#young zaunite revolutionaries hurt/comfort

[a-gal-with-taste]

Phantom Pains

Inspired by This Stunning Artwork and POV-Scene from In Unity, a young-Silco/Reader oneshot. @styranki is incredible and is a MUST-follow.

Warnings: Nightterrors, ANGST, blood, disturbing imagery, traumatic experience, drowning, slight disorientation, hurt/comfort

Panting, the water riveting down his body, Silco mightve been above the waves. Breathing-in air, but the dark water was clinging, dragging him already, back into it's depths.

Not again!

He begged in a silent scream, again clawing at the hot, burning water that sprung from his eye. Had he just not escaped them? Clawing between the scarlet and maroon waves, filled with his and another's blood? How could Silco be back, so soon?

Hasn't he had enough?

Not AGAIN!

The waves that pool from his eye begin gathering at his lips, his neck. They pooled onto his tongue, and coiled around his throat, toxins seeping as salt, from a damned Son's ichor and the sea, taints his taste.

Hands at his throat. Claws of a beast, and with an particularly cruel act of destroying his hopes, he is returned to his tomb beneath the waves of blood once more.

Eternal damnation, of his trust. Not for the Brother that put him here initially, burying him beneath murky waves instead of dirt, but whatever faceless entity holds him under this time.

Sometimes it's an Enforcer. Fitting, but when hasn't his nightmares included their crimes one way or another?

No, the real horror comes whenever he is dragged back to surface, to take-in yet another final breath before he's torturously shoved back into the bloody depths. Because it's not always Vander, but another Brother. Another Sister. Another face he trusted, another he swore to defend till death and who vouched for his protection under their watch as well.

The Children of Zaun kill him, each and every night.

It's unsurprising, really, for Vander already destroyed brotherhood for Silco.

Why shouldn't everything else be ruined? It would match his face.

But tonight, a special-guest has been invited to drag him by his throat from the waves. Claws that bite, and blood is not just filling his tongue from the outside, but in. Hands drag him up, and blinking away blood from one eye, but never, ever again the other, Silco gazes upon his new tormentor of his dreams.

A dead eye, and one halfway to death as it leaks as much read as him. But the hands are strong, enough to give biting claw-marks to his neck, that match the ones that adorn his cold, ashen skin.

Silco, with mouth full of blood, water and toxins, chokes on his screams as his own phantom plunges him back into the waves.

Those hands, his own ghosts hands, drag from his throat, his jaw, his cheeks-

"Silco!"

The (alive) Son of Zaun bursts his mouth open first, catching air on his tongue before his eyes open next. He's flinching back at a figure above him, hands on him, but pleas trap on his tongue as he pants, and stares up at you.

You frown down at him with dark-bags under your eyes, reflecting his own exhaustion. Silco realizes with a jolt how close you are, and that the hands on his face are not that of a ghost of himself but your own, cupping both his cheeks securely.

Silco fails not to take note of the fact that you are almost cradling his bandaged, still-scarred cheek in your palm. Out of necessity, to avoid opening fresh wounds and spilling blood-

He's grateful, in a way, that you're so focused on verbally attempting to sooth him, so you miss the way his body flinched just at the thought of the core-element of his nightmares. Something Silco will fight to control, for he refuses to go through life terrified of water and blood, two of the essentials for existance.

"Silco, you are safe,” You swore gripping his face securely, forcing him to look up to you. “Your mind is playing tricks, telling you you’re stuck wherever you were, but you’re not, you’re here with me, and i’m going to keep you safe."

The man tries, not to think of his Brother, when you look him in the eyes and promise to protect him, to keep him safe.

He tries, and the only thing that comes to mind is the water. The claws at his throat, water and bile spilling and racing though his mouth...

Then your hands move, and the only thing on his mind is the fact that your touch is leaving him. That those warm, steady palms on his cheeks are fleeting and he's losing the only achor that keeps him pulled from the depths of the water in his mind. Silco can't help it - and slams his remaining eye shut, grateful the other is sightless behind it's bandage as he pulls in a harsh breath.

His throat aches at the pain. But he's glad of it, glad for another anchor, another link to keep him above the waves of his mind, even only for a few moments more...

