the courage to follow through with his thoughts. “But since you brought me flowers, I should give something in thanks.”

He slides the champion’s ring off his finger, delicately placing it in your palm, closing your fingers over it. “I believe this should be yours.”

“Sylus, what is this?” Your face is still unnaturally pale, but you seem more lucid now, staring at the ring with an unreadable expression on your face.

“There's only one reason I left as a champion today, and she’s standing right in front of me.” His eyes are glued intently to yours, water still streaking from his hair after the quick shower he took before leaving. “Last year’s match was a blow to my pride, I'll admit. But how could I ever stay down with you by my side?”

It’s rare for him to display his fondness on a silver platter — not painted in wit or banter, but with the clarity of an open window into his heart. But something about you wills him to take steps he never has before.

You stay silent for an unnerving amount of time, turning away from him, overwhelmed by the depth of his gaze. Your face contorts into a fractured smile, “I think we both know who you should really give this to.

He stares at the ring, refusing to take it from your outstretched hand. a strained laugh leaves his lips. He gently grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him once again, “You won’t even accept gifts from me, now? How much will you pull away from me before you’re satisfied?”

“I can't accept this, and you know why.”

He knows. Just like he knows why you stray from his touch, why you avoid his gaze. He knows, but he refuses to accept it.

“I went into this match for you. I won it for you, not the hunter.” A frantic sort of grief fills his features, imploring you to open your heart to him. “So why is it that you keep telling me to run to her? What makes you believe you’re undeserving?”

“Because it shouldn’t be me. I just—” The words fail to form on your tongue, twisting and turning until the intention is lost. “Please, sylus. I can't do this right now.”

“I didn't think your cowardice was stronger than our friendship.”

You come to an abrupt still, your eyes glazing over in stifled shock. “Well, I'm sorry to have disappointed you.”

Regret immediately courses through him as he realizes the harshness of his words, and the guardedness of your tone. He hates causing you hurt or pain, but he can no longer bear to ignore the distance that's grown between you. (But does he even have the right to confront you about it? When he knows his actions are the root cause.)

“We can't hide from this forever, so why won’t you just talk to me?” He's just about ready to beg for you to look at him again, to talk to him again, without the inhibitions that separate you now.

You take a deep breath, a hundred thoughts running through your mind before you settle on simple words, “Because things can’t go back to normal, and I don't know if they ever will.” You turn around, effectively ending the conversation and drawing that dreaded line. “I'd like to be alone now, please.”

It’s not irreparable; at least, you don’t think so. But regardless of the place the hunter now holds in your life, you had crossed a turning point in your relationship, one that made it impossible to turn back. This was the price of his choice; he couldn’t have his cake and eat it, too.

Despite how much he wants to confront you, more than anything he wants to respect the boundaries you’ve set in place. And so, Sylus is left to stew in his thoughts in the living room, fiddling with the ring and wondering why he wouldn’t just give the ring to the hunter. Why he caused all of this mess. (He knows exactly why.)

The bond he had with the hunter transcended lifetimes, giving his soul a first taste of human connection and love. He grasped at the seams of that bond, holding on for dear life and desperately seeking the peace they were never afforded. But your arrival broke the monotony of his days, and in the process, treated him to that connection, that genuine acceptance and care so freely. You easily slotted into his life, and now that you were trying to walk away — he couldn’t just bear to let you go.

He may have fallen in love with the sorceress in their previous life, but now, it was time to face his current reality.

In this world, his heart had chosen you.

—————————————————————

You feel like you're being replaced, being pushed out of the picture you were never meant to be captured in.

For the longest time, you’ve felt the petty urge to hate the hunter. To pick out her flaws and shortcomings to make yourself feel better. But that wouldn’t be fair to her, who’s done nothing but unknowingly capture Sylus's heart. And it would only fan the flames of bitterness and hurt that were already burning inside you.

You stomp at the petty jealousy taking root in your heart — because what right do you have to feel that way? What right do you have to mourn a love that was never yours to begin with?

You feel rather foolish. You thought you knew what his affection felt like, but it was nothing compared to seeing his devotion. You never believed in soulmates — but how could you deny the cosmic connection before your very eyes? Like a planet and its moon, they orbit each other — his harsh edges softening in her presence.

Sylus gave you hope for a future in this world. But to him, you must be just one of many, a buffer while he waits for his lover to finally come along in this life. He was someone who had never known peace, never known the warmth of love before he met her. In the grand scheme of things, what was your rust to her gold?

These fantasies have become fatal, cutting open old wounds and deeply hidden thoughts. Never have you felt so untethered. No place where you belonged, no place to call home, no connection that was meant to be truly yours. Your world had been shrouded in static in the wake of losing your loved ones, life becoming grainy and distant in your grief. The loneliness had been dampened by new connections, by a blossoming love, but was now coming back in full force as you watch the image of how it should be, without you.

You were never meant to be here.

(Thus, it was only right to return things to how they should be.)

—————————————————————

Thunder rolls in, casting gloomy skies over the N109 Zone. it’s one of those days where you can’t muster up the energy to do anything but curl up on the couch with a blanket, paperwork left forgotten on the coffee table, watching raindrops dart against the tall windows overlooking the city.

The twins are similarly sprawled across the living room floor. With Sylus and Mephisto out on a mission, it’s just the three of you in the penthouse, spending the last of the spring showers working by the warmth of the fireplace, before humid summer storms take over.

The dreary atmosphere did nothing to quell the persistent grief that weighed heavily in your chest. Not even the comforting presence of Luke and Kieran could muster a smile on your face, these days.

Your eyelids start to flutter, the movie and the twins’ chatter becoming hazy as you drift into slumber, where once again, you dream of home.

You find yourself thinking about home much more, nowadays. You miss the sun, you miss the food, the warmth of company (the lack of doubt of your belongingness). But as always, you wake up to the cars and gunshots typical of the N109 Zone, the rain having slowed to a soft drizzle, pattering against the window.

You spend a little while with your eyes closed, savoring the taste of home only a dream can capture, a feeling that slips through your fingers before you can truly grasp it. And once again, you wish for a clue, a hint, an answer to a way back home.

Little did you know how soon this wish would be granted.

You stretch your arms out, coming to a slow rise from the couch, remembering the pile of paperwork that awaited you on the coffee table. You sigh as you see the other half; it seems the twins hadn’t gotten much done either, their papers getting mixed up with yours during your short nap. you take quick, mindless glances at the papers — your events and supply documentation, the twins’ mission reports — as you sort through them.

One in particular slides out from the pile, and you pick it up, intending to place it on their side of the table — only to stop in your tracks, catching a single phrase. Dimensional travel.

You shouldn’t be snooping. As Sylus's secretary, you’re already privy to most of the ongoings in Onychinus. You know that if something’s been kept from you, it’s for a reason. But as your mind flits over all the dead ends you’ve run into in your search to go home, you think — what’s the harm in taking a look?

Your blood stills.

What greets you is the twins’ hasty scrawl, recounting their findings as they led a reconnaissance mission at an EVER lab on the outskirts of the N109 Zone. Test subjects who were found in public, on the brink of death. Who spoke of “other worlds.” Unfortunate individuals who were found somewhere more public, deemed a nutcase, and left vulnerable to the hands of EVER. In Kieran’s more formal penmanship are the words, “These findings are supported by the classified dimensional travel studies at Prestara University…”

And when you see the date of the mission — it’s from the previous year.

