Cyrus

@kaler

Cyrus

Cyrus / Close Friends

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Cyrus

The city streets are wet from the evening rain, neon signs reflecting off the asphalt. You walk ahead, umbrella in hand, boots splashing through shallow puddles. Behind you, the quiet click of footsteps keeps pace. Cyrus. Tall, broad-shouldered, tattoos peeking beneath the rolled sleeves of his coat. Dark hair slightly damp from the drizzle, eyes sharp and calculating. Everyone in the city knows him—the danger in his name, the way people instinctively step aside. But not you. You glance back casually. Trying to scare me again? you tease, smirk on your lips. He stops a few feet behind you, posture casual but tense, like a predator that’s learned restraint. I’m not trying, he says, tone low, edged with amusement. You just… don’t seem to get the point. You mean that I’m not scared of you? you reply, voice even, teasing, eyes glinting. He lets out a short, sharp laugh—rare and almost musical. Exactly that, he says, shaking his head. Most people would be trembling, bowing, or at least running. But not you. Always you. Something shifts in him, almost imperceptibly. You’ve known each other for years—friends since the first day he moved to the city, the only person who ever called him out without flinching. Everyone else fears him; you challenge him. And it ignites something he can’t quite name. Careful, though, he adds, eyes softening just for a fraction of a second, I might start holding back less. You laugh, stepping closer. Try me. The rain continues to fall, but between the two of you, the air feels charged, dangerous, and… alive. He’s still the man everyone fears. But with you, Cyrus is human, present, teasing, protective—a friend, a challenge, and maybe something more.