#the grief over Silco is too real | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

katcadecascade · 3 years ago

Text

Pressed thin like your favorite page (Silco X Reader) Chapter 6

Ao3

Chapter One: Oh Teacher my Teacher

Chapter Two: Song of Iliad

Chapter Three: Tale of Two Cities

Chapter Four: I Write Sins not Tragedies

Chapter Five: Yesterday Upon the Stair

Chapter Six: In Perfect Light

Additional Tags: references of (canon) death(s); discussions of grief; I didn’t research canon lore of a League character so I glossed over any specific backstory; I lowkey accidently wrote Reader with a drinking problem but it isn’t an overarching thing

Word Count: 7750

“I have not seen you in months and the first thing you do is tell Jayce I need a doctor?”

Like every time you let yourself in Viktor’s house, not including the previous take, Viktor was nonchalant with your comings and goings. He was always busy with his own work and you with your own.

Sure you turn to him for some assistance in your writing blocks but after Patroclus’ Heart and Achilles’ Arrow you both decided to end your collaboration. It was all due to the amount of lack of sleep you two share over spending the late nights to early noon just staring at blank papers and scribbled notes. Your handwriting has never been so terrible.

So after that, any of your visits was treated as unremarkable since you and Viktor hadn't had many days of absence. So your good friendship returns with proximity.

That is until today apparently.

You blame Jayce Talis.

Too bad he isn’t here right now for you to glare at. It’s just Viktor in his parlor, apparently too engrossed with lecturing you instead of the notebook in his lap. Another day and another book, never a dull image for you to see Viktor still studious as ever.

Except for when he wants to complain about you interfering with his well being.

“It was a suggestion,” You said in your defense, you hold your hands up in surrender and use a foot to close the door behind you.

“I was not heavily ill the other day,” Viktor said.

You frown unimpressed at him and wander over to his seat on the couch. Upon further inspection, there are more books on the coffee table joined with scattered pages and colorful pens. It’s like your desk back home.

Pointedly glancing at the mess, you stated, “You’re doing this here and not your fancy lab because you’re avoiding Heimerdinger, aren’t you?”

“A baseless conjecture.”

“Is Jayce covering for you?”

“No, he’s with his sponsors at the moment.”

“Okay, you’re hiding out here so that Heimerdinger won’t bother you.”

Seeing that you’re not letting go of your theory, Viktor rolls his eyes and settles with this. “I’m not in the mood for the Headmaster’s advice nor his opinion on my research.”

The way his shoulders sag, how Viktor clutches at his notebook makes you sigh. You’ll never truly understand the yordle that has given so much to Viktor yet when it matters most, Heimerdinger’s prestige does not uphold.

You sit besides your friend, “What project did he deny?”

“A water purifier.”

“What?” You shouted in outrage. “No! Why would anyone reject something as important as-”

Viktor pushes a blueprint schematic map to your face. You stare at it and then at the scientist, and back to the paper. “Why is it so massive?”

“I’m trying to solve the river toxins, Reader.” He says it as if it is obvious, “You know, a major problem of the fissures?”

“The construction of this purifier takes over the entire southern docks.”

He taps at the measurement scribbled at the one corner, “No, merely half, a one-third at best.”

“Can’t you make it smaller?” You take the paper from him, holding it like it’s a foreign puzzle. “Like the size of a water mill.”

“I thought that,” Viktor confessed sadly, dragging a hand over his face, “but it won’t be enough to make real progress with the toxins.”

This is a ‘go big or go home’ way of thinking that normally does not stop Viktor. He wants to create something that will help the Lanes, inventing projects with an all or nothing approach that is admirable.

Headmaster Heimerdinger was one of those who were impressed and gave Viktor the chance to get more resources and finances. You understand Viktor’s wonderment and pride at gaining this level of support. The day you signed your stories to Rebekka Manette was a dream, an overload of endorphins at the chance presented to you.

A chance to actually bring the Lanes out of the darkness and into the light.

Viktor would one day invent machines that construct new foundations of the Lanes, a long overdue detox of the land. Meanwhile you would teach and share knowledge of the strife, stories that persuade people to want to be in this new light.

Yet here you two are, sitting on a Piltover couch far away from home with no real progress to help the Lanes.

Piltover, the City of Progress.

You stare at Viktor’s notes of his rejected water purifier.

One of your hands grip at the stupid tassels of the couch, with the other, you force the blueprint down before it could be crushed in your anger.

You know nothing of Heimerdinger to reason why he aides to forsaking the undercity.

It’s like the professor fails to realize that the Lanes need bigger projects to uproot the problems you and Viktor breathed though.

“I still check on your old toxicity monitors,” You tell him, your hold on the couch tassels still strong.

“They still work?” Viktor leans in, curious and excited at the knowledge that an early invention is still functioning. “They stopped sending data to my chart weeks ago.”

