͙͘͡★ i will soon forget the color of your eyes, and you’ll forget mine
' i will soon forget the color of your eyes, and you’ll forget mine -- '
sylus and her would find each other in every lifetime. a new loss, created a new possibility to find her.
sylusmc soulmate links -- where sylus is forced to recall every lifetime he has lost mc, and they meet every time.
lightly edited, a small suggestive/spicy scene involved, angst, fluff. i am incapable of writing anything but angst it seems.
AO3 - consider leaving a kudos & comment if you enjoyed ! ★
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 “What are you staring at, lover?”
Her deep chestnut hair – manipulated into a loosened bun. Stripped into a surrender to the scalding water in his estate. Seated with knees to her chest in the bubbling bathtub, she witnesses her lover echo a knowing curve of his lips. It was a vulnerable sight for locked estate doors, a sight Sylus was privileged with a few months beforehand.
“The sight of you being here in the flesh, in the evening.” She flushes back, laying her cheek upon her bruised knees. Sylus softly chuckles, holding eye contact in the mirror reflection with his ruby eyes. “It truly is a sight to behold, sweetheart.” A light jest – and jab at the timeline of Sylus needing to depart for necessary missions and meetings.
“Did you miss me so bad, kitten?” He teases lightly. She smiles back, oh that aching, sweet, beautiful smile. The curve of her lips — sunshine in a zone doomed to a setting of hell.
“And if I did, would that be such an awful thing?” She quips, leaning her head forward teasingly. Never, it would never be an awful thing. He would die in every lifetime to ensure she lived any amount. It was the main reason his blood continued to pump, heart continued to allow his sanity to feed commands — she was always waiting, even if she hadn’t known it.
Sylus shakes his head, still holding that infamous curve of his lips. “Not at all, my dear.” He places back his razor. “I trust the estate has been well enough for you? Anything else you require?” Despite the curve that usually carries sarcasm or a physicality to humble you – a lace of grace is the director of his question. He refused to leave her without necessities and more.
If she needed anything, sleep refused him until it was delivered. — If she was lacking warmth, Sylus would reduce the entirety of the world to ash to deliver a singular flame. If her stomach communicated hunger, he would starve to ensure she entertained a feast.
A small shake of her head, an acknowledgment that Sylus had provided everything possible — and wouldn’t hesitate to grab if neglected. “It’s been perfect.” She admits so sweetly, it rips at the limited strings holding Sylus’ beating heart. “Would be better if you were here, of course.” The addition delivers a small platter of guilt to Sylus' stomach.
Being at the estate – it only ever housed him, he moved how the wind blew for him, never answered to no man or authority, Sylus would spend the rest of his days answering anything that poured from her mouth. Anything. It was an odd play in the game of checkers he was running; always having the correct pawn, a blackmail no soul caught coming, a lack of a crime scene once his EVOL was finished.
How could he ever come undone by one soul – an outsider?
But was she ever truly an outsider? How she meshed in with the disaster zone. Where scholars write of abominations and grave warnings, this Hunter had allowed her self-interests to persevere. In the sole interest of hers, the experience of losing her family mere moments after she leaves, it violated her entire body. A permanent alteration on the being that may have existed before; shed and left to ash in the explosion. The experience of seeing once breathing, heartbeating, human beings she loved with the entirety of her bones – turned to dust and ashes. It aided greatly in her blending into N109 Zone – almost too great.
“All that much better?”
“Sylus-“ A surrender with his name. Her organs ached when he was gone, the scents that slowly disperse the longer missions would take. Only for him to walk through those doors, exhaustion haunting behind him, all that mattered was; to lay his sight on her, feel her flesh – the pulse point, aching to know she was breathing. To let his affection cherish her, ensuring no matter the path he was finding her.
“I missed you too.” A gruff surrender. She reaches a hand out, extending her fingers - water droplets tearing onto the marble floor, hardly a care in the world, it’s a silent invitation to come over.
He saunters over to the wide bathtub, laying a kneel on the marble floor and resting an elbow on the rim of the bath. The two hold a chainlink of eye contact, dripping of a silent intimacy and acknowledgment of closeness. I missed you, a simple thread of three wordings, bearing the burden of so much unsaid. She returns the smile to the sender – laying a droplet hand on the snow of his cheeks; and she could have sworn a small breath leaves him.
