Work Text:
It's Christmas: a season of festive spirit and good cheer.
And yet, here you are, pouting with your chin propped up on your knuckles as your elbow rests on the car door, while your surroundings blur from the bright lights of Linkon City to the familiar street outside your apartment building.
You don't even realise that you've arrived or that the car has stopped, until you hear a tap on the window of the passenger door. With a jolt, you lift your elbow off the door just before it opens, narrowly avoiding tumbling out of the car and straight into the snow-covered ground.
"Why the long face, kitten? Didn't like your present?"
He gestures toward the gift in your lap: the charm bracelet that Tara had gotten for you as your secret santa.
It’s an annual year-end gathering that your colleagues organise, and this year “Skye” was invited to join the secret santa party because, as luck would have it, he happened to be outside the building to pick you up when your colleagues were discussing it on the way home.
Of course, you had hinted heavily that he wouldn’t be able to make it, hoping your friends would drop it. But then, the man himself had denied being busy and promised he’d be there.
And, to make matters worse, you found out that you would be Sylus’ secret santa.
"No, it's not that,” you reply, getting out of the car and wincing at the cold winter air that promptly greets you like a slap in the face.
Sylus locks the car and then tosses the scarf he had hanging on his arm around your neck, covering your head and blocking half your vision. With an annoyed glare shot his way, you adjust the fabric and yank it down to your neck. It’s a brief but welcome distraction from the gloom that’s been hanging over your head since the party, until Sylus brings it up again.
“Then, what’s the matter?”
You look down at your gloved hands, struggling to find the words. He probably already knows why, or at least is able to hazard a good guess at the reason for your foul mood. But, admitting it out loud is only going to end with him laughing at you while you stay embarrassed about it for the next few weeks.
Because, how can you confess with a straight face, that the reason he didn’t receive a gift at the party earlier isn’t because his gift is still in transit, but because you couldn’t, and still can’t, think of a single thing to give to him?
After all, he’s Sylus. The Sylus. A ruthless man who will do anything in his power to get his hands on the things he wants, whether it’s the rarest protocore or the shiniest jewel. He’s wealthy enough to suggest buying out an arcade and mean it, when you fail to get the plushie you really want. What on earth could you possibly gift to someone like that?
Nothing, that’s what.
“I…” You shiver as another mocking blow of wind sweeps against your frame. In the end, you settle for, “It’s cold. Let’s head up first.” Stalling is your only option at this point, and you know that you’re just grasping at straws to delay the inevitable.
The walk up to your door is quiet, and you can just feel his eyes piercing through the back of your head. You do your best to ignore it and pretend you’re not at all unnerved by the way he’s sizing you up like a predator would do its prey.
He pounces back on the topic the moment the front door shuts close behind you.
You feel a tug on your arm, pulling you back so that you're facing him now, toe to toe while he leans in to study your face. There's barely any space to duck your head out of his sight.
"You've been upset since coming back from the party. Is it because I was there?"
"What?" Your eyes widen, head snapping up as your confused eyes meet his. "No, not at all. What made you think that?"
"You seem averse to letting people know about our relationship."
"Well, yes, but what I'm worried about is that people will realise that Skye doesn't actually sell fruits. Or that Skye isn't your real name."
"I have the papers to back it up, Miss Hunter. You worry too much. Besides, they know I sell fruits; everyone knows that."
"Not just fruits, Mr. Bossman," you counter with an eye-roll. He chuckles, always seeming to find it amusing when you're frowning or just glaring at him in general.
"Anyway," you continue, "that's... not the reason."
"Then... is the reason for your bad mood related to me?" he prods, catching your cheeks in his hands so that you can't avert your eyes again.
You slowly nod. "Yeah."
"Is it my fault?"
"No..."
"Then tell me what it is."
A beat of silence passes, with the impasse continuing until you realise there's no winning this. One look and you can tell he isn't going to let it go until you give him a straight answer.
You relent with a sigh. "You're going to laugh at me."
"If you don't want me to laugh, I won't."
"Okay then, don't laugh. You have to promise."
"Fine, I promise, kitten."
You search his eyes, and it seems he's being serious enough about this.
"Okay." Taking in a deep breath and mustering up your courage, you admit, "Your present... It isn't in transit."
