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Sylus rolls his shoulders and neck with a sigh. It echoes slightly in the elevator, mirrored ceiling reflecting his exhausted face as he looks up. He glowers as he wipes away a stripe of blood from his cheek. Not his own. No, his Evol wiped itself out dealing with his own injuries. Now he's running on empty. His body aches more than it usually does, muscles groaning with every motion, patience left on a razor-thin wire with the headache pounding at his temples.
The elevator doors slide open quietly. He trudges out into the penthouse. Kicks off his shoes without a care for where they land. Shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto a hook, tsking at the new tears and stains in the leather.
The entire building is rigged up with elaborate security; even a fly can't get in without him knowing about it. But as he walks further inside, he still glances around, like anybody could be waiting around any corner. Enemies aren't the only thing he has an eye out for, though.
The signs of you are everywhere: Dishes in the sink from dinner, your shoes lined up by the door, blankets and pillows moved in the living room, the lingering fragrance of you in the air.
He slowly cracks open the bedroom door. Light creeps out from behind him, reaching out across the floor. It illuminates the couch, and the book and handheld gaming system left on its cushions. Just past it, he can see the bed, and the impression of his beloved tucked under its covers.
His shoulders sag. He can finally recognize this place as being safe and secure now that he can see you. He almost groans in his overwhelming desire to just crawl in beside you, wrap you up tight in his arms and bury his face in your neck, breathing you in deep. But he's gross; bloody, dirty, smelly. You deserve better than that.
So, he creeps in slowly, carefully, doing his best not to wake you up as he gathers fresh clothes. Soft clothes. They're not designer, or even luxurious; you picked them out for him when he took you shopping, after you dragged him into a retail store. He'd raised a brow at you and said you could go to any high end store you wanted, but you'd wanted to go there. You were beaming when you found clothes for him, "normal" clothes, you'd said. And right now, he longs to feel normal.
He slips into the bathroom. Condensation still beads up on the shower door and tile walls. When he runs the hot water, a fresh wave of your shampoo and body wash comes wafting up through the air with the steam. The heat is heaven on his muscles. He makes a low sound in his throat as he just stands there, letting the water spray down on his hair and back, until he finally reaches for his shampoo.
He towels himself off with stilted movements. His arms are tired. He only bothers to half-dry his hair, just until it's left lightly damp, sticking up all over. He checks himself over in the mirror, looking for any remaining marks or injuries he missed. There's a few scars that haven't fully faded; nothing worth pulling out the kit for. He leans against the counter as he brushes his teeth, allowing his eyes to close while he does.
He turns off the bathroom light before he opens the door. The bedroom is completely dark. It takes his eyes a moment to adjust. You've barely shifted since he last saw you. An overwhelming wave of relief coasts over him as he's finally able to join you.
He pulls the blankets down on his side, crawls in and immediately travels past the middle to your side. His hands glide over your body as he wraps you up in his arms, sliding under your shirt and up your back, pulling you in close. He drops his head into the crook of your shoulder, nuzzling shamelessly against you. You don't wake up, but you do slip your arms loosely around his shoulders, tangling your fingers into his damp hair. It's all second nature, so ingrained into you to hold your partner.
You breathe right beside his ear. He hears it all: the soft sigh as you relax into his embrace, the steady inhale and exhale, the rasp of a snore - a reminder that you are alive, that you are safe, and that no matter how awful the world outside can be, you are here, with him.