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He's been sat in this room for three hours.
The so-called "co-operative negotiations" fell through quickly, Sylus quickly seeing their supposed strategy for exactly what it was, an idiotic attempt at a power play against him. What was supposed to be a mutual negotiation for a trade deal swiftly morphed into a much needed reminder as to exactly why Sylus commanded control of the N109 zone. Luke and Kieran had been ecstatic at the more interesting turn of events, but he couldn't help but find himself deeply annoyed by the situation. Three hours of dealing with arrogant, moronic business partners, trying to broker a deal, only to have them pleading like fools when they realised their mistake. Three hours which he instead could have spent with you. The resentment that knaws within him as a result of it all is near consuming. It's exactly why he dismisses the entire affair early, granting the now eager twins full reign to do whatever they pleased to wrap it all up. He trusts they'll make sure he gets exactly what he wants from the deal, and then some.
The drive back only stirs the frustration bubbling within him. Even as his foot presses harder against the peddle, the journey still takes too long, too damn long to get home to you. What would you be doing at the moment? Perhpas you're lounging around, watching whatever piece of media happened to take your fancy today. Or maybe you're snooping through his things again, pouncing on the opportunity to scrounge through the empty house. The idea of that makes his mouth twitch upwards in spite of his foul mood. You're always such a noisy thing. He has no problems with you knowing what he's doing, he'd write you a detailed itinerary if that's what you asked for. It's simply just more amusing to watch you poke around, believing you're being sneaky, then later frowning at him when he teases you for getting caught.
Finally pulling into the Onychinus base, his feet move on instinct through the entryway and into the halls. His ever preset aura of confidence and control verges on faltering in the face of his lingering agitation. Crimson eyes drag across each room he passes through, noting an irritating lack of your presence in each one of them. The living room, his office, the kitchen, the library, even your room. Graced by the ghost of your previous occupancy, your little trinket and items line all of the rooms, yet they remain hollow of current inhabitance. It's only when he reaches his own bedroom, glancing through the crack in the half closed door, he freezes.
Your chest rises and falls in slow breaths, soft lips parted slightly with your cheek pressed against the pillow. Bundled up underneath the onyx silken sheets, knees bent towards your chest, your body curled up like a kitten, he can see it. The raven black button up shirt you've elected to wear, stolen from his closet, your visible arm showing how you've rolled the long sleeve up to your elbow.
Three hours of some of the most powerful men in the N109 zone desperately scraping every scrap of power they had to make Sylus falter, and he didn't even flinch. Simply crushing them beneath his boot in a heartbeat without a second thought, with only a bitter resentment to show for it. You don't even have to try to make him crumble.
He drinks the sight of you in like a starved man at a banquet, gaze longingly rolling over your every small detail. Every curve, every freckle and mark on your skin and dent in your features. To him, you're something divine. Not only the other half of his soul, but the balm that soothes his very existence, that washes away his irritation by simply just being.
Did you do this on purpose, waiting for him to come home and see you surrounded by him? Or did you simply crave his presence that much while he was gone? Your sleepy hands clinging on to his bedsheets like a lifeline, he silently hopes both are true simultaneously, that you crave him as much as he does you. That alone would mean something more significant to him than he could possibly express, but he'll spend every moment of his life trying to.
His movements are quiet and controlled, determined not to stir you as he slides into the room, making effort to close the door silently behind him, and appraoches the bed. His eyes don't dare to leave your frame for a mere moment. Sinking to his knees at your bedside, his expression tugs into a tender smile as he takes you in. In his bed, wearing his shirt, comfortable and utterly perfect. He leans forward as if on impulse, lips brushing against your forehead in a loving kiss. As if unwilling to move away, he lingers against your skin for a few seconds before eventually relenting, his heart swelling in his chest at the sight of you.
Even as he moves to ready himself for bed, peeling his excessively expensive clothes off of his body in favour for pulling on a pair of pajama pants in their place, his attention keeps flickering back to you. A beacon of peace in his otherwise whirlwind of a life. Once changed, he lifts up the sheets beside you, slow as he climbs his way into the other side of the bed. Calloused hands reach out beneath the sheets, settling at your waist, rubbing the soft cashmere of his shirt between his fingers. No wonder why you chose this one, the scent of him lingers on the smooth fabric. Releasing the material, he lightly grips your side before carefully pulling you towards him. He adjusts you both so that your back settles against his chest, his nose brushing against your hair. The resounding groan that escapes you as a result of being moved drags a deep chuckle from him, fond and adoring. His lips find you once more, this time brushing against the top of your shoulder, placed against the material of his - your - shirt. Arms ensaring your frame, his hands run across your sides in a devoted caress, soothing you, lulling you back into your dreams. When he speaks, his lips brush against the shell of your ear, his voice nought more than a hushed whisper.
"Shhh. Go back to sleep Sweetie, I've got you."
He hears you vaguely murmur something in response, not concious enough to make the words fully coherent. But the way you turn over in his arms, moving so your face is buried against the bare skin of his chest speaks enough in itself.
The frustration he felt in that meeting will appear again, he knows that. At another time, in another place, perhaps it'll be even worse than it was today. He'll find himself somewhere he hates eventually, there's no avoiding it. But he also knows that each and every time, he'll crawl his way home back to you. That even if you don't realise it, you simply being brings him a salvation that can never be replicated. And with you now, comfortably wrapped up in his arms, and him wrapped up in his overwhelming love for you, he dreams of the most perfect place he could ever imagine being. By your side.