“Too?” She repeats in jest, a thumb lullabying his cheek.
“I have missed you before you could comprehend the idea of doing the same for me.” His truth was entrenched in the stars.
A period of silence, tenderness, the third guest in this room. Eyesight holding eyesight, a lost scout in ruby eyes and his in her lavender ones. Even if this all ended abruptly, they would be back in this bathroom again.
When the front doors opened to N109 Zone, he was an enemy of the state. Reporting any intel to UNICORNS about the unknown leader of Onychinus, she neglects to mention that her senses know the scent of his sheets. She had begun to map the scars on his backframe. It could be exhibited as a sign of trust, to have who is born to be your enemy facing your backside. Another explanation could simply be its Sylus – whether the knife was delivered to the chest or his back, the outcome would likely be the same. A bloodied floor if he wished to make the rare statement, or the ignorance of any crime scene if his EVOL orchestrates the massacre.
Behind these closed doors, an alternate story was proposed. Was it blood or ink that sealed the fate of these doomed souls?
“Imagine if this could be every night.” She muses; a light teasing with a sip of yearn, if it hadn’t always manifested so violently. Another time, another stranger’s handwriting to add to his arm. A direct slice to where a black hole voids your stomach. Sylus humbles her with a chuckle.
“Not as if you forget who your frame and mental belong to when you tread back.” His back turns, finally, his ruby eyes hemming to hers. “I do try to make it difficult for you to even attempt such a fiasco.”
She hums. “You know a part of me hates to depart.”
“Only a part?” He curiously repeats, coupling with a tilt of the head.
A thin moment of silence, before — “All of me, Sylus.” All of me. It could, it would shatter, anybody — especially the leader of Onychinus. He dips his mouth to hers, only sparing a waltz of breaths before pressing a surprise tender kiss onto her mouth. She leans in nearly immediately, returning the tenderness on a silver platter. “All of me despises when I have to leave you behind, but I always come back, don’t I?” A statement he had echoed many times before when they would bicker over a lack of communication, frustration boiling over the simplicity of wanting simplicity — with one another.
I always come back, don’t I? Affection that haunts him. She did always come back — haunting his dreams, the grace in nightmares that threatened to swallow him alive in the depths of slumber. She always came back — every lifetime, a stranger. Sylus sanity was a canvas for the memories of her, in every lifetime.
“ All of you … “ He pulls back for a vague moment, both breaths being unsteady and catching up. “ . . . has all of me. “ 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯
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"It's a shame your evol has deteriorated into its current state."
Goosebumps trail down her spine. A cruel mockery disguised (poorly) as a sympathetic state, would his mouth curve at the snapping of her bones? “And you wander into N109… How tasteful. A secret weapon you perhaps have?”
His voice is a velvet long abused, it’s hypnotic to any unknowing. If you were ignorant of N109 Zone, you may have believed you met a lost man. Study him for a few moments – the ashened hair, how ruby eyes, did you model your eyes after them innocent lives? It was apparent if you studied him on the surface, this was a man who knew where he was – and he never would leave.
Unbeknownst to her, yet — why would a man leave his home?
“You know nothing of my evol.” A counter laced with fury – how dare this menacing stranger have the audacity to question a part of you that you were still learning? The concept of a stranger, having any knowledge of your evol. Of your heart. It churned a cocktail of sickness in you, the audacity — she should have blown his head off by now.
Sylus’ confidence never waivers - even behind the stillstanding curve of his mouth. “Oh, but on the contrary-” His fingers curve unforgivably into her sleeved arm, fingerprints threatening to be discovered in her arm. The years of exhaustive, abusive to-the-body training manifest in how she holds back a wince, a refusal to give any indication to the enemy of any vulnerability.
He tugs on her roughly, an ache stirs in her bones. “I know the most of your evol.” His head lowers, “More than you ever will, sweetheart. I would tread real lightly on these grounds here.” A warning laced through harsh hisses, she jerks her arm back with all strength imaginable – his fingers don’t slip.