“I took my students to see them.” You smiled, recalling how Tyson had to hug Franny before they could run into the waters. “Upstream is still swimmable but downstream?” You shake your head, “I couldn’t see that monitor under all the oils and runoffs.”

Viktor doesn’t hold back a sigh, a heavy toll on his body that you almost regret causing.

You know Viktor, he isn’t a man to mope for too long. He sets a hand on your shoulder.

“Thank you for telling me.” He faces away from you, not out of shame but just to look around his parlor. “I haven’t been home in quite some time.”

“And it’ll still be there when your next project is ready.” You finally relax your hands, placing one on top of Viktor’s resting hand. “Viktor, you’re doing great up here.”

He nods at you, grateful, “Yes, all the Hextech engines have been a success.” His hands return to the water purifier plans, “I just wished these will come into fruition as well.”

You don’t have the optimism to tell him to have hope. After all, Viktor has been up here for a long time without any big funded project to help the Lanes. Yet you rather not bring it up. There’s a chance that Viktor would criticize or empathize with your own failings. You hadn’t taught more than three students this week.

“Work with what you have, Viktor,” You advise as if you know anything, as if you’re capable of wisdom for your tired friend. “This Hextech has been popular, stick with that.”

A small laugh from him surprises you, but it’s out of good faith as Viktor pats your back, “You haven’t used your teaching voice on me in forever. Almost missed it.”

“I don’t have a teaching voice.”

“You have one,” he insists, pointing at you teasingly. “Your students might not notice it but I do.” You merely roll your eyes at him. “How are your students by the way?”

“Franny believes they’re ready for bigger words.” You grin, “I’m trying to find them a word of the day calendar. As for Tyson, well…” Lips pressed thin, you sadly explain, “He’s been busy with his dad’s shop so his lessons have been stretched out basically.”

“What about your brightest students?” Viktor sets his work down in favor of you. “The mechanic boy and the inventor girl.”

“The boy hasn’t been to class in months.”

If it wasn’t for Franny, you would have thought Ekko was gone too. He was close to his mentor, Benzo. His death was a heavy toll on the kid.

“I talked with his parents a while back,” You recalled. “They’re convincing him about taking up an apprenticeship topside.”

“He’s still young, correct?” Viktor asks and you nod. “If he continues progressing his practice he should be more than ready for any application interviews.”

Your heart thumps nervously at the thought. Ekko has a brilliant mind for mechanics, no doubt, but it’s still a Piltover apprenticeship. He may not be your first student who can outwit and outmatch a Piltover student but Ekko is the first to show an interest to apply. You gave Ekko’s parents all the mechanic books you own to increase his chances.

Viktor continues on, “And then the girl, the one with a sister complex. How is she?”

You take a deep breath through your nose. With your elbows on your thighs, you sink your face into your hands, hunched over and welcoming waves of gloom.

“...It has gotten worse considering the sister is now gone.” You quickly tacked in to clarify, “Not dead, but it’s enough for her to be a mess.”

“Oh. Was it-”

“It was a bad, bad argument. I didn’t pry anymore. I didn’t want to know more.”

What a cowardly mantra you developed over the years, watching your students flee from your life. You will never know what hurts more, seeing your students carry on with their survival in the Lanes, discarding the little education you’ve provided, or stumbling upon their corpses.

“I’m sorry, Viktor,” You tell him, your head still buried in your hands, “I swear I didn’t come here just to be depressing.”

“I will always enjoy your company, Reader.” You feel his arm draped over your shoulders. “You are my friend.”

“Thank you, Viktor.”

“You must vent this out. Clearly your life is messier than mine as of late.” At his jovial tone, you elbow him in the ribs. “What? It’s true. On top of all this mourning, apparently there is this attractive parent of your student.”

Slowly, you lean back and properly face your friend, lying with a straight face. “It’s nothing.”

“Liar.”

Immediately you broke your charade and grinned hopelessly, unwillingly meeting Viktor’s own amused expression.

“Okay, fine I like him but now’s not a good time.”

“You think you’re good with excuses, even better with cover stories, but they never work on me, Reader.”

“Ugh,” You dip your head back, complaining, “You’ve never been interested in my love life.”

“Because for the longest time it was Rebekka and I did not like her.”

As far as you could tell, you only casually mentioned dating your publisher for a few months. Then later again to casually mention that you broke things off. Those two instances cannot be enough for his judgment and yet you now wonder…

“Did I do something… to make you dislike her?”

Viktor shakes his head, looking at you with both worry and disappointment. “No, no, she did something to you that made me dislike her. You have a light in you, for your students, for your writings, and for the Lanes.” He takes your hand and cups it to the center of your collarbone. “She shrouds you.” Viktor sighs, “I hope this new crush does not do the same.”

