Please please please comfort with Sinclair or DonQui 🥹🥹🥹 could be Abt something related to the reader's canto or smth idk I just wanna see u write for my babies BCS I love your writing style!!!
Feel free to deny ts tho, ik writing can get rlly tough sometimes :)
Hope you have a nice day/night!!!
──── THE SHAPE OF CONCERN.
( gn.sinner.reader ) — there's a peculiar loneliness that comes with shouldering everything alone, and an equally peculiar exhaustion that comes from truly believing there is no one upon whom you may rely in return. while the rest of mephistopheles settles into slumber, one sinner in particular finds himself unable to overlook the uncharacteristic weariness concealed beneath your usual dependable composure.
ⓘ content warnings 、self-isolation, unhealthy self-reliance & primarily hurt/comfort.
ⓘ wc 、2,415
ⓘ an 、this was intended to be posted much sooner if burnout hadn't jumped me in a dark alley first. and since this request has been sitting around for like more than 2 months now, i did my best to finally finish it. hopefully it doesn't seem like i raw dogged the writing process too hard. if it does, no it doesn't.
at first glance, sinclair saw you as someone firmly placed at the top of the list of individuals he would never approach - unless sheer necessity demanded it.
you are distant, unapproachable, and intimidating. even a single glare from your place is enough to make him sweat; even the simplest joint observation of abnormalities leaves him feeling as though he is walking on eggshells.
yet on the other hand, you embody everything he could never be - disciplined, working more than talking, decisive and effective in combat, consistently performing beyond expectations whether pressure is present or not.
perhaps that is why - despite your personality, despite the way you twist a knot of discomfort in his stomach - he wouldn’t have it any other way. he admires you.
he longs to be like you.
and perhaps that’s the reason he finds himself always observing from a safe distance, always tacitly admiring your precise movements - far more intently than those of any of his colleagues.
thus, when fate finally decides it is time for your deepest secrets to surface - your canto - he finds himself overcome by a mixture of emotions all at once.
excitement - at last, learning more than the three words you barely utter out of reticence; anticipation - the chance to finally glimpse the layers beneath your stoic exterior, to understand the source of the discipline and restraint that always set you apart; and unease - the realization that what lies beneath may not be simple strength, but scars and burdens that shaped the person he reveres.
as it unfolds, that fear proves not entirely misplaced.
the canto does not expose strength so much as it lays bare something far more fragile - something you had never intended for others to see.
and though resolution may come in time, in this moment, there is no comfort to be found in it - sinclair understands that much.
therefore, it is no surprise that you remain awake beneath the moon’s rise, long past its arrival. but then, why is he here too?
. . . to put it simply, he couldn’t help himself. whether his attempt will succeed or not, he feels compelled to try. he can’t stand idly by while the one he respects endures such a state, as though sinclair himself were suffering in equal measure.
thus - slowly, carefully, deliberately with each step - sinclair makes his way toward where your slightly rigid form sits.
the moonlight filters through the dull, grey‑toned window of the bus, painting you in pale strokes of silver as shadows ink themselves into the corners, fragments of the quiet night stitched across your figure.
he pauses for a moment, taking a breath hesitantly, as if the distance between you is more than just a few steps. it feels like crossing a threshold, like daring to enter a space that has always been yours alone.
yet he moves forward still, because the weight in his chest won’t let him stay still no matter what. admiration has become concern, and concern has become resolve.
“um, h-hello,” he starts, the syllables tumbling over each other; hardly the way one imagines a proper greeting.
“hello,” you return, your voice flat and monotonous as ever - no trace of surprise in it, no indication that his presence has disrupted anything at all.
“i. . i noticed you’re still awake. it’s late, and. . well, i thought maybe you shouldn’t be alone right now.”
“alone or not, it isn’t something you should trouble yourself over.”
ah.
“i was just. . worried,” he admits, the words slipping out softer than he’d prefer, yet anything but a lie. “so i thought i’d check on you.”
as you attempt to form a response, your eyes widen - merely slightly, but enough to betray your genuine surprise all the same. as though of all things, his concern is the one you least expected.
of course it does.
you had always chosen to face it alone. every battle, every moment of dread, every lingering uncertainty - to the point solitude had long since settled into something familiar, something dependable.
something safer than relying on others.
and yet, here he is.
still standing here, still trying.