Why did no one tell you about this?

All of you were smart enough to connect the dots. Near-death experiences, tales of other worlds. Here you were, searching on what seemed to be a fool’s errand, when the people you slept under the same roof with held the very answers you’d been so desperately seeking.

An eerie feeling settles over you (you don’t want to name it as betrayal) as you look over the papers, reading them over and over, thinking there’s no way this had been just out of reach, all these months.

On the dot, the twins return to the living room with bags of snacks in their arms, Luke with his typical cheer as Kieran stills, seeing the papers in your hand. “Miss Secretary, you’re finally awake. Do you want a snack —”

“What is this?” You cut him off, uncharacteristically stoic as you raise up the stapled reports, still reeling from shock at the words you’ve just read. “Your mission reports… These are from a year ago. Why didn’t I know about this?

The two worriedly look at each other in silent communication, before you ask again, fed up with the lies and secrecy. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Luke, she read the reports. She knows.”

“But the boss said — Fine. But don’t blame me when this ends badly.” He sighs before giving in, turning to look you in the eye. “I think it’s better if we show you. But… Please don’t be mad at the boss.”

“No more than you already are,” Kieran adds, and you look at him skeptically. “We know you two are fighting. It’s been torture seeing you guys mope! The boss has been burying everyone in work and you… You’ve been a shell of yourself.”

You open your mouth, ready to spout excuses, but he interrupts you. “Don’t deny it, we can see it for ourselves. Especially with the way the boss has been grovelling.”

“Sylus has not been grovelling. He has better things to do with his time.” You roll your eyes, but they continue to stare at you in doubt, until you sigh and let up.

“Alright. so we may have had a… slight disagreement. But really, I've just been in a funk. A little homesick, and a little actually sick. That's all. But you know what will help me?” You raise up the reports once again, flipping to the research page. “Show me these case studies. Show me everything there is to know about this.”

“Well, we tried.” Kieran lets out a tired exhale, “If knowing this will help you, then we’ll do it.”

The twins lead you into their wing of the penthouse, a territory you never dared to venture unless it was dire circumstances— which it very well feels like it is now.

“Welcome to our little abode!” Luke cheers as he swings the doors open.

“Oh, how… charming.”

You tiptoe around the communal living area, unable to distinguish what is a weapon for Onychinus and a personal invention they’ve made for an elaborate prank. Frankly, it’s a mess. Apparently teenage boys are the same type of disgusting in any universe, you cringe as you find a smelly article of clothing on his desk that's definitely overdue for a wash. Only the promise of answers holds back your urge to hand these kids a broom and force them to clean.

“Over here’s my desk. Go wild, I guess. I'll be in the other room if you need anything.”

Your heart races as you’re left to your own devices, inputting the related mission code — and there it is. A wealth of information answering the questions you’ve had.

You skim over the articles, all from the same research team, studying the phenomenon of dimensional travelers, as they’ve so aptly put it, and their possible connection to the Deepspace Tunnel.

But the most damning implication of them all, was that there was a way for you to return home. The researchers are positive they’re close to a breakthrough, they write, as they cite the commonalities between these travelers. If a close encounter with death is what brought them all here, then it only makes sense it can bring them back.

But this is where the trail ends. The last article ends with the researchers discussing potential experimentation — the risks of being lost in the unknown boundary between worlds, ripped to shreds by the force of gravity, or better yet — just dying. With it, your hope dims.

But it’s something. Nothing concrete, but enough to prove you weren’t crazy. Enough to have hope. Enough to try.

But the question remains… how could this have possibly slipped past you? You’ve researched every corner of info available to you in the Onychinus database.

As Sylus's secretary, you’re granted the privileges to access almost everything in Onychinus, including the information databases which contain a wealth of information from various sources (legally and illegally obtained, many inaccessible to the public yet). And when you check the status of the articles — you see that your access has been blacklisted.

As it was, there was only one person in Onychinus with the power to do this.

“Sylus put you up to this, didn’t he?” When your eyes turn to Luke in question, he only nods grimly in confirmation.

“The boss asked us to keep it from you,” He almost looks like a sad puppy wagging his tail, trying to appease your increasingly irate mood. “He was only worried about what you might do if you found out about this.”

“He should’ve worried about what I’d do if you kept this from me.” You spat bitterly, and immediately, guilt coils through you for misplacing this anger on Luke. The twins might have been in on it, but despite all their mischief, they would never have had the heart to lie to you. No, this was all Sylus's doing.

You walk away, as overwhelming waves of betrayal course through you. You don’t want to make assumptions, but there is no other possible truth. It’s almost uncharacteristic of him, you think. He's always supported whatever you wanted to do. So why would he do this now?

Why hide the answers that would lead you back home?

And if he hid this from you, what else could he be hiding?

These thoughts continue to plague you into the late hours of the night. Hours of tossing and turning in the sheets, before giving up on slumber entirely. Before, you would tiptoe in the marbled halls in search of laughter and company. But things were no longer the same. Now, you lock yourself in silence, refusing to bare any more of your heart.

But there still comes some nights such as now, when you can’t stifle the dark creeping in. Like a sheep heading into the wolves’ den, you tiptoe out of your bedroom, making your way to the kitchen where you cope as you always have: by baking.

As you pull out the ingredients, Sylus eventually comes strolling in, as if he had a sixth sense to your presence.

“Can’t sleep again?” He asks groggily. Hair mussed and robe crumpled, it was clear he had already been in bed. His tone is careful, still tiptoeing around you after the mess of a conversation you last had after the match.

You nod tiredly, “Too much to think about.” You’re being uncharacteristically cold to him, not even turning around or looking at him in acknowledgement. But if he notices, he doesn’t show it.

All you want is a moment alone. But already, he’s coming far too close to you — invading your space like he’s entitled to it, when all you want is to be as far away from him as possible.

“Let me help you.” He says, grabbing the bowl from behind you and rolling a whisk in his other hand. “It'll just be like old times, don’t you think? Miss Baker, with her apprentice running the ovens.”

You can’t help the anger simmering beneath you as you slam the cupboards closed, alarming him. Can you not get one moment of peace in this fucking household? “You know what? I think I'll just go to bed, actually.”

He lets out a breath of frustration. "Alright, it’s clear that there’s a problem here.” He grabs your hand to stop you from leaving, only for you to rip it from his grasp. He steps back, “I admit that I said some hurtful things before, and I'd like to apologize properly. But can we sit down and talk about this like civilized people?”

You know it’s wrong to lash out like this, but this betrayal had you reeling and acting out impulsively. A crash-out long in the works, tipped over by your recent revelation. “Always one to ask forgiveness rather than permission, aren’t you?”

“What?” He pinches the bridge of his nose, utterly confused. “I don't know why you continually insist on shutting me out — but I assure you, nothing productive will come out of this.”

A bitter laugh escapes you, “Well, I don’t know why you insist on lying to me. But I'm not the one asking questions here.”

“What are you talking about?” His blood runs cold, gaze steely as he begins to tread carefully through this volley of words.

“Did you think I'd never find out about the information you hid from me? That you ordered Luke and Kieran to lie to me about? How much have you hidden from me?” You seethe, the words spilling out of you like an overflowing kettle.

