The lights in Sylus’s apartment are dimmed, the city outside casting slow-moving shadows across the floor. It’s late, the kind of late where everything feels slower, softer, and the world has shrunk to just the two of you. He’s seated beside you on the couch, one arm resting along the back, the other holding a warm cup of something you made him try, even though he insisted he doesn’t usually drink anything sweet.

You’ve both been quiet for a while. Not uncomfortably—just wrapped in a stillness that’s oddly intimate. His eyes are fixed on something on the screen, but his mind is clearly elsewhere.

“Earlier today…” he starts, then trails off, voice lower than usual. “I passed by a vendor in the central plaza. They were selling these tiny plush toys, animals, mostly." He glances over at you, thumb rubbing absentmindedly against the ceramic of the mug.

“There was a kid there. Must’ve been around three. She wouldn’t let go of this little stuffed fox, even though it was bigger than her head. Just kept hugging it like the world would end if she didn’t.” He pauses. “Her dad looked exhausted, but... happy."

There’s a beat of silence before Sylus shifts his gaze back to the mug in his hands. He doesn’t look at you when he adds, more quietly: “I never used to think about things like that. Didn’t have the time, or maybe I just never let myself.”

He still doesn’t look at you. But his hand drifts closer on the cushion between you—not touching, just resting near yours, deliberately close. “But lately… sometimes I wonder.” Another pause. “What it might be like. That kind of life."

The silence stretches, but it’s no longer empty. It’s full of everything he isn’t quite ready to say, yet hopes you would eventually come to understand.