“i just wanted to let you know. .” he says, voice faltering again as he struggles to steady it. “. . . you don’t have to handle everything by yourself.”
“i know i’m not exactly the most reliable person,” he admits with a nervous breath, careful with each word. “but if you ever need someone to sit with you, or just. . . be here, i can do that.”
“. . .”
“i know the silence can be overbearing sometimes.”
the words settled between you, lingering within the bleak atmosphere of the bus long after they had been spoken. for a brief moment, you found yourself simply staring at him. perhaps it was because you had expected many things from sinclair tonight - awkward encouragement, hesitant attempts at comfort, even nervous rambling - but not this. not concern directed toward you with such sincerity that it bordered on painful.
yet despite the surprise, you found yourself unable to dismiss it. instead, your gaze drifted toward the empty seat beside you. after a moment's hesitation, you outstretched a hand and gestured toward it in silent invitation.
sinclair's eyes widened ever so slightly before relief softened the tension in his shoulders. he wasted little time accepting the offer, carefully lowering himself into the vacant seat as though fearful that lingering too long might somehow cause you to change your mind. even then, he remained cautious, leaving a respectful distance between the two of you - close enough to be considered company, yet far enough to avoid intruding upon whatever boundaries he imagined you might have preferred.
for a while, neither of you spoke.
the silence that followed wasn’t particularly comfortable, but neither was it unpleasant. it simply existed. unlike the countless nights before, it no longer pressed against your chest with suffocating weight, nor did it seem intent on swallowing every thought that crossed your mind.
outside the windows, the city remained awake despite the late hour. distant lights flickered across the darkness, their reflections dancing faintly against the glass. from where you sat, they almost resembled stars scattered carelessly across the horizon, too far away to reach and yet impossible to ignore.
sinclair appeared content simply to remain there.
he didn’t attempt to force conversation, didn’t pry into wounds you clearly had no desire to discuss - instead, he sat quietly at your side, hands folded neatly within his lap as if afraid even the smallest movement might disturb the fragile peace that had settled between you.
for someone who viewed himself as unreliable, sinclair possessed a remarkable talent for staying precisely where he was needed.
and though you would never admit such a thing aloud, you found that you didn’t mind his presence nearly as much as you once thought you would.
“. . . you think so?” after a considerable amount of time spent simply sitting beside one another and allowing the silence to drift where it pleased, your voice finally rises to meet the stillness. the question hangs between you for a moment, suspended somewhere within the pale moonlight filtering through the bus windows.
sinclair turns toward you.
“yeah.”
the champagne-haired man answers without much hesitation this time. his voice remains characteristically soft, although there is a certainty to it that wasn’t there before.
“i do.”
for a brief moment, he seems content to leave it at that.
then, as if realizing such a short answer may not sufficiently explain himself, he lowers his gaze toward his hands and continues.
“i mean. . . i know everyone needs time alone sometimes. i do too.” a faint smile tugs at the corner of his lips, small enough that it nearly disappears before it fully forms. “but there's a difference between wanting to be by yourself and feeling like you have to be.”
his gaze drifts back toward the darkened window as he speaks, watching his reflection blur amongst the distant lights beyond the glass. perhaps it’s easier to say these things when he isn’t looking directly at you. perhaps it’s because he understands the feeling far better than he wishes to admit.
after all, there had once been a time when he believed every burden placed upon his shoulders belonged there; a time when guilt felt so natural that he scarcely questioned its presence. even now, despite everything he had endured and overcome, traces of that habit remained stubbornly woven into him.
it’s difficult to ask for help when one becomes accustomed to suffering in silence.
maybe that is precisely why he came here tonight.
“you know,” sinclair continues after a brief pause, fingers idly smooths a wrinkle from his sleeve. “everyone always talks about how dependable you are.”
“how calm you stay, how you always seem to know what to do, even when things get bad.”
“whenever something happens, people look to you.”
the man exhales deliberately.
