Chapter Text
The city holds too many memories. The theaters recall of popcorn crushed underfoot and convenient arms slung over the seat of your chair. The shopping district is all sidewalks of a single reflection in glass storefronts instead of the typical two. The restaurants are each their own unique form of haunting memory: too many drinks at the cocktail lounge with a hangover to never forget, a thousand laughs over comfort food at the usual hole in the wall that splits the distance almost perfectly between your place and his.
Even the grocery store is too much to stomach most days.
That's how you find yourself at the city park.
The park is safe. It's a location less contaminated with embedded memories; the park is your metaphorical oyster, a realm of redefining your life while swearing off love forever.
When you decide that relaxing after work or spending time outside during the weekend would entail investigating the park, it's a lot bigger than you anticipated. There are meadows and ponds, boulders and tucked-away gazebos, floral gardens and clusters of trees, and a winding web of paths paved smooth. Bikers breeze past you without a care in the world, making your clothes flutter slightly, and diligent runners pace their breaths audibly as they move by at their slower albeit still rapid pace.
Chances are you aren't about to take up running or biking, as much as you know that it wouldn't hurt to try.
What you need right now is just peace and quiet. A serene spot in the flora or a corner away from the hustle and bustle of the general park population where you can focus on yourself and the shattered state of your heart. So, you wander the different lawns and cross the few trickling brooks cutting through the greenery.
You find yourself standing at the edge of a playground, and it's quiet. It's just early enough in the day that school hasn't let out yet, leaving the place empty and open for the taking.
The swing set creaks with many years of heavy use when you sit in the scarred plastic seat. Slowly, you pulse your legs back and forth and work to a gentle rocking rhythm of swinging. It's a pace just calm enough to lie your head against the steel chain links and let your mind try to find a moment of peace.
The afternoon air is clear. This far off from all the other park-goers, the city is merely a dull backdrop of muted noise. The sun creeps low in the skyline, bouncing golden rays off towers of steel and glass and pouring through rustling leaves overhead. You take a much needed deep breath, and for the first time in what feels like forever, your aching heart finds the slightest bit of relief. It's a brief respite from the usual agony you've been carrying all the time, the muscles in your shoulders relaxing just for the moment.
"Hey!" a sharp voice yelps from behind you. "That's my swing!"
Your gasp of surprise overlays the sound of pattering footsteps: light steps that come rapid across the grass toward the sand and gravel of the playground and its swing set. Your heels dig hard into the sand underfoot to bring yourself to a halt, and you propel yourself out of the swing seat, taking a cautious step back while glancing over your shoulder.
Great. You already ruined this spot, too, having lingered too long, and no doubt the rude child coming to claim the public swing for himself is trailed by an entitled—
"Luke."
Luke may have been running with all the might of his little legs, fierce in his glare that's locked on you and shadowed by a duplicate of himself with the same hair, same eyes, same height, same everything.
But, you suspect that while the twin children outnumber him, the man who speaks in low warning doesn't fear keeping up with their sprinting if the skyscraper height and long legs are anything to go by. His pace is measured, each step eating up enough distance that he barely trails far behind them. He makes the swing set look miniature almost when he stands close and his shadow falls far across the sand, like it's a pathetic toy set and not just something you were sitting in and using as an adult yourself.
Luke is a fearless child, you decide, because the warning doesn't seem to resonate with him despite how intimidating and formidable the tall adult man is. Luke claims the drifting swing seat with a fist around each chain and glares through them at you, his twin brother narrowing his eyes just the same in your direction.
They're both in tidy uniforms not long to stay that way in this palace of sand and gravel. Private school, you almost immediately deduce, not just from their uniforms but also from the fact that height isn't the only thing that makes the adult man intimidating. His outfit isn't dissimilar: a dismantled suit with tie loosened, jacket unbuttoned, and his shoes almost certainly switched to the casual sneakers that disgrace themselves in the playground sand and save the polished leather dress shoes you assume are tucked away elsewhere for protection. A very humbled look, completed by the one vibrantly colored backpack slung on his shoulder and the other hanging from his curled fingers, both again miniature in appearance in comparison to stature of his broad chest and large hands.
If it weren't for the casual touches of his appearance right now, you would expect this man to be ruling the head office of some ultra powerful corporation. If you passed him on the street instead of crossing his path here on the local park playground, you would swan dive to get out of the way before your shoulder collided with him and sent you reeling from impact as he merely kept walking as if you were nothing but the wind sluicing through pedestrians. People like him are the stuff of legends, too perfect to be real, because for all the obvious wealth and power he exudes, it's barely enough to dignify his astonishing pearlescent silver hair and severe vermilion eyes. You're the one forgetting your own manners as you gape at him, but the man doesn't look perturbed by you in the least.
"You know you don't own the swing set, Luke," the man reasons calmly, the tone of his voice something impossibly smooth and unfathomably deep yet just right to align with his appearance and disposition. "We talked about sharing, remember?"
You expected the first warning to have resulted in something more harsh—a chastise coming down without room for negotiation. You didn't expect this calm rationale at all, and it throws you further for a loop as you try to process everything going on in front of you.
"It's okay," you blurt, raising your hands weakly. "I'm sorry. The swing isn't really meant for me, so I'll go."
With that, you take your leave, spinning on your heel and setting off in the opposite direction. Out of the corner of your eye, you just barely catch the sight of the man shifting his posture as if he fights with the urge to tell you that you can stay, but no sound of his voice interrupts your escape. You dart away and return to the great search for your own place of peace and quiet without causing another scene.
That place happens to be in a swath of thick-trunked trees, sitting against one with your head tilted back against the bark and your knees drawn to your chest, arms draped over them. Your mind drifts through different thoughts of the encounter you just had to the ideas of what you'll try to do to pass the time at the park. Apparently, today you don't need anything to lose track of time because all of the sudden the park is slightly more shadowy and the bustle of the sidewalks and paths changes from hectic to leisurely.
A soft rustle in the grass is what pulls you from your reverie and makes you aware of the time you've spent doing just what you said you wouldn't: wallowing. You sit up a little more and look to the source of the sound to find a short figure hesitantly approaching you, sand-dusted shoes dragging in the verdant greenery underfoot.
Surprised, you sit forward now, hugging your knees and glancing in the distance to find the tall silver-haired man standing just far enough back that he can keep an eye on the child who approaches you.
"Sorry for yelling at you," Luke apologizes, head down and shoe brushing through the grass awkwardly. "It was mean."
"It's okay," you murmur, a smile lifting your lips. It's the first time you've felt such a motion grace your face in so long, again washing you with a wave of temporary but potent relief from your inner stress. "I know you didn't mean it, and I accept your apology."
Luke sighs in dramatic relief, but he glances over his shoulder at the two figures standing in the distance. The silver-haired man moves almost imperceptibly, but he does move, chin lifting just a hair.
"Sy said to tell you that if you want to use the swing, you can use it whenever you want," Luke declares, turning back to you. "But, you have to share!"
Then, Luke digs his heels into the grass and takes off to the two silhouettes of his brother and the intimidating man, Sy, now lined in amber light as the afternoon melts into evening. You watch them go, backpacks still hung on the towering figure and the two twins running circles around him, tugging at his hands and sleeves mischievously while the man continues on his path, unbothered. Something about it makes you wonder more about who he is and if you're all wrong about your assumptions, but for all you know, you might never cross his path again.
You flop back against the tree trunk and let out a huff of a breath before beginning your own trek back home to turn in for the night.