“Get the fuck off of me-”
“Just a lost kitten…” He slices with a taunt. It degrades her, degrades her experience; training, the nightly dreams, the obsession to be in the shoes she was in today. It was an insult. “Wandering into territories you shouldn’t be.” He seethes, and the danger strikes her in the stomach, it bubbles a warning.
Turn back, turn back.
She couldn’t.
“May you never forget this warning, hunter.” A warning? Would he not snap your neck without mercy in the next few minutes? Would he not bury you in this lawless zone, no hunter ever bringing you home for a proper burial? She was on foreign grounds – grounds that she had been warned and instructed to never explore alone. Those who delved into the unknown of N109 Zone – become unknown.
Silence passes – tense, seasoned with fury and confusion. She stitches her mouth, before asking –
“Who are … you?”
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𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 Moonlight illuminated off of Sylus’ scarred naked back. His face overlooking the grand window, blowing nicotine out the crack. His frosty hair dishevelled - he runs his fingers through an exhale.
She steps as mutely as possible – careful to not endanger the early-morning after-hour sight. Once she stands behind his frame, her arms gently snake around his torso. There’s a slight jump – one move he did not predict. An action he was not five steps ahead of. It takes only a blinking moment for him to relax in her arms, hands dangling off of his stomach.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Her tone a tired murmur, ghosting her mouth gently on the mid of his backside. His reaction is to frame against her touch, entangling his free hand with one of hers. Etched into her flesh in her entwined hand – a moon surrounded by her natal chart symbols, a tattoo she sketched and got the moment she turned of age. Sylus fawned over her tattoos, eager to memorize the footnotes of each.
Down the arm that belonged to the hand over hers – a variety of art etched into his skin, but it was a row of handwritten numbers. In various peoples' handwriting, were different times etched.
7:17 am
4:30 pm
2:26 am
12:07 am
10:19 pm
It was always playful, a rush around the subject whenever she – whatever perfect form she manifested as would question him about it. Regardless of the times they fell apart, came back together, re-met, killed the other, they would all be etched into his arm. A reminder he was not just somebody’s but hers.
His lungs house more nicotine, sketching circles on her hand absently. His response is delayed with adornment of the moment, her fingers. “Somethin’ like that.” He exhales out – turning his frame to tower over her. Gaze to gaze, face exposed to face, it was religious to see each other in these after hours. He removes the cigarette from his mouth, holding it to her lips which part for a drag – watching her inhale, exhaling around the two of their frames – certainly a sight to behold.
“Gotta kick the habit.” A reminder in a murmur, tipping his head to softly kiss the top of her head. His lips linger for a moment, before pressing another affectionate peck and pulling back to her sweet gaze.
“You first.” Her challenge was full of jest, sleep weaving to make it sound.
A tender moment of silence passes before any of them dare to speak. The sharing a single cigarette, fingers trailing across the flesh of the other soul,
His lips bring warmth to the centre of her forehead, allowing his lips to linger as her eyes shut in surrender. A sigh of content, he pulls back – slightly, still microscopes of air being the only space between them. “I do adore the way the moonlight hits you.” She quietly admits.
“Were you spying on me, lover?” His fingers dance along the side of her cheek, down to her jawline. A served brow upwards, inquiring of her late night activities. Another drag taken with his free hand.
A light flush heats her cheeks, he takes notice with a sweet curve of his mouth. Of course he had heard some sound of sorts - those damned floorboards with an ear crashing creak. “Just wanted to know where you went…” She protests in slumber. “Your side was empty.” She huffs, pressing her cheek against his bare chest.
Sylus ditches the cigarette out the grand window, bringing the now free arm to wrap around her torso and frame the two together. His other hand stealths away from her cheek to the back of her head, stroking the chestnut roots slowly – soothingly. His mouth presses a chaste kiss to the top of her crown. “Just missed me?” He murmurs into her locks. “
“I missed you, Sylus.” A quick and satisfying surrender – with slumber overtaking any temptation to further tease him. “Miss you always.” She murmurs while letting her lips linger on his chest, pressing a kiss of adornment.
