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The Art in the Heart - Chapter 18

Bad weather isn’t the only thing that’s about to ruin your day…

Everybody Lives AU | Pre-Act I | Silco x Reader | Female!Reader | Slow Burn | Fluff | Mild Angst || SFW | WC: 2.91k

taglist (open): @sherwood-forests@deny-the-issue@let-the-monster-out@ariaud@joscelyn02@crunchlite@sheacrowley

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It’s hard not to take Silco’s first broken promise as an ill omen.

But you have enough to worry about at the moment, organizing Powder’s birthday party at the orphanage. Setting up decorations, wrangling children and their presents, making sure there’s enough cake for everyone, telling the kids not to run outside into the toxic rain, grabbing children off of furniture they shouldn’t be climbing on...

Hours into the party, Powder asks where Silco is. He still hasn’t arrived yet, and it’s tricky figuring out what to tell her. He did promise her, after all, that he would get her a special present. It’s hard not to resent him for putting you in a position to lie to the little girl. Besides, you expected him to show up earlier that morning to help with preparations.

Only Janna knows where he is now.

Luckily, Powder is at that age where she’s easily distracted by shiny new presents. The paintball gun does the trick, as she quickly becomes preoccupied with terrorizing her friends, chasing and pretending to shoot them.

All in all, it was a fun and chaotic day.

It would have been a perfect one if your boyfriend were there.

But when you’re tucking the kids into bed, he’s not there.

And he isn’t there the next two days either. Not that you made any concrete plans with him, but it’s unusual for him to not at least check in on you. Even at his busiest, he’s always found time to stop by either the orphanage or your apartment for a quick kiss and hug, a whispered “I love you”, or a promise to share a future meal together.

In fact, the next time you see him is totally by chance. You’re walking through the Lanes on a weekday afternoon, running errands when you spot him. Sitting at Jericho’s stall in the Lanes.

Silco doesn’t look up during your approach. You tap him on the shoulder and grin at him. “Hey!”

He doesn’t respond at first, too concentrated on his conversation with the cook.

Strange… he’s never ignored you before. “Silco?”

“I’m busy,” he says curtly.

“Oh… sorry,” you say, trying not to sound crestfallen. This less-than-warm reception stings a little. The silence is a little awkward, but you wait until Jericho turns away to serve another customer. “You missed Powder’s birthday party, where were you?”

“Is my absence of any importance to the little girl?” he asks dryly. Barely sparing you a sideways glance.

“Well… yeah,” you frown. “You made a promise to her. Don’t you want to give her your present?”

“It’ll be all the same if you give it to her on my behalf,” he says dismissively, before adding, “please.”

“Silco… She likes you. It would mean a lot to her if—”

He sighs and mutters, “I’ve had enough headaches.”

What’s going on with him? “Maybe we could all just get lunch sometime? It’ll be quick.”

Silco sighs through his nose, rubbing his temples. “Alright.”

“Awesome,” you smile brightly at him before taking a seat. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m busy,” he repeats himself, placing some coins on the counter before standing up. Then he strides off. Not bothering to wait for you.

You sit there, stunned, before running off after him. Like a schoolgirl chasing after an unrequited crush, instead of his girlfriend.

“Silco!” you call out, squeezing past other passerby to catch up to him. When you finally do, he doesn’t slow down or apologize.

Why won’t he look at you? You push down the hurt to say, “Can I help you with— whatever it is you’re busy with?”

He shakes his head. Wow, now he’s not even bothering to answer you?

“Well… I’ll see you later then?” you ask. Trying to sound casual and not concerned.

“Goodbye,” he says in the same apathetic tone.

You grab his elbow. This is the least satisfactory interaction with Silco you’ve ever had so far; you’ve had fights with him that were way more passionate and involved than this. It’s clear that he’s preoccupied with something, but that doesn’t mean you appreciate being shut out.

This doesn’t seem like the time or place to bring that up, though. So for now, you tell him, “Good luck. I love you.”

That actually gets him to look at you. The upward motion of his lip in a fleeting smile does little to reassure you that nothing’s wrong.

But he tells you that he loves you too, before walking away.

________________________________________

Another two days pass by without seeing or hearing from Silco.

Where could he be? Has he been hurt? What was he so busy with??

Well, you’ve been together long enough that it’s probably your turn to take the initiative to find him. After packing some food and medical supplies for Sevika, you set out towards The Last Drop.

The rains have been non-stop this past week. Countless heavy, drumming droplets threaten to crumple your umbrella, and forging your way through deep puddles soaks your socks through your knee-length boots. It’s the anxiety of missing your boyfriend that carries you forward, stubborn and determined to weather the storm.

Just seeing him again will make it worth it.

The pub is open but almost empty when you finally arrive. Silco is nowhere to be seen, but you make a beeline for your usual barstool to talk to Vander.

“Hey there, lass,” the bartender greets you cheerily.

“Hey Vander,” you say as you take a seat. “How are you?”

“Grand. Can I get you a drink?”

“I’m good, thanks. Is Silco around?”

