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"Listen, I assure you ---" and if his rooftop were such a security risk? Well, Syrus supposed it was a good thing he had acquaintances in places higher than the fifth story of a modestly upscale downtown apartment, "---once you get past the ladder, there's a service elevator that stops between floors in an alcove that's separate from the public one. It's late enough there shouldn't be anyone else around."

If Syrus's movements were less than graceful for how sore he was, if he looked like leaky, blackened hell freshly climbed from the deepest pits of Tartarus; then it was fine -- He'd tell the near-stranger before him that he looked only slightly better for wear and that appearances were deceiving. The idea made him smile while he shimmied a small silver key with a red fish chain from an absent slack pocket, and popped a hatch into darkness below. The thing could've been a skylight easily as a pitfall, and yet, Syrus seemed familiar enough with it that he limpingly shimmied down without futher ado...

"You'll never hear any latin in bad americano if you stay up there. What was your name again? I can't call you 'that b***h' in my head all night long, unless of course you're into that sort of thing.." he only hissed slightly as he touched down, all remorse for every pervasive ache that hot coffee and a hotter shower would fix. Syrus was even sure he had something in the water Senshi's size.

It'd been a minute since he'd had a proper sleepover. Gods forbid he actually start to miss Waru before their bi-weekly interlude!!

"Ensuring I keep my quiet's become a bit of a necessity, especially now that I'm doing 'this' on an irregular basis--" the 'this' need not be clarified, he knew 'Matt' had more than two working cells between his ears. Even as he gave him enough leeway to step down, and twisted round a line of wall-length pipes with various gauges and little red knobs meant to be left untouched. Pressed his hand along the dimly lit concrete wall till he found dark buttons for several floors -- slipped the key in again and turned it till it lit up -- hit 3.

He'd never admit to having cornered a maintenance man in the wee hours of an evening after getting their schedule from the neighborhood whats-app: Mr's Lantry in unit 102 on the fifth floor was a busybody, complained quiet a bit, threatened to sue --- It was what gave Syrus the idea to cite enough ordinances under laws that didn't quite exist for this *state*, to get him access to the roof; like a trade off for a gag order. Apparently if he winged loudly enough for people to peek out their peepholes; just -- shouted utter nonsense about chapter six's, fire preventative services, and building regulations --

He could get his hands on anything. A rooftop entry-point. A service elevator key..

"Plus? Anyone that knows Waru has to -- mnh, babyproof things, just a tad? Saves me paperwork in the long run." and as soon as the doors sprung open with a shudered creak; he put the back wall to good use holding his weight, and sighing as he regathered platinum strands that'd grown too long, into something like a messy tail. He'd have to have Aramis trim it up into something closer to business casual. He hated when it fell to further than the nape of his neck.

"Ice queen..." even half dead on his feet, his look was sly, narrow, the smile he'd held since the end of the battle hadn't abated in the slightest, "Is that the best you can do? Not that I dislike it, but I know you've more creativity than that."

"Syrus will just have to do until you come up with something better, Matt." already fishing for another set of keys as the whole contraption jerked to a halt and ground open. He tossed them with hardly a second look, tired trust and a groan for every other movement that stretching just wouldn't smooth out, "It's going to be door 57, left of this hall..."

Syrus’s attempt to stifle the laugh dredged forth was painful, “Ohgod, that one was terrible..Oh-ow-I think I sprained something just hearing that,” even his sinuses hurt, for all the ways that pinching the laugh off did nothing to curb his joy. For all the winning they’d done that night, the monsters must’ve concussed him — yes — that was the best explanation for why he found any of that so ******** funny.

He had brain damage, that was his excuse. One too many inky tentacles to the head in the last few month’s; it had to have rattled something loose! Like his sense of humor, or maybe one of his last few brain cells? Even if his entrance though his open door was smooth as chunky peanut butter; his mouth found a way to patch his exhausted folly with steady quips — the verbal dance easy enough to play at even if he was crying from ‘icyrus’.

