How to keep a chibi Sylus (1)
Character: Reader x Sylus | Gender: Humor, Slide of Life
Summary: Are you seeing right? You swear that is impossible to get high on whatever you ate last night, but if you haven't lost you mind then... Why is there a merly 5-inch chibi Sylus sitting on you desk?
A/N: Some random thoughts I get while begin at work, but today I received the call of Sylus "Shrinking Fantasy". And I was like, no way is this a canon conversation between them talking about having a 12-inch small plushie from each other.
Navigator: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 - AO3
Part 1
You giggle, kicking your feet beneath the blankets as you listen to the final voice lines of the new memory of Sylus.
"Argh, Sylus, you're so fucking cute I can't take it anymore."
It’s pathetic, really, how you gush every time that irresistible man dominates the screen of your new tablet—an investment you made solely to see those red eyes in high definition. You sigh, checking the time. The whole afternoon, gone?
It’s no wonder; the latest update is crushing your standards. Honestly, part of you almost wishes the event was over. It gets overwhelming, especially when the dailies feel like a full-time job.
You gaze toward the window. Snow is falling heavily against the glass. You shiver, pulling the duvet over your head to escape the draft. Fucking winter. If only you had the hot body of a certain Wanderer to warm you up... Your eyes roll back, a shameless, self-indulgent smile tugging at your lips.
The burning desire for this fictional 3D man is filling the room. You sigh again, wishing for a miracle. Will I ever find someone like him in real life? You peek out from the covers, looking at the home screen where Sylus lounges on the sofa, looking back at you.
"Nah, I'm fine with this. But that's enough for today."
You close the app, and the silence of the room returns. Have you even eaten? Reluctantly, you get up. It's time to handle reality—which includes preparing yourself for a regular Monday.
Then it’s back to office life. The suffocating embrace of full metros, rush hour chaos, and boring meetings that definitely should have been emails. You’ve said it tons of times, but it seems your coworkers actually love to waste time.
You go through the motions: do your job, fill out reports, handle this, handle that. You clock out, spend a sweaty hour at Pilates to feel better with yourself and head back home.
Easy life, right? What could even happen? Well, you could look at the state of the world. You roll your eyes just thinking about it. Even if you go to protests, try to educate your colleagues to be a little less misogynistic, or pray that rent and food prices don't increase even more... it's just depressing.
That’s why you have your little bubble. Between the fangirling, the manhwa, and the games, everything is kind of fine.
...Isn't it?
You open the door to your apartment and freeze.
"Huh? Did I leave the light on this morning?" you whine. "Electricity is so expensive... Fuck."
You dump your heavy coat at the entry, and bag as you glance behind you—wet snow tracks. You sigh. Just one more thing keeping you from relaxing. Well, you run through your mental list to get comfortable for later. You enter the kitchen and drop the small grocery bag on the counter.
Thump.
A noise pulls you out of your thoughts. You freeze. You move slowly toward the source of the sound. Your bag is lying on the ground.
"Did it fall?" you whisper. "But..." Your heart starts to race. "Don't tell me someone is here?!" You grab the first weapon you see in the kitchen, a frying pan. "I'm not going to die tonight."
You hear movement. Your apartment isn't big, so the search is quick. You check the bedroom: under the bed, the closet—nothing. Bathroom: nothing behind the shower curtain. You circle back. The noise is definitely in the kitchen. "The fuck?! Not a rat... please don't be a rat or a pigeon. Gross!"
At this point, fear turns to aggression. You just want to hit something. You hear the rustling of plastic. You approach slowly, raising your weapon, and see a small black silhouette on the counter. Is that... a tail?
"What the actual...?" The silhouette turns to you and you screamed. The tiny thing just stares at you.
"Are you done?" it asks. The voice is deep, familiar, and utterly unimpressed.
"…" You stare, mouth open.
"I know my physique isn't the best right now, but it's not that bad." The small figure—a man? A cat?—crosses his arms and looks up at you, annoyed. "Cat got your tongue?"
You stare at the miniature figure sitting on your laminate countertop. Your brain is short-circuiting. Magic doesn't happen in the real world—especially not the "3D-fictional-man-appearing-in-your-kitchen" kind of magic.
I’m dreaming, you tell yourself. The office coffee was drugged or I died on the way home.
You take a long, shaky breath, trying to process the reality of a how this absurd handsome man, that should be over six feet tall was only five-inch and judging you from next to your yogurt. Your brain filters through a thousand questions and settles on the most obvious one.
"Why are you so tiny?"
