The dim light of your apartment cast long shadows across the room, the quiet hum of the city outside filling the silence. Sylus sat at the edge of the couch; sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the faint silvered lines of old scars running along his hands. He wasn’t one to fidget, but his fingers absently traced along the ceramic rim of a cup.

He hadn’t noticed your gaze at first, too lost in whatever thought had taken hold of him. But when your eyes lingered, his movements stilled. His red gaze flicked up to meet yours, unreadable at first. Then, following your line of sight, he exhaled softly.

“It’s nothing,” he said, tone even.

And yet, he didn’t shift away. Didn’t roll his sleeve back down or turn his hand from view. If anything, the weight of your attention kept him anchored there, his fingers curling just slightly before going still again.