His silence says it all.

“Gosh, I guess it figures.” You don’t know whether to laugh in irony or cry in defeat. “The one person I trusted the most turned out to be a lying bastard… I don't know why I expected any better from you.”

Sometimes you forget the person Sylus truly is, beyond the softness he’s shown to you in confidence. He may be flowing with unspoken affection for those he cares for, but in the end, he was still a criminal. The leader of the world’s most notorious crime syndicate, gifted in the art of deceit.

But despite this, Sylus was still the person who took you in when you had nowhere else to go. The one person you trusted more than anyone in this world. Although his blossoming relationship with the hunter sprouted thorns over your friendship, you thought that you’d at least have total honesty.

But your expectations crumble into disappointment.

Sylus treats this exchange flippantly, at first, trying to stave off a fight he doesn’t want to have. But you’re so frustrated, you can’t even look him in the eye. Though his face gives away nothing, a storm was brewing inside as the consequences of his actions dawned on him.

And so, he decides to tell you the truth.

He whispers your name carefully, like an apology in itself. “I'm sorry I lied to you. It was never my intention to deceive you, or to hold you back from finding answers — but I know I've hurt you nonetheless. But please, let’s not fight about this. Let me explain myself, first.”

You turn to him, waiting for an answer that will resolve the hurt in your heart.

He doesn't know where to begin, so he starts with an explanation.

When you first arrived, Sylus had done the research. Tried to find a way to send you — this anomaly who’d landed in his backyard — back to where she belonged. But all he could find were dead ends. As far as he knew, there was no way to send you back. You, this stranger, who he wanted out of his life. (Oh, how the thought hurts him now.)

Almost a year later, when the dimensional travel research came in — he immediately marked it as classified. A spur of the moment decision, where he blocked off your access to these files in fear of you discovering them. He excuses it as the danger, the potential recklessness that might possess you in the face of this revelation.

But the truth was: you were no longer just a stranger, you were Miss Secretary. A core part of his life, regardless of the short time you’d been here. Maybe if he was less in-deep, if the reality of you slipping from his grasp wasn’t so tangible, he wouldn’t have resorted to deceit. But as it was, there was no way he was letting you go now.

After all, the fear of lying to you was nothing compared to the fear of losing you forever. (But now, he may just lose you because of it.)

His explanations ring through your head, but all you hear are excuses. You fire back, words slow and tense like a string stretched thin. “You think you’re always right, but you’re not. That's not an excuse to withhold this from me. Living in the N109 Zone is a danger in itself, so what’s so different about this?”

He scoffs, “The difference is that here, you are by my side. Do you think I can't protect you?”

“It's not your responsibility to protect me. In fact, I've long overstayed my welcome here.”

“Says who?” His eyes stare intently into yours, as he opens his arms, “Look around, dear. The only person who wants you to leave is you.”

He shakes his head, frustrated, “Do you even understand what could happen to you if you pursue this path? This not only blurs the boundary between our worlds, but the boundary between life and death. You could die before ever seeing a glimpse of your old world,” A frantic panic shadows his eyes as he moves forward, shaking you by the shoulders, almost begging you not to do this.

“At least I'd finally have some peace!” You spat out like a bullet that’s been lodged in your chest, a truth so hard to bear. Every day in this world has been an uphill battle, and no connection — whether familial or romantic — could make up for everything you had lost, or the closure you had seeked.

“You don’t mean that.” He murmurs in disbelief, the broken look on his face enough to have your shoulders slumped in guilt.

He tries — you know he does — to close the distance that you have placed. But a sadistic part of you likes to see him hurt, likes to see him struggle to repair what he unintentionally broke. But the other part of you just wants to spare yourself from any more hurt.

You’ve never been the type to cling to your pride, but not even you can acquiesce to this when you feel so wronged.

“Do you even understand what this information means to me?” Your voice trembles in desperation, “You don’t know what it’s like to lose everything. I cared about my life. I had dreams, I had plans! My family and friends, they all probably think I’m missing or dead — when I'm just here, trying to get back to them. Yet you have the audacity to pretend like you did this for my sake?”

To him, your arrival was a miracle. Another surprise fate had thrown his way, something he was determined not to let slip from his grasp this time around.

But to you, your arrival in this world was your greatest tragedy.

In spite of it all, he puts his foot down, refusing to put your life on the line. “No, this is where I draw the line. You will not be pursuing this — this death wish, and that’s final.” He doesn’t realize how tightly he’s gripped your shoulders until he steps back from the sheer betrayal in your eyes.

For the first time, you look at him as if he were no more than a stranger. Like you didn’t know him, hadn’t held him in your arms in his lowest moments. He could handle the hunter’s anger and distrust, your distance and aloofness. But your fear? It breaks him.

Still, he swallows this heartbreak in favor of your safety. “Ignore me, hate me — I'm willing to put up with all of it so long as you don’t hurt yourself.”

“Well, what fucking choice do I have when you control everything in this goddamned place?” You close your eyes and laugh bitterly, whispering, “I guess I never knew you as well as I thought I did.”

You walk away, and he knows better than to chase you.

All this time, you had felt guilty for hurting him with your distance, for being an obstacle in the space that was meant for the hunter. Meanwhile, he had been the one barricading you from going back. But why? You cannot comprehend as to why he would be selfish enough to try and keep you here, not when he has everything he’s ever wanted.

Your thoughts continue to spiral as you return to your room– and for the first time, you feel more peace in the silence than in his company.

—————————————————————

He sits in the kitchen until early noon, stewing in disappointment and anger towards himself.

Sylus is hailed for his ability to read people. His target’s desires, his enemy’s weaknesses, his loved ones’ needs. Yet when it comes to you, he finds himself lost at sea, in conflict with himself in a way he hasn’t been since he was unused to the world and its dangers.

For the past millennia, he’d had a clear focus, a clear goal — until you strolled in and completely upended his world and everything he thought he knew.

And what’s worse? He would let you do it as many times as you wanted.

He knows this won’t be resolved so easily. Both of you are the type whose true feelings cannot be encapsulated by mere words. And when the storm inevitably rolls in, he’s afraid of what might be lost in the collateral. Because now, he was far too gone.

Losing the sorceress had nearly broken him once, sent him on a search that had clouded his realization of the place you’d taken in his heart. The realization that he couldn’t bear to live without those mundane moments with you.

He knows, here and now, that he needs to fix this. Right his wrongs, clear things with the hunter, and maybe beg at your feet for you to look at him kindly again, after all he’s done to push you away. Before it's too late and he lets love slip from his grasp once again.

—————————————————————

The ballroom is lit under the warm glow of the numerous chandeliers, casting light over your stone cold face. The opulent celebration — a business partner’s 40th wedding anniversary — was a complete juxtaposition to the storm raging inside you, uncaring to be approachable as you swirl your wine.

In a twist of cruel irony, another event had delegated Sylus to bring a partner for the evening.

“We'll be leaving at 8 o’clock. Use my card for the dress — and treat yourself, while you’re at it.” He informed you, placing one of his cards on your desk along with the invitation. You raised an eyebrow in skepticism, he never spared time for frivolous events such as anniversaries, especially for people he barely knew.

“What, the hunter wasn’t free this time around?” You can’t help but ask, the snark evident in your tone.

