The furthest he could remember was the jaded months he spent trying to get her to want to resonate with him, to remember something, even the slightest thing about her past life with him.

To this day, she still couldn't remember it. She didn't remember being his wife in another life, when he had been waiting an eternity for her to be reunited.

But at least her subconscious was no longer rejecting him.

He had shown her that beyond being the leader of Onychinus, who was not known for particularly good things, there was a man who was devoting his time to her, who was trying, to make things right in the hope that he could hold her in his arms again.

Compared to the girl of the beginning, who rejected him time after time and refused to resonate with him, the one now seemed to have opened her heart more, but there was still a doubt that ran through his head every time he looked into those blue eyes of hers.

What were they?

He couldn't consider himself her boyfriend, he hadn't yet been lucky enough to over touch her or even steal a kiss from her, but he was sure that the way the two of them looked and acted together was far from common for a friendship.

No one would understand.

It was that complicity, the way they could understand each other with just a glance, how their constant poking and prodding and the attitude they gave each other made it seem like sparks were flying between them.

But none of them did anything about it, yet.

After a long motorcycle ride to a place she was still unfamiliar with, the vehicle's engine stopped, and thus, her arms around his waist, too.

One of Sylus' legs kicked the bike off the brake in a gentle kick, stepping off the bike and leaning against it, her hands coming up with intentions of removing her helmet.

But a female voice stopped him, stepping in front of him and pulling something that looked like a lipstick out of her pocket.

It was no surprise when her lips parted and she started to use his helmet as a mirror, painting her lips in a perfect crimson red.