Sylus (Gym-Crush?)

Sylus' POV PT. 4: When she comes here—if she comes here—she'll see the swords on the wall and the gems in the cases and the motorcycle keys on the counter, and she'll see this meal, and she'll have to reconcile the predator with the provider. I hope she can. I hope she understands that the man who boxes until his knuckles bleed is the same man who wants to feed her, who calls her Kitten with affection rather than condescension, who waits rather than chases because he respects her autonomy even as he desperately wants to possess her heart.

Sylus' POV PT. 3: "My Queen" is locked away in the vault with the rubies. Too heavy, too soon. But I feel it waiting, that level of devotion. It's terrifying in its completeness, this desire to support her fully—to cook for her, to carry her when her own strength fails, to provide not just financially but emotionally, to be the soft place that doesn't compromise her independence but rather supports it like a foundation.

Sylus' POV PT. 2: I keep thinking about her expression when I helped her at the gym. The way her eyes narrowed—not with suspicion, but with assessment. She was trying to determine if I was a threat or a nuisance. The answer, of course, is both, but she doesn't know that yet. She'd been sassy when she thanked me, some quip about white knights and barbells that made me want to smile. Kitten. The word fits her perfectly—sharp claws wrapped in soft fur, independent but capable of affection on her own terms.

Sylus' POV PT. 1: The rain is performing percussion against the glass walls of my kitchen, and I'm murdering "Fly Me to the Moon" in a key that doesn't exist. My voice is low—soothing, or so I've been told—but my pitch wanders like a drunkard through the melody. It doesn't matter. There's no one here to hear it except Mephisto, and the mechanical crow has terrible taste in music anyway.

Hey Peeps, how are you doing? do you like him? did he turn out nice? please share your fun stories and suggestions here. I'm looking forward to it. 🩷