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“Deliver the bullet, if you are so confident.” A foreign challenge that rings familiarity in his senses. A flash of scarlet runs through her own sight, one seen a hundred times over. The first time in this lifetime.
would we always be doomed for each other?
“Do you expect me to believe the leader of Onychinus is so easily defeated?” Do you remember?
“Oh my sweet,” Sylus bitterly laughs. “You lack confidence in your own abilities, hm? What are they teaching you over at that academy?” The taunt settles bitterly in her stomach; the academy that she had strived to join ever since childhood, what she groomed her own sense of self to style into.
The barrel pushes deeper, any deeper and she would pierce his flesh; driving the gun through his rib cage, reaching to the pumping organ. “Have you never killed a man before, sweetheart?” The mockery acts as verbal gasoline to an already out of control fire, desperate for casualties to feed on. “How sweet to have me as your first.” Taunting her was a death wish for naive shooters, this hunter may have just met her match.
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𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 “How sweet of me to be your first.” He murmurs softly, pressing his hungry mouth gently against her hand. His lips linger coupled with his ruby eyes lingering over her body. Her chest rises in shakes, a poor attempt to grab the reins on breathing.
She simply sighs – “Sylus..” one sip, and it would send him to a rehabilitation centre. A no-good drunk, would commit unforgivable sins for just one more- “Sylus,” …damned sip.
“Look at you…” He purrs, affection in his mocking. His hand travels up, ringed hand framing the side of her soft cheek. “My name sounds so pretty on your lips, sweetheart.” His thumb travels over her lip, lightly grazing over the bottom bitten lip.
“So… damn pretty.”
Sylus hitches a breath as her transparent cherry lips part slightly more, allowing entry for the tip of his thumb to raid her mouth. She softly suckles, with a short blink of hesitance. “Oh, kitten.” He says like talking to a pathetic child, extending his thumb further onto her tongue. The whimper around his thumb goes straight to his core, and a grin curves at his lips.
“So pretty like this, just sucking on my fingers, is this what you think of, my sweet hunter?” She nods, holding his thumb in her mouth, suckling eagerly. He retreats the digit after indulging in the intimate sight, bringing his mouth to ghost over hers. Breaths waltz together in an expert choreograph, a thinly veiled defense of the last sliver of composure from both of them.
“What’s my name, sweetheart?”
She swallows, dizziness circling her eyes. “Sylus… Sylus…”
“Say it again.” He gently instructs. Desperation seeps in his stomach, needed to hear her crack out his name. Needed her to remember who he was, who would press into her body, who would be her first in every lifetime.
“Sylus…” It drifts off to a dreamlike state.
If she appeared in his dreams, he would be asleep all the time. 𐔌՞. .՞
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“Who the fuck are you?” It drips with horror and fury, a desperation to know the identity of the one who swept away men and turned their lives into neglected dust bunnies. Venom drips from her angry mouth, and he would neglect the antidote.
The ruby-eyed stranger offers a chuckle, rings clinking together as he brings his fingers back into a former fist to shake off remnants of his EVOL. “Wouldn’t you love to know?” Oh, but she knew, she knew entrenched in her organs who he was. Maybe not now, maybe not in this life, but she would know who he was. “What’s a lil’ thing like you doing around this warzone?” Oh, he knew.
The Hunter’s normal sarcasm slices through in a fragile question, ignorant to the tightrope of landmines she crossed. “Are you in charge of some sort of guest list?”
He purses his lips together, gazing left and right, giving your question some consideration. “Think it more of a bodyguard position. The benefits are wonderful.”
She rushes into the first move, slicing out a pistol carried in her waistband. Pointing straight at his chest, it would be an easy hit, if only he were an easy target. Both hands lay on the trigger, but that shooter eye hadn’t focused yet – it was a momentary bluff. Would it last as a play or a draw of the cards? Both were unsure.
They would meet again, regardless.
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𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 The face usually held no weight, no true insight into his intentions while wearing a blank curve of his lips, ruined with grave worry. Ushered in by a masked nurse, the sight of her hooked up to machines - awake. He should have dropped his knees to any religious figure.
