when you kill the lights and kiss my eyes

You’re already feeling drained, and the last thing you need right now is someone distracting you. But it's him, and it’s never that simple. It never is with him.

He has this way of worming his way into your life, always so warm, so persistent, even when you don’t want him to be. And yet, you can’t bring yourself to ignore his messages, or his calls, not really.

With a sigh, you swipe to answer.

“Hey,” Sylus’s voice greets you, smooth and casual, like he’s already comfortable in this moment. “Busy studying, huh? I can practically hear the stress radiating off you.”

You press your lips together. Is it really that obvious? You’re trying so hard to keep it together, but maybe you’re not doing such a great job.

“I’m okay,” you murmur, trying to keep your voice light, but it comes out a little strained, tighter than you intended. You tap your pen against the desk, more out of habit than anything. Your gaze flickers back to the notes, but they feel like they’re closing in on you. The numbers on the page seem to blur together, a frustrating mess of meaningless symbols.

“You don’t sound okay,” Sylus observes, his tone thoughtful, but with a teasing edge that’s familiar by now. “I think I can hear your brain frying from here.”

You exhale slowly, lips twitching into the smallest of smiles at the absurdity of his words. “It’s fine,” you say, a little more firmly this time, but still not entirely convincing. “I’m just trying to get through it.”

His voice softens slightly, like he’s weighing his next words. “You’ve been at it for hours. You’re gonna burn out if you keep going at this pace. Maybe you should take a break. Get out for a bit. Clear your head.”

You stiffen, but only for a moment.

A break? The thought is tempting, but immediately, you shove it down, unwilling to let yourself be that weak. The test is tomorrow, after all. You can’t afford to take time off.

“I don’t need a break,” you say, this time more to yourself than to him. “I need to focus.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end, like he’s considering your words carefully. “You sure? I can almost feel the stress through the phone.” His voice takes on that familiar teasing tone again, light and easy. “I’m heading out for a bike ride. You should come with me. It’ll be good for you. Fresh air. A little movement. Just one hour. Trust me.”

Your fingers freeze, mid-tap. A bike ride? Now?

The idea feels almost absurd—like the last thing you should be doing. You glance out the window. The sky is just starting to turn soft shades of pink and purple, and there’s a slight breeze rustling the trees. You let out a small breath, torn. It’s tempting. So tempting. But then the guilt creeps in—the fear of falling behind, of losing focus at the one time you can’t afford to.

“I don’t know,” you start, your voice trailing off as you think it through. “I really need to study. I—”

“Hey, it’ll only be an hour,” Sylus interrupts, his voice so easygoing, so confident, that it almost feels like he’s already made the decision for you. “And you’ll come back feeling better. Clearer. A little air will do wonders. You’ve been inside for so long.”

His words hang in the air for a moment, and you find yourself chewing the inside of your cheek. You glance at the stack of notes again, the textbooks, the study guides… and then, almost against your better judgment, you let your gaze drift back to the window. The night looks so much bigger out there. Maybe that’s what you need. Something bigger than this tiny room.

You lean back in your chair, rubbing your temples. You’re so tired, but the thought of pushing through for even just a little while longer feels... overwhelming. And yet, Sylus’s voice is still there, warm and coaxing, pulling you away from your thoughts.

“I’m sure you’ll get right back to it when we’re done,” he adds, as though reading your mind. “Just one hour. Fresh air. That’s all I’m asking.”

You draw in a long, slow breath. It doesn’t sound like the worst idea, even if you know it’s not the best idea.

Maybe you’re just tired.

Maybe you’re giving in because it’s easier than forcing yourself to keep studying.

“Fine,” you say, the word coming out a little softer than you expected. You let out a short, almost reluctant sigh, but you can’t hide the hint of a smile in your voice. “But don’t think I’m doing this because you’re right.”

Sylus’s laugh comes through the phone, rich and warm, the kind of sound that has a way of lightening the air. “Oh, I know,” he says, his voice still teasing, but there’s a trace of something else in it. “But you’ll thank me later.”

You roll your eyes, even though he can’t see it.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just go, before I change my mind.”

The evening air is a delicate balance between warmth and coolness, the kind of temperature that wraps around you like a soft embrace.

You pull your light jacket tighter, its fabric a little too thin against the shifting breeze, but it doesn’t matter. Outside, everything feels different. The room—stuffed with textbooks and notes—is a distant memory now, swallowed by the space and calm of the world outside. The soft rustling of leaves and the distant hum of city life fill the air, while the sun sinks lower, painting the sky with a watercolor blend of orange, pink, and violet.

You take a deep breath, letting the cool air fill your lungs, and you pause for a moment, just taking in the transition from confinement to freedom. The heavy weight of the day, the pressure, the fatigue—it's all there, lurking behind your thoughts—but for the first time in what feels like hours, you breathe.

And then, you see him.

Sylus.

He’s coming down the street, his bike gliding effortlessly toward you, and for a moment, it feels like everything else has gone silent.

His bike is sleek—sleek in a way that feels almost too perfect, like something out of an expensive catalog. Its black frame catches the last golden glints of sunlight, shining with an almost dangerous polish. The wheels spin, their motion silent but swift, and your eyes follow the smooth, curving lines of the machine. Everything about it seems impossibly well-made, so smooth, so expensive—much more than anything you’d ever be able to afford, much more than the balance in your bank account could ever justify.

Your pulse stutters for a second, and then, the realization hits you like a sharp jolt: I’m going on a bike date with Sylus.