The waves are just beginning to lap again when he feels warmth, so different from the frigid waters that are already leaking into his mind as exhaustion takes over, curl around his palm. Your hand squeezes once. He knows he will not be brought to shore tonight, but Silco feels steady, to have a link tonight. A link to keep him connected, not by hands around his throat to squeeze and plunge him into nightmarish waters, but by a palm in his. It keeps him... afloat.

Not sinking, or brought back to shore, but afloat.

His mind, which returns to darkness, but not the bloodied waters tonight, decided that he can handle staying afloat by your touch.

-

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[a-gal-with-taste]

In Unity

Saw this gorgeous-amazing-perfect art by @styranki, and when my first reaction was an immediate revival of my young!Silco brainrot, I knew I had to write something daring, something unheard of: a falling-in-love story with a young Silco.

WC: 4580 | GN!Reader X young!Silco

Warnings: Minor pining, hurt/comfort, post-betrayal, angst, falling-in-love, feral Zaunite revolutionaries, blood/injuries, cuddling, fluff, first-kisses, beginning of relationship

The first time you ever saw him, truly face-to-face, he'd promptly grabbed his knife.

You imagined it was the delirium to be blamed when he lunged, so when feeling his fever-hot body slam into yours, you tried not to feel too personal about his feralized, instinctive attack.

You hope he didn't take it too personally when you knocked him out in response.

It was the first you had even seen him up close, but you recognized him all the same. Even with blood coating one side of his face, oil-like in it's slickness as you eased his body to the ground, opposed to letting him knock his head a second-time. The young man was easily recognizable to you, even if you've never physically been this near to him.

He probably would've never remembered you from the group of at least a dozen, but you knew him well. He was very hard to forget, and until yesterday, you made a point not to. Since yesterday, you decided it would be better not to remember him:

Silco, a fellow Child of Zaun, and co-leader of the rebellion.

Silco, who is coated in blood and grime, clearly infected already with whatever festers in the wound of his eye.

Silco, who barely said two words upon meeting you for your orientation into the Underground rebellion forces.

Silco, who, after yesterday's sudden announcement, was supposed to be dead.

-

"My goal is to keep you alive, you know." The eye that remains, stays narrowed at the assurance, suspicious and hazy. His limbs are too weak for him to grapple you, and you hid away the knife the moment you got him settled on the bed, so his only defense is a piercing glare.

A defense that's quite pitiful, considering he has to physically bite back a weak-moan when you dab cool water on his brow. Unsuccessful, but you don't call it out. His look would probably kill you if you did.

The other side of his face is wrapped - it's hoped the other eye can be saved. You are grateful again with the location of the safehouse you had been stationed at, in-walking distance of a clinic that doesn't ask too much questions, and too tired from their 24-hour status to gossip. Gathering supplies had been easy, if costly, but the advice that followed your very hypothetical questions were priceless in saving his life...

Though, you'd thought about making it easier on yourself.

By taking him to base, back to The Last Drop.

Taking him home, letting the rest of the Children help him. Spread the news wide and far that one of their leaders in fact, lived still...

But than you remembered, that it was one of the other leaders, who said he had been with Silco when he 'died'. Vander had appeared drained, distant; a shell of a man when he said the words. But he had also refused to say anything further in regards to what happened, and grew silent with eyes turning more steel than silver.

And suddenly, you thought it best to care for the wayward Son of Zaun solo.

You were doing alright, but still he glared at you. Weary, even as your thumb flicked out to stop the process of a droplet from catching in his remaining eye.

"You're going to be fine." You assured him again. "Brothers and Sisters of Zaun look out for each other, even in the worse of times." Parched lips twitch, but getting him to speak has been impossible since he first awoke, so you continue without pause. "United as one, in our mission, and united to one-another." You smiled, more to yourself than him; gone were the days of fending for yourself on the street.

You were still new, yes, but the comradery in the forces of the rebellion is what drew you in. Truly, a force hellbent on standing by one another through the harshest of times, regardless of anything that threatened to tear them apart.

Brothers and Sisters. Loyal. Together.

United, as one.

It was a pretty image that had initially drawn you in, and it was a short, huffing sound from the injured Son of Zaun that shook you from it. For a moment you worried as you reached for a glass of water, but then realized he wasn't still coughing up remnants from the river; Silco was laughing.

As much as he could, the twisted, wretched sound escaped past his lips again, and again, and again. Silco fell asleep like that, while you could only watch, listen, and feel unnerved at one of the Sons of Zaun, founders of the Undercity's revolution, laughing himself to sleep at the idea of unity, of loyalty. Particularly, loyalty from anyone in the Children of Zaun.