You do an assortment of different things at the park over the next week to keep yourself busy. You bring a sketchbook and lightly scrape the paper with pencil, cheek in your other palm as you halfheartedly outline another vignette you'll never finish. You bring paint and a canvas on the wrong day when it's too windy and wonder what you even expected when you end up smearing paint on your hands, your phone, and the grass before even getting anything on the canvas to start with. You press flowers in between the pages of books once reading starts to bore you. You bring indices of vegetation and plant life in an effort to study the park but find that the flora is quite plain and typical, leaving you little to investigate.
It's the end of the week on a Saturday afternoon as you're trying to drum up something new to do when you hear a familiar voice across the park. Deep, confident, and patient, you wouldn't ever mistake it for anyone else.
"Stop feeding the crow."
Your gaze follows the direction of the voice, and sure enough, across the field and on the other side of the path, you see the three of them: the twins and the man Luke had called Sy.
A fourth member makes himself quite content where he flutters and hops about the edge of the picnic blanket scattered with two tablets, two notebooks, and two unzipped backpacks. As black as night, the crow gleams in sunlight as he indulges in the bits of crackers and other tidbits of snacks the twins offer him despite the instructions otherwise.
"Boys."
"He's hungry!"
"Yeah! It's just like feeding the ducks! He just wants food, Sy!"
"We can't feed them all the time. They'll forget how to find food for themselves and become reliant on people to survive. And, that food you're giving away is last of what we brought for the day, so we'll have to go home early if you two get hungry again."
"But, you can just buy us ice cream!"
"No ice cream until after dinner."
You keep your distance that Saturday, hardly someone familiar enough to them to consider inserting yourself in any way.
Nonetheless, it's not the last time you happen upon them somewhere in the park, but not by your own making or choice. You stay away from the swing set these days, regardless of what Luke had said to you. Either way, it's hard to miss the afternoon rush of parents and children at the playground and all the other parents who eye up the tall, stern man who keeps to himself more often than not.
You learn by passive observation that he has a reason to be stern and that the twins do not make his life easy. The twins wrestle each other like they're sworn enemies and give the other parents pause until they're suddenly the best of friends again, on a good day. They sprint about the fields, getting further and further off until you catch the blur of silver in the meadows of green keeping up with them. They socialize quite conveniently with other children who have parents and sitters immediately capitalizing on the chance to get a word in with the vermilion-eyed man who entertains with the most basic of niceties until the excuse me, it's time for us to get home for dinner finally rears its head.
The twins roll in the mud and play in the streams, dredging up frogs and salamanders to terrorize the playground population with, trails of mud in the grass cluing you in just before you accidentally step into them. They form a bond with the crow whether their caretaker likes it or not, and sometimes, you swear you can feel the beady eyes of that particular winged creature sitting on a branch nearby and studying you like it knows something you don't. On days that they're particularly brave, the twins climb the silver-haired man like their own playground and attempt to instigate him into play fighting, never to any avail. It's like he fears his own strength or somehow possesses gentility so very rare to find.
The man holds his own each and every time. No matter how much running around the park he has to do, no matter how many times he has to explain something or reason with the twins, no matter how each instance seems to be another test of his durability and patience, he remains admirably level-headed and collected. Regardless of how they choose to antagonize him, the twins always return to him when the amber light falls across the trees. Whichever one stifles their yawn ends up carried in his arm, mop of wind-strewn hair flopped over his shoulder and small hands clinging to his clothes.
You can't blame the gawking, fawning parents and sitters. Parenthood is a difficult thing that wears a person down, and yet, whoever he is, he carries the responsibility with nothing but grace.
The afternoon is overcast and bitter the day that you entertain yourself with a library book in your tucked-away spot against the tree trunk you now frequent. It's another day just like any other: traffic floods the bordering streets at rush hour, bikers and joggers breathe hard in the chilled air, and children swarm the field to play with a soccer ball while the parents and guardians all linger on the sidelines.
For the most part, nothing has really changed about your life. You're still smothering that persistent heartache and wondering when it is that you'll start to feel like you're actually moving on. But, who are you kidding? All you do now is mope around the park after going to work if you're not at home coming up with another excuse to keep from third-wheeling with your friends.
The sharp wind ruffles the pages of your book and makes you lose your place entirely as if the universe is telling you: get a grip.
You sigh, pushing the book closed from both sides to sandwich it in your palms and press your forehead to the edge of the hardcover, eyes closed. Yeah, that's right. I do need to get a grip.
You linger in that position and ruminate on that thought for a while, only interrupted by the familiar yet curious sound of pattering footsteps on dewy grass. When you sit up and open your eyes, an insistent child rounds the tree trunk with haste and comes to a screeching halt.
"I found you!" he exclaims.
"Luke?" You blink, studying the grinning boy: mischievous eyes and a prim school uniform.
"No, I'm Kieran!" Kieran swiftly corrects you, a scowl temporarily sealing away his grin. "Hey, come play with us! We're playing Castle!"
Much to your surprise, Kieran reaches for your wrist and shackles you with his own weight, sitting back on his heels as if he's strong enough to pull you up.
"Castle? I've never played that..." You glance about the area to find that Kieran has sneaked away on his own, presumably. "Hey, where's your father? Should you be running off like this?"
"Huh?" Kieran stops pulling at you only long enough to correct you again without hesitation. "Sy's not our dad!"
That makes your head tilt. "Then... ?"
"He adopted me and Luke."
Oh. You nod in understanding at Kieran. You never stopped to question it, too absorbed in your own self-pitying to think about how both of the twins lack the striking silver hair or vermilion eyes. Or, maybe you just assumed they took well after whoever their mother may be. "Well, I still think you shouldn't be running off around the park. You're going to make him worry."
Kieran shakes his head vigorously. "Luke is distracting him! You have to hurry! Sy is really smart, so Luke can't distract him all day. We're playing Castle, and we need a princess, so we need you!"
"Distracting him?" How crafty are these two?
Kieran shackles himself to your wrist once more and pulls at you with all the might he has, and you use your free hand to tuck your book to your side as you stand up.
"You owe us, anyway. We almost got in huge trouble because of you!" Kieran informs you vehemently like you're the one in trouble now, and you feel your eyebrows knit in some petulant offense.
"Well, you didn't, right?"
The single twin scoffs at you, and now that you're standing, he holds your wrist with just one hand and begins to tug you along. "No, but it was really close!"
"Where are we going exactly? Where is your—Where did you leave Luke and Sy?" you query, stumbling along as Kieran drags you across the park from under the shade of your favorite tree cluster into the thick of the wide paths, bubbling streams, and stretching meadows.
"We're playing Castle!"
It starts to make some sense when you're led in the direction of the playground that sits quiet and empty with all the other children cleaning up at the soccer field or already having left for the day.
The metal bars, plastic slides, and colorful towers are just taller than you, but you suppose to the twins, it could all very well make for a castle.
Kieran stops next to the tallest of the towers and points up into it. It's an open tower structure with no ceiling and just simple ladders and opposing bridges that connect it to the other sections of the playground.
You give him a look. "You want me to go up there?"
Kieran nods confidently. "Me and Luke will be your knights. You're our princess in the castle!"
"And—"
You don't even need to ask.
Rapid steps scamper across the nearest field, and an excited, sharp yelp pierces the air, making both you and Kieran snap your necks back to look.
"Get in the castle!" Luke screeches across the park at you both. "The dragon is really, really mad!"
"Come on!" Kieran urges you in a shout, jumping on his toes and pointing into the open tower.
Swept up in the moment, you see the flash of silver out of the corner of your eye where it trails Luke, but you obey the other twin, stepping up onto the ladder and squirming your way onto the top of the tower that would never fit an adult any bigger than yourself. Quite disconcertingly, its height and lack of defenses means you aren't sure that it will keep the pursuing dragon at bay.
Kieran follows you into the tower, wild-eyed and yet laser-focused as he picks up two broken branches leaning in one corner.
