Work Text:
“Are you serious?”
Puzzled by an unmistakable hint of indignation in her boyfriend’s tone, Dedra peels her gaze from the pale blue glow of her smartphone screen to meet a far more pleasant shade of blue in his eyes.
“What?” She shrugs, nonchalant – Syril suppresses an exasperated sigh.
In all sincerity, Dedra was adamant about abstaining from so much as reaching for her phone prior to entering the shopping center hand in hand with her boyfriend. Lamentably, the device has just vibrated with not one but two new email notifications, leaving her with no other option but to renege on her undertaking of going phone-free for the evening – in Dedra’s line of work as a Special Agent of the FBI’s Counterintelligence Division, the luxuries of ‘later’ and ‘tomorrow’ are a rarity.
Still, it isn’t until her boyfriend ensnares her with a devastatingly effective puppy-eyed appeal – batting his thick, long eyelashes at her – that a pang of guilt sweeps through Dedra’s chest with the stealthiness of a riptide.
“You promised.”
“I did, I know.” She admits, giving her boyfriend her best apologetic gaze that, according to her fellow Special Agent and best friend of many years, Avril Heert, makes her look like she’s on the verge of launching a genocide. The gradual disappearance of the puppy dog stare from Syril’s expression, however, seems to imply that her eyes have succeeded in conveying the intended emotion to at least some extent. “There is only one more e-mail that I have to check and then you and Ikea will have my full and undivided attention, I swear!”
In an attempt to elude her boyfriend’s dejected expression – as well as any more guilt regarding her failure to pay him and their date the attention they deserve – Dedra lowers her gaze and unlocks her phone, intending to hurriedly peruse the second of the two emails before Syril and her have reached their designated date spot for the evening – an Ikea store.
The abrupt vanishing of her smartphone that follows catches Dedra unawares, the device plucked from her hand by her boyfriend the moment she taps the notification.
“Hey, I was reading that!” Dedra exclaims with surprised indignation – Syril has never done something like this before, no matter how excessive her screen time. “Besides, it’s classified!”
Unperturbed, Syril locks his girlfriend’s phone so the screen is safely switched off and consigns the device to the depths of his coat pocket.
“And it will stay that way under my heedful watch, Special Agent Meero.” He replies with a poorly suppressed grin, considerately hushing his voice for the address.
“Give it back, Syril! I mean it!” Exasperated, she pounces at him, but Syril effortlessly evades her, attracting the attention of a few passers-by – Dedra pays them no mind. “Give it back or else– “
Predictably, she goes for his pocket again, so Syril gently captures his girlfriend in his embrace and presses a sweet, adoring kiss to her cheek – one of those kisses that never fail to set her skin aflame – before releasing her.
“What? You will punish me with a new screen time record?” Finding her hand, Syril slips his fingers into the spaces between hers, filling the empty gaps with warmth. “Come on, Dedra – you promised.”
Her boyfriend’s tender touch in addition to his theatrics thaw the frost of Dedra’s obstinacy. However begrudgingly, she is forced to admit to herself that Syril’s confiscating of her phone isn’t at all unwarranted – they both know that in case of a matter requiring her immediate attention, she would get summoned back to work with a phone call, not an email.
And so, they continue toward their destination hand in hand.
Despite Syril’s gushing about the newly opened Ikea store and claiming that their bed is long overdue for a mattress replacement, it’s not lost on Dedra that her boyfriend’s insistence on this Ikea date thing is merely a pretext for his true agenda that is, as Syril so eloquently puts it himself, ‘spending quality time together’. Given the freezing mid-winter temperatures outside, the weather has been too unforgivingly cold for a walk, a hike or any other outdoor activity they enjoyed. Considering that their workday evenings routinely consisted of little more than Syril’s homemade dinner followed by household chores, catching up on their respective work tasks or, once in a blue moon, a movie night before falling asleep in each other’s arms, her boyfriend must have determined that a change was overdue. Today, he excused himself from work half an hour early and picked Dedra up ten minutes before her officially designated finishing time – all to avoid the evening rush hour. Upon realizing her boyfriend was taking her to the best restaurants in the city, Dedra had tried to object – after all, none of those world class chefs could ever hope to hold a candle to the love, tenderness and precision that her boyfriend puts into every meal he prepares – but Syril remained intransigent. Insisting there was nothing in the world he would rather spend his salary on than treating the woman of his life to a luxurious dinner, he had refused to let Dedra cover half the check – only to bring them, once they were sated on dishes she had never tried before and could not name if asked, to Ikea, of all places.