You wait, and so does he.
Eventually, Sylus speaks again.
"Did... someone... steal it? Do you need me to—"
"I didn't get you a present. I just— I didn't know what to get for you. I tried, and I racked my brain for weeks but I really just couldn't think of anything good, and then work got busy with the recent wanderer attacks and then— then I forgot about the secret santa party until yesterday and by then it was too late to do anything."
You squeeze your eyes shut, not daring to see the disappointment that must be written all over his face now. Sylus is rarely excited for anything at all, but he had seemed interested in the secret santa party, enough to ask you to assess his outfit choices and his selected gift for Jenna, and to ask if he should help to pick up some desserts to bring over. Apparently, it was his first time being invited to something like this, and he wanted to make sure he impressed your colleagues, who all had some sort of inkling that there was something going on between the both you.
Instead of a sigh or something along those lines, you hear a poorly suppressed chuckle.
"Look at me," he coaxes, and you slowly do as you're told, only to find that Sylus is grinning at you. Technically he isn't laughing, but you still take offense at the sight.
"It's not funny. You promised."
"I didn't say it was, and I'm not laughing, sweetie."
"You just did! I heard it."
"Must have been the wind playing tricks on you."
"None of the windows are open—"
Before you can complete your retort, you're suddenly plunged face-first into the soft fabric of his coat as his arms wrap around your frame and hold you in a tight embrace.
"I appreciate the sentiment, but you don't have to concern yourself with such trivial matters."
"You're not trivial to me, Sylus. I didn't want to disappoint you."
"I'm not disappointed, don't worry. I think it's cute that you spent that much time worrying about this."
"You said you wouldn't laugh at me!"
"I find it cute, not humourous," he clarifies.
There's really not much difference there in this context, but you hold your retort as you hug him back somewhat begrudgingly, in favour of the rare opportunity that has now arisen for you to ask him about his mysterious wishlist. The twins and Mephisto did not have any clue whatsoever when you asked.
"So... is there anything you want for Christmas?" You peel yourself away from him to look up as he considers your question.
The answer is unhelpful, as expected. "Nothing in particular."
Exasperated, you raise one arm, fingers shaped like a gun which you then point at his temple.
"Name one thing. Or I'll shoot."
He breaks into a grin, before raising his hands in surrender. "Sweetie, is this really necessary? Surely there are more... peaceful ways of settling this."
"A certain mafia guy told me this is the most effective way to get someone to talk. Other than torture, that is," you add.
"I see you've picked up some useful tips from your time in the N109 Zone."
You shrug. "I only learn from the best."
"Well, there is one thing I can think of, now that a gun is pointed at my head."
"Okay, talk."
"Leave the Association and join Onychinus."
You drop your hand and shove him away with moderate force, but he hardly seems fazed by your reaction.
"Sylus."
"You asked me to name one thing."
"That's not possible. You know that."
He knows, and it's obvious he wasn't serious about that. Or at least, he was only half-serious.
"Well then, how about a compromise?"
Without waiting for you to ask what that is, he reaches for your wrist, leading you towards the living room. In any case, you find out quickly enough.
"Oh dear, it seems that we've found ourselves under some mistletoe tonight."
You look up, and sure enough, there's mistletoe now dangling from the ceiling fan. Definitely not part of the Christmas decorations you had put up in the apartment.
After blinking a few times to make sure you aren't just seeing things, your astonished gaze falls on the smug man standing before you.
"Wha— When did you do that?"
"Do what?"
You point upwards at the dangling plastic decoration. "Put up the mistletoe."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
A bald-faced lie, but you have no way to disprove it either. In any case, he's right. You are both standing right under the mistletoe.
"This is what you want for Christmas?" you ask.
He nods, confirming it. "Since someone isn't willing to join Onychinus, this is the next best thing I could think of. I've heard it's a tradition to kiss under the mistletoe. So, go on."
He says it so obnoxiously you want to sock him in the face. Still, this is the gift that he wanted. You’re neither convinced nor satisfied with this request of his, but after several seconds of an impasse and a silent staredown, you relent with a sigh and decide to indulge him.
Leaning in, your eyes slip close, and you hesitantly press your lips to his, unclear if he wants a simple peck or something more.