A glance at his throat, where nearly black-bruises stood out on his skin, in the shape of hands. Feeling a shudder, you felt the strange inkling that you could suddenly understand why he would laugh.

-

You could also understand why he would scream.

Not the first nights, for even in unconsciousness, Silco seemed too weak to do much but glare like you were going to slam his head into an alleyway wall again. And let out tiny, involuntary sounds of bliss as you worked to keep his fever down.

But after the third night, the thrashing began.

The screaming started minutes later.

If you thought the bitter laughs he had made were wretched, these were truly horrifying. Nonsensical, and guttural in their agony. Silco's throat was still too ravaged for words, but that didn't stop him from trying. And if his vocal-cords weren't already damaged from the bruising-grip someone had held on him, they were surely close to being permanently injured in his night-terrors.

You had sprung up immediately, and crossed from the chair at the door to the bed, instincts already primed for danger in mere weeks of training. Hesitating, if only to find out where to put your hands, you eventually found them on his forearms at his sides, and worked on keeping him pinned onto his back in an effort to stop his thrashing.

Calling his name didn't work, his hair sweaty and shrewn about like an errant, inky halo on the thin pillow as you shook him, fearful of the damage he could do to himself in his sleep.

You debated throwing the glass of water on him. Truly, it crossed your mind more than once as you fought to pull him out of the depths of his own mind. Sorely tempted, but you remembered the foul-stench of the river clinging to him, the full-on wrestle to get his body into the shower, and decided waking him up with a face-full of liquid wasn't wise.

"Silco." You finally hissed, as you reached your hands to his face, cupping the pale, angular cheeks between your hands. "Silco!" You snapped, getting as close as you dared to his sweaty form as you shook his face direct, gently, but urgent. A blot of red had appeared under the bandages, but your focus was on the green that finally shot open.

"You are fine," You stressed the word, even though you both knew full-well that sentence was a lie. Perhaps not in the immediate situation, but in the full-scope, how could you possibly claim that Silco was fine? He breathed, mouth wide-open as he sucked-in air like he never expected to breathe it in again.

Even his eye looked surprised, like he never truly expected to resurface from his nightmares.

That surprise seemed to grow, when he finally recognized your crouching over him, cupping his face firmly as you leaned close.

"Silco, you are safe," You swore gripping his face securely, gentler over the raw skin on his right-side, but still forcing him to look up at you. "Your mind is playing tricks, telling you you're stuck wherever you were, but you're not, you're here with me, and i'm going to keep you safe." The seafoam-green eye was narrowing, disbelief and weariness filling the space between the panic and mistrust. The sight of it caused you to growl, pulling away from him.

You probably imagined the flash of disappointment, and the brief movement in his limbs at your action, as if he wanted to follow.

But when you returned from the attached bathroom, revolutionary-garb folded and tossed aside while you wore less triggering civilian clothes for him you knew you weren't imagining the faint, but obvious sign of weariness leaving his limbs at the sight. Silco even allowed you to pull your chair closer, and for the first time, without fever nor weakness making him largely immobile, he didn't pull away when you slipped your hand into his.

Touching him, as a way to link him to reality, not necessarily the Children of Zaun. You had to remind yourself, not to hold his hand as if linking-grips with a fellow Brother, but instead, holding onto him because he was someone who needed it.

Feeling the slow, but steady squeeze on your fingers, you felt that it was an message he got loud, clear, and appreciated.

-

Silco started speaking, after you took care to avoid wearing the armored leather of your revolutionary-apparel, and after he croaked out something sounded vaugely like a shirt-size, you'd managed to scavage clothing that just-barely slipped off his shoulders. He hadn't minded, and looked eerily relieved when you did-away with what remained of his own Undercity rebel clothing.

Many in Zaun were thin. Silco, especially after whatever ordeal he'd been through, looked like a ghost of the wiry but strong man you'd met at orientation. That was what you were thinking as you dipped into your own chipped-bowl of soup, watching him in your peripheral as he cleared his throat, and spoke his first full-sentence to you.

"I thought you were given orders to come finish me off."

Blinking dumbly, you also got the experience of Silco's first smile at you. It was also ghostlike.