You freeze.

The thought is fleeting, a brief moment of panic—you mentally slap it down, pushing it away as quickly as it came. No. No. It’s not a date. It’s just a bike ride. He’s just... You shake your head. No need to think too much about it. You can’t. But the fluttering in your chest just won’t go away.

Sylus stops in front of you, dismounting effortlessly, his posture so naturally graceful it feels like he’s done this a thousand times before. He’s wearing a jacket that’s just a little too casual to match the bike—a faded navy hoodie, worn jeans—but the entire look fits him, fits the effortless way he moves, and there’s a quiet confidence in his smile as he stands there, looking at you.

His gaze is warm, teasing, and yet there’s something... softer about it, like he’s genuinely glad to see you outside of your study cave.

“You ready for this?” His voice is light, easy—teasing, yet underlined with a subtle fondness, like he knows exactly what you're thinking, exactly how to push you. “Hope you’re not having second thoughts already.”

“I’m not,” you mutter, but it’s not convincing. You wish you could sound more confident. The words taste dry in your mouth.

His grin widens, amused, but there's an underlying sincerity that makes you question your own resistance.

He offers you a helmet, and you take it without thinking. The cold plastic feels unfamiliar in your hands for a moment—foreign and distant compared to the textbooks you've been gripping for hours. When you try to put it on, your fingers fumble, suddenly unsure of how to manage this new, simple task. The straps slip and twist in your hands, and the helmet is just... wrong.

Sylus watches you for a second, amusement tugging at the corner of his lips, but he doesn’t tease you outright. Instead, he steps forward, his movements effortless. "Let me help." His voice is warm, and though you want to brush it off, something about the simple kindness of the gesture settles something deep inside you.

He reaches forward, gently adjusting the straps, his fingers brushing against the skin of your neck. The touch is fleeting, but it’s enough to make you freeze. For a brief moment, you feel your heart beat a little faster. His fingers move with easy confidence, and you try to focus on the task at hand, even as the brush of his touch lingers in your mind.

“There we go,” he murmurs, his tone unexpectedly tender. "All set."

You swallow, fighting the sudden rush of heat to your face, and try to mask the awkwardness with a cough. "Thanks," you mumble, voice sounding thinner than you’d like. You’re not sure why this moment feels so strange—it’s just a helmet, right? But the way he’s standing so close, the way he took over for you without hesitation—it feels more intimate than you expected.

You back away to the bike, trying to regain your composure.

Your hands brush against the cold metal of the frame as you move toward the back of the bike, as if physically distancing yourself will somehow calm your nerves. You’re fine. You can do this. It’s just a bike ride, after all.

But then, Sylus is right there again, his voice teasing, warm, coaxing. “You don’t wanna fall off, do you? I suggest you hold on to me.”

Your breath catches—caught off guard by the easy invitation in his tone. Hold on to him? Your mind races, your body stiffens instinctively at the suggestion. The idea of touching him, even just for balance, feels... strange. Almost wrong. But then, you think about the speed, the wind, the risk of toppling over in front of him, and that thought alone makes your hands feel clammy. The hesitation hangs in the air between you.

“Uh…” You glance from his back to the bike, not really sure what to do. You take a small step forward and slide onto the seat, fingers curling around the edge of his jacket as you brace yourself, the fabric soft but sturdy beneath your grip. He doesn’t move at first, just watches you, eyes twinkling, lips curled in that playful smirk.

You breathe out slowly, then tighten your fingers, the warmth of his back pressing through the thin fabric of his hoodie. It’s surprisingly solid, warm—a stark contrast to the coolness of the evening air. You hold on, but it’s a tentative grip, a light touch, as though you’re afraid that any more contact might be too much.

And then, without warning, Sylus shifts beneath you, his body steady and sure as he kicks the bike into motion.

The world tilts sharply, and the rush of the bike surges forward, faster than you anticipated. The air whips past you, sharp and immediate, pulling the breath from your lungs. You can hear the hum of the tires against the pavement, the sound cutting through the sudden quiet, the sharp, metallic whir that seems to echo in your ears.

For a split second, it feels like you’re floating. Weightless. The ground beneath you is nothing more than a distant thought, and your stomach lurches, caught somewhere between the sudden thrill and the brief panic. The wind is everywhere—blowing against your face, tugging at your hair, filling your ears with its howl. The city smells different now, sharper, more real—the damp scent of rain still hanging in the air, blending with the tang of exhaust and street grime. Everything is heightened, the usual background noise of the world drowned out by the rush of motion.

Instinct kicks in, and you shift your grip, fingers slipping down to his waist, where you lock them tight, holding onto him with a desperation you hadn’t meant to feel. But even as you cling to him, the bike keeps pushing forward, faster, the world around you blurring, shifting with each turn, each speed bump. And it’s so fast, so sudden, the sense of control slipping out of your grasp.

You tense, the unfamiliarity of it making your body stiffen. But then, you feel him—his body shifting beneath you, a subtle movement, and you realize he’s aware of you, of the way you’re gripping him tighter now.

"Relax," Sylus says, his voice low, like it’s meant to be a comfort. You’re not sure it helps at first, but something in the way he says it makes you pause. "Just breathe with the ride."

