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Sylus hadn’t expected to be this late.
The mission was meant to be a swift three-day sweep: track the tampered protocores flooding the N109 Zone back to their origin point, and eliminate the threat. Simple, on paper. Reality was anything but. Merchants clammed up in stubborn silence. Frightened locals fed him false information. Gangs saw an opportunity to earn fame by killing the infamous Onychinus's leader, and threw themselves at him, desperate to prove something before dying in the alleyway dust.
By the time Sylus tied off the final loose ends and destroyed the remaining batch of modified protocores, hours had slipped by in a haze of violence and exhaustion. His phone had died somewhere between the second and third fight, its dark screen mocking his growing frustration at not being able to let you know he’d be late.
When he finally crosses back into the N109 Zone, the quietness of its neon-slicked streets tells him midday has already slipped away. The city dozes beneath its shroud of everlasting night, oblivious to his return.
He rubs a tired hand across his face as he keys in the security code at the base. His body aches with a fatigue that settles deep in his bones, clinging to every breath. The entryway lights flicker on as if in a muted greeting. He inhales the faint scent of sage and cedarwood lingering in the air. Beneath it is something warmer, almost unnameable, a note that settles into his body before his mind can label it.
Home.
Silence greets him as he removes his boots. His chest tightens with resignation at the thought of you already gone for work. You live by daylight: your world is morning light bleeding through half-drawn blinds, busy streets pulsing with life, long hours beneath radiant sky. His world thrives in darkness, clandestine deals, threats whispered into dead air, shadows alive with hushed movement. The difference between your worlds feels sharpest on days like this.
Since you started spending some nights at the base, Sylus made it his vow to be home before dawn, just to steal those fragile morning hours with you. He loves watching you slowly wake, hair tangled, mug cupped between your hands as you blink away drowsiness, or listening to you animatedly list your day’s plans while he sits in awe, letting your voice lull him toward rest. Those are the hours he feels most alive.
He braces himself to find the headquarters empty, with you at work, and the twins already asleep. He prepares for the hollow echo of his footsteps and the familiar gnawing ache in his chest when you aren’t there to greet him. But as he moves past the living room doorway, shrugging off his coat, his breath catches in his lungs.
You’re there.
Asleep, curled against the couch cushions in his oversized black hoodie, legs tucked beneath you, hair mussed. And you aren’t alone.
The twins are draped over you like protective shadows. Luke lies with his cheek pressed against your thigh, arm slung loosely across your legs. Kieran rests his temple against your shoulder, your own tilted to lean softly against his. And perched atop your hair like a silent obsidian turret is Mephisto, blinking his crimson eyes slowly at Sylus before tucking his mechanical beak back beneath one wing, unbothered by his master’s arrival.
Something inside Sylus cracks open, raw and bright, like morning sunlight splintering through blackout curtains. He knows he would miss you—the emptiness of your absence is an ache too familiar to him, a phantom pain that settles low inside him every time he wakes without you at his side. But he hadn’t realized how deeply he missed the boys, too: their sharp tongues, childish chaos, and unwavering loyalty. He always cared for them in his own quiet ways, indulging their pranks, letting them drag him into late-night video game tournaments he pretended to find annoying but secretly enjoyed.
Now, seeing Kieran snuggle close to you and Luke sigh contentedly against your thigh, Sylus realizes they aren’t just henchmen he tolerates. They’re people he needs to see every day. They’re a part of him, threads woven so deeply into the fabric of his life that their absence leaves gaping tears in him, making him feel incomplete.
Family, he thinks, the word dazzling in his heart. Twisted and broken, reforged in darkness and violence, but family nonetheless.
He approaches silently, his eyes drinking in every detail: the soft curl of your fingers against Luke’s back, Kieran’s mouth slightly parted with each slow exhale, Mephisto’s gentle rise and fall on your head, and your own chest moving in a rhythm that sets peace in his veins. His knuckles brush against your cheek, feeling your warmth seep into his cold fingers. You stir, lips parting in the beginning of a smile.
He crouches there, overwhelmed by a tenderness so heavy it threatens to drown him. Kieran shifts in his sleep. Luke mumbles something incoherent under his breath. Mephisto, disturbed by Sylus’s approach, finally lifts his gaze to greet him with a soft croaking chirp before fluttering onto his shoulder, claws digging lightly into his shirt. Sylus scratches beneath his beak, earning a soft metallic click of contentment.
“Sylus…?”
Your voice, thick with slumber, breaks through the quiet. Your eyes blink open, golden and hazy in the dim glow of lamps, locking onto him with a sleepy relief that carves something comforting and aching into his heart. He leans forward immediately, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, breathing in your scent like it’s the first clean air he’s had in days.
Kieran stirs with your movement, his eyes flicking up before he grins wide. “Boss-man… you’re home.”
Luke jolts awake at Kieran’s voice, eyes snapping open before softening into a sleepy smile. You laugh softly, the sound filling every hollow corner inside him, as you slide forward to wrap your arms around his neck. Your kiss tastes of longing, and homecoming.
“We waited for you all morning,” you whisper against his skin, nuzzling into his collarbone. “We missed you.”
“I’m late…” he inhales, voice hoarse with exhaustion and emotion, “but I’m finally home.”
The boys press close around you both. Any other day, Sylus might roll his eyes and push them off with feigned annoyance, but today he can’t play pretend. His arms close around all three of you, clutching tightly, as if letting go might make this moment vanish like morning fog.
Not wanting to be apart, Mephisto nestles into the embrace, croaking softly as his metal head presses against Sylus’s cheek.
That night, you throw an impromptu pajama party in the living room. The twins demand a fortress be built out of blankets and chairs. Sylus helps them drape every available sheet, adding pillows and weaving fairy lights into the makeshift fort until it glows softly in the dim room. The twins snuggle under blankets, pestering him for stories from his mission, interrupting with drowsy questions until their eyes drift closed. Kieran succumbs to sleep first, Luke soon after, both snuggled together in the glowing nest.
You rest your head on Sylus’s chest, fingers tracing idle patterns over his shirt as his arm curls tightly around your shoulders. He runs his fingers gently through your hair, pressing a silent kiss to your forehead.
“I’m sorry I was late,” he whispers against your skin.
“You’re here now,” you murmur, your voice melting into slumber as your figure grows heavier against him. “And I’m off work for a few days anyway. I missed you too much to go.”
At your words, he closes his eyes and breathes you in.
“And what would a few hours late do,” you add softly, syllables blurring with fatigue, “when we have our whole life together ahead of us?”
In the peaceful hush of the blanket fort, with your weight pressed against him, the twins breathing deeply nearby, and Mephisto standing guard atop the blankets, Sylus lets himself finally believe it.
He’s created his own home.