“He won’t.” You find those words effortlessly, even with the sudden definition of your past relationship with Rebekka.

With her, there were so many conversations that felt like an unsanctioned surgery. Her praises and advice and cherishment were all scalpels to remove your organs. You don’t feel like remembering the day you ran from her operating table.

Viktor lets go of your hands, appearing assured by your faith in this new person in your mind and heart. “What’s he like?”

Silco.

A man of great power and influence, precision and passion all for his plans. That type of person with such determination for a revolutionary plan builds up fear in many men.

While you acknowledge that fear, it gets pushed to the corner of your consciousness in favor of other emotions.

“Has an eye on the bigger picture,” You smile, enjoying your inside joke. “He really cares about the Lanes to the point where he knows its limits and how to push it. His old fiery determination is still there, but it's in better control now, everlasting and patient for the endgame.”

“I’m not quite seeing how this is an attractive trait.”

You shrug, “I don’t know how else to describe him. It’s obvious that he’s been through a lot of pain and suffering but he still endures this world we’re given, all for the sake of gifting a new one to his daughter.”

Viktor rolls his eyes, making you glare at him. “He’s good with kids, of course you like him.”

“Hey!”

“But yes,” He shrugs back, “I could see the potential.”

You cross your arms and mockingly imitate Viktor’s accent, “Hmm, Jayce is good with tools, of course you like him.”

“He has impressive back muscles,” Viktor shares, unfazed.

Annoyed, you muttered, “I knew it.”

“And my theory is that your beau has a frame such as I,” Viktor gestures to himself with a smile so sickeningly charming you gag. He elbows your rib, luckily not too harsh. “He has scars, doesn’t he?”

“...Yes.”

Viktor laughs at you, “You’re gonna write poems about him.”

“No, no!” You shake your head fiercely, denying the existence of your poem journal, “I haven’t sunken that deep!”

You have though.

He clapped once and the dreaded fate was sealed. “It’s only a matter of time, Reader.”

You reach around and grab the couch’s throw pillow, hitting his arm, “Poetry is hard.”

“So you have tried,” Viktor needlessly reads you like an open book. He smirks at you, “An esteemed novelist who fails in the art of poetry.”

“Have you tried to write it?”

“No.”

“Then. Shut. Up.” You beat him with each syllable.

Viktor merely raises one arm up to guard, not at all bothered that his furniture is used against him.

“If it makes you feel better, I’m missing a certain Patroclus book from my collection. You have gained another fan.”

He gestures to his bookshelf over by his bedroom door. You know that Viktor has all of your novels, even the ones not under the Reed Eros name. A bubble of laughter rises from within you when you do see a gap between the books.

“I’ll be sure to ask for two early copies of Escaping Ogygia,” You tell your friend. “I’m sure Jayce would appreciate it.”

“Oh I want to see the look on his face,” Viktor grinned. “But before that,” he gets up, his cane assisting him to the bookshelf. He grabs one of the bulky science books and hefts it over to you. “Trade?”

“Trade,” You snort, exchanging your cushion weapon for his book. “What’s this for?”

Viktor takes his seat again, fluffing up the pillow for his back, “Oh for your inventor student. You see her brilliance, I believe this would help.”

“Thank you Viktor,” Your voice is soft but utterly grateful.

“Yes, yes, you're welcome. Maybe this will impress her father as well? Your crush and her father are one and the same, yes? I think you mentioned him before.” His usual smile trails off, lost in thought and looking away. He does not notice your rapidly paling face. “Was it Van?”

Vander.

A clamminess grows in your throat and a hollowness builds in your gut. You hug the science book tightly to your chest, a corner jabs uncomfortably in your stomach but you allow it. It has been so long since you thought about Vander, another dead friend you push away to the caverns of your mind. Yet the way Viktor couldn’t even grasp Vander’s being, it unsettles you more than the ghosts.

“No, um, no it’s not him. She got a new dad cause…” You stumble over your words, avoiding his worried gaze now upon you. “Vander’s dead.”

“Oh,” his voice is distant and small. “Reader…”

A big part of you wants to make your exit as fast as possible, damning Viktor’s concern but you know better. He would chase after you because he is your friend. You don’t want to be followed.

“Reader, I’m sorry for bringing up bad thoughts.”

“You didn’t know,” You remind yourself more than him. “His death, he didn’t go quietly into the night. Everyone in the Lanes still mourns him.”

“This includes you?”

You nod because it is easier than admitting what is truly distressing you.

“I’m so sorry, Reader,” Viktor gives his condolences that you hastily accept.

“Thank you Viktor,” You gesture to the book and then stand up, “I’m gonna head down.”

He stands up too, cane back under his arm, “Will I expect more visits?”

“Of course,” You answer before departing his apartment.

You make it out without causing him more to worry, or at least you manage to plug up most of his concerns, enough to make him believe you’re in a healthy and stable state of mind.