The ride doesn’t slow, but suddenly, you’re not fighting it anymore. The motion becomes almost hypnotic—rhythmic, fluid—and you start to notice things. Really notice them. The world you’ve always known suddenly feels unfamiliar, like you’ve stepped into a painting where every brushstroke is sharp, vivid, alive. The golden hue of the sunset washes over everything, the roads you’ve walked a thousand times now glowing with a warmth you never realized was there. The buildings, the trees—they’re all familiar, but they seem new, like you’re seeing them with fresh eyes.

A soft gasp escapes your lips before you can stop it. Everything looks... different. Beautiful. You don’t even know why it’s so stunning, but the world in this moment is so full of color, of life—it’s like you’ve been missing it all along.

Sylus’s voice breaks through your reverie, warm and teasing, but there’s something softer in it now, as if he can sense how taken you are. "You liking this?" he asks, the hint of a smile in his tone.

For a moment, you don’t even answer. You’re too busy trying to drink it all in—this surreal, glowing evening, the way the streets seem to open up in front of you, the way the city feels alive beneath the cool wind. It’s like you’re flying, and yet, you’re still grounded, connected to something deeper.

When you finally do speak, it comes out almost breathlessly. "It’s... amazing." The words barely do it justice, but they’re all you can find.

"Yeah?" His voice comes from ahead, almost teasing again, but there’s a certain fondness behind it now, a gentleness that makes the edges of his teasing feel more like encouragement.

"Yeah," you confirm, letting the wonder settle in your chest like something warm, something you haven’t allowed yourself to feel in a while.

He’s quiet for a moment, then asks, "Your head feeling clearer now?" His question is soft, like he’s been waiting for the answer, like he knows it’s more than just about the ride.

You blink, startled for a second. You hadn't realized it, but now that the thought has been planted, you feel it too—your mind, which had been whirring with all the things you should be doing, all the stress you’d carried with you, is quieter now. The noise in your head has faded into the background, replaced by the soft rush of wind and the feeling of freedom spreading through your limbs.

"Yeah," you reply, a small laugh escaping you. "Much clearer."

He asks again, his voice a little quieter now, a little more sincere. "And your shoulders? Still feel heavy?"

You hadn’t thought about it until now, but you stretch your neck and roll your shoulders, surprised at how light you feel. The tightness is gone, as though it’s been whisked away by the motion of the bike, the breeze.

"No," you say, feeling a small, almost imperceptible weight lift off your chest, leaving you unburdened for the first time in hours. "Not at all."

A beat of silence passes, and then he asks, his tone just the slightest bit playful now, "You feeling better for coming on this ride?"

You smile to yourself, knowing exactly where this is going. There’s a pause, and you let the words hang between you for a moment. It feels strange, almost like you’re being coaxed into admitting something you didn’t expect to admit. But you do it anyway. "Yeah. I am."

And then, as if on cue, you can already hear the satisfaction in his voice as he prepares to say something smug—he’s waiting for this—but before he can, you cut him off with a sharp laugh, already anticipating the next words out of his mouth.

“Don’t. Don’t say it.” You lean forward just a little, your voice teasing.

He chuckles, low and amused, and you feel the vibrations of it against your chest. You feel him shift beneath you, like he’s holding back a grin. “Alright, dove,” he says, the endearment slipping out so easily, so casually, that you almost miss it.

But not quite—

Dove.

The word hits you like a small wave of warmth, and for a split second, your chest tightens, the flutter in your stomach reappearing, unbidden. But you squash it down, choosing to focus on the world around you instead—the sunset spilling across the horizon, the buildings, the trees, the soft wind. It’s easier that way—yeah, this is so much easier.

But if you find yourself edging a little closer to him, just a little—you tell yourself it’s only because the wind’s picking up, and you’re just trying to stay warm as the temperature drops. Not because you want to be any closer to him than necessary.

No, no, definitely not.

general masterlist || sylus masterlist

You’re already feeling drained, and the last thing you need right now is someone distracting you. But it's him, and it’s never that simple. It never is with him.

He has this way of worming his way into your life, always so warm, so persistent, even when you don’t want him to be. And yet, you can’t bring yourself to ignore his messages, or his calls, not really.

With a sigh, you swipe to answer.

“Hey,” Sylus’s voice greets you, smooth and casual, like he’s already comfortable in this moment. “Busy studying, huh? I can practically hear the stress radiating off you.”

You press your lips together. Is it really that obvious? You’re trying so hard to keep it together, but maybe you’re not doing such a great job.

“I’m okay,” you murmur, trying to keep your voice light, but it comes out a little strained, tighter than you intended. You tap your pen against the desk, more out of habit than anything. Your gaze flickers back to the notes, but they feel like they’re closing in on you. The numbers on the page seem to blur together, a frustrating mess of meaningless symbols.

“You don’t sound okay,” Sylus observes, his tone thoughtful, but with a teasing edge that’s familiar by now. “I think I can hear your brain frying from here.”

You exhale slowly, lips twitching into the smallest of smiles at the absurdity of his words. “It’s fine,” you say, a little more firmly this time, but still not entirely convincing. “I’m just trying to get through it.”

His voice softens slightly, like he’s weighing his next words. “You’ve been at it for hours. You’re gonna burn out if you keep going at this pace. Maybe you should take a break. Get out for a bit. Clear your head.”

You stiffen, but only for a moment.

A break? The thought is tempting, but immediately, you shove it down, unwilling to let yourself be that weak. The test is tomorrow, after all. You can’t afford to take time off.

