Unrequited Love

      The country was in a constant state of strife. Crime rates were high, deaths were common, and the government was a joke. Everyone knew that the real ‘government’ was the Meridaitus Group (otherwise known as the Merids), more specifically its head, Actavio. A prolific mob boss whose clutches in the country ran deep and even stretched passed its origins, nearly reaching across the continent, yet their base of operations remained here in the Southeast.

The Merids replaced the government in everything but name. If you were your average, upstanding citizen, you’d likely never run into them - at least directly. They had some form of ownership over almost anything. Even if you made your own independent business they probably owned the land it was founded on, or the construction company that made the building, or the materials used, and it was only a matter of time before you crossed paths with them. They even had their hands on the police, although most crimes they didn’t really care for unless it somehow meddled with the group’s bigger plans.

On the lower side of things, people had their own street gangs that were just a group of rebellious teens at the smallest and almost as feared as the Merids at the largest. In the largest case stood the lawless delinquent Sly Fox, only known as Sylas by anyone he considered a friend. He earned his name from the fox ears that adorned the hood to his dark denim jacket along with the scarves attached onto the left-back side of his belt that were akin to tails due to their length and frayed nature.

But his case was strange. His gang wasn’t even a gang, considering it didn’t have a name, nor did he consider himself their leader.

After he became well known for his criminal streaks to the point that even authorities got tired of arresting him, masses of people just started to follow him and do things in his name. Originally, the Merids thought about interfering early on, then after seeing that the crimes themselves weren’t troublesome enough decided upon leaving them to their devices. The ‘gang’ was well known for fighting amongst each other, usually with their bare fists and at most knives, just for the sake of doing so while Sly Fox would sometimes observe and sometimes partake in them. They were also known as essentially being the odd-jobs of street gangs, usually doing whatever anyone asked if they had a price, and such freedom gave the makeshift gang a vast following.

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     Sylas’s days weren’t ever particularly eventful anymore. In the past, he’d frequently violate the law just to get caught and escape for the fun of it, but after they stopped bothering to even do that, it took the fun out of the whole affair. He had no problems watching people duke it out or duking it out himself but doing that almost all the time became boring faster than he expected.

The apartment was somehow even more of a mess than he was. There were all sorts of empty cardboard containers ranging from takeout to empty hardware boxes littered across its entirety. Crumbs of God-knows-what were in random locations and the sink was always filled with dishes.

Anytime that his apartment became too unbearably filthy, he would just move to another one. With all the money he made from his more rebellious days, he didn’t have to worry about finances too much, not that he was much of a spender outside of that. On most days he was too lazy to even go to his bedroom, so he’d sleep in the living room on the couch. Surprisingly, that was the cleanest area of his apartment but still dirty nonetheless.

Sylas lugged himself off the sofa and glanced at the digital clock on the coffee table. Nearly 2:00 a.m..

The routine he had now was finding a way to kill time throughout the day however he could, then around midnight (or a bit past if he napped too long) he would go to the bar. Same one as always. It was the main change of air he had, since the bar was a lot quieter than most and its patrons were always the strange and unexpected variety. Even if he didn’t plan on drinking or staying long he’d still go, and today was one of those days.

Before he left, Sylas went to the bathroom and splashed his face with some water, then redid his loose half-braid which only started at his shoulder blades and barely kept the rest of his long forest green hair somewhat together. Several people in the past made comments saying that he might as well wear his hair down, but it too frequently got in his way and it was the only way to keep it long without putting it up. For whatever reason, he loathed the idea of a ponytail or any other means of constraining his hair. He had a handful of subtle, thin braids mixed in with the bangs draped across his chest, but that was about it.

The orange tattoos riddled about his body seemed to groan with him as they matched his eyes in both color and exhaustion. Regardless, he had a routine, and it felt wrong not to go after keeping a streak for so long.

As per usual, the low-lit bar was mostly quiet, with some murmurs of conversations between the few patrons there were. He sat in the same place as always, just a seat or two away from the right edge of the counter in front of the owner, Ruth: a stern middle-aged woman - not usually Sylas’s cup of tea but they had a mutual understanding.

“Welcome. Are you drinking tonight?” Ruth asked as she wiped a glass.

“Nah.”

Sylas took out his pack of cigarettes and lit one, placing it between his lips and drawing slow breaths, Maybe I’ll stick around for thirty minutes or something then go back home.

By the time he was halfway through his cigarette, the bell attached to the entrance chimed signaling another customer but Sylas didn’t bother looking back. He didn’t care for whoever walked through those doors, never did. This bar was just a nice place to decompose and nothing else.

“Welcome.” She greeted them across the bar without looking either.