“Here it is.” Syril announces ceremoniously, as if introducing an object of historical significance, and Dedra does her best not to chuckle upon being presented with the entrance to an Ikea store.
Unfettered by a sudden bout of affection for this dork – her dork – Syril Karn, Dedra tips herself up on her toes to press a tiny, tender kiss to his cheek, then enters the store first, lest her boyfriend’s awestruck gaze at her unexpected and very public display of affection color her cheeks rosen.
No sooner does Syril catch up with Dedra, already strolling down the store’s main aisle lined with living room items, than the contents of his coat pocket sound off with the solemn, somber chords of Handel’s Sarabande – his girlfriend being such an avid classical music listener, Syril sincerely doubted she would pay any heed to a suggestion that perhaps that particular melody wasn’t the best choice of ringtone.
Fishing the device out of his pocket and about to hand it back to his girlfriend, Syril unintentionally glimpses the caller’s ID – and the anxious look in his eyes instantly turns into one of distaste.
“It’s just Avril.” He announces, keeping the ringing device to himself since his girlfriend is showing no intention of retrieving it.
Vexed, Dedra lets out a quiet groan. Where more serious matters – usually relationship trouble – were concerned, Avril tended to call her much later in the night. His immediate after-work calls, however, tended to be of a more trivial nature. By now, Dedra had even compiled a list of such inquiries, arranged in a descending order of frequency: Avril misplacing his boyfriend’s favorite Stanley cup or Tupperware container in the break room and locking himself out of his car and needing a ride home remained the top two.
Ignoring the side glances attracted by her ringtone, Dedra listlessly reaches for her phone – but Syril gently holds it back.
“I can talk to him.” He volunteers.
Offering her boyfriend only a careless shrug in lieu of a reply, Dedra proceeds down the aisle, occasionally inspecting something like a luminaire or a wool throw blanket more closely.
Clearing his throat, Syril answers the phone:
“What can I do you for, Avril?”
Despite Avril Heert being Dedra’s colleague and a fellow Special Agent, he was, above all, his girlfriend’s best friend of many years. As such, during the two-year period of his and Dedra’s courtship, Syril has gotten to know Heert well enough for the two men to be on a first-name basis. Despite Avril’s undeniable propensity for being a nuisance, it was evident to Syril that, after going through college and the FBI Academy together, Dedra and Avril were as close as siblings – obstinate as Dedra remained about admitting to any real affection towards Heert.
“Syril, buddy! Long time no hear!”
With Avril’s tirelessly cheerful timbre loud enough to echo through the phone, Dedra rolls her eyes – then diverts her attention to an alphabet of letter-shaped metal book stoppers instead.
“Likewise.” Syril replies – despite sincerely enjoying Avril’s occasional company, the man interrupting his quality time with his girlfriend is the very last thing Syril needs this evening.
It has admittedly been some time since Syril had seen or heard of Avril; in fact, Avril’s last visit about a month ago now was the result of his latest breakup with his boyfriend, Corv. On such occasions – despite now having a boyfriend of her own – Dedra was expected to lend the couch in her living room, as well as a listening ear, for Avril’s consolation. What was worse – although Syril would never bring it up – was that Heert tended to overstay his welcome, impudently appropriating every last ounce of Dedra’s attention to the point where she would only join Syril in bed around midnight, irritated and entirely disinterested in their otherwise nightly nocturnal activities.