“I don’t need a break,” you say, this time more to yourself than to him. “I need to focus.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end, like he’s considering your words carefully. “You sure? I can almost feel the stress through the phone.” His voice takes on that familiar teasing tone again, light and easy. “I’m heading out for a bike ride. You should come with me. It’ll be good for you. Fresh air. A little movement. Just one hour. Trust me.”

Your fingers freeze, mid-tap. A bike ride? Now?

The idea feels almost absurd—like the last thing you should be doing. You glance out the window. The sky is just starting to turn soft shades of pink and purple, and there’s a slight breeze rustling the trees. You let out a small breath, torn. It’s tempting. So tempting. But then the guilt creeps in—the fear of falling behind, of losing focus at the one time you can’t afford to.

“I don’t know,” you start, your voice trailing off as you think it through. “I really need to study. I—”

“Hey, it’ll only be an hour,” Sylus interrupts, his voice so easygoing, so confident, that it almost feels like he’s already made the decision for you. “And you’ll come back feeling better. Clearer. A little air will do wonders. You’ve been inside for so long.”

His words hang in the air for a moment, and you find yourself chewing the inside of your cheek. You glance at the stack of notes again, the textbooks, the study guides… and then, almost against your better judgment, you let your gaze drift back to the window. The night looks so much bigger out there. Maybe that’s what you need. Something bigger than this tiny room.

You lean back in your chair, rubbing your temples. You’re so tired, but the thought of pushing through for even just a little while longer feels... overwhelming. And yet, Sylus’s voice is still there, warm and coaxing, pulling you away from your thoughts.

“I’m sure you’ll get right back to it when we’re done,” he adds, as though reading your mind. “Just one hour. Fresh air. That’s all I’m asking.”

You draw in a long, slow breath. It doesn’t sound like the worst idea, even if you know it’s not the best idea.

Maybe you’re just tired.

Maybe you’re giving in because it’s easier than forcing yourself to keep studying.

“Fine,” you say, the word coming out a little softer than you expected. You let out a short, almost reluctant sigh, but you can’t hide the hint of a smile in your voice. “But don’t think I’m doing this because you’re right.”

Sylus’s laugh comes through the phone, rich and warm, the kind of sound that has a way of lightening the air. “Oh, I know,” he says, his voice still teasing, but there’s a trace of something else in it. “But you’ll thank me later.”

You roll your eyes, even though he can’t see it.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just go, before I change my mind.”

The evening air is a delicate balance between warmth and coolness, the kind of temperature that wraps around you like a soft embrace.

You pull your light jacket tighter, its fabric a little too thin against the shifting breeze, but it doesn’t matter. Outside, everything feels different. The room—stuffed with textbooks and notes—is a distant memory now, swallowed by the space and calm of the world outside. The soft rustling of leaves and the distant hum of city life fill the air, while the sun sinks lower, painting the sky with a watercolor blend of orange, pink, and violet.

You take a deep breath, letting the cool air fill your lungs, and you pause for a moment, just taking in the transition from confinement to freedom. The heavy weight of the day, the pressure, the fatigue—it's all there, lurking behind your thoughts—but for the first time in what feels like hours, you breathe.

And then, you see him.

Sylus.

He’s coming down the street, his bike gliding effortlessly toward you, and for a moment, it feels like everything else has gone silent.

His bike is sleek—sleek in a way that feels almost too perfect, like something out of an expensive catalog. Its black frame catches the last golden glints of sunlight, shining with an almost dangerous polish. The wheels spin, their motion silent but swift, and your eyes follow the smooth, curving lines of the machine. Everything about it seems impossibly well-made, so smooth, so expensive—much more than anything you’d ever be able to afford, much more than the balance in your bank account could ever justify.

Your pulse stutters for a second, and then, the realization hits you like a sharp jolt: I’m going on a bike date with Sylus.

You freeze.

The thought is fleeting, a brief moment of panic—you mentally slap it down, pushing it away as quickly as it came. No. No. It’s not a date. It’s just a bike ride. He’s just... You shake your head. No need to think too much about it. You can’t. But the fluttering in your chest just won’t go away.

Sylus stops in front of you, dismounting effortlessly, his posture so naturally graceful it feels like he’s done this a thousand times before. He’s wearing a jacket that’s just a little too casual to match the bike—a faded navy hoodie, worn jeans—but the entire look fits him, fits the effortless way he moves, and there’s a quiet confidence in his smile as he stands there, looking at you.

His gaze is warm, teasing, and yet there’s something... softer about it, like he’s genuinely glad to see you outside of your study cave.

“You ready for this?” His voice is light, easy—teasing, yet underlined with a subtle fondness, like he knows exactly what you're thinking, exactly how to push you. “Hope you’re not having second thoughts already.”

“I’m not,” you mutter, but it’s not convincing. You wish you could sound more confident. The words taste dry in your mouth.

His grin widens, amused, but there's an underlying sincerity that makes you question your own resistance.

He offers you a helmet, and you take it without thinking. The cold plastic feels unfamiliar in your hands for a moment—foreign and distant compared to the textbooks you've been gripping for hours. When you try to put it on, your fingers fumble, suddenly unsure of how to manage this new, simple task. The straps slip and twist in your hands, and the helmet is just... wrong.

Sylus watches you for a second, amusement tugging at the corner of his lips, but he doesn’t tease you outright. Instead, he steps forward, his movements effortless. "Let me help." His voice is warm, and though you want to brush it off, something about the simple kindness of the gesture settles something deep inside you.

