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“Are you going to stand there all night or are you planning to join me?”
Sylus’ low drawl skitters down your spine, his garnet gaze glinting from the lights in the bathroom that cast your shadow in a long finger across the plush carpet. You flick them off and shut the door behind you, plunging the room into darkness. He reaches over to turn on a bedside lamp so you don’t bump into anything when you amble your way towards his huge bed, a soft glow filling the room and kissing his handsome features. Pulling back the duvet, he pats the empty spot beside him, beckoning you to take your place at his side.
A small smile crosses your lips as you accept his invitation and sink down onto the luxurious mattress, a sigh of relief escaping you as you’re immediately cocooned in warmth and the scent of Sylus and - oh. Sylus’ arms too.
“So impatient,” you giggle, booping his nose with the tip of your finger. He hums and pulls you right against his chest, tucking you under his chin.
“I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
Yeah, yeah. You can turn the lights off now.”
“Mm, not yet,” he murmurs against your hair before he pulls you back for a moment, cupping your cheeks and titling your head up towards him. You scrunch your nose at him and he smirks, pinching it lightly.
“Why not?”
“Because,” he hums, stroking your soft cheeks with the back of his fingers. “I want to admire a certain work of art that has found its way into my bed.”
Rolling your eyes you scoff at him. “You exaggerate way too much, Sy.”
*What reason could I possibly have to exaggerate? You know I never bend the truth when it comes to you.”
“To spare my feelings, maybe?”
“You know I don’t do that, either.” His fingers trace a wayward path over your face, gliding across your cheeks and nose, before smoothing over the line of your jaw and the ridges of your throat. His touch is featherlight and sweet, the lamplight reflecting the warmth in his soft gaze.
“Oh come on. You and I both know you didn’t fall for my looks. I’m lucky I’ve got such a glowing personality for you to love instead.”
“Oh?” he drawls. His voice hardens just a touch, brows drawing down in a handsome scowl. “Who said I don’t love both?”
“No one needs to say it, it’s just a fact,” you say simply. “I’m a far cry from ‘pretty’. Especially when I’m standing next to you.”
Your tone might seem casual, but Sylus can hear the underlying bitterness that snaps off each syllable. It’s evident in your gaze that shifts to his chin rather than his eyes that you’re always losing yourself in. Your jaw is tight, like you’re gritting your teeth, either in anger or, in this case sorrow. To help you hold back your tears.
“That’s an opinion. A rather terrible one, actually.”
“It’s true.”
“Sweetie, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”
“Nothing, I’m fine.”
“Really?” he asks, unconvinced. “Because you seem upset. Did you not like what I said?”
“It’s not that,” you lie, but your resolve to keep your feelings trapped inside crumbles when he rubs a soothing palm up and down your spine, pulling you closer to his chest in a bid to comfort you.
“Hmm… okay. Once you know what it is that’s making you cry, you can tell me.”
A small part of you hates that he’s like this. Always so observant, keen eyed, like a bird of prey, circling the skies just waiting to swoop down and capture you at your most vulnerable. It makes it difficult to hide. The ever-present fear that he might be repulsed by your bared soul makes you quite desperate indeed to pull the duvet over your head and pretend he’s not right beside you.
“I’m not crying,” you lie again, betrayed by a crack in your voice.
“My mistake,” he says softly, never once relinquishing his hold on you. A silence stretches between you, unwavering patience on his part whilst you wrestle with the urge to burst at the seams. You know he’ll be upset if you tell him the reason, at least ninety percent sure. Sylus has always made sure to tell you, and even show you, that he adores the way you look from head to toe, that he’s positively enamoured by your beauty. Attraction like that can’t be faked.
But what you see in the mirror is quite the opposite. You can’t fathom why his hands are so taken by your body, why his lips agree and follow their every fingerprint as they pitter patter over your skin. You don’t understand why his eyes melt the way they do when he looks at you, why they linger and roam and steep themselves in you.
There’s nothing there to admire.
Typically, you let it pass by you, uninterested in dwelling on the why or the how or the truth in it. But today, your own gaze lingered on your being for a breath too long. Long enough for hatred and disgust to blemish your mind, thick and heavy like tar, sticking stubbornly to every corner of you.
Today, you made the mistake of trying on a new outfit. And this is the consequence.
“I feel so ugly,” you choke out, your words echoing in the silence of his room. “I don’t understand how you can say those things when I look like- like this!”
His hand doesn’t stop in its soothing motion. Quietly, it urges you to speak more. “I don’t get why you would choose to be with a girl like me when you’re so perfect. I don’t belong anywhere near you!”
Sylus sighs softly, pulling away just enough for him to look at your face, streaked with tears. He wipes them away with his thumb, even the droplets that replace those that have already fallen. He dries your cheeks over and over, until your eyes give up and your hiccuping slows to a stop. “Where do you belong, if not here?”
