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The silence after the sound of the shattered bottle feels louder than expected. The spot of impact, now dripping with wine, remains unseen over his shoulder as neither of us break eye contact.
Sylus meets my glare with frozen shock, his eyes examining the deep furrow of my brows to my still extended hand.
I feel a numbness spreading from my fingertips as I lower my hand back to my side. The heat of my face feels long gone, and the red tint of my view dissipates. Yet the fury persists.
He said the word in passing, a small jab, a simple joke that wasn't even directly at me. He was always one to challenge me with his words, to get a reaction. But, he never meant to draw it out this far. After all, my reaction to this single word shouldn’t be this strong. Neither of us were aware of that, it seems, until now.
But now I feel the word echoing inside my brain, as it had when we first met. When he had first uttered it in his careless, heartless tone, not knowing the depth of that word for me after all this time.
Weak
I straighten my posture, smooth out my face, and he watches quietly for my next move.
But I can’t find the words, and I can’t bring myself to fix this right now.
I turn and walk quickly from the room, swinging the door shut behind me with a bit too much force. But I can’t bring myself to behave.
Childish, I think venomously to myself as I enter my room and shut the door behind me. My fingers flex, and a sharp pain has me gasping.
I glance to my palm, finally noticing some pieces of glass stuck to my palm, causing it to bleed openly. I briefly recall the glass that broke inside my tightened grip before launching the entire bottle at Sylus.
I click my tongue at the annoyance, and approach the desk by my bed. Using my able hand, I dig through the drawers until I find a pair of tweezers, a disinfectant and some gauze.
I settle into the chair, laying my hand palm up on the desk, studying the damage from my own outburst. I glance up at the small vanity mirror placed upon the desk, making eye contact with myself.
Weak
A sudden, but quiet, knock on my door has me sighing through my nose, tearing my gaze away from the mirror.
“What,” I ask a bit too loudly.
“May I come in?” Sylus’ voice responds from the other side. His tone neutral, almost gentle.
I let out a sigh, forcing my own tone to be softer as I say, “Sure.”
The door opens and closes quietly, but I do not look up as I study my palm once more. I feel him hover beside me as I slowly pick at the glass shards with the tweezers. He doesn’t speak, and I don’t ask.
And then he’s moving away. I bring myself to glance up as he suddenly places a table lamp from nearby upon my desk.
“Here,” he says as he plugs it into the wall and turns it on, “A more direct light should help see the pieces better.”
“Right,” I mutter as I slide the lamp closer.
“May I help?”
I finally look up at Sylus, meeting the gaze I’ve been avoiding in shame. Yet I only see something gentle, something that will not judge me for my lapse. Even after how I behaved, he’s still here.
The realization has my tongue feeling thick in my mouth, so I nod and shift my position in my chair.
He grabs another chair and pulls it over to my desk. The space feels much smaller as he situated himself before me, angling his body to face mine. I hand him the tweezers and slide my hand closer to him, under the lamp.
His focus goes to my palm, and his expression shifts to something more serious as he begins to pick out the pieces. I watch his progress, the only sound between us is the soft clink of the glass pieces piling up. My fingers twitch as more pieces appear to be lodged into my skin than I realized. All over a stupid outburst.
Weak
“Does it hurt?” He murmurs, the tweezers pausing.
“No.”
I look to my other hand, balled into a fist on my lap.
“How did you know I injured myself?”
Sylus lets out an amused hum as he continues methodically removing pieces.
“I saw the specks of blood follow you out of the room,” he explains lightly. “Plus, I’m familiar with how it is to break a glass in your own hand.”
I frown at this, looking up and studying his expression.
“You’ve had moments like that often or…?”
His eyes slide over to mine, and he smiles.
“Once in a while..”
He sets down the tweezers finally. His calloused fingers gently grip my wrist, and he lifts my palm towards the light. He slowly twists my hand this way and that, his brow creasing as he searches for anymore glass. Seemingly satisfied, he places my hand back on the desk gently.
I watch as he pours some disinfectant onto a cotton ball, chewing my lip. He has only come here to help me with my wound, his care tender, his movements not rushing or impatient.
“Are you not going to ask..?” I finally say in a small voice.
He pauses for a moment, but then begins dabbing the cotton ball against my wound. The prickle and stabs of pain shoot through my hand with each swipe.
Weak
I do my best to stay still as he works.
“I am not, no,” he says, his lashes hiding his gaze from me.
“You only need share with me when you are comfortable enough. Otherwise, it is not my business to pry.”
He tosses away the cotton ball, which is now spotted with blood, into the wastebasket beneath the desk.
He sits up and lifts my hand off the desk, holding it before him as he begins wrapping the gauze around it.
“But no matter what, I’ll be here for you,” he says as he meets my gaze, his eyes hardening with the honesty of his words. All the words I should say constrict in my throat.
He releases my hand and stands up. "I'll let you get some rest now," he explains as he shuts off the lamp on the desk. I merely nod at him, and without another word, he exits the room, shutting the door behind him gently. I stare after him for a long moment, before glancing at my hand wrapped in gauze.
He still isn't good at bandaging wounds, it seems.
I stare ahead of me, the world around me is blurry and much too bright. My focus stays on a single figure before me. Then that figure turns, and a young boy looks back at me.
I'm unable to fully see his face, but I know who he is immediately. Maybe that's why I refuse to see his face. But the way his brown hair flutters in the summer breeze, the way his mouth tilts into a smile, the way the gold in his violet eyes shine. It's all painfully familiar.