He reaches forward, gently adjusting the straps, his fingers brushing against the skin of your neck. The touch is fleeting, but it’s enough to make you freeze. For a brief moment, you feel your heart beat a little faster. His fingers move with easy confidence, and you try to focus on the task at hand, even as the brush of his touch lingers in your mind.

“There we go,” he murmurs, his tone unexpectedly tender. "All set."

You swallow, fighting the sudden rush of heat to your face, and try to mask the awkwardness with a cough. "Thanks," you mumble, voice sounding thinner than you’d like. You’re not sure why this moment feels so strange—it’s just a helmet, right? But the way he’s standing so close, the way he took over for you without hesitation—it feels more intimate than you expected.

You back away to the bike, trying to regain your composure.

Your hands brush against the cold metal of the frame as you move toward the back of the bike, as if physically distancing yourself will somehow calm your nerves. You’re fine. You can do this. It’s just a bike ride, after all.

But then, Sylus is right there again, his voice teasing, warm, coaxing. “You don’t wanna fall off, do you? I suggest you hold on to me.”

Your breath catches—caught off guard by the easy invitation in his tone. Hold on to him? Your mind races, your body stiffens instinctively at the suggestion. The idea of touching him, even just for balance, feels... strange. Almost wrong. But then, you think about the speed, the wind, the risk of toppling over in front of him, and that thought alone makes your hands feel clammy. The hesitation hangs in the air between you.

“Uh…” You glance from his back to the bike, not really sure what to do. You take a small step forward and slide onto the seat, fingers curling around the edge of his jacket as you brace yourself, the fabric soft but sturdy beneath your grip. He doesn’t move at first, just watches you, eyes twinkling, lips curled in that playful smirk.

You breathe out slowly, then tighten your fingers, the warmth of his back pressing through the thin fabric of his hoodie. It’s surprisingly solid, warm—a stark contrast to the coolness of the evening air. You hold on, but it’s a tentative grip, a light touch, as though you’re afraid that any more contact might be too much.

And then, without warning, Sylus shifts beneath you, his body steady and sure as he kicks the bike into motion.

The world tilts sharply, and the rush of the bike surges forward, faster than you anticipated. The air whips past you, sharp and immediate, pulling the breath from your lungs. You can hear the hum of the tires against the pavement, the sound cutting through the sudden quiet, the sharp, metallic whir that seems to echo in your ears.

For a split second, it feels like you’re floating. Weightless. The ground beneath you is nothing more than a distant thought, and your stomach lurches, caught somewhere between the sudden thrill and the brief panic. The wind is everywhere—blowing against your face, tugging at your hair, filling your ears with its howl. The city smells different now, sharper, more real—the damp scent of rain still hanging in the air, blending with the tang of exhaust and street grime. Everything is heightened, the usual background noise of the world drowned out by the rush of motion.

Instinct kicks in, and you shift your grip, fingers slipping down to his waist, where you lock them tight, holding onto him with a desperation you hadn’t meant to feel. But even as you cling to him, the bike keeps pushing forward, faster, the world around you blurring, shifting with each turn, each speed bump. And it’s so fast, so sudden, the sense of control slipping out of your grasp.

You tense, the unfamiliarity of it making your body stiffen. But then, you feel him—his body shifting beneath you, a subtle movement, and you realize he’s aware of you, of the way you’re gripping him tighter now.

"Relax," Sylus says, his voice low, like it’s meant to be a comfort. You’re not sure it helps at first, but something in the way he says it makes you pause. "Just breathe with the ride."

The ride doesn’t slow, but suddenly, you’re not fighting it anymore. The motion becomes almost hypnotic—rhythmic, fluid—and you start to notice things. Really notice them. The world you’ve always known suddenly feels unfamiliar, like you’ve stepped into a painting where every brushstroke is sharp, vivid, alive. The golden hue of the sunset washes over everything, the roads you’ve walked a thousand times now glowing with a warmth you never realized was there. The buildings, the trees—they’re all familiar, but they seem new, like you’re seeing them with fresh eyes.

A soft gasp escapes your lips before you can stop it. Everything looks... different. Beautiful. You don’t even know why it’s so stunning, but the world in this moment is so full of color, of life—it’s like you’ve been missing it all along.

Sylus’s voice breaks through your reverie, warm and teasing, but there’s something softer in it now, as if he can sense how taken you are. "You liking this?" he asks, the hint of a smile in his tone.

For a moment, you don’t even answer. You’re too busy trying to drink it all in—this surreal, glowing evening, the way the streets seem to open up in front of you, the way the city feels alive beneath the cool wind. It’s like you’re flying, and yet, you’re still grounded, connected to something deeper.

When you finally do speak, it comes out almost breathlessly. "It’s... amazing." The words barely do it justice, but they’re all you can find.

"Yeah?" His voice comes from ahead, almost teasing again, but there’s a certain fondness behind it now, a gentleness that makes the edges of his teasing feel more like encouragement.

"Yeah," you confirm, letting the wonder settle in your chest like something warm, something you haven’t allowed yourself to feel in a while.

He’s quiet for a moment, then asks, "Your head feeling clearer now?" His question is soft, like he’s been waiting for the answer, like he knows it’s more than just about the ride.

You blink, startled for a second. You hadn't realized it, but now that the thought has been planted, you feel it too—your mind, which had been whirring with all the things you should be doing, all the stress you’d carried with you, is quieter now. The noise in your head has faded into the background, replaced by the soft rush of wind and the feeling of freedom spreading through your limbs.

"Yeah," you reply, a small laugh escaping you. "Much clearer."