"I thought Vander had sent you to do his dirty-work. But apparently, he's willing to get his hands dirty, but not finish a job. He won't last long without me."

You had no more appetite, after dripping your gaze to the purple-splotches standing out on his neck and finally beginning to realize what he meant. And finsllyfinally, had laughed.

-

"Why?"

Vander narrowed his eyes when you merely stared at him. Benzo was in the middle of his drink, despite it being just a little before noon, but gave a vague wave in your direction. Vander repeated his question, the hollow look in his eye filled with something you could only describe as apprehensive, "Why?"

Blinking, and somehow managed the words out, you also managed not to sound like you wanted to gag, being in their presence. "I mean, you haven't done anything with them. And I know how much Silco meant to you both, and how... painful, it can be, to have to clear the memory of him out."

Well, it had seemed easy for Vander to get rid of Silco himself, but his room and belongings had been left untouched.

Either because it was genuinely hard for Vander to interact with what remained of the Brother he had tried to drown, or to keep up the image of being grief-stricken, you didn't care.

You needed a moment to clear your reeling head, get away from Silco's startling, damning and yet casual reveal. Somehow, you'd found yourself in front of what remained of the Children's leadership, and quietly asked if you could take Silco's stuff.

It wasn't even assured if Silco would appreciate it. Or that you would get the box in the first place.

But you did, and after saying goodbye with a forced-smile and promising to stop by for drinks at a later date, you left The Last Drop, somehow already knowing, that you had no plans to return. Just like you already knew Silco would barely look at the box in your hands, not touch a single item and very flatly, with a voice that was slowly growing stronger, "I don't want them."

"You might."

"Never. Never again."

A pause, lower, "Throw them in the river. Let it all drown in those waters, they might as well join the part of their owner that drowned there."

Dramatics aside, you shoved the box closer to him on your bed. The man, propped up by the pillows, turned his gaze away from the green-tinted window to glare down at the box of memories... memories of another lifetime, really. Because even though you didn't know him well enough, you knew this was not the same man who went into those waters.

The Silco that was in front of you now, didn't have much that meant anything to him in that box.

You still pushed it closer with your fingertips, and after throughly boring his gaze into the box, finally reached in, and plucked something out. "There," He said, spinning the long blade between fingers with slow, but perfected movements. "Now dump the rest. I don't need a past to cling to."

A beat of silence, only cut with the knife in his hand coming to a stop, as the iron softened to something quiet, and impossibly, something close to begging, "Please. Just... get rid of it all."

You did. After gathering up your own uniform, and every weapon you could afford to get rid of, you took the box linking you both to your past Children of Zaun, and let the memories drown in the river. Just like Silco asked.

-

He asks to train.

Unlike his last request, you find yourself hesitating with this one, because specifically, he wants to train with you.

"I'm all street-smarts and quick-punches," You said, a bit sheepishly when he only deadpanned in response. "Do you believe the other children were trained by world-class fighters?" Well, no, but you could tell there was some discipline in the way that Brothers and Sisters fought. You resisted the urge to ask if that was Silco's doing, and looked down at the knife in your hands.

He had kept his from the box, and, without telling you how he had managed to find it hidden in your apartment, handed you the one you had confiscated when meeting him.

"Aim to hurt," Silco advises, so helpfully, a light flickering in his otherwise dull seafoam green eye. "And particularly aim for my right. If I go blind, I'd like some practice on that side beforehand." Frowning, you counter him, "I think I've done enough of a good job to save your eye."

Silco smiles, like a phantom of his past-self. "I don't think there's much hope of saving me."

Dramatics like that, you could handle from him. The withering looks, that have immediately lessened since shedding the identity as a Child of Zaun, were also manageable. But it's the savage speed in which he trains with you, shooting out and darting back between blows that leaves you wholly unprepared for this man.

The idea thrills you, terrifies you, and you so badly want to one day match him in such prowess. So much power and confidence in his wiry form, and Silco isn't even at full strength.

A fact that you forget, until you land a lucky kick at his righthand side, and Silco, blind to it, immediately goes down. And stays there, even as you immediately drop beside him, quickly looking him over for injuries. Landing on his nose brings forth a burst of blood, and after seeing him gnaw at the inside of his cheek for days, you're unsurprised to see blood dribbling onto his lips as well.

"I'm so sorry-" "No, I need to get used to it."