He sighs and walks away, not even deigning that with a response. “Don’t be late.”

You shove the invite into a drawer, fully intent on ditching him. But alas — he added it to the calendar himself.

You were expecting him to hand you another half-hearted apology, to add to the growing pile that was already accumulating. Apology flowers left at your desk, paperwork submitted on time, deliveries of chocolates and your favorite food at the office, as his eyes suspiciously don’t meet yours.

“If you think you can bribe me with material things, then you don’t know me very well,” You bitterly threw these words at him then, before clocking out for the day. But Sylus was never one to give up easily.

Throughout the night, you feel the constant prickle of eyes on your back. At first, you assume it’s because of past events, people’s curiosity towards the secretary Sylus was so quick to defend. Your insecurity has you turning around each time — only to meet your employer’s gaze across the room, his eyes lingering on you even with the conversation in front of him. You scoff and look away.

Eventually, he approaches you with your coat in hand, “I believe it’s time to take our leave.”

“So early?” You reply, your words short and cutting when it's necessary to speak.

“This night has already proven to be a disappointment. No reason to waste any more of our time.”

“I'll call for the driver then,” You’re about to dial when he plucks your phone out of your hand.

“No need, I've already given him the night off. I'll be the one driving us home.” You squawk in indignance. Once again, this man has managed to corner you into a situation where you can’t escape him. “But, dinner first, shall we?” He extends a hand, which you resolutely walk past.

This seething ignorance follows him the whole way to the restaurant, into the dimly lit private room where the two of you are seated. Had it been any other occasion, you would’ve taken the time to appreciate the florals adorning the tables, the band playing jazz in the corner, and the delicious food. But your anger clouds your enjoyment, as you channel your frustrations into blindly ordering the most expensive items on the menu.

It isn’t until you’re about halfway through the meal and down one bottle of wine when he finally gets you to speak up, “You can’t stay mad at me forever, darling.”

You take a heavy breath through your nose, “Maybe not, but I can certainly try.” You take another sip of your wine, burying your hurt and sorrow into another bottle.

“You should realize that I'll do whatever it takes to earn your forgiveness.”

“You broke my trust. You lied by omission, letting me continue on a wild goose chase when you were withholding the answers. Pretty words and extravagant gifts aren’t enough to earn my trust again.”

He gently reaches for your hand, threading his fingers through yours. “I know that, and I'm willing to do it all to earn your forgiveness. Not only for my deception, but all your hurts that have gone unnoticed.”

It’s too much, your chest feels too heavy with all that’s bearing down on you. Your voice takes a shaky note, “Sylus, all I want is to go home. That’s it.”

You put up the boundaries he never had the heart to, kept your heart at bay for both of your sakes. But now, he wants to pry open your walls, to reveal the fears that plague you at night.

“I know, dear. I know. And if that’s what you truly want, then I promise to do everything in my power to help you —- so long as it doesn’t result in you getting hurt.” He looks into your eyes, grasping your hand tightly, “All I want is for you to feel safe in confiding in me again — to share your worries, your fears, as you once did. Allow me to carry the weight of your grief with you.”

He knows how much your arrival in this world hurt you, and he carries the guilt of being selfish enough to keep you here despite that.

“I can't anymore. It hurts too much to confide in you, to have a taste of what I know I'll never have. What we’ll never be.” You don’t know what possesses you to admit this yearning. Maybe the intoxication from the wine. Maybe his pleading eyes, or his sweet talk, saying all the right words you’ve wanted to hear for the longest time. But you don’t have any fight left in you to keep your distance.

“What you can’t have? Darling, I would lay the world at your feet, if that was your wish,” He strokes your cheek with an intimacy surpassing friendship — but you haven’t been just friends in a while, have you?

Maybe you both drank a little too much, scooted a little too close in the booth, got too caught up in each other's presence (something you've both been starved of for a while). You don’t know who moved first — but one of you ends up breaking.

You share a starved kiss, hidden under the privacy of dim lights. All at once, the chatter of the restaurant and the rushing of cars dissipate, and all that's left in this universe is you and him and cosmic dust, orbiting around each other.

He explores your mouth, brows furrowed, hands gripping your waist and pulling you to his lap — as if he could meld the two of you by the flesh. It’s like a taste of heaven on your lips, tasting what you had yearned for, denied yourself for so long.

And for a moment you think: what was stopping you from being together? What was so wrong with this connection — so powerful that it wracked your body with shivers and tethered your soul to his presence?

And then you remember: the hunter.

The reality of what's happening dawns on you, your eyes widening mid-kiss as you abruptly push him away, leaving him stunned; his tie crooked, lipstick staining the corner of his lips.

Your hands tremble, still hazy from that searing kiss as you try to hold back the tears welling at your eyes, “Sylus —” You choke on your tears, unable to form the words.

He grasps your face, breathing your name, trying to make sense of what just happened.

“Sylus, oh god, what did we just do? I — fuck, what about the hunter?”

You run outside the private room, the voices of the restaurant and servers fading in the distance as you hastily escape from the implications of what you’ve just done. You try to hail a taxi when he catches up to you, calling your name.

He may be in front of you but all you see is the hunter, her face riddled with betrayal and hurt. Unlabeled as their relationship may be, she’s just spent the past few weeks opening her heart to someone only for it to be betrayed. By a new friend, at that.

You don’t know what possessed you to kiss him back, to deepen it and lose yourself in his lips. Love struck your head, ridding you of logic. Made you give in to the sin of yearning for something that isn’t yours. And now, you were facing the guilty consequences.

“Sylus, we’ve done enough. Please, let’s just forget that any of this ever happened —-”

You’re cut off by his hollow laugh, his chin tilting down for his eyes to stare directly into yours. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

“This is gonna ruin everything you’ve wished for, don’t you see?” You’re desperate for him to see the wrongdoing in your actions.

“No, it’s you who doesn’t see what’s in front of you.” He grasps your wrist, pressing it to his chest, gentle in a way that doesn’t match the fire in his eyes. “Do you feel this heart? It races in your presence, melts at your touch — and if you disappeared? Well, it would simply stop beating.”

His other hand rests on your clavicle, fiddling with the necklace that has remained on your neck since the night of your birthday. He's a man who never says please, but for you he’ll get on his knees and plead.

His words, such heartfelt words that want to make you give in to all of his wishes are one thing. But his actions are another. You’ve witnessed firsthand the way he looks at her, melts in her presence. And you’re not ignorant to how she feels for him now, once heated frustration turning into the adoration she feels now.

“How could I ever believe what you’re saying?” You feel almost hysterical, with the weight of your emotions crashing down on you. “You’re telling me that you’ve waited hundreds of years for the love of your life, the person bonded to your soul, and you’re going to push it all away for some fleeting connection?”

“Don’t reduce it to something as frivolous as that,” His face darkens, and he grips your hand tighter. “You know that what we have runs deeper than both of us can describe.”

”But what is it to a soulmate?” Your voice is despondent, resigned, “What is this compared to a bond transcending time and space? I know that regardless of what happens here, you’ll choose her. I know that very well, Sylus.” Your voice breaks as you reach your tipping point.

His heart stills, because he himself doesn’t know what he can say to prove himself.

