Work Text:
It was the first time in weeks he'd been able to fall asleep so easily.
Most nights, Silco would spend hours fighting back the burning of his eyes, writing with such an animalistic strain you'd think he needed it to survive. He didn't know why the writings gripped him so thoroughly, or why, despite Vander's constant complaints ("Would you please turn that damned light off and go to sleep?" "I swear, your eyes are gonna fall out if you keep overworking 'em like this," "If you pass out in the mines again I'm not carrying you home... again.") he just never could seem to put the pen down.
But, tonight of all nights, for whatever reason, the need - the itch - to scribble till his hand went numb, dissipated. Turned into a faint buzz behind his eyes, easily ignored and even more easily put to rest. It was pleasant, in a way, being faintly aware of the drive, but having the common courtesy and sense to leave it for tomorrow.
Silco lied, wrapped comfortably in a thin blanket. It was cold, tonight, in the Undercity. But here, curled in on himself, melted into the worn comforter of his bed, he found a strange ease to his weary bones. Now, he was falling like an autumn leaf into the cradling arms of sleep, rest, slumber...
Head fuzzy and the world around him becoming increasingly blank, Silco was only faintly aware of the sound of an old, rickety door opening. Ah, right, Vander had been out drinking. Silco recognized the heavy footsteps, the dull smell of alcohol that, after all this time, had become a near comforting thing. He felt oddly safer, Vander being home...
And what a home it was. Small, single roomed, wooden, and old. Very, very old. But it was cheap, and they'd fitted the place together to something resembling comfort. A Miners budget was never one of luxury. But they were happy. They had their dream, their will, and... each other, Silco thought. And that was always such a kind, silly thing to know.
His mind ticked away from its vague state of being, when he felt a sudden rumble and shake to his bed. Against his back, a large, warm body pressed to him. Ah, great...
Silco lazily pushed an elbow back, poking at Vander. "Wrong bed," Silco hissed, though he kindly scooted farther away, giving Vander room to lay a little more comfortably.
In a very simple, decently drunk response, Vander only groaned, throwing an arm over his spinning head. His bed was maybe fixe extra strides from the door than Silco's, but god was he tired, and it was struggle enough walking home, even with Felicia's harried - also slightly drunken - help. They'd lived and breathed in closer quarters, and there was nothing strange about two old pals sharing a bed for the evening, right? Perfectly normal and fine and nothing unusual about this at all.
Fine, Silco thought, he was sort of cold anyways, and he did sort of feel bad for Vander, the poor old drunk. It was cozy, in a way, pressed between a soft wall and a warm breathing body. Silco tucked himself tighter into his blanket and bed, getting back into his previous state of lowered-awareness and rest...
...
Silco's eyes opened as he felt an arm tenderly wrap around his waist, tugging him closer, with a benevolence he hadn't known for a long, long time. And from Vander the moron!
He didn't move, for a while, a slight shock and embarrassment beginning to swim its way to his stomach. This - how stupid - this fried idiot, Vander, was - oh, he was going to have mountains to say when he sobered up.
... If they were to wake up like this, that is.
Silco became aware (awake, now, to his annoyance) of the slow and methodical snoring from behind him. Vander's chest, he could feel against his back, was faintly rising and falling in time with the gentle snores that filled the quiet, dusty air of the night. Sure, yes, he could get out of this, save them both the embarrassment.
Silco shifted, graciously sliding his hand over Vander's wrist and beginning to peel it back, away from his cooled skin. Slowly, slowly, he didn't want to wake the guy, there, there -
The man stirred, making Silco still in his tracks. Terror struck him, as Vander tightened his hold and pressed his head to the back of Silco's neck, breathing the man in.
He was so fucked, and for what?
Silco's face flushed. Fine - right, okay, fine, he'd actually do something effective.
"Vander," Silco huffed, "get offa me. You smell like alcohol and the mines."
Only a low, lazy grumble.
"Vander," Silco repeated, harder this time. Though - and he hated to admit this - a small part of him found this whole thing amusing, in a way. Charming. Domestic.
... Those words felt too soft for his vocabulary.
Vander hugged Silco tighter, burying his face in the mans back, with a small, "S'cold... and - m'bed's too far..."
"When did you get to be such a baby?"
Silco turned, slightly, propping himself on an elbow and sticking a palm to Vander's shoulder.
"Get to bed, Vander."
"I am in bed..."
"Your bed, Vander. Get offa me."
Vander only whined, the low quake of his chest sending a shiver up Silco's spine. "I'm serious, Vander, off."
Silco was rolled, suddenly, Vander pushing him to his back and holding him down with an arm grappled over his abdomen. Their eyes met, Silco's wide and surprised, gleaming kindly in the dim, quiet light of their home.
And Vanders. Christ. Gray, sulky, and deep, but little dusted flecks of moonlight still, staring half-lidded down at Silco's, so close they could -
"You really want me to piss off?... N'let go?"
A beat.
Silco shook his head.
"Y'sure?"
... Silco nodded his head.
"... Atta boy."
And Vander laughed, low and soft, and laid back, and Silco was left with... something. Something stirring in his head and swimming through his chest. A slow drip-drip coursing through his body, invading his lungs and filling him with fresh air. Ah, fuck, he was so - fuck. This was so stupid, and serene, and this wasn't part of the plan. But... he was held so sweetly, then, and the idea of letting himself fall into the pleasantness of it all seemed so easy and gracious. And he wanted to. God only knows he wanted to.