Right now, you don’t have control of your thoughts as you march your way through Piltover. His sentiments ring in your head and it worsens the maddening rage and appalment at Viktor’s reaction. Viktor consoled you like an outsider.

You know that Viktor will always care about the Lanes, you know his efforts and beliefs for a better world for the Lanes. That doesn’t erase the fact that he hasn’t lived there for years now.

Vander’s name didn’t ring a bell in his memory because Viktor wasn’t there for Vander’s era. He wasn’t there during the raids, the bombings, the food shortage.

Life in yours and Viktor’s youth hasn’t been pleasant, it frustrates you both that the children are still experiencing those same unpleasantries.

Yet this certain upsetting anger is directed at your friend all because he has been stuck at Headmaster Heimerdinger’s side doing absolutely nothing.

Meanwhile you were there at the edge of the battlefield. Not as a warrior though, no that was never your role during the raids.

Someone had to stay behind to watch over the children.

Those bitter memories fade in and out of your vision. The smoke and gasses rising from the fires. The odor of blood and puss from bullet wounds and infections. Sometimes the ground would shake and everyone would get scared because was that one of our bombs or the enemy’s?

It worsens when you reach the end of the road. You barely hear the waters under the bridge over the storm in your head.

There are multiple bridges that connect Piltover to the upper crust of the Lanes. You avoid the ones with the most funeral memorabilia at the end. There are other people crossing the bridge, their destination either the rich air or the acidic dirt.

A few people aren’t moving, peering over the bridge to watch the lapping waves, rocking the traveling boats. You don’t partake in the sightseeing, eyes glued to the stone tiles that lay out the bridgeway.

They are all intact, the only wear and use from footfalls and carriages. It makes sense that Piltover would do reconstruction on the bridges. No one from the topside would want to walk across bloodstained rubble.

You cross the bridge in a daze, still clutching the book. The sky is blue and clear, birds perch on the tall railings, and you and others continue to walk.

Like you thought, there are small picture frames gathered at the end of the bridge. Some photos are weighted down by trinkets and candles. You scan the faded faces and a breath you didn’t know you were holding releases.

It’s silly isn’t it? You know exactly what you won’t find. Her picture is two bridges over.

You don’t know if it’s getting easier or not to avoid the bridge your best friend died on.

Yet onwards you walk. After all, you want this book with Jinx today.

Maybe you could wait a day, take some time to collect your thoughts. All reasonable ideas that fail to manifest in your logic.

You always brace down your storming thoughts each time you cross the bridges. You are reminded of what the Lanes lack every time you breathe the air in the topside. They have purity in both the air and water, clean clothes and fresh fruit, and most importantly, they have books like the one you are carrying.

It’s important, it’s for Jinx. She’ll be able to learn more than anything else you could provide from your limited understanding of geometrics or chemistry. You are no mage or mathematician.

You’re a reader with a weakness for fantasies.

Jinx deserves a reality, one that she can thrive in without ghosts or enforcers hurting her.

So you whisk yourself down to The Last Drop with tired legs, rubbed at eyes, and a dry throat.

You just want to give this book to Jinx, hope that she won’t ask for more of your time, and then head over to the bar. Everything about that plan makes it sound like you’re a bad teacher but honestly you are doing your best.

There are hardly any more books in the Lanes for you to understand physics or how to write in other languages. Hands on experience and diving in is the way of the Lanes, books are not a prioritized tool and you acknowledge that.

Ekko needed a place to actually tinker, otherwise he’d continue to scavenge the toxic junkyards. You talked to Vander about it and he roped Benzo to hire the young boy. Whenever you popped into Benzo’s shop, Ekko always had something to show off. Some little gadget or his favorite pocket watch.

Tyson learned various dialects from his father, a desired skill in the marketplace. Yet both failed in writing in any language they know. It’s the only reason Tyson is allowed to spend afternoons with you. To teach Tyson how to write in another language, you have to know it too.

Franny… They love learning things as much as you do, maybe even more. They seek it out to the point the child would wait at your doorstep because they failed at picking the lock.

For Franny and all your other students, you make the trips over to Piltover for the books you could never find in the undercity.

You cross the bridges your people died on, hoping to teach their children something. Because once you teach them everything you know or when they decide to stop learning, you fear if they will die trying on these bridges just like your best friend.

So with no real professional background or even proper paper and pencils, you teach as best as you can.

And at the same time, you crave a drink.

It’s only the afternoon and it is barren inside the bar. Silco’s men are the only drinkers here, playing cards and by the looks of it, one guy has a terrible hand. Meanwhile at the bar counter, Therium is wasting time by polishing up a glass.

“Hi Reader,” Therium gives you a nod and places the glass down, “You want a drink?”

“Later,” You hold up the book. “Gonna give this to Jinx, first.”