Luke's playful yet piercing screams don't cease until he tumbles dramatically into the top of the tower, Kieran shoving a branch in his hand. You sit toward the far back side of the tower floor, huddled with your knees drawn to your chest as you watch the last figure slow his jog to a walk as he approaches.
The vermilion eyes certainly do remind you of something draconian and otherworldly with their intensity. They study the tower and the shuffling twins, and you note the way the pinched silver brows relieve just a hair when they find both boys in good health present here in the playground. However, thick, corded arms fold over the swell of a proud chest when the vermilion eyes find you tucked in behind the twins.
"You kidnapped a woman?" their caretaker questions, his voice steady in its usual low timbre but still conveying nothing but incredulous awe. "Do you two really want to get us banned from the park?"
"We didn't kidnap her!" Kieran defends, thrusting forward the broken branch he boasts like it's a fearsome, sharp blade worthy of a true knight.
"We're protecting her from the dragon!" Luke adds in tandem, similarly throwing forward his branch.
The man scoffs halfheartedly, a performative sound just like a dragon chuffing. He studies the scene with a calculating gaze for a long, tense moment.
"We should run," you whisper, but it's a dramatic whisper playing up the make-believe scenario as if you are a princess speaking with her knights. "The dragon is going to breathe fire and burn down the tower any moment!"
Luke and Kieran glance at you, fully immersed as concern etches their mirrored expressions. Then, they look to each other and nod.
"Remember the plan?" Luke whispers, much quieter as if the dragon isn't right on the other side of the tower wall.
"Yeah!" Kieran agrees. "One, two... Three! Come on! There's an exit in the back!"
It's commotion, to say the least. Luke bravely waves the branch in a dangerous proximity to the red-eyed fiend, distracting him just long enough for Kieran to point out to you the next tower over and the slide that trails from it. The playground bridge sways and creaks as you stumble across it, but you move as quickly as you can, giggling to yourself as you approach the slide. You double-check that Kieran is behind you, but his little hand is already on your back and pushing you forward to keep moving.
Without a second thought, you push yourself into the slide and slip down somewhat awkwardly, only for a set of familiar sneakers topped by the hem of suit pants to step in front of you.
You look up so far you feel like your neck might snap in half.
An eyebrow arches at you elegantly. "Going somewhere?"
Kieran screams for you, his knees knocking into your back as he slips down the slide.
"Kieran! Princess! Run!" Luke yells, tossing something from the palm of his hand as far as he can.
A rain of something indiscernible in the chaos falls over the man, and you hear the sharp caw just before the blur of black swoops in at the dragon.
"Mephisto, keep the dragon busy!" Luke orders the crow.
"Run!" Kieran shoves at your shoulders, nearly screeching in your ear.
You don't hesitate. You toss your feet off to the side and sidle away, and Kieran makes like the wind, bolting past you. You rush to follow him as he swerves in and out of different structures and benches lining the edge of the playground, but you hear it—heavy, solid footfalls and paced breaths, a sound far more intimidating than the quicker patter of smaller shoes in the grass.
So, you run like you mean it, weaving around a bench and circling back toward the swing set where you first met the man and the twins. Tension rises, and the twins reconvene in the shadow of the playground to drum up a back-up emergency plan to defend against the dragon, but it may be too late.
You stop on one end of the swing set, bracing your hands on the cool metal support beams and staring through them at the man-playing-dragon who barely seems to need to catch his breath the way you do. The swing set is the only thing that stands between you and him, and he so very casually rests his palms against the other far side.
"I don't believe we've been properly introduced to each other," he observes. "My name is Sylus."
A small silence elapses while you catch your breath.
"Do me the honor of telling me your name," he proposes, "and I'll let you go free back to your kingdom."
Your lips quirk at that, and you have to bite your tongue to hide your mirth. The slow, formal words carry a playful tone of majestic dignity; Sylus is giving in to the mischievous fantasy the twins had created.
"Really? That's all you want?" you question, doubt creeping into your tone.
"Well, if that seems too little, then..." Sylus glances over his shoulder at the two boys in the periphery now arguing over whose sword is better. "You can speak up in our defense should the authorities come questioning us with accusations of antagonizing the common folk. That should suffice."
"Alright." You giggle quietly, still trying to stifle your amusement. "That's agreeable enough."
"Your name, then?"
"My name is Y/N."
"Y/N," he repeats in his rich, silky voice, and you feel a wind push hard through the park, a gust lifting you like you're weightless. Or maybe you just imagine it. "Thank you for entertaining them both."
Now, the wind steals the air from your lungs and seals you in an oxygen-free bubble.
You just know that this man does not give out such thanks on a whim or for any reason. Maybe at times he has done so in perfunctory niceties, but you rarely have ever overheard his voice carrying a tone of such delicate emotion. For every daunting impression that he gives and the strong aura that cloaks him, you would barely ever expect such vocal and direct appreciation. It makes your head spin until you remember to breathe, clutching the swing set so tight that it aches in your knuckles.
"Ow!" Luke yelps, shattering your flustered reverie and also gathering Sylus's attention. The twin holds his arm where Kieran apparently prodded him with his sword-branch.
Luke goes to jab back at his brother, and before he can, a strong, veiny hand is gripping the branch firmly.
"Let's not hurt each other," Sylus warns where he half-kneels now between the twins.
"Kieran started it!" Luke accuses.
"No, you started it!" Kieran fires back. "You said you gave me the bad sword on purpose!"
"You stabbed me first!"
"But, you started it!"
The twins don't hear the tired sigh that falls from the silver-haired man, but you do. A warm smile lifts your lips, and you study the sight of the bickering children and the tall man who looms patiently. As expected, the latter defuses the argument, and the two boys forget about the sword-branches and the castle in what feels like no time at all.
You wave in a small motion to Luke and Kieran when Sylus whisks a wide palm in a gesture for them to run off to the bench where their backpacks sit, waiting to be collected.
The twins both wave back at you emphatically, and you giggle.
Vermilion eyes peek at you in a quick glance, and you swear you catch the faintest hint of a smile touching the corner of Sylus's lips.
A handful of uneventful days pass.
Then, one day just after you step out of work for the late afternoon, you receive a text that makes your blood run cold.
Can we talk?
Your ex. As if there would be a world in which you would even think about giving him the time of day. It shakes you, rekindling the fire of frustration and heartbreak in your chest.
Your feet move of their own accord, drawing a path to the park. You step onto the pathways drawing a maze with no real aim of where to go, your head spinning as everything you'd worked so hard on moving past just comes back to bite at your heart and refuse to let go.
Talk? Talk. What is there to talk about? You two talked plenty throughout the relationship. A conversation would have done a world of good before everything fell apart, not after the fact. Freaking idiot. And you fell for him.
You nearly walk straight into an oncoming biker and narrowly dodge them, whirling dizzily in place. That shocks you enough to break you out of your aimless wandering and your pathetic, moping trance. You glance about this part of the park, taking in your surroundings: gardens and flowerbeds home to bumblebees and butterflies. You're a little ways from the usual tree cluster you normally settle at, so you take your time weaving a path back until you're under your now signature tree.
You drop down your bag with no care whatsoever and heave a sigh that goes on for what feels like forever.
Your phone pings, and you tell yourself not to pick it up. Not to look. It's probably him. The freaking idiot.
So, naturally, you look at the text.
To your more immediate relief, it's not him. To your following chagrin, it's one of your friends.
Girl, we're worried about you. Are you sure you don't want to go out this weekend? Girl's night, club, dinner, movie?? Something???
Yeah, right. Like any one of those things won't rip open the wound even deeper when you inevitably end up third- or fifth-wheeling or when girl's night turns into hey, that guy's cute, why not talk to him?