“How is the date?” Avril begins, and Syril doesn’t even need to ask to know he’d surmised that solely from Dedra having left work ten minutes early today. “Is Special Agent Meero frowning? She’s frowning, isn’t she? People stepping out of your way?” Such interrogative line of questioning might have thrown Syril – that is, if he hadn’t been living with the aforementioned Special Agent for almost two years now.
“And who said there’s people?” He retorts, effortlessly keeping his eyes glued to the distinctive, neat bun of blonde hair in front of him as the crowd inside the store thickens.
“I can hear the Ikea playlist, Syril. I know you’re looking at furniture.” Avril informs him, but Syril can’t quite bring himself to care about his blunder. Briefly, his gaze is captured by Dedra carefully, curiously running the tip of her index finger over the foliage of one of the bonsai trees on display, providing him with a perfect opportunity to covertly marvel at the beauty of her momentarily stilled profile. Meanwhile, Avril continues – clearly having no immediate intention of leaving Dedra and Syril to their own devices: “I cannot believe you still haven’t put a ring on it!”
Flabbergasted, Syril wrenches his girlfriend’s cell phone from his ear as abruptly as if it had suddenly caught fire. Anxiously glancing around as if he’s just been announced to the entire shopping center, Syril is pacified to find Dedra leisurely making for the scented candle section – there is no way she might have overheard Avril’s words.
“I could ask you the same thing about Corv!” Syril hisses in response – if only to shut Avril up for a second or two.
Even before their relationship had reached its first year, Syril was already convinced that Dedra Meero was the woman whom he wished to spend the rest of his days loving. For months now, he’s been saving up for an engagement ring worthy of Dedra, hoping to make it in time for their second anniversary – although his unimpressive monthly paycheck and his dilapidated car breaking down every so often have, admittedly, been significant impediments to his progress. Still, he was proud of the amount that he has managed to save up regardless.
“Was there an actual reason why you called Dedra, Avril?” Syril checks, catching up with his girlfriend again in order to surreptitiously read the label on that candle she’s just sampled twice unlike the rest.
Vanilla.
Syril grins to himself, filing that information for later – vanilla-scented candles will compliment an engagement dinner nicely.
“Oh, come on, Syril! Aren’t you at least going to tell me when you’re planning to p– “
“I’ll take that as a no.” Syril bristles and, before Special Agent Avril can escalate his remote interrogation any further, hangs up on a whim.
The faint stirrings of guilt he might have begun to feel over his brusqueness towards Heert vanish the instant he glimpses that rare, amused smile tugging at the corners of Dedra’s lips – an obvious sign of approval for dispatching of Avril so readily, affording them both an opportunity to focus on one another, at last.
“Well, what do you think?”
Dedra makes a non-committal hum in reply.
Initially, she’d been reluctant to recline on some bed in the middle of the store – with strangers milling about in every direction around them, it felt improper, to say the least. But Syril’s puppy dog stare combined with his beckoning hand outstretched toward her had once again won her over, and Dedra gracelessly plopped down on the mattress beside her boyfriend.
Knowing better than to wait around for a more verbose reply from her, Syril flips himself over onto his side to review the mattress’ materials and specifications detailed on a tag, reading the information out loud.
“It’s called ‘Ferrix’.” He finishes.
“Ferrix.” Dedra echoes – if only to get a better measure of the strangely sounding moniker.
The unimposing but persistent cacophony of people’s chatter filling in each gap between the beats of the song playing inside the store hampers Dedra’s focus significantly. She needs either silence or classical music in order to think – though recently, she’s become strangely partial to those soulful eighties ballads that Syril likes to sing along to while cooking.
“I think it’s too narrow for us, don’t you?” He questions.
Dedra briefly shuffles in her spot – despite now being somewhat used to the spacious double bed that she has owned for years, back when she was a child growing up in one of the state’s poorest orphanages, the makeshift lair that served as her bed barely passed as such, rearing her into an adult that did not care for superfluity even once she could easily afford it for herself.
In the meantime, Syril seems to have decided that Ferrix wasn’t for them, helping Dedra back on her feet and taking her by the hand to inspect alternative options.