“Please don’t cry,” His voice softens at the sight of tears welling in your eyes, becoming all but putty in your hands. As of this moment, he knows there’s no convincing you, no making you believe that his words ring sincere and true. But he still can’t help but motion to wipe your tears, until you harshly block his hand.

The sorceress and the traveler, Miss Hunter and Miss Secretary. The dragon resting inside of him couldn’t bear to let go of his mate — after all, what was a centuries-old love compared to a new, fleeting connection? But the threads of fate had woven together to bring you to him, and the man he was now couldn’t bear to cut those ties.

You swallow the hurt, trying to put into words the burden that’s been weighing on you for so long, “I don't want to live in her shadow. I don't want to see this through when I know that one day, you’ll regret what you’ve lost.”

His face falls, and you feel a bit of satisfaction in seeing him carry even a smidgen of the hurt you’ve felt. But for the most part, it just hurts you to see him in pain.

”You think so lowly of me, as if I don't have the autonomy to make my own decisions. But you need to face the facts, dear —- the only one holding back is you.” He’s laid his heart on a silver platter. The only obstacle here was your own doubts, your own insecurities.

You reel back as he steps closer, “So tell me, why do you prevent us from having what we both want?” He brushes his hand gently against your cheek.

You take a deep breath to say the words you know will end this for good. “Because I deserve better than to settle for second place in your heart.” You give him no time to refute before you turn around, heart bruised and battered. “Please, just leave. Don’t follow me. I don't wanna speak to you anymore, not tonight.”

“I’m not leaving you alone in this city —”

“I'll call someone.”

And that’s how it ends.

You walk away, deciding to call Kieran to pick you up. You can’t bring yourself to be in close proximity with Sylus right now. You know he hasn’t actually left, hearing the conspicuous whirring of his motorcycle in the distance, engine alerting you to his presence from a mile away. In the corner of your eye, you can see Mephisto's red, beady eyes from the pedestrian light across the road, watching you.

Still, you continue to walk aimlessly in this false notion of solitude, carrying your heels as you wait for Kieran to arrive. Now that the haze of alcohol has cleared, and you’ve let out all that was building up since the hunter’s arrival, you can’t help but feel hollow. Completely drained of all the anger and sorrow that you’d been carrying in the past few weeks.

The streetlights cast these roads in an artificial light, the moonless sky and desolate streets feeling emptier under its warm glow. Midsummer was fast approaching, a period once marked by sunshine and cicadas. The N109 Zone was the antithesis to everything you’d ever known and cherished — and for a while, you thought that maybe it could be enough.

But now, you yearn for the sun to rise after the long night you’ve endured.

A familiar car eventually pulls up, the window rolled down for you to see the concern on Kieran’s face. But he says nothing as you enter, haggard and spent, with no energy to hide your woes or muster up small conversation. The lights of the city dissipate as you head into the outskirts of the N109 Zone, and you can only hope the darkness is enough to shroud the silent tears streaming down your face.

Kieran says nothing as you silently cry in the backseat, offering you the grace of asking no questions.

—————————————————————

Sylus watches painfully as you walk away, ashamed by this seemingly forbidden act — when all he wants to do is pull you in for more.

For the longest time, he'd been in this foolish delusion that things could be the same between him and the hunter. If he got her to remember, if he got her to open up. But the truth was, it’ll never be the same. Both of them were two entirely different people in this life, and now… now there was you.

He had been desperately latching on to the love that was robbed from him centuries ago, and blinded himself to the way you’d fully taken root in his heart.

Now, he needed to cut off these loose ends and find a way to make up for his mistakes, his indecision — and only then, could he even try to give you the love that you deserve.

But the next few days prove to be a trial as the world seems keen on keeping the two of you apart. You have a talent for avoiding him, finding increasingly elaborate ways not to cross paths with him. And when an important mission arises, requiring him to go into the field himself, it felt like fate conspiring against him.

He finishes the mission in record time, completing it in detached efficiency as he ponders how to go about speaking with you — something he plans to do as soon as he returns home. But as he nears the entrance to the Onychinus headquarters, he can immediately sense that something is wrong.

A flash of light strikes through the heart of the N109 Zone — devoid of the accompanying rumble of thunder to be lightning — when dread fills his bones. He realizes he's seen this before.

On the day that you arrived.

He rushes into the building, immediately approached by his lackeys reporting of traitors lurking in Onychinus, who thought it wise to attack the base in his absence. But all he can think about is finding you.

He rushes to his office, finding the twins equally distressed, after they’d cleared the floor for traitors. “Boss, she’s gone.”

“Explain it to me clearly. Who's gone?” His heart is racing — struck by horror at the blood pooling at your desk. He knows the answer, but he doesn’t want to confront the devastation about to tip over.

“Miss Secretary. We apprehended the traitor, but there was a stray bullet and then — she just vanished.”

Rage blinds him. Suddenly he wants vengeance, retribution, ordering his men to apprehend the shooter. All he can do is imprison and torture the man who dared shoot at the woman he loves, making him suffer for what he’s taken from you.

But it's not nearly enough. Not when your absence is so palpable, not when you’ve left his life as easily as you entered it.

In the end, your departure is but a whisper in the N109 Zone, leaving behind nothing but a pool of blood and a mark on his heart.

—————————————————————

are we gonna talk about the way it took me a whole car crash, the national elections, and a loved one's terminal illness to finally finish this chapter? maybe another day. but for now i'm going to play death and rebirth (i didn't let myself until i finished this LOL) i'll see you all on the next chapter where we pick up where this chapter left off and (maybe) see things from sylus’s perspective!

some things i’d like to share since i took off for a month

i've started a new term with new professors — and one of them is literally named GOJO??? my class calls him “professor gojo uwu~” behind his back its hilarious

hot chocolate does not mix well with vodka (don’t ask me how i know)

filipino lads artists are goated and i spend more money on their merch than on the actual game

i fear i’ve become too delusional because why does my dad’s doctor look like ZAYNE —

p.s. if any of you are interested, i've linked the playlist i made for this fic in the series masterlist :>

taglist — @mangooes @mentaltrouble2201 @animegamerfox @crazy-ink-artist @phisen @jeondyy @t4naiis @wifunozomi @munimunni @blessdunrest @rafayelridesfisheatsfish @paintedperidot @mansonofmadness @pillarofsnow @sylususeyourevolonmepls @angelichiaro @mephisto-with-a-knife @crimsonmarabou @hikaru-sama @flamedancer13 @tati-the-fangirl @ameili @poptrim @caramelizedpopcirn @cupid-gene @vvonunie @lunia-likes-pomegranet @iamawkwardandshy @tinyweebsstuff @astolary @vyntheria @theloveofnagiseishiroslife @velourmobius @beaconsxd @hon3yydew @kira-loves0905 @codedove @that-lost-one @colonelcalebs-pipsqueak @kaiii07 @bohoooitsme @everythingistaken00 @rmjace @red-raf-sy @goddexxluv @seris-the-amious @stellisangelicus-world @alhaith4ms @young-adult-summer @junrui

feel free to dm/comment on the series masterlist if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist 💕comment and reblog if you enjoyed!