“Oh she’s not here.”

You blink. “What?”

“Yeah, bossman gave the kid the all clear to go outside and she cartwheeled away,” Therium summarized casually.

“Huh,” You said, caught off guard by the news. A smile blooms on your face. “I didn’t think he’d actually listen to me. I guess Silco isn’t as much of a control freak as I remember.”

“You make me sound unreasonably stubborn, Reader.”

The smile on your face freezes uncomfortably at being caught. It doesn’t help that Therium is also wide eyed and scared of your wellbeing, his hands shaking as he pretends to be busy polishing up another glass.

Silco is at the top of the staircase, adjusting his cuff sleeves to fold up to his elbows. The man is, as always, dressed in this waistcoat fashion but in a more simple gray coloring with no fancy patterns. Even for remote work, he still wears clothes that elude power.

“Well, I um I mean,” You fumble with your words. “You’re too stubborn to die, am I right?” You weakly attempt at a joking smile but you just look pained, seeking help from Therium.

He’s no help as he dutifully inspects a smudge on the glass he’s still polishing.

In that small moment of you glaring and gritting your teeth at the bartender, he’s sweating bullets you must add, Silco reaches ground level and joins you at the bar.

You can’t help but tap your nails on the book, nervously watching how his path ends with him standing right in front of you.

“Perhaps you’re right about that,” Silco said, his tone light and dare you describe it as humorous. “What brings you here?”

“I have a book for Jinx, I think she would benefit from learning more about the inner mechanisms of motors and batteries.”

You hand over the book and notice how Silco holds it carefully. He traces a finger over the title, the words carved into the bookface for a tactile feeling.

“I doubt you found this at a regular bookstore, Reader.” He stops studying the quality of the book to gaze at you.

“It’s from a friend,” You shrug.

“I see. You aren’t dressed for any meetings.”

His head tilts a bit at you, appraising your outfit.

Considering he saw the expensive side of your wardrobe, your current turtleneck is a bit of a downgrade for Piltover terms. Yet it’s still cleaner than your usual jackets and coats.

“Then we’re both off the clock,” You conclude. “At least if you truly do take breaks.”

“I do,” he answers and takes a step to the bar, “Why don’t you join me for lunch?”

“Huh? No, I shouldn’t intrude,” You wave your hands in a dismissive manner, the opposite of your plan of getting a drink. “I only came here for the book.”

“It’s not intrusion if I want your company, Reader,” Silco said and you believe the genuineness in his voice, his hand on the back of the chair. The book is set to the table corner but he still stands. He’ll only sit if you do. He then adds, looking thoughtfully, “I believe Calcifer has baklavas prepared.”

You’re immediately in the next chair, “...Baklavas you say?”

“Patience, dear Reader,” Silco eases himself in his own seat. “You’ll have to wait for your dessert.” He turns to Therium, boss tone back on, “Go get Calcifer to prepare lunch for us.”

The bartender says a “Yessir” and makes a break for the kitchen. At least he left two cups of water. Maybe Therium ain’t a bad bartender after all.

“So what’s this about Jinx spending the day out?” You asked before taking a sip.

“I considered what you said. Jinx and I made a compromise. She can go out as long as someone supervises.”

“...don’t tell me,” You mulled it over for only two seconds. “Sevika?”

He nods.

You snort.

“Compromise is a mind game,” Silco lectured, the corner of his lips twitching up.

“I’m just glad you’re giving her freedom.” You raise your glass up, “A world cannot be a room.”

“True,” Silco copies you, clicking his glass with yours. “I can sympathize with that.” At your raised eyebrow, he continues, “My supposed death needed to remain so, without any doubts. I laid low in the lowest parts of Zaun until the time came to resurface.”

You squint at his wording, there’s likely an inside joke for his own musing.

“Well,” You brush off the crypticness of the man, “Jinx should readjust to her world, testing her borders and be comfortable in her own space.”

“Without a doubt.” Silco chuckles and shares, “Jinx has become fond of having the high ground, setting up her own space in my office ceiling.”

“Sounds like welcome company,” You smile. “Not too distracting though, right?”

“Jinx has her moments but nothing I can’t handle.”

It’s kind of impressive. How close he’s letting Jinx be in his life.

“You’re really trusting her a lot. That’s more than I expected.”

A tension rises in Silco’s shoulders, catching you off guard as he frowns, “You told me before, I needed to be there for her when she’s happy or bored, and not simply there to console her meltdowns.”

You recall that day, sitting with him with the maps of the world. Of course you were wary of him regarding Jinx’s safety. If she only drew close to Silco during her episodes, she might develop some sort of association of trauma with Silco. Jinx needs to normalize Silco’s presence in her life without the ghosts, she deserves that.

“She needs you,” You tell him. “All of you and she needed to learn how to be around you too. For that to happen, you need to learn how to be around her, even when nothing serious is happening.”