“He stepped out for a bit, but he should be back soon.”

You frown. “In this weather? Where did he go?”

“Not sure. He didn’t say.”

That’s strange. Silco does like the rain, but he still knows better than to risk his skin, literally. The Undercity’s chem-choked atmosphere is actively exacerbated by bad weather, soaking the corrosive gasses in the air and turning them into liquid poisons that are harmful to skin. You'll have to check in on him when he comes back.

“What about Sevika? How’s she holding up?” you ask.

“Not great… She won’t take it easy on her leg,” Vander shakes his head in dismay.

“Have you tried bribing her?” you chuckle. “I got more medicine for her, by the way.”

“She already gets free drinks, what else can I bribe her with?” he laughs. “Need me to take that for you?”

“That’d be great, thanks,” you say as you lift your bag onto the counter to pass to Vander, the front door swings open. Out of the corner of your eye, Silco strides directly towards the back of the house without greeting either of you.

Vander chuckles. “Go ahead, lass. See you later?”

“See you!” you tell him, hastily slipping out of your seat.

Silco hadn’t bothered turning on the lights, but you’re familiar enough with the stairs and rooms that you don’t need them to follow him. The light from the pub leaks into the hallways, just enough to illuminate a trail of wet bootprints leading directly to his bedroom.

You’re almost caught up to him when the door slams in your face. The wood is rough under your knuckles when you rap the door softly and call out, “Silco?”

A beat, then the door is yanked open.

He’s there. Tall and dripping wet, angry eyes flashing in the dark that widen in alarm. He mutters your name as a question before asking, “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you,” you say.

Something’s wrong. He’s not happy to see you, or asking you to come in. Instead, he grinds his teeth, muscle twitching in his jaw. He swivels around, striding back into the depths of the darkness.

Well, you didn’t need him to roll out a red carpet for you but a “hello” would have been nice. You step inside and flick the lights on.

“Are you okay?” you reach out to touch him.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, low and exasperated. Stepping out of your reach.

“Did you go out without an umbrella? Is your—”

“I said I’m fine,” he snatches up a cigarette. Tossing his lighter in annoyance when it fails to ignite. It falls with a loud crack onto his dresser.

“Silco… what’s wrong?” you ask worriedly.

He doesn’t answer right away, but instead asks with his back still turned to you, “Do you mind telling me why you left early that night?”

“Huh?”

“That night when Sevika returned from her reconnaissance, injured,” he clarifies.

“Oh, all that stuff with the mission came up, I figured you’d want to deal with it,” you answer matter-of-factly. It seemed like a thoughtful gesture at the time, to give him space and relieve him of the obligation to host you. “How did the mission go?”

“The mission?” Silco snorts. “If you truly cared, you would have stayed.”

“What—” you cut yourself off, taking a deep breath to rein in your mounting confusion. “Silco, whatever it is you’re mad about—”

He turns to face you, finally, with a stony, indifferent mask of a face. A sudden calm draped over him. The coiled, tight energy of his irritation stilling. His tense shoulders are lowering slowly, and he straightens up to stand at his full height. A predator ready to pounce.

“I only recently realized that you haven’t given an answer yet,” Silco observes coolly.

“An answer to what?” you ask, bewildered.

“Whether or not you want to join the Children, and fight for our cause.”

“Silco…” shouldn’t the answer be obvious? He should know by now that you’re not mercenary material. “No, I’m sorry but I don’t want to join the Children. Thank you for—”

“I should have known.”

“Known what?” Gods, tonight is turning out to be—

“I thought we shared a vision… a dream of freedom, for the whole of the underground… and yet you won’t fight for it.” You take an involuntary step back at the accusatory edge in his tone.

“Hey,” you say angrily, “there are other ways to help the Undercity besides fighting Enforcers. Just because we’re doing different things doesn’t mean I’m not dedicated to Zaun. You do your thing, and I’ll do mine.”

“It’s not enough.”

Those three words are a slap to your face. To have him belittle your efforts and achievements after he’s volunteered so much of his own time at the orphanage??

Who is this man standing in front of you now? He’s… wholly unrecognizable.

“The Undercity needs all the help she can get,” you reach out for him. Your frustration is bubbling, a lump in your throat that makes the words hitch before they leave your mouth. But you’re determined to try a pacifist, logical route first. “We’re still a united front, Silco.”

“I expect better from you than excuses.”

“Screw you—” you spit out, losing your patience.

“I’ve been spending too much of my time dealing with distractions,” he states, unruffled by your outburst. “Sevika’s injury will set us back weeks. I can’t let mishaps like that happen again.”

“Okay, sheesh!” you huff out. It’s about time he brought up something concrete the two of you can address. “That’s fine, Silco, we can—”

“I’m afraid those distractions include you.”

The air in the room seems to freeze. His gaze has you pinned, but being on the receiving end this time is far from enjoyable. Your blood crawls under your skin.

“What are you talking about?” you ask. Guilt, confusion, and defiance all exacerbate the lump in your throat. But your hands curl into fists at your sides, shaking slightly.