But he was rushing to be seated by her side. All he knew was how to make her a god.
His reaction was immediate – relief of some degree melting on his face, shock at the sight. The standstill face that opens the door was away, simply a mortified concerned lover. “There she is…” He murmurs softly, relief weaving through the tone. He reaches his hand on the side of the hospital bedsheets, a silent question looking for an answer of her touch and to what degree was okay. “My beautiful love.”
Her hand crawls across the bedsheets, gently overlapping his. Weakened from narcotics, it was of little confidence you even mentally processed where your body physically laid. You would always recognize him. “Hey,”
The ring of the single word – it could be the song of the church he belts, in another life. Always in another life. “Hey yourself, you’re perfect.” He hums out, a gentle thumb tracing over her glass hand. “How… How are you?” The blanking in words was foreign for Sylus. Every statement – even if improved, was executed with excellence. With the life he lead, had any word faltered, his head could have rolled down the spiral staircase in his office.
“Really… really fuckin’ numbed up.” She sighs out, a high giggle leaving her. “Doc… mentioned sumn’ ‘bout surgery.” She murmurs out, the sweet lingo she would slip into when out of professional capacity. The mention of surgery . . . The nurse had neglected to mention that, as well as the front desk. Arguably, likely too intimidated when there’s an angry man threatening the lives of every being in the building, a simple demand to bring him to her bedside.
“How did you get in?” You giggle.
Sylus hesitates, but only for a split moment. There was a common ground the both of you would laugh about later. “Told ‘em I was your husband.” He says simply, lifting your hand to press a ghosting kiss to it.
“You did not!” A weak push against his chest – that doesn’t make it, but he refuses to tease her of her physical capability. He simply wraps his free hand around hers – a captivity he would never appeal.
He flies his head in closer to hers – a tight grin playing upon the curve of his mouth. “Oh but I did.” He confirms boldly. “This whole hospital is under the assumption we are married.” She gasps into her oxygen mask; a cheerful, and narcotic, gleam records her face seconds later, likely needing to process the information. (It has not been processed yet, is his best guess.)
“You would… never get on your knees for me.” She giggles – and it may as well be a bullet to the heart. Is this how you thought of me? His heart and stomach slice themselves. In a simple motion with no hesitance, both hands grip hers.
A promise; “Make it through surgery, sweetheart.” He says, a heavy promise he hesitates to say. “Once you do… first thing you’ll see is my knees.”
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“She didn’t make it.” The words were haunting – the first time this man had fallen to his knees; would your gunshot meet his chest? It would be infinitely less painful than knowing he lost you to the hands of a trusted surgeon. “The fragments in her heart threatened to burst the operating room, the medical staff had to intervene and evacuate. She took out one of the surgeons.”
Another loss. Another vessel he has entrenched in his brain; another vessel that laid soulless in a morgue, with a time of death.
Through pauses and gasps – “Let me… Let me see her. Please.” Begging to a stranger never would have happened, maybe in that first lifetime.
“One last time. Please.” It would never be the last time. 𐔌՞. .՞
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“An interesting scar you bear on your finger there, princess.”
Her eyes blink at the insight, entertaining a glance around her fingers. Held tightly on the firearm, was a deep scar on her ring finger.
“Do entertain me,” He hums. “How did you ever acquire that? A wanderer perhaps?” He lists. “A rabid dog?” His teeth expose with a laugh of mockery, a dangerous inquiry, one she had heard before but couldn’t remember-
“Fuck you.” A hiss through gritted teeth, menace circling the drain.
Like she had hated him forever.
Sylus extends his arms beside the throne chairs, as if presenting a grand invention. “We could, right here, right on this throne, sweetheart.” His voice dips, this man could have led a hypnotism. “Is that why you travelled all of this way?” A flash – and his fingers gripped her chin, his voice curving into a dangerous tone. A lack of warning.
“All the way where those who step through never return?” A flash of a warning, a glimpse into where her burial grounds would be if she stepped further.
Canine teeth wrapped around the digit that should bare a ring — an expensive sort. Maybe the two birthstones intertwined? The shade of her EVOL and his ruby eye which bound their souls together?