It's not like you've completely isolated yourself. At the very least, you've been going out after work. To the park.
You text back: Sorry, I can't. I've got this thing at the park this weekend.
Technically the truth.
You toss your phone aside and ignore the pings you get in return. No doubt they're texts in some variation of what thing at the park?
You set your chin in your hand and rest your elbow on your knees, watching the world go by and blinking back the gentlest prick of tears in your eyes.
"Y/N!"
You pick up your chin, surprised by the call of your name.
Between the trunks of trees in your favorite cluster, two boys surge forth straight to you. They're grinning almost wickedly, but your first instinct is to look around to see if they made another clever getaway or if—
There. Sylus is unmistakable even from the distance he maintains, thumbs hooked into his pockets and his expression neutral. He wears a fresh suit in his typical fashion: dressed down and less crisp than you assume it was when he put it on this morning, complete with the park-safe sneakers. Relief floods your chest, and you turn your attention to the boys who plant themselves in front of you with intention.
"Where have you been?" Luke demands.
"Yeah, where did you go?!" Kieran exclaims. "We haven't seen you in, like, forever!"
You feel a bit cornered, surprised at how affronted the twins sound. "I... Well... I have to go to work during the week and do chores sometimes after."
"That sucks," Kieran replies in unrestrained distaste. "Chores suck!"
"Shut up! If Sy hears you say that, you'll get us in trouble!" Luke elbows his brother swiftly, making Kieran grunt.
"If Sy hears you say shut up, you'll get us in trouble!" Kieran retaliates, bristling.
"Hey," you beckon, interrupting hopefully before they fully commit to their squabble, "hey, so... Why were you two looking for me?"
"Oh, right!" Luke chirps.
Your intrigue spikes when the two boys drop their irritation and immediately share sly looks.
"We have something for you!" Kieran informs you before he presents an object he had been holding: a small box, just bigger than your own palm.
You reach for the box, and when your fingers touch it, Luke leans in with his hands covering his mouth as he whispers, "We want to make a deal with you."
Your own eyes slightly narrow. You take the box carefully, fully prepared to find something unexpected like a frog jumping in your face when you open it. You take a deep breath of courage, but you glance again to find Sylus still standing stalwart and patient in the distance. Surely he saw the box. Surely he wouldn't let them mess with you too much, if at all.
You open the box with all the delicacy you can muster, flinching as you flip the lid open, but nothing jumps out at you. It's a box full of odds and ends—animal-shaped erasers, glitter pens, opulent marbles, a stick of gum, three coins, a trading card, and... Oh.
"Where did you get this?" You reach into the box as you speak, but Kieran pushes your wrist down before you can lift the last object out of the box.
"Shh! Don't let Sy see."
"Don't tell me—"
"We want bikes!" Luke interrupts before you can accuse them of their crime. "Sy says we can't get bikes yet! But, you could buy us bikes and hide them for us in the bushes in the park!"
"This is everything we have to pay for them! It should be enough, right?" Kieran asks with nothing but hope glimmering in his eyes.
Your fingers curl around the ornate watch, the links as smooth as calm water and the shimmering clock face too flawless to be anything but real silver and chrome.
You don't know whether to be astounded by the value of the watch or by the crafty scheme the twins came up with. Or the fact that they think you're bold enough to walk away with it and sell it.
"Why did Sy say you can't get bikes?" you ask quietly, now just as paranoid as them that the mentioned man will somehow overhear you even from this distance.
"He says we're not old enough and big enough yet."
"And that we'll fall and break our arms if we're not patient and listen to him."
"Well..." Who are you to argue? You're just some woman they met at the park.
"Please, please, please!" Luke pleads, hopping on his toes.
"Yeah! We want bikes! One day, we're going to ride motorcycles just like Sy!"
"Yeah! If we don't learn, we'll never be as cool as him!"
The two pouting faces and inspired, glimmering pairs of eyes locked on you make you wage a tough war internally. Briefly, you acknowledge the thought of Sylus on a motorcycle, but you file that thought away for another moment when you're not caught in the trickiest scheme children have ever come up with.
"I think Sylus is going to know if we hide bikes here at the park," you reason with the twins, hating the way their faces immediately fall. "But," you continue, and they perk up, "maybe... I can try convincing him that you're ready for bikes."
Their eyes go wide, awe-stricken like you just descended from the heavens.
"Really?" Luke gasps.
"No way!" Kieran yelps.
You take one more look at the man now casually leaning against a tree, his expression still steady and unassuming.
"No promises, alright?" you whisper quietly to them, giving them a pointed look that hopefully keeps their expectations low. Who are you kidding? If you don't do this, the next time they bring you a box, it's going to be full of frogs and spiders.
You fold the box closed and pick up your bag, standing up while the gears turn in your head. The twins giggle mischievously behind their hands, skipping along and starting their own game of tag. They remain well in view as you approach the tall, silver-haired man at the edge of the tree cluster.
"Hi," you greet so very impressively.
"Good to see you again," Sylus replies much more eloquently, shifting his weight from off the tree to stand up squarely. "I hope the twins didn't bother you too much."
"Not at all," you reassure. The weight of his gaze feels different today, his eye contact more piercing than normal. You have to admit: Luke and Kieran are some seriously skilled, brave children to lie and scheme bold-faced right in front of him. "They brought me some gifts, which was really kind of them."
Sylus glances at the closed box only briefly. "It's some measure of compensation for the kindness and patience you've shown them."
Okay, so he definitely doesn't know they stole that watch. You clear your throat awkwardly, wondering how you're going to pull this off but feeling the pressure nonetheless.
It would really help if Sylus wasn't as tall as the trees and built like a fortress wall with a razor-sharp jawline and some of the most intense eyes you've ever had to look into.
"Well, I think this belongs to you, actually." You reach into the box and produce the glimmering watch that revels in the afternoon sunlight.
Sylus's expression doesn't shift like you expect it to. He remains calm, studying the watch that you hold up in your fingers.
It's when he reaches for the watch and you move faster, tucking it in your palm and taking a half step back that his eyes cut to you and his eyebrow twitches just slightly.
"I'll return it," you inform him, "on one condition."
It takes a breath, but Sylus's demeanor eases, and the soft, charming laughter that spills out of him makes a shiver snake across your skin.
"Are you blackmailing me?" he queries. The words are slow, infuriatingly patient, and tinged with the slightest tone of teasing.
"Maybe," you reply, still holding defensive in the event that he decidedly confiscates the watch from you. You'll never win against the unquestionable might of his strength.
"Fine, then," Sylus replies, voice gentle and the words more a concession than a retort. His arms cross, eye contact breaking only long enough to ensure the twins are still in the vicinity as they chase each other in loops around the numerous tree trunks. "The condition?"
You clear your throat again, lifting your chin in hopes that it will spark a little confidence. "You have to agree to buy Luke and Kieran bikes."
"Oh." That one syllable drags out long on his tongue, deep, silky, and still a little amused. Everything visibly clicks into place in his expression, a light shimmering vivid ruby in his irises and that incredibly subtle touch of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "They put you up to this."
"Maybe," you repeat yourself, blinking sheepishly and feeling just a little weak in the knees. As it turns out, talking to Sylus for more than a handful of minutes really isn't for the faint of heart.
"Keep the watch," he decides, making you blanch.
"What?" you blurt by reflex, taking half a step forward in shock. "But—wait. They're going to be super mad at me if I don't convince you to do this! Besides, they're ready for bikes, don't you think?"
Sylus takes a slow breath, expression once again sobering. "It's not that I don't want them to ever have bikes. I just would rather that they were old enough to be a little more patient to listen to instruction. There's two of them, and one of me. By the time I get either one of them going on the first bike, the other will have already fallen and scraped his knee, if not worse."