“This one has an organic twill covering.” He informs her upon reading the label on one of the store’s bestsellers. “It’s called ‘Ghorman’ – should we try it?”
With no surplus of enthusiasm, Dedra settles atop the second mattress with Syril following suit. Yet even before he lies down face to face with her, she finds herself battling an aversion to this particular mattress – an aversion she can’t quite put a finger on.
“I… don’t like this one, Syril.” She admits to him quietly, self-conscious of her own irrational behavior, but just like that her boyfriend gently helps them off – without hesitation and without questions. “How about that one?” She suggests instead, glancing at a display directly across from them.
After approaching it hand in hand, Syril reviews the materials and specifications of the mattress with renewed enthusiasm.
“‘Coruscant’ – I have a good feeling about this one!”
‘Coruscant’. Something does feel oddly familiar about it, she thinks.
“Well?” Syril inquires the second their heads touch the long pillow.
“It’s a mattress, Syril.” Dedra deadpans despite herself.
Her boyfriend suppresses yet another sigh of gentle exasperation – the familiar sort he reserves for her occasional disregard of his fastidious standards.
“There are countless factors to consider, Dedra!” He exclaims. “Dimensions, firmness, foam versus spring…”
Surmising his list to be non-exhaustive, Dedra rolls into her back, shuffling her shoulders to make herself even more cozy on an already comfortable mattress. For much as she tries, there is but a single factor for her to consider – and one that her boyfriend forgot to mention, no less.
Welcomed back home by the tenderness of his cerulean gaze, Dedra reaches out, ghosting her fingertips across Syril’s smooth, clean-shaven cheek. As if on cue, the world falls away in favor of him – their surroundings, including the store, the people and their sounds all fade away, supplanted by the incomparable comfort of Syril’s sweet, bashful smile meant solely for her. Belatedly, Dedra remembers about the response she was meaning to give him.
“None of those factors matter to me, Syril – so long as you will be lying beside me.”
Spooked by the bone-chilling cold outside, Dedra scurries inside her boyfriend’s Civic the second he unlocks the vehicle. Struggling to extricate the key from the keyhole on the driver side door – and quietly cussing the broken remote locking mechanism while he’s at it – Syril hurriedly follows suit. Shoving the hard-won key straight into the ignition he starts the engine, cranking the heating up to the maximum.
To Syril’s growing despair, the radiator responds with an ill-boding sequence of sputtering and rattling sounds that culminate in an abrupt silence a few moments later – and no switching the heating off and on or altering its intensity do a thing to bring the mechanism back to life.
Feeling Dedra’s concerned eyes on him, as well as shards of ice prickling at his own, Syril turns away from her to conceal a pathetic bout of helpless desperation overcoming him – it hasn’t even been two months since getting his car serviced relieved him of a decent half of his meager monthly salary.
When the old but sturdy second-hand car that his uncle Harlo had gifted him for his sixteenth birthday finally conked out three years ago, Syril had planned to resort to using public transport until he’d saved up for a decent new vehicle. Unfortunately, his mother had discovered his predicament, leaving him no other option but to purchase the first car he could afford on the spot – all to avoid the humiliation of being forced to ask his rich uncle to donate him, a grown man with a job, another vehicle like his mother had so adamantly insisted.
“Syril…”
Stubbornly facing the driver side window, Syril attempts to covertly wipe the glittering traces of wetness from his eyes, but his girlfriend’s gloved hand cups his cheek, gently coaxing his gaze to hers. The mere fact of finding no trace of pity in Dedra’s eyes is just about enough to cheer him up.
“What is it?” She questions, insistent on not bringing up the tears – Syril is sure to blame them on the dazzling parking lot lighting anyway. In truth, Dedra’s already guessed what’s troubling her boyfriend, and although that stifled, persisting slump in his posture remains a dead giveaway every time, she is wary of coming off as patronizing if she brings it up with him more directly.
“I’m a loser who can’t even afford a working car.” Syril mumbles dejectedly. “You deserve better than me.”