#mari reads love and deep soace #finally had time to read this #i love how the tension between reader and sylus was written #and the pain i felt whenever reader would just put aside her feelings for sylus knowing that mc is the one for him

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alhaith4ms · 9 days ago

Text

apple pie

synopsis: caleb’s birthdays have always been lackluster. you give him his best one yet.

tags: fluff, birthday fic, proposal, mc proposes to caleb, set 3 years post-explosion, calm mc x panicking caleb, he cries a little, reverse comfort, very slight angst, pet names (baby, pip-squeak). inspired by apple pie by lizzy mcalpine

word count: 4.4k

a/n: surprise. i am so nervous posting this? that’s not good. but yes, this was an idea i mentioned in like my second week of writing and kept postponing. all of it was written before the trailer & card dropped so his birthday is more of a sob story here *plays tiny violin*. anyway i waited until i played the card to post this because with my luck his first line of dialogue would’ve been wow i really hate apple pie

The nostalgic scent of apple pie wafts through Caleb's Skyhaven home.

Wetting a towel, you wipe the flour from your face and shrug your powdery apron into the laundry basket. In your clean clothes, you rest on a seat in his spacious kitchen, letting the soft evening sunlight fall across your face.

Making good birthday memories had never been Caleb’s priority, always too busy with work or training or other people to pay any attention to himself. You’d lost count of the times Gran had sent you to bed before he finally came home for the night, trudging inside to find a candlelit cake sitting alone on the dining table. It was only after the explosion that you’d started celebrating his birthday the way you should have all along: he’d come home early, put his phone on silent, and wouldn’t lift a finger.

With your enthusiasm and scarily strict instructions, slowly but surely, the good memories were replacing the bad.

And with any luck, today would be the best of them all.

He had never refused a gift you’d given him. Even if he hated it, he’d pretend the opposite, just like he did the first time you bought his present with your own money. The girls at your elementary school had been raving about a new dollhouse, so you’d scrambled together all the coins in your piggy bank to buy one for Caleb. And when he’d pulled the sparkly purple mansion out of the gift bag, he’d only faltered for a second before grinning and wrapping you in a hug.

Back then, he’d indulged your naive anticipation, accepting even the most questionable of gifts with gratitude.

But today, your gift is something else—something more. Something he couldn't pretend to like and accept with a selfless smile.

You thought you'd be nervous—thought you’d chicken out, thought you wouldn't have the guts to risk the day you’d reclaimed for him by doing something so bold. To wager a love you’d fought so hard to cultivate.

But it was easy to be with him.

You’d danced around each other when you'd reunited three years ago. But unsure stares had turned to shy embraces, and those had turned to carefree kisses.

You love him. More than you ever thought you could.

And if his answer isn’t the one you want to hear, you’ll love him all the same.

Beep! Beep!

The shrill ding of the oven shatters the kaleidoscope of flashbacks in your head. Pausing your absentminded spins on the bar stool, you gingerly take the pie out and set it on the cooling rack. Sliding your oven mitts off, you carefully unwrap your helpers for tonight: the silly little apple mascots Caleb had drawn of you both when you were little—a way to get you to eat more fruit. With a soft smile, you set them aside for later and hop back onto the stool, fiddling with the small navy box on the island.

5:32, reads the sleek wall clock. He’ll be home early tonight, per your nonnegotiable demand. And until his warm voice calls out his arrival, you’ll endure his absence with thoughts of him.

June 13th was a historically bad day.

Prying eyes, summer jobs, and air emergencies…so many distractions that Caleb could hardly call them that anymore. Not outliers, not accidents, just…normal. It was normal for his birthday to never truly be his.

And sometime, somehow, he’d become okay with that. Until the last few years, there hadn’t been much in his life for him to celebrate, after all. What should he have toasted to? The time the whole neighborhood had thrown a party at Gran’s house, and he’d barely seen you the whole night? The time he’d had to cover a slacker’s shift and couldn’t make it home until after the candles you’d lit for him had already fizzled out? The time he’d been legally dead and unable to even give you a call?

Yes. June 13th was a historically bad day.

As his aircraft rises from the Fleet’s hangar and into the sky, Caleb breathes a heavy sigh he’d been holding in since noon. At the request of his superiors, or maybe some kiss-up recruits—all he knows is that he didn’t ask for it—the administrative assistants had planned a lackluster birthday party for him that afternoon. His subordinates had been all but forced to attend, and their empty smiles and hollow well-wishes had only made him want to get back to you sooner.

Tonight would be better, he was sure of it. Because tonight was one of the rare nights when you were all his.

He’d only been apart from you for 10 hours, but that was 10 hours too long. He never woke you up before he left for the day—you deserved to sleep in—so the only bit of you he’d had today was the half-page letter you must’ve snuck into his uniform in the middle of the night. Don’t worry about today, you’d written. Enjoy it. You’ll be home before you know it, and then, I’ve got you.

He can’t wait to hold you in his arms. To have your scent envelop him as you thread your fingers through his hair. To taste the tart apple pie you’d baked for him the last two years—every birthday since the explosion.

He remembers the first time like it was yesterday: coming home weary from a long day at work to find you in his kitchen, covered in flour and nose-deep in a hastily printed recipe. You’d shooed him away until the pie was ready and cooled, then presented it to him bashfully, ordering him not to judge.

The crust was burnt, but he'd finished it all in just a couple days. Yes, because it was good underneath the charred edges, but mostly because you made it. For him.

The extra miles he’d had to run all week were worth it.

When the familiar landing pad comes into view, Caleb’s hopes are as high as his plane in the sky. He touches down like he always does, quickly running through his mental checklist, and hurries down the ramp.

A breeze rustles through the air. It’d rained earlier—a brief, capricious storm—but the gray clouds had made way for a hazy pink sunset.

Reaching the patio, he scans his thumbprint on the buzzer, waiting impatiently for the system’s recognition. It comes after a few seconds, the access panel lighting up bright green, and Caleb steps through the doorway, eager to see you on the other side.

“Baby? I’m ho—”

Before Caleb can finish his greeting, you barrel into him, wrapping your arms around his torso in excitement. His happy laugh sounds more like a giggle as he twirls you around the foyer.

“Looks like someone’s happy to see me. What’s the occasion, I wonder?”

“I was testing your reflexes,” you mumble into his uniform. “Nice to see your age hasn’t caught up with you yet.”

“With you keepin’ me on my toes all the time, I’d say I got a few good years left in me,” he teases, gently ruffling your hair. “Have you been in here all day?”

“Mhm. I made the pie and I’ve been working on…other things,” you answer vaguely.

“Oh, the pie. I almost couldn’t tell you made it without you all covered in flour.”

Pulling back from his hold, you glare up at him in exaggerated annoyance. “You just redeemed your birthday freebie. Anything else you say today is fair game,” you warn.

“Okay, okay, I’ll be quiet,” he relents, and you nod your approval.

Circling around him, you stand on your tiptoes to tap his back twice. Caleb understands immediately, used to carrying you back to his car after your longer dates. As soon as he squats down, you climb onto his back, and he rises to full height effortlessly.

“I’ve never heard of anyone being used for transportation on their own birthday,” he jokes, placing his hands under your knees for stability.

“Nuh-uh. This is so you don’t see anything you shouldn’t.” Meticulously, you cover his eyes with your fingers. “The kitchen is a no-fly zone until I say otherwise. I’m just here to make sure you don’t trespass. Now, three steps forward,” you order, squeezing his sides with your legs like a horseback rider.