“Every good home needs a fancy Welcome Matt, if you ever get tired of whatever nine-to-five grind you’re currently working through? I’ve an opening for doorman. Now get inside, the neighbors are nosy…” hissed tease as he strode past and waved Matt in behind him.

The neighbors were nosy, and yet none were nosier than he. A singular truth amidst all the washed out blandness of his space. After the fiasco of ‘hand in chest soul afire’ he’d taken new precautions: moved from the fourth floor to the third, from 134 to 57 —- rearrangements had been made of the single bedroom, open floorspace, but what remained? Was a severe lack of identity. Everything still looked like a wayfair catalogue had procreated with a college bound ikea page; like jcpenny had sales and Syrus, needing cheap chik for appliances, had scooped them up — everything from coffee tables, to diner sets, to floor runners for his tile…

He didn’t believe himself paranoid for making the move. Only very well prepared, because himbo was danger enough — but himbos flaming husband with an aura for days? Such a Risk.

The kind that drove him to keep his place well in line with the sort of corporate stamp of appeal that was offensive to none and had just enough of everything. Boring, organized, babyproof, a singular air fern in a corner.

But that was fine with Syrus, his personal affairs didn’t belong in the light, and any room he was in? He was the centerpiece, conversation was the decor, books that would spark asks about today’s weather or Fibonacci —- anything racier in content shoved into false sleeves and hidden compartments under beds and behind closet doors.

“Grata domum, now — have you ever heard that ‘in wine there is truth’? If ever I had to pick a Latin phrase to die to,” he would’ve drowned to it, but so long as Waru existed in his life? He supposed so to did Waru’s people. He could hardly divest himself of them, and remaining an island of a man was slowly begging to have flaws that outweighed the gains he’d presumed it would. “It’d be that one and maybe also several others. Do you need a shower, do you drink? Ah — has Waru introduced you to the concept of sleepovers?”

Kinky -- The thought wasn't even in his own voice, and while he hated that, it made him laugh harder for Matt's comment. The shared mirth was easy enough to feel at ease with, Sy's smile glossing over all the ways he wanted to make notes on how they he may already have become the most welcoming of mats, and without even knowing. What did it matter if Matt played the role for the agency and it's shadowed leaders, or for Syrus himself? Personally he thought the man would've been far better suited standing at his front door and making trouble, than standing in some decaying hall waiting for a command. Of course the idea of Waru issuing anything like a command...

It was no wonder their shared himbo sought to entangle those in his web who didn't need much direction. Waru's thoughts were so independent, it was likely he didn't even register having them -- just a hulking form of well marbled meat, with a too bright grin, running on autopilot -- and yet?

"Oh the magic is a marvel, isn't it? But just because I can't see it anymore -- it's like missing limb syndrome. The slime may be gone, but the feel of it." a grimace, notes of disgust, it was easy enough to affirm his love of wine as he pulled twinned long-stemmed glasses free; a gift set, clearly, rimmed in the fakest sort of gold trim. There may have been in the backmost dredges of a cup-bard mugs with tiny honeycombs and hugging bears. Syrus would deny their existence; except in the instance of varied visitors who *knew* -- who insisted on him having tea-bees, and other kitchy crok easily gotten from thrift stores with the utmost of impulsivity. "Certainly whatever bruises show from this will remain, and there's only so much a suit can hide without me pouring a decent amount of homeopathic cabinet remedies into he problem."

And the glasses were joined by fridge bottles; not so gauche as to be boxed wine, but not so expensive as to be top shelf. A nice middling of single bottled pink and red with screw tops for Matt to pick from. Syrus's icy blues ticking up from chilled yellow glow of the machines internals to acknowledge with some curiosity - that particular 'No' - before deciding the wine needed cheese cubes and grapes, he hardly cared if they snacked straight out the bag at that point.