The thoughtful explanation makes a lot of sense and helps you put things into perspective. You glance as Luke trips over a tree branch, only minimally slowed as he stumbles in the grass after his brother. Their loud yelps at each other carry across the park, filled with life and exhilaration.
"Sorry," you murmur, feeling now a little remorse for trying to scheme the silver-haired man. "I didn't think about it like that. They told me... They told me that you adopted them, but I guess I didn't stop to think about how you took all that on by yourself."
"There's no need to be sorry," Sylus corrects you, voice low and kind.
"So... Why did you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Why did you take on the responsibility of raising them all by yourself?" And how do you manage that so gracefully?
You can tell that you've hit some sort of more sensitive vein and might have overstepped. Maybe the question came out too judgmental, even if that's not how you meant it. You wouldn't have ever expected Sylus to show such flashes of vulnerability, but something flickers in his gaze like the haunted past of a wounded animal showing through in a moment of distress.
"I knew I could give them a better life," he murmurs, serious and intense. "A carefree childhood, instead of fighting to survive and wondering if they'll ever be truly cared for."
He speaks empathetically. You can feel it down to the lowest, scraping baritone of his voice and see it in the way his lips shape each word with slight strain. It says everything you need to know.
He could give them the life he must have never had when he was a child himself.
Your heart swells, and despite the tense atmosphere, you let a smile lift your lips.
You hold out the watch in an open, yielding palm. "Well, I don't know if anyone has told you lately, but... You're doing an amazing job."
He remains guarded. He absorbs the compliment in a moment of quiet stillness before turning his gaze to check again on the twins who have settled in the tall grass while they break off long strands to weave into different cords and creations. Then, his eyes move to the watch, and he studies it thoughtfully.
His fingers pick up the sleek links delicately, his skin brushing yours with all the friction of a butterfly's legs tickling your hand.
"Thank you," Sylus whispers.
You heft your bag properly onto your shoulder, taking a respectful, disengaging step back.
He gives you one last look as you prepare to head off for the evening.
"Uh... See you around, I guess?"
This time, the smirk is undeniable when it creeps up on his face. "Hopefully next time, it'll be on non-blackmail terms."
The entire walk home, your face blazes like the surface of the sun, the teasing remark playing on an endless loop in your head.
Halfway through the work week, you find a sufficient source of entertainment at the park.
Like the nosy coworker who happens to always overhear anything and everything, you plant yourself in the periphery of wherever the gigantic, red-eyed man happens to be when the park populace descends upon him like a swarm of hummingbirds to fresh floral blooms. You hide your face behind a book or a magazine, and you just so happen to listen to all the insufferable things that other people say in an effort to catch his eye or impress him.
Everyone else thinks he just knows he's too attractive and successful to settle for being with some normal person.
You know now that his cool demeanor and clipped conversations have nothing to do with such arrogance at all. Sylus is a man of carefully-guarded vulnerabilities and extremely well-hidden scars. The success is a means of comfort and security, not vanity.
Yet, everyone at the park takes their chance to chat him up. Despite his quiet stoicism, not a single person seems to need an introduction. Off the bat, they know his name like he's some celebrity.
"Sylus! How was your day at work? You have to be one of the hardest-working men in this city. You're in the office all day and then taking care of the boys all night!"
You snort behind your book at the saccharine-sweet flattery that couldn't be more desperate.
"It was fine." His tone is flat, the response a mere courtesy if nothing else. It's a stark comparison to the way you've heard his voice pick up inflection in every conversation you've held with him yourself.
This happens so often that it's practically clockwork.
"Sylus, your dress shirt has some grass stains. Do you want me to run it to the dry-cleaners? I'm already going tomorrow, anyway. It's not a bother!"
Your eyes roll so far back in your head that it hurts.
"No. That's alright." Polite enough, and yet, an absolute, undeniable end to that conversation.
But, it never stops.
"So, Sylus... Do you have any weekend plans?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary."
"You know, there's this really great weekend camp for the kids I've been meaning to tell you about. I'm sure Luke and Kieran would love it, and it would give you some time to think about yourself! You know, like going out... Maybe on a date?"
You gag to yourself behind the glossy pages of a magazine. How in the world does Sylus stand this every single day?
"I'm waiting for the right person and the right time for that." Sylus speaks with scathing honesty. He's not rude, just blunt. And, it doesn't seem to keep spirits down for too long before another person is trying their luck when they get the chance.
You have to admit that there is reason to admire him. Some days, he strolls in the harsher sunlight with sunglasses that make him look even more formidable than normal, and on others, he sheds the suit jacket and rolls his sleeves halfway up forearms so solid that his veins curve visibly beneath his skin. Everything he wears is immaculate, snug to the stature of his body, which suggests that every piece is custom-tailored. His hair is like a bed of downy angel feathers, and his deep-set eyes are like pools of alluring wine.
Those very eyes catch you red-handed over the edge of your book one day, and you panic, clumsily raising the book to hide yourself.
Distantly, you hear the faintest chuckle.
So, you do only what's natural and bow your head, tuck away your book, and scamper away like a raccoon caught stealing from the trashcan.
It's a swift end to your entertainment because the mortification doesn't even allow you the thought of attempting to eavesdrop again after that. You return to your solemn little spot in the trees, only ever catching quick glances of silver hair in the distance when you genuinely pass by to head to or from the tree cluster.
And yet, you make a nasty habit of wondering when or if the twins will search you out or if Sylus will happen across your path. Running footsteps always make you look, especially when they're quicker and rapid, but they're always the footsteps of a stranger jogging along the path.
You're staring off into the distance one afternoon when your eyes register something else all together, a million warnings flashing in the back of your mind. You focus your attention, watching intently as the figure steps off the sidewalk and onto the closest path that heads this way. The person's head swivels pensively as if he's searching for someone.
You move so quickly with your shoes digging into the grass that you turn up the soil beneath the greenery, sidling behind the tree trunk.
It's the freaking idiot. Your ex. How does he know you've been hanging out here?
It doesn't click until you remember what you told your friends by text. You have that thing at the park. Some friends they are to snitch on your location. To your ex, of all people. No doubt he spun some story of pleading forgiveness. No doubt they bought into it. No doubt he wants to talk.
No doubt he's walking this way, a curious expression on his face like he saw you, or at least caught a glimpse.
No. No, no, no. You flatten yourself even more against the tree, heart rate skyrocketing and panic ensuing. Where can you go that he won't see you now? You're cornered.
The panic makes your brain work overtime and act on instinct. You look up, examining the state of the tree you're sandwiched against.
Maybe by pure adrenaline and intense focus do you find a foothold in a crevasse in the bark and catch the lowest limb strong enough to hold your weight as you hoist yourself onto it. Then, you're ascending the next few branches not without some spare, loose leaves fluttering from the tree.
By the time you see the top of his head and the part of his hair from above, you're snug at the base of a branch a good ways up the trunk of the tree. You hold your breath, watching as he pauses and looks around. He checks his phone, muttering something indiscernible, before he does one careful loop around the tree.
Finally, he walks off.
When he's acceptably out of earshot, you gasp for breath and feel the relief flood through your tense body. You watch his figure dwindle into the distance, your eyes narrowed until the scenery swallows him.
Could you have simply told him to get lost? Sure. But, did you expect that to end well? Hardly.
A breeze makes the leaves around you shiver and rustle, and you glance down from your perch on the branch.
Shit. How did you even get up this high?
The ground seems to have doubled in distance during your moment in the tree. Just the motion of shifting your weight and lowering one foot to the next branch down makes the tree groan and the branches crackle as if they don't quite appreciate all your movement. Your foot retracts, fingers clutching the trunk so hard that the bark is threatening to scrape up your fingertips.