He asks again, his voice a little quieter now, a little more sincere. "And your shoulders? Still feel heavy?"

You hadn’t thought about it until now, but you stretch your neck and roll your shoulders, surprised at how light you feel. The tightness is gone, as though it’s been whisked away by the motion of the bike, the breeze.

"No," you say, feeling a small, almost imperceptible weight lift off your chest, leaving you unburdened for the first time in hours. "Not at all."

A beat of silence passes, and then he asks, his tone just the slightest bit playful now, "You feeling better for coming on this ride?"

You smile to yourself, knowing exactly where this is going. There’s a pause, and you let the words hang between you for a moment. It feels strange, almost like you’re being coaxed into admitting something you didn’t expect to admit. But you do it anyway. "Yeah. I am."

And then, as if on cue, you can already hear the satisfaction in his voice as he prepares to say something smug—he’s waiting for this—but before he can, you cut him off with a sharp laugh, already anticipating the next words out of his mouth.

“Don’t. Don’t say it.” You lean forward just a little, your voice teasing.

He chuckles, low and amused, and you feel the vibrations of it against your chest. You feel him shift beneath you, like he’s holding back a grin. “Alright, dove,” he says, the endearment slipping out so easily, so casually, that you almost miss it.

But not quite—

Dove.

The word hits you like a small wave of warmth, and for a split second, your chest tightens, the flutter in your stomach reappearing, unbidden. But you squash it down, choosing to focus on the world around you instead—the sunset spilling across the horizon, the buildings, the trees, the soft wind. It’s easier that way—yeah, this is so much easier.

But if you find yourself edging a little closer to him, just a little—you tell yourself it’s only because the wind’s picking up, and you’re just trying to stay warm as the temperature drops. Not because you want to be any closer to him than necessary.

No, no, definitely not.

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You’re already feeling drained, and the last thing you need right now is someone distracting you. But it's him, and it’s never that simple. It never is with him.

He has this way of worming his way into your life, always so warm, so persistent, even when you don’t want him to be. And yet, you can’t bring yourself to ignore his messages, or his calls, not really.

With a sigh, you swipe to answer.

“Hey,” Sylus’s voice greets you, smooth and casual, like he’s already comfortable in this moment. “Busy studying, huh? I can practically hear the stress radiating off you.”

You press your lips together. Is it really that obvious? You’re trying so hard to keep it together, but maybe you’re not doing such a great job.

“I’m okay,” you murmur, trying to keep your voice light, but it comes out a little strained, tighter than you intended. You tap your pen against the desk, more out of habit than anything. Your gaze flickers back to the notes, but they feel like they’re closing in on you. The numbers on the page seem to blur together, a frustrating mess of meaningless symbols.

“You don’t sound okay,” Sylus observes, his tone thoughtful, but with a teasing edge that’s familiar by now. “I think I can hear your brain frying from here.”

You exhale slowly, lips twitching into the smallest of smiles at the absurdity of his words. “It’s fine,” you say, a little more firmly this time, but still not entirely convincing. “I’m just trying to get through it.”

His voice softens slightly, like he’s weighing his next words. “You’ve been at it for hours. You’re gonna burn out if you keep going at this pace. Maybe you should take a break. Get out for a bit. Clear your head.”

You stiffen, but only for a moment.

A break? The thought is tempting, but immediately, you shove it down, unwilling to let yourself be that weak. The test is tomorrow, after all. You can’t afford to take time off.

“I don’t need a break,” you say, this time more to yourself than to him. “I need to focus.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end, like he’s considering your words carefully. “You sure? I can almost feel the stress through the phone.” His voice takes on that familiar teasing tone again, light and easy. “I’m heading out for a bike ride. You should come with me. It’ll be good for you. Fresh air. A little movement. Just one hour. Trust me.”

Your fingers freeze, mid-tap. A bike ride? Now?

The idea feels almost absurd—like the last thing you should be doing. You glance out the window. The sky is just starting to turn soft shades of pink and purple, and there’s a slight breeze rustling the trees. You let out a small breath, torn. It’s tempting. So tempting. But then the guilt creeps in—the fear of falling behind, of losing focus at the one time you can’t afford to.

“I don’t know,” you start, your voice trailing off as you think it through. “I really need to study. I—”

“Hey, it’ll only be an hour,” Sylus interrupts, his voice so easygoing, so confident, that it almost feels like he’s already made the decision for you. “And you’ll come back feeling better. Clearer. A little air will do wonders. You’ve been inside for so long.”

His words hang in the air for a moment, and you find yourself chewing the inside of your cheek. You glance at the stack of notes again, the textbooks, the study guides… and then, almost against your better judgment, you let your gaze drift back to the window. The night looks so much bigger out there. Maybe that’s what you need. Something bigger than this tiny room.

You lean back in your chair, rubbing your temples. You’re so tired, but the thought of pushing through for even just a little while longer feels... overwhelming. And yet, Sylus’s voice is still there, warm and coaxing, pulling you away from your thoughts.

“I’m sure you’ll get right back to it when we’re done,” he adds, as though reading your mind. “Just one hour. Fresh air. That’s all I’m asking.”

You draw in a long, slow breath. It doesn’t sound like the worst idea, even if you know it’s not the best idea.

Maybe you’re just tired.

Maybe you’re giving in because it’s easier than forcing yourself to keep studying.