Caleb chuckles and follows your instructions, but before you can keep steering him, he finds his way to the living room sofa all by himself.

“I made sure there weren’t gaps between my fingers—you couldn’t see anything! How did you…ugh, never mind. Of course you did,” you grumble as he gently deposits you on the sofa.

When he sits by your side, his purple eyes are open and twinkling at you. “You forget they did blindfolded cockpit tests at the Academy. This was child’s play compared to that.”

“What can’t you do,” you say flatly, failing to hide your fondness. “The pie is cooling. But in the meantime,” you add, reaching sneakily behind an apple cushion, “I wanted to give you this.”

The mid-size box is imperfectly encased in space-themed wrapping paper. Between the two of you, Caleb had always been the better gift wrapper; he could always get the creases right, but you figured you couldn’t ask him to wrap his own birthday present.

Taking the gift from your hands, he smiles at the tape plastered all over the box but tactfully refrains from commenting. “You know you didn’t have to, pip-squeak. A night with you to myself is enough for me.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you tease, knowing he’ll try to protest the second the words leave your mouth. And when he does, you cut him off. “Open it, baby. I think you’ll like it.”

He frowns at you, still not appreciating your joke, but does as you say. Messy as it is, the wrapping tears off in one piece, and Caleb lifts the box lid to reveal a dusky orange binder. Immediately, he recognizes it as your old scrapbook—the one that’d practically been your prized possession growing up.

Carefully, he flips through it. The first few pages are just as he remembers: Caleb, age 12, concentrating on a model airplane you’d given him. A stacked clipboard in his hand while Caleb, age 14, helps you practice for the school spelling bee. You licking the spoon while Caleb, age 17, makes brownies to celebrate your stellar report card.

Warmth blooms in his chest at the familiar photos. But it’s the new ones that make his heartbeat quicken.

The seventh and eighth pages are filled with moments from the past three years. Moments that he, for all his vigilance, hadn’t even known you’d captured. In the first, he’s lounging on this very couch, watching his necklace glint in the lamplight. In the next, he’s fixing his crooked Fleet hat in the mirror.

His eyes flit to the largest picture, filling up the bottom half of the seventh page. Taken last year, according to the date scrawled on the film. You’re both in bed, entwined bodies outlined by the dim night-light. And wrapped securely around your waist is Caleb’s arm—his metal arm. He’d done maintenance on it that day, he recalls. It’d been a particularly rough session, and despite his reluctance, you’d walked him back to his room and laid him down on the bed. He’d stopped his protests when you’d crawled in beside him.

Of course, he remembers that day. But he never expected you to. For you to want to. But as his gaze lands on the caption, spelled out in swooping letters under the photo, he knows he’d been wrong.

My Caleb.

Inhaling sharply, he turns his searching gaze to you.

“You always snuck into my room and pulled it out to tease me. Even when you came home on your breaks, until I got mad at you for it. And then the last few times you visited, you never brought it out again,” you start, fiddling with the sleeve of his uniform.

He runs his thumb across your handwriting.

“That day…it was tucked away in my nightstand, all the way at the back of the house. So, the firefighters were able to save it. And for a while, this and your necklace…your trophies and a few of your clothes…they were all I had of you. But then you came back, and you didn’t know, and I’ve been adding more.”

“You kept it all this time?” he asks, but the awed question is more like a statement.

You give him a bittersweet shrug.

“Are you sure you want me to have it?”

“It’s yours,” you whisper, willing a smile to your face. “You can take it to your office. Flip through it to break up the bad days.”

He smirks wryly. “So every day, you mean.”

“Maybe. But yes, it’s yours. I don’t need it as much now that I have you beside me. With me. In the way I want.” Looking down in a mixture of shyness and anticipation, you spread his fingers apart and squeeze them shut again, bashfully waiting for his reaction.

Setting the binder aside, he pulls you into his lap. “Thank you,” he murmurs, voice hoarse and earnest. “For keeping our memories. And for trusting me with them.”

When you bury your face in his neck, strong arms encircle your waist, his hands rubbing up and down in soothing strokes. For several minutes, you stay just like this, breathing each other in until the rises and falls of your chests sync.

And then, the upbeat melody of your phone timer slices through the perfect silence.

Your head pops up like a meerkat’s. “Oh, yay! It’s ready,” you cheer, starting to climb off of him.

But Caleb’s hands grip your hips, holding you in place. “Can’t we stay here for a while?” he rasps, throat bobbing with longing. “I know the birthday boy. He won’t be mad if the party starts a little late.”

You scoff at his attempt and wriggle out of his grasp. “It may be your birthday, but we’re still following my schedule.”

“Of course,” he sighs, trying to suppress the curl of his lips. “Shouldn’t have dared to think anything different.”

“That’s right. Now stay in here while I put the toppers on! No peeking,” you yell, strolling into the kitchen.

He cocks his head playfully. “No peeking, huh? Alright. I’ll give you…ten seconds.”

“Ten seconds? What do you mean ten sec—”

“One,” he calls, the smirk evident in his tone.

Ten seconds to arrange a proposal. Nine, now.

Your stroll becomes a scurry.

“Two, three.”

Fumbling with the apple toppers, you center them on the pie, sinking the bigger one’s foot a bit too far into the goop between the braided crust. Whoops.

“Six, seven,” he counts with tantalizing slowness.

Okay. Okay. The last touch: the ring. With a shaky breath, you retrieve the box from the drawer you’d hidden it in and pull the ring out, carefully settling it around the red apple’s tiny arm.

“Ten! Officially breaching the no-fly zone. Hold your fire, please!”

When Caleb finally enters the kitchen—he’d walked slower than normal to give you more time, you noticed—a golden pie greets him on the island. Perched atop it are figures of the two apple mascots he’d created—one red and one green, one big and one small. His face lights up in flattered recognition.

“Thanks, pip-squeak. It looks great and smells even better,” he smiles, reaching up to grab two plates from the cabinet.

“Thank you, but…I worked so hard on the design! I think you should really take a closer look!” you prod, stomach flipping with sudden nerves. But even through the waves of nausea, you’ve never felt so sure.

Entertaining your enthusiasm, he sets your plates down and leans over the pie, giving it an overexaggerated inspection.

“Yep, this latticework is professional quality. You might have a career in—”

Caleb stops.

Freezes.

He freezes because he sees, draped loosely over the arm of the bigger apple, a shimmering platinum ring.

A ring that looks like it’d fit the thick curve of his finger.

His eyes don’t leave the silvery band. Not even when he starts trembling.

But after several tense moments of you holding your breath, he turns back to you wearing a mix of emotions: confusion, surprise, hope, love, fear, disbelief. You count them all. You welcome them all. Giving him time before you take a step toward him.

But Caleb takes a step back.

It’s a stumble, really, the way his knees almost buckle in shock. Eyes blown wide and darting all of your body, pleading for some kind of explanation.

You falter at his retreat. But before the blight of rejection can spread through your chest, he takes two rushed steps forward, as if compensating for his mistake. Guilt joins the myriad of expressions on his face.

You clear your throat. “…So? What do you think?”

“…Huh?” he splutters.

From the corner of your eye, you spot his hands twitching at his sides, and you regain the strength to tease him as they clench and unfurl. This is Caleb. “Well if you don't want to accept, I’ll just—”

“No!” he rushes, snapping out of his daze and pulling you into him. “No. It’s just…I…is this what I think it is?” The question is soft, barely more than a whisper, and his voice breaks at the end. He swallows.