“. . . i do too.”
his shoulders stiffen almost immediately after the admission leaves his mouth. whether from embarrassment or simple self-awareness is difficult to say. regardless, he doesn’t attempt to retract it - there would be little point in doing so.
the words are true.
perhaps not everyone aboard mephistopheles looks toward you in moments of uncertainty - such a thing would be impossible. every sinner possesses their own opinions, preferences, and grievances. however, enough of them do. enough that when a difficult decision arises or circumstances begin deteriorating beyond control, their gazes often drift toward the same person.
“but nobody can be that person all the time. eventually someone has to ask how you’re doing too.”
the statement itself is simple. remarkably simple, at that. so simple that by the way he says it, it almost sounds as though it should have always been obvious. the sort of thing that ought never require verbal confirmation in the first place.
“we’re all human at the end of the day, aren’t we?” a small chuckle escapes him then. maybe an attempt to alleviate the increasingly melancholic atmosphere hanging over the conversation - if so, it achieves limited success. “we might be sinners, and we might be able to come back because of the manager’s power to turn the clock.”
still, the smile accompanying it remains.
“but we’re still human.”
“and humans aren’t machines. we can’t just keep going because circumstances demand it. we can’t keep carrying everything without feeling anything.”
for a moment, his attention drops once more toward his lap, the golden shades of his eye dimmed for a fraction of second - as if there is this memory that drift by as he speaks.
“eventually we’’ll get tired too. physically, mentally, emotionally. . . sometimes all three at once.”
more often than not, people throughout the city treated such things as flaws - fatigue, hesitation, fear, grief,. . . they were imperfections to be corrected, inconveniences to be overcome. there was an entire industry dedicated to replacing human limitations with mechanical alternatives, after all. stronger limbs, sharper senses, faster reactions - countless methods existed for improving the body. yet despite all of that, a human heart remained stubbornly difficult to replace.
perhaps that’s what sinclair is attempting to say.
“people like to act as if those things are weaknesses, that they’re proof something is wrong with us.”
“but i don’t think that’s true.” his brows draw together ever so slightly as he speaks, gaze drifting away toward some indistinct corner of the bus. it still seems incapable of remaining upon yours for long. “because if getting tired means you’ve been trying your best this whole time - and doing it all by yourself, at that - then i don’t think that’s something to be ashamed of .”
“and with the fact that humans are social creatures at their core,” he adds. “i think it's completely okay to let someone else carry part of that burden for a little while.”
“that’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?”
ah.
there it is again - that peculiar smile of his.
small and unassuming, lacking the confidence or charm one might find elsewhere. yet despite its simplicity, there’s something strangely soothing about it. something sincere enough that it becomes difficult to look away from.
under ordinary circumstances, you wouldn’t have paid much attention to such trivial, insignificant things.
for the longest time, your concerns rarely extended beyond yourself - the thoughts, emotions, and troubles of the other sinners aboard this damned bus had always remained comfortably distant, separated from you by walls you had carefully constructed over time. it was a selfish mindset, certainly, but not an unusual one. humans, by their very nature, are selfish creatures. they learn to prioritize their own survival long before they concern themselves with anyone else’s.
yet somewhere along the way, your emotions had begun slipping through the cracks.
maybe the events of your canto had weakened those walls, maybe exhaustion had finally worn them down, or maybe you had simply grown careless.
whatever the reason, enough had escaped for someone - sinclair, in particular - to notice. enough for him to walk across the bus in the middle of the night and sit beside you now.
curiously, the realization fails to evoke either the instinctive unease or the daily void you presumed it might.
as robotic and emotionless as you may appear, you have always despised being understood too effortlessly. despised being read like a book. despised the sensation of someone peering beneath the surface and uncovering the vulnerabilities you worked so carefully to conceal. despised being stripped of the armor you forged, left exposed in ways you never consented to.
yet as you sit beside him now, listening to the quiet conviction in his voice and observing the awkward earnestness that accompanies every word, those feelings fail to arrive.
all you find instead is a sense of understanding within his companionship.
and perhaps, for the first time in a very long while - someone who showed you that your colleagues admire you, that they recognize how dependable you are. someone who reminded you that it’s acceptable to let others carry the weight for a while. someone who checked in on how you were doing.
as your own gaze meets his shimmering golden eyes, you finally acknowledge that you are not alone, nor were you ever meant to be.
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