There it is, Dedra thinks as anger begins to coil inside her, hot enough to chase the cold from her fingers and toes. If such are the repercussions of Syril’s latest bimonthly visit with his mother, Dedra will have no choice but to curtail the frequency of those visits to once a month – if only to help the woman remember to think twice before opening her mouth.
The reasons for Syril’s reluctance to introduce his mother became crystal clear to Dedra on the very same evening that the introduction finally happened. It did not take Dedra half an hour of observing the exchanges between mother and son to confirm that Eedy Karn’s chosen approach to mothering was constantly battering at the self-confidence of a perfectly good, gentle, loyal and hardworking man that was Dedra’s boyfriend. Knowing right away that such an attitude from her mother-in-law would not do, Dedra made sure to put the woman in her place over dessert – and if, unknowingly to Syril, she had to resort to certain FBI intimidation tactics to achieve her aim, it was well worth it. Still, the far-reaching consequences of Eedy’s lifelong verbal mistreatment of Syril lingered – Dedra never expected them to simply go away.
Reaching for his face again, she tilts his chin upward with her index, anchoring his gaze to hers with gentle insistence.
“Regarding your former statement, it is my firm belief that the workings of a vehicle have nothing whatsoever to do with its owner’s worth as a person. And as for the latter, you and I both entered this relationship freely – where your competencies as my boyfriend are concerned, I believe you have proven yourself more than adequate.”
To Dedra’s surprise, Syril’s lower lip quivers dangerously at her words, followed by two glittery teardrops escaping the corners of his eyes – and then his lips crash into hers, the tender desperation in his kiss so endearing, it sends another, more benign wave of warmth through her body.
“Meeting you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He proclaims and, giving Dedra no time to react, much less reply, kisses her again. Willingly, she surrenders all of herself to Syril’s kiss, a kiss that’s as soft, warm and tender as always – a sustenance that she has grown to crave for insatiably. This man. Given a few more years, she’d surely have reached the top rung on the FBI ladder – if only Syril Karn hadn’t turned up in her life, unbidden and unannounced, to completely rearrange her priorities. Nowadays, she seems to be more interested in languishing in bed until midday on the weekends, being made love to by Syril, than in getting up at six sharp to catch up on work as has been her custom for the entirety of her adult life.
A faint taste of salt on Syril’s lips prompts Dedra to brush her gloved thumbs over his damp cheeks to dry them – to keep him warm.
“I will never let you down, Dedra – I swear.”
Drawing Syril nearer to her by locking her fingers at the nape of his neck, she presses their foreheads together, the waters in his blue eyes reinforcing her intent on accompanying him on his next visit with his mother a month from today.
“I know you won’t.”
The unwavering conviction in her voice makes Syril’s heart skip a fluttering beat – no one has ever believed in him or trusted him the way that Dedra does. If only he were able to summon the right words to let her know how invaluable that trust is to him…
“Why don’t you take my car to work tomorrow?” She offers.
“What?” Syril questions, surprised. “What about you?”
“I’ll work from home. I will take yours to the service and get the radiator fixed during my lunch break.”
Immediately, Syril shakes his head.
“No. You don’t have to do that.”
“Whyever not?” Dedra challenges. “You do plenty for me all the time.”
“But–“ He tries to protest; meanwhile, Dedra is already straightening herself in the passenger seat.
“No buts, Syril.” She cuts him off while reaching for her seatbelt. “According to the weather forecast, this cold is not going away, and your commute to work takes almost an hour. I will not have you losing limbs to frostbite.” She states before adding more mutedly: “Especially not the one you know me to be the most fond of.”
Fumbling with his own seatbelt buckle – unable to believe which limb of his the always so proper and reticent Dedra had just referred to – and battling a not entirely innocent rush of heat, Syril pulls out of the parking lot and into the snowy street. Invisibly to him, Dedra briefly grins at the speed with which he does it, then waits for her boyfriend to stop at the red light before addressing him again.
“And Syril?”
“Hm?” Syril replies, his eyes vehemently fixed on the road ahead, a flush coloring his cheeks as red as the traffic light holding them still.
“I would never – will never – want for anyone but you.”