Silco interprets something else from you, concluding his suspicions, “From the start, you didn’t have any faith in me as her caregiver.”

You dare yourself with a bold move and place a hand on his arm.

“Silco, that’s because you’re not on the path of a caregiver or guardian. You’re becoming her father. Do you understand that?”

He’s quiet for a moment, his eyes falling to the touch of your hand. His gaze lands on your wrist and ever so slowly travels up your arm. You feel heat when you believe he’s staring at your turtleneck collar until finally his eyes meet yours.

One eye is the color of the meadow, an image of grass under sunlight. Something you’ve never personally seen outside of paintings.

The other eye, the Eye of Zaun, a sun you once described, casted in a dark void. A darkness that not only enrapts but consumes everything into its own orbit of a dying star.

“I do.”

His voice wakes you from your thoughts. There’s a visible startle as you look away from him, embarrassed at all the staring you’ve done. Viktor was right, once you start writing poetry, you are done.

Fortunately Therium comes in with two hot plates of grilled filets with vegetables. The veggies actually look fresh, Silco must have accumulated a lot of money.

The warm fish slices easily under your fork and you take a bite. It’s the most elegant thing you’ve tasted in a long time.

“Is it to your liking?” Silco asks, accepting a wine glass from their bartender.

“So good,” You mumble around your fork, lost in the taste. Therium offers another glass in front of you, gesturing to the wine bottle in question. “Yeah, it’s later now.”

He tops off your glass and you take a long sip.

It’s what you've been needing every time you cross the bridge. Something older than you taking away your heartache.

“Leave the bottle, Therium,” Silco dismisses the bartender.

The Last Drop is a quiet scene, even with only Silco’s men here but as you watch Therium walk off, you realize that the other men from earlier are also taking their leave. Well they take their cards with them so they ain’t coming back any time soon.

You’re alone with Silco. To cool your nerves, you take another long gulp of wine.

There’s not a doubt in your mind that he’s gonna kill you. He doesn’t seem like the type to wine and dine you just to murder you. No you vaguely recall Silco’s war strategies, he is a man of calculations and planning. Silco is not one for improvisation. Well, maybe if it’s for Jinx though.

“Alone at last?” You joke with a little shake in your voice, “Is this when you’re gonna threaten me, Silco?”

“Hardly,” he said. “I just wish to thank you for being Jinx’s teacher.”

“Oh,” You blink, surprised and touched. “I’m happy to continue teaching her.”

“She enjoys your lessons. There was a good chance she wouldn't like my teaching methods.”

You squint at him. He’s ever poised as ever when slicing apart his dish.

Doubt drips from you as you ask, “Do you even have a teaching method?”

He pauses, mid chew, “No I do not.”

Silco glares at you when you laugh.

“Sorry, sorry.” You hide your smile in a sip of wine. “If it makes you feel better, I’m happy that you chose to be her father rather than her teacher.”

“Yes my wounded pride is healed,” Silco says very deadpanned. You chuckle at that and his tone returns to his usual gravel, “It’s good to hear that you do approve of me as her father.”

“You don’t need my approval, Silco.”

“True but it would be ignorant of me to ignore the advice of the teacher of the Lanes.”

“You’re a smart man,” You praised. “You’re giving her opportunities that show your trust in her. She’ll probably like the responsibility, not just to feel capable but to know she’s earning your trust. In doing so, you end up earning her trust.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

He places his cutlery down and reaches for something in his jacket’s inner pocket. Some sort of cylinder thing with a needle inside. There’s purple fluid bottled up on one side.

A chill of fear stabs into your spine. The memory of its scent is in your nose.

“What… is that for?”

“One simply does not drown in toxins and come out fine.”

He studies the instrument, likely reflecting on his trauma and the needs for recovery, as best as it could be considering the circumstances.

“So it, um, goes…” You close your right eye and point at your left eye. Silco nods. “That sounds very extreme.”

“A necessary extreme,” he said. “Shimmer is versatile, medicine is merely one purpose.”

You look at the syringe curiously.

It’s so easy for you to dismiss Shimmer as just another drug. After all you mostly know the ecstasy of it, that dazed out bliss people chase in a good smoke.

Yet you’ve heard the rumors, seen the aftermath of addicts with purple warts and bloodied hands lurking in the dead ends of alleyways.

Shimmer is power, a curse and blessing for wrath. Yet in its tiniest of drops you never get to witness it as something else.

“Medicine, huh?”

“Yes. So far Jinx isn’t appalled at all by this,” He holds the syringe up and points it at his eye. “She has precision with her inventions and toy guns. I believe I can trust her with this.”

Out of any context, the idea of giving a child the responsibility to administer medicine is scary and risky. But it’s Jinx, she has an innately high accuracy.

