kyros likes humming, and sylus thinks its the sweetest thing in the world.
when doing his little tasks, crafts or mischiefs, he’ll always know it kyros behind it. because during each and every set up, there’s a distinct string of mindless “hmm, hmm hmms” in a small heavenly voice he can listen to all day.
his first song was “twinkle twinkle”, and sylus would always press his ear to the wall of the nursery just to hear the “hmm hmm ‘taw, hmm hmm a’we” of his baby lulling himself to sleep.
then he’d hum your own songs—the ones that get stuck in your head, but its just the one line over and over— then he’d hum cartoon credits, the bubble pals themes, a warbled but his best rendition of sylus’s classic records. he even hums lines of dialogue if it’s said in a pretty enough tune (his favorite is luke’s joking “but mooom!” turning into “hhmmaam!”)
anyway, sylus loves it. but kyros never does it on command, so he has to sneak around to tune in.
around the corner, as kyros stacks a bunch of very expensive blocks up to a tower, sylus hears a particular melody. always one to pause for a second and listen, he does.
his skin prickles. in terrified, nostalgic horror. memories of being undercover; chains and lights, a sweeping choreographed dance and—
“hmm hmm twiggur, hmm hm hmm kan!”
“kyros!” sylus exclaims before he can stop himself.
“i here, papa!” kyros yells back. just then sylus rounds the corner, footsteps heavy and quick as he makes a beeline for him.
kyros giggles when sylus lifts him to eye level, arms corcling around his neck instantly to a little embrace.
sylus nudges his cheek, hiding the anxiety. “are you okay? how was your day?”
“mm, okay,” he says leaning onto sylus’s shoulder. his humming long gone now.
“watch any movies?”
“no.”
“listen to songs?”
“hmm… no, papa.”
sylus grinds his teeth. “right… okay. what were you humming, angel?”
kyros grins a little. always shy when asked that. “what hum?”
“humming, that song— you, you were singing a little too.” sylus breathes through his nose, keeping himself steady. “let me hear it again?”
kyros hides his face in his papa’s neck, smiling in embarrassment. “no, thank you.”
“no, c’mon.” sylus sounds eager. but he isnt. not really. oh, if kyros could understand how consumed he is by this unbelievable humiliation, maybe he’d do his dear old papa a solid and be more compliant now.
he knew exactly who the culprit was, infiltrating his son’s precious humming playlist— his favorite artist’s setlist— but needed confirmation. “please, angel? for papa?”
“no!” kyros laughs, unused to seeing sylus this way.
sylus groans. “where did you hear the song?”
kyros is almost giddy to admit. “mama phone.”
clocked it.
setting his giggling, absolutely hysterical son down on the carpet, he barely makes it a few steps before he phases away with his evol to capture the convict.
he can hear you, running down the halls and giggling yourself.
he prays, for your own sake, you run fast enough.