He stands there, waiting for me. As I move towards him, he turns and starts running away. Running forward. My heart leaps as I pick up my pace. I push myself, my legs screaming in protest, yet he always stays the same distance ahead of me. Always too far ahead for me to reach out for him. Even so, I feel my arm lifting, my hand reaching. As if, somehow, this will be the time I finally catch up to him.
Weak
My foot catches on the ground beneath me, the world spins, and I lose sight of him in the fall-
I jerk awake in my bed, my breaths heavy as if I had actually been running. Feeling an ache throughout my body, I try to relax my limbs, letting myself settle down in the quiet darkness of my room.
I know it's still late. I know I should keep sleeping. I know that everything I feel is still too fresh, too raw.
Even so, I climb out of my bed, walk across the room, and open the bedroom door. I walk down the hall, following the quiet sound of music drifting from the study. I only pause when I stand at the open door, peering inside to quickly locate the tall frame that lounges on the couch.
Sylus glances up, peering at me from over his glasses as he closes the book in his hand.
"You're up again already?"
"My hand is bothering me," I explain, unsure if it's exactly a lie.
He seems to accept it anyway. He sets down the book on the side table. "Shall I look over it to be sure-?"
I make my way over to him as he speaks, and he halts as I sit on the coffee table across from him. I hold out my injured hand to him with my palm facing upward. He searches my face for a moment before letting out an amused huff. He says nothing of my behavior once again.
He sits forward on the couch, his hand coming up to cradle my own. He slides off his glasses and sets them aside, preparing for another check. Yet as he leans towards my palm, I suddenly curl my fingers inward, closing it off. He pauses, raising his eyes to meet my own.
"I…," I try to start, but the words feel jumbled in my head. The tone has him lifting his head, though, giving me his full attention.
"Take your time," he murmurs, his thumb rubbing soothingly against my wrist. I watch as he lowers our joined hands to rest lightly on his knee, then meet his eyes once more.
"There was someone I lost," I begin, my voice feeling scratchy. I'm unsure if I'm imagining it or not. I swallow and look back to our joined hands.
"They were… Amazing at everything they did." I feel my heart racing, and the metal pendant hidden beneath my shirt feels like it's burning into my chest. "I looked up to them, admired them. I wanted nothing more than to show them…"
I take a breath, trying to control the shakiness of it. I haven't spoken about Him since the explosion happened. Even so, telling someone who is a complete stranger to my previous life felt easier than expected.
"I wanted to prove that I can be strong, too," I explain in a small voice. "I spent all this time studying and training. I got top marks in my Hunter's Exam, and even made it into the elite task force at the Association. I thought I was actually making progress, that I was finally strong enough to be their equal."
Our joined hands begin to look a bit blurry, and I try to blink them back into focus. He waits quietly.
"But… I couldn't save them," I whisper, my voice cracking at the last word.
Weak
My other hand curls into a fist on my lap, the fingers of my injured hand flexing in his grasp. But before the wave of emotions can pull me into it in my moment of confession, Sylus calls my name. I lift my eyes and meet his steady gaze.
"You are strong," he says firmly. I feel a look of disbelief creep onto my face, and he shakes his head in exasperation. "You survived the N109 zone, if anything could prove my case."
"Easier to do when I have the backing of the leader of Onychinus," I retort, tilting my head at him meaningfully. He chuckles at this, and his gaze drops to my bandaged hand still resting in his grip.
"That is true," he relents. "I have made quite the reputation for myself."
He looks up at me through his lashes, his smile gentle, persistent.
"You think, with all my power, I've never experienced my own losses?"
I pause at that, my brows raising at the confession. The idea of Sylus failing has barely crossed my mind, if at all. The way he has always carried himself, one would think he has never failed to gain what he wants. A man who could have anything.
"That's a big thing to admit out loud for you," I tell him honestly.
He gives a noncommittal shrug before saying, "You're the one who started opening up to me first of your concerns. Consider this a fair trade."
For the first time in a while, I feel my lips curve upward.
A mischievous smile, but a smile nonetheless. "You may regret admitting such a thing to me in the future."
"Perhaps," he allows, even though his doubt shows in his expression. "But even so…"
He pauses, and I glance down as his fingers constrict around my hand. They don't add pressure, but the grip is firmer. I meet his now serious gaze once more.
"I'm sorry for what I had said earlier," he speaks, remorse coloring his tone as he looks at me earnestly. "I chose my words poorly, and I do not plan to make that mistake again."
"You have always been strong, but something that no one can achieve- not even I- is perfection. The best any of us can do is not let our failures define our strength." He pauses at this point, and gives me a gentle smile.
"Easier said than done, I'm sure," he admits, "But I would say you're off to a good start by being honest about it."
My lips press together, and my eyes slide down to our joined hands once more. Some heat rises in my face again, of a different kind this time.
"I'm sorry for my outburst earlier as well," I mutter quietly, "I shouldn't be taking it out on you in the first place."
I watch as he finally lifts our hands, forced to follow them upward to his face. He gently cradles my hand in his as his lips press against my curled fingers. He glances up at me, and I feel a fluttering in my chest.
"What if…," he starts slowly, "I prefer you take it out on me."
For the first time in an even longer while, I feel myself let out a laugh.
A strained laugh that cuts short, but a laugh nonetheless.
"I would have to call you insane," I respond, and he chuckles as he lifts his head.
"I think I would be ok with that, Sweetie," he says, his relaxed smile making some of the heaviness on my shoulders lift away.