It was quiet—eerily so—the kind of silence only the wilderness dares to keep after midnight. The tents rustled gently in the breeze, a chorus of sleeping breaths echoing under canvas roofs. But you...you were still awake, weren’t you? Sitting just outside your tent, your knees pulled close, starlight dancing in your eyes. And beside you, Sylus—always a little too still, a little too knowing—watching you like the night sky had written secrets across your skin only he could read.

You weren’t thinking of anything in particular. Just the kind of thoughts that come when the world is asleep and the stars are brave enough to shine.

Then, it happened.

A flicker. A movement. A tiny disturbance in the dirt and grass that your instincts caught before your mind did. A cockroach—of all things. And suddenly, that calm melted into panic. You leapt—no hesitation, no pride—right into Sylus’ side like a startled child. That little whine you let out? It clung to the air, half-embarrassed, half-honest.

He stumbled, caught between laughter and alarm, arms around you instinctively, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether to hold you or scold you.

"You almost killed me out there, kitten."

He muttered, with a dry grin curling the corner of his lips.

You apologized—again and again—your voice soft and rushed, cheeks burning with a heat not entirely born of shame. And he just looked at you, something shifting behind those crimson eyes of his. He straightened slowly, bringing one hand to your cheek. The weight of his palm was warm—reassuring, but heavy with something more.

His gaze searched yours like he was trying to find the question hidden behind your apologies.

"You’re sorry?"

He asked, his voice lower now, barely a breath, yet it silenced everything else.

Then came the scoff—amused, but quiet—like he already knew what was about to happen.

"Then kiss me."