Work Text:
“Going to bed already, kitten?”
You blink at him, mid yawn and stretch. Arms reaching overhead, your shirt lifts up to reveal a little bit of tummy. His eyes catch it immediately. Flick down a couple more times until your arms flop down by your side. “Yeah, I have work tomorrow.”
Sylus quirks a brow up at you. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” you laugh. “Why?”
“Well, I was under the impression that tomorrow was your birthday.”
Your heart spikes. You shrug, playing nonchalant, glancing away to scratch your cheek. “Yeah, it is.”
“But you're not taking the day off?”
You shrug again. “It’s not that big a deal.”
He scoffs, crossing his arms. “If I’d said that on my own birthday-”
“That’s different.” He shoots you a look, demanding for you to elaborate just how his own birthday is more important than yours. You huff. You feel antsy under his stare.
You always hate when this comes up. When a friend gushes over you, wondering just how you’ll celebrate your big day. And the way their entire attitude changes when you say you aren’t doing anything, and that you don’t want to do anything. Like you not wanting to celebrate is a burden on all of them.
As a kid, it wasn’t much different. Yeah, you wanted to have those big parties and events like the other kids. Your friends’ parties that brought you to fun pizza palaces and trampoline parks. Or at-home celebrations with games and pool parties. But something about it always felt… wrong. Like those places and games were made for them, but not for you. You didn’t deserve to have parties like they did. Didn’t earn the right to celebrate another year of life.
You cross your arms in turn. “I just don’t want to make a big thing out of it, okay?”
He stares at you a moment longer. Reads your body language, all tense and closed off, as easy as an array of Mephisto’s code. You think he’ll give you that look - the look they all give you. Keep arguing about how it should be a big thing because you’ve survived another year around the sun. Bring up that if you were going to make such a fuss about his birthday, shouldn’t he make a fuss about yours? Throw out suggestions and ideas for “fun” things you could do. And look like a kicked puppy when you reject him.
But he doesn’t. He just gives a nod, uncrosses his arms, and stands up. “Alright,” he says.
You squint up at him suspiciously. “Alright?”
“On one condition.”
You groan. “What.”
He smiles. “I make you dinner.”
“... What?”
“After work, come back to the base,” he elaborates. “I’ll make us dinner and we can do or watch whatever you want for the rest of the night.”
Your mind is already racing, thinking up all the ways this can turn sour. You have images of Luke and Kieran jumping out at you with party poppers and cone hats. A giant 7 tier cake. A pile of presents that reaches the ceiling. If there’s two things you know about Sylus: 1. He doesn’t do things by halves, and; 2. There is no such thing as too much.
“Just us? No Luke or Kieran?”
He shakes his head. His bangs swish over his eyes. “Not even Mephisto.”
“And just dinner?”
He quirks a brow, but he nods. “Just dinner.”
You stare up at him, searching for any budding scheme he could be coming up with. But you know he wouldn’t lie to you. It wouldn’t be like your 15-year-old surprise party that your friends threw, despite telling them all repeatedly that you didn’t want a party. You almost cringe just remembering it. “Really?”
He scoffs. You’d think it was out of annoyance if it weren’t for the amused grin creeping along his lips. “Really. You have my word.”
Your shoulders finally relax, arms drop back down to your side. He bends down and scoops you up, carrying you with one arm. You scramble to hold on. He carries you off to bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And you - you rest your head on his shoulder, like that’s exactly where you belong.
“Now let’s get you to bed,” he says. “Wouldn’t want you to be exhausted at work tomorrow, would we?”
-
All day, you’ve dodged well wishes and “Why are you here? You should be celebrating!” s and the awkward staredown while you read store-bought cards. Of course your boss sent out a mass email letting everyone know it was your birthday; she did it for every one of her employees. And of course everyone went all out to make sure you knew it was your “special day”. Your only saving grace is that you weren’t forced to sit and stare at your coworkers as they sing you Happy Birthday and watch you “make a wish” on a candle.
During your breaks, you use the Birthday Discount emails you get sent and Sylus’ black card to buy clothes, games, craft supplies - anything and everything you could. It’s not like he minded, especially when he’s usually begging you to use his card no matter how small or large the price tag is.
By the time you’re on your way back to the N109 Zone for Sylus’ supposed dinner-date, you’ve uttered about a million prayers hoping he truly doesn’t have anything else up his sleeves.
You wander through the base toward the kitchen, scanning every room you pass for any sign of Luke and Kieran, banners, party poppers, and presents. You love those kids, but if you see them tonight, you might just explode on them.
Strangely enough, you manage to reach the kitchen without any glimpse of the twins. And the kitchen is lacking in decorations and monstrously sized cakes, too. Instead, all you find is Sylus with an apron tied in a little bow at the small of his back, an array of messily-iced cupcakes, and an absolutely divine fragrance. He glances over his shoulder when he sees you.
“How was work today, sweetie?” he greets casually, before turning his attention to the food sizzling in the pan on the stove.
You frown at his back. “It was…” You sigh. He glances at you again as you step past the cupcakes on the island and come to his side. Up close, the aroma of a home cooked meal hits all your senses, making your mouth water and stomach grumble. “A lot.”