"You're missing out. He's a way of -- of making the stupidest s**t 'fun'. I can't recommend it enough. No more than I can believe he hasn't spent more time with you...You are one of his, hummn, his acquisitions? Waru's explanation of anything -- Matt, I swear I've an easier time asking anyone else for a straight answer, than trying to sort his words like the latest shred-bin dumping's, and I like to believe I speak 'Waru'."

It was interesting, the idea of Waru being polite enough to have not dragged someone else into his inanity by simple way of gravitational pull and clinging need. All the ways Syrus thought he was an 'adult' himself, until he met another supposed adult -- and learned the levels of bullshit a person could get into when they went looking for it.

The astounding amount of bullshit one could find when they weren't looking at all --

“Mmm, I’ll have to pass on energy-tasting and star-crunching for now, thanks. Though the day may arise where I literally become a soul sucking ghoul, instead of being one only figuratively; it’s the epitome of lawerdom you know? Becoming King Leech to the overworld —” sly as a shark, and he liked the bit of fidget that existed in Matt's movements. Good. Let him suffer a bit of muck thought and grime shiver; misery partnered to his desperate need for company in the achy aftermath of -- months of ewwwwww drawn out into a nightmarishly endless scream of thought.

‘Frost’ got a gently raised brow, as if Syrus were expecting better; a ‘Frosty’ a ‘Mr. Freeze’, maybe even an ‘ice-ice-baby’. He let Matt’s slippage slide with a sharper smile in favor of popping bottles and wondering when his day would come — if he could calculate how long it’d be before he stopped feeling the ooze slip beneath his heels? Or the breath of screeching void monsters acrost his back with a chaser of razor sharp claws….

Maybe if he were better bred for battle — though he thought he’d done well this time around. Better now than every time before, certainly. He had to hand it to the way Waru trained him *specifically*, the lessons were settling into something like muscle memory. He wasn’t sure how the man played with others, but with him? He pulled no punches, eagerly bled for each bit of searing ice — *liked it* — which Syrus ultimately found endearing as ********. He’d never imagined all the ways his introverted dullness could so easily be polished sharp by an overzealous psycho with big tits. An absolute whetstone of a human being facing a pissy ball of ice.

Though he also had Tama to thank. The cat had helped fill canyon sized gaps of knowledge, that without? Well. Even the simplest act of transformation wouldn't've made sense. It didn’t come naturally to him the way it might’ve Waru. He had to ‘think’ about things: say them aloud, write them down, memorize the feel of it until it looked far more natural to everyone else than it felt to him.

Because Magic wasn’t normal!!

“That depends on your definition of ‘sleeping’, you’d be surprised though." Spoken from knowing, and how many times had Cyrus been surprised? Truly, there was no part of him that'd believed grown men did pillow forts with extra blankets, or curled up together under Christmas trees while singing carols of old shows; soo very drunk on mildly spiked eggnog. All the other tasks he'd assumed adulting would be. Various hardened reins he'd taken up and assumed responsibilities of, and 'Albite' of all people?

The man was about as responsible as an amoeba that'd been granted a terrifying amount of sentience and mass. And yet -- yet yet yet --- Syrus had to give him some rope to hang on, some mental slack. Even as he laughed for every jab at the mans expense, because he'd lived those ted talks full of air and random phrases that led no where when it came to Waru. Gods, the b*****d just seemed to suck time for the sake of it when he was in a mood!!

"He's not all sex and stupidity --- at least not always. The man is malleable as a sponge to his surroundings, and retains common sense just as easily. M'surprised he didn't scoop the entirety of your team up like an abandoned basket of puppies; out of some purely childish desire.....Especially since Nature abhors a vacuum, and Waru is living, speaking proof of this.”