“You’re r-ridiculous.” She huffs out a nervous chuckle, yet refuses to jerk back her finger from Sylus’s teeth. The warmth, playfulness of the interaction bore a swell in her ribs.With a hypnotic gaze, she mentally films the scene of the leader of Onychinus biting down on her finger with his teeth - a promise to place a jewel piece on it one day.
“I’m not sure if …”
“My, my, do I dare entertain myself with the thought of stripping you of that garter tradition.” A playful muse, with the elephant in the room being why you were wearing that garter. He sinks his canine fangs into the flesh of her finger once more, before withdrawing his mouth. His eyebrows furrow for a moment before saying — “Of course, the idea of throwing that sliced garter to a group of single men, to predict their future betrothed dates….”
The mental portrait that her mind paints — Sylus awaiting the end of a grand line; how would his eyes react to seeing you in the wedding fabric that would take you months to settle? How would the first affection of spouses feel, would there be any difference from the night before?
A comfortable silence, affection and wonder of how the future would unfold for the two unlikely lovers. Two people who should be exiled from normalcy, from legal paperwork ( or legalities of any kind ), could a future like this be possible?
It’s ensured, and entrenched — the canine teeth marks framing her ring finger in a circle motion.
“You’ve been playing with that lil’ gun a lot there, darlin’.” Sylus points out with a smirk. His ruby eyes entertaining the sight of her hands entrenched on the gun, like she’s held it forever. His eyes trail back to her face – furrowed, anger threaded in her brows and tightened jaw. “You know how to use it or is this some foreplay that your association commits to?”
She has a lack of response. The audacity, how sarcasm drips effortlessly from his mouth without a second thought. If someone hadn’t put a bullet in him yet, maybe there was a reason — or a few.
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𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 “Thank you kindly, for being my plus one tonight.”
“What do you want?” Suspicion written all over her glare, it could have sent daggers into him — he wouldn’t care. Would have simply lucked out each sharpness one by one, washing them of his blood before returning them to her.
“Oh, is it an outdated method for simply thanking my date for the evening?”
“An evening.” She sharpens back. It was a drop in a bucket – for one singular evening, the two souls were forced to entwine with each other in the name of intel. To be a part of an Association like hers, the underworld like he was, lying was your first nature. The second nature is all of the collateral that comes with the territory.
She slides in silver earrings cut into snakes, clicking them into her earlobes. The back of her scarlet dress remained half zipped, a trait she always left to the last moment just in case another outfit would catch her eye more. The fabric kissed the floor, with the other side holding a partial opening for her thigh. Gartered to her thigh were raven stocking, in the thigh unexposed to the gala, her gun sheathed secretly.
“I truly hope you don’t intend to embarrass yourself by walking in there with a dress falling off of your shoulders.” Sylus hums. “As much as you would be throwing a bone to many rabid dogs, I’ve come to learn you hold your pride closer.”
Her glance could have blazed through him, Sylus’ jests were the equivalent of cat claws on a chalkboard. Something the Association held on despite the modernity of the other technology.
“Are you one of them rabid mutts-” She’s hushed by the ghost of his hand – the same hand which manipulated a deadly evol, the one that was bloodied from dusk to dawn – only rinsed with more blood. The hand her association gravely feared, his own comrades had feared.
Sylus holds a small grip on the zipper half-down, curving his head down to taunt beside her ear. “I highly doubt a rabid mutt would do this.” The quiet zipping of the dress which still left much to the imagination of the back exposure left behind.
“I’m sure you’ve just been waiting to get your paws on me.” She scoff back, he offers a quiet laugh back. Amused by how the man who led the threat that was the N109 Zone, feared by those in and outside of the zones – was touching the small of her back to ensure her dress was zipped right.
Sylus tugs gently at the zipper, perhaps a silent statement. “Oh, sweetheart,” he pours. “You have no idea.” 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯
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“What the fuck are you staring at?” Clenched teeth; she was disgusted by him. In every life, she was. Could she come back in this one?
“Why, it may be the ending of my life, dear Hunter.” He shrugs. “Or the poorest attempt at it.”
And with that —
BOOM!
The ending of another.