-
-
The noise of the outdoors roused Vander. His eyes flickered open - his head was pounding - what the hell happened last night? - who'd been dumb enough to let him drink so much? - and why -
- ... Why the hell was he wrapped up and around Silco, almost like they were - oh, just what had he done last night? Vander tensed, embarrassed, and began to pull away, but - oh, alright, then, Silco shifted and stirred and moved a little closer, and held on a little tighter, and Vander would hate to wake the guy, but, fuck, his head would be on a stick if Silco woke up to this.
... He supposed, though, if it really bothered the guy that much, he wouldn't look so peaceful right now. His eyes were tenderly closed, expression one of pure tranquility. His hair was undone and fell oh-so-perfect over his shoulders and cheeks. A few rays of light carefully beamed down onto his skin, and he looked so... gentle, then. Gentle, sweet, untroubled and all the things he was when they first met. All the things Vander saw the first time they drank together and made a plan - their dream - to create something so perfect that Piltover would weep to spite the creation of it.
But, Vander realized... maybe perfection and peace weren't too hard to find. Maybe they could have their nation, here, together, alone, in the four walls of the shitty little hole in the earth they called home. What a silly dream it all was. How foolish and drunk on hope he felt.
Vander lightly grasped Silco's shoulder, shaking him ever-so-gently.
Silco was hardly aware of Vander talking. Likely something stupid - "Mornin' sleepin' beauty" - but he was far too bleary to answer. How long had it been since he woke up so peacefully, instead of being ripped from slumber by his ankle? Silco groaned, running a hand over his face. The events of last night creeped back into his thoughts - oh. Yes. Right. Hm.
Now, he lay on his side, facing Vander and buried in his chest; one arm tightly tucked into himself, while the other softly held Vander's arm where it was over his body.
He was sure Vander was speaking. At least, his mouth was moving, but Silco found his head all sorts of tangled in itself. Oh, this - this - it was - something he wasn't meant for. People like him didn't get these things. They didn't get a perfect domestic life and someone to sleep next to at night. They didn't get the pleasure of melting into another human being. No, they got callouses and bloody-noses, and hard-earned work that paid off in ways that made you wonder if any of it was even worth it in the first place.
Silco pushed himself to sit up, pressing his palms to his forehead.
"Hey - hey, Silc, I - ah, shit, I'm sorry, I didn't - " Vander sat up as well, hands awkwardly ghosting over Silco's shoulders. His head was fighting itself, whether to leave the man be or hold him again.
"No, it's - " Silco groaned, running his fingers through his hair. Silence fell between the two; tense, thick and rich with requisite.
"... What are we doing, Vander?"
The words fell over the two, blanketed with warm pitter-patters of something electrifying. Something sad and supple. Overflowing - overwhelming - the two with a skittering need. Something that had sat, there, between them, for longer than either would like to admit.
And what were they doing? Living in the same home, drinks and dinner planned, late-night conversations under streetlamps, physicality that lit fires in their stomachs. Friends, sure, comrades, even, but was that really it? Was that all they ever were, all they ever could be?
Vander looked to Silco, finding his gaze. His eyes were so impossibly tired, and he looked so small, so simple. Not the lean-whippet dog he'd come to know the man as. Maybe this life wasn't for them. Maybe, all they needed was - ...
"I... think we're sticking together for this one. Like we always have."
Silco frowned. He didn't really mean to, but it wasn't exactly the answer he was searching for. But, then, what was he looking for?
"Geez. Eternity with me really sound that bad?"
"With you? Eternity would be hell."
Vander laughed, and Silco fell in behind him. This moment, this moment... they still felt so wrong for Silco to bask in, but maybe, for this one little moment... Vander leaned over, slinging an arm over Silco, holding him close; two jostling, smiling people, locked in a stalemate with themselves and the world around them. And, together now, the odds didn't feel as impossible as they used to.
For a moment, it was felt that a beam of sunlight filtered through to the Undercity. To Zaun.
The two men sat close, and Silco looked up to Vander, his smile shining brighter than all the stars in the sky. And, simple as anything, Silco drew Vander ever closer, pressing their lips together with a graciousness he wasn't even aware he was capable of.
They basked in this weightlessness, for a while, hands snaking up to wrap around one another, kind and attentive and all the things that spoke dandelions and cool, topside breezes. They pulled away - though, truly, they didn't want to; damned breathing - taking long, slow breaths. Their foreheads pressed together, fingers either tangled in hair or rubbing circles to skin.
Vander couldn't help but chuckle. "You want me to piss off now?" He mumbled.
Silco grinned, tracing stars into the back of Vander's neck. "Mm... no. No, I suppose you can stay."
They laughed, then, and - somehow - shifted closer, still. They -
Ah. They stilled, because someone was banging on their door. Felicia's voice rang out, cursing Vander for making her drink so late, and demanding they "hurry the hell up before the boss chews us four more new ones!"
Stunned, the two scrambled apart, throwing on work-clothes, gathering their things, Vander shouting back an apology and a flustered excuse as to why he and Silco weren't ready yet. Hurriedly, they began out the door, but -
- But there was a moment, then. Vander pressed a hand to Silco's shoulder, pulling him back just before the door opened too much, and dotting a brisk peck to Silco's cheek. He grinned, a bit bashful, before pushing the two out.
It came, then, to Silco: Maybe they didn't need Zaun. Maybe they didn't need to shove it all in Piltover's face and prove they were worth more than any bastard up above could possibly bargain for. Maybe - and this, he knew, was such a foolish thing for him to think - all they needed was each other. Maybe all they needed were good friends and hard drinks and a shoulder or two to lean on.
And what a silly, silly dream it was.