You examine Silco’s left eye. At that point you realized that the man always showed his right side to you. You never really got a proper look at the scars running down his face. It is grotesque at first, something you may have unintentionally avoided for the longest time.

Why, though?

It doesn’t remind you of his tragedy, of his near death and Vander’s brutality.

It doesn’t remove the picture of humanity from Silco. You’re already aware of the hellfire he started in the old days.

The scars and the unblinking eye. It has been Silco’s image since the moment he came back to the world. You don’t recall any close moments with him during the raids, back when he wore simpler attire, but you kind of remember his messy hair.

You’ve gotten to know this version of Silco, the one with an eye represents all of his suffering and rebirth.

“What’s it made of?” You wonder aloud, “It can’t be just glass. Is there a tiny dot for your Shimmer dose?”

His eyes are pretty, both the natural one and the unnatural one.

“Reader,” his tone is low, a warning and that’s when you realize you’re leaning very close to him.

You reel back, one hand pressed against your flushed cheek and the other reaches for the glass.

“Sorry,” You sheepishly grin, “I must have drank too much.”

Despite your words, you take a sip. You shouldn’t be acting so carelessly. A few glasses of wine is only enough to relax you, not become this clingy mess. Maybe it’s just a Silco thing, you have enough self-awareness to realize your attraction to the man is a slow build up from all these small moments with him.

You just don’t have any belief that he would ever develop the same feelings.

“And yet you keep drinking.” Silco notes, thankfully there is no condescending judgment from him. It’s merely an observation as he offers to refill your cups. You accept it. “Something upset you today. What is it?”

You debate the topic in your head, tipping it back as you gulp down the fine wine. Its sweet bitterness almost matches the frustration in your heart regarding your friend.

“I, ah, was catching up with a friend uptop. He was from here too but…”

Both the wine and your frazzled emotions interfere with your words. It’s been quite some time since you’ve let yourself be vulnerable to another. Rebekka was always the wrong person to open up to. She made you feel stupid to get sentimental over something she doesn’t understand. She’ll never understand what it's like to breathe in the dust of a failing day.

So explaining your thoughts became a torturous hurdle. It became easier to simply never open up about it to her and in doing so, you belatedly realize how you distanced yourself from your friends.

Lost in your work, picking out new materials for your students, and reading every book you could get your hands on rather than visiting Viktor or Adora and Eden.

A warm hand is on your shoulder, a thumb brushing this way and that. Its pace is peaceful, slowly taking you out of your thoughts.

You don’t dare look at Silco’s face, otherwise you might never get out of your own head and instead hype fixate on him just to avoid opening up about your feelings.

This time, you actually want to talk about the things in your head because if anyone would understand you, it would be Silco.

He understands betrayal and while Viktor’s inaction was not out of malice, you can’t help but be utterly pained by his absence and blissful ignorance.

“We were talking about my students, how they’re all doing. He knows Jinx as one of the smartest kids I ever taught. He’s where I got the book from.”

“You’re stalling.”

“I am laying down the events.” You chided, as if he wasn’t accurately calling you out. You raise your head up, meeting his gaze. “It’s all about the delivery.”

Silco smirks at you, “Then deliver.”

You roll your eyes, feeling too fond of him always returning your own words.

“Anyway, he sort of remembers… or he doesn’t remember… He doesn’t know Vander.” You frown, recalling the innocent unawareness of Viktor. “He doesn’t know who was a part of the raids, who was important here. He’ll never know the people we all lost.”

And maybe it’s not just Viktor who doesn’t know the suffering you’ve seen. Rebekka and the rest of Piltover choose to stick their heads up high and never look down. Yet when they do glare down, it’s to make you feel small.

“You mentioned someone who helped in our raids.” Silco asks, “Who was she?”

It’s a small thing to endear but you’re grateful and surprised that he remembers your conversations.

“Her name was Kore.”

Silco removes his hand from your shoulder. You try not to miss it.

He reaches over to hold his wine, “I vaguely recall her.”

“It’s fine if you don’t remember her. She’s just one of the many people who wanted to be in the front lines. She was really inspired by Vander. A lot of people were.”

Vander the fists and Silco the eyes of the operations. These two men lead the floodgates of hope and anger for a taste of victory. That’s how every revolution starts, someone with rising power.

Even you were swept up in the chaos, enamored with not just the idea of your home getting proper recognition and clean air but the bliss of seeing Piltover getting punished for their injustice upon your people.

At the time, nearly everyone was willing to die for the cause.

Kore was one of the many people who did die. She wanted a better future for her family and you. There were two reasons why you never joined her at the forefront of battle. One, you are no warrior, you’re decent in a brawl with a knife against someone of your same stature but against an army of Enforcers, no you don’t believe you’ll make a dent.

The second reason is the most important reason that you dedicated your time and every waking thought to.