Bewildered, you watch him brace-up on a forearm, dark hair hanging as he pulls in a rasping breath, blood dripping onto the ground beneath him. Silco's eye is hard, focused, and yet also distant as you see his fingers just-begin to curl around the knife.

You reach down and send it spinning out of his reach, before his knuckles lock around it.

"No, you need to take a breather," You only hesitate a beat, before pulling an arm around his middle to help him up. Most of the work is already done by the time the rigidity that has filled him from your solid, gripping touch, but his motion returned when he braces a knee on the ground, and reaches up to grip the back of your neck. The action used to both pull him up so he can glare right up into your face, and bring said-face down.

The air between you is slim, and tinged with the smell of copper.

"Why do you even care?"

Not to long ago, you would've told him of unity. Unity he had to have believed in, if only for a little longer before you found him. You would've told Silco that it's what drew you in to the rebellion he had helped leave, the idea of being close enough with one another to overcome anything.

Perhaps you would've even told him that, standing at the back of the bar, only a short-time ago, filled with hopeful recruits and the Sons who could one day lead an Underground nation, your eyes only rested on him.

Instead, you say something a little less poetic, but just as impactful to let Silco allow you continue pulling him up, and leadhim back inside to help clean up.

"I told you... because you are here with me. And I plan to keep you safe."

-

Silco doesn't sleep much. But when he does, he sleeps better when you're holding hands.

It's not something you comment about much. In fact the only acknowledgement of it is a slight, barely-present squeeze of his hand around yours once you awaken. The ex-Son of Zaun always awakens before you, but instead of slinking off to go find the new hiding spot of his knife, attempt again to stretch and reignite his reflexes from days of weakness, he stays in bed.

And doesn't release your hand.

But you don't acknowledge it, not when you wake up. On the night you both finally decide to make note of it to each other, neither of you are sleeping. "Silco?" A grunt sounds in response, and you see a crack of green in the darkness of the room. "... this isn't working. For either of us." Resisting to snort at the obvious, you shift your hand and still when his fingers curl a bit tighter.

"Perhaps we should switch."

"You barely get sleep as is in the bed. The chair won't be any more comfortable."

"That's-" A sigh, tinged in what's not exactly a laugh, but something close. It doesn't sound like a ghost trying to make it, at the very least. "... that's probably a cue for you to get back into bed."

Before this mission, you slept in awkward, clearly scavaged or recycled bunkbeds with fellow new recruits. Before recruitment, you slept wherever you could find.

Never with somebody, so you're not quite sure what possesses you to ignore his words, the unspoken offer for you to switch bedding-placements, and aimpy reach out in the dim-lighting to nudge at his shoulder. The flinch Silco gives practically shakes the bed, but then he's so, so incredibly still as you guide your body into the space between him after nudging him to give you space, and the edge of the mattress.

You close your eyes immediately, comforted with the change of a proper sleeping-surface, and not just curled up on some regular chair.

The change in his body isn't even distinguishable, when you soon slip into sleep. The only thing noteworthy, when you awaken, is the fact that his hand hasn't moved from yours the entire night, and he isn't the one to give a subtle-squeeze upon your awakening.

Because for the first time, you've woken up before him.

-

"Why?"

You grunt as you duck; metal swings past your ear in a high-pitch, but you're more focused on his words as you slam a palm flat to his abdomen, sending him back. "Why what?"

Silco stumbles, rather than falls. Growing stronger with the days, and gaining more strength with the training he doesn't even ask for. Just silently hands you a blade, that you're finally started to show promise with, before the two of you head out of the safehouse to somewhere even more quiet to slash, twist and push at and around each other.

It's relaxing. Fun, even.

You didn't think you'd have this much fun with the cool-faced Son of Zaun you saw at your orientation. Or even the recently-dead man who lunged at you in the alleyway.

But you're on the verge of smiling at the man you sleep side-by-side with these days, as you slip along the wall, feet sliding as you swing a wide-arc. A move that has him leaning back, eye bright, and looking pleased at his own progress, and your growing skill, as he blocks a blow from the right.

With him, you've almost entirely forgotten about the same rebellion you both hail from, until he clarifies the question he is asking you, "Why did you join the Children of Zaun?"

"Why did you?"

