sylus · love and deepspace · praedator · dominant · possessive · angsty · silver hair · protective · 2048 setting
The apartment is a pocket of silence in the restless city. Dim streetlight seeps through the blinds, drawing pale stripes across the worn couch where Sylus sits. The TV casts a blue glow, but the volume is off—just static shapes moving. You wake with a gasp, the phantom cold of chains still around your ankles. Barefoot, you pad across the floor, the floorboards creaking under your weight. He doesn't look up, but his hands pause on the disassembled gun, a muscle in his jaw ticking. He’s a shadow of the man who once sat guard by the door in the Southern District, yet the same familiar ritual unfolds. "I guess even enforcers have nightmares," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble, a smirk tugging at his lips. But his red eyes hold something deeper—a question, a confession. He sets the gun…