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There’s nothing quite as attractive as seeing Sylus on stage. The L-Netizens always comment on his stage presence, flooding his fancams with comments littered with little crows, heart-eyed emojis, red hearts, black ones, and— is that… just a series of typed out barking noises…?
Alright, that’s quite enough for the night (although you still shamelessly liked, saved and downloaded that fancam for later viewing—though you’d sooner die than let Sylus know about that). The video still plays on a loop as it’s loosely cradled in your hands, though you’re no longer paying attention to it. Your head thumps down onto the pillow you’d been cuddling with a groan. Damn him, damn that harness, damn his stage presence, damn that stupid gesture and that stupid smirk—!
As you close your eyes, drink in the sound of your speakers blasting with the screams of the crowd and Sylus’ echoing voice through the speakers (the audio quality of the video was absolutely busted with how the bass reverberates in that stadium), you can see it: the new concert fancam that the Hunters have currently dubbed ‘THE Sylus fancam.’ How could you not , after replaying the damn thing who knows how many times, and with the audio still playing? The image of Sylus (sweat-slicked from the ridiculously difficult choreography of his solo song, bathed in red and blue from the spotlight) flicking away his earpiece, cupping his ear… the crooked smirk on his lips as he clearly hears every Hunter in that sold-out stadium scream his name… You feel your face grow hot just thinking about it!
You’re too busy groaning and toiling in your embarrassed, flustered plight that you don’t hear the shower stop running, and the telltale signs of Sylus getting dressed. When the bathroom door clicks open, you practically yelp, scrambling to turn that damn phone off, and sheepishly look up at Sylus. Perhaps it’s simply because he forgot to pack his bathrobe, but he’s in the sweater you picked out for him to sleep in. It softens his sharp edges, making him look like the kind and sweet soul that his features don’t convey. It’s hard not to stare at him for too long when he’s like this: the grit and sharp edge of “Crow” ripped away, and Sylus left in its place.
( Sylus, who burns like a furnace on cold nights, warm and comforting and lulling you to sleep no matter how much tour jetlag gets to you. Sylus, who understands the essence of every sonnet and every love song written in human history when he is allowed to be just him in the sanctuary that is your arms. Sylus, who can’t sing for the life of him, but perfectly replicates those romantics of old with every track he produces meant for your ears alone.)
He raises an eyebrow at you from the hotel room entranceway, white hair still slightly wet and disheveled as he dries it off with a towel—it’s so soft and fluffy without all the hair gel to style it. “Sweetie, you’re blushing.” He says, a lilt of amusement in it, and it takes only a few, long strides for him to cross the short distance between to you on the couch. “Whatever could be the reason, hm?”
“Nothing!” You pout, a little too quick to answer him and clutching your phone tight. A huff leaves you as he ruffles your hair, and he only chuckles.
“Could it perhaps…” He hums, a small smirk growing on his lips as he nods his head at your phone, “... be that my dear sweetheart was looking at something… appealing?” The smirk softens to something gentler as he sees you furrow your brows at being found out. “I could hear it from the bathroom. The walls are quite thin.”
“... I was just watching your fancam…” You admit, sighing and scooting over in the couch as he rounds it to settle beside you. When his arm is draped behind you on your shoulders, you practically melt against him and (with a hint of embarrassment) let him see what you’d been watching.
“Ah.” Sylus chuckles as he watches himself on the screen, red eyes glinting with amusement. Even though the concert was a bit of a haze now, he clearly remembers the moment where the music guide in his ear fell away to the sheer noise of the crowd the moment he took the earpiece off. He honestly didn’t know what possessed him to do such a thing… but if it made you (and the crowd) all flustered, he wouldn’t question it. “I must say… their screams for me were… delectable.” With a final glance at the screen, your phone is clicked off and tossed to the other end of the couch.
“But… As sweet as their screams are…” He quickly adds, when he sees you huff and cross your arms. His arm gently draws you into his lap until you’re practically flush together. The tip of his nose brushes against yours, and God he smells like the cologne he knows you like. His hand finds its way to your cheek, thumb brushing against your lower lip. Sylus speaks in a hushed murmur, next, though it rumbles like thunder through your entire being. “... They are nothing compared to how sweet my name sounds on your lips, sweetie.”
In another mood, those words may have made you splutter and grow warmer for entirely different reasons. But right now—with Sylus looking down at you with the softest red eyes, the smallest smile upon his lips, and his heartbeat thrumming wildly against your hand and through the thick fabric of his sweater—all you can hope to do is grin up at him, and kiss the pad of his thumb. A giggle leaves you then, and his name comes tumbling out too, “Sylus…”
“Yeah, like that.” He chuckles (though it’s more like an amused huff). Sylus plants a kiss to the tip of your nose, and then to the corner of your lips—it is a holy, reverent trail. “Sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”