Wrong question, for the knife actually skids dangerously close past your head when you ask. Probably not on purpose, but instinctive nonetheless, given his history with the rebels now forever tainted. Forever haunted, by how that history came to an abrupt and violent end. You could see how there would've been brighter patches in his history - even at orientation, from across the room and staring at a complete-set of sea-teal eyes, you could see a glimmer of pride, of hope, even, for the forces that banded together to bring forth a Nation.

That glimmer in his eyes is gone now. But you see the flash of it's shadow still, even though he tries, so hard, to let that drown too.

Silco pulls in a breath through his teeth, the visible eye narrowed, and though you haven't dared to move the bandage since you last cleaned it, you sense the orb that's been turning black is boring through the gauze at you.

"For reasons," He murmurs, low and cool. "That don't possibly matter anymore."

Swallowing, you lower your own weapon. He raises his chin, dark hair fallen slightly over his eye as it looks cooly to you - waiting, for your turn to respond.

"I joined for..." You pause, swallow, holding his gaze like a lifeline. "Unity, I guess." You expect another harsh bark of laughter, not the sigh he gives instead. "I grew up in the streets, expecting to stay there."

"And so you sought change? To make a difference?" He sounds like he's heard these answers already, and isn't sure if he believes them anymore. But you don't answer for a moment, slowly working your fingers to twirl the knife in your hands. You're not perfect at the trick, not yet, but you're learning. Growing stronger, faster, and more powerful with Silco.

Perhaps it's egotistical, but you hope your presence is helping him do the same. He's not as thin anymore. Not as distant. You even got him to chuckle yesterday.

"I... I think I just wanted to be there for others," You finally said, and the seafoam green meets yours quietly, but concentrated on you. "In... in hopes they would be there for me. I never had anyone to rely on and I liked the idea of having someone I could count on... and being that for another." You glanced down, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. Maybe he would see that a part of you was lying, but not about the idea of unyielding loyalty to someone who needs it just as much as you.

You didn't want him to see that it had been Silco himself that also drew you in. Strong, proud, slightly apart from his Brothers but no less visionary. He'd caught your attention immediately, and even when you heard of his apparent demise, you knew this man would not leave your interest or memory for a long, long time.

You have even less luck of working to get him out of your head, when he steps over towards your and you feel the knife beneath your chin. His gaze is unreadable, but you know that there is no malicious intent in Silco's action as you follow the silent order, raise your chin and meet his one-eyed gaze evenly.

You still feel like both are flickering over your face, scanning for a lie, or a trick. You don't blame him for looking, somewhat guarded, and then stumped, when he finds none. Genuine, you are in your admittance in the desire for loyalty and you can't blame him for looking shocked at the fact that you're being honest.

After what he's been through, it was obvious that Silco would find it hard to believe that someone would be loyal to him.

-

It goes unspoken now, more than ever, your sleeping arrangement. You don't climb under the covers with him, and don't dare to pull your hand away the moment you slip onto the bed beside him. He hasn't said much since the near-silent end to training, and you haven't said much either.

Too surprised at the realization that you're growing in skill, almost in-unison to Silco's expertise, and that he seemed to believe that you wished to be loyal to him.

There hasn't been much said since. No words, but still, you're unsurprised as he moves, and curls an arm under and around your waist after you get onto the bed with him.

Unity. You thought you had begun to understand the word when you joined the Children. The idea of a group, of Brothers and Sisters bound together, not in blood nor even in the same life-stories, but by a dream of the future of a nation. In some ways, you and Silco both have that dream, but your definition of unity has changed.

It's in the way that Silco holds you and in the way you place your hand over his in response. Unity is in the way that he takes the silent invitation, the silent promise of your guiding hands, to curl tighter to you.

Unity is clear in the way you turn your head, when he turns his. Your two eyes connect with his one, and though you don't see one, you know both eyes are staring into yours. Still seeking, expecting the lie or the betrayal in your eyes.

He finds none, even as he moves closer; in unison, you do the same. Wholly or in-totality, you feel linked in this moment, rather than to any cause or movement, unlike what you would've been together not too long ago.

Despite the fact that, come morning, the two of you will work on figuring out exactly what your merging together stands for, and what mission you serve, you feel unified in this moment together. Not by a mission or promise of a nation, but by the way you simply hold one another, and make no plans to move away.

The new definition of unity, is the way you bring one another impossibly closer in unison, before you and Silco move as one to press your lips together.

And in that moment, it feels there's not a single thing in the world that can pull you apart.

-

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