The question is simple, non-accusatory. As if he’s just asking you about the weather. “I… I don’t know.”
“That’s a shame. Because to me it feels like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.” He squeezes you for emphasis. “See? You’re just the right size and shape for my arms.”
“Sy, that’s not-”
“Y’know, some people might say I don’t belong with you. They call me a monster, a fiend, a villain.” he interrupts with a wry smile. “They think my heart is too ugly for yours.”
“That’s not true!” you burst and he chuckles at your reaction.
“I know. And I know that because there is someone in this world who has seen that heart and loves it. How could something ever be ugly if it is capable of being loved?”
“But that’s not the same thing,” you insist. “You do know that most of the outfits you’ve gotten for me haven’t ever been worn?”
“I do know that,” he says. “I assumed you just didn’t like them and you weren’t telling me out of politeness. It’s okay if our tastes don’t always align.”
You sigh sadly. “That’s the problem. They’re all beautiful. It’s just me that isn’t, so they all look bad when I put them on.”
“They’ve all been tailored exactly to your size.”
“My size has changed!”
“Then we’ll get your new measurements.”
“It doesn’t make a difference!” you cry, feeling a lump rising in your throat again. “None of it makes a difference.”
Sylus’ feels his chest constrict at the pain in your voice. This isn’t something that money or power can fix, he realises. This is beyond his reach - far beyond. But that has never stopped him before.
So he does what he can, and he cradles you like you’re something precious. Because to him you are. You always have been.
“Sweetie, I won’t pretend to know exactly what it is that you’re feeling or what you see when you look in the mirror. If I could change the way you see yourself, I would do it in a heartbeat,” he says in a measured tone. “But since I can’t, I will always remind you of the person that I see.”
“You probably can’t see very well then, you do need to wear reading glasses after all,” you sniffle, blinking back the moisture building at your waterline again.
“My eyesight is perfectly fine, thank you.”
“Then I think you need a new prescription,” you mumble, rubbing at your watering eyes. He catches your wrists and gently puts your hands against his chest.
“Such a stubborn kitten.”
“I am not.” Your voice tapers off on a squeak as your throat tightens back up.
“It’s okay, baby. If you need to cry, then cry. If you want new clothes, makeup, anything, I’ll get it for you. If you want to hide from the world for a little while, we can do that too. Whatever you need, I will give it to you. Even space.” Soft lips, like the inside of a rose, brush over your forehead. “Whatever you choose, I’ll be here. Whatever it takes to make you smile again, I’ll do it. Maybe then you’ll fall in love with that smile one day the way that I have.”
You mumble his name, overcome with emotion that drips down your cheeks all over again. He presses his forehead to yours, and the tenderness in his touch makes you weep harder. You’re not even sure what you’re crying over anymore. All you know is that this is a release, one that you’ve needed for a very long time. “And if my words aren’t enough, then let me show you.”
His lips press against your cheek. One and then the other. Then, he kisses the tip of your nose, soft as a bunny’s ear. He weaves patterns across the span of your forehead and jaw, decorates your eyelids with love too. His lips dance over your skin, light as a bird's feather and just as ticklish, and it doesn’t take long for you to whine and giggle for him to stop.
“Sy- that tickles- hey!”
But he doesn’t stop, smiling against the corner of your mouth instead right before his lips seal themselves over yours and swallow your protests. These kisses are gentle too, sweet if not a little salty from your tears. When he pulls away and gives you a chance to breathe, he brushes your hair back and dries your face once again.
“Do you feel better?”
Nodding, you shift your head a little on your pillow, away from the damp spots left behind by your traitorous tears. “A little.”
“I can make you feel even better if you want,” he offers teasingly, the beginnings of a purr vibrating in his throat, a smirk accompanying it.
“Tempting offer, but I’m tired,” you say quietly and he nods, laying down more comfortably beside you.
“I know. I was teasing.”
“I know,” you echo, a smile playing at your lips. You blink sleepily, his visage growing hazy in the dim light coming from the lamp. “You’re so nice to me, Sylus.”
“You wouldn’t be lying next to me if I wasn’t,” he drawls and you laugh tiredly. Your words start to slow and slur as sleep creeps over you.
“Maybe I should follow your example,” you mumble.
“That would be very smart of you.”
Your lips curve up as your eyes flutter closed. “And everyone knows I’m smarter than you.”
A huff of amusement escapes his nose as he watches you quickly succumb to sleep. He’s about to switch the lamp off but then he changes his mind, choosing instead to kiss your forehead one more time and soak in your pretty face. You smile sweetly in your sleep.
“There she is,” he whispers. “There’s my beautiful girl.”