“Fine,” you say, the word coming out a little softer than you expected. You let out a short, almost reluctant sigh, but you can’t hide the hint of a smile in your voice. “But don’t think I’m doing this because you’re right.”

Sylus’s laugh comes through the phone, rich and warm, the kind of sound that has a way of lightening the air. “Oh, I know,” he says, his voice still teasing, but there’s a trace of something else in it. “But you’ll thank me later.”

You roll your eyes, even though he can’t see it.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just go, before I change my mind.”

The evening air is a delicate balance between warmth and coolness, the kind of temperature that wraps around you like a soft embrace.

You pull your light jacket tighter, its fabric a little too thin against the shifting breeze, but it doesn’t matter. Outside, everything feels different. The room—stuffed with textbooks and notes—is a distant memory now, swallowed by the space and calm of the world outside. The soft rustling of leaves and the distant hum of city life fill the air, while the sun sinks lower, painting the sky with a watercolor blend of orange, pink, and violet.

You take a deep breath, letting the cool air fill your lungs, and you pause for a moment, just taking in the transition from confinement to freedom. The heavy weight of the day, the pressure, the fatigue—it's all there, lurking behind your thoughts—but for the first time in what feels like hours, you breathe.

And then, you see him.

Sylus.

He’s coming down the street, his bike gliding effortlessly toward you, and for a moment, it feels like everything else has gone silent.

His bike is sleek—sleek in a way that feels almost too perfect, like something out of an expensive catalog. Its black frame catches the last golden glints of sunlight, shining with an almost dangerous polish. The wheels spin, their motion silent but swift, and your eyes follow the smooth, curving lines of the machine. Everything about it seems impossibly well-made, so smooth, so expensive—much more than anything you’d ever be able to afford, much more than the balance in your bank account could ever justify.

Your pulse stutters for a second, and then, the realization hits you like a sharp jolt: I’m going on a bike date with Sylus.

You freeze.

The thought is fleeting, a brief moment of panic—you mentally slap it down, pushing it away as quickly as it came. No. No. It’s not a date. It’s just a bike ride. He’s just... You shake your head. No need to think too much about it. You can’t. But the fluttering in your chest just won’t go away.

Sylus stops in front of you, dismounting effortlessly, his posture so naturally graceful it feels like he’s done this a thousand times before. He’s wearing a jacket that’s just a little too casual to match the bike—a faded navy hoodie, worn jeans—but the entire look fits him, fits the effortless way he moves, and there’s a quiet confidence in his smile as he stands there, looking at you.

His gaze is warm, teasing, and yet there’s something... softer about it, like he’s genuinely glad to see you outside of your study cave.

“You ready for this?” His voice is light, easy—teasing, yet underlined with a subtle fondness, like he knows exactly what you're thinking, exactly how to push you. “Hope you’re not having second thoughts already.”

“I’m not,” you mutter, but it’s not convincing. You wish you could sound more confident. The words taste dry in your mouth.

His grin widens, amused, but there's an underlying sincerity that makes you question your own resistance.

He offers you a helmet, and you take it without thinking. The cold plastic feels unfamiliar in your hands for a moment—foreign and distant compared to the textbooks you've been gripping for hours. When you try to put it on, your fingers fumble, suddenly unsure of how to manage this new, simple task. The straps slip and twist in your hands, and the helmet is just... wrong.

Sylus watches you for a second, amusement tugging at the corner of his lips, but he doesn’t tease you outright. Instead, he steps forward, his movements effortless. "Let me help." His voice is warm, and though you want to brush it off, something about the simple kindness of the gesture settles something deep inside you.

He reaches forward, gently adjusting the straps, his fingers brushing against the skin of your neck. The touch is fleeting, but it’s enough to make you freeze. For a brief moment, you feel your heart beat a little faster. His fingers move with easy confidence, and you try to focus on the task at hand, even as the brush of his touch lingers in your mind.

“There we go,” he murmurs, his tone unexpectedly tender. "All set."

You swallow, fighting the sudden rush of heat to your face, and try to mask the awkwardness with a cough. "Thanks," you mumble, voice sounding thinner than you’d like. You’re not sure why this moment feels so strange—it’s just a helmet, right? But the way he’s standing so close, the way he took over for you without hesitation—it feels more intimate than you expected.

You back away to the bike, trying to regain your composure.

Your hands brush against the cold metal of the frame as you move toward the back of the bike, as if physically distancing yourself will somehow calm your nerves. You’re fine. You can do this. It’s just a bike ride, after all.

But then, Sylus is right there again, his voice teasing, warm, coaxing. “You don’t wanna fall off, do you? I suggest you hold on to me.”

Your breath catches—caught off guard by the easy invitation in his tone. Hold on to him? Your mind races, your body stiffens instinctively at the suggestion. The idea of touching him, even just for balance, feels... strange. Almost wrong. But then, you think about the speed, the wind, the risk of toppling over in front of him, and that thought alone makes your hands feel clammy. The hesitation hangs in the air between you.

“Uh…” You glance from his back to the bike, not really sure what to do. You take a small step forward and slide onto the seat, fingers curling around the edge of his jacket as you brace yourself, the fabric soft but sturdy beneath your grip. He doesn’t move at first, just watches you, eyes twinkling, lips curled in that playful smirk.

You breathe out slowly, then tighten your fingers, the warmth of his back pressing through the thin fabric of his hoodie. It’s surprisingly solid, warm—a stark contrast to the coolness of the evening air. You hold on, but it’s a tentative grip, a light touch, as though you’re afraid that any more contact might be too much.