In his peripherals, Sylas noticed Ruth have a slight brow raise when they approached the counter to order, which was uncharacteristic of her. Even if a half-man half-deer waltzed through those doors, she’d be just as stoic and indifferent. Curiosity piqued, Sylas turned to see who could’ve possibly thrown her off, albeit slightly.

Of all people, it was the Head of the Meridaitus Group, none other than Actavio himself. The mob boss sat on the complete opposite corner of Sylas, perched with his legs crossed and the astute posture of a predatory feline. He wasn’t too frequently seen by the eyes of the public outside of the news, to the point that people conjured up myths saying that he was like the grim reaper. A herald of encroaching death.

“Just red wine will do, whatever kind you fancy.”

A grim reaper seemed to be a fitting title for him by appearances and mannerisms alone. But, something about him was alluring. The way his short and partially slicked back aureate locks contrasted with the low-lit bar. His sharp hazel-blue gaze that could cower any man or creature. His confined suit that practically begged for someone to strip him…Strip him?

Now Sylas’s thoughts started to trail off.

It was well known that he was married with five children, all in their mid to late teens. Rumors speculated he had a mistress in-between it all as two of them had come out with a darker complexion than their parents, but rumors were all it was. And then there was his wife, the reputable Ceida Sviliene who came from a wealthy family and was most known for her kindness, completely juxtaposing her husband.

With a formula like that, Sylas had so many questions that he had never thought about until now. What was their relationship like? How does he treat his kids? What was he like in bed? And especially to have so many children.

They drifted off some more as he studied Actavio’s figure.

He’d be fun to mess with. He had to be. Tight asses are always the best to poke at, and Sylas was beyond willing to get stung. Something about him felt invitingly familiar.

The more Sylas’s mind wandered, the more fervent and vivid his imagination grew.

His skin was so smooth. So well maintained. How did it look flushed in the heat of lust? How would he look with his lips around another man? Would he maintain that same frigid gaze, or would his eyes melt like snow?

“How long are you going to keep staring?”

Oh shit. Was he talking to him? Actavio spoke to him? That had to be a death omen written in stone. As soon as he left the bar he could already see himself keeling over.

Playing off his unholy thoughts, Sylas managed to break eye contact, exhaling his embarrassment in the form of cigarette smoke. And still he felt Actavio’s cold-burn for a glare on him. Was he really that enraged that he was staring? Who COULDN’T stare. It was THE Head for fucks sake. In a bar no less. Not some upstanding one either, just some back alley pub! The only reason people wouldn’t stare is out of fear that their eyes would get plucked out for it, and Sylas did admit he was stupidly careless for staring but he couldn’t help it. If anything, he was more like an angel of death than a grim reaper. Something beautiful and terrifying.

“Put out your cigarette. It’s disrespectful to those around you.”

At first, Sylas debated ignoring his chastising in the hopes that he was speaking to someone else, but it was very clearly aimed at him. He momentarily thought about his approaches. On one hand, he could be nice to try and gain his favor, and maybe one thing will lead to another and he’ll have his ticket into Actavio’s life. On the other, he could be his usual self and see how it goes.

Well, negative impressions always last longer and hit harder don’t they? Mentally sighing, he readied himself for the benign behavior he was about to do.

Usual self it is.

Sylas donned a smug grin and got up from the counter, closing in on the mob boss and taking another whiff of his cigarette right in front of his face.

“And if I don’t?” He provoked, prodding at the hornet’s nest.

The two only locked gazes for a few seconds before Actavio slammed his head against the counter quick enough to knock his vision loose in a flare of veins and cut his inner mouth against his teeth. Actavio plucked the cigarette from Sylas’s lips then grinded it against his cheek. A scalding heat seared into the delinquent’s skin causing him to slightly wince in pain.

With a voice that could cut steel, he uttered, “If I ever have to tell you a second time, I’ll drive the ashes into your eyes.”

And with that, he released Sylas with one last jolt before throwing a couple bills onto the table which was clearly above the price of the wine he ordered, or at least tried to.

“Nevermind about the drink. Here. For your trouble.”

The mob boss exited the bar, leaving behind the overwhelming tension for others to deal with.

Sylas wiped the ashes away with the back of his hand then sat back down. Ah, shit. I hope I didn’t push it too far.

Despite how disastrous that was, he felt oddly pleased. His heart was racing out of his chest and he couldn’t stop smiling. If he had a tail, it would surely be wagging in excitement. He didn’t really believe in love at first sight, and yet here he was, getting giddy about someone he barely met–if that could even be called a meeting. Already he was wondering when they’d cross paths again.

Or if.

No, when.

If it didn’t happen naturally, he’d make it happen.

Now, he had something to look forward to.

Was this what people called a crush?

He thought back to the mob boss. Those cold, cold eyes that harbored no sympathy, no compassion. He was a demon in the skin of a man–no, an angel of death was still the best description.

Sylas sighed affectionately.

I think I’m in love.