You're quickly reminded that it's never the former.
His hands come up to the small of your back, pulling you closer to him. The kiss starts slow, tender, until it grows increasingly passionate as his grip on your waist turns vice-like. The room temperature feels like it's rising to a summer heat even though it's smack dab in the middle of winter, and you have to break the kiss just before your knees are about to buckle.
It takes a moment for you to regain your senses, and for your head to stop spinning. Whether it's from the lack of air or something else, you can't tell.
But you do instantly sober up when you find Sylus smiling at you, his eyes gleaming with mischief.
"You seem dissatisfied, kitten," he observes, after a moment.
You fold your arms across your chest. "Of course I am. You didn't tell me what you really wanted for Christmas."
"I've said it: join Onychinus."
He laughs out loud as he catches your fist that comes flying towards his cheek with ease.
"Sylus," you tell him sincerely, despite your trembling arm still struggling to hold its own against his brute strength, "I really want to get you something you like. Isn't there anything, I don't know, that you haven't plundered from some guy in the N109 Zone yet?"
"If someone else had you in their custody, I would have stolen you for myself. But I've already done that once, and now you're here with me, trying to land a hit on my face like you did the first day we met."
You blink slowly at him, his words sinking into your head and loading up like a hanging computer screen.
"So... you mean you just want... me?" You make a face and groan, dropping your sore arm to your side. "That's so... so..."
You struggle to find the words to put this across delicately, but Sylus does the work for you.
"Sappy? Corny? Cringe? Unbefitting of the head of Onychinus?" he offers.
"Yes. All of that."
"But it's true." His eyes soften, as he takes your hand — the former makeshift gun — in his and slowly traces circles onto the back of it. "I want you. I want your time. I want to make new memories with you, until there's too many to count. We could travel the world, fight monsters and men, argue with each other... and I would enjoy every second of it."
Not a trace of his usual facetiousness or deliberate obtuseness can be found in those words. He's being utterly genuine, and you lean forward with a light groan, forehead finding his shirt as heat gathers in your cheeks and ears.
"You really... don't play fair."
"What do you mean?"
"When you asked me what I wanted for Christmas a while ago, I told you something stupid. Holy crap it was so stupid thinking back."
"What's wrong with wanting to modify Mephisto into a bright pink colour?"
"For starters, it doesn't scream 'I love you' very much like you just did."
"It's not a competition," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. A hand rests on your head, stroking your hair in a soothing motion. "Besides, the fact that you were so upset over this secret santa game is enough for me to know how you truly feel—"
"Of course."
"—that the colour of a bird is more important than me."
"Ha-ha, very funny. As if I'd get that upset over Mephisto."
"Good. Then, that's a relief."
You frown, and pull away from the hug.
"...Why?"
As his smile grows, so does your sense of foreboding.
"Sylus. Is there something you want to tell me? Is it... Is it bad?"
"I wouldn't say it's bad," he begins, which fails to inspire any sort of optimism in you, "but the twins went rogue and included a code that makes Mephisto change colours, depending on where he is. Of course, he can turn pink too."
"Okay... but why did you think I wouldn't like it?"
"Functionally, he's more chameleon than crow now," he explains, "so he's basically invisible. Unfortunately, that means you won't be able to admire him in his pink glory personally."
"Wha— That's terrible! Aren't you guys going to fix him?"
"Yes, but we have to find him first, sweetie. Can't operate on something we can't find."
You start looking around the apartment, not about to discount the possibility of Mephisto having tailed Sylus all the way here to Linkon. All you can think of is cawing all over your apartment, calling his name in hopes of luring him out of hiding. You even open the windows, inviting the cold air in, wondering if Mephisto will come inside if he's somewhere out there.
Sylus quickly puts an end to the scavenging when you start to shiver from the cold, but despite his concern he's unable to reel in his laughter or hide the amusement spelled all over his face.
"I really should have known..." you grumble eventually, when you're completely exhausted and lying with your limbs sprawled out on the couch, head on his lap. "I should have known that Christmas with you would be anything but normal."
"Perhaps not, "he chuckles, squeezing your hand in his to spread some warmth back into your chilly fingertips.
"But," he adds after a moment of thought, "it's something to remember."