And then, without warning, Sylus shifts beneath you, his body steady and sure as he kicks the bike into motion.

The world tilts sharply, and the rush of the bike surges forward, faster than you anticipated. The air whips past you, sharp and immediate, pulling the breath from your lungs. You can hear the hum of the tires against the pavement, the sound cutting through the sudden quiet, the sharp, metallic whir that seems to echo in your ears.

For a split second, it feels like you’re floating. Weightless. The ground beneath you is nothing more than a distant thought, and your stomach lurches, caught somewhere between the sudden thrill and the brief panic. The wind is everywhere—blowing against your face, tugging at your hair, filling your ears with its howl. The city smells different now, sharper, more real—the damp scent of rain still hanging in the air, blending with the tang of exhaust and street grime. Everything is heightened, the usual background noise of the world drowned out by the rush of motion.

Instinct kicks in, and you shift your grip, fingers slipping down to his waist, where you lock them tight, holding onto him with a desperation you hadn’t meant to feel. But even as you cling to him, the bike keeps pushing forward, faster, the world around you blurring, shifting with each turn, each speed bump. And it’s so fast, so sudden, the sense of control slipping out of your grasp.

You tense, the unfamiliarity of it making your body stiffen. But then, you feel him—his body shifting beneath you, a subtle movement, and you realize he’s aware of you, of the way you’re gripping him tighter now.

"Relax," Sylus says, his voice low, like it’s meant to be a comfort. You’re not sure it helps at first, but something in the way he says it makes you pause. "Just breathe with the ride."

The ride doesn’t slow, but suddenly, you’re not fighting it anymore. The motion becomes almost hypnotic—rhythmic, fluid—and you start to notice things. Really notice them. The world you’ve always known suddenly feels unfamiliar, like you’ve stepped into a painting where every brushstroke is sharp, vivid, alive. The golden hue of the sunset washes over everything, the roads you’ve walked a thousand times now glowing with a warmth you never realized was there. The buildings, the trees—they’re all familiar, but they seem new, like you’re seeing them with fresh eyes.

A soft gasp escapes your lips before you can stop it. Everything looks... different. Beautiful. You don’t even know why it’s so stunning, but the world in this moment is so full of color, of life—it’s like you’ve been missing it all along.

Sylus’s voice breaks through your reverie, warm and teasing, but there’s something softer in it now, as if he can sense how taken you are. "You liking this?" he asks, the hint of a smile in his tone.

For a moment, you don’t even answer. You’re too busy trying to drink it all in—this surreal, glowing evening, the way the streets seem to open up in front of you, the way the city feels alive beneath the cool wind. It’s like you’re flying, and yet, you’re still grounded, connected to something deeper.

When you finally do speak, it comes out almost breathlessly. "It’s... amazing." The words barely do it justice, but they’re all you can find.

"Yeah?" His voice comes from ahead, almost teasing again, but there’s a certain fondness behind it now, a gentleness that makes the edges of his teasing feel more like encouragement.

"Yeah," you confirm, letting the wonder settle in your chest like something warm, something you haven’t allowed yourself to feel in a while.

He’s quiet for a moment, then asks, "Your head feeling clearer now?" His question is soft, like he’s been waiting for the answer, like he knows it’s more than just about the ride.

You blink, startled for a second. You hadn't realized it, but now that the thought has been planted, you feel it too—your mind, which had been whirring with all the things you should be doing, all the stress you’d carried with you, is quieter now. The noise in your head has faded into the background, replaced by the soft rush of wind and the feeling of freedom spreading through your limbs.

"Yeah," you reply, a small laugh escaping you. "Much clearer."

He asks again, his voice a little quieter now, a little more sincere. "And your shoulders? Still feel heavy?"

You hadn’t thought about it until now, but you stretch your neck and roll your shoulders, surprised at how light you feel. The tightness is gone, as though it’s been whisked away by the motion of the bike, the breeze.

"No," you say, feeling a small, almost imperceptible weight lift off your chest, leaving you unburdened for the first time in hours. "Not at all."

A beat of silence passes, and then he asks, his tone just the slightest bit playful now, "You feeling better for coming on this ride?"

You smile to yourself, knowing exactly where this is going. There’s a pause, and you let the words hang between you for a moment. It feels strange, almost like you’re being coaxed into admitting something you didn’t expect to admit. But you do it anyway. "Yeah. I am."

And then, as if on cue, you can already hear the satisfaction in his voice as he prepares to say something smug—he’s waiting for this—but before he can, you cut him off with a sharp laugh, already anticipating the next words out of his mouth.

“Don’t. Don’t say it.” You lean forward just a little, your voice teasing.

He chuckles, low and amused, and you feel the vibrations of it against your chest. You feel him shift beneath you, like he’s holding back a grin. “Alright, dove,” he says, the endearment slipping out so easily, so casually, that you almost miss it.

But not quite—

Dove.

The word hits you like a small wave of warmth, and for a split second, your chest tightens, the flutter in your stomach reappearing, unbidden. But you squash it down, choosing to focus on the world around you instead—the sunset spilling across the horizon, the buildings, the trees, the soft wind. It’s easier that way—yeah, this is so much easier.

But if you find yourself edging a little closer to him, just a little—you tell yourself it’s only because the wind’s picking up, and you’re just trying to stay warm as the temperature drops. Not because you want to be any closer to him than necessary.

No, no, definitely not.

general masterlist || sylus masterlist