He hums. You poke his side playfully and tug on the strap of the apron. “Since when have you had this?”
“I bought it today,” he admits, flicking your forehead in retaliation. “I didn’t want to mess up my clothes while I cooked for you. Why? Is it not to your tastes?”
“Just thought you’d get one in black. Or one that says ‘kiss the cook’ on it, or something.”
He chuckles. “I’ll keep it in mind for next time.”
You wrap your arms around his, holding onto him. He doesn’t stop you. He even transfers his utensil to his other hand so he can continue to cook without disturbing you. You can’t help looking around again. You look at the cupcakes all lined up on the counter. At the entrances to the kitchen. Through the doorway leading to the dining room. He lightly nudges you.
“Something on your mind?”
“No,” you answer too quickly. “Just, wondering where Luke and Kieran are.”
He raises an eyebrow at you. “I thought you didn’t want them here tonight,” he teases. “They’re restocking my safe houses tonight. Once they’ve finished, I’ve told them they can do whatever they want. Most likely, they’ll run off to an arcade.”
You nod, trying to play it cool. “And Mephisto?”
“Keeping an eye on the twins, to make sure they actually finish their jobs before they play games.”
So… it really is just you and him here tonight?
“Go sit down,” Sylus says, breaking you from your thoughts. “This is almost finished.”
-
Dinner is better than you expected. Sylus always said that he could only cook so long as he had a recipe to follow, but every bite tastes like it was professionally crafted by a master chef. You savor each flavor. Try to chew slower so you can really relish the care he put into it. By the end, you’re genuinely scraping your plate for every last morsel.
He doesn’t judge you for it either, even when you look up at him all embarrassed. No, he just smiles. One of those soft smiles that makes him seem harmless, that brightens his eyes. He would be preening if he were a bird, so proud of himself for making something you enjoy so much.
“There’s cupcakes, too,” he reminds you after a sip of wine.
You smile wryly at him. “I thought you said just dinner.”
He chuckles, but shrugs. “Then I’ll throw them out.”
“Hmm, I better have a taste before you do. Just to make sure.”
He watches you get up and go over to the array of cupcakes. The frosting is messy, but with an intent to look nice. Or, at least, look edible. You pick one up and glance his way as you peel off the paper wrapping. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, waiting for your reaction as casually as he can. You sink your teeth into the soft cake and-
“Oh my god,” you moan around the bite. A dab of icing gets on your nose, but you can hardly care when it tastes this good. It practically melts on your tongue. You look up at him again, wide-eyed, as though searching for any hint that he knew it would be as delicious as this. “Sy, you should become a baker.”
He stands from his seat with another chuckle, plucking his wine glass from the table to carry with him as he joins you at the kitchen island. You take another bite. “Is it that good?”
You nod, licking your lips of crumbs and icing as you peel away more of the paper and hold it out for him to try. He eyes the cupcake for a moment. Then he takes your wrist and guides it away, bending down to your height, leaning in so his face is inches from yours. You gulp down the bite, trying to remember how to breathe when he’s looking at you like that.
His eyes flicker down to your lips multiple times as he leans in closer. Sharing your air, breathing in the sweetness of the dessert. And then-
Lick.
His tongue swipes up the icing from the tip of your nose and he’s standing at his full height, touching his lip. “Mm, yeah. It’s sweet.”
You groan. “Bastard.”
“What? Were you expecting something else?” he asks, though the teasing lilt in his voice betrays the honesty of the question.
“You know what you did.” You glare at him and turn away, taking another big bite of your sweet treat. “No more cupcake for you.”
His arms wrap around your waist and pull you back into his chest. He rests his chin on your shoulder. Nuzzles his nose against your cheek, where he can feel you fighting not to smile as wide as you want to. “That’s alright. I’ve got something sweeter.” He kisses your cheek. Along your jaw. Down your neck. Kisses you slow and delicate, closing his eyes like he’s savoring the taste of your skin, even after your long day. He hums, a sound that rumbles in his chest and vibrates against your back. “Happy birthday, sweetie.”
You swallow. The cake turns sour in your mouth. “I’m sorry for all the trouble,” you murmur.
He pulls away slightly to look at you, a frown of his face to match yours. “Sorry?” he asks. “Why are you sorry?”
“Well, ‘cause you made me dinner and cupcakes and everything.”
He huffs an astonished, confused laugh. “That’s hardly any trouble. I would cook dinner and bake cupcakes for you every night if I got to see you smile like you did tonight.”
The thought twists your stomach. He flicks your forehead before the thoughts can spiral.
He says your name sternly. “If you think you’re a burden because I want to take care of you, you’re wrong.”
You turn around in his arms and rest your back against the counter, the last couple bites of your cupcake held between you. “I just… It’s a lot of effort just for me.”
“And you’re worth every second of it.” He kisses your forehead. “For one day, let yourself deserve everything.”
“With you, I gotta get used to every day…”
He grins. “Eventually. We can start small for now.” He grabs hold of your wrist again and lifts the cupcake to his lips. He takes a generous bite and licks the icing from his lips. “One day, you’ll be as greedy as me.”