Caps popped, liquids poured, he was glad to be off heels and in -- shoes -- loathe that he was stuck in business casual attire long after the clock had run out, but he supposed he could always change later. Right then? He needed to be getting chilled wine into Matt's hands, down his own parched throat, strangely more so for speaking so much about every plaguing event he'd hardly the time to process before.

Monsters, and weddings and monster weddings...being kidnapped into space....

He really had to tell Faustite about that at some point too.

Waru was such an easy subject, tangential candy, and wordy fluff -- he could've found a million more ways to praise or needle at the idea of the man who'd drug him into this magical nonsense for hours; except Matt too was interesting, as much an enigma as any of his other team-mates. Less so now that he was in his home -- moreso for all that he knew nothing about the other save Waru's babbling about water Senshi and their affinity for plants...

Which made just as little sense as anything he babbled about, but?

"You don't sound like you especially minded that, the drifting?" his tone held soft notes of interest, a raised brow that accompanied the glas she raised to his lips; the cold tang of bright red with hints of smooth sweetness tasted as good on his tongue as it had been every other time he'd had this brand, but especially tonight. Something about survival and decent company made it better.

"See, I would've, as much as I like the idea of getting things done on my own--" Syrus couldn't've done it, his efforts in the name of self-interest culminated around having access to a group, the base of a pyramid which he could someday stand upon -- over -- "though I suppose I'm still fresh enough to all of this to not know what 'getting things done' fully entails..." interrupted by a ping, a blaring chime on both his phone and a tablet pen tucked into some pocket or another -- Syrus paused on stealing another mouthful of wine only long enough to check the text, an thumb a reply that was more middle fingered gif and 'hairs wet, busy' than anything else...

If his friend got the subtext or took it literally? So long as he relayed his intended absence without him having to talk to anyone else at all that night.

"Yeah, we're not answering that."

The compliment got a nod, cultivated for the exact purpose of not seeming too smarmy, while also expressing how oh so perfectly pleased with the acknowledgement he was. Syrus’s glass raised in mock cheers, his grin broad for being absolutely beyond *done* with the day. They’d put their work in already, been plucked from one space into the next — and sometimes it was enough to know when to call the game on account of having no more ******** to give.

If it was serious —

If Albite *specifically* was dying?

That man could text him *again*, and maybe then he’d dredge up the energy to go put his ******** shoes back on and go to the corner store to buy a ******** to give.

Waru would’ve had to been actively dying ******** ‘em. Though I find I rarely have to, not when Waru can manage that on my behalf—“ and he smothered his snicker with sweet swallows of chilled red, let it coat his nerves with the sort of soothing that dulled the lingering sense of cloying ooze — maybe if he got to his second glass — or his second bottle —

“I’m hoping that’s the case with them. Honestly, thats part of the allure now. Even moreso than I thought it would be,” he hadn’t expected the rapid growth of their team, the expansive networking, the *opportunities*! The Negaverse seemed to have their lengthy roots entrenched deep — spread wide —whatever Syrus feared he’d lack with being directly under Albite, he quickly realized he could get from someone else.

“Though I agree, there’s something to be said for the joys of living under the radar. A nice sense of passive anonymity. You bother no one — you remain unbothered; simply inconvenienced from time to time,” and he had tried that hadn’t he, once, twice? It worked in school - it’d worked ——

Right up until it hadn’t.

The disconnect for that so harshly jarring — When doing what he’d done for so long didn’t get him what he wanted anymore?

There Waru’d been; void abhorrent, densely massive. Willing to play — so long as it brought him no actual ‘harm’. Whatever his warped definition of that was. Syrus struggled to find any lines that weren’t drawn in sand or ever shifting. Syrus himself was content so long as he was remembered and given his desired allotment of time. He still didn’t quite understand what the ******** Waru got out of their arrangement…

“Until you need something that only the act of having ‘connections’ can get you. When suddenly you have to make your ulterior motives feel altruistic —then you have to play at being people again, right? Create an entire beauty routine centered around falsetto laughs and just happy enough to not be considered manic smiles….”