As if on cue, too perfectly timed to be coincidental, the close flutter of wings makes you look out along the length of the branch at the bird who perches there and flicks it head at you to study you with one eye at a time.
"Mephisto." You gasp.
He caws at you, obsidian wings flapping in agitation.
"Yes, I know I shouldn't be up here!" you snap at the bird. "Go get the boys. Luke and Kieran. Bring Luke and Kieran, okay? Tell them I need help!"
Mephisto snaps his beak at you once as if to chide you for being foolish before he's gone on the breeze. You can only hope that he understood you even slightly because there aren't many ways you're getting out of the tree without injuring yourself.
You shuffle awkwardly, testing the branch below and questioning if it's the same one you used to climb up. It has to be, right? It all happened so fast that you're not even sure. All you know is that up was your only direction of escape, and you took it without a second thought.
The branch you test creaks ominously again. You return to clutching the trunk of the tree, counting the seconds as they pass by and wondering if you're screwed.
On the count of twenty, you hear little footsteps brushing through the grass.
Mephisto is a blur of gleaming feathers as Luke chases him to the roots gnarled at the lowest part of the tree trunk.
"Luke!" you cry from above.
The child flops his head back, eyes wide as he recognizes your voice. "Y/N?!"
"Yes, it's me!" you announce from the midsection of the tree. "Luke," you gasp, swallowing the dryness in your throat, "go get Sylus. Tell him I need help."
"How did you get up there?" Luke wonders in awe.
"Just go get Sylus. Please."
"Okay!" Luke nods at you, taking back off in the direction he came.
Further relief brings down your panic, but the distance from the branch to the ground is still a long ways. You're going to have to climb down at least a whole branch if you don't intend on having them call the park authorities to bring over a ladder, and if that happened, you would never be able to show your face at the park again. You would be destined to be a hermit, living at home without ever seeing the outside world.
Maybe the panic is getting to you more than you're willing to admit.
Your eyes are shut when you hear someone move under the looming branches. You slit your eyes open, peering down carefully.
Even the towering red-eyed man himself is a good distance away. Did you manage to pick the tallest tree in the park?
"We're going to talk about how this happened after we get you down," Sylus remarks, an incredulous huff punctuating his words.
"I'm stuck," you inform him, voice wobbling. "Y-You're going to have to call someone. I can't go down from here."
"Hey," he murmurs from below, voice gentle and soft eyes peering up through the foliage. "You're alright. I won't let you get hurt."
You take a deep breath, holding his gaze.
"Do you think you can climb down to the next branch?" Sylus questions cautiously. "If you can, I can reach you from there."
You shake your head adamantly. "It's going to give way if I step on it."
"If it breaks, I'll catch you." Sylus lifts an eyebrow at you and tilts his head pointedly. "I promise."
"You better catch her!" Luke insists from where he and Kieran watch anxiously at a distance.
You bite your lip, glancing at the ground and feeling your head spin. You close your eyes again, trying to orient yourself.
"One foot at a time," Sylus proposes, ever so patient. "And, I'm right here if anything happens."
"If you let me fall, I'll never forgive you," you find yourself muttering out of sheer stress.
Sylus's resulting chuckle is brief. "I know."
You try it one more time, easing your foot onto the branch below. Sylus can just reach that point, his hand cradling the side of your ankle supportively. You shift your body, settling your other foot onto the lower branch without fully committing all your weight just yet. It's an awkward dance at best and a dizzying experience of looking at the branches and the ground and the top of Sylus's head and shoulders.
"You're almost there," he encourages.
You commit your weight to the lower branch, but it creaks and jolts in such a jarring sensation that you panic. Your head whips around as you lose your balance, your feet slipping forward and your body following. The shriek that escapes you can't be helped, and you're in free fall for a mere second before you collide into something wide and solid. Your arms grasp for stability, nails scraping into fabric as your breath stutters hard in your chest.
"Easy," a low voice purrs. "I've got you."
That he does. A strong, muscled arm grips under your thighs, and the other wraps over the plane of your back and shoulders, your feet dangling what must be a handful of inches from the grass. Very slowly, his shoulders lower, your feet stabilizing on solid ground again. It takes a moment for you to register that you're still clinging to him with hands and nails embedded in his dress shirt, but Sylus waits kindly for you to let go. Your fingers release at the same time as a huge breath escapes you, your hands drawing over his shoulders and down his arms mindlessly. Sylus returns to his normal posture, but he stays close in front of you.
A weight crashes into the side of your leg, and you glance down as Luke hugs you from one side. Kieran does the same from the other.
"I knew Sy could catch you! He's super duper strong!" Luke chirrups.
"Thank you," you whisper, breathless.
Sylus hums quietly. "Now, what scared you so much to make you run up into a tree, kitten?"
Immediately, your expression cascades from relief to a scowl to forced nonchalance. "It's... It's nothing."
"Nothing, huh?" Sylus repeats, concern written in firm lines across his face from the draw of his eyebrows to the thinning of his lips. "If you don't want to talk about it, I won't press the issue. But, you can't go making a habit out of climbing trees. What will you do if I'm not around to come get you down?"
"It won't happen again." You nod, reassuring both him and yourself.
"You look spooked, kitten."
Your eyes finally connect with his, and you almost let it all slip when you look up into his concerned gaze. But, you catch yourself right on the edge, sealing your lips before you can make this into a bigger mess than it needs to be. Sylus has more than enough on his plate as it is.
A wide palm graces the top of your head and rustles your hair playfully. The edge of Sylus's thumb whispers all the way around the edge of your forehead and down your temple as his hand returns back to his side.
"It's time for you to go home and rest," Sylus announces. "Luke. Kieran. Let's get ready to pack up the car."
"What? No, Sy! I don't want to leave yet!" Luke whines, pulling at your legs.
"Yeah, we just found Y/N! We never play with her anymore!" Kieran adds in the same sharp whimper.
"You'll be able to spend time with her another day," Sylus negotiates. "Y/N needs to go home and eat dinner and rest, and so do we. You two also have homework to finish."
"Sylus is right," you agree reluctantly, patting each child on the head just once. "You guys did amazing today. You went and got Sy right away, and if you hadn't, I would be in really, really big trouble. But, I'm okay thanks to you. I'm just... Really tired. I really do need to go home."
The twins groan in tandem, unsticking themselves from you. "Okay! But, no more homework, Sy!"
The tall man chuffs at the audacious retort. "Then, no more video games, either."
Kieran huffs in offense, shoe scraping the ground petulantly.
"Ugh, fine!" Luke acquiesces for the both of him and Kieran. "You have to promise to play with us another time, Y/N!"
"Sure," you agree, still a bit restless from the nerve-wracking experience in the tree. It's like Sylus saw right through you and knew that the best thing for you was to go home and clear your mind somewhere where you could feel safe.
You share one last look with him, and Sylus still hasn't lost the touches of concern lining his face. He barely masks it, offering you another parting smirk today.
"I mean what I said about staying out of the trees if I'm not around. Alright?"
"Yeah, I know." You bite your lip as Sylus studies you closely, his eyes subtly whisking over you one last time as if to make doubly sure that you're not hurt. "Thank you again."
"No need to thank me."
You could die at the smooth response filled to the brim with confidence, each word spoken carefully in his silky voice.
"See you around, kitten."
He should have known that there was something wrong. The instinct screaming in the back of his mind had told him as much, but who was he to ask such invasive questions and interrogate you?
Phone pressed to his ear, he only half-listens to the after-hours call, a deal that couldn't wait no matter how much the entire corporation knew that disgracing his four o'clock cut off would result in consequences. He hums intermittently just to prove that he's paying some sort of attention, but every deal is balanced in his favor. The negotiators need it more than he does, every single time.