Sylus—or whatever this was—huffed, the movement of his tiny chest surprisingly dramatic. His eyes narrowed and the red irises glowed with a very real intensity. He didn't look like a plushie anymore; he looked like a king who had been accidentally shrunk in the wash. But why does he has cat ears too?
"Size is a matter of perspective," he replied, his voice still vibrating with that same smooth, dangerous silkiness you knew from your speakers. He hopped off the grocery bag and paced across your counter, his boots making tiny click-clack sounds on the surface. "Though I’ll admit, the view from down here is... uninspiring."
He stopped next to a loaf of bread, looking up at you with a smirk that was far too confident for someone who could be defeated by a tupperware container.
"Are you going to keep gaping at me, or are you going to offer your guest something to eat?" He glanced at the grocery bag he had just knocked over. "I assume there’s something better in here than just frozen peas."
You blinked, your brain finally catching up. "You... you’re actually Sylus. You’re not a hallucination? I’m not having a stroke?"
"If this is your idea of a stroke, you have a very vivid imagination, sweetie," he drawled. He looked around your kitchen, his nose wrinkling slightly at the sight of your unwashed coffee mug. "It's a bit cramped, isn't it? But I suppose it'll do for now. Now, about that food. I’ve had a long trip through a very narrow frequency, and I'm starving."
Despite how fucking bizarre this is, you find yourself digging through your cupboards. You grab the tiny plates and cutlery you’d bought weeks ago—originally just as props for a "Cursed Noodle Sylus" meme you’d seen online. You set them on the counter alongside every other doll-sized accessory you could find.
You carefully prepare a miniature portion of food for him. "Do you want... wine?" you ask, though the words feel ridiculous as they leave your throat. Should you give it to him in a thimble?
Moments later, the adrenaline has crashed. You sit there, head resting on your hand, feeling completely defeated as you watch a six-inch-tall criminal mastermind happily munching away what you prepared.
"You're staring," he noted, dusting the last few crumbs off his tiny vest.
"How can I not?" you muttered, scratching your head. You needed a reality check. There had to be a logical explanation. You left him on the counter and dashed over to the sofa, grabbing your tablet. You clicked your tongue impatiently at the loading screen. "Come on, come on..."
Login Successful.
You tapped the screen to enter the Destiny Café, expecting to see the usual 3D model standing there, waiting for your touch. But the screen was empty. The background music played, the chair was there, but the man was missing. You started to laugh—a frantic, high-pitched sound. "He's gone..." You looked back toward the kitchen, then back at the screen. "He's literally not in the game. I’m going crazy. Holy fuck, I’ve actually losing it." He literally breached the fourth wall.
Sylus hopped onto the edge of the kitchen counter to get a better view of you. "The resolution in there was getting a bit… pixelated for my taste," he said, glancing at the screen with a dismissive sniff. "And frankly, the conversation was getting repetitive. You spend a lot of time poking me just to see how I react."
You feel a heat crawl up your neck. "I—that's part of the game!
"Well," he said, "now you have the real thing. Though," He looked down at the floor, then back up at you, his eyes flashing. "How about you get me off this counter? It’s a long drop, and I have no intention of spending my first night in your world next to breadcrumbs."
You set the tablet down with shaky hands and step closer to the counter. You’ve spent months wishing you could touch him, but now that he’s right there; flesh and bone (and very tiny leather) and you’re terrified.
"Okay," you whisper, more to yourself than him. "I'm reaching out. Don't… don't bite me or use an Evol or something."
Sylus huffed, a tiny sound of pure indignation. "Just get on with it."
You cup your palm and lay it flat on the counter next to him. You expect him to be cold—like the glass of your tablet or the plastic of a figure—but as he steps onto your skin, the sensation sends a jolt through your system.
He is warm.
You slowly close your fingers around him, cradling his tiny weight. He’s surprisingly solid, not light like a toy. As you bring your hand up to your eye level, the reality hits you. You can feel the texture of his leather jacket against your fingertips, and the slight, rhythmic vibration of his breathing.
Then, you feel it—a tiny, rapid thump-thump, thump-thump against your palm. It’s actually beating. He's a living thing.
Sylus leaned back against your thumb, looking up at you with an expression that was remarkably calm. He went quiet for a second, his tiny hand resting against the side of your finger. For a moment, the arrogance faded, replaced by something more observant. "Your hand is shaking," he noted.
"It's a lot of things, Sylus," you admit, finally sitting down on sofa again.
To be continued....
Navigator: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 - AO3
BACK TO MASTERLIST