“Except here.”

Syrus could see it with ease, someone could’ve drifted, couldn’t they? For years. The organization was so large — the cracks must have been equally massive as the projected opportunities — but? Syrus was a sucker for a nice claimable ladder, merri-go-rounds simply made him nauseous…..

“As messy as the magical bullshit is, the black and white bottom line is easy enough to follow, and however I am? They don’t require me to change in order to follow that — I am still pissed about the outfit though — just — I insist it’s tactical! Unless Dione was a very chilly stripper in her past life! And Don’t say ‘ho’s don’t get cold’ — because I know for a fact that Waruhiu owns at least one winter coat.”

They understood each other then.

Learning that was like feeling the easing of a vice and getting more air for it. It was nice to find someone who just 'got it'. Syrus wondered if Matt was an introvert? And if so? Then he maybe could've felt something like sympathy for poor mans plight. He knew firsthand what an exhaustive task it was to be dragged into such a huge team, and then bothered ceaselessly by someone like Waru who hit like waves mid squall: emotionally, physically, unending as the tide. Even when he lapsed in attentions he was never truly distant -- nor still -- that man would've imploded if ever he was made to be so for any lengthy period of time.

Whereas Syrus could exist with a rare text, a good book, a clean quiet space. Simple, concise instructions and a menial list of rules to adhere to.

With hooded eyes, he took the nascent little life movements as something caused by wine, good wine, the kind that made relaxation easier. Tilted his head accordingly, chuckled at the idea that the Negaverse ran like a particularly vicious business. Haah, evil capitalism at its finest. It was cartoonish, or would have been had he not believed firmly in the rules of tanstaafl. If they weren't paying homage to sky being A? Then he was sure they would most certainly be paying to someone else.

Better the flaming, literal Devil Waru knew -- than the one Syrus didn't.

At the mention of, who was it? Pursed lips, a tilt of blond and expressive thought.

Silv? Like Silver, like svelte, like -- Ah, Sylvite. The pink one! That was who Matt meant, it must have been. The hair color and a description of 'sweet like candy' was about all that Syrus could pluck form the vague memories he had of Waru mentioning some newest infatuation. That and an entire period of time where Waru had been out - out of commission - out of reach - and that man did get into enough of his own deep s**t that occasionally he took breaks from finding familiar beds to fall into.

Broke a leg here, a rib there; free diving, cliff climbing -- fighting a literal deer in a forest. Though, now that he thought about it? The deer might in fact have been an enemy, but the point stood!

Because even in the rare moments he did take 'time to himself' he was almost never quiet about it. Had it been last fall he'd holed up with her and her alone? Come back with any array of new sweaters and ---

"Oh, he is being very considerate of you then, isn't he? Using kid gloves. I wonder why...Honestly, I'm surprised he hasn't tried to pull you into more still. Though maybe I shouldn't be?"

Peppers -- what? No--Syrus couldn't be surprised by that. The team pendulumed from missions of the serious to the silly. So of course Waru would call someone about peppers. The same he would about a particularly round cloud, or camping, or any other inane and innocuous friend-type activity.

"I can see it now--- He must've tripped every boundary you had and gotten a wall of 'do not cross'. That man does like to scent along those like a hound looking for holes in the fence. Mostly because he can't read the 'beware of barbed wire' signs, but? He does understand a very clear verbal 'no' -- or at least the shaping of the letters that make it."

He wouldn't do Matt the disservice of assuming him some passive, punching bag of a person. Quiet, maybe, but not just someone people could use.

"Now-- Sylvite -- the pink one? She still about? He's mentioned all of-- and I cannot tell if these are team mates or acquaintances, but? He's briefed me about everything from Kelpies, to poets, to -- I suppose it was someone with very tight jeans? I know he's very fond of Jadarite--- the way she flusters him and it is the cutest thing."