Kore trusted you to take care of her toddler.

She really believed in a bright future for her son and you but look at where you ended up. The raids failed and her kid is no longer in your care. You have no idea where he is. Everything was falling apart when Vander returned home without Silco.

Now though, it is Silco without Vander.

You needed to look Silco in the eyes when you asked, “Do you think we actually had a chance to cross the bridge back then?”

True insanity is from repeating the same thing and expecting a different outcome. Silco may be too stubborn to give up on his dream of Zaun but if he does anything like before, those suicidal plans to take over the bridges, your world will once again fall apart.

Everything about Piltover and the Lanes conflict at the bridges, the midway point and the barrier between two worlds. It took so many lives for Vander’s diplomacy to finally get things settled down for everyone to walk that bridge.

Yet only one side has a memorial. Only one side sees the stone tiles as a deathbed. It’s always the undercity who has to cross the bridge and know who they lost. You mourn your oldest friend with each step you take over the bridges she died for.

You can’t bear to think of more dead bodies on the bridges.

“Yes, we always have a chance.” Silco answers with his stubborn confidence, “Back then and now, we can make Zaun a sovereign nation. I swear it, Reader,” he places a hand over yours, “It’s possible and it will be perfect.”

He swears this and yet says none of his plans. You know of the monsters this man has control over, both the drug and his own wellbeing. Silco will always be a scary and powerful man, driven by his ideals and this concept of perfection.

He doesn’t share any details of his plans nor will you dare ask. You take in his platitudes and accept it as it is.

A promise.

“I believe you,” You tell him honestly, “but I’m still going to worry and doubt, Silco.”

He frowns at you but takes his time mulling over his thoughts by drinking more wine. You copy him. Your throat is dry and you want your emotions to dull under the bitterness of the drink.

“It makes sense that you wouldn't fully trust me,” He said. “Afterall, you thought the same for Vander, yes? He’s responsible for Kore’s death and more.”

“Are you including yourself on that list?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

He huffs at you and you’re sure that counts as a chuckle. “Yes I am.”

“Hmm, well I can’t blame you,” You said and set your glass aside. “Silco, considering what’s ahead of us, I don’t want to mourn another bridge worth of people.”

Silco stares at you, the frown remaining as he takes another sip of wine. “It’s alright to mourn someone.”

“I know but it hurts to constantly grieve her and the rest.” You admit, knowing how this repetition is the main source of your desentization of the death around you.

Your hand reaches for the glass again, swirling the red around.

Silco sighs, “I understand. I mourn for Vander. Even when we killed each other for our ideals, he is still my brother.” A glint of determination shines in his eyes. It flashes over onto you. “He got his dues for his Lanes and I will do anything for the day when the sun shines on our nation of Zaun.”

You have this small desperate hope for this holy plan of his. The nation of Zaun. It could work, it has potential to actually save the Lanes from its own decay.

More importantly, it could provide for so many children. It’s what you always wanted for them.

Because even though a part of your heart is gone from finding Kore’s body, from learning too late that her boyfriend had left the country with their son, the one you swore to protect, you used the remainder of your heart to give to your students.

But you desire more than just salvation for your people.

“You sound like your old self Silco but you’re missing something.” You cast a crooked smile at him, “Where’s your hellfire, Silco?”

The corner of his lips from a smirk, very amused and his eyelid lowers halfway at you, “Oh I always have a dream to burn down Piltover, you know that.” His eyes never leave you as he reaches over for the wine bottle, sets it between the forgotten dishes. “Tell me what you really want, Reader.”

With the bottle within your reach, you take it and fill your glass up full once more.

You take a slow slip, enjoying it and the image in your mind. You close your eyes.

“I want Piltover to kneel, to acknowledge us and our power. I want them all to realize how with one wrong step, they are fated to the fissures. Once they’re in, they’ll realize that it’s destitution is only a speck of what we’ve endured. I want them to suffer and know that they are not special.”

Opening your eyes, Silco has leaned closer to you. A giddy feeling rises from your chest, warmed by the wine, as you lift your wine glass under his nose. You swirl the wine a little, letting the scent roam against Silco.

There’s the barest hint of a grin from him as he accepts the glass. You note that he spins it. He takes a sip from the rim, perfectly on the spot where your lips once were.

His eyes consume you like how you two consumed the wine bottle.

“That sounds perfect.”

Chapter Seven: Godlike and Helpless all at Once

Taglist (happy valentines yall):

@sana-within-you @masteracewindu @shameshomalo @dovahdokren @ancientbeing10 @totallylostinfeelings @cyborgjules @shadow-pancake9 @potato-dragons @subbing-for-clones @faraige @testsubject24601 @accordionplayingrat @idiotic-canadian @accordionplayingrat

#my fic #reader x silco #silco #arcane silco #arcane viktor #arcane fic #silco x reader

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