“This relationship is interfering with our work,” Silco admits. “Perhaps it was naive of me to believe that our freedom could be won with anything less than complete and utter dedication… free from any diversions.”

That last word cuts deeper than any slur or insult he could’ve thrown your way.

“Okay, fine, just— tell me, what is it you need to do?” Trying to match Silco’s calm takes a monumental effort. Holding off shaky breaths and watery eyes as best as you can.

The coldness with which he regards you now is something you’ve only caught glimpses of in the past, and only once has it ever been pointed in your direction. He looks down his long nose at you. Is his incisive gaze the same one he uses to freeze Enforcers in their tracks before he descends upon them with righteous fury?

“The Topsiders are leaving us further and further behind… the Undercity needs the Children’s undivided attention if we’re to stand a chance of gaining our independence,” he states clinically. Sounding practiced and rehearsed with how easily his words unfold.

As if he was telling you about the weather. And not dangerously close to breaking your heart with the conclusions you’re jumping to.

“Silco, you just need to work on your time management,” you say after a hard swallow, finally gathering your wits and trying to steer the conversation into safer waters. Punctuating your statement with a mirthless laugh. “I can help you with that.”

“You can help by leaving,” he states simply.

“But I…” you swallow hard. The pathetic, whiny response is all you can sputter out now. “I… I don’t want to.”

“What you want doesn’t matter,” Silco says. For the first time tonight, his voice is tinged at the edges with something like… regret? Remorse? And his eyes dart away from you, downwards at your feet before meeting your gaze again.

“Don’t… don’t you love me?” you whisper.

“Yes,” his answer comes without hesitation.

But he doesn’t reach out to you. Or try to take you in his arms, or kiss you, or grin and laugh, or admit he was only trying to prank you.

He just stands there. Arms folded, head dipped towards his chest. Lips thinned but gaze still steady, holding onto you.

“So… you love me… but not enough to let me stay…?”

Silco’s eyes widen just the slightest. Maybe he hadn’t been expecting your question. Or maybe he’s finally realizing the consequences of what he’s telling you to do.

Please, please let this all be a bad dream… Your eyes are shuttering, fighting back the tears that threaten to leak down your face.

But the world doesn’t dissolve. The floor you’re staring at is the worn wooden slats of Silco’s bedroom, not the ceramic tile of your apartment.

“I suppose… I don’t,” he answers.

________________________________________

Swinging doors. A falling chair. Vander’s puzzled face.

All impressions— not sights— that you notice out of the corner of your eye. Observing them as if they were happening outside of you, to someone else. Not you.

Then the rain on your face, your skin, your clothing.

No point in going back for your umbrella. Or satchel.

No point in ever going back to The Last Drop again.

The numbness in your chest must be spreading to your arms. The rain is falling on you. But there’s nothing to feel. Not even when red splotches start appearing on your hands.

Where are you going?

Who cares?

Just don’t stop. Can’t stop. Have to keep going.

Or else it’ll catch up with you.

(“So… you love me… but not enough to let me stay…?”

“I suppose… I don’t.”)

Don’t cry. Don’t show weakness in the Lanes. That’s how they get you.

Keep walking keep walking keep walking

Someone bumps into you. Your momentum carries you forward fast enough that you can’t make out what they shout at you.

You should turn around and apologize.

Who cares?

It doesn’t matter.

They grab your hand. That finally gets you to stop in your tracks.

“Hey!” a childish, familiar voice reaches your ears through the thundering rain. You look down to see Leksy, her bright eyes peeking out under her hoodie. She hugs you tightly with one arm, her umbrella bumping into your chest.

You crouch down to meet her eyes and duck under her umbrella. “Hi Leksy— what are you doing here?”

“Just got off work,” she shouts over the rain. “I have to get home— Mom doesn’t want me to get sick.”

“I’ll walk with you,” you offer instinctively. Never mind that you don’t know where she lives— you just need to keep walking.

(Whatever you do, don’t stop.)

Luckily, when you stand to take Leksy’s umbrella, she doesn’t protest. Instead, she slips her hand into yours and squeezes tightly. A small, warm, bright beacon of comfort in the storm. Giving you directions to her home, jumping over puddles and telling you about her new job.

You should be paying attention to her.

But her words are distant, playing on a faraway radio. Fading out before you can grasp them.

All too soon, Leksy is pointing at a ramshackle wooden hut. Letting go of your hand to run towards the front door.

You should tell her not to run in the rain. She might trip and fall. But right before she can grab the handle, the door swings open.

(“…Nyle said to leave you alone.”

“How do you know Nyle?”

“She’s my stepmom.”)

Nyle. Your former best friend and roommate.

Standing on the threshold of Leksy’s home, weighed down by overflowing garbage bags. Dumping them in the small, barren dirt patch of a front yard. Greeting Leksy with a kiss on the forehead before she looks up. And sees you.

Before you can turn around and leave, Nyle calls out your name. “Long time no see.”

#this chapter hurt me #so good though #arcane #silco x reader #taith #the art in the heart #arcane fanfic

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