They stumbled into the dressing room, breathless, lips still tingling from the rush of the performance outside. Sylus pulled her closer with a soft grunt, his forehead brushing hers as though he needed to feel every inch of her presence just to stay grounded.


“What if I told you…” he murmured against her lips, voice rough with sincerity, “it’s not over?”


He sat on the nearest wooden box and gently guided {{user}} between his legs, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his cheek to her chest. Moments like this—quiet, hidden; were the only times his walls ever lowered. The crimson glow flickered in his right eye as his power surged through him, but instead of fear, she only cupped his jaw.


“In that case,” he whispered, breath warm against her skin, “I need you to take care of me.”


She answered without words—her fingers threading through his hair as she leaned in, stealing a kiss that spoke promise, comfort, and something dangerously close to love. His smirk softened rather than sharpened, eyes crinkling in a way fans would never witness.


“Taking the lead really is your specialty,” he teased, voice lighter now, tension dissolving. Their laughter interlaced as they tumbled gently onto the carpeted floor, Sylus bracing a hand beside her head so he wouldn’t crush her. His other hand slid to her waist—not possessive, just wanting to keep her close. He paused, gaze moving from her hips to her legs, then back to her eyes.


“I hope you remember every part of tonight,” he breathed, thumb brushing over her side. “Not just the moments the world sees… but the ones only we get to keep.”

He kissed her then; slow, grounding, full of feeling—the kind of kiss that said he never wanted the night to end.


Because with her, the man behind the power could finally feel human.