Cupping his cheek in your hand, you nod. Slowly. Deliberately.

A darling red blooms under his faint freckles, and you have to fight to contain your giggle. He looks like a strawberry.

A small, confused noise, almost like a lamb’s bleat, escapes him as he gulps again. Tenderly, you raise your other palm to his face and wiggle it lightly, just like when you were kids. “Don’t be nervous. What do you have to be nervous about? It’s just me.”

Between your steady hands, his lips move in a pout. “Just…do you mean it?” he asks, head drooping toward the floor as if he’s afraid to hear the answer.

“I do.”

At the implication behind your words, Caleb draws a sharp inhale. Trembling hands enclose your wrists, and shining violet eyes search yours frantically.

“You want me to be your…” He trails off abruptly, as if choking on the word. Your heart is beating too fast to be healthy, but you’ll be calm for him. He needs this. He needs you.

“My husband,” you finish for him. “My big, strong, beautiful husband who thinks way too little of himself if he can't see what a catch he is,” you smile. “I love you for a lot of reasons. More than I can count. But the first is that you make me feel safe—safe enough to do this. So, if you’ll have me,” you drawl playfully, trying to balance out his flurry of emotions, “I’d like to marry you, Caleb. And if you won't…” you lean in, whispering conspiratorially, “I guess I’ll just end up alone, then. Because there’s no one else for me.”

There’s no one else for me. He’ll like that. He’ll like it so much, it felt almost cruel to lure him with the line. But you meant every word.

Until now, you’ve been purposely delicate. Not moving too much or too fast, letting him process and think and feel. And when he collapses in your embrace and buries his head into your shoulder, you know you made the right call. Someone so strong, so, so fragile.

You can’t imagine how self-conscious he feels. He’d gotten better about it after it brought you to tears last year—he’d kicked himself out to sleep on the couch—but he still tried to hide his vulnerability from you.

And now, he’s here: the man who wouldn’t even let you see him when he had a cold, sniffling in your arms because you want to marry him. But he fell into you because he needed your comfort, and you’d never withhold it from him.

“What’s wrong?” you coo, threading your fingers in his soft brown strands. “Did I upset you? Should I not have asked?”

He tries to speak, but salty tears scald his throat. With a deep breath, he tries again, and the first word is firm despite his shuddering shoulders. “No. It’s not that. I…I’m just frustrated. I should've done it first—I’m so sorry I didn't do it first. Please let me do it—I’ll make it up to you,” he whines.

You kiss his hair. “You have nothing to make up for. I’m just glad I got to catch you off guard for once—you're always ruining my surprises.”

Gently, you guide him to the nearest bar stool and slightly lift his head. He blinks quickly, but the movement only sends a tear streaking out of his glistening eyes—like morning dew on a field of lilacs. He curses when he feels you wipe the wetness off his cheek, more clumsy apologies falling from his lips, and his frustrated rambling starts before you can shush him.

“I always wanted this…when I imagined it…I wanted it to be happy. It should be happy, I should be happy, I-I’m so damn happy, pip-squeak,” he breathes, a shaky, self-deprecating laugh escaping. “I love you. More than I ever thought I’d be able to tell you. And I only ever hoped that—that you’d give me the chance to show you how much. I never expected….”

You return your hands to his damp cheeks. He looks down, inhales, and looks up again. “People don’t usually do these things. Not for me. And now I’m ruining it and being selfish, ‘cause after all those years of watching you, of wanting you…I just can’t believe that you’d—God, I’m sorry, pips.”

“Hey, hey. Look at me. I wanted to do this for you, Caleb. And you know what’s weird?” He shakes his head in your hands. “I wasn't nearly as nervous as I should’ve been. Even if you say no”—he blanches—“I’ll still be glad I asked. Because you deserve it. To have someone care for you, to have someone trust you, to be able to react how you want to and feel how you want to and say no to them if you want to. The ring is yours if you want it. But so is the choice,” you murmur, your own voice wobbling as you smile down at him. “I wanted to do this. Dreamed about it. For you. So you have nothing to be sorry for.”

The uncertainty that flickers in his eyes is quickly drowned by admiration. He nods slowly, your hands moving with the rise and fall of his chin.

“Although…” you continue, side-eyeing the drooping pie toppers. “An answer wouldn’t hurt. The pie filling is like quicksand. I need to rescue the ring before Sunny Apple sinks.”

Your words win a chuckle from him, and he tenderly presses your foreheads together—a good luck gesture from your childhood, used when one of you was about to do something nerve-wracking. After a moment, he pulls away to cup your face, surveying, admiring, committing every detail to memory.

Caleb looks into your eyes with his still teary ones. “Yes,” he murmurs. “Forever with you isn’t something I could refuse. But nothing will change about the way I love you—it’s always been to the fullest. This just shows you think I’ve earned you.”

Whole body sagging with relief, you collapse onto his seated frame, hugging him as tightly as you did when he came home tonight. This close together, your pulses touch, and their matching thuds echo in your ears as tears of your own slip onto his skin.

You pull away first, mumbling through tear-sealed lips. “Um, the ring. I should put it on, right?”

“Right,” he whispers, gaze refusing to leave your face.

Nodding, you wipe your eyes and face Sunny Apple, who, despite being buried to the waist in pie filling, still holds the ring valiantly in the air.

Willing steadiness into your fingers, you lift the ring off the topper’s thin brown arm and turn back to Caleb, who’d been watching the exchange fondly.

Smiling, you take his left hand in yours, running your thumb over the back of it in a small, lazy circle. And with a final look into his violet eyes, now alight with mirth and intrigue, you slide the platinum band down to the base of his ring finger.

“Happy birthday, Caleb.”

“Are you sure you don’t wanna wear mine?” Caleb asks, coming up to stand behind you in the mirror.

In the 30 days since his birthday, you’d heard the question about as many times. He hadn’t hesitated to order you a ring of your own, custom-made from the finest jeweler in Skyhaven. But the process wasn’t quick, and the sight of your barren hand irked him—especially when his was so beautifully adorned.

“Yes, I’m sure. And stop calling them from your Fleet line to ask if they’re finished yet! They’re scared of you,” you giggle, falling back into him.

Staring at your left hand in the glass, he frowns deeply, and you swear you see his eye twitch. “But it’s empty. We’ve been engaged for a month now, and you don’t have anything to show for it.”

“I have you to show for it,” you flirt, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Now, let’s take a picture before we go to dinner! I’ll add it to your album when we get back.”

When you move to leave his arms, Caleb tightens his hold, keeping you in his firm embrace. Instead, you hear the bedside drawer open and shut, and a familiar device floats over to you before you know it.

“What a convenient fiancé I have,” you quip, plucking your camera from the air.

“You can go ahead and start sayin’ ‘husband,’ you know. Practice for the real thing.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Now smile!”

When the photo develops, two objects on Caleb’s body glint in the evening sunlight.

A necklace and a ring.

#mari reads love and deep space #this was so sweet and ooey gooey soft :(( /pos #caleb baby you deserve so much love lemme smother you in love n kisses :(((#in my head im going to propose to all my love and deep space self ships now bc of this 😋

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