The world passes him by in shades of muted green through the gray-shaded lenses protecting his eyes from the bright afternoon sun. He watches vigil over the two small figures who chase each other from the playground to the adjacent field, darting this way and that as they go around in circles.
At the very least, the phone call wards off the other parents and sitters as they eye him and converse with each other.
"Sy!"
His resulting gasp is sharp, an inhale that hitches hard in the back of his throat. He doesn't even think twice.
"We'll finish this later," he orders in a growl without room for protest and ends the call regardless of whatever may happen.
Vermilion eyes scrape across the expanse of the field where Luke and Kieran had been playing. He had been watching the entire time, but the scream of his name had been blood-curdling and out of the blue. The twins had stopped in their tracks and began bolting to him, giving him reason to meet them halfway with a panic clawing up his throat as he joins them.
"What's wrong?" he queries, kneeling into the grass in front of the two panting children. He could care less about the grass stains on the fine designer fabric of his suit—his eyes search intently for wounds or bruises, his fingers turning over the boys arms just to check that they're sound. Everything is accounted for, no skin broken or discolored and nothing else out of the ordinary.
"It's Y/N!" Kieran reveals, lashing a tight hand around his wrist with one hand and pointing in the distance with the other.
"There's a man yelling at her and making her cry!" Luke explains, the worry on his face a youthful mirror of the expression that dawns on the adult man.
"Where?" Sylus questions, voice gruff as his stomach clenches uncomfortably. The voice in the back of his head barks at him; he should have known. You hadn't just seen your own shadow and been compelled to hide in a tree from something so simple. There had been a reason.
"This way!" Kieran points vaguely, tugging at his wrist.
"Come on, Sy!" Luke races ahead by ten steps, leading him and Kieran.
He follows the twins with ease, the two boys making a beeline across the entire length of the field to the other side where the trees line the sidewalk, alternating with benches. Sunglasses pocketed, he bears the glaring afternoon sun that glints on the surrounding cityscape and washes dusty golden light through the park.
"They were right here!" Kieran insists, releasing his wrist to rush in a tight circle, glancing around.
"Yeah! Where did they go?!" Luke questions, and in any other circumstance, Sylus would warn them that if this is some sort of prank or trick, it's not appropriate nor funny. But, he can hear the genuine distress of the twins' voices, and they would have never screamed for him like the way they had if it wasn't serious.
"Don't wander," he instructs them. "Let's stick together and look around." Even he himself is impressed by how collected he sounds despite the lump forming in the base of his throat like his Adam's apple has doubled in size.
The twins are content to help him investigate, moving around him like a school of agitated fish as he scopes out the section of the park they've brought him to. It's more open here, with less places for you to nestle in the waiting arms of tree roots whenever you settle down like a cat curling up for a nap, which is typically where he sees you in the park. The trees that line the edge of the sidewalk in between benches are flimsy and thin-trunked, more for aesthetics than anything else; he hardly expects to find you in or around one.
He hears you this time before he sees you.
It's when the rush-hour traffic pauses at the designated red lights and the city seems to quiet just for the briefest lull. It's as if the city gives him that specific moment to find you because as soon as he picks up on the heart-wrenching sob, the traffic lights turn green and the world around him returns into incessant motion and noise.
Luke and Kieran follow his gaze and zero in on you just the same, but he clears his throat before they can rush straight up to you, garnering their attention.
"Let me talk to her," he murmurs, careful not to chide but to inform them that he'll take the lead this time even though he knows their intentions are good. "But, don't go running off anywhere. Stay close."
Luke nods in understanding, and he and Kieran fall into a respectful pace half a step behind the tall man as he approaches the distant bench where you sit.
Sylus moves to you with patience in his stride, watching the way your shoulders pick up and your glassy eyes glance at him. Your arm is braced around your stomach as you choke back another devastated sob, and for a moment, you give him that look through the tears and anguish all too reminiscent of a cat ready to bolt away.
He pauses in the grass a handful of steps away, chin lowered and hands tucking into his pockets.
You don't run. You just turn your gaze in the other direction and stifle your crying the best you can. The backs of your hands slick away the tears, but it's a useless motion as a fresh wave falls.
The long shadow falls over you first followed by the soft rustle of the tall man sitting down beside you on the bench.
"Hey."
Embarrassment doesn't begin to describe the way you feel right now. You still pulse with anger and frustration from what had happened before you found this bench to sulk on. Worst of all, the ache in your chest is revived anew, a fresh gash ripped in your heart over one that already refused to heal at anything more than a snail's pace.
"Are you hurt?" Sylus asks.
"Physically? No." You manage those two words well enough that they're at least intelligible somewhere through the quake of your shoulders and the rawness of your throat. You can't dial back the bitterness in your tone, however, even if you don't mean to direct it at him.
He shifts, and something moves into your view as an offering: a handkerchief.
You study it for a moment before you decide that it's too late to say you're fine and that you don't need it. You take it gingerly, the fabric silky to the touch. Your fingers fiddle with it, folding it up and passing it over your cheeks as you attempt to clear your throat.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Sylus offers next.
"What can I say?" you reply, voice gravelly and weak. "I was stupid, and I thought he and I were in love, but..." You shake your head, new tears blooming hot on your eyelids. "Somewhere along the line, I guess I missed the memo that it was never that serious."
Maybe you seethe the words harder than you intend to because Sylus remains quiet in response. Maybe you're just a pressure cooker of irritation he doesn't want to provoke. Because why else would he be so calm and collected while paying such attention to you? He has far better matters to be tending to than whatever meltdown you're having over your breakup.
After a stretch of your sniffling and muffled coughing, Sylus speaks up again. "I'll give you some space," he decides, standing up. "If you need to cry, it's best just to let it out."
You can't help the way your eyes finally pick up from the ground and glance at his back as he makes good on his word and approaches the twins where they sit in the grass and anxiously pull up the greenery. That last comment was hardly an order or a dismissal. It was pure acknowledgement edged with compassion.
So, when he's gone in the distance no doubt to wrangle the twins with their backpacks and herd them home, you let the tears flow.
You let every piece of you struggling to stay together fall apart as your heart begs for relief. You let the memories wash over you and remind you why it all hurts so bad to be made the fool for falling in the first place. You let the tidal wave coalesce without beating it back with everything you have at your disposal until the handkerchief is completely damp without a remaining corner to soak up the the last of your tears. Your chest burns from the sobs and the heartbreak, and you spend a long time sitting forward with your arms wrapped around your stomach.
Faintly, you recognize the way the afternoon light has shifted. It's all tinged hazy amber edged with smoky shadows. A more relaxed pace has fallen on the city, rush hour traffic calmed to the usual coming and going of vehicles passing by and the park returning to a preserved area of pure nature.
You realize you're breathing more clearly again. The air is crisp, refreshing when you draw it into your antagonized lungs.
A familiar shadow falls over you just before something new appears in front of you in an offer.
A little white paper dish filled with ice cream, a plastic spoon nestled into the scoops. You blink at it for a moment before your gaze traces the large hand holding it out up the arm to the silver-haired man silhouetted by the sunset. You glance past him at two very content children who already have their own dishes of ice cream and have proceeded to eat it messily with no care for anything besides devouring their rare treat.
You didn't think Sylus was coming back. You definitely didn't think he was coming back with ice cream.
Nonetheless, you take the little dish with graciousness, and once it settles in your grasp, Sylus sits down beside you again on the bench.
"Thank you," you whisper. Thanks just isn't enough at this point, but it's all you can offer in your current state.
Sylus hums, the hushed sound rumbling in his chest. "Feel better?"
You brave a glance at his gaze, and his eyes meet yours although he remains respectably stoic in the direct sight of your flushed, tear-struck face.
"A little," you concede. "But, I think I'm done with love. I never want to have to experience a breakup again."
You take your first bite of the ice cream, savoring it as it melts on your tongue.
"Don't take this the wrong way," Sylus murmurs, "but isn't it better to know that whoever it was, he wasn't the right one?"
You sigh heavily through your nose, nodding just once. "Yeah... I guess you're right. I just need to find the right person at the right time."
It doesn't dawn on you that you just let something slip until Sylus huffs.
"So, you were eavesdropping," he deduces, voice picking up an edge of amusement.
You make the mistake of glancing at him as you slightly panic, and the smirk curled on his lips is devilish.
"Okay," you admit in a rushed retort, "but have you really stopped to listen to how ridiculous everyone sounds when they talk to you?" You stab forward with your plastic spoon just for emphasis.
"Haven't I?" he taunts.
"Sylus, your dress shirt has some grass stains. Do you want me to run it to the dry-cleaners?" you mock, batting your eyelashes at him and playing up your tone of voice in an over-dramatic air. Then, you drop the act and roll your eyes. "It's actually ridiculous!"
Sylus laughs quietly at your little display, the charming, entrancing sound making you relax a little more.
"But... That last person... She might have had a point." You swallow another bite of ice cream and point at him again with your spoon. "If you don't even take some time for yourself, when will you ever meet someone?"
"Oh? You get to swear off love, but I have to go on more dates? I think there might be a bit of a double-standard here, kitten."
If you didn't know Sylus the way you do now, the response would come across a lot colder and pointed than it is. Everything about him is subtle and guarded, like a diamond that needs just the slightest adjustment to see it refract a million colors. You have to listen for the smallest inflections in his words, but now, you recognize them immediately and know for a fact he's teasing you just as much as he's making a point.
"Well, you have to meet someone, and soon. Because who else is going to help you teach the twins how to ride bikes?" you quip, punctuating your words with another bite of ice cream.
"Mhm, I see what this is about now." Sylus folds his arms loosely. "You're more concerned about the twins and their theoretical bikes than you are about me finding love," he accuses, playfully offended as his eyes turn into slits of vermilion.
"I made a deal with them." You shrug at him as if it can't be helped. You glance at Luke and Kieran who have sat down in the grass a measured distance in the periphery, ice cream smeared on their faces and their dishes two more chaotic sights than your own. The gears in your head turn, and the shattered fragments of your heart pledge themselves to an endeavor actually worth your time and energy. "And, I'll make a deal with you."
"Is that so?" Sylus challenges, a tougher ally to convince into such negotiations than the twins.
"Yes," you reply as smoothly as you can, settling your cup of ice cream low and turning your full attention to the man sitting next to you. Even reclined in the park bench, he's remarkably huge, long legs stretching far across the ground. "I'll go on a blind date if you do. I won't swear off love forever."
Sylus studies you more intently, silent and brooding, very much the terrifying man you expect he is during the day in the face of his colleagues. He's so perfectly still, not a single twitch or movement betraying even the slightest thought that could be swimming in his mind. If you hadn't met him here in the park and glimpsed the sides of him that so rarely show through, you wouldn't even begin to think about bearing the weight of this gaze and coming out the other side the same person. The firmness of his pursed lips and the piercing fire of his eyes are enough to make a chill run down your spine, but you hold your own respectably enough.
You feel like a balloon inflated to the tense edge of threatening rupture when he finally breaks the silence.
"I doubt you feel ready to go on a date with someone new so soon," Sylus surmises.
You shake your head. "I won't approach it like that. I wouldn't..." You stumble slightly over the words as the bitterness creeps back up like bile in the back of your throat. "I wouldn't use someone like that, especially after... And, if you're worried that I need some time, then you go on your date first."
Sylus makes a noise too thick and gravelly to be a hum although there's nothing malicious about it. "I can't," he remarks quite definitively. "The twins have already traumatized and harassed half of the available sitters who are even worth looking into hiring. On a good night, I get maybe an hour before the sitter calls me in tears begging me to come home."
"Then, I'll watch them." You believe him; you really do. But, you're confident that you can handle whatever the twins have to throw at you. It will be something fun to do while you take time to focus on yourself before plunging back into the dating pool.
The tall man next to you makes a half-exhale, barely masking surprise at your easy solution to the matter. "You don't have to."
You barely bite back the smile that tries to creep up on your face. You can tell that Sylus absolutely despises the thought of dumping the responsibility of the twins on you as if taking advantage of your kindness. "Don't worry, Sylus. I don't think you talk to me just to get me to watch your kids."
"Good," he replies swiftly. "Because that's not how it is at all."
"Then, it's settled. I'll watch the twins when you go on your date." You sit forward and finally let the smile cross your face. "So, you have to go find yourself a blind date."
"Are you ordering me around?" Sylus queries in a daring voice.
You lift the little dish of ice cream, grinning. "Must be the sugar rush."
Sylus scoffs in a weak attempt to hide his laughter. "I'll think twice next time about the ice cream, then."
"Look... I really do appreciate it. And... I really do want this to work out for you and the twins. It's not that I don't think you can handle it yourself, but you shouldn't feel like you have to. So, let me know when you'll go out with your lucky lady," you knock your shoe against his playfully, the motion like a pebble bouncing off a boulder, "and I'll make sure my calendar is clear."
You feel his eyes glued to you as you rock forward and stand up from the bench. You glance at the twins who are arguing now over something trivial like who got more ice cream in their dish, and then, you glance back at the vermilion-eyed man who doesn't look like he quite knows what to do now that you've won the negotiations with him. If you had to hazard a guess, you would say that this doesn't happen to him all too often.
"Where are you going?" he asks, and you can't tell quite exactly what it is that spurns the question.
"Home?" you respond innocently, a little taken aback. "It's going to be dark soon."
He seems to acknowledge the creeping shadows of early evening for the first time, glancing briefly at the long, wispy shadows of the trees. He sits up and rummages in his loose suit jacket almost clumsily for something, nothing like the borderline-arrogant man he is in the face of so many others. A pen slips between his lithe fingers, a piece of paper resting against his other palm, and suddenly, he's standing up to his imposing height and passing the scribbled-on paper to you.
"In case I don't see you in the park," Sylus explains. "Before I can let you know when I'll need you to watch the twins."
You take the piece of paper and check it. Sure enough, it's his phone number inscribed in hasty, slanted writing.
"Okay." You accept his explanation with a lingering smile. "Have a good night, Sylus."
"Night," he returns calmly.
It's the first time he looks almost a little disheveled and despondent when you take your leave down the path. But, night is creeping over the city, and both of you have homes to return to. Or, at least, that's what you tell yourself to keep from looking over your shoulder as you trudge off into the distance.
The silver-haired man disengages himself from watching your parting silhouette to gather the twins from their spot in the grass, wiping down their smeared faces until they're free of ice cream.
"Boys."
"Yeah, Sy?" Luke wonders, attentive in the wake of being treated to something as decadent as ice cream.
"The man who was making her cry. What did he look like?" Sylus asks the question burning hot in his chest.
"He was super ugly!" Kieran loudly claims.
"What about his hair and eyes? What color were they?" Sylus ascends to his full height, and the twins fall in pace with him as they begin their own journey back to the car. "What was he wearing?"
He asks the questions innocently enough. He knows you've already decided to move on. He has no intention of doing anything, so long as he knows your space and boundaries are respected. Quietly, he files away all the little details the twins blurt at random about the man they'd seen with you.
"If you see him anywhere ever again," he instructs the twins just as they reach the sleek vehicle